Heron Lake Plateau [m] Got death on his breath, halitosis

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I got carried away and decided to just make a new thread LOL. Dated roughly for May 6th!

The first time Tybault had killed another wolf, he'd been six months old. A skinny, terrified boy under his father's sharp gaze. He hadn't cried then — never in front of his father after that final time only weeks prior, when he'd beat him nearly unconscious for the show of weakness — but later in the safety of his bed, when all the blood had been washed away and the scent of it lingered still.

The last time Tybault had killed another wolf, he'd been little more than a yearling. He hadn't cried then. He'd spit on the man's still-twitching body and walked away, leaving him alone in his final moments of agony.

Sometimes he could still smell the blood.

Yet the blood in the air now was all too real. Reina's scent trail, reclaimed somewhere past the marsh he'd trekked through, was rife with it. Her blood. His teeth clenched painfully each time he caught the tang of it on the breeze.

He wouldn't give her captor the courtesy of a warning. In the early hours of the morning he tracked the pair, careful to keep his distance even when he caught sight of them. For a time he only watched. Followed. It was afternoon by the time he parted to scope the area, laying his scent along the outskirts as a warning to anyone who might interrupt his plans for the night.

And as the sun began to fall, he returned to them. Tybault kept to the deep shadows of the foliage, hidden from the dim dusklight as it fully faded from the sky, and silently recited a prayer to Mother Rain. He'd stopped believing long ago. It just seemed fitting.

He hoped Reverie wouldn't hate him too much for failing to return to her.

It was only when the pair had settled in to sleep for the night that Tybault would emerge from the shadows, silent save the rush of his paws across the ground. There was no thought. Nothing but the wind in his ears and the scent of blood, the painful tension in his jaws as he lunged to maim the captor's hind legs.

The world narrowed to a pinprick, just the two of them suspended in some stark red reality of their own. Tybault would see and hear nothing else.

“What—! Aargh!” 

The searing pain in a hind leg jerked him awake, only registering seconds later that another had attacked him as he slept. At first, he thought of Reina and the possibility that it could be her. It would certainly be warranted, given the fact he had done many more acts of violence to her in the time he had stolen her away.

But, no, she slept apart from him still—drugged to high heavens, no doubt—and unawares to the presence that was his attacker. 

A vicious snarl and a swift kick from his free hind leg, he managed to create some distance, though not by much as he found his other leg wounded and slightly disabled as a result. The assessment of the other was quick: medium in stature, but thick of muscle; a dark muddy cloak of fur adorned with a hood of golden. 

Who was this man? Did he believe himself a knight in shining armor, or the wolf version of Robin Hood? Did he think himself a hero? The deadly shadow had scented pack, much the same as he had smelled on Reina. His nose wrinkled in disgust. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are? How dare you come here under the guise of night to attack a man as he sleeps? Have you no decency? My wife and I have done nothing to deserve such treatment!” It was a shot in the dark, he knew, to feign innocence. If it worked, it would certainly give them a chance to flee and get the hell out of dodge. But, the scent of pack was strong and it may be the only reason he would see no other way out of this but to fight the raging bull before him.

The kick caught him in the throat and knocked the breath from him. Tybault wasn't interested in talking anyway. While the wretch shouted about his innocence, the Medeiros lunged again with teeth snapping for his forelimbs this time.

See, Tybault had a plan. The first step involved breaking each of this loud motherfucker's legs.

It hadn’t worked, his ploy for innocence, for the gilded hood struck as soon as the words left the shadow’s mouth, a viper of a man striking the prey he, apparently, thought Ruin to be.

Only milliseconds to spare as he jolted himself further back out of the man’s reach, the distance between himself and Reina closing ever smaller.

What the other man did not know, similar to how he did not realize the golden hero’s plan, that this was precisely what he intended. The closer he got to Reina, the faster he can use her to his advantage.

Ruin spat in his attacker’s direction, enticing the man’s ire and his rage to push him even further back.

Bit of powerplay, let me know if I should change it!

Undeterred; unrelenting. Tybault pressed forward to crowd the man, muzzle drawn in a terrible snarl as his teeth clicked harshly in the air. He snapped for the huge paws as they lifted, catching one of them by the toes.

If he wanted to play games, they could play a game. Tybault was eager to see how many toes he could rip off before the man could no longer prance around. He bit down hard, tossing his head violently without releasing his hold.

The taste of blood on his tongue was welcome.

All good! Small PP (lmao) of results, because fuck Ruin

One stumble on loose rocks was all it took for Ruin to find one of his toes clamped between powerful jaws, his own lips pulled back as he snapped at the anything—face, eyes, nose, ears—anything to get the fucker to let go!

The shadow found he would not and no matter the strength he mustered to wrench himself free, the man clung on, biting down with more force. Ruin’s fangs had found no purchase and thus did not deter his assailant. His body whipped back and forth and his normally deep and husky voice pitched higher in an agonizing screech.

Another clench from the man’s jaw and Ruin became blinded with pain as his toe was ripped from its base, blood spurting in all directions as it was whisked away.

He howled with rage, finally seeing again, but all he saw was blood red. Rage. He vibrated with it. Through the pain, he lifted the injured foot to his lips and smeared his own blood along his upper and bottom jaws as if it were lipstick. War paint.

One moment he was a victim, the next he became a lunatic and launched, bloody jaws wide open to find purchase anywhere it landed.

