gore

Maximus was terrified. Yes, they should have turned around the second they'd gotten here and not seen Draconua, yes they should have been terrified a lot sooner, but forgive them, they weren't very clear in the head at the moment.

Anger flared as they were held closer and closer to the Spire, their limbs trembling as they struggled and thrashed. They were being made an example of, again.

Magic crackled over their tusks, chaos bubbling just under their skin, aching to be freed.

’.... Then BE freed!’, they thought, expelling their magic, only managing to spare a thought to direct it in a way that defended them as well as got them out of this situation.

An agonized scream left their mouth as their body shuddered, bone forming underneath tawny fur. They choked and gurgled as it tore through their soft skin, creating rows of sharp spikes all over their body, piercing the tentacle and destroying whatever stability it had left. Maximus fell to the ground and barely managed to catch themselves, claws leaving ruts in the stone floor as they shuddered, ripples of pain they'd never known stunning them, leaving them barely able to keep themselves from collapsing onto the floor in a ball of misery.

After a moment they pushed, staggering to their feet as toxic green blood dripped down their body, each pull on the fresh wounds renewing the pain. They turned their head to stare at Draconua, bathed in voidlight, engulfed by whispers for just a moment.

"I beg...", they whispered, soft, dangerous, their eyes wide open and swimming in barely held back tears, "For no one."

Not anymore.

Beneath the Black Spire they were a child of Master Vargas. They were the quiet kid in class who'd been finally pushed to the edge. Their lips pulled back and showed jagged teeth and gemstone, their quills raising as they stood at their tallest, muscles straining as they fought the urge to just go for it, to exact their revenge.

But Maximus wasn't one for violence, wasn't one for needless bloodshed. No... they were going to be more... subtle.

@Draconua

Bone shattered any semblance of softness, piercing flesh and Oil alike: without remorse. Once the motion was in play, there had been no stopping it—and Draconua supposed that the gooey eyes and trembling scream of agony meant this had not been intended. And yet, it was a capability. It was potential. It was not the begging and pleading for mercy she had been aiming for, but... was it better?

She did not mourn the loss of her hold on the beast, but she did take a graceless stumble backwards. The valkhound snarled, forcing her cramping arm into motion with the rest of her.

Viciously green blood greeted her gaze as she looked over Maximus, glistening and glimmering even brighter in the light. Pale points—slicked-over and aglow—jutted from every possible angle. A snarl fixed upon their face—and wasn't that a fresh sight, still.

Draconua lowered her head to be at eye level with the horned valkhound. "There it is again," she rumbled, nearly sounding pleased. The spine. The flinty edge of an axe made to slay dragons. The spirit untouched by any worldly troubles or ills. The fortitude to stand before fate and declare oneself independent of it. A weapon to make a worrisome beast lethal.

"What will you do with that?" came a hushed whisper, backed by wheezing, spasming breaths, "fear no more of Chaos and destruction when it is in your hands? Turn away from Him still? Beg Vargas for fleeting fancies and comforts?"

She hummed, as if in thought, and offered a challenging whisper: "Look me in the eye at last, and know what end I may deliver unto you?"

The mark carved into her faceplate glared at Maximus, expectant. She stood, waiting—neither braced for attack nor to defend; simply swaying and listing with every stirring breeze, every staggered breath.

@Maximus

more

gore

Maximus stared, a wounded animal backed into a corner and yet they felt different. Above their previous failures and weakness. They clenched their fists and fought down the urge to call for help, to reach out to Khavur. They were fine, now, they knew exactly what to do.

"I forge my own path," they said voice low and eyes narrowed, "Chaos will not have me by the throat like it does you. I don't need power to be something great, something better."

And unto themselves they drew her wounds.

More pain, more misery. Drawing upon themselves such a gruesome wound that to even Draconua was rather crippling meant pain layered upon more pain.

All up their arm spread the exact same wounds upon Draconua. Seeing as those wounds were fucking massive, that meant that Maximus's flesh was left to dangle in ribbons. It spread to their shoulder, their collarbone, and their chest, blood flowing down their tawny fur, staining it green.

"... I am better than you," they said, the adrenaline and shock helping them not pass out like they wanted, though they were trembling like a leaf, wheezing and hyperventilating, "I-I am... not spineless..."

They were certainly not but they were definitely dying.

"... V-Vargas!", they called out, not nearly as loud as they meant to as their legs gave out.

As they crumbled to the ground, bone shards loosened off of their body, some remaining stuck in them while others easily fell off. Gaping wounds were left behind, bleeding sluggishly as they lay limp on the ground, wondering why they liked to hurt themselves so much. Perhaps a sick form of self-punishment?

Maybe.

@Vargas @Draconua
Oh yeah Max has gained 4 points of corruption from this thread.

gore

Bold claims, and Draconua would have acted to just as boldly disprove them, if there had not been a single heartbeat moment to.

In one fluttering moment, flesh split and peeled apart. Glittering lime breathed in the open air and drained from ribbons of meat. Their closeness had blood spattering onto her mask, sizzling as it met the sheer heat radiating off of evaporating Oil. (Fancy that, how it did not mix so easily.) A body hit the floor.

