VENOM IN OUR VEINS
The pack gathered around the roaring fire, huddling close to the warmth in the chill desert air. They all worked together with the familiarity of routine, occasionally casting curious glances at the blue haired one who sat in their midst. They had all heard of her, the favored one, the one who still did not have any powers even after all her years of service, yet still held the ear of her goddess enough to handle with care. With a mere whisper, she could have hell open up and swallow them whole, rain misery down upon all of their heads. It was said she was too far evil to be given the powers she desired, that she would use them for nefarious purposes, but none dared speak those words too loud, to do so would to be cast in the guise of the enemy, and one would be wise not to be a foe of Lycana.
She accepts a plate of food from one of the members, turning her attention to Theoren who had come to sit across from her. They eat in companionable silence for a short time, before he shifts his body to face Lycana more. “Tell me, what is this I hear about Tius possibly having the ear of some packs?” the alpha questions, placing his fork down on his plate. Lycana frowns as she looks up, setting her own meal aside rubbing her palms together as she thinks. It was just that, a rumor so far but one that caused great concern. A war amongst the wolves would cause too much of a distraction, and enable Tius to get his claws into more and more things just to annoy Cate.
His attempts had not amounted to much thus far, just costing the company money, but Lycana would not put it past him to have much worse in store. Of course, she might not be so concerned if Dion wasn’t the wishy-washy sort. He was far too lax with the wolf clans, and the affairs of the elite even if he did prefer Cate and would come to her aid if needed. The fact that he even entertained Tius on any level at all made Lycana’s blood boil. She chooses her words carefully. “Roland has gone to look into them all, and found nothing that suggests it. Likely started by the fool himself to stir things up.” she speaks of the head of all wolf clans, and Dion’s protector. Theoren nods acceptance of this and continues eating. Talk turns to more mundane matters, as meetings and group gatherings went. Lycana couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it, and something big was coming. But she was near powerless to stop it, since Cate was willing to turn such a blind eye to Dion and his fickle ways. She couldn’t help but feel there was much more trouble on the horizon.
“Wolves do not fear the dark. For when the sun leaves the world, the world fears us. Light thinks it travels faster than anything, but it is wrong. No matter how fast light travels, it finds the darkness has gotten there first and is waiting for it. Such is the same within the XWF. Those that do not understand this handle things in various ways. They scoff at the dark. Some claim to already be in the abyss, while merely tiptoeing about the edge. Still others pretend it doesn’t exist at all, preferring to pretend the shadow now looming over the entire federation is just a figment of their imagination. What is true for all, is that none understand the severity of dismissing the penumbra that will swallow everything they love so dearly whole, leaving nothing but a phantom remnant of what was.
So many are underestimating the impact that the Left Hand will have on them. That is fine, we have no reservations about destroying those too stubborn to heed our warnings. The offer was made, it is far too late to renege on your decision should regrets start to accrue. Numerous will wish they had turned to the dark, upon finding themselves being crushed by it... like the delicate bones of, oh say, a little bird in the jaws of a wolf. Others will find pleasure in blackness taking them over, those we may deem worthy of a second chance. Nurturing their souls turn to the more sordid nature that lay hidden, dormant inside of them, urging them to embrace it. Such beings will be rare, elusive even. Most hiding for far too long amongst the flock of the mindless to understand their true calling. Too ashamed to show their abhorrent desires to the world, wolf in sheep's clothing, just begging to be stripped of their disguise.
Some will come, mere pretenders, the quarry of the wolves, trying to bleat their way into protection. They will fall under the knife The Baphomet wields, the pathetic light shining too bright not to be missed by my revered leader. The Baphomet guides those who embrace the dark, teaching... enriching... feeding the toxins that stew in his followers. He coaxes the best from the deplorables, turning mere monsters into so much more. Sharpening fangs that were meant to tear through the flesh of the meek. The devious veins of his nature, pour forth fiendish and vulpine schemes, the likes that the dull-witted fools filling this company are far too blind to see coming. His machinations miles ahead. His manner, both more alien and otherworldly than any I have ever come across in my lifetime. There is no planning for what he will bring, only acceptance to your doom. After High Stakes, he saw in me, my atrocities, my true nature... showing me his own, and in them we rejoiced.
Some may say High Stakes was a loss for me. It was not. There is no loss, only lessons to be absorbed and reasons to be pursued. Acknowledgment. Acceptance. Allowing the feelings to burn in the pit of acid deep inside, to be used in the future. And then on to the next victim. Which brings me to Warfare. And Marf. Ahh, it almost brings me regret that I have to obliterate you. Almost. The sheer amusement I get at the vision of you under my boot overrides such piteous thoughts. The manifestation of you, brought to your knees by my blows, pure gratification. Beholding you motionless under my pin, simply rapturous. Watching the fire in you extinguished one shot at a time, the thought nearly drives me delirious with salacious glee. Vanquishment hovers over you like an apparition, can you feel it constricting around you?
