#kellofdevils

How long had it been? A week? A month? Hell a whole year could have damn well passed and Karrhis probably wouldn’t have noticed with the way his life had turned out. For some reason, after the attack, after the deaths of three of his whelps, he still kept his loyalty to the House of Devils -and to Kiltriks, although to a lesser extent- and every day he wondered why. Well, in truth, Brixas and Kirtris had managed to survive. He stayed for them, and only them. They were the only things in his life worth living for right now and he was going to cling onto that for as long as he could.

But he’d been weak, at this moment. Mourning the loss of his children. He still felt the sting, the emptiness. He missed the old days, where nothing was wrong. Where he had five beautiful children and a mate that loved him, truly. He longed to have that again, to be happy again. And when Kiltriks made his advance, Karrhis was stunned. Too shocked to stop him at first but... Something else rose up. He wanted the attention, yes. But Kiltriks had hurt him, physically and emotionally. The wounds still burned in his heart, even after all this time.

A hand shot down, latching onto the Kell’s wrist without a word. He felt the glare bore into his skull but he couldn’t meet the Kell’s gaze. He was ashamed he even let it get this far already. A long beat of silence passed between them before Karrhis finally took in a shuddering breath.

     send one for my muse’s reaction to your muse slapping them

If there’s one constant in his life, it’s him. Perhaps two taking in account hisever-present fear whenever the larger Devil is even within his vicinity.

Mahrvis’ nails scratch at his wrists until theskin turns red, clutching the cloak he had been forced to remove in his muchweaker arms, his eyes almost glued to the floor. Anywhere to look but his face,he hates looking at Kiltriks face to face, and not only because it hurts hisneck to crane it up so far.

He hasn’t responded for one minute, or maybe two.The air is still between them beyond the hum of the Ketch like backgroundnoise, but it feels as if the silence is thick enough to choke him. Mahrvis’ teethgrind together briefly as his anxiety spikes again, taking in the smallest ofbreaths through the gaps of his teeth, one that rises his shoulders with it.

    “Youdidn’t answer my question.”

He is most definitely smart enough to realize itisn’t a very good idea to keep Kiltriks waiting for long, but the answerrefuses to leave his mouth, like it tied his tongue into knots and sew his lipsshut. The dreg presses his back further against the wall until his shouldershurt, attempting to shrink away further from the Baron that looms over him,eyes narrowed down into a threatening and impatient glower.

   “I’llgive you five seconds before I lose my patience, Mahrvis.”

He doesn’t want to say the actual answer to thequestion, though the burst of panic and paranoia that hits him is so intense heblurts out another;

     “No.”

The second he says it, he regrets it. Anything hesaid or wouldn’t have said he’d regret, but a much larger feeling of dreadmixed with terror passes over him so strongly he feels like he’s going tovomit, in spite of how he looks up to (try and) meet Kiltriks’ stare. The Barondoesn’t look angry, really—more dumbfounded than anything, but the moment is sobrief he isn’t even sure if he saw it.

       “Whatdid you say?”

Mahrvis blanches, attempting to look away and gounresponsive before the larger Devil’s hand forces his chin back up. He has achance to recorrect his answer, heknows that, but it still wouldn’t save him from any potential pain.Even still, in spite of the fear he feels, he tries to swallow his nerves andrepeat himself just a little bit louder, despite how his body shakes.

     “N-No.”

Another spark of confusion flickers in Kiltriks’eyes again, but fades almost as quickly as it comes to replace itself with angerand perhaps offense, and in turn just as quickly as Mahrvis had attempted tostraighten himself out to answer more defiant than before, he crumples again,shrinking backwards as his shoulders hunch, hands raising themselves.

Too soon, however, before Kiltriks raises his ownhand, claws outstretched just before striking him hard across the face, hishead jerking with the force of the hit. Mahrvis had expected it, in allhonesty, some degree of pain to hit him one way or another, literally or not;even the best of his reflexes, thebest defense he could put up are nothing compared to the Baron’s strength. He’sbeen struck before but the smack he earns for his single refusal fills him withenough pain even still for him to notice the tears that gather in the cornersof his eyes. Sucking in a strangled breath, his arms lift to shield himself andhe cowers away, shaking as his shoulders wrack with the first sob (out of bothfear and pain, though the prior far outweighs the latter) he makes. Hisshoulders scrunch up, as if attempting to hide from him both his head and his neck—hedoesn’t want that to happen again forhis negligence to answer where the second mark came from; not again.  

