Revenge, had drove him here. Taking vengeance on those who had destroyed his life. Revenge on those who had taken his love and nearly killed him, in their mindless and merciless attack. He was no stranger to the power of revenge. The same force that had drove him, had changed him. It had turned him into a mindless monster, willing those around him to feel the pain that he had once felt, to be hard instead of soft. To understand that sometimes, all that?s left is revenge.

Alabaster paws met the cold gray stone that faced the mountain, his strides easy and un-rushed. Claws scrapped the stone, leaving a quiet click in their wake, the slight sound, only interrupted by the sounds of nature around him. The air was cool, and penetrated his thick pelt, feeling refreshing, relaxing even. He had left the northern parts of Alacritis, when the bitter winter had set in, and had journeyed south, to warmer weather. Now though, Satan had ventured back into the northern territories, hearing rumors of change in the region.

His muscles pulled, working underneath his skin fluidly, as he moved upwards around the waterfalls coming to a large cliff, that appeared to jut across the water. Upon further inspection, he found himself sniffing at the edge, and he quickly realized that one mis-step here, and he?d plummet over the edge into the spray below. Two-toned eyes observed the cliff, with a mildly interesting gaze, as he worked his way, away from the edge and into the center of the slab. Muzzle raised into the air, scenting the area around him, the pale moonlight shining upon his ivory body.

His mind was a tumult of thoughts, as it had been as of late. Thoughts raced together, and he sank to the ground, haunches resting on the stones. His heart slow and easy, as he let the ideas and thoughts mull, his breaths shallow. Tail curled around his body, coming to rest on top of his paws. Golden, and teal eyes stared ahead of him, off into the darkness that surrounding the abyss where the cliff dropped into the water. Seemingly, waiting for something or someone.

Masqurading as a man with a reason My charade is the Event of the season I hear the voices when I'm dreaming I can hear them say: ~*~ The midnight was a cloak; shadows blending together and hiding the massive form of the grey-black creature that stalked the night, his head in a vicious whirlwind. The she-wolf had been talented, certainly, but she had beaten the male by pure luck alone. Her ivories had snagged an artery on the inside of his left foreleg, in the beginning of the fight, and by the end, when her skull was in his jaws and triumph within his reach, that bloodloss had caught out to him. It seemed as though all feeling, all thought, all life had drained away in one numb moment. And she had had the gaul to growl and howl over him as though she were some frightening titan. She was a child! But the very statement which his mind snapped as an insult bit into his own soul as well. What excuse did he have then for being so careless? None. None but the fickle whims of fate. Thoughts of recenge and rechallenge were naturally there at first ? well, after he?d stopped bleeding out and started to recover his mind. But he?d learned since then that the girl and her chosen helpmate, (both the spawn of Cairo, no less) were content to take the title of the pack, and whatever lack-loyal canines chose them and then lay claim to some other place. Gargoyle was left wondering what the point had been. The damage to his pack, then was minimal, the damage to his body had been serious but was improving with every passing hour?. The real damage then? His mind. In fight Eos, the brute known as Gargoyle had opened up a part of himself that he had never wanted to look at again. He?d swung through doors that should never have been unlocked. And now that it was over, he was left to wrestle with the monsters he?d let out. Left to remember how delicious her meat had been in his mouth. How exillerating had been the thrill of adrenaline. How satisfying her high pitched growls when he?d dug into her back, snapping for her spine. The male let out a throaty sigh turned growl, and lowered his bulk to dip into the river. Crouching there on the stony banks he lapped at the snowmelt that rippled in the darkness. The night reflected his mind quite well; so many shades of grey. Perhaps he should?ve staid back with Ocena, she was after all, the one who could reach him even when he?d gone too far. But when his mind was under such impressions, he preferred to take himself away. If his fury had to be spent, better it was on some prey animal who?s remains would never be seen by his pack. He hadn?t had to kill like this since before the pups. When he?d become a father, he?d changed, gentled, and he?d just begun to think that he could stay like that forever. But no. The struggle was back. Perhaps to stay. The bear-sized beast felt the heat rising within him. His yellow eyes, usually so bland and lizard-like, began to glow like lamps. One would?ve thought steam would rise when his paws touched the freezing cold tides of the river. But Gargoyle drew himself back and carried on along the river side, until the banks became steep, climbing and rising until they formed a ridge of bluffs and cliffs. The endless roar of the waterfall could be heard now, lending a baseline to all other muted sounds of nighttime nature. Gargoyle felt drawn to it. He wanted to stand upon the precipice and watch the world turn. Yet he had not gone half a dozen steps before the scent of another wolf came to him. He knew it, did he not? It was a scent both familiar and faceless. Where did he know it fr?. Oh. Oh yes. Lips peeled back and arched and the placid face contorted into something perfectly hellish. The nameless killer. The one that had left the torn and bloody remains of Glaciem?s favorite healer lying in the snow on the border. Any other day, Gargoyle would?ve felt nothing but icy, electrifying anger. But there was a twisted side to it now. He was going to enjoy this. And he would not pounce upon the male in the dark ? No. He?d have a chat first. Gargoyle?s eyes settled upon a figure, standing upon a high ridge of stone and northern brush. Perhaps the brute had seen him already, but, having been drenched in blood, and away from Glaciem for far too long, it was unlikely that Gargoyle would smell anything like the avenging brute this Cretan might suspect. He was just a scab riddled, yellow eyed stranger, trasping through the night to set paw upon the same slab of stone. ?A poor night for travelors,? Gargoyle rumbled in the depths of his chest. ~*~ Carry on my Wayward Son There'll be peace when you are done Lay your weary head to rest Don't you Cry No More