Could prob fast forward a bit through their tussling if you want?? Up to you, idk what you might have planned!

Tybault felt the spray of blood across his chest and his face, warm at first but rapidly chilling in the night air. He spat the bloody toe onto the ground and lunged again. Like some mindless bristling machine he locked in on his target, and nothing would sway him from it.

He was not mindful of the man's teeth tearing through his own skin. He hardly felt it. There was pressure here and there, the warmth of his own blood, a deep itch he felt in his bones, but no pain. Not yet.

Tybault made no attempt to defend himself. His sole focus was the crushing snap of his jaws, his only goal to see the man's legs mangled beyond all repair.

This image I have in my head of what I want this to look like in the end reminds me of a joke about ground beef…

It was odd, though not entirely surprising, that Reina had not once stirred during their scuffle. Not once did she crack an eye, lift her head, move an inch beyond the deep, but slow rise and fall of her chest. How he had a chance to see such movement was beyond him at this point. The two males had clashed and parried, both giving and receiving wounds, some more devastating than others on his end of things. 

Ruin had felt the defeat coming as he had known that someday he would find his bride, his promised, again.

Unfortunately for him, he would not be bringing his bride home to reign over the coveted Rhodesian territory. How could he? For all four limbs have succumbed to their injuries, rendering them immobile. Useless.

It was fitting, he supposed. Every limb had been used, in some form or another, to beat down his beauty into submission. At least his fifth limb remained untouched, so there was some small miracle that came out of this fight. 

His molten gaze found the man as he laid in a pool of his own blood, an odd smile forming on his lips. He started to laugh, the longer he did so, the louder and crazier it became.

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Powerplay with permission

Tybault had never been the man his father wanted him to be. He was a singer, a wanderer, another orphan seed of The Gilded Sea drifting in search of a place to take root. Where his siblings found fertile ground and flourished, he remained unchanged. What else was he to do?

All he knew how to be was the man his father wanted.

See, he hadn't come here to kill. He didn't need another stain on his ashen soul.

But men like you don't deserve to live. Above the sound of blood rushing in his ears, the beast's laughter drilled painfully through his skull. He dropped a limp bloodied forelimb and growled. Shut - His jaws closed around the massive muzzle with crushing force. The fuck up.

Men like him didn't deserve to live. They didn't deserve the mercy of a quick death, either. Or maybe that was only what Tybault told himself.

Maybe this was what he'd meant from the beginning.

Tybault felt his wounds now. He felt — fuck. He sucked in a cold breath between his teeth and tasted only blood. This was the downside, he supposed, of fighting like you have nothing to lose. You might really lose something.

The heat of the moment was fading rapidly into something cold, something bright and sharp and fleeting. He struck just below the mangled wolf's ribs, blood welling in the wake of his teeth. The fire rose in him again. He remembered watching the man strike Reina.

The sound of his mother weeping.

Later he would remember nothing but the feeling of it, the wet heat and the blood pouring and his ears throbbing because it was so loud, the screams were so loud —

and in the moments just before consciousness slipped away from him, Tybault stumbled free, gagging and retching as he freed the slick red length of his foreleg from the yawning space beneath the dead man's ribs. A laugh bubbled from him; a wild sob.

Fuck you.

He collapsed.

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Red, red ribbons.

Silky strands of scarlet, like serpents, coiled and undulated, striking and hissing. They wrapped around every surface, as if the entire world were made of this material. Above, the dark sky was alight with stars that bled red, their drips falling from the heavens to splatter onto the world below. She felt sticky with it as she watched the vipers spit their venom, their words like liquid fire, coursing through her veins.

A tail tip caressed her cheek before grasping her chin, tilting her head upwards to meet the mirror-like eyes of the ribbon snakes. "Poor, lonely Reina. Look at you; see how pathetic you are, a burden to all you've touched. Your family is fortunate they're not here to see what you have become—an empty, broken shell of a lost girl, loved by none but an egotistical rapist." A malicious laugh echoed around and within her.

Her reflection, now amplified and multiplied by the mirrors that now surrounded her, stared back. Once bright blue eyes were darkly rimmed and dead, her cheeks gaunt, her complexion ghastly. A once gorgeous caramel red coat appeared thin and muted, the color leached by her malnutrition and drug use.

Tears of blood trailed down her cheeks, her neck, only to drip onto the floor, soaking into the very ribbons that surround her. Her blood, the essence of her life, powered the world she now lived in. If only she had not been a bleeding heart from the beginning.

If she had never given her heart freely, desperately wanting what would never be given. Not by Reverie. Not by Everett. Least of all Tybault.

Tybault? Why did his name enter her thoughts? 

“Reina…you’re nothing. You add no worth to the pack. Poor, unloved, healer of the Hushed Willows, a burden to all. Why must you be in the thick of everything? Why must drama surround you and follow you with every breath and every step you take?” Tybault’s form had appeared behind her reflection, his golden stare piercing her soul. His nose sensually travelled from shoulder to ear, inhaling her scent, his eyes closing in pleasure.

“It is over, Reina, darling.” Ruin’s voice left Tyabault’s lips before his jaws opened wide, advancing on the neck of her reflection.

“NO!” Reina, herself, screamed, reaching for her reflection. For herself.

Jaws closed. A snap. Darkness seized her.