The Emptiness Will Haunt You (Open)

[kinziee]

What is wrong with her eyes? A glossy stare that won't leave me be, starts my blood running cold. A gaze that could make hell freeze over, I have to understand that she's gone.

An eerie feeling crept up Hextor’s legs, slithering between every hair, tickling his skin underneath. His muscles screamed at him, aching from the long journey to this place, and an even slower walk to this utterly morbid place. A hollow laugh erupted from his chest; his chest fur shook as his laugh shook his body. His body was so against him, but it was never reluctant to obey. Never reluctant, after all he was master mind behind the mechanics. It was as if the nucleus was run by him, but everything in his body has its own mind, own opinion to how things were run. It was no thought to Hextor however that he may have lived on the sinful ways of himself and others. He got by with his dismissive thoughts toward the fates and the heavenly god above. If one such existed, and if one such cared so dearly for his beloved creatures below he would not have left them to be tortured by one such as Hextor, or other things out there that brought on complete destruction. Something this ‘God’ lacked to protect his beloveds below from. To Hextor it was a faulty move, and it was just as easy to taint and twist the minds of others. No wonder he got away with murder, he was just a walking devil; one whose ways were simply impressive, something very persuasive and enticing to eyes and ears.

But she's not! Don't tell me she's dead! Watch her lips softly move because she's still whispering to me! And something here is not quite right... Skin so cold beneath my touch, as I brush back her hair, and close her eyes. But I cannot stand to turn away, when I do, she'll be gone.

His eyes simply swept across the dusty and poorly kept graves of the dead and decaying. A sick smirk felt its way upon his muzzle, staining his ebony lips. His claws scraped at the earth with every step he took. Dragging himself forward; looking like a keeper of the dead, or a reaper, something unearthly and almost ghostly, something made of evil, not of good. His ears were perked forward as if listening for anything else other than the insane cawing of the crows ahead. Circling around in the grey sky, were they looking for something or waiting? Where was the sun? Blocked behind the mass of clouds that were tainted with grey and turning into a smoky black, that’s where the sun hid. He turned his onyx eyes toward a rather alive but dead looking tree, crows staring at him with black optics that had that white glaze over the top, its shiny luster. They stared at him, but they had a faint look of fear when crimson flashed within Hextor’s own hollow black gaze. They all flicked their heads to the direction of the woods; taunting anything and anyone in. As if telling Hextor to step forth and take a walk. The beasts teeth were looking dark and grim, but it was no disappointment. You didn’t find many of these aged woods around anymore that screamed harmonious curses at you. What lurked in those dark patches of trees? Did Hextor dare find out? Why leave the crowd of carnivorous birds? He enjoyed their company. Or, so he enjoyed their annoying cawing, and the sound of death creeping around the corner. Or just maybe he enjoyed the idea that someone might come along and end this nostalgic feeling; the feeling that he longed for someone to scare.

His whole head turned to the left and he stared at one raven sitting on a tree branch. Just one lone raven and he stared at it. A mischievous, devilish glimmer in his dark eyes. He spoke in deep baritones; a voice so cold, so vicious, so haunting, ” Would it be so wrong to ask god where the hell he was when all of these civilians died?” He grinned sickly,” Or would it be wrong not to ask him? After all I see the weak speaking to him all the time? Or how about you, all you want is another meal, right? You dirty animal. I see no harm in the doing, if they died it must have been for a reason, they weren’t strong enough.” He shrugged and the bird let out a screeching caw and he laughed sinisterly. Feeling a stir in the air, feeling a pull toward the woods, but he waited. A light fog rolling on the bottom of the ground, it was of no surprise. He looked good in these scenes, all that was missing was the victim that died after a fail of an attempt to be free. Preferable a female, they were always good for the sickening humor. That humor that he loved all too well. That gave him the pleasure that nothing else could; after all the thrill of the hunt was rather magnificent. The woods were just another part of this scene. It shouldn’t even be thought out though, we’re missing our female.

Shaking as I rest her body down. No one knows, only me; it's frightening. There's a madman glaring straight at me! Oh, I know I've seen his face before... I'm sure I've seen his face before...

[xX.Fenris.Fenrir.Xx]

