a monster to fight a monster

Can it breathe?

It can move, it can thrash.

It can throw fire, stomp the ground.

Can it scream?

The world has gone tilted.
Hot. Sticky.

The monster isn’t anything.

But they do say, it takes a monster to take a monster, don’t they?

He’s been a monster since birth, it only took the time to come to the surface.

Can it reach them? ..him?

Of course it can’t. Every useless flap of wings sends fire forward, away from him. From them.

It's nothing but a child, throwing a tantrum. A favorite toy, taken away. Humanity is such a fickle thing. It's a shame it never noticed how to enjoy that, until it was stripped away violently.

Shame, shame.

This is nothing. Nothing but an overgrown - overpowered - beast. Toddler would be an insult to toddlers.

He breathes, lungs expanding under strained ribs, and he feels the creak of bones. He's already shifted, far from the commotion of the barns and the town. He's managed to stray ahead of the thing, where nothing but fields and smaller villages reside. If this thing poisoned the land, it would be such a shame.

It wants to go north, and how he wishes the fucking thing would go just a stray bit to the east too. Maybe find some old fashioned kingdom and raze it to the ground. He's done enough damage there himself though. 

Hasn't it fallen apart since the death of its only heir? Certainly it has. Such is the way of civilizations and their linear path. Never straying, only ever self-destructing.

Bare bones part, jaws dropping down and gold ooze seeping between fangs. Three mouths wheeze out mock laughter that scrapes through the air, a deep baritone rumble that mocks genuine joy. Instead it settles into a lower rumble, a growl that shudders exposed ribs.

Digits twist, digging down into frozen ground with ease. The dead grass writhes in his grasp, and he lifts it, a mock sniff that causes the plants to simply wither and turn black. 

It's so easy to destroy, isn't it?

Golden eyes shudder, a simple gleam that comes from deep within three sets of sockets. This power he holds is unholy and vile, but not so much as the mindless creature before him. Flapping wings like a grounded baby bird, screeching into the air and flinging a heavy head.

Mages scurry around like ants under the assault, fleeing this way and that. Bug bites are annoying, so of course, wouldn't this be annoying to the beast? It had to be, with the way it swatted left and right in sharp jabs. Erratic, ceaseless. 

Why did he come out here? Why did he do this?

From the crouched position, his tail sweeps behind him, sending brittle foliage shattering, and his claws flex and relax, digging into the ground. Grip. Traction. He would need it. Even his wings shift and ruffle, agitated, ready. Ramped up.

He can taste the death in the air and it's an intoxicating rush that rolls through his veins. It stirs him, makes him want to move, to hunt. This monster wouldn't survive much longer, not against him.

Death incarnate comes with power, after all. Though his grasp on this is still tentative, still a little shaky. But this would be a good test run, wouldn't it? A reckless assault, where he wouldn't have to worry about others in his path. It's always messy when others are involved.

Black begins to fog up in his maws, roiling like tempestuous clouds that heralded the worst storms. A contrast to the ghastly white fog that trails around him, clustered about his feet. Eerie, silent.

Anticipation shudders through his entire frame, and he shakes himself, from heads to tail tip, wings flexing outward.

It's getting closer. Closer. Closer.

Maybe he should toy with it?

The leftmost head tilts to face the ground, and this time, his claws sink deep into the earth. Black consumes a radius around where he struck, and his hand comes up, fingers flexing around a near tangible essence he holds. The grass blades unfortunate enough to get stuck to his claws blow away like fine hairs, crumbling to dust. He isn't interested in that, just the substance that he lifts to a middle maw. It drops into it, down into his throat, easily absorbed as he digs into his magic.

It's powerful, being in this state, and he can summon the bodies so easily from the other plane. 

Bone, blood, flesh. They tumble out of an invisible rift, forming into shapes and bodies in front of him. Mindless creations, vacant eyes that hold no soul. But he doesn't need a soul to use them. They don't blink, but they really don't have to, even with the billowing smoke beginning to roll in.

