death bred

first reaction is nothing short of confusion and distrust for the male that seems to know all about her already. it’s unsettling, a paranoid state passed easily from father to daughter that hope has accidentally nurtured over the years. “who are you?” she asks, blue eyes narrowed in a cold stare toward the other. the feeling from him, it was not something she’d met before in new orleans and it was more than unsettling- she was scared of the power she could feel from this boy. 

“i would say it’s a pleasure to meet you but strangers in the quarter are far from pleasurable in my experience. so my apologizes.”

he was aware of the fact that he had a level of mystery around him, a dark aura that mixed with lightness, that could make anyone feel uncomfortable. apollyon enjoyed using that to his advantage however. the more paranoid they are, the more scared of him they are, the more likely they are to slip. “i’m hurt that you don’t know who i am.” he wasn’t expecting her to though. with a carnal smirk on his features he extended his right hand towards her, pearly whites exposing as his smirk turned into a smile. “i’m apollyon.”

Even without looking toward the other, Mason could practically feel Apollyon’s gaze roam over all the skin that was currently on display, shaking his head a little as he instead reached for a glass. Purposefully ignoring the other’s approach. Oh, he knew how to work other’s, no matter who they happened to be. Taking a sip from his drink, he waited for a few moments longer before turning to face the other once more, a smirk dancing across his lips. “Well, it certainly seems ot be what most crave for me to be in. Although I wouldn’t be so quick to dismiss, Apollyon. Or are you absolutely certain you wouldn’t enjoy, say, having one pressed against your face as you’re being fucked senseless?”

               ❛     apollyon  my  dear  child,   you  have  a  strange  desire  to  PROVE  YOURSELF  when  there  is  no  need  to.   you  come  from  gods,  you  are  a  god,   and  you  are  a  balance  between  life  &  death.   the  second  you  stop  trying  to  prove  your  worth  is  the  second  that  the  rest  of  the  gods  will respect  you  my  boy.   it’s  okay  to  follow  your  brain  here  and  then,   but  don’t  forget  about  your  heart.     ❜

genial  grin’s  plastered  on  his  lips  whilst  charon  rows  past  him,    woes  of  forgotten    /    unburied  souls    —    now  fated  to  wander  shores    —    emphatic  to  his  ears.    (      listen.    listen.    listen,    he’s  hurting.      )    his  grin  has  become  a  ghost  of  itself,    position  beside  gates  abandoned   already  despite  not  yet  knowing where  he  must  go  to  locate  him.   he  hones  in;    murmur  of  rolling  waves,   solemn  woes,    and  distant  clamor  all  muffle.    apollyon’s   pleas  transpire  from  depths,    the  patent  torment  of  words  striking  cerberus.    and  his  cry  impedes  hearing,    causes  features  to  contort.   concern  surges  senses,   and  constricts  a  hollowed  chest,   yet  epinephrine  does  its  best  to  supersede it.            why  did  he  go  down  there? 

a  softly-spoken  curse  escapes  on  an  exhale,  eyes  become  privy  to  the  wounded  god.    if  true  death  was  plausible  for  deities,    it  would  seem,   their  expiration  could  only  be  gilt-swathed  and  divine.    ichor pools  from  shredded   flesh,    its  aureate  hue  embellishing  terrain;    the  smell,   however,    singes  nostrils,   makes  his  stomach curl.      and  the  pain  of  a  living  divinity  appears  comparable  to  that  of  mortals,   and,    perhaps,    pain  is  a  prime  element  in  what  branches  the  divide.

despite  understanding   and  being  reassured  that  his  friend  will  recover  with  ease  once  metal’s  removed,   an  ache  nestles  betwixt  ribs  as  eyes  note  tear-imbrued  cheeks,   knowing  that  his  person  is  hurting.    he,   desperately  hopes  this  doesn’t sear  him  any  further.

sat  upon  scuffed  knees,   fingers  curl  ‘round  the  pitchfork’s  hilt,   a  calloused  hand  resting  lightly upon  the  portion  of  apollyon’s  leg  where  flesh  has  not  been  riven  and  skewered.      he  preserves  a  calm  and  tender  disposition,    though   ire  hums  quietly  within  veins,    and  threatens  full  emergence  as  thoughts momentarily  think  of  the  beast  to  blame  for  this  affliction.      truly,    have pity  for  the  monster  that’s done  this.    come morning,    they  will  find  only  residue  traces  of  it,    scorched and  unrecognizable.    he’ll see  to  it  himself.         ❛    breathe.      ❜    he  mumbles.      ❛    focus  on  me.      ❜    umber  hues  consider hazel  ones,    offering  a  minor  interlude  for  the  stubborn-headed  god’s  convenience,    and  for  himself,   to  brace  for  prospective  cries.   he  goes  as  far  as  to  fixate   hearing  on  surrounding  tumult,    attempting  to  numb  himself  to  his  companion’s  discomfort.    then  his  gaze  will  fall  to  an  ichor-adorned  thigh,    grip  tightening,   securing  torn  limb  in  place.   he  pulls.     —     nimble  fingers  drop  the  pitchfork,   iron  clamorous  in  clashing  with  infertile  ground.    

