Closed RP Give and Take

This RP is currently closed.

Kenton had no fucking idea what he was going to do. If he tried to run, he was fucked. The monster waited just outside the door, giggling horribly, sounding just like a gleeful kid. That was honestly the worst part. It was so childlike, so young, and yet, he had never seen anything as monstrous as it. If he stayed in the closet, he was fucked. It would just open the door and eat him alive. He had to think He had to think quickly. If he couldn’t run, if he couldn’t hide, what was there that he could do?

… He could try to attack it.

His breathing picked up, his heart pounding in his ears as a rush of blood. What did he have in here? What did he fucking keep in his closet? He let his hands wander as the thing giggled outside the door. Finally, he found something, buried back in the far reaches of the closet, behind the shoe racks and the coats and the hanging slacks. His hand wrapped around something long and heavy.

A baseball bat.

Kenton hadn’t played the sport in years. Hell, he wasn’t sure he had any of the rest of the gear, even in the depths of the closet. But he had kept his bat, the bat that had been signed by everyone on their team. He kept it for sentimental purposes. And now, as he pulled it out of the back of the closet, he stood, shaking, and called out, “Back the fuck up or I’ll bash your god damn head in!”​
 
Cryptid tilted his head a little, listening to the muffled rummaging in there.

And then – and he stifled a snicker as the demand came – the man had the audacity to threaten him.

There was no smell of gunpowder in the closet. It was obnoxious enough that he’d know it anyway. That did, however, raise the question of what exactly his prey had found, and what exactly it expected to do to him.

But the rules of the game had just changed, and he decided that the turn was interesting enough to entertain, for a little while. The meat would still be there when this test was over.

“Okay.” He sounded like a man placating a child, something that couldn’t hurt him in ten thousand attempts. And it was much the same situation. The mouse had a toy; now came the curiosity about whether it could actually use it.

He even took a step back, slow and placed just so that his boot would creak the floorboard, and then a second. He gave the prey the space to open the door, if it wanted. To attack, or to run again, poor, weary thing that it was. Of course, if it stayed still, that would be such a disappointment he’d have to follow through on his threat. Ah, but he’d just have to wait and see if it came to that.
 
Last edited:

He swallowed around the fear in his throat. He could hear the thing backing up, giving him space to do what he was threatening to do. It was still toying with him, even now. Kenton was so tired. He just wanted to lay back down and let the exhaustion take him before this monster could. At least then he wouldn’t die in agony.

Instead, he used the bat to push the door open, just slightly. Just enough that he could peer around the edge and see it, it and its happy smile, and its piercing blue eyes. That face that sent shivers down his spine even now.

He moved quickly, then, kicking the door open and rushing in with a loud scream. As much as he was tired, he was angry for being played with like a toy, like a half-dead bird some cat had found and decided to toy with. The lion batting the poor rabbit around for fun. Not anymore. Kenton was fucking done.

He swung the bat, aiming straight for the monster’s head. He didn’t know how fast this thing was, but god he hoped he was faster. Just this once, let him be faster. One solid knock to the head, just enough to run back out the door and towards–

The security room. God, he had forgotten about the security room. There was a phone there, a phone he could use to call for help. He just had to get out of this first. He just had to escape this room.​
 
Oh. Oh that was fun. Oh, that was fun, if fruitless. The rabbit poked its nose out of the hole first, peering from the burrow entrance at the smiling coyote that waited for it. And then, in an act of such absurd bravery or rage that it almost gave the coyote pause, the prey-thing charged him. Him! Armed only with a bit of wood!

The light in his eyes spoke volumes, but while the prey was both fast and furious, the monster wasn’t exhausted the same way, and had his wits about him.

He raised his hand, and caught the bat in the palm. It stung a little, but not enough to so much as shake the excited smile from his lips, the grin that was all tense muscle and tight teeth and pure, unadulterated joy. Before the prey could respond, he used his catch to reel it in, to yank it closer so he could put his free hand above its wrist. They were a breath apart again. If he wanted, he could have any part of the food that had so carelessly thrown itself into his teeth – face, shoulder, throat.

