Venom in the Blood by WynBird on DeviantArt (original) (raw)

Janus comes to taunt a weakened Tzuriel about the Voices. ANd boythatescalatedquickly

Janus’s claw scratched the damp stones idly. His pelt prickled as the demons chattered and cackled from dark corners. They were excited by the fresh blood. Would they be disappointed to know that it was brought only for defilement? Never to be purified by the divine flame?

Fear soiled the air. Sickening. Memories Janus did not care to recall nibbled at the edges of his mind and he scowled, flicking an ear to dismiss them. He was down here for a reason and knew well enough was it was, they needn’t remind him.

By now the wretches from Aryn would be hungry, thirsty. Keening with suffering. Ripe minds for his venom.

The dark creature before Janus shifted, and the Lord Cobra smirked from where he lounged in the shadows. “Wondered when you’d wake up. Good dreams I hope.” Janus’s teeth glittered white and sinister.

The shadows were laughing at his pain, his weakness. This is what happens when you deny Our Lord! Tzuri pressed his dark head against the cold, damp stone wall in an attempt to both drown out the Voices and soothe his screaming headache. Besides being held captive by your family’s most vile enemy, the effects of thirst were the worst part of this. Personally. Intimately, watching his fellow captives suffer was torture immeasurable. Every noise made them flinch, and their sleep (when they could) was fraught with terrors.

Or worse: They’d dream they were free. He could tell by the dying light in their eyes when they woke and saw where they were. He, too, had these dreams. Of happier times. Or times that made this look like a gentle rain.

Claws on stone like some giant bug’s legs pounded through the Vicar’s head followed by a dark, merciless voice. He winced at the sounds but forced himself to face the Vektreni.

“I would appreciate your concern...if I thought it real,” Tzuri breathed, fighting to keep his voice strong. “My dreams are...beyond your comprehension, I fear, filled with...things you’d not understand. What of you? Come to attempt to further break our bodies?”

He studied the Arynian with beady amusement, silent for a moderate spell after their reply. Glancing towards the corners of the Pits, where the more sinister apparitions lurked, Janus’s smirk twitched. The fool spoke with formal nobility, something Lord Cobra was beginning to see as a cultural phenomenon of the Arynians.

But was their display nobility any more real than his faux concern? Not hardly. They would break, like Merrill had. Like all others did. Athena’s brood might cling to scraps of tattered honour for now - it wouldn’t save them. None could contend with Xibalten’s will.

Standing, Janus splayed his forepaws outward, arching his belly toward the cold stone. “Hmph.” He studied Tzuriel with his blue eye, and then the red - snickered soundlessly. “There is very little beyond my comprehension, Maggot. Hekate tore down the Veil and freed me. My blood is curdled by secrets that would strip your soul bare to touch.”

Ears pricked, Janus stepped forward. “So no… I’m not here to break you, poor creature. You see, you’re not worthy of the guidance our goddess calls upon me to provide. But it’s possible you can be of some amusement.” He raised his brows, “Unless the company of the Freaks is preferable? It does seem they’ve taken a great interest in you, and they have such lovely voices. The screaming used to keep me awake for days on end.”

Janus leaned back on his haunches, smiling reverently, “Ah… the music of it…”

“The Freaks?” the Vicar questioned, rolled his temple to the wall so he could better squint at the Vektreni.

His mind formed an image of wolves born with challenging bodies or minds whose souls were no less beautiful than those of their ‘perfectly’ formed family. Sadly, he could imagine what wolves like the Vektreni would do to them: Throw them in a Pit of their own with no love, treating them like refuse, and, ultimately, turning them into creatures who knew only pain and fear, thusly giving only pain and fear in return. Tzuri’s heart burned with righteous fury at this thought. Every wolf was a Gift of The One! Even these vile Vektreni. He could not physically fight for these imagined tortured souls, but he would speak for them.

“I’ve heard no screaming...Vektreni. Only the pounding of my head, the growling...of my belly, the...prayers of my family, and...the taunts of The Deceiver’s Minions,” he growled. It was more a grunt, but there was just enough anger behind it. “I would meet these ‘Freaks’, as you call them, and tell them of The One’s love for them, as He loves us all--even someone so vile and misguided as _you._”

Ah. There it was. Curiosity. Janus squinted at the Arynian with glinting arrogance.