He doesn’t see Kiltriks lift his hand again givenhow tightly shut his eyes are, but he hears the burst of static that comes fromthe Baron’s helmet, followed by a few short, static-filled words he doesn’t even have the timeto process before the moment all comes to a stop. The silence doesn’t lastlong, however, broken by what almost sounds like a forced sigh and a tested,angry growl.

Kiltriks’hand forms a fist in the scarf around Mahrvis’ neck, yanking him forward to straightenhim out just once before he speaks again, keeping it short and to the point;

     “We’llcontinue this later.”

And abruptly ends their conversation after onelast shove, one hard enough for him to lose his balance and fall back againstthe wall, a gasp mixed with an almost-hiccup tearing from his throat as theother Devil suddenly storms out of the room, as if they had never spoken in thefirst place. He had left so abruptly, the smaller eliksni barely even has amoment to register what just happened before he crumples to the floor, kneestucked against his chest and face pressed to his arms as the heaving sobscontinue, the blood drawn from the strike smearing further across his face ashis shoulders shake.

It’s easy for the happiness of the new scar on hisneck to wear off when the dread and regret fills him from head to toe again.

  Laksiris hadn’t known who they were at first. The red-colored House of a torn banner she saw within the week she crashed. It was almost but not quite familiar to her until she ran into a squad—a small one, granted, still a squad all the same—made of two previously alive vandals and two previously alive dregs. Their armor, she’s seen it before. A long time ago. Devils, the name just barely rings a bell, but the hatred she associates with it she remembers all too well.

It’s not exactly easy for her, well over nine or even ten feet tall, to stay hidden for long. It takes little time for them to catch on, and with the squads she’s either slaughtered or fled from, she doesn’t prove easy prey—but there’s only so many places she can go until she runs herself into a corner. She doesn’t know where their territory starts and where it ends. And at some point, she realizes there’s been somebody chasing after her – the smell, how little different from them as a whole, is different and smells rich of ether – for a week or less, perhaps not all of the time but often enough. Until now she’s been able to stay one step ahead, for the most part; there have been few moments to rest, but going this long without any legitimate sleep takes its toll—maybe that’s why she runs herself into a wall, figuratively.

Ironically, it wasn’t really any physical wound that made her fumble. Even just being around the Hive (she had hidden in their tunnels the majority of the time to slow this unknown predator down, what little there was) at all feels draining and she’s sure wielding this sword doesn’t help. It’s barely even left her hand throughout the entire month, and with the sheer darkness of the weapon and the aura of these horrible creatures, it doesn’t make for a very easy time, especially when you’re already running on little to no sleep with no ether supplied.

After cleaving her way through another tunnel of Hive – mostly only thralls and acolytes – she breaks through to the surface again in an old refinery—it stinks of Devils.

A low growl of frustration bubbles up in her throat as her sluggish steps slow more than they had been, the former-Kell hissing and dropping to one knee, holding herself up with the weapon that sealed her so unfortunate fate in the first place. The forehead of her helm presses to the hilt as a secondary hand reaches up to remove the mask from her mouth. She had already used up the ether anyway, even with what little she had been rationing to herself. For now… She just needs a few clear breaths.

I’ll answer this one ooc since we all know kiltriks cant admit weakness lmao

Laugh * when he’s about to wreck someone * seeing someone do something stupid(What a dick)

Cry* god I literally don’t know this one in general I feel like he would cry very little since he projects negative emotions into anger* if he did it would probably be out of frustration, something going terribly wrong

Fear:* Someone no longer being afraid of him; threatening his position * Devils being wiped out

He should be flattered that he’s been put on the squad of a Baron rather than a Captain, but… He feels out of place. Too young and inexperienced to be of any use. To be a Dreg is one thing, but a Vandal, a new one, is another. What if they expect him to be more than he is? He wouldn’t dream of doing anything but his best, but— Even so… His own crippling self-doubt doesn’t seep into the way he carries himself, but he can’t help but feel it’ll be something to prey on regardless, even if he shouldn’t really flatter himself with such thoughts.

The fingers of his right, dominant hand curl around the left, shock rifle held in the lower set, head just slightly bowed as he trails behind the rest of his squad, just behind the other Vandals, in front of a Dreg or maybe two.

They stop in the Refinery, and Mahrvis nearly bumps right into the Vandal in front of him. He looks up just momentarily, watching the way the Baron – all the way at the front – stops and looks around. Something isn’t right, obviously, but Mahrvis himself can’t point a finger on it. So when Kiltriks turns around, he just bows his head again and attempts to remain as inconspicuous and out of the way as possible without cowering.

