oderint dum metuant.

𝗜 𝗔𝗠 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗖𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗗.

𝒊. 𝒂𝒃𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔. 

𝒊𝒊. 𝒃𝒊𝒐𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒑𝒉𝒚. 

𝒊𝒊𝒊. 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔. 

𝒊𝒗. 𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏.  

𝒗. 𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒕. 

OPPOSITE — @ooseye​​ the fighters’ area, shortly after the conclusion of the first round of brawls.

A sharp sigh carved its way through his nose as he ventured backstage; the aggravation curled around the sound forcibly dislodged by his momentum and sent cascading along his form until it found its anchor in the arches of his feet – where it made its presence flagrantly known, hardening his steps into a firm, clipped cadence that all but rang in declaration of his haste to fulfill his needs and make his exit.

In his eyes, it was by far the most distasteful location within the arena, even more so than the Blood Dome. After all, what need was there for searing spotlights and callous crowds to remind one of the purpose served by these grand designs, when one was standing in the very heart of the spectacle? Surrounded by the garish array of weaponry, the anticipatory hum of the fighters, and the blaring echo of pummeling strikes and splintering bone from the training rings, he felt like he and his fellow vampires were merely pets corralled into a well-dressed cage – to be pampered and prepped for the awaiting eyes of those who stood at the end of their collective leash. And worse than the awareness of that was the recollection that the horrid performance was one that most, if not all, of them had offered themselves up for willingly.

The thought ironed his mouth into a bitter line; one that he harnessed as a boundary to push at his gnashing frustration and tamp it down. He needed to rein in his rage more aptly, or he certainly wouldn’t be able to make it through whatever time he had left in the Brawl. Entering his room, Ilyas began to scout for his things. Now that he had been cleared of the upcoming round, there was no point in occupying the room any further, at least until his next fight was announced. Yet before he could make a single move, his instincts suddenly tugged at him, swiftly propelling him into turning around and facing detected danger. It came in the form of the notorious Oseye, who instantly crossed the threshold and barreled into his space. Unflinchingly, he said, “Step back, Oseye.” Despite the vigorous urge to do so, he didn’t push her away. He knew that any touch between them would send blood spilling in its wake. As his request went unheeded, he repeated it, yet with more force. “I said step back.”

It was not every day that the impaler was met with failure. Even so, she’d been cursed with the eternal memory of each incomplete kill, and how their presence inevitably made her lesser, no matter what feats she would achieve. ILYAS is one of such failures— and perhaps the most annoying of all. Meeting him in their present circumstances could only be some small token of kindness or cruelty from the universe, something to reveal itself within the results of the upcoming matches. That did not mean Oseye would not take the present opportunity to become a nuisance if only to put him on edge as they continued through the matches. 

They tilt their head, lips curling cruelly as they continue they slinked onward, unperturbed by Ilyas’s words. “Did you truly believe that after making an attempt on your life that I’d ever be dissuaded by verbal warnings?” Oseye pauses at a comfortable enough distance, a yard or so apart, which was close enough for them to assess their potential opposition. An opponent in more ways than one, what she’d determined to be two wrongdoings, consolidated in one (the newest wrongdoing being her potential loss, as the pure potential of such was enough to qualify as its own individual wrong).

Location: Barracks, Cicada HQ Timeline: Blood Brawl (after the first round) With: @ooseye​ “Oseye,” Titus greeted, nodding slightly, knee and ankles still aching with each gingerly step. If there was something he could be grateful for from his turning, it was the way the most excruciating of human injuries were of little importance as vampires. The broken bones had found themselves healed within days, in what he could only imagine strings of calcium suturing the split shut. Of course, honour was another matter altogether, though if he was being honest, he was very much relieved at how the match had gone. He wasn’t sure whether he could’ve lasted another match in the colosseum without sending his mind to the brink of insanity. “If I didn’t know better,” he drawled, raising a brow, “I’d say you’re holding a grudge against me.” Bending forward, he settled into a seated position on the floor slowly, careful to not inflame any of the tendons around his broken bones. “Do you?”

The tenor of her opponent’s voice alone is enough to propel Oseye back into the arena— the taste of blood and dirt remaining fresh on her tongue. She’d presently been reveling in her win, though they could not ignore how close the match had truly been. His suggestion is met with an immediate eye roll, but her jaw noticeably clenches upon being confronted with this suggestion, prompting immediate soreness in the area she’d been struck. A loss was still a loss in the end, and Oseye is reminded of such as Titus lowers his battered body onto the floor beside her.

“Well, surely you didn’t expect me to make doe eyes at you after landing a punch on my jaw with that amount of force, did you?” she utters before launching herself toward him, clutching his own jaw with a firm grip. A nice jaw, but perpetually tense. “Maybe you’d understand where I’m coming from more if I replicated the move myself, but on you,” Oseye muses, eyes ablaze, lips coiled in a wicked grin. 

Location: Private residence ?  With: @ooseye

Marriage was a convenience. 

And that’s exactly what Nezha had signed himself up for when he had said his vows to his beloved wife. In truth, he had agreed out of spite because what bigger way to say fuck you then to marry one that had been part of his destiny. And well, it wasn’t like he was mad about the whole deal either - it was beneficial to have a walking fountain of blood to drink from and it certainly helped boost both his power and his tolerance. So he supposed he’d count himself lucky compared to others facing similar situations. 

“Neck, please,” his arms were held out, ready to embrace for the weekly pleasure of drinking fine fresh blood. Pure blood. 

THE NATURE OF OSEYE’S POWER IS PERHAPS THE CRUELEST IRONY OF ALL.