[M]  Purge of the past [AW]


8 y/o xlarge Male

Screams pulled from hushed lungs as the owl’s cry did warn of devastation walking. Her warning would fall on deaf ears, as the threat of absolution had never crossed the mind of the wandering soul who the reaper haunted. Ivory coat tainted with wrathful sins did wander silently towards what he thought was his salvation. Little did Satchel know that fate would finally cast her pendulum towards her reapers favor.
 Ravenous was the monster that continuously lurked beneath the surface of the reapers physical prison. His smoldering ember eyes burned with his dual persona. He would savor this evening. It had been a long time coming. Now, his white trash prince was completely alone. Vulnerable with the wounds his companion had inflicted upon him and he couldn’t help that need to consume every last drop of his essence. He had become his long-term victim. The process of grooming him for the moment of his death had been a tedious process but tonight it would all be worth it. Tonight he would set himself free.
The sting of his own wounds did pull as he slowly stalked after Satchel. He had kept his distance to ensure that Satchel was truly alone. His shadows vibrated around him with anticipation.  They knew their masters intent for the evening and they would gorge on the aftermath. His gaze fell on satchel, bathing within the filthy waters of the Mara wash. His thoughts shifted momentarily on his own wounds. However, the idea of attempting to clean them with in those waters was too distasteful.
His heart slammed against his chest as the anticipation began to build inside him. Oh, to feel the rush of he knowledge that tonight he would hold the life of another between his teeth once again left his stomach filled with butterflies. It was as if every part of him was electrified with life. The fantasy’s of how and where he would end this mans life had been numerous, but nothing would compare to what actual reality brought onto him. The air around him was practically filled with his static excitement.
He watched as one lone ear pulled back on the head of Satchel. Then those orange eyes fell over him and he could see the jealousy all over that mongrels face. However, his own features were controlled and collected as he listened to the insults spewing from Satchels jaws. “Still chasing other tail? I thought you had a wife.” The way Satchel said his wife’s title was vile. As if she was some sort of harlot. When he was in fact the infidel. “Even she didn’t stop you from drooling over Anaru. Those supple little feathers were too tempting for you not take a trophy?” The outrage in his voice was evident. It amused him so how after all these years he still had such power over Satchels heart. Little did he know how long he had longed for the moment he watch that very heart beat its last beat.        
He knew how easily it would be to lull him into submission. Satchel was nothing less than a creature of habit. A junkie always searching for his next fix until that fix became his last. His smoldering ember eyes burned with his need and he couldn’t help the reaction his body would display with the secret knowledge of his true intent. He watched as Satchel eyes fell on his body’s reaction and he couldn’t help the seductive smirk that slipped over his lips. It truly was so easy to make him fall. Over and over again. Their last encounter had been oh so tantalizing but he had left him wanting. Instead he had marked his ownership securely over satchels chest, in the shape of a heart, to remind him whom he ultimately belonged to.
However, that desire quickly faded as he watched the smirk pull over Satchels lips, “You think I haven’t had better since you?” he could hear the challenge in those words but they didn’t deter him. He knew everything this mans body could ever want and how to satisfy it. He would try and deny him but in the end he would always surrender, even if it took a little force.
The sway of his hips was something he knew Satchel couldn’t help but look at. His shadows hissed as they slithered towards him. His gaze shifted towards Satchels jaws and his shadows responded as they snatched it up and pulled his head harshly back towards his gaze. “No one knows how to fuck you like I do.” His words were crude but he knew they would spike that need inside Satchel to leave him oh so perfectly vulnerable. The way his voice was filled with demand was something his white trash prince could never turn away from. He could see the flutter of defiance flash across Satchels features but his words betrayed him, “Oh, do you? Why don’t you remind me just how good you are at fucking me then asshole.” The sound of his words was filled with resentment but he knew they rang with truth.