He tightened his grip on the wrist, his voice another easy purr. “You shoulda run, Ken.”

He clutched the wrist, and between his claws and his superior strength and the all-consuming hunger, he ripped the hand off.

Then he dropped him, and stepped back a little more to give the food space to recover as he studied his prize. He casually plucked one ring from the thin, bony fingers – god, they were exquisite hands, exactly to his taste, almost made for him – and then a second, and flicked both away with disdain.

Then he turned the hand back to the thumb, waited for the man to meet his eyes again – assuming the shock hadn’t put him out of his misery – and sank his teeth into the joint where phalange met palm.

It disconnected with a satisfying, audible pop.
 
Last edited:

He didn’t feel the pain. Not immediately at least. Instead what he felt was numbing shock. Like electricity had shot up his arm and straight into his brain, forcing him to reset. He couldn’t exactly process what had just happened, but when he looked down at his hand, it just… wasn’t there. It was gone. All that was there was his forearm, which ended abruptly with dripping red.

There was red everywhere, in fact. It was sprayed across the walls and the floor and the rug and the bed. It was everywhere, and Kenton wasn’t exactly sure what it was. That was, not until his brain finished coming back to life and the most searing pain of his life hit him. It was blood. It was his blood.

He clutched at the arm and screamed, his throat going raw at the way in which the sound was ripped from his throat. He tried to step back and away, but he slipped on the now pooling blood beneath his feet. Between his ankle and his now severed hand, there were pools of blood on the floor. He looked up from them to look at the monster.

Who had deliberately waited for his eyes to return to it before it bit into his hand. He watched as it bit the thumb clean off with a sickening pop. Then, with an equally sickening crunch, it chewed on it, and a look of sheer bliss crossed its face. It liked it. It was enjoying eating him. God, oh god, he hadn’t quite believed it when it had said that it was going to eat him. A part of him had thought that it wasn’t possible, or that he’d be dead first.

Nothing in him could have prepared him for the idea of being eaten alive.​
 
There was the shock.

It just stared at him, poor thing. It wasn’t exhausted. The hand tasted marvelously of adrenaline and warmth. But it just stared, horrified by what it was watching. They usually did, if it came to this. The thumb gave way to his teeth with the perfect combination of soft meat and crisp bone – hands of somebody who’d never worked a day, he’d bet. The hunger clawed up his throat, and this time, he let it. He savored the piece of meat as much as he could while the rest of the meal recovered on the floor.

He leaned back, bracing himself on the bed frame tall enough to rest his back on, and then slowly, patiently swallowed. He licked the blood from his lips again, and sighed. Then he turned the hand, and took the index finger.

It’d be a shame if the man collapsed here, really. He’d just gotten the hang of the game. But there was a hunger that needed to be filled, and he had the means to fill it in the palm of his own hand. With him preoccupied with fresh food, really, this was a golden opportunity to try to get ahead of him, back into the halls of the sprawling house. Or to make a dash for the still-open slider, to the wide world outside.
 
Last edited:

The security room. He needed to make it to the security room. He just stared at where his hand had been and pushed himself up with his other, still intact hand, and began running. He slipped and slid across the blood as he tried to flee the room. He didn’t dare look back or slow down as he left the room. The monster didn’t immediately take chase, and for that, Kenton was grateful. It gave him time to get ahead, time to make it to the phone in the security room.

He rounded both corners without any sound of the beast approaching. It was when he reached the hallway that the security room was in– an offshoot of the main right-wing– that he finally stopped. Because standing there, right outside, was James Fielding, looking casual as anything, gently shutting the door to the security room behind him.

“James?”​


Ethan had disabled the internal and external security systems and erased all of the footage from the system before he heard the second scream. The first one had come from the left side of the house, but this one, this one was on the right side. It gave him a bad feeling like something was amiss, but he didn’t know what.

