Redrum limped through the open fields, his gait uneven and strained, each step carrying a weight that was both physical and emotional. His dark red fur was matted, splattered with dried blood—some his, some not. The wound on his neck, a jagged gash from Enyo’s vicious assault, still oozed in places, a dull, throbbing ache pulsing through the torn flesh. The world around him was quiet save for the whisper of wind through tall grass, the rustle of unseen creatures scurrying away from the scent of fresh violence. Prey animals running from the scent of predators.

His chest rose and fell with labored breaths, muscles twitching uncontrollably beneath his battered frame. There was a tightness in his throat, something unsaid, something struggling to surface, yet stubbornly refusing to give itself a name. Golden eyes, narrowed with pain and confusion, darted restlessly as if seeking an answer from the empty fields. But there was no comfort here, no resolution to the turmoil that churned within him.

What… was this?

Enyo’s name hung on his tongue, sharp as a blade, sweet as poison. The clash they’d shared had been a blur of teeth and claws, of snarls and guttural sounds that spoke of fury and something far more dangerous. And now… now, even with the wounds she’d inflicted still stinging, the memory of her burned brighter than pain. There was something about her—raw, fierce, something that called to him in a way he didn’t understand. How could he?

Redrum shook his head sharply, regretting it as pain flared through the torn muscles of his neck. He winced, ears flattening. Every thought of her felt like a hook buried deep beneath his skin, pulling, dragging, refusing to let go. A fish hook? His heart beat faster as he thought of her—the way she moved, the fire in her eyes, the way she had smiled even as they tore into each other. It was intoxicating. Maddening.

He didn’t know the words for what he felt. He didn’t know how to define this turmoil, this mix of heat and frustration that simmered just beneath his surface. No. He couldn’t—didn’t—shouldn’t—

But every time he tried to push the idea away, it slipped back, more insistent, more consuming. What was this pull? Why couldn’t he shake it? She had fought him like an enemy, and yet, in those moments, it felt like they were something more. Two beasts locked in a dance of teeth and blood, of challenge and acceptance.

The fields blurred around him as he staggered onward, the tall stalks swaying gently, parting like shadows as he made his slow, painful way toward the den he called his own. His mother’s lands stretched endlessly around him, familiar and safe, but tonight, they felt foreign, hollow. As if everything had shifted. He felt… empty without her. Without Enyo. That was a foolish notion, wasn’t it? A fleeting one as he experienced so often?

Redrum’s jaw tightened, teeth grinding audibly. He hated this. This vulnerability, this loss of control. The not-knowing clawed at him, worse than any physical wound. She had hurt him, and he should hate her for it. Should want to rip her apart. And yet, when he closed his eyes, all he could see was the thrill of the fight, the way she’d grinned, the way she’d pushed him to his limits—and how alive he had felt in her presence.

A low, frustrated growl bubbled up from his chest. He didn’t know what to do with this. He didn’t know—didn’t understand this strange, unbearable desire to see her again. To be near her. To prove himself to her. It was madness. Insanity. His breaths came faster, his claws digging into the earth beneath him as he stumbled, half-falling before catching himself again.

"Murder"

É R E B O S .

─

he expected him already, after treating enyo who had just left. he was already informed and thankfully so, otherwise medusa's son wouldn't have been met with the same hospitality. hearing a growl just outside his den and the strong scent of tangy blood, Érebos ventured out to see the staggering mortem. worn down by battle, Érebos moved quickly with a harsh gaze and pinched brows. "Lay down. stop moving." he sighed, assessing their body with skilled ease. "You younger wolves know no discipline. Fight one night to never rise again for another. foolish this was, from both you and enyo." he scolded him as he done her, angry as he looked over the brute's body. blood was everywhere, so bad he couldn't even identify where it was coming from. "stay."

he quickly trotted back to his den, grabbing supplies and the tin can jug of clean water with his mouth. his satchel of herbs chunked over his back as he hurried back.it was clear to see that their breathing was labored. "Take deep breathes for me. You need to calm down, your body is in shock & you're losing lots of blood." he sat down his equipment, muttering under his breath with frustration. he didn't want anything to get out of hand with the mortem and dunamis clans. hopefully these two knew what they were doing. seating himself, Érebos began his work had red allowed him to, coming to pour an even amount of cold water onto the male's upper body first. it would whisk away blood and help him see what needed to be stitched. "You okay with needles, tough guy?" his voice lightened, teasing the male some as he began to look for his needles and alcohol.

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Redrum's body tensed at the sound of Erebos' voice, his muscles twitching involuntarily as the command to lay down registered. His pride flared, but the exhaustion pressing down on him left little room for defiance. With a ragged breath, he collapsed onto his side, gritting his teeth as pain shot through him from the wound at his neck, sending a new wave of heat down his spine. His ears flattened against his skull at Erebos’ scolding, a low growl bubbling in his throat in protest, but it was weak—drowned out by the pulse of his own failing strength. Nothing like him.

