Draco throbbed in the voidlight of the Spire, exhaling and inhaling like a beast at rest. Nestled in the roots of the Black Spire was a sleek oilstone, among many of the shards of others who had been birthed here before. There would be more to come, all weighed down by the hefty weight of Chaos, pulling them in every which direction.

The beast that slumbered beneath the spire was small for a Valkhound: indeed, it had been born out of alien design, and was merely repurposed into His Purpose. But as the stone began to crack, and the oilstone began to pulse with an unnatural light, the thing that slumbered was waking from those same nightmares. This creation, drawn through the hellfire of Chaos, stripped of everything and rebirthed, finally awoke from the infinite void.

A cycle of violent, warlike dreams imprinted memories much stronger than anything the gem had experienced before it was tainted and changed. With a start, the beast within began to hiss and snarl, twisting and thrashing. Oilstone broke with a splatter, oil bursting from within as a wet, sopping creature jerked on to the floor beneath the Black Spire.

Hair bristled and flashed fuchsias and gold rapidly, an aggressive warning sign for any attention he drew, drawing his first breath. It tasted familiar, forgotten, and his gangling limbs shook as he twisted, seeking signs of danger that-- a moment ago-- he had been living in the middle of. Where were the wretched, clawing apart his flesh and in turn being devoured by his maw until he was choking on their oil and gore? It was as if he had blinked, and the world he had known for all his existence, was gone.

But that wasn't quite true, was it?
Another few breaths swallowed, the quiet of the room as maddening as the roars of battle and screaming. He found himself wanting... He... There was something in his mind, a nagging concept and understanding that slipped just out of reach, replaced by a primal hunger.

Answers, he needed answers. His pelt smoothed with a ripple, returning back into a sleek black puddle.

Click, click, click. A walk beyond the river had turned into a hike to Draco. Obieth and Pollen would have killed her for going so far without a guard, but today, Aethril had no real intentions of sneaking off. Nor did she know, exactly, why her feet led her here today.

It's not like the company was the best.

Heels moved in tandem with the thrum of Draco's spire, two hearts beating as one. She only slowed when the Voidlight of the black spire hit her cheeks and dappled through her hair, coming to a gentle halt with a long sigh. The last month had been a little more than intense-- but it was so... quiet.

The Womb was almost empty. It looked too big without any chrysalises in it-- or at least, chrysalises that were the size of, say, something like Draconua. The bass of Draco was almost deafening in her ears, too, but it was suddenly disrupted by a crack of gemstone.

Violet, gold and black. Oil-slick. "Well, well," purred the Valkhand. "Look at you." The precise tap of a heel against the cave floor and Aethril took a single step forward before crouching very slowly before Ultraviolet, elbows perching on her thighs.

Her smile was sickly-sweet, eyes narrow and sharp, lashes edged like blades. Was this one of Vargas's, or even Cain's, or was it like Obieth-- a gift, new to the world? ... Why did cats always hatch when she walked in here? "Who are you?"

@Ultraviolet

The silence was broken by a clicking.

Soft, insistent, echoing.

Black eyes locked upon the slender humanoid that towered above, and a crawling sensation washed over the feline's spine. His lips drew back from his jowls, baring onyx teeth and spitting out another hiss. While this new creation may have been remade by His hand, the torrent of death and destruction infused in his brain over the last cycle did not come with any proper knowledge.

Vaguely, the Valkhound could recognize that the being before him was powerful, and that meant dangerous. And for he, who had been subject to unrelenting war for as long as his mind could remember, that meant that she must have been a threat. A danger specifically to him. His markings flashed again, a bright gold marking of a skull blinking into existence on his otherwise jet black fur and rippling in spots down his oil-smeared fur.

"who am i?" Came the rumble from his chest, low and guttural. "why do you speak?"

Memories of conversations, murmured words in shadows and voidlight, slipped just out of reach. Understanding dangled just beyond the hissing whispers in his ears, goading him to attack. In his dreams, there had been no words, only cries and roars, blood and bones sloshing and crunching and drowning him. Dragging him down until, finally, he no longer remembered what feeling her words had invoked in him. It was all lost as quick as footprints on a sandy shore, washed away in a few short crashing waves.

Still, the beast held his position, knowing that... Should they clash, destruction would be the only result. And while destruction seemed like a sweet release in that moment, his hunger spoke louder.

He wanted answers.

@Aethril

"Why do you speak?" Aethril asked, the heel of her palm tucking underneath her chin. "Why do any of us?" She knew why, of course-- but this little one could likely piece that much together itself. "Do you not have a name?"