Which was, in retrospect, probably the reason he got picked in the first place.

When he’s called forward, he nearly thinks he meant either the Vandal in front of him or the Dreg behind him, but judging by the irritated look he knows he receives when he takes longer than a second, he can tell it’s him. So he straightens himself out and moves forward, trying with every nerve in his body to not feel as nervous as he already does. To call him intimidated of Kiltriks seems like a vast understatement.

His orders aren’t anything particularly.. difficult. Odd, maybe. Stand there, and just stand there and continue standing there and don’t move.

So he does, clutching his rifle a little closer and casting one glance backwards to his squad, slowly backing up.

A shot rings out and the antennae on the remains of what seems to be an old train breaks off with a loud, metallic clang, and that is, roughly, when Mahrvis realizes what he’s standing here for. He didn’t catch the scent of the Hive before, perhaps because he spent more time fighting Kings than Hive, but it’s hard not to smell it, and even if he didn’t, he hears the shrieks of the bone-dregs next anyway.

Hot breaths came from Kiltriks as he pulled Karrhis weak body close to him, not even caring about the gushing blood that would stain his clothes and armor. Everyone around them was dead, the group that they had come out with. It wasn’t supposed to be a dangerous mission. He’d just wanted to take his mate out to see some sights after being cooped up in the ketch for so long.

The last thing he expected was an outright ambush by a pack of Guardians. One by one, the lesser eliksni around him had fallen. He’d tried to tell Karrhis to get back to the skiff, but there just hadn’t been time. The Guardians fell, too, but not fast enough. By the time that Kiltriks took the last weak hunter in his hands and more or less broke him in two… the damage had already been done.

“Karrhis, you need to hold on.” His voice was just as demanding as usual, masking his emotions with years of training. But it just seemed like his words did nothing. Karrhis was looking up at him, his eyes blinking slowly, weakening. He could literally see the light fading from his mate’s eyes.

“Karrhis….” He said the smaller eliksni’s name again, but now his voice had began to shake, knowing that he could demand all he wanted from Karrhis, but it wouldn’t matter. He pressed a couple of his hands against the gushing wounds in some kind of feeble attempt to stop them from bleeding. Another hand touched Karrhis’ cheek, gently running his fingers down it. “… Please. Please don’t…”

He watched his mate blink slowly up at him again, a strained grunt coming from his form as Karrhis tried to move. But he just didn’t have the strength to even respond. His eyes moved to close again, but this time, they didn’t reopen. There was a gasp, and Karrhis’ entire body shuddered.

Kiltriks’ heart clenched so hard that it felt like his breath was knocked away, the body falling limp in his arms. His grip on Karrhis tightened so much that sharp fingers dug into Karrhis skin, his eyes wide and unbelieving for the longest second as he pressed the limp body close to his chest.

He didn’t even have the will to be angry. Not that there was anything around to take out anger on. The Guardians were dead. His troops with him were dead. Karrhis was dead.

Kiltriks didn’t care about the Devils in that moment, or his mission. He didn’t even want to think about the whelps that were back at the ketch, who had just lost the parent who wanted them more than anything. He didn’t feel like he could even look at those children anymore. He didn’t feel like he could look at his own room, or his ketch, and ever think about anything but this moment.

Void light radiated from his fists, one hand clenching his scout rifle as the battle had finished. It was a ways away from the Jovian Complex, among the snow and long destroyed buildings. Hive had stopped flooding the area when the battle finished between them and the eliksni attacking.

Toby had only arrived a bit prior during his patrol, void energy charging in his palm only to explode and send a nova-bomb onto a large group of thralls that chattered, scouring the corpses that had remained. When the after effects of the vortex vanished, he huffed to himself. “Jeez. I’m glad I wasn’t there for the bulk of that battle… I wonder if there were any survivors…?” He wondered at this looking at the decimated field around him, blood soaked the snow and rocks. Scattered parts of dead Hive were laying about, among the bodies of the eliksni who had battled them.  He kept his scout rifle handy, in case there was a thrall left behind... or an eliksni that would try to shoot him. “Not likely… but if you wish to try go ahead. I doubt any would accept your help though.” Blue spoke up and Toby rolled his eyes… despite it being true. So far he hadn’t seen anyone or thing that was left alive.

Thank you!