His movements were almost exaggerated. He wanted to remember every single moment this night had to offer. His anticipation grew and with it the scent of his arousal. He couldn’t help how intoxicating it was to know that soon enough he would be consuming everything that ever mattered to the man before him. He would finally complete his ultimate massacre.
His gaze shifted towards Satchels body. The blood from his fight with Osiris was still caked around his neck. He knew the wound would be sore and he couldn’t help that that was the first place he would tear into. His shadows seductively curled around Satchels body as the secured themselves around him. Their grip began to add pressure until it was clear that Satchel would not be able to get away. However, they had played this game many times. So the reality of what was truly transpiring between them was not dawning on satchel yet.
The scent of him both infuriated him and taunted him. The emotions that had been simulated with their dynamic would flutter to the surface for a moment. He could taste them on his tongue. Reminding him of what this man had done to him. However, the reality was that he had forged many of those emotions to mask the truth of his intentions. Which were, that those emotions had helped him to manipulate his way into this moment.
He muzzle made its way to the side of Satchels shoulder. The fresh wound was caked in mud and dried blood. The scent made that need inside him shiver with delight. It would only take a little pressure to reopen that wound. To let the taste of Satchel fill his mouth. “So much fucking foreplay. Are you gonna fuck me or what?” The need in those words was evident. He couldn’t help the surge of desire that filled him but he focused on what he was doing. “You’ll get what I give you.” He said, his words were harsh as he snatched the shoulder and ripped his jaws back and forth to free the fresh blood into his mouth. It flowed so easily into his jaws and he hungrily drank it down. The taste was far more exquisite then any other he’d had before.
The taste of female had never been one he had acquired. It was not his victim of choice. He wasn’t one to turn his nose to blood but he preferred that of the male Variety. It brought him back to the all those others. Time and time again he had hunted and devoured. Every time sent him back to the control and power he felt every time he snuffed a life out. he pulled himself off the reopened wound and gave himself a moment to breathe. He wanted to have clarity with this one. He wanted to remember this death over and over again.
He could feel Satchel shudder against him. The feel of his ripping himself off so suddenly was probably overwhelming. He moved his way further down satchels body. His nose pressed against the side of him as he pulled in his scent and allowed his jaws to tear into his flesh once more. He heard the gasp escape satchels lips and he buried his nose deeper into the skin. The fresh wound would bathe his auburn muzzle in crimson gold. He cared not if he separated skin from muscle. The sound of Satchels moans and painful grunts only fueled the fire inside him. He wanted him to feel everything. He wanted him to know how much he wanted this. He wanted him to feel everything that he had put him through. The voice of his violence would be load and demanding.
Satchels voice was inaudible against his now ringing ears. All he felt was the now. All he heard was his own breathing and heartbeat. His silent command to his shadows pulled Satchel down towards the ground. They held him in place as he moved closer towards Satchels now exposed thighs. He wanted this to hurt. He wanted him to know the pain and bathe in it before he begged for death. He positioned himself directly behind satchel. His gaze fallen on the man expose thigh and he hovered his muzzle over it. He was so close to Satchels arousal but he completely ignored it. Instead tore into the skin of his thigh. He pulled until the skin ripped from the muscle and began to pull towards satchels leg as he began to skin him. His shadows harshly kept the man still as he ripped the skin completely off, exposing his bloody thigh.
“I always thought I would die with you on top of me” Satchels words had caught his attention for a moment. Lodged with in his jaws was satchels thigh skin. His muzzle was completely covered in his blood. He allowed the skip to fall to the ground with a wet sounding “plop” and he smiled. The evidence of his detachment was clear. There was nothing in his eyes but pure primal hunger. “I always knew you’d be mine to consume.” He responded, the words were heavy with implication. It was the truth. He had hunted Satchel since the moment he had delivered his son’s soul to the gods. The conditioning for his moment had been so subtle. He had weaved his web inside him for many years. Now he was finally going to finish what he started.
He walked over Satchels body. The man was beneath him, paws upright, but curled into his chest and tightly secured by his shadows. He pushed his back paw into Satchels exposed muscle to pull a scream from him. He closed his eyes and practically purred at the sound. “I told you that you were mine. You’ve always been mine.” He said, almost hysterically. The mania in his voice was evident as his eyes burned with his intentions. This was the end. The pendulum was swinging back and forth and falling inch by inch until it cut the cord that connected Satchel to the physical world.
However, even in a state of predatory euphoria there was a part of him that was devastated. The feeling flickered in the back of his eyes. It was as if it made him hesitate. However, the moment was gone just as quickly as it had come and he clamped his jaws over satchels exposed throat. Everything he felt for the man was heavy in his jaws. He felt the pulse in his neck quicken with his fear. It was inevitable. Everyone feared death. It was a natural reaction. However, he could almost feel the relief in his body. He wanted him to be the one to kill him. If anyone was going to do it then it should be him.
His jaws tightened as he laid his body down on top of satchels. He could feel his pulse beginning to soften. His eyes were rolling in the back of his head. He dug his fangs deeper into his throat and tasted the blood as it began to pour into it. There was no turning back. He felt all the rage and possessiveness pool around his bite. As each heartbeat grew lighter a part of his soul did too. Everything he felt for this man would be released with his death. He could purge himself of the toxicity that had come with their relationship.
Finally he felt the last breathe leave Satchels body and he fell limp beneath him. It had taken longer than he expected but he had finally released his soul. He could finally enjoy the spoils of his kill. As he withdrew himself off of Satchels body he felt his face was wet. The scent of salt was evident to his nostrils and he realized that a few tears had fallen from his eyes. Confusion filled him for a moment but he pushed it away to focus on consuming his kill.
He pulled himself back from Satchels throat and back until he was over his stomach. He ripped into that softness and began to consume the organs within. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to truly be glutinous. He would fill himself as his shadows worked at ripping the mans body further open. Their hisses were heard as they pulled flesh from bone and exposed Satchels ribs. He pulled his now blood soaked face up and moved towards the exposed ribs. He pulled at them with his teeth to expose the organ they were protecting, Satchels now lifeless heart. “Finally.” He said, as his shadows curled around it and he gnawed it free. It was his trophy to take after all.


