this is a seasonal just ignore it

Erik

Erik was, fairly decidedly, unwell. There's something pounding in his chest. It's not his heart. No, it can't be his heart. Whatever this thing is, he doesn't trust it. He doesn't like the way it feels, he can't trust it. It's enough to drive him near-madness. Feeling something... strange. Not just strange. Fuck, he's always been strange.

Cursed boy, what do you hear?

But Erik doesn't know. He doesn't know what he's hearing, he doesn't know what he's seeing. All he knows is that it feels real in the moment. All he knows is that he hates it. Fuck, the viking bastard feels like he's on fire. Every inch of him. It starts in his chest and radiates, spreading out through his limb. Searing pain. Feeling like his bones will burst through the tender flesh of his ribcage. Feeling like the seething, wet mass in his chest that's taken the place his heart is in his throat. Could Erik even keep it chained much longer? Could he keep himself in check much longer?

Here's the thing. He's never been in check. Erik's control has always been tenuous at best. Day by day, bit by bit, that grip has been slipping from day one. Now? Fuck. Just over a year and he's already dangerous. Just over a year and he's been a ticking time bomb from minute one. Out into the cool evening air, he stumbles. Chest still on fire. Throat aching. Lungs feeling as if they want to burst from his chest and sit before him on the dewy morning ground. Fuck. He can taste the back of his throat, raw. He can taste the blood that rises in the back of his mouth. Erik can taste it. He can feel it all.

Let's get one thing straight:

Erik Archer did not snap today.

No.

Something about the boy has been fundamentally broken from the start. No one could have prevented it. So far removed from his father's family, no one could have truly seen it coming. There are ghosts in this bloodline. Terrible things. Better men than Erik have succumbed to those terrible things. Men who started off better. Men who weren't this bad to begin with. Bad. Forsaken by the gods from the get, someone should have known. Erik tosses his head in the chilly, damp night air. A shadow darts through the edges of his vision, hackles rising along his spine.

Not alone. Never alone. Erik has never been alone and he will never be alone. The deceiver pounding in his chest-- not a heart. It was never a heart. No heart to speak of. Fuck, why does his back hurt? A ringing in his ears and an aching somewhere that he can't place, but it's not all. Erik is under attack, in the least way by his own brain. As he stumbles out towards the Runestones, the bastard child is acutely aware that he's being fucking stalked.

The hunter. The hunted. This is different. Something keen burning in his orange gaze, something horrible. By the gods, the boy is horrible to the core. The dull bubbling of his own blood around the crystals where they grow from his beck-- as long as Erik can hear the crackling, the popping, the static crackle, then he's alive. Making himself look a hell of a lot larger than probably necessary, he swings round. Gaze still burning. Darting. Trying to catch sight of them.

Lit only by the moon, it's good enough. It would have to be good enough. The reflection of moonlight, catching in the eyes of a predator. Another wolf, staring him down the barrel. Erik's growl isn't a warning, nor is it a threat. It's a promise, stark where it rests in the stillness of the evening air. A promise of violence, and a promise of something far worse. There is no mercy in Erik. He's never known the meaning of the word. There is no mercy for those that treat him like prey.

World standing still around him, the only things that matter are Erik and his opponent. Locked in combat, he takes the creature on without hesitating. Hesitation would mean death out here, after all. Though it's too dark to get a good look at the stranger, he doesn't need one. Smells like a stranger. Walks like a stranger. Acts like a stranger. Treat them as a stranger, and Erik wanted nothing more than to unhinge his jaw and swallow his opponent whole, as if a snake. An ache blooming from his neck, up through his throat, into his mouth-- all of it enough to remind him why that's a bad choice.

No, relying on his own instincts makes him all the more horrifying. All the more terrifying. Though the foreign beast's teeth sink into his shoulders, Erik is much worse. Savagely, he sinks his teeth into the brute. Anything that the yearling can reach, he will rend with his teeth. Shred. Rip and tear, his teeth bathed in gore, blood dripping from the corners of his mouth. Unhinged, maybe, but show them to treat him like prey. The boy wouldn't cower. He has no fear. No mercy.

Pounding chest, spinning head, ringing ears. Letting go of himself, but being called by something far beyond that. The taste of fresh blood in his mouth, coppery and rich. Stomach churning, but then, he's used to it. When have his insides ever been quiet? A snarl rips free from his throat, though Erik's breathing was labored. A chase, a fight, he's no stranger to overexerting himself. Was it too far? Didn't matter. Didn't give a fuck. His body would give him hell in the morning. All that matters is the now, is the moment.

Seize the moment. Gathering himself over his hind legs, pushing off with all the force he could muster. Snarling, lunging, Erik grabs for the unknown assailant's neck. As the brute wrenched to the side, he finds his teeth sinking into the fucker's ear instead. With a yelp, his opponent staggers. Backpedals. The taste of blood, and coming away with something still clutched in his mouth. Half of his attacker's ear leather still in his mouth, head held high, rather proud of himself... the beast is sated.

As if nothing happened this time, Erik was grateful to turn back toward home. Maybe he'd even be able to steal a few hours' rest.

1068/800

Thread Move Log
Thread		Forum	From	To
1.	this is a seasonal just ignore it	The Runestones	04:41 AM, 02-11-2024	09:47 AM, 03-03-2024

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