Our meeting, though brief, gives me the expectation of an encounter like I have been yearning for. Where as much is bestowed upon my body, as I administer to yours. I come to you with the aspirations of a bloodletting, of broken bones and bruised skin. A craving for violence that I can only dream you are willing, and able to mete out to me. Will you open your arms to the agony and suffering I covet bringing your way? Perhaps you too, will writhe with satisfaction under my onslaughts. Will you find as much hedonistic fulfillment in our match as I do? Or will you prove to be nothing more than deceiver? A fraudulent sheep who shows himself under the guise of more? I suppose only time will give me the rejoinders I seek. Two long weeks awaiting the moment we step into the ring and I find out if you are the one to fulfill my rampant desire for savagery.”
Lycana pushes away from the camera swiping her fingers through her long sapphire hair. She brings her mind back to that moment, from where she had been summoned by Corey. She had answered the call, and found that he was ultimately horrified by her prevalence for blood and death. It was a pity really, just how many around the XWF were squeamish in a sport that relied on brutality and harming another human being to get you anywhere. Yet, they pissed their pants at the thought of a sacrifice? She had met many that night, most not worth a damn in her eyes. They were perhaps mighty in the fed, hauling around their belts like it meant something, but to her... just brainless hulking fools with more brawn than brains.
Some worth interest like the good Doctor. And Tommy Wish... well, he had been bold enough to approach her. He had not faltered when she eyed him, stood firm having an inkling of just what she was. Of course, it was only the merest bit he knew. He claimed he was willing to learn what she was about. To even practice with her, to dive into her tasks without fear. Perhaps they would see how he fared once she showed him the darkest pits of hell that called Lycana home. The cackling demons that were the very essence of her. If he didn’t run screaming like the rest of the lot, well that would be a point in his favor. He had mentioned that they would meet again... she would be sure to make it happen, if only to test his mettle, see if he was worthy... or if her energy would be wasted.
She is broken from the rest of her thoughts by a knocking at her door. Curiously, she looked out the window and down to the front of the house. A flash of red hair captures her eye and she feels the familiar annoyance burbling up inside of her. Of course, HE would show up. What business could he possibly have with her, that did not include the pack. Casting Fenrir a glare as she steps over him, she can't help but comment “Some guard wolf you are.” The big black wolf merely gave a small twitch of his tail. Rolfe was part of the pack, and he had loyalty ties to him as well, although Lycana was his mistress. She unhurriedly steps down the stairs, her door rattling as Rolfe beats on it once more. Perversely, she considers waiting even longer just to anger him.
Instead, she flings the door open, just wanting to get this over with. He pauses, fist in the air as if to knock again. They stare at each other as he drops his arm, a frown on his normally cheerful countenance. She scowls right back. “What do you want?” He leans against her doorframe, crossing his arms over his lanky frame. “What is this we hear, about you joining up with a group called The Left Hand? Calling their Baphomet leader? She is not pleased with you.” It didn’t surprise her that the news had travelled this far already, catching the ear of those she had hoped to speak to beforehand. She thinks quickly, an idea forming in her head that could possibly help her case. “It is of benefit to her as well, I find those that wish to serve.” Rolfe hesitates, seeming to want to say more, but for once seems to give up on teasing more from the woman who hated him, though he was oblivious to it. “See to it that they start soon, lest your loyalty be called into question.” He turns and walks away, leaving a seething Lycana to slam the door behind him.
Darkness finds Lycana back in her clearing pacing slowly back and forth, still fuming from her encounter with the loathed lycanthrope. Her candles are lit casting flickering shadows around the open area, everything in readiness for the night. A chicken clucks peacefully in a wooden barred cage, ruffling its feathers out as it tucks its head under its wing, seeking sleep. Her fingers tap out a tattoo on her thigh as she walks. Spinning on her heel, she is about to repeat her march when movement in the shadows draws her gaze. She stops, turning to face it as a hulking outline becomes clear at the tree line. She beckons it, and it comes closer a massive man, hood covering all details becomes apparent to view. He stops just short of her, his monstrous size even more stark next to her petite frame. She guides him to her altar, speaking in hushed tones about what must be done. She crouches, and places a velvet covered bundle on the log. She unwraps it, lovingly palming her ornate dagger. She offers it to the hooded man on her hands, nodding her encouragement. He takes it and seems to study it as Lycana fetches the chicken. It squawks, but settles down, the lack of light soothing any fear it might have. She holds it by its feet, upside down, simply waiting as the hooded man draws closer. She waits, wondering if he would go through with it. Wondering if he would simply turn and run instead. Wondering, if he would live up to his words. He takes the chickens head in a large hand, caressing it softly. She watches, silent. The knife flashes, and with a spurt of blood the deed is done. She sucks in a sharp breath, the stab of sensual delight sharp in her abdomen. Their eyes lift to meet, his shrouded in shadows, hers gone dark with promise. In tandem, they drop their gaze to the blood pooling on the greedy earth.