?A poor night for travelers?.

The words interrupted his quiet moment, drawing his head, and he turned looking at the wolf who spoke. Eyes were met with a stranger who looked as if he had gone through hell recently, not that Creedance cared, but for once he felt a flicker of pride at his very clean and well-kept appearance. The massive brute blinked, a smirk growing on his face, as he looked at this intruder. The silence in the air, was thick, almost tangible in the cold night. He would breath, deep and long the air escaping him quietly.

Moments passed, the silence seemingly growing thicker to him. Finally he would speak, taking care to try to control the conversation. ?It would seem so. ? His reply was clipped, uninterested in persuing the conversation further. He looked away from the other wolf with a dismissive flick of his ears, and he stood, turning to face away from his stranger, though he was listening intently to any movement he would make. Creedance would not be caught unaware.

In passing, his head would turn, and jaws would part- words flowing seamlessly from them, his breath billowing around him in the icy night. ?What brings someone of your age out here on a cold night? Surely you belong with a mate in a cozy little den?? His tone was light, conversational-like though there was an obvious edge to it. A dark feeling spread in his gut, something wasn?t right about this. He kept his appearance at the stranger impassive, though he couldn?t fight the feeling that taken over his gut, a feeling that screamed at him to turn around and face this stranger.

Creedance wasn?t a stranger to situations that could go from peaceful to deadly in less than a second, that didn?t mean he was foolish enough to seek them out. The devil did not fear death, no, but he did not welcome it would open paws either. Muscles tensed themselves under his alabaster coat, and a sigh escaped him. He wondered if this stranger would merely go on his way, or would he be sucked into some version of a fight tonight?

ooc:short post is crappy post. ;_;

It pleased him to let the male go on waiting. With every passing moment, with every move the male took, Gargoyle was learning something about his opponent. And though the cretin looked away, Gargoyle could see that the beast's ears were trained on him. He was still very attentive to this dark pelted wolf that had appeared out of the shadows. Perhaps a little too attentive. Was he scaring the beast already? If he was, it only meant that the white male was perceptive. Death had never taken a purer form than the Timber cross with the tattered ear.