He grabbed the phone that was in the drawer of the console from the system and then stood. He hadn’t gotten rid of all trace of their visit, and had made sure they could cleanly escape. Surely by now, Todd would be done. But he hadn’t come to the room. Ethan had just assumed that maybe Todd had been so hungry that he had started eating without him. After all, the man had been dead on his feet, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if he had just been overcome with hunger.

The second scream dismissed all possible thoughts of this. But Todd didn’t play with his food. He had said as much. Yes, he chased it, but this sounded like– this sounded like–

Ethan was quick to leave the room, closing the door softly behind him. But when he turned to start looking for Todd, he heard his name. Not his name, but his name. James Fielding. He turned to look in the direction of the voice and saw a surprisingly alive Kenton Nielson. The man started to run toward him, and Ethan took a chance to take in his appearance. He was barefoot, bleeding profusely from his ankle. He was limping heavily.

He was also missing a hand. Ethan stared at that as the man reached him and started trying to sob out some words. He stared blankly at Kenton, unable to really comprehend what the man was saying. He looked at him, and then the words caught up to him.

“James, James what are you– Nevermind, I don’t care. You have got to get us out of here, there’s a demon in the house, a monster, it’s eating my hand, god, it’s eating my hand.”

“Right. Get in the security room. I’ll handle this.”

Kenton didn’t even question him. He simply moved past him and into the room. Ethan heard the door lock behind him and rolled his eyes. Well, Todd had certainly done a number on this man.

Ethan was going to have to take care of this before it got more out of hand.​
 
Cryptid took his time with the meat he’d taken, even as dinner finally came to its senses and took its leave. Had he been any stronger, the call of the prey’s footsteps fleeing down the hall would’ve seized his attention; but his stomach, or whatever he had, had the final say. And a hand like this was a delicacy to be savored.

He could hardly wait to enjoy the second one. Maybe, he thought, as he chewed through each of the remaining fingers, he’d take it still attached to the arm. Or maybe a finger at a time, since this little display had given the prey such a boost of energy.

But all good things came to an end. The delicate bones of the hand cracked and popped between his teeth, and the meat and blood temporarily satisfied the ache in his bones. Just long enough to let himself enjoy the hunt a while longer, before starvation took her due. And, he reminded himself, there was a lot more hunt left in this prey.

This phase of the hunt, as he processed the treat he’d consumed, was spent at a leisurely stroll. No sound from his boots, not urgency to his pace. He cleaned his hand while he walked, following the clear, syrupy red trail of blood around two corners and into another hall. He followed the trail with his eyes, and paused for just a second, his own hand still in his mouth as he tried to get the last of the blood from between his claws and his finger, as his eyes lighted on the black dress shoes.

His gaze flicked up the body, impeccable as it was, absent of shadows. Slowly, the contented smile unfurled into a wide, lively pink grin, and he lowered his hand back to his side.

The hunt sorted out what exactly it was looking at. Obsidian, of course. But what Obsidian to him? Not pack, god, no. He didn’t do packs. How could he? There was nothing in the world like him, not even Obsidian. Of course, Obsidian wouldn’t think of himself as prey. He was, objectively, of course. If he wasn’t, then it would suggest that Obsidian was stronger than he was.

And if that was true, he wouldn’t mask his fear with that touch of rage, would he?

“Ethan!”

He laughed a little, clear and bright. Through the blood, he could taste pepper and rage on the air. Just a touch of rage. Cryptid couldn’t fault him for being angry. He had made quite a mess, after all. Not everyone could be a clean killer. But anger and fear were only a degree apart, and weaker predators tried to hide one behind the other.

But he had prey. And unless Obsidian ran, Cryptid was having too much fun with his current hunt.

He made a show of looking around the hall, not even glancing at the obvious door. Then, conspiratorially, he asked, “You haven’t happened to see a rabbit hop by, have you?”
 
Last edited:

There was something wrong with Todd. Ethan could tell right away. His laugh was bright and almost childlike in its joy. His limp that he’d had all night was gone, and he looked generally alive and… happy. Had Ethan ever seen Todd actually look happy like this before? Not that he could remember. Todd didn’t do happy like this. And he didn’t seem happy at all about the idea of hunting.

