i'm still waiting for the world to end; tarnished

[Tarnished]

We were young and wild and free,

fightin' in a love we couldn't leave.

Tarnished looks to the bird, though his ears twitch and the one nearest Fiasko twists as much as it can in her direction. The bird looks back at him, curious, eerily innocent for a crow, then takes that as its cue to leave and heads towards the nearest tree; it’ll be back, of course. But not until he shows her. Not until she remembers. The shape-shifter turns his head back towards the Queen of the Gates, almost makes a move towards her—almost, but movement from the corner of his eye catches his attention and he pauses.

There’s a boy coming closer; subtly, of course, but not subtle enough. He comes to stand beside the mare, then screams—repeating the mare’s question. “Hm?” Tarnished blinks, cocking his head. “Come again? I didn’t quite hear you, maybe you should speak up.” A big grin, complete with shiny white fangs, spreads across the dark stallion’s mouth; he doesn’t mean to frighten them, really, but there’s a small part of him that cannot help enjoying it. Rather than move closer to them, he moves back—his body rapidly changing; it’s quite fluid, he’s gotten rather used to the whole process over the years and it almost doesn’t hurt at all anymore.

Almost.

He would probably never be quite as good nor make it look half as effortless as his ancestors did.

Giant paws replace his hooves, his snout becomes long and narrow—like an oversized wolf’s—and thick, charred black scales replace his hair. Large spikes grow out of his neck and travel down the length of his spine, until they meet much smaller spikes that make up the entire length of his forked tail; he towers over the two of them, a great beast with golden eyes and fire smoldering under his skin. Some would call him a hellhound, others would know better—know that the hounds of hell didn’t reveal themselves. Not so freely, not unless they were the consequences of someone’s actions.

Fiasko would know, should know him now.

He’d saved her once, after all.

Tarnished sits, then sighs through his nose—black smoke curling out of his nostrils, he makes no further move and waits instead for their reactions.

tarnished

vanquish x nocturnal

Even on the way down, even on the way down.

[I can't remember how Tarnished looked as a hellhound so pretend this is accurate, Tins. :| Also this post is bad and I should feel bad.]