He closed his eyes briefly, forcing his breathing to slow as Erebos commanded, trying to steady himself, though every inhale felt like drawing shards of glass into his lungs. He hated this, the vulnerability, the feeling of being handled like some reckless pup. His pride writhed under the scrutiny, but the logic in Erebos’ words was undeniable. The fight had been reckless. But it had been something more—something he couldn’t fully explain, not even to himself. Too much.

As the cold water hit his skin, Redrum hissed through clenched teeth, the sensation both relieving and agonizing at once. His golden eyes shot open, narrowing as they focused on Erebos moving about with clinical efficiency. The healer’s scolding words barely registered; all he could focus on was the deep, gnawing frustration that sat heavy in his chest. Discipline? He almost scoffed but held back, not wanting to waste energy on more growling.

“Just... get it– over with.” he grumbled, his voice low, rough, and tinged with irritation. Despite the pain, a part of him bristled at the thought of needing help—of being too weak to patch himself up. But the truth was undeniable. He needed this. For once, he had to admit it.

Still, as he lay there under Erebos’ hands, feeling the cool touch of water and the sharp sting of his wounds, Redrum’s thoughts wandered—back to Enyo, to the fire in her eyes, to the madness of their battle. His body twitched again, but this time not from pain. Something darker, more wicked, coiled beneath the surface, something he couldn’t quite shake.

"Tough— guy, ...ah? Redrum— is what Redrum has had— to become." he muttered under his breath, half to himself, half to Erebos. His lips curled slightly, though it wasn’t a smile. More of a grimace, haunted by thoughts he couldn’t put to rest.


"Murder"

É R E B O S .

─

many times over, Érebos endured through many fights of ego. a nonstop game of pride-, some burnt others & some ruined all in one go. true colors never stopped to surprise Érebos. his own truthful hue was far from the ones he presented aloud to the many eyes that watched him. a clan member trying his hardest to keep everything running smooth and easy from the dark end of a backroom. camera, action. he edit proofed the fucking script. but here.. when no one else had been around, Érebos did not follow the script so.. accurately. loose was the pride he owned at this time. loose, loose, loose. he fixated on the task at hand instead, never getting lost.

so when red urged him to get on with it, the notion rolled off him like water. paying no mind to the effect his lectures could've had on the Prince. same with enyo. he didn't hold back on her and he certainly wouldn't with medusa eldest son. "So then who controls you? the wolves and circumstances outside of yourself then, yes?" he confronted them, shining light on their narrative, their inner world some more. to have them open up and show face of their truer hues. too early perhaps, but Érebos did not care for the formalities. Érebos was soon to become this lad's step father whether they approved of it or not as well as their grim reaper. hell, their alpha in due time. and he wanted to know who Redrum really was outside of the rumors, battles and standoffish nature they had. surely there was more to the youth. more than they let on, indeed. same could be said for Érebos. and thus, the relative moment began to manifest between them, a potential for both imprint & bondage. "I had to become what others forced me to be, too." he admitted, paws finding a thin needle and some hemp string to prepare for sowing. "But I don't do that anymore." he clarified, offering an alternative to the way Redrum might've went about living his life. living their life on autopilot as most mortems seemed to do.

"Stitching your neck wound first. Breath in," he pressed the fixed needle into the male's wet red skin, exhaling as he walked red through it the care and attentiveness was evident in his every move. "Breath out." and he repeated this for some time until the wound was closed and neatly sewn. tying a knot, Érebos would glance at Redrum to gauge how they had been holding up. "You will need some antibiotics internally. too many wounds to plaster my paste on. The oil I will give you will burn your throat as liquor might. Take it nonetheless." he ordered them, giving them the best advice he could.

"She's a spitfire, isn't she?" he was referring to the dragon, the warlord. a small smile pulling at the creases of his lips to reveal glinting white teeth at the change in direction their conversation took. amused as he spoke about her, eyes endearing as he stared at the sewed wound for a second before moving on. he kept in mind the chat he had with enyo before receiving red. "She likes you, you know." he spoke with a baritone voice, his paws busy sorting for the oil in his herb pouch. "She left you alive after all." the dunamis male was blunt and honest to a selective few. he wondered how red would take such news.



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Redrum’s ears twitched, his gaze sharpening as Érebos’ words sliced through the air, challenging him in ways that unsettled something deep beneath his hardened exterior. His muscles tightened reflexively, tension creeping like a serpent under his skin. The healer’s blunt question—who controls you?—landed like a blow to his pride, igniting a slow-burning fury. His jaw clenched as he let the silence drag out, the bitterness hanging between them, unspoken but palpable.

Who controls you?

He might’ve laughed, but it would’ve cracked under the weight of it. Wolves? Fate? His lips twisted into a sneer, a bitter edge to the expression.
"No one. Not even—Redrum." he rasped, though even he could hear the emptiness in his voice. No one, yet everything. The world had carved into him, shaping him without permission, without mercy. The truth clung to him like a festering wound he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t care what Érebos was searching for, didn’t want to see the older male pry into the pieces of him Redrum had never meant to reveal.