They tilt heads to look at him, giving almost an expectant gaze. Yes, yes, they need to know what to do. Of course they do. 

Souls will be his to use, in due time. For now, he has puppets. All shapes and sizes! Right now though, he's staring at something ancient, something from a past that could never be truly revived, not even by his power. It's nothing but a cluster of Utahraptors, toes tapping the ground and heads tilting this way, that way, watching him.

"Go. Go, cause chaos for that.. thing." 

A simple order, and they're off, clicking and calling to one another. Nothing but bird calls, sharp and loud as they race across the plains, honed in on a target that would likely burn them to a crisp. They don't feel, not without souls. Shame, because they can't even feel the thrill of the hunt, the race of adrenaline while they coast towards the monster.

Blistering heat is probably the first thing that hits them, because he can see feathers wilt and curl, ruffling. From this vantage point, though, they aren't doing much except creating more chaos among mages that panic at seeing such ancient creatures. 

Black fog drips from his three maws, a thick smoke that's too heavy to be in the air, mingling with the ghostly white around his feet and hands. Finally, he can stop crouching, and he stands to his full height, his entire body shaking once more as his wings twitch and open wide. The heat can be felt from here, tickling over him with ravenous fingers. It wouldn't do much to him, not right now.

The two outermost heads lean to opposite sides, tilting like curious puppies before tilting the other way, and then back to straight as gleaming gold digs into his target. A hyper focused moment, a breath that aches in his chest and brings a ripple of excitement. Drool that oozes from his fangs and drips as his feet dig down with digitigrade claws, and he's suddenly shoving off. A gargantuan thirty five hands at the shoulders, he breaks branches and sapling trees in the winter air, his form breaking away from snow and ground, becoming a white blur that stomps across the landscape as he leans forward and gains momentum. All three maws hang open with an excitement that he can't hold back, hungry for this fight that he knows will be something to make him feel alive.

Even as he approaches, he can feel the heat. The raptors are still alive, some of them; even now he can see a few charred bodies, fat boiling and bubbling in the heat, crackling as skin peels and curls. Soon enough, they will return to dust, their bodies nothing but borrowed essence that will bleed back into the world. They will have some sort of peace, even without souls. Husks as they are now, at least their tired bodies will return to the deep earth where they belong.

Paws slam the ground, thudding with his massive weight as he nears, and he can see horrified glances thrown his way. Fear that strikes down deep, as mages suddenly scatter, shouts and cries of "Another, another! Monster!" echo over the fray of the monster screaming, of the fires burning through the fields. It's a race of mages running left and right out of his direct path with horrified shouts, and he can practically taste the death clinging to this monstrosity. It would die soon enough, and what a glorious feast that would be for him! Oh, he can imagine it now, the power, the filling of essence for his own magic!  It feels like time is standing still for that brief moment, and he relishes the power he feels in his veins, and can feel the control slipping just slightly.

The drool grows from one maw more than the others, leaving a slick trail in white fur as he charges. The monster grows in size the closer he gets, and Roux can't help but feel the trickle of euphoria in his veins as his body lurches and he digs claws from front and back legs in, ripping apart the ground to stop his momentum, far enough that he isn't going to get cooked from being too close. He can feel the heat, but it's nothing to him at the moment, nor is the smoke that billows up into the air, darkening the sky, turning it hues of sickening orange and muted grays.

Gleaming gold 'eyes' roll in their sockets, and he heaves heckling laughter. A maddening sound that claws from his throat, bestial and guttural. Mages can't figure out if he's friend or foe, but he can't find it in himself to fucking care. They aren't his problem, or his focus. Everything else around them is his focus, even now.

Large ears prick and move, roving. Even if he's got his gaze forward, he can hear the world around them. The way the fire crackles and rises, the unholy heat that moves forward in a suffocating curtain. Even the smell of burning flesh and hair, an acrid and sharp scent that would cause most to recoil. The ichor even has its own smell, something thick and wrong, unearthly. It stains the snow and grass, flung in thick globules that soar through the air wherever the titan of a monster tosses its head. It splatters against mages that scream and heave and retch; left in a path that's nothing but a steady line toward the north.