Had this been what Todd was warning him about before? The thing he hadn’t wanted to really say, the thing he’d been worrying about all night? Whatever this change was?

Ethan didn’t know. All he knew was that Todd had ripped a man’s hand off, and judging by the blood on his face, had eaten it, probably right in front of him. The Todd he knew would never do something so inhumane. Todd was the most human human he had ever known. He took a few steps forward, skirting around the blood as he moved. His movements were the same slow and precise ones he had done earlier that night, but now there was no rage. Only concern and a desire not to scare the young man before him.

“Hey Todd. What the fuck? I thought you said you were going to knock him out and we were going to head back and find a warehouse. What’s going on, kid?” He said the words clear and soft. He didn’t know what was going on, exactly, so treating him like a wild animal for now seemed to be the way to go. And you were calming around an animal you didn’t want to attack you. Everything in Ethan’s instincts was telling him that whatever was going on with Todd right now was not under his control.​
 
Obsidian chose to be interesting. He moved slowly, at a circling prowl. The predator was coming back out, the rage dying. Cryptid tilted his head at the wolf, the smile fading just a touch to convey curiosity. The wolf spoke to him the way some might speak to a rabid animal, calming and even. But Cryptid was calm. Could Obsidian not see it?

Did he really not understand?

“I’m hunting,” he said, like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. He did his best to sound patient, and not let Obsidian know that he thought it was silly he’d think anything else. He shrugged. “How couldn’t I? He ran.”

Then, the grin unfurled again. Like he was about to tell a wonderful joke.

“Don’t you love it when they run from you?”
 
Last edited:

Ethan paused. He couldn’t react to that with a wounded expression or emotion. Not now that he was starting to understand. And while it stung, just a bit, to have something thrown back at him that he had said mid-hunt, he understood now. Todd was in the hunt, not the hunt. With that knowledge came an understanding.

Todd’s hunt was far more consuming than Ethan’s was.

So what to do? Todd clearly needed some sense rattled back into his brain, but how to do it. He could fight him, but Todd was much stronger than him, even if he wasn’t faster. He couldn’t run from him or he would trigger Todd’s hunt, most likely, and then where would they be? So instead of doing either of those things, Ethan did the only thing he could think to do.

His posture straightened out, and Obsidian gave a sharp smile to Cryptid. After all, this wasn’t Todd anymore. This was purely Cryptid.

“It’s the best thing in the world. When they run, and they’re afraid, and you can practically taste their fear. Who wouldn’t chase? Who wouldn’t want that?”

Gone was any sign of anger or calm. Now, there was only the manic energy as Obsidian let it take over, as it filled his eyes with unnatural light and brought color back to his skin. He ran his hands through his touseled curls and let the smile fall into something a little more sly, a little more conspiratory. He looked the mountain lion in the eye and let the wolf go wild.​
 
The pause was what mattered. It was very short. It was the span of a breath. But Obsidian needed a second to think. And while Cryptid was the purest form of predator, he wasn’t a blind animal.

Obsidian shifted his body language. It was both real and not-real, deliberate and natural. Cryptid met his golden eyes without fear or hesitation. Not even the suspicion came through.

“The prey, of course.” He laughed again, softer now. “That’s half the fun. Humans tend to forget what they are. Sometimes, they need to learn the lesson the hard way.”

He stressed ‘humans’ without quite searching Obsidian’s face for a response. Was he talking to Ethan – with his human name and the face he wanted Todd to see, to love – or Obsidian, who wanted Cryptid so badly he was willing to forgive the death of his packmate, his brother? That was the question. That was the answer. For the moment, that was everything, and nothing. Before he resumed his hunt, he needed to determine which side of the scales Obsidian would fall on tonight: friend, or food.
 
Last edited:

The wolf didn’t hesitate this time. He threw his arms wide with a shining smile and said, “Oh, but it’s fun when they think they’re smarter, or better. It’s so fun when they think they’re at the top of the food chain. Those are the ones it’s the most fun to break down. They don’t learn the lesson until it’s too late.”

