Xasta

demoness .x. of age .x. controlled by peaches

my blade's a little sharper
my roots run deep into the hollow

She knows not of this voice that reverberates through her obsidian audettes – save that it is identifiable as a demon. And yet, still, she can sense it. It begins as a gnawing sensation that rampages through her very veins, seeping further and deeper into her wicked bloodstream and fueling the ever-present fire that burns at all times within her. It was like a damned gnat; a pesky demand that she failed to free from her cranium. And when it began to etch at the final strands of her patience, the huntress knew that she must follow this demand which haunted her so.

It has only been days since her previous encounter with the other beast – a male by what name she still does not know. He was a dark, towering demon – even compared to the sturdy, tall frame which held her higher than most others. It was not often that Xasta encountered another living being within her dungeon of Load Mor – and it was even more rare of an occurrence for another wolf to interest her darkened mind. But this male had obtained her full attention, if only for the moment . . . and it seems vaguely similar to how this unknown caller had appealed to her wickedness.

Though large and solid in structure, the demoness had a type of grace in her stride. Each step was calculated precisely as to efficiently maneuver her colossal skeleton through the low-hanging trees of her marsh, the roots that reached up toward her, and the dark, murky water whose appetite absolutely rumbled for its next unfortunate meal. Even now, her dark kissers pulled to form a malicious smirk as she gazed at her monstrous reflection in the liquid and thought back to the delicate creatures who could not brave the strength of the land.

Such an easy death, they did not deserve.

Blood and battle were the main components that constructed the huntress. But in this circumstance, it was an electrified thrill that erupted through her bones. The curvaceous serpent had slinked away from her makeshift home, finally touching the dulled rays of sunlight. And then her coral hues had laid sight on the poor, lonely thing – a dall’s sheep. Porcelain, perfected, and unflawed in all of its glory . . . and now, the glory would be hers.

Couldn’t show up empty-handed, now, could she?

A delicious smirk etched at her breathtaking features – and in the next following seconds, she would have crept a careful path towards the sheep’s side, knives barred and talons readied. Such a feeble, unsuspecting creature – does it not know of the dangerous that lie within this world? A kill was no fun if there lacked any fight . . . and once the first clashing of her jaws sounded, the sheep’s exquisite flesh shredding beneath the weight of her locked mandible, the fun immediately began. Gasps and yowls of pain erupted from the creature’s mouth, its rear appendages kicking helplessly at the threat that it failed to notice beforehand. But Xasta was fast and her cranium steady – she calculated each motion of the beast, and just for shits and giggles, she had pried her jaws from its side and took to nipping childishly at its heels.

In and out,

in and out.

She would drive the creature absolutely insane.

It was a few moments of this play, of this serpent relishing in her twisted games – and when the demoness grew bored with this toy of hers, her patience evaded her, and she ended its breath with a swift grasp of its trachea. A vicious clamp, and then a fierce, sickening shake of her crown sent the precious crimson splattering against the earth’s floor. The creature emitted a final sigh of life – and then its weight collapsed to the stained ground; it’s perfect white canvas forever tainted. Its glory stolen.

Yes . . . this would be perfect. Now for the final touch.

Attentive and steady, with a single repetitive motion of her jaws, the serpent began to strip her prize. It was a tedious process, of course, but Xasta obviously held some tricks up her sleeve . . . and she had seemingly done this more than once before. She was not a patient beast in the slightest; but she did exhibit patience when separating the hide from muscle. It had to be perfect, after all . . . only the best. And after a span of time, she’d completed her task – and in contrast to the porcelain spotted canvas of it’s body, the sheep’s head was complete crimson . . . completely stripped. Empty eyes stared back into the demoness’ coral ones, and she responded with a wicked smile. The curved horns on it’s head adorned it much like a crown – standing strong . . .in all of it’s glory.

Time had been wasted; but at least, now, she would not come without a trophy. She sunk her knives into the flesh of the creature, gripping it at it’s most sturdy point, and then she continued her travel at a quickened pace, it’s dead weight in tow. By the time she’d emerged into the stone-covered terrain, the sun had begun it’s retirement and only the soft light of the moon showed way. She paused as she approached the boundaries of this world; the stench of this male already present along the land. A mixture of iron. Death and decay.

A daring grin etched itself into her features.

And then she emerged, her glory dragging. It was only moments before her bright hues of coral sliced through the darkness and caught sight of the demon – and instantly, her chest swelled with the same delighted thrill as before. So, this is the male that summoned her? Her eyes rolled over to the other silhouette, another male – but her sight did not linger long, for in the following moment, she’d approached the throne in which the demon sat, attentive and keeping a respectful distance. Her coral hues took him in – and he looked like an absolute monster . . . and he was breathtaking. Perfect. A ruler worthy.

Lowering her crown, she allowed the prize to drop limply from her maw; a display for the king. Crimson leaked from her jaws to nourish the earth, the deadly shade smudged within the creams and grays that constructed her mask. And then she followed suit, her colossal and curvaceous body falling towards the earth in a deep bow. A breeze causes a ripple to surge through her thick cloak; the moonlight casting off a sliver of what appeared to be silver that melted between grays, creams and blacks. Her coral hues gazed upon the barren earth, and she waited to be addressed.


"words."

strike back a little harder,
i hit back a little louder