The Sleepless Chaos hauled herself forward to hover over Maximus's prone form. A gob of iridescent saliva threatened to dribble from her maw, but she lapped it up. "And yet you'll need power to survive," she crooned with a tilt of her head, "seems you're finding it to be in short supply."

She would offer no aid whatsoever, but if the sniveling thing died right outside of her den... that would not go down so well. A shame the hound was in no position to move on their own, though.

Draconua curled her lip at the thought of touching pitiful little Maximus herself without the intent to deliver a killing blow (and perhaps she contemplated doing just such a thing, if it would not spawn inconvenience after inconvenience because this was at the center of Draco they were standing at.) Yet, the cushioning attempt against that squirmed its way into being along her snout. It borrowed from the flesh there, and perhaps a bit of skin too, and set itself to binding her own mouth shut.

Much like a crocodilian, that made the matter of opening it again quite troublesome.

An aborted snarl rattled through her lungs as she clawed at the damned appendage, but it was out of reach of the arm that'd been gored, and slippery to grip while standing (both because the tentacle was Oily and because her face was bleeding like a stuck pig.) The Sleepless Chaos buckled onto her elbow—without even bothering to try moving away from Maximus—and continued to scrabble for a grip to tear it off.

@Maximus

Maximus watched Draconua with a numb sort of fascination. Fear replaced by curiosity as they lay on the ground, bleeding, every pump of their heart spelling their doom no matter how hard it tried.

"And yet it is the power you speak of that hinders you," they mumbled, grinning with blood-stained teeth as Draconua found herself ensnared, daring to even laugh.

They giggled, almost madly, but it was funny. The great, magnificent Draconua struggling to keep her own magic under control. Almost as if to knock her down a few pegs when she grew too greedy and cocky.

Another attempt to balance the scales proved faulty, ending with Maximus simply too tired to do much else but stare aimlessly off into Draco. Either Vargas would come or they'd chrysalize in front of the Black Spire, inevitably going through whatever torment the Master had intended as a punishment. Maybe they'd come out corrupted, maybe they wouldn't.

All they knew was that claws were reaching up to grab them and drag them down, and the whispers were growing louder.

Hilarious how both of them had managed to do this to themselves without laying a finger on each other.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

The call was weak, to say the least, and it had taken him a moment to realize where it was coming from. A swift stride brought him to the source, but irritation rose in him as he rounded the corner.

Draconua, downed and bound by black tentacle. Maximus, bloodied and studded with bone spikes.

Vargas looked from one to the other, acid eyes half-lidded. Part of him was tempted to just leave them to their fates, but he uttered a heavy sigh, instead. "Why are YOU here," he demanded, pointing at Maximus; "and why are YOU--like that?!" and the pointing hand swept to gesture helplessly at Draconua.

"Do you both mind explain-" Her mouth was bound shut. She was struggling to remove it, and without anything bar aggravation in his heart, Vargas stomped over to try and rip it free for her. One clawed hand jerked for the tentacle, ready to tear it roughly off and toss it aside.

Then he backed up, and looked between them both.

"Why did you call for me?" he asked; "This had better be good."

@Draconua

The Sleepless Chaos snarled despite her bindings, and ceased in her struggling just long enough to reach out. Her hand struck out for the shredded meat of Maximus's arm, to grip it and roughly shove the limb away as she stood and stumbled backwards anyways. A miss.

If she were as quill-laden as many of the Forge were, they would be rattling with rage. Draconua strained to grasp the tentacle again.

Much to her surprise, the Leviathan's sudden presence, booming voice, and ripping her free burned. A sting of pain rocketed through her body like electricity, and she had half the mind to belatedly—and slowly—snap at the limb that was already far out of her range. Oil cascaded from the front of her snout, then, and strings of flesh hung off.

But here was where she had a choice: take credit for wounds that she regrettably had not inflicted herself? Cry to the defense of the Black Spire, get the thing killed at last? Err toward honesty? Vargas would not believe the second option; Chaos-Two was a cowardly piece of work, kept losing its nerve and submitting to a passive lifestyle barking more than it bit. Draconua despised it, and yet she almost... wanted to see it live, to see what kind of a monster it could really be in His embrace.

Draconua leveled the violet behemoth with a grimace as she spoke. "I did not so much as touch it." Technically true.

@Maximus

strong language

self harm

?

’Poor, pitiful little Maximus.’

They lay limp on the ground, fear flooding their veins, spreading like frost across a still pool. A touch of shadow and chill directly to their heart, freezing them from the inside out.

’Your weak attempts to gain his favor... his affection... they've been for nothing. But you know this, don't you?’

Maximus looked up at Vargas, his mouth moving but no words reaching their ears. He went for Draconua, first, and it felt like they were drowning. They were reaching out above the waves as water filled their lungs and choked them, reaching for a dark, long-limbed figure standing high above, watching.

’He doesn't care,’ it whispered, the entity within grabbing hold of their weakness and fashioning it into a weapon to use against them. It dragged fingers along wounds they hid under clumsy bandaging, inspecting their vulnerabilities and then digging its claws in.

