A Fighting Promise

the barren land smelled of death. it was painted, rotted, and made of battle-drawn blood. a toothy smirk crept over the pestilent man's lips as his diminutive, three-threaded tail swayed briefly. many men had died here; given their lives up in a brutal battle to eternally fight alongside odin. one day, so too would be his fate. but not today. today he had to touch up his muscles. it had been a while since he had taken on another who anticipated his attacks. his reunion with his beloved brother was a close call, having been so close as to draw his blood yet not been able to rip open his cavity. he'd nearly lost control in the heightened lust of their night. that was the reason he was here.

none other than the battle cry of his brethren caused relaxed audits to come to attention, tensing every muscle in his core. it was, in all honesty, the first he'd heard. screams of horror, pleas of terror, even moans of pleasure - he'd heard them all before except the eerie call for battle. he'd always been one to call them in with a charming smirk and a tempting wink, have his fun, then tear into them like they were nothing but sweet chow mein. and as he made his way to the dark man who he'd come tooth to fang with, an unfamiliar adrenaline drilled through his veins. this would be interesting.