Table by Centience. Art by xxslow-burnxx @ DA


4 y/o large Male
Lyra, Female Red Fox

The world had been none too kind to Artticus, his ribs dancing over his flesh in a noble portrayal of hunger. The days grew colder and longer with each day he explored this damn territory - and still, despite how many miles he walked there showed no sign of home. A home. Any home.

His familiar, Lyra, trotted beside him. Her fur shone against the light he emitted making her seem as if she were an array of fire and rose. She pawed the ground, her hunger just as evident. The pair hadn’t eaten for days - maybe even weeks. They were reaching more famine than hunger and just about anything would do.

”Art.. Art I think there’s something up ahead. It smells fresh. It smells.. of carnage,” Lyra murmured her brow furrowing ever so slightly. Artticus could sense her concern, her fur bristled with fear and some form of disgust. He knew he should listen to her, he knew he should turn back. But he had come this far, and he was determined to keep going. 

”It’s alright, Ly - we’ve got each other. I won’t let anything, and I mean anything happen to you. Let’s just check it out, if it’s bad we’ll run for the hills.” He promised the small fox, meaning it when he said he would look out for her. Nodding he crouched a bit lower to the ground enacting his invisibility powers. 

Padding quietly, Artticus followed the unholy stench of adrenaline, desire, and most importantly blood. Blood of a wolf. He had smelled many deaths, and while not quite there whomever was bleeding was well on their way. See, death has a special smell. The blood is thickest when it’s near an artery. Once cut there’s no hope - death reaks of hopelessness. 

Artticus broke through foliage, doing his best to be quiet. What greeted him, was simply an image he couldn’t even conjure up in his worst nightmares. A brutish, much older wolf of reds, browns, and gold held the flesh of another wolf who was seemingly crushed to the earth between his jaw. The sour scent of iron assaulted all of Artticus’s senses on all fronts. Somewhere, Artticus also admired the image, the strength this wolf must posses. 

The murderous, manic wolf spoke, his voice almost.. almost tender. The words, too muffled for him to hear from his hiding place.

”No..nono Artticus. This is so wrong. So foul. We have to leave!” Lyra whispered, her voice pained and scared. She was right, but Artticus was a people watcher. Too stubborn in his desire to analyze the acts of nature - no matter how unsavoury. \ ”Shh, little Lyra. He can’t see us. I mean to keep it that way.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize whoever these two were, they were not strangers. Some wolves took mates of different sex, some took them of the same. This was no bother to Artticus but if these two were once lovers, where did it all  go wrong? Apparently, a lot - he decided as the wolf tore the flesh from the thigh of the other wolf. Were he a stronger wolf, Maybe Artticus would try to stop this.

But he was not by nature or act, a strong wolf. He was a survivor and would do what needed to be done - even if that meant learning the harsh realities from a sadistic animal that tore its lover limb from limb. The scent of blood brought forth a shameful growl of his stomach. By the time Artticus looked back the other wolf lay limp between the forepaws of his killer.

Confusion flooded Artticus’s heart when he saw the soft glimmer of tears crest the blood riddled male. Why cry over something you did? Someone you chose to kill?” That was the most horrifying question he came to ask himself as he watched from afar, so entranced to realize Lyra had departed and he had forgotten to hold up his invisibility. 

Hunger gnawed at his sides as he watched the beast devour whatever remaining remanence of love or affection there had been and swallow it whole. 


Table by Centience. Art by sullivan-d3fpbdx @ DA


4 y/o large Male

The world felt unreal; broken, scavenged and consumed greedily it was the sifter looking for his nugget of gold, the man who reeked of oil -- the universal sign of money. After the Gods' departure the secrecy of Nidria was up and all the monsters in wolves clothing had apparently come to gobble it up with hungry mouths to feed empty bellies.

It had first been the scent of blood which caused curiosity to overwhelm that telltale sign of urgency to run for cover, to flee with your tail between your legs, to come crashing through the underbrush yelping like a fragile dog who had his ass whooped. Secondly, it had been the sense of curiosity, that blinding shiny trinket, that fine tuned little shining gem that twinkled and made you ooh and awe and gawk at it like some stupid little idiot with his hand in the cookie jar. But has that jar ever bitten you back before? No? My, how curious.