Gargoyle could've charged in at once, fangs gleaming like so many knives. With every passing moment he felt in inner hellfire, grow, licking at his very bones. The longer he dragged out the seconds, the strength would be his to lay claim to. Besides, after looking for this male for so long, in so many places, he was imprinted with morbid curiosity. He would use the time to disect the white male, not literally as he'd once been known to do his victims. No, Gargoyle would read into his words, into his expressions. He wanted to see what kind of pitiful excuse for a brain fueled this creature that was nigh his match for size and height.

In time, when the other beast could take the silence no longer, he'd let fall words, ending with a question of why Gargoyle was out and about. To that, all Gargoyle had to offer was another strained, slow half-minute of silence and unblinking yellow eyes. Then: "What's your name?"

Apparently, this stranger wasn?t going to leave him alone. A sigh escaped him. Seriously?

?What?s your name??
Why the hell did he need to know that? Who in the hell did he think he was, asking his name? Couldn?t this fool see the devil raging inside him? Didn?t he realize the clear and present danger that he was in? Turning, a growl growing deep in his throat, he stalked forward, his eyes narrowing as he watched this other wolf. There was something about him, that reached back into a memory- something was there- something about his scent. It was old, but it was familiar.

Lips curled up, revealing his canines, he lowered his head, his words coming out in a low growl. ?My name is irrelevant, fool, though it is legendary. My name is Creedance Voltaire. Who in the hell are you?? Tail lashed as he spoke, revealing just how annoyed he already was. He really didn?t feel like dealing with this shit tonight. It was only now, that he realized that should this male be aggressive, he wasn?t in the best location- though the water-falls would make any battle far more interesting, he didn?t fancy being the one who went over the edge. A sense of determination course through him, he would just have to make sure he would be the one throwing this fool over- not the other way around.

Gargoyle watched the male slowly growing more and more unnerved. How quickly the poise and control of the young bloodluster unraveled. Gargoyle flicked an ear dismissively. He hadn't even been that green at the brute's age. But in the end, after much lashing of the tail and showing of the teeth, Gargoyle got his answer. Creedance Voltaire. Eh, he'd never liked second names, too braggy. He'd stick to calling the male by his first, during what brief time the creature had left on the earth. "-Who in the he-- are you?" Gargoyle heard him say.

"I shall answer the first question you give me," the dark male murmured. Gargoyle had been asked what had brought him out here on this night which southerns would call chilly, well now the Chief was ready to answer. "I am here, Creedance," he rumbled, "to kill you." No fuss. No curses. No petty displays of anger at how unfair the world was. Just calm, cool purpose - the exact opposite of the unpredictable, youthful flame that seemed to fuel the sinister rogue. Gargoyle collected his feet beneath him calmly, straightening up to his full height. "For now I'll let you enjoy the mystery of which of your sins it was that brought me here, but don't worry, I'll let you know just before I allow you to die." The Timber cross's defenses were already marshaled. Should the younger male give further proof to his rashness, Gargoyle would be more than ready to get things started, but again, he was in no rush. The moon had not yet lifted itself to it's highest perch, and they had all night to kill eachother. He wanted to see how this male reacted to the only too obvious consequences to his actions. From a detached corner of his mind, Gargoyle was curious as to what sort of murders roamed the world these days. Would this one prove to be some twisted titan, endowed with twisted abilities and morbid sense of purpose? Or was he just a brat who liked to watch things bleed?