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[atrb=background,http://i899.photobucket.com/albums/ac192/fireb4ashes/Fenris---MIDLE.png] There was a stink in the air. An unholy musk. Many creatures would turn from such a hellish place. Already many dared not enter the tainted lands of the dead. Only those that were looking for their lost loved ones typically walked these unclaimed terras. What other reasons were there after all? There were exceptions to this though. Such as the shadow soaked beast that had come to know this place well. Normally, he stuck to the comfort of the dark areas of the forest... But here his body was at ease. Throughout all of his long travels he had yet to come across a place such as this. There were battles fields that were littered with the bones of old, but not a graveyard. The creatures that lived in these lands must respect their dead more than most to actually give them a final resting place. The sounds of the crows rose above the tree tops. It was as if they were singing in their own death chorus. They were the ones that took the souls of the dead to the underworld. This ashened creature did not believe in a Heaven or a Hell. He just believed that there was a realm where the dead walked. Or even sometimes their souls would be trapped among the living for the crimes they had committed in their lives. He counted himself as one of those unfortunate ones. One day his corpse would rot and decay but his soul would still roam the lands... Forever alone. As the demon moved through the area a scent grazed his nares. It was that of another wolf. He almost spat at the smell. How disgusting his breed was. Though he was curious as to why this loner had traveled to this grave. Crimson soaked eyes peered through the mist that seemingly stuck fast to the ground. They gleamed with a certain luster behind them. It had been a week or so since he had taken the life of another. Now his mind wandered. The thought came forward wondering how this encounter would go. If the conversation actually was interesting this unknown beast might stand a chance of walking away with his life still in his body. The older male stepped forward. His blacken paws made hardly any noise. Though he was tall, he was all lean muscle. Built for speed and stealth. Brute strength was something he had always thought was useless to have. Finally, his eyes rested on the other unknown. His ears turned forward as he heard words bubble out from his maw. Glancing upwards, he saw the direction of the conversation. It was towards one of the crows that had made its home in the tainted lands. Once the words died down, he took a step closer. His eyes held no sort of emotion to them. Nothing. The right held life while the left was clouded and faded. Sight was another thing that he did not bother with. Why would he need it if his other senses were that much stronger? "You do not smell of these lands..." he spoke in a low raspy voice. "Why do you come to this graveyard? There might be boogy-men here..." he finished lowly looking at the male before him.

[kinziee]

Decaying bodies, maggots squirming through the rotting eyes. The vile smell of the flesh might have alarmed some, sent them fleeing the lands of the dead. This male welcomed it, it was like breathing in the scent of a newly bloomed rose or lavender. It was the sweet reminder of those that had perished under the massive paw of his body. Though lands like this would make you turn away in discomfort or sorrow it almost uttered sweet lullabies and trances to him. It was like singing a child to sleep. It must have been sweet, but to him it was just the ease of comfort. Although you must think this fellow to always be rather tense and aggressive. You wouldn’t think his muscles could simply relax and he could be at ease. The eternal resting place of those who had many different stories; the scavenger, the widower, the king. You see this place was a haunted place but of many different types of spirits. Both good and bad had their judgment here and yet both of them are treated with the same respect; even those less worthy. These guardians, reapers, of the graveyard, the cemetery is their home. In turn they stand openly waiting to protect its citizens from the world outside of these lands. So their eternal resting may be peaceful. Here you have grave robbers that want to disturb that.

Crows eyes were the gateways to the underworld. Even so perhaps they were a look into the realm where every deceased organism dwelled; whether in a strange comatose, or happy, or even regretful and in anguish. It was within the creatures eyes that Hextor found answers and the very soul of the bird. This creature was telling a tale with every sharpened note it sang. It was the warning of the reaper, the great keeper of the dead. This repulsive carcass, who seems a beast, would have been a keeper of the dead, but he did not keep them. It was murder after murder, vultures after vultures; leaving the carcass and the soul behind. Taking only but the fulfilling drink of the crimson liquid flowing freely through their now broken veins.

His nose quivered with a slight sense of curiosity. His eyes had tint of crimson coming through the murky black darkness. He stood, his legs soaked in the swirling mist. Tree branches reaching out like the spindly fingers of an old woman, trying to snag at anything it could grab. There was almost a blue incandescent scene upon this place. The ground was hard and cold like stone. The air was fresh, but with the scent of stale death. Everything seemed cold and monumental. For any one wolf it would have been the wrong companions, unless you had been a savage and cruel creature. Cynical and sadistic, or perhaps masochistic; if you were such a person. This place must have been the haven you had almost dreamed of. As he inhaled slowly, air filled his lungs with a sense of strength and rejuvenation. He tasted a scent that was almost ambrosial, so delectable. It was ripened and aged, the perfect age; like a fine wine.

There was a small shuffling on the ground, and the sound of rustling leaves. The air carried them in a spiral column and it twisted and danced in the air. Like demons taunting him, leaping through an invisible fire, he could see ashes pass through his peripherals. The unknown demon behind him, though he could feel the presence. He just sat there and muttered an inaudible message to anyone else but the crow,” It seems we have company.” Hextor pivoted on his back feet, and his gaze stopped upon the smoky male. Sizing him up, of course he looked older, tall, and lean, like him, much like him. Except, Hextor had a thicker coat it seemed like, and it gave off a bulkier appearance, although he was built much like this one. His eyes held no emotion, no guessing that his male was feeling neutral, and nonchalant. He had but a simple smile on his face. Very simple, almost a straight face, his lips were just slightly curled.

He listened intently on this male, his sounded like the churning of gravel, with a baritone note to it. His words didn’t seem bitter, or taunting. Sort of low and nonchalant, not exactly trying to start anything. Quite amused by this, Hextor started to speak, his throat vibrating, a deep voice that seemed to keep at a steady pace, very calm,” What are boogy-men compared to ghosts and goblins? All tangible and combustible by design. There is no reason but a vague inclination to places such as this… My answer given, I could ask you the same, hm?” He was insane; but with madness came great intelligence.