The rugged mountain peaks were not long behind him, but they were gone, even if he could see them from his rocky outcrop post, perched like a souvenir atop the biggest boulder one could find to survey what had never been looked upon with shiny new eyes before. He gawked, he admired, he awed in the quiet tranquility of a family of one, and he fancied himself a child on pulled suspenders and bruised knees who sniffled at the blood dripping from his broken nose: with all the glint in those mischievous cat's eyes. Long, alabaster hair swung wildly like some wild gale upon the young man's head, viciously twirling as it cupped his face with gentle teases and slow caresses while the winter seemed like a regular newborn baby's smile; fresh and sweet and utterly not like winter at all. No winter to Cardinal was ever a winter at all, but some strange and funny spring except with big white plump pillows. 

Dainty paws perused fresh snow like a delicate catwalk, the runaway tail dragging along to scratch at the prints he made behind him as he walked, collecting himself with child like wonder to follow that familiar, pleasant stench of death, of decay and sometimes, of dinner. Though, the wonder of what awaited his eyes to gaze upon next was less than satisfactory, and if need he say it -- disappointing. Like glorious display of picasso portrait in fancy scribbled mismatched genius a white wolf, once white, lay near dyed in his own liquids in all sort of manner of bad posture, an utter disappointment of disgust that, if he had any food in him to begin with, would've scurried back up his throat and come out in poorly digested bite sized bits. He could not say that death terrified him just as he couldn't say it fascinated him either, but perhaps it was a little in between, sitting pretty next to mildly amused and I don't care. Most of all, however, was that it was not something he could eat. Yes, he could figuratively feast on a wolf without much qualms about what this particular flavor was and why it tasted so damn good, but that was only if he had to do it.

His nose twisted with disgust, muzzle wrinkling as a frown dislodged the manner of childishness that had once glinted in feline irises, instead replaced with a cold stoicism as he stood there in that somewhere-in-between attitude of loathing and disappointment that made him fall away from the safety of the forest's shadows or the cloak of some underbrush or hidden scent washed upon his disfigured figure of white. The man sat, tail curling around his legs as he observed the other quietly from a distance that some would protest to being somewhere in between safe and are you crazy? 

And he watched, barely noting the other white silhouette peeping like a bad tom.




8 y/o xlarge Male
Zendelrin Ragnulf;

Descending ambitions painted the world beneath the reapers paws a stark deep crimson. Each drop of blood contained the essence of their memories. Every part of Satchel’s soul was splattered across every inch of his body. The truth of his devastation and damnation was evident all over his being. He wore it like a fallen crown. Twisted, as it was it still meant that he had freed himself of the prison that had shackled his heart and consumed him in rage. It had felt so good to consume every part of him and to let it all just go. Back into the universe and delivered to his god.
Inferno eyes burned with his triumph, as the heart of his former lover remained secured within his jaws. Gore caked his nostrils and consumed his sense of smell in the actions of what had just transpired. However, the sounds of scavengers in the distance caught his attention. The Reaper still loomed in those smoldering ember eyes. They eerily turned ever so slowly towards the directions of two various sounds. Dark blood stained lips did twitch, as he possessively stood proud over Satchel’s consumed carcass. 
It was inevitable that so much carnage wouldn’t call to others. He was not the only cannibalistic wolf to walk this world. There were others that would be drawn to the scent of fallen wolf. However, this had been the kill of a century. The time it had taken him to groom Satchel into the perfect victim had taken so many years. To forage their cord that only he could sever had take skill and quite the manipulation tactics. The fact that he had infected him with his essence through such heavy seduction had made their final moments together all the more exquisite.
Displeasure filled him as the knowledge that he would need to release his trophy in order to speak hit him. Reluctantly he slowly pulled his head towards the ground. His jaws were careful not to puncture the heart as his muzzle touched the ground and he gingerly released Satchels heart. Immediately he placed his large paw over it and jealously guarded his trophy.
“It’s rude to stalk the shadows.” He said, the shadows around his limbs were steered with their master’s words. Their voices whispered around him in small hisses as they curled around the paw that held their trophy. If he wanted he could send them out, searching, for the males that cautiously observed the desecration of his former lover. The moment of remorse that had slipped free had been eradicated with the satisfaction that had consumed him the moment his heart had been ripped free from its fleshy prison. “It would be ill advised to remain unseen as I cannot guarantee my manners will be maintained in the current.. State that I am in.” he allowed the throat to fill the darkness around him. The hunt was always something he was willing to participate in and should the duo that remained hidden choose to stay that way, well, he had already enjoyed one body tonight, why not more.

"Zen speaking"

Art by Hyssie. Table by Centience

@Cardinal  @Artticus

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