As the needle dug into his flesh, he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to keep still, though each stitch tugged at the frayed edges of his restraint. Érebos’ voice droned on, words about becoming what others forced him to be, the advice falling on half-deaf ears. The meaning blurred in the fog of exhaustion and stinging pain, but the weight of it hung over him like a guillotine. Redrum breathed through it, each exhale ragged, a subtle war waged between his body’s limits and his stubborn will.

His voice, rough and uneven, finally broke through the silence. “What—changed?” he muttered, his cadence stumbling over the weight of the question. Always fighting, always in control—or so he told himself. But the truth was tangled, buried in the darkest corners of his mind, where he kept the demons he didn’t dare face.

Then Érebos mentioned Enyo, and Redrum’s body responded instinctively, a different kind of tension coiling within. The fire of their battle still burned in his memory, vivid and raw. That black and white warlord, a living flame. He could still feel the heat of her stare, the wild energy that had crackled between them. Spitfire? That was one way to describe her. His lips twitched, an almost-smile that never fully formed.

“Spitfire. Dragons spit—fire. Enyo is—a dragon,” he repeated, his voice carrying a strange mixture of dark amusement and something more dangerous. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as the memory of her claws against his fur played out in his mind. The fight had been electric, chaotic, brutal—everything he thrived on in moments like that. That she had spared him, left him alive? That gnawed at him like an unanswered riddle, and Érebos’ casual remark only stoked the embers of his frustration.

“Enyo… likes Redrum?” His tone was flat, skeptical, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through his eyes. He wasn’t sure what to make of that, wasn’t even sure he wanted her to like him. Enyo was a storm, and storms didn’t like—they consumed, they destroyed. The thought lingered, uncomfortable and persistent. If he ’liked’ the taste of pig, did that mean Enyo would be back to eat him alive? If she liked him?
“Doesn’t mean Enyo—won’t kill Redrum next time.” She could try. Redrum would let her try.
Still, even with the uncertainty gnawing at him, Redrum couldn’t shake the memory of their fight. It hadn’t felt like an ending, not in the least. It had been the start of something far more dangerous—a different hunger, a craving that had nothing to do with survival. For a fleeting second, he welcomed it.

"Murder"

É R E B O S .

─

when red replied that no one controlled him, not even himself, Érebos knew better than to feel disappointment. hearing the inauthenticity in their voice ring louder than their tone- it gave way to the opening Érebos had been searching for. for only the tip of red's persona was exposed to the world, or so it seemed. it was the same for Érebos after all. "what changed?" it was there that Érebos dove in, regardless of the danger it might've held with it. "I let go." this could've been very, very bad advice. or it could've been very good advice. the way of which this was used was entirely up to redrum. it would make or break them, casting forth only the true colors of their essence, of their heart. Érebos intended to enable their process-, not discriminating what may of lived in the deep wells of the yearling. a presented container Érebos would be for the young male. which way would it be expressed then?- battle, anger.. maybe even relaxation? "Live for yourself. What does that look like, redrum?" he wanted them to envision it, to taste and feel what a wholesome quality of life was. what did it look like for redrum?

the lad went on about enyo, his sister. he spoke of her like he was clueless. well of course he was.. "Enyo is called the dragon in our clan for good reason. She is the sword, the warlord of the family." he educated redrum, hoping to provide insight on why she was the way she was. "she was ultimately made for it, you see. dare I say conceived with the force of fire." he chuckled, speaking as if this was normal. well, it was for them anyways. "She could very well kill you next time. She could also kill me." he said with a pause, allowing the example to be made. "Have you ever wondered why she does not? Enyo dunamis does nothing by accident. She left you alive, she abides our family structure- nearly the same situations if you ask me." another chuckle, half serious and teasing. but as his voice trailed on, Érebos' tones settled, poised even. "she is loyal, redrum. invest in that woman once and she will stand by your side for a life time. There is warmth in her.. but you must find it for yourself." he advised the yearling.

finally, his paws found the oil. specifically, the oil of oregano- a powerful and concentrated solution Érebos made some time ago. the oil was thick, and sap-like. the smell proved potent and nearly offensive to the nares. within it's small glass vase, Érebos tilted the bottle and poured it onto a curved piece of bark he made. coming to hover over red's head, he aimed to pour it down their throat after saying, "Open up. Swallow fast." the bitter oil was anything but tasty but it was necessary. "This will give you bouts of heartburn, maybe some nausea. We will repeat this dosage daily for a week to ensure no infection incurs." his deep voice rumbled, face stoic and features calm as he withdrew from red by now to Clean up his tools and herbs.

"You're all good to go. Unless you wanted to speak more." he offered his hand so to say, extending an olive branch. something Érebos rarely did.




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