Draven
I'm Your Worst Nightmare Dressed as your Day Dream
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His return to the world of the living would have to be done slowly, but persistently. Today had been his first day bathed in the light in the sun in months – and it had been painful but rewarding. Pools unused had spasmed in response to the sharp rays and though his every instinct had told him to look away, to flee back to the dark comfort of the caverns, his masochistic characteristic had urged him to stay. He was strong – he had always been strong – and he would not turn head to tail and run from an enemy, especially one from whom he could not actually be harmed. The sun did not have teeth nor fang nor poison nor claw nor stinger – only did it have its bright luminesce that sought to warm the world and keep alive the beings living there. And thusly had he stayed bathed in daylight until there had been no more left.
And nearly had he sated himself in another way, for an unexpected unsuspecting stranger had happened upon him. This varg who unwittingly had offered himself up as a meal to the cannibal had sought companionship from the scraggly, illkept leper that Draven had become. Perhaps he now appeared on the outside like the demon that he truly was on the inside, but once there had been a time and place where Draven had appeared more. He had once been handsome, with a thick full pelt of ebony that hid his scars and hid his cruel intentions. Bright emeralds had drawn others in – titans and femmes alike – and only once they were in his grasp could they fully understand his intentions and realize the trap that had been lain for them. Only once they were caught did they realize what was in store for them. On a good day, Draven would kill them and be done with it, a quick bite and slash of their jugular in order to bathe himself in their blood and then he would feast upon their full. But on the bad days – on days in which the evil in side of him swelled and rose like a tidal wave in response to a swirling storm – he would disable them first. Legs would be dislocated, bones would be broken, spinal cords would be snapped… and then for either minutes or days or weeks he would torture them on and on. His fantasy was, of course, that each of his prisoners were Halina, that the pain that he was inflicting on them was being inflicted on her, and while it was not as soothing as it would be to take her… it was enough, for a spell. The faes that he caught had it the worst. He would ravage their bodies til they bleed and then some, in addition to his normal abuse. And if they had the misfortune of both living long enough to become pregnant and actually becoming pregnant… well… that was a whole different horror unto itself. Draven was the cur of the Putnar world, for he fed on other Putnar. Of course, from time to time Lera were all that he had access to and would do – he was not a true vampire in the sense of legends, needing to feed only on blood, nor a true cannibal feeding only on the flesh of either vargs. Instead, he was a creature – a beast! – all of his own creation and making that was terrible and unpredictable in his actions.
But this day had not been a bad day. Nor even a good day. For some reason or another, the devil had been feeling benevolent and had not killed that stranger that had come upon him. Entertainment in form of communication and offers of a home had been amusing enough, and while his stomach still rumbled, walls grinding against one another painfully, Draven had walked away leaving the brute unharmed. And so as he returned to his abyss, the endless labyrinth of caverns aplenty, the beauteous fae that he came upon had the worst timing that could be. Hidden from her eyes, the shadow tracked her movements, his desire for her rising as all of his needs came to an acute pointed rise. The moonlight danced across her as it would the wings of an angel, and Draven wanted nothing more than to rip off her wings and force her into the very depths of hell… of his hell.
Silently, his pools of green glimmer in that same moonlight as he watches her, tracks her, hunts her, and it is with the greatest of efforts that he manages not to laugh as he walks willingly into his home. Her thief of a tongue laps up some of the only water left in this body of the caves, and Draven feels a growl growing in his chest – water was something that was now being hoarded jealously, and it was only because of the continued shade and relative coolness of the cavern that his own supply has not already dried up. But it is no matter – her crimson life fluid will serve well enough to hydrate him. This is the one who will be his sustenance, the one who will fill him up. He will have her, he must have her for himself. His stomach and his loins yearn for her and already his mind is forseeing everything that he wishes to do to her. She will be his relief at night while he burns his pupils in the day. She will be his comfort to ease his pain and loneliness. And she will come to regret entering this forbidden place. The monster slinks into the mouth of the den, hugging the wall so that his shadow does not alert her. Each step is confidently placed, for after months, Draven knows the location of every wall, hole, pebble and puddle. Silently, his paws glide over the cool damp surface until he is behind her. He is so close that he can hear her quiet breaths as air rushes in and out of her lungs. Closer he creeps until his maw is by her scruff, and only then does he speak, for when he does it is most likely that she will rear up, immediately placing herself into his jaws, into his death trap. “Hello, my sweet.”
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Ω Draven Ω Untamed Demon Ω Escaped Convict Ω Azura Ω
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