[The sound of his laughter makes her blood boil in her veins. The curl of his lips into that smug expression, pleased as a mountain monkey eating shit, takes her right back to Achamoth. The sight of him covered in… in something’s blood, perched atop a wall far from the reach of her hands and her vision too bloody for a bow, his left eyeball dangling from his viscous-slick fingers before he just seemed to vanish… it haunts her still, she lives it even now. If she hesitates a single second, if she makes one mistake…
Last time they had collided, he’d left her to collapse in a heap of pain and shame on the rubble, begging for him to come back and finish her rather than saddle her with the disgrace of such a defeat. But if she could revenge herself upon him, cleanse that dishonor—-
His blood wells up in her mouth as her fangs break the delicate skin of his pale throat and punch through tendon and muscle into his windpipe… right as his hand finds a grip on her face. Her snarl is wet and barely parasable through the mouthful of demon in the shape of a man that has become just a mouthful of squirming, resisting meat, but then-
His thumb finds the edge of the makeshift eyepatch gone askew on the struggle and punches past the flimsy defense into her raw, empty socket. Hayame screams in pain but more in shock, her eyelids tighten and spasm uselessly on his knuckle but she refuses to let go even when she feels his thumb pressing so painfully deep in her head against the ocular nerve he’d severed by sheer force that she feels white lances spearing into her brain. She digs even deeper, her jaw near cracking with the force in which she bites, his blood bursting suddenly hotter and more forcibly down her throat as she punctures the artery, savages it with her sharp teeth, and when she suddenly feels her world widen to include his thoughts, his pain, as if she had somehow ripped her way into his mind as well as his throat…
A different woman might have pulled her teeth out and recoiled in fear, clutching at her own neck as the injury echoed in her body and made her fear for her life. But those would be the actions of a woman who was careful with her life, not one who had once shamefully feared death but now almost longed for it if it would actually mean an end to the endless stream of foreign lands and impossible magics and no ways to get back home again she she could understand or believe in.
So what Hayame does is fight through the pain. She ignores that empathic bond forced upon her, that as she wounds him she feels the wound herself, she digs her uninjured hand into his hair to hold his skull down to the root cage floor, a heavy foreleg sprawled over his body to try and keep him from bucking or kicking-
When she digs in with her teeth and then hauls her head up with enough force to bring his throat back with her in a sick, wet rip of blood and flesh.]
cw for just… violence and gore I’m sorry
Last time they had collided, he’d left her to collapse in a heap of pain and shame on the rubble, begging for him to come back and finish her rather than saddle her with the disgrace of such a defeat. But if she could revenge herself upon him, cleanse that dishonor—-
His blood wells up in her mouth as her fangs break the delicate skin of his pale throat and punch through tendon and muscle into his windpipe… right as his hand finds a grip on her face. Her snarl is wet and barely parasable through the mouthful of demon in the shape of a man that has become just a mouthful of squirming, resisting meat, but then-
His thumb finds the edge of the makeshift eyepatch gone askew on the struggle and punches past the flimsy defense into her raw, empty socket. Hayame screams in pain but more in shock, her eyelids tighten and spasm uselessly on his knuckle but she refuses to let go even when she feels his thumb pressing so painfully deep in her head against the ocular nerve he’d severed by sheer force that she feels white lances spearing into her brain. She digs even deeper, her jaw near cracking with the force in which she bites, his blood bursting suddenly hotter and more forcibly down her throat as she punctures the artery, savages it with her sharp teeth, and when she suddenly feels her world widen to include his thoughts, his pain, as if she had somehow ripped her way into his mind as well as his throat…
A different woman might have pulled her teeth out and recoiled in fear, clutching at her own neck as the injury echoed in her body and made her fear for her life. But those would be the actions of a woman who was careful with her life, not one who had once shamefully feared death but now almost longed for it if it would actually mean an end to the endless stream of foreign lands and impossible magics and no ways to get back home again she she could understand or believe in.
So what Hayame does is fight through the pain. She ignores that empathic bond forced upon her, that as she wounds him she feels the wound herself, she digs her uninjured hand into his hair to hold his skull down to the root cage floor, a heavy foreleg sprawled over his body to try and keep him from bucking or kicking-
When she digs in with her teeth and then hauls her head up with enough force to bring his throat back with her in a sick, wet rip of blood and flesh.]