Her spare hand extended out, fingers gently clicking. While she had patience, particularly for catlike creatures, she didn't have that much to deal with a creature hissing and spitting at her while she was trying to be (for now) nice. "Come here." Not a question. An order. "Let me see you."

The flash of a golden skull shape caught her eye, and one corner of her lip quirked upwards. What creature had Cain found to have a child with, if it had created this one? Her fingers were beckoning, now-- a flash of oilstone-coloured nails twinkling in Voidlight as they curled inwards to her palm.

What a fascinating little creation. "I know what you need," she offered, voice slick with sweet venom. "If you're so interested."

@Ultraviolet

That wasn't the question that he had been attempting to ask. Where was the violence, the bloodshed, that unnatural hunger to destroy and be nothing but uncontrolled chaos? War was not an act of whispers in the dark.

Only desperate cries and gut wrenching howls. Sounds, not words. These words, they--

His head pulsed with a deep, throbbing ache as he mentally stretched for concepts and ideas that his mind was too exhausted to grasp for. He was clawing at muck, and every time he pulled through his oil-slicked thoughts, more sloshed into its place.

"i have a name," he growled. His tail swept behind him, the cephalopodic barbs flexing. He had an identity, deep within the smoky mist. And now, he guarded it jealously: if he could barely grasp at it, he would not give it away so easily. And when the humanoid demanded, his dark eyes narrowed, his bio-illumination turning a sickly violet.

He eyed her talons, and the muscle that ran under her pale cerulean skin. "no," the beast responded to the order at last. His back arched as he held his head low and the fur on his spine bristled on end.

She claimed to know what he needed, her offer sweet and certainly tempting. She had yet to prove this fact, and he was both indignant and suspicious of what this powerful being had to gain from cooing at him like a child.

This version of him had never been a child.
"you cannot know what i need." Even as he defied her, he knew there would be consequence. "you do not even know who i am." Yet, to shackle himself to the first thing promising him the world... To obey, and give obedience, to cow beneath a creature who spoke sweet words, to beg for answers to a being without first seeking strife: this-- this was not his purpose. This was not who he was.

If she wanted to see who he was, she would have to try a different tact.

@Aethril

(note: made sure shaf was ok with this beforehand)

Defiance. The tip of the Hand's tongue drew along her top lip. She could almost taste blood in her mouth long before she had even acted in response to the creature's words, its snarls, its arrogance. There was no one else here to prove this little point to; no one to cower at the very sight of her, no one to warn, no example to be made. It took the pressure of performance away. There was nothing left but delight.

A scrape of a heel and Aethril was lifting back to her own height. One glance over the Valkhound told her that she didn't quite feel like getting her hands dirty, oil-slick, and as she rose a sleek, eel-like tendril yawned into existence next to her. Like a whip it cracked into the air, lashing against the alien and snagging his neck. A rabbit caught in a snare, the rope growing tighter the more the creature thrashed.

"You do not know who I am," she said, hands clasping neatly in front of her. "I am the one who decides if you live or die. I am your salvation and your end. You stand, you breathe, you speak, because I allow you to. Will you so easily squander that opportunity I have given to you?"

Click, click, click. She walked around to the Valkhound's side-- not quite in range of his claws, or that tail --but certainly in range to eye it up and down as though she were trying to decide which cut of meat she'd like served to her.

"Let's try again," she purred. "What is your name?"

@Ultraviolet

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

violence

self harm

gore

It was like being torn asunder.

One half: Feral and untamed, as the tendril choked the air from his lungs. Unleashed, finally, in a hissing fit: the feline thrashed like a wild beast caught by animal control pole. In an instant, Aethril would bare witness to the creature's flexibility, its spine contorting as all six legs found their way up and around to kick and dig deep into the magical tendril. The taste of its own blood, of oil, of a fever dream brought to life once more. The two-pronged tail whipped about, and he hit the floor with a crash, twisting further as though he might try to snap off his own neck to be free from the trap she had snared him in. He kicked. He hissed. He spat. Yellow. Violet. Yellow. Violet. Flashes of color, erratic. There was none of the intelligence he had shown moments ago, only a wild energy unleashed.

The other: the beast was not afraid. No, in this punishment he found salvation. Despite knowing so little, despite his memories more fleeting than the sunlight beyond these meager caverns, he tasted it. Euphoria. There was devotion here, emblazoned into his soul and marked worthy. There was no accurate way to explain the irrational, flip of a switch feeling that came when the hound was struck: it was not something that it associated with the woman. No, it was a feeling that belonged to something greater than even her, though she-- in that moment-- was the messenger. It was the brief glimpse of glory and revelation, one that was choked out of it in a few meager seconds.