He held Cryptid’s eyes with a slanted smile still on his face. After all, they were equals, at least in this regard. Both of their prey were human. Even if Todd was, objectively, even higher on the chain than he was. He licked his lips and folded one arm around himself, then balanced his elbow on the back of his hand so he could hold his chin. He looked thoughtful for a moment before he smiled again, this time a bit softer.

“Of course, we’re not the same, you and I. Our prey is both human, but even metas are prey to you, aren’t we? I suppose that’s to be expected.” He gestured with his hand, keeping his pose, leaning his weight on one leg as he gave a wicked grin. “After all, you are the only other predator of humans I’ve ever met, and even then, I don’t completely consume them. That’s… special.”

His glittering eyes were sincere, his voice soft now. He was genuinely open and honest with his thoughts, something he normally couldn’t do around Todd. But this wasn’t Todd, and Cryptid would understand, Obsidian was sure.​
 
It’d been a long time since something had decided to use flattery to try to wiggle out of his jaws. The irony in the wolf’s first statement about apex predators, about humans assuming they were better than the things that could hunt them, devour them. Even as he tried to course correct about metahumans, about their differences, about Cryptid’s superiority, there was that flash of arrogance in the preamble that told him what was really happening.

Flattery didn’t work on Cryptid, because he already knew all of this. He didn’t need reassurances, didn’t need confirmation. He had no ego to smooth out, no belly to scratch. Obsidian’s methods might’ve worked on something that was still human. But Cryptid was more, even when he denied it. Even when he tried to hide it.

He could hide it for just a little while longer. Even though he moved, slowly pushing off one foot to start to circle, keeping a distance as he observed Obsidian’s posture. He didn’t break eye contact because he was nervous, now; didn’t let his smile relax into closed lips to hide his teeth; he did both to soften his expression, and because he knew he didn’t need to posture, not like that, not to Ethan.

After all, Ethan was still human.

“And of course,” he purred, speaking almost in time with his languid steps, “even after they learn, a couple reminders along the way keep them from getting cocky.”

While his eyes didn’t glow, while his face didn’t get any warmer, he never lost the hints of rapture around the edges of his eyes or smile. There was a sharpness behind his look, but no more than the sharpness Todd was capable of outside of his hunt. An ambush predator, a social chameleon, perhaps weaponizing the friendship that Ethan had tried to form with the mask of his humanity.

A memory drifted across his mind, the flip of a switch in an empty warehouse with metal parts at their feet. The opposite switch. The switch from monster to man, and here it was a switch from man to monster. Just like then, it wasn’t going unnoticed. He remembered the pull of cold. And he remembered the pain in Ethan’s face when he put a stop to it. How much more pain did Ethan have to offer? As much as Malachite, maybe. He realized, with a tickle in the back of his brain that brightened his smile just a little bit more, that he’d never actually hunted a meta before. It would be dangerous, in his condition.

But that was half the fun, wasn’t it?
 
Last edited:

Obsidian had fucked up. He could tell in the way that Cryptid had started to move. He thought that Obsidian was prey. He thought that Obsidian was human enough to be prey, That was interesting. Cryptid knew that Obsidian thought of himself as other than human. Even if he had never said the words, Cryptid knew that Obsidian didn’t have a soul. And you needed a soul to be human, after all. So if you didn’t have a soul, could you really be human?

Todd had more of a soul than anyone that Obsidian had ever met. But did Cryptid have that soul?

It didn’t seem likely.

Obsidian knew what a predator hunting looked like. He recognized the tension in Cryptid’s body and the slow movements and the prowling. They were things that he saw reflected in his own hunt. And just like that, Obsidian felt the tension in his body change as his hands went to his pockets. With the same slow grace, Obsidian began to circle Cryptid in return.

“Well, of course. But you have to give them hope, don’t you think? Hope of escaping, even as you tear them apart.” His voice had the sharp rumbling of a wolf warning another predator to back off. He didn’t puff up, he didn’t posture. He simply circled, moving through the blood like it wasn’t there.