Maximus stared up at Vargas, trying to telepathically tell him to help, to rip this demon from their head and squish it under his foot. If they could focus any energy into not passing out, they would... they would...

’What would you do? Beg? Become more pathetic than you already are? It's time to see the truth, child,’ it whispered, ’You have no use to him. You aren't even alive because he was guilty or merciful. You mean nothing to him.’

"I did not spare you because of something that I saw in you... It was not an attempt to be 'merciful.' And no, I held no other hopes for you, no expectations, only a... mild horror at my mistake."

Poor little Maximus. Clinging to the hope that their life-giver held some semblance of love for them, that somewhere deep within there was a heart that thought, 'Maybe Maximus is alright.' Seeking approval from someone who committed genocide before breakfast.

But Vargas did not offer a hand to them, turning to Draconua instead. And they watched, eyes sluggishly shifting from one Valkhound to the next, watching the series of events play out. Hopeless.

Master Vargas didn't care about them, nor had he ever. He had others to focus on, to dote upon, if he did such a thing. Zoisite, the Sentinel, Draconua. May as well add in the rest of the Forge and put Maximus on the bottom two miles down from everyone else on Vargas' 'give a shit about' list.

’And no one else will after this little stunt. They'll all know you're just some attention-whore, aching for a scrap of affection from even those who abuse you. Pathetic.’

"... Help me," they finally gasped, the voice like radio static growing louder and louder, trying to drown everything else out, "P-please, Vargas..."

Maximus could barely get it out, fighting past their own reluctance to ask, to disturb the Master, as well as the raging chaos within, furious at them for fighting it.

Draconua could shove her ramblings up where light didn't reach.

@Vargas

- THE LEVIATHAN -

It was lucky that Vargas could not read thoughts; he would have been utterly baffled at how far Maximus was disconnected from reality, how far its own rambling insecurities had taken it from any semblance of truth.

As it was, he'd heard a soft giggle as he'd arrived; he could see Draconua on the one hand, and Maximus bleeding on the other.

A spat, he figured, between two enemies. He would not assume that one, or the other, was the aggressor--if Draconua had wanted to kill Chaos Two it would already be dead, and they were beneath the Black Spire... his spawn had no reason to be there. Unless she'd brought them here, but he doubted that. "I asked what happened," he answered, irritably, looking between the two again. And Maximus had been giggling.

"What do you need help with-?" he demanded, eyeing Maximus blankly. The wounds did not look that bad; perhaps it was merely unused to damage-? "The pain will pass. None of that is deadly. Those are bone spikes--I have seen that before, and I don't believe it's hit an artery. -My magic is not helping," he added, reaching a hand vaguely toward Maximus, then retracting it when the magic did not come. "Did the chaos do that-?" he asked, pacing over to examine the injuries more closely.

Then he looked at Draconua again, wearily studying her faceplate. "Does one of you wish to tell me what happened?" he added. "Draconua, I gave you a responsibility and a privilege. Maximus, I granted you your name and the chance to redeem yourself with that stone, despite your failings. And now I find you both here, wounding one another at the very foot of our Creator's spire-?"

He was sick of their behavior--both of them--at this point.

He found it difficult to care. Maximus seemed to imagine itself a victim, over and over again, when in truth it didn't know the meaning of empathy. Draconua thought herself some powerful goddess of Chaos, but was a child steeped in Oiled madness. The Forge would be better off with them both dead. In fact-

"Is one of you to blame for this? Did one of you instigate it? I give you a choice: one of you take the blame, and the punishment, for starting... whatever this was. Or you apologize to one another, and both take the blame, and I will consider the matter ended. In fact," he added, a leering snarl threatening to twist his rigid face, "perhaps you should shake hands."

He took two steps backward, and waited. Let them prove themselves, explain themselves--he was sick of them both, by now.

@Maximus

[ misgendering and dehumanizing/deadnaming alert :( ]
Draconua paid little mind to Maximus's internal plight except to express thinly-veiled disgust at the cry for help—in the shape of a snarling grimace, of course.

The withering look did not go away as the Leviathan spoke, in brief and chiding, to either of them. It merely cast downward, back to the Hound splayed across the floor giggling and sobbing. Hatred flared through her chest. It was hot and cold at once, and it spread like a flood through her already drowned skull. She stood in a knee-high torrent of Chaotic whisperings, and now her own thoughts—wherever the distinction had been—blurred into the crowd.

And it slipped up her gullet, sputtering like bile across tattered and burned lips: "I gave it warning that it was too obtuse to heed." With a cutting smile, the Sleepless Chaos was adding in a conspiratorial murmur. "Because it fears Him. His power, His influence, rooted into the very fibers of this room, if nowhere else."

She chanced a pacing step forward, and her bloodied talons squelched in the Oily remains of her previous binds. Snatching it up in hooked claws, Draconua choked the limb down. "I asked it to beg Him for release. It mutilated itself then, to flee, and now it once again weeps for what could have been avoided." The points of her tongue rasped over her hand, lapping up Oil and blood stains. A casual gesture for her counteroffer to shaking hands: "if your Chaos-Two merits execution, I would have no greater delight than doing it myself."

@Maximus