The flailing stopped. The two halves became one once more as he lay limp, inky blood seeping from the hound's neck as he finally stilled. He recognized her words: how angry the words made him feel. They burrowed under his skin, thousands of needles pricking at the flesh beneath with red hot pricks. He struggled for breath. Three sets of claws remained dug deep into the tendril, and three others scored into the earth beneath the Spire.

Again, she spoke soft and sweet, a kind stranger to a child. He was not a child.

His fury melted away, repelling the disgusting emotion from his body. His thoughts became cold, and the vibrant colors of his pelt returned once more to the dark ebony again.

"you are not the one who made me," the hound spoke softly. This time, there was no defiance to his tone. He spoke, matter-of-fact, and the gargled sound he approximated to his name was one that was hazed by the vague imprints and memories he couldn't quite reach: "i am uvio."

He breathed. "release me," he said. It could not quite be a command, laid bare upon the earth, his blood dashed against the stone, but it refused to be a plea, either. It was a request, perhaps, or the closest approximation one could make.

@Aethril

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

abuse

violence

gore

She watched with a slight smile. A light show, of sorts-- her eyes were narrow and she watched the hues-- violet, yellow, violet, yellow --flash right before her, staining her dress a new colour with every change. She revelled in it. She could almost hear Him watching with her, marvelling in this little fragment of Chaos. That voice that pried at the back of her skull wasn't satisfied yet, however-- not until the blood was dripping from her fingers and pooling like rainwater. Not until it was all she could smell, all she could taste.

The light flickered out and there was something poetic about this. Plush pelt flattened with oil and blood, the light that danced between black fur gone with no sign of returning. Aethril licked her lips, pacing back to in front of Uvio, but not lowering herself again. Not to his level.

"And who do you think you were created for?" She asked, a whetstone gliding against a sharp, silver blade. "Those who create rarely have the eyes to assess what they have brought into this Nest. Do you think, because you were created by Him, that this makes you special?"

Click, click, but she was going nowhere in particular. She was flaunting, look at the freedom that I have in the face of the Valkhound, trapped underneath the pulsating, black tendril. "Do you want to know how I know what you need, Uvio?" --a rhetorical question she answered anyway-- "We were both created by Him. We are made in His design. We crave chaos, we crave to sow it, to rip flesh from bone and to bask in it. The difference between you and I, is that you,"

The tendril gripped tighter. A sharp, needle-point heel was upon Uvio's side at once, digging into the soft flesh between his ribs as the Hand stomped the pretty shoe against him with her foot. "You," her teeth bared, lip peeling back as venom ejected from her throat. "are nothing. You are little more than a failure. You are less than the maggots in the ground scavaging for waste."

Her weight pushed onto the heel as she leaned in closer, her voice a noxious whisper. "You do not make the requests around here. You beg. You plead. You prove yourself more than dirt on my cloak by my order. Do you understand?"

@Ultraviolet

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

gore

Uvio laid still, listening to the woman misrepresent him, and who he was. He lay very still, letting the words drip over him, letting them pass through his body like a chill. He rejected the knee-jerk reactions that tried to claw their way up, the whispers that murmured to fight back until he was made raw, his very flesh scraped from bone.

That sounded lovely, of course, but...

A sharpness dug into his ribs, and he could not see what it was. Her, most likely. She was goading him, pushing him, trying to provoke. She wanted something from him, and though he refused to rise to anger or shrink to fear, spite flowed freely through his veins. So when she asked him if he understood, he made the pettiest choice he could make.

The hound said nothing.

@Aethril

Content Warning
This post contains potentially sensitive material:

abuse

violence

The hound said nothing.

Aethril waited.

Her patience had waned, however; a thread loosening, unwinding, fraying away. Her weight pushed down on her knee, against the heel, until she heard the slight popping of air between bone-- a melodic, soft crackle to her ears. His magic roared through every sense. She wanted to bask in screams, in the scent of blood. She wanted to scream and throw fire until she was satisfied.

She craved it. Her throat raw, her hands aching. The sweat dousing her, the exhaustion of a migraine-- and yet, she was waiting. No screaming, no fire, no thunder. Instead there was a quiet thought process; a calculation she ran over in her mind again and again. The silence sent her ears ringing.

And then, she decided.

If he doesn't want to speak, then Aethril would make sure he didn't have the chance.

The pressure in front of Uvio's face dropped. There was no more air for him to gulp down as greedily as he had wanted to; nothing to soothe the pain, nothing to roll through his aching lungs. The Valkhand was silent above him, watching with heavy eyes.

Perhaps, she thought, some time in hibernation will do him good.

@Ultraviolet