Obsidian was ready to strike. If Cryptid came any closer, Obsidian was ready to shock the man into next week. His smile became less slanted and more feral, his teeth finally barring in response to Cryptid’s movements.​
 
Ethan knew. Cryptid felt it in his body language, sensed it in the shift from soft understanding to sharply bared teeth. Ethan knew the dynamic. It didn’t seem to scare him; but it clearly didn’t sit right, because the wolf tried to posture back.

And Cryptid couldn’t help but laugh at the attempt, because Ethan was no wolf. It was a light laugh, pleasant and bright. A better laugh than Ethan would’ve ever heard from Todd’s lips, soaked in blood as they were. He licked them, not quite nervously, as he breathed again, his pace never faltering.

“Sorry, sorry. But you know that I know that you already know all of this, don’tcha, Ethan?” He met the other man’s golden eyes, his own still sparkling with amusement at his little not-quite-threat display. “You knew from the first second you saw what I could do. When you saw Jasper. Didn’t you? I saw it in your eyes.”

There was more than one feeling he could pull out of prey. Todd was good at utilizing the emotions of the people around him to get information, to get company, to get food without the hunt. The hunt itself knew the same tricks, and it knew what Ethan was. Just like cinnamon-sweet Sammy, black-pepper-kick Ethan was full of wrath.

“But you wanted this, didn’t you? Isn’t this want you want, Ethan? This part of me that’s so much like you, that you think deep down is just like you?”

He stopped circling. He wasn’t stupid– he didn’t go in for the first strike. He was hoping to taunt Ethan into taking it, but there was an alternative. Maybe one he’d forgive himself for afterwards, given the circumstances. The predator bled out of Cryptid’s shoulders, and he gestured with his chin to the saferoom door. His voice became soft, and his smile faded again. As serious as he could get, in the height of the bliss that was the hunt.

“Let me finish this. Kenton’s almost worn out. Fuck, you could watch if you wanted, I don’t care. He might, though.”
 
Last edited:
That… stung. That stung because part of Obsidian recognized that the human part of him, the fractured bits of his soul, they would hate to hear those words. They would hate to know that Cryptid thought this was what Obsidian wanted.

But it was. Obsidian wanted the predator so bad, wanted the companionship that Cryptid could offer him. That the monster, and not the man, could offer him. Because the man, Todd, could never understand Obsidian the way that Cryptid could.

At least, that’s what he needed to tell himself right then.

He left his shield up, left the persona of Obsidian keep control. It had to look real. It had to be real. That was the only way this was going to work. Cryptid was no longer circling him and was instead offering him a choice. It was a clear choice, even though only one side of the offer was being made. Obsidian nodded his head, a slow and languid smile taking the place of bared teeth. This was who he was. He was a monster without a soul, a fractured and broken thing, a beast that preyed on others.

He was a predator.

With that in mind, Obsidian gestured freely to the door with his shoulder, shrugging in the process. The flash of a hungry smile on his face, bright and lively, complimented the words he chose then. “ You’re right. I want this. Be my guest. He locked himself in, but I’m sure someone like you can break that door down. It’s no different to me whether you kill him or not– though I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to see you do what you do best. As long as you don’t turn it on me, that is.”

His grin then was friendly and even, though a glint of that feral defense still glimmered in his eyes. He kept the shell going, kept the persona in place. He only needed another minute at most to hide behind the mask.

Underneath the surface, Ethan waited patiently for his brother to turn his back.​
 
Ethan stood down. Of course he did – even if he was hiding behind the facade of the predator. Cryptid was a real monster, not something that could be slipped on and off like a glove or a mask. His blue eyes twinkled in the dark, and his teeth bared in a feral smile once again.

“Oh, I’m sure I could drag a little more of a show out of him.” The warmth, the joy, bled back through unhindered as the hunger met the hunt in that peace treaty. While the prey lived, it was the hunt’s; when it died, it belonged to the hunter’s teeth. Someday, maybe, he would find out what Obsidian tasted like. But today, he had prey, and the other predator backed down to let him step toward the door.

He leaned in close to it, ears tuning to the sound of life inside. He breathed, let the blood-scent curl back into his lungs and blossom in his mind, fill his mouth. He took a step back, and braced to repeat the kick maneuver he’d used earlier, on the much easier bedroom door.
 
Last edited:

Obsidian waited for Cryptid’s back to turn, and then Ethan moved. He used his full speed to close in and wrap his arms around Todd’s chest, pinning his arms to his sides. Ethan wasn’t stronger than Todd by any means, and if this didn’t work, Ethan was likely done for. But he had to try. This was what Todd had been worried about, what he had been afraid would happen. He couldn’t let Todd see this through, couldn’t let him tear a man apart piece by piece.

Before he could do anything, Ethan charged himself up and released it quickly and sharply into Todd, zapping him with the full force of a recently fed battery. He let the energy build and then flow as quickly as possible, hoping to shock Todd out of whatever state he was in. The guy needed energy, so Ethan would give it to him.

“Sorry about this, Todd, but you’ll hate yourself if I let you do this.”​
 
Cryptid put his back to Obsidian for just a moment. Just a moment, as he braced to lift his foot in the kick.

It was a moment too long.

He heard it coming. His head lifted sharply, eyes turning bright. Oh, he was going to kill the impudent half-starved fucking wolf the second it tried to –

Arms wrapped around him, and he braced to break out. There was anger, sure, but it was sugar-coated and easier to swallow under the sweet hum of the hunt, of the blood and the fear that clung to the air around them. And oh, the air was full of it. It rolled off the wolf and around and into the monster, sucked in with a deep breath and held in its lungs. The words – the wolf said words, as it tried to get its jaws around the Cryptid. Then his nose filled with somethings stronger than the prey’s fear.

And fire rolled through him. Like an adrenaline shot, like a sharp and sudden pain that itched right under his whole skin, like everything went numb and immediately roared back to life. Surprise and pain pulled a sound from the hunter, under the scream of human vocal cords that had the added ingredient of rage; as though someone had carved a pipe of bone, and played it over a detached recording of an actor imitating a scream of pain, deeper and more real than anything the human throat could make. Like a deer-call turned high and cold, like a winter wind turned into a horrible instrument of some forgotten demon of the forest, like the height of the pines in a blizzard.

See Todd.

The world went white, for Todd. The burn reached under his brain, and for a moment, he saw nothing, heard nothing, smelled nothing but the black pepper, felt nothing but the awful discomfort that didn’t even have the decency to be pain.

See Todd fall.

His whole weight dropped to dead. Every muscle at once spasmed, then each in turn, in a wild, unpredictable order. Each spasm sent searing pain up to his brain. His pulse jumped through the roof, the dull, contented beat of something at ease in its environment skyrocketing to a rabbit’s pace. His breath came in short, uneven gasps, and in response to his change of heartbeat, his blood pressure rose in the space it took his mind to go from white to black.

As the burn ran under his skin, chills raced across the surface, adding random shivers to the burning convulsions. Yet his temperature rose immediately, climbing back up from the edge of hypothermia as his nerves redirected the flow of energy as best they could. They didn’t have time or energy for standing; if Ethan couldn’t hold him, he’d simply fall to the floor where he was. He’d survive.

Wake up, Todd.

His eyes started to drift open, and stopped halfway. His vision was blurry, and when he blinked, tears rolled down his cheeks. They stung, for some reason. Stung both his eyes, and his cheeks. Something was wrong. He needed to – he needed to get up, to figure out what was wrong, but – but his body wasn’t going to respond. It needed a second. Was he dead? Had he been injured? He blinked a few more times, with little results. The fog swirled in his head.

Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath, and let his weight fall again on whoever was holding him. Whoever they were, friend or enemy, would come back to him. If they were a friend, he could thank them later. If they were an enemy… well, he could hardly fight back, in his condition. He felt the stickiness of sweat, and everything hurt. He was panting like he’d run a mile, and he could only hear his heart in his ears. He needed a second. Just a second.

He’d be okay in a second.
 
Last edited:
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top