“Hmph. It’s likely your preaching would only inspire their ire. See, I really don’t expect them to care much for your ‘One.’ They favour another master.” The Lord Cobra licked his lips. “As do I. Your deity can keep His love, wretch. What Xibalten has given me is far superior.”

Sneering, he crept forward, almost nose to nose with the captive. “Surely you can see that? If your Great Spirit was indeed great, Xibalten and her Wraiths would retreat before him, would they not? Yet you are here, our captive. And the voices… whisper in your ears. Such pretty secrets. I know. They told me, too.”

It was known that the Vicar wasn’t that quick on the uptake, and the screaming migraine he was having halved his perceptive skills, but the last statement the Vektreni spoke had hit him like a bull moose. And the voices… whisper in your ears. Such pretty secrets. I know. They told me, too. Tzuri’s dry mouth slowly gaped in realization, and a chill having nothing to do with the damp streaked down his spine. One sentence had just confirmed the biggest question he’d had most of his life. The Voices were real, and they were demons! Part of him felt relieved--he wasn’t crazy--however the rest was frozen in terror and awe at the ramifications: The One was real and so was The Deceiver, and they both had taken an interest in Tzuri and his family!

His reaction, brought on by exhaustion, hunger, and thirst, was to laugh. “Oh, they did...did they? Whisper secrets? Have they told...you mine? Or that they tell me...that blood can slake...thirst just as well as...water?”

That last bit was a gambit. The Voices were silent, watchful, but, as he said this, Tzuri thought he saw the shadows perk their ears.

He held his ground, looking Tzuriel full in the eyes, studying the jags and slices of their blue irises for the truth hidden behind the lie. But Janus was a keeper of secrets. He could not share his wisdom, there was no power to be gained by it here before this still-skeptical mind.

Tzuriel was weak. But not weak enough. A taut silence ensued, even the monsters stilled themselves in anticipation.

“What a pity, that we did not find you sooner.” The Lord Cobra spat his pity, sprinkling Tzuriel’s nose in saliva as he menaced the captive. Cold dead bones, poisoned fangs bared to strike from shadow, and Janus’s growling voice, all of these were possessed of the same brutal sharpness. “Xibalten might have lifted you to greatness were circumstances different. But I suppose she has plans for you yet.”

“If you thirst for blood, well, we’ve none to spare. Ours is consecrated to the gods, as it happens.” Janus’s eyes shifted to the left, and then his face followed, looking towards the other, unconscious, captives, “Your friends though. I suspect they have more than their fair share. Fresh. Still warm. Shall I fetch you some? I’d hate to be an inconsiderate host, after all.” He smiled with arrogance, wide and sharp.

Bloodshot blue eyes followed Janus’ to where the other Arynians lay, widened at comprehension, then narrowed. There was no ‘he wouldn’t dare!’ because the Vicar already knew that the Vektreni would. They could’ve been brothers, the Lord Cobra and the Master Vicar, as they were so similar in coat color and conviction, and that’s why Tzuri didn’t question or challenge his statement. Exhaustion made his usual strict self-control feeble, and the other tortures had succeeded in clouding his judgement.

Vektren had taken Nero, Raghaalr, and himself. They’d taken Merrill. They’d taken Azhoyel and Hawthorne.

Enough!

Tzuri’s vision became crystal-clear, albeit colored crimson, and it focused on Janus’ throat. The Vicar found the awful strength he was denied at his capture and moved like wildfire with a sound very much like one bursting from his throat, surging up with dire purpose. He would drink blood, and he would enjoy it.

If he succeeded. If not, at least he’d die showing Vektren that Aryn was not weak.

Foolish, but not weak.

Movement in his peripheral warned him of impending violence, but not fast enough. Janus tore backwards. Tzuriel was already upon him. Teeth bit into Janus’s throat beneath the jaw, ripping away a chunk of flesh and thick fur.

