On Earth as it is in Heaven [CHALLENGE]

The raven bugled his call from above circling loftily over the gathered spectators, croaking the approach of the king.

The smell would reach them first, the metallic sting of blood and the sour reek of bear bile followed by a furious scream to the heavens. Tyranis approached them, far more than he had ever seen in his life as ruby drops pattered between his feet with every step. He was only Tyranis in shape and in height, his golden eyes nearly solid with the pinprick of his pupils and his lips stretched back in a horrendous smile that showed every single white tooth in his mouth. The dark male’s fur, once a beautiful blend of slate and black was now soaked through and stained r e d with blood.

He moved closer, pushing his way through the onlookers, uncaring of who his glossy fur brushed against or how they might react. Deep, low breaths puffed from his mouth on the winter wind as he moved closer to the center, approaching the red male and his task master.

He stood before the male every muscle in his body tense with fury and wrath. He regarded no one, because in his mind the wolves that surrounded him were not the gathered wolves of Boreas and Auster, they were his ancestors and they had come to witness the power of the Apollyon’s blood in its pique form. Not a giant like his uncle and his father, not in the heavy set build of a war dog, but in the sleek frame of a runner with a mind of deadly sharp intelligence.

With no pretense he shook himself, sending a wide shower of crimson red from his body and on to anyone who had gotten too close. “WHO DARES TO CHALLENGE THE DEMON OF LIGHTNING?!” he demanded. His voice had completely forgone the soft hymn he usually spoke with, it wasn’t his voice at all; it was cracked and deep as a black night, the tones of something ancient, something that had lived long past its life, and had been brought upon the earth imbibed with bloodlust and the very essence of violence. He saw no faces he recognized, only the stony corpses of those long departed, now nothing but crumbling bones. He nailed Archon with his piercing gaze, his eyes wide and all but spiraling with wrath, some might even claim that in brief instances they were not the gold of nature demons but the red of the demon lord himself, the king in hell who called himself Praetor. His teeth clenched for a moment, his gaze never wavering from Archon’s praying in his own damned way that the male would step forth to challenge him and feed the molten blood coursing through his veins. The man who stepped into the battle field may have only been Tyranis in theory, but he was undoubtably a demon’s host, and undeniably the highlord of Erövrare.





Speech Thought You