Ah, there they are.

The remaining raptors run, beelining toward him, leaving behind burnt feathers and stopping, smelling of singed flesh. They did good, right? Right? The look they give him is begging to ask, and he reaches a clawed hand, patting one. It crumples, dissipating to dust that gets blown away into the air. Release, that's what they want. Soulless they are, they do have a feeling of maybe being wrong. Maybe like they don't belong. But they can rest, in a way, and his claws touch the snout of the last one standing. It too, deteriorates into nothingness, almost with an audible sigh of relief, as if glad it can be released.

That's fine, because that isn't what he needs right now. He only needed this small things for a distraction, and he lunges close to the beast suddenly, claws ripping the earth apart under them as he makes his move. It's distracted by the many mages fighting, even as it walks ever north, and while it's on fire, he can land a hit. Heads turn and move, and he's suddenly latching onto a back leg after ducking under the beast, sinking three sets of bone shattering teeth into charred bone. It cracks, even as his claws rip up shards, and he draws on it, feasting on a soul that's an absolute corrupt abnormality. But a soul is a soul, and he absorbs a chunk, feeling it leak under his skin, itching at his own bones as he releases. Hair singes at the edges, and he's off to the side, massive form once more causing people to flee from his path as he feels his magic itch and burn, crawling. His stomach heaves, and maws retch and open before he turns, and suddenly exhales. 

This close, he can release the noxious weapon in his arsenal, and he isn't even using what he took from the fucking thing.

Black fog blasts forward from all three mouths, thick and almost sentient as it rolls over the grass. Whatever wasn't burned was turning black, necrotizing away as the fog crawls over back hooves. It would deteriorate whatever armor this fucking thing had with its charred bones, and provide vulnerable spots in its so called armor. 

Snapping jaws shut, Roux straightens up to his full thirty five hands once more, wings uncurling from behind him as he sucks in a massive breath once more. Now, now, he calls on that deteriorated soul he had absorbed. It feels unlike any soul he's ever had, like it was alive to the point where it was ready to fight him, struggling against a magic that it would not have 'known'. A living, writhing thing, he can heave it out with a forced shift of his entire body, throat opening. It comes out like a vapor, thick and coiling, tinged sickly gray rather than the usual souls. He reaches, pulling it from two of his maws, and then the last with both hands, holding it in his palms where it writhes and moves, hardly contained.

For a moment, the world seems to melt away around him while he stares at it, a nagging memory ripping at his mind.

It distracts him, and he's yanked into it, away from the control that he so delicately held over this form.

The soul reminds him of something, of someone. Of a cruel but kind smile, a laugh that mocked and adored him. He had never seen such a strange soul, but it holds some strange fondness to it. Maybe he would have had a soul like this, if Roux had ever realized what he had done. Would he have held that soul? Would he have lorded his power over the body of the prince that had shattered his entire heart, his entire being? Would he have been cruel enough to return the sensation a hundred fold? Even now, he can see the prince's body before him, feel the fear clogging his throat. He hadn't wanted it to end that way, and the tears had burned, oh they had burned. It was sharp, stinging, nothing like the echoing pain in his chest and the questions of why, why, why? So many whys, not enough answers, if any. 

The prince had deserved it, and Roux had known it after the fact. But that didn't stop him from weeping over the body in horror and fear, until he had been discovered. They had been discovered. The guards had grabbed, and he had been fortunate enough to run and have the agility to escape, with a wailing spirit behind him, reluctantly attached and screaming obscenities at him. It had faded after only a few moments, and he had escaped, but not before he had caught sight of him. Of the one that had warned him, and Roux... Roux had only dismissed him. A meeting of glances, one horrified and running, the other concerned and bewildered. Then, it was gone. But oh, wasn't the prince so fucking pretty, his soul so delightful.

Delightful.

Once upon a time, he would have been horrified with