there’s  no  need  to  mention  how  senseless  apollyon’s  actions  were,    surely  he’s  aware  after  having  been  impaled.            ❛    you  didn’t think  to  let  me  know  you’d  be  venturing   this  far?    ❜      sabled  brows  arch,  and  lyric  remains  unheated    —    level,   even  in  spite  of  blossoming  frustration,    and  festering choler.    this  anger  doesn’t  extend to  apollyon  himself,   however,    cerberus  is  still  displeased  with  him.    because,  somehow,   despite  having  permission  to  explore  this  level  of  the  underworld  with  the  accompaniment  of  his  father,   the  son  of  hades  and  persephone,  his  best  friend,   still  manages  to  maintain  unnecessarily  headstrong  qualities.         ❛    and  if  your  defense  has  something  do  with  how  i  might  have  stopped  you,   or  if it  was  another ploy  to  prove  yourself,    please,  don’t  say  anything.      ❜     but  if  it  is  the  latter  that’s  true,  words  already  loiter  on  his  tongue  :                       you  are  enough. 

their  bond  was  one  that  most  didn’t  understand,  it  had  even  confused  the  god  every  decade  and  now.  the  way  that  they  could  FEEL  each  other’s  presence,  how  they  just  knew  what  was  going  on  with  the  other,  still  dumbfounded  apollyon.  he  never  questioned  it  however,  especially  in  time  of  need  when  it  felt  like  his  whole  being  was  ripped  in  half.  the  cries  of  all  of  the  dead  couldn’t  compare  to  the  cacophony  that  was  echoing  through  the  lowest  level  of  the  underworld.  self  hatred  clouded  his  thoughts,  but  the  pain  that  surged  through  his  whole  body  was  enough  to  distract  him.  the  only  thing  he  could  do  now  was  wait,  wait  to  show  cerberus  how  weak  he  really  was.            how  could  he  be  so  idiotic  ??

he  had  to  keep  reminding  himself  that  he  was  an  immortal  being,  he  could  make  it  through  this,  he  couldn’t  die.  yet  depending  on  how  much  magic  was  behind  the  pitchfork,  how  much  someone’s  hatred  for  him  burned,  maybe  he  could  have  died.  maybe  he  wasn’t  as  strong  as  his  parents,  maybe  he  wasn’t  a  true  god.  he  knew  what  death  was  like,  he  felt  it  when  he  took  life  from  something  or  someone,  and  this  wasn’t  it.  this  was  just  pain,  it  was  just  torture  and  he  was  going  to  have  to  be  strong  enough.  he  was  going  to  have  to  hold  out  until  cerb  got  there.

he  can  feel  it,  cerberus  may  understand  he’s  going  to  survive  this  but  he’s  hurting  too.  that  made  apollyon’s  pain  even  more  unbearable.  there  were  two  reasons.  the  first  was  that  he  was  at  his  weakest,  far  from  gaining  any  respect,  but  the  second  was  that  he  was  causing  his  best  companion  some  form  of  pain.

instead  of  reaching  out  for  cerberus’  arm,  something  that  would  have  brought  him  comfort,  he  acted  against  the  physical  contact.  he  didn’t  want  to  grab  the  male’s  arm  too  hard,  he  didn’t  want  to  act  against  him.  then  it  became  too  much  to  even  look  at  him.  brown  hues  were  hidden  behind  his  eyelids,  closed  so  shut  that  not  even  medusa  herself  could  have  found  an  entry  point.  his  right  hand  slammed  into  the  ground  beside  him  once  he  heard  cerb’s  words.  he  couldn’t  focus  on  him  so  instead  he  inflicted  more  pain  on  himself  to  act  as  a  distraction.  apollyon  curled  his  hand  into  a  fist  and  slammed  it  into  the  ground,  gripping  onto  the  solid  earth  and  crushing  it  to  dust  in  his  palm.  while  he  couldn’t  exactly  see,  he  knew  what  was  coming  next.  he  had  to  prepare  himself.  he  bit  down  on  his  tongue  again,  swearing  that  if  he  was  mortal  if  would  have  been  bleeding  by  now.  hopefully  his  eyes  being  so  shut  prevented  tears  from  pouring  out.  apolly  knew  that  he  wasn’t  ready  for  the  pitchfork  to  come  out,  but  he  took  all  the  measures  he  could  to  make  himself  ready.