He barely felt it, adrenaline coursed through Janus like venom. With a wild bellow to rival shrieking Wraiths, he dug his claws into the chilly ground and lunged forward to meet Tzuriel with equal force. How dare he! How dare this squirming maggot show such disrespect! “I’LL KILL YOU, INSOLENT MONGREL!”

Even drugged and poorly, Tzuriel’s strength was formidable. Fear had made him violent, a danger Janus realized belatedly he should’ve anticipated. No matter! This worm would learn not to fancy itself a serpent - soon enough! Lord Cobra did not check his fury. Claws ripped at the captive and fangs lashed against Tzuriel’s face.

The rank staleness of the Pits was suddenly heavy with iron.

The creature that moments before had been the Vicar screamed in exaltation even as half his world went dark his throat was moist with warm, salty blood, and his ears had heard the Lord Cobra lose his composure. The Voices cackled with the creature, cheering him on, calling for more vengeance, more blood, and their Pawn was happy to oblige. The Pawn let the force of Janus’ blow propel him down with extra alacrity, finding the dark wrist with his teeth. He worried it like a pup with a toy, biting until he heard muted cracking, until he felt bones give, until more blood flooded his maw.

Inside, a pained, tortured voice cried, This is for Shoshana, and Brielle, and Elias, and Azhoyel, and all of Aryn! This is for me, you bastard!

A thready splintering sensation rippled up Janus’s leg, reverberating in his ears. He heard it before he felt it. And then the pain was so extreme what little conscious thought was left to the Viper dissipated entirely. His jaws clamped down even harder against the captive's skull, thrashing as a deep, bubbly growl issued from his bleeding throat.

Why don’t we see which one of us has the greater will then! Cur!

Suddenly the Enforcers were on them both, prying them apart. Tzuriel was met by one guard as the other shoved Janus back, barking orders the Cobra could not hear through the outrage pounding in his head. “Wretched little beast! You think you’re clever!” He shrieked, surging against his restrainer, who struggled to hold him back.

Pink froth dribbled from Janus’s stained muzzle, his eyes glinting madly. One was reflective, the other dark. “Mark my words - you’ll suffer for that! Far beyond whatever it was worth to you, you’ll pay for it! I’ll have you begging for mercy before the end, and THEN I’LL SKIN YOU ALIVE AND FEED YOUR OTHER EYE TO THE RAVENS!”

His breath came in explosive bursts, but as one guard subdued Tzuriel and the other held Janus back, his hot white rage cooled to simmering red. “_Get off of me._” He snarled, snapping at the wolf beside him. Janus rolled his shoulder and took a deep, shaky breath to regain some semblance of composure.

The skin beneath his jaw hung loose. It was uncomfortably wet. In an attempt to show strength, he allowed weight to fall on his wounded leg. The flinch was instinctive, and Janus let out another fierce snarl. “Oh-ho huuu. Ooh. _Maggot,_” he hissed to Tzuriel, “such a terrible mistake.”

The monsters in his vision cackled. They found it amusing, and it occurred to Janus to fear whether further repercussions might follow. Turning with as much dignity as he could muster, the Lord Cobra limped stiffly towards the exit, leaving a sticky trail of red pawprints behind him and muttering all the while.

Wrenched from the Lord Cobra, torn from its victim, the Pawn snarled and snapped at the flies that dared to restrain him. The Enforcers slammed the foaming creature against the Pit’s wall, holding him there until Janus left, giving the black body a final slam before they, too, retreated. Their haste was for nothing, though; at the moment of Janus’ departure, the Pawn took its leave as well and, with it, all strength and murderous adrenaline.

Tzuriel collapsed to the damp floor, shuddering with pain, exhaustion, and fear. He was saved from passing out only from the shock he was suffering. His loss was still ephemeral, despite only seeing one half of everything. Heart still thundering in his chest, he realized what he had done, and, momentarily, he smiled manically. My family is safe. Suddenly, he went cold, either from blood loss or the darker realization that whispered to him.

My family will pay for what I’ve done! O you fool!

Now, his head swam and his vision wavered. Now, the Vicar felt his life flowing from his wounds and consciousness with it, and sadly realized he could not fight it.

The black wolf sagged and moved no more.