Almost two seasons had passed since he stumbled upon the lands, two seasons that he had, wreaked havoc on the various wolves that he had encountered. Two seasons was a long time, yes, but it wasn?t long enough. Cold winter air, he felt the cold, he embraced the cold. He didn?t freeze. No, a killer couldn?t freeze. Muscles rolled back in his shoulders, his paws flexing against the cold stone, as he stared disinterestedly at the old wolf before him. Temper had flared, giving hints to his horrible mood- showing just how testy he was, how thin of ice this old man was walking on. He was dancing with the devil. He was here to kill him? This scrawny old bird, the thought brought forth a laugh from his sinister jaws. His eyes nearly dancing with fire and amusement. Oh, what would he ever do? As if the devil could not take on a wolf nearing death?s doors with age? Creedance didn?t fail to notice, that he didn?t say why he was killing him, just that he was supposedly going to kill him. He wondered what he had done, not that he doubted that he had done something, but he found himself vaguely interested in just who he had killed, raped, plundered, or hurt, that this elder was close enough too, to walk to death?s door. ?Oh please, tell me old man, are you awaiting me to beg for mercy? Are you expecting me to believe that a scrawny old bird like you can take on the devil himself?? Arrogant till his last breath, his verbose was ended with a dark chuckle, playing at the edges of the smirk that had plastered itself so well on his ivory jaws. So, this old wolf was going to let him ?ponder the mystery of why he was supposedly being killed?? Even that thought was amusing, Creedance didn?t give two shits why this brute was here. ?Tell me, did I kill your mate? Did I break your little heart? No, if I had killed the bitch you lay with, you?d already have attacked me.? His words broke off, a smile dancing on his jaws, revealing his sharp canines, stained with the figurative blood of all of his victims. Taking a deep breath, something clicked about this brutes scent, and he remembered, vividly. He remembered how angry and rageful he had been when he slammed into the black and white wolf on the northern portion of the lands and how he had torn into her relentlessly, watching as she died slowly, her attacks growing feeble, until she finally exhausted with a verbal plee, pleading her love for some unknown wolves. The weak minded female, had been nothing more than a toy- trash to be discarded and left for scavengers when he had finished with her. ?You want to know something, old bird?? His question cut through the air, his tone droll and voice monotone- indifference practically oozing from his very pores. He waited for the crows curiosity, for Creedance Voltaire had a secret to share. Speech,

Of course Gargoyle wasn?t expecting a declaration of surrender on the spot. He wouldn?t have accepted one if it?d been offered, even if it had been begged for ? he still would?ve paralyzed this ?Creedance? and made him die slow. The realization of this had dawned on him some time before, telling him just how ready for this he was. Just how much he wanted it. In the back of his mind, something was frightened by it, but the ?something? was shut up and stowed away. Whatever pleasure Gargoyle took in this, it was his right to do so.

Tattered ears flicked dismissively as Gargoyle had to listen to the boy banter on, boosting himself up for the coming match. ?Old bird?? ?the devil himself?? Really now, name calling and self praise? That was the best he could come up with? Disappointed, Gargoyle sat there, ears, not so much pinned back a hair, as just lowered. Bored. The male was laughing loud enough to convince himself, but he wouldn?t convince Gargoyle. Not that it mattered. The Chief didn?t need fear to help him win this fight. He was just about to begin, but more questions came from the white male. His eyes and voice spoke of a carelessness, yet he was audibly trying to figure it out. What had been the lead up to this episode beside the falls?

You want to know something, old bird??

The bravado had disappointed from the rogue?s tone. But the less there was, the more Gargoyle got the feeling that something was actually lurking behind the words. Well, he had wanted to converse with the killer, hadn?t he? Without the slightest air or hint at feeling, Gargoyle?s voice rumbled out quietly. ?Enlighten me.?

the conversation, mostly one sided throughout, had been annoying, but the sinister smile that danced on the edge of his lips gave promise that it was about to take a turn for the more interesting. The old birds words came across, ?Enlighten me.? That verbose was enough alone to emit a dry chuckle from his throat. Eyes flashed, as he turned his head, moving closer to the older wolf with a smile on his jaws, revealing the canines that had once been used to kill the wolf he seemed to be here to avenge. His secret breached the confines of his throat, and has his jaws parted allowing the words to escape they tasted like honey, reverberating into this mouth.

?she tasted absolutely heavenly. I?ll never forget the feel of her blood in my mouth, that heavenly taste. The best part? She did nothing to me, merely was the meal in my path. ?

The words were drool, low monotone- though the yearning for the taste again seeped in his mind, he wanted her again. He wanted to feel the silk of her blood warming his palette as it soaked into his very being. He craved the orgasmic pleasure that he had experienced, the ecstasy.

?Tell me bird, does that burn? Does that make the murder that you came to avenge hurt even more? Have I shoved my talons further into whatever emotion you came chasing one such as me, on??

Turning his back on the old man, he faced the edge of the cliff, assuming that the fool would just leave. Tail flicked, the move dismissal, as he stared off at the water cascading below them. His mind reeled from reliving that moment, the taste the feeling the high he had experienced. Again he would have to experience it. He needed it. He had to have it. His chest was tight with the need, his heartbeat strained. He needed release.

The words did just the opposite of what speaker had hoped. They didn't egg Gargoyle on. They -should- have. But they didn't. Instead, Garogyle found himself just staring at the white back of the male. The big words that had been spewed out. The rackish laughter. The goading. They weren't making this easier. What would've been easier- would be a tower of brooding, thoughtful, cunning power. But this? This was just another young buck turned rabid on wolfs blood. How many of them had Gargoyle seen in his past?

Gods forgive him... he'd -been- one of them.

And just like that the wall fell. And left hanging in mid are was the obvious thought that had been chipping at his mind since the moment he'd stood over Asheni's bleeding corspe. You Were Just. Like. Him. Gargoyle was still ready, still coiled, still physicall prepared to break every bone in the kid's body. And yet... he hesitated, horrified by this truth. Unwanted and unwelcome another, more recent memory flitted back - of the time that Asheni had fallen into the river and had to be pulled out. Gargoyle had tried to dry her off and warm her up - and he'd tasted the blood on her wounds where she'd been cut by the ice. It was the first wolfsblood he'd tasted since the dark days. And it had tasted as good as he remembered.

"Have I shoved my talons further into whatever emotion you came chasing one such as me, on??

Gargoyle's expression, which had remained so stoic through everything, cracked. His brow wrinkled - but not in avenging fury. In pain. In inner turmoil and agony so deep he felt it in his guts. WHAT WAS HE? What was this supposed to mean? He was supposed to be the chief! The protector! The avenger! The white knight! But he wasn't. He was just another Wyrm. And no matter how much good he might do, the scaly shell of that beast would always be there to hurt him. So no. The words didn't dig the 'talons' of vengance in deeper. They didn't incense Gargoyle to kill. ... They just broke his heart.

"Creedance," Gargoyle growled from his seat upon the stone. If the white male turned around then, he'd see the chief sitting there, gold eyes flicking to the ground as his brow grew heavy with thought and memory. He was on the verge of asking why. Of asking a hundred questions that he could ask no one in the world. Why was it that some wolves were evil? Why was it that killing was so easy? What made it so addictive? And what what made it so wrong? But these weren't questions to ask of a snot-nosed child who was dellusional enough to think himself Satan. These weren't questions to ask anyone. Each one was a thorn that just had to be buried away deeper in his heart - always to be hurting, never to be shown.

At last Gargoyle raised his head - his expression still rather unreadable. But in a different way now. It wasn't that there was no emotion. Now it was that there were was too much and too many different kinds. "Let me tell you something straight." So it began - for a moment even the falls themselves seemed to grow quieter. "I don't think you're a freak. I'm not appalled or shocked or terrified by what you've done." His voice lowered: "The truth is... if life had played out just a hair differently- it could've been me standing over that carcuss." His throat tightened with a growl. It was something he had been certain he would tell no one else, but then this male wasn't going to be around long enough to let slip the secret. "I was just like you once," Gargoyle said, gazing steadily now at the male. "And I understand all of it." Slowly, he rose to his paws. "But that's why I -know- you have to be put down. Because I know how addictive, how marvelous, how empowering it is. Take enough lives and their strength seems to flow straight into her soul. You become a twisted god. But even gods fall." - He widened his stance- "And so shall you."

The moment of need, the longing of the ecstasy that had once carried him so high, left him nearly breathless, his heart racing in his core. The waters below him crashed against the rocks, the fine mist spraying him even at the elevated height that he found himself at. The coldness of it, the rush of instinct brought him down to earth.

?Creedance.?

Great, the old wolf was still there. Wouldn?t he take a hint? Something, unworldly, pulled and Creedance found himself turning around, facing the wolf that had intruded on his night. Ears trained on the old man, he watched as something seemed to be taking over him, head would tilt to the right, his eyes puzzled. His next words cut into Creedance like a knife, though they didn?t enrage him. Instead they brought a memory to his mind, resurfacing it, dragging it from the froths of hell.

The sunlight it was so bright that day, and he had left the den at the birth of the day, in search of Amaranth. Impatiently, he had waited at their meeting spot until she had arrived, and had greeted her with their usual chorus of greetings for the other. They had left, on the edges of the pack territory mid- hunt when they heard the snarls. Rushing back to the center of the pack lands, they were horrified to see their homes being destroyed. Racing to aid one of the other juveniles, the pair attacked one of the wolves attacking them, falling on top of them with snarls and growls. When the enemies pack-mates showed up in his defense, and pulled Amaranth away from him, as they attacked him relentlessly he felt his heart break. There came a point when their attacks no longer mattered to him, he became numb. He watched helplessly as the drug his Amara away, and watched as she fought them. When they left him, bleeding in the ravine, he laid there, awaiting death, accepting his fate.

A snarl broke through, anger over-taking any other sensible emotion that the brute could have felt. This old fool had no clue! He didn?t understand him! He wouldn?t have been like Creedance! Nearly a childish tantrum threatened to erupt from his maw, as he stared dumbfounded, the snarl dying on his jaws. So this arrogant fool thought, that he would see him fall?

Stance would widen, the grim smile on his jaws growing, hiding his conflicting emotions. His head would lower, hackles raising, tail raised behind him slightly, giving him balance that he would need on the edge of the cliff. Heart slowing, calmly accepting the battle to come, he would speak.

?You have no clue, who I am or why I do this.?

With that, he fell silent anticipating his enemies attack, Creedance Voltaire would. not. fall.

Gargoyle was done with words. He'd already said far more than he had planned to. Especially since he was more or less certain they would be spurned and ignored. Why waste breath? Dragonic eyes narrowed into yellow-gold slits. The same breed of beast stirred in the chests of both males. It was time - Gargoyle could hesitate no longer. Tawny paws, far too big for any wolf, began to pad forward, one hauntingly slow step at a time.

"You have no clue who I am or why I do this."

"All roads lead to Rome," was the dark chief's only reply. In other words - it was all the same. Tales of tragedy and pain and pleasure - perhaps with the occasional decent choice or slippery slope, but it didn't make any difference. Hellfire was still the only light at the end of the tunnel. Gargoyle was closing the distance between them, fur bristling thick to guard overly scarred skin, neck ever so slightly arched, and jaws just slightly parted. His ears fell back and his eyes narrowed, simple movements to protect tender areas. His long black claws dragged ever so slightly against the rock. Trailing knives, sharpening on nature's whetstone. A part of him was terribly curious as to how close the white male could take it. He seemed the sort to break early - unable to take the slowly thickening tension of approaching doom.

But if Gargoyle had his way he would make his attack when he was merely a pace away. All of a sudden, the still, creeping hunter was change. All in the matter of a heartbeat, jaws would splay apart to reveal rings of fangs, face would twist into a demonic snarl and he'd move forward with the force of an explosion. While hindpaws pushed off the ground, Gargoyle would burst forward - seeking Creedance's skull with his teeth. It was a signature of his. Forty two teeth with a pressure 1500 pounds per square inch? A killer like him wasn't going to waste such an asset. Crunching skulls had been a specialty of his back in the day. He didn't go for holds, he just went for the end game. Brains were the best tasting part after all. He was clearly ready to dance about - he was tracking his oppoenant and preparing for his selected target to try to move fast. And whether or not Gargoyle's attack landed exactly as he desired, he was adding his chest to mix- attempting to slam into Creedance like a battering ram perhaps to send him over the edge. Gargoyle had had all this time to observe how the youngster moved and worked, and a fighter's mind like his was going to put that to good use. Well, thunder and lightning were about to clash on this night, and it was likely that things were only just beginning.






x.x gargoyle vs. creedance - freestyle x.x

attacks: walking forward to close distance, then suddenly snapping open jaws and trying to wrap them around Creedance's skull, hoping to crunch down. He's also slamming his chest forward, hoping to at least bruise and knock Cree off balance - perhaps even take him right over the edge.

x.x

defenses: neck arched. ears back. eyes narrowed.

x.x

injuries: n/a

x.x

notes: this isn't meant to be judge worthy or anything - just to keep things clear (and for practice)

?All Roads Lead To Rome.?

With those words, the elderly cretain advanced on his person. He watched him, observing his every move, a snarl growing deep in his throat. He let the old wolf move towards him, he would let the creature make the first move, giving him the ample time to change his mind. When the wolf launched himself towards him, he would jerk his head up, turning it in an attempt to grab the other wolf?s neck scruff. If the attack landed, he would shake whatever fur he could grab, hoping to rip it from muscle, and possibly grab an artery to end his fight before it began.

At the same time, it would leave his neck vulnerable to attack, his body would propel him forward slightly, but also maintain balance, his tail lashing out behind him. Precariously, the fight would begin, his mind ever aware of the cliff that they were on, and the sheer drop below them. Creedance didn't particularly want this fight tonight, but he would never walk away from it, no matter how looming the sheer drop from the cliff was.

Attacks: When Gargoyle lunges towards him, he?ll raise his head, turning it to go for the scruff of Gargoyle?s neck. This leaves his neck vulnerable to Gargoyles assault should, Gargoyle?s attack not change.

Defenses: None, really, he? stretched out for balance, tail lashing behind him.

Injuries- None yet, depends on how Gargoyle?s attack lands

Notes- Roamer sucks epically at fight posts. ;_; If this didn?t make sense? tell me. ;_; Oh and crap post is short. ;_;

Burn the land and Boil the Sea; but you can't take the sky from me Gargoyle was growling now as the first flash of ivory glinted in the moonlight. His teeth snapped with the sound of a small gunshot, gaining nothing for that heartbeat. The brat went for Gargoyle's scruff. It was scarred and useless enough - Gargoyle didn't bother to try to pull away just to save a bit of flesh and fur. He didn't even feel Creedance rip away a bit of his skin - he was too focused on his own attack. The white wolf was quick to counter the snap towards his head, but he made no attempt to prepare to dodge the blow that was Garogyle's charge. The part-doberman's massive chest hit at him full on. And all the while those tawny jaws were again seeking the neck that was now left so vunrable and open. As Gargoyle carried forward - taking them both to the brink - he didn't even stop to think. A fear or even a care of death didn't enter the equasion. That was just how Gargoyle was raised and trained to fight. Particularly when it came to such monsters as this. Gargoyle's paws pushed with all their might against the stone beneath him - his full weight was into the run and his full might into that grip that he sought to latch upon the brat's neck. Whatever threats and hate boiled beneath Gargoyle's skin, all of it's energy was sent into his movements, he wasted down on shouted words, twisted expressions and hellish roars. He was far too experienced for that. He didn't need to make a show to prove that he was the better warrior. And truly it wasn't any sort of pride thing. This was about Asheni. This was about justice. This was about ridding the world of dangerous brat. It was one monster taking out another. Killer tangled with killer... And the air opened up beneath them both... GARGOYLE 41 inches of doberman & timber wolf been just about everything but a saint