02-19-2020, 12:56 PM
GHAUL
i can take you there, but baby, you won't make it back
Some people believe that monsters do not feel love, that they lack even the capacity to understand what it means. But Ghaul loves perhaps more deeply than most. He would lay down his life for Clarissa or Draco without a second thought. He would rip kingdoms asunder to protect Greta or Gospel. The beast comes to Loess to find a plaything for his brother, for precious Draco, but he is instead met with a force that tears straight through him unlike anything he has encountered before.
At first, he feels nothing at all. His breath catches in his throat at the odd sound and he turns his head to look at the ugly stump of his wing. The red outline of the torn thing twitches and it serves as a catalyst for the wave of agony that burns through him. Time moves so slowly in this instant as he crashes into the ground, screeching and writhing so wildly that Ophanim shies backward from him. His bright blue eyes find Starsin’s and he knows that this has to be done, but the blood splattered across his face and chest turns his stomach.
Ghaul’s talons frantically scrape at the dirt as he cries out and scrambles onto his legs. His great chest heaves and drool oozes from his mouth as he turns to Starsin, contemplating between waves of torment. Every pulse sends another dribble of red down his golden sides. They smell like the hero boy, the one with his eye swollen shut, and he grits his teeth. “I will eat him. I will devour him slowly and-” But the pain is too great. He is silenced by the awful pain and he chokes on his own words. His first defeat. It is almost as terrible as the way his broken body feels but he must live to fight another day.
He must see Clarissa again.
He stumbles backward and the stars begin to weep down his face. Draco will hate him for this failure, he is sure. Ghaul gathers what strength is left in him and he skitters away from the Loessian border. Anaxarete or Clarissa will pluck him from death’s door, surely. They will not let their angel of fury pass so easily. He hopes.
Ophanim blinks after what feels like eternity and releases the breath he did not realize he was holding. His gaze drifts to the puddle of blood and tissue before him and swallows nervously. Ever since Tephra, violence has left a sour taste in his mouth.
“I’m sorry I froze up. I should have finished him. I just..” he trails off, never averting his eyes from that awful pool.
At first, he feels nothing at all. His breath catches in his throat at the odd sound and he turns his head to look at the ugly stump of his wing. The red outline of the torn thing twitches and it serves as a catalyst for the wave of agony that burns through him. Time moves so slowly in this instant as he crashes into the ground, screeching and writhing so wildly that Ophanim shies backward from him. His bright blue eyes find Starsin’s and he knows that this has to be done, but the blood splattered across his face and chest turns his stomach.
Ghaul’s talons frantically scrape at the dirt as he cries out and scrambles onto his legs. His great chest heaves and drool oozes from his mouth as he turns to Starsin, contemplating between waves of torment. Every pulse sends another dribble of red down his golden sides. They smell like the hero boy, the one with his eye swollen shut, and he grits his teeth. “I will eat him. I will devour him slowly and-” But the pain is too great. He is silenced by the awful pain and he chokes on his own words. His first defeat. It is almost as terrible as the way his broken body feels but he must live to fight another day.
He must see Clarissa again.
He stumbles backward and the stars begin to weep down his face. Draco will hate him for this failure, he is sure. Ghaul gathers what strength is left in him and he skitters away from the Loessian border. Anaxarete or Clarissa will pluck him from death’s door, surely. They will not let their angel of fury pass so easily. He hopes.
Ophanim blinks after what feels like eternity and releases the breath he did not realize he was holding. His gaze drifts to the puddle of blood and tissue before him and swallows nervously. Ever since Tephra, violence has left a sour taste in his mouth.
“I’m sorry I froze up. I should have finished him. I just..” he trails off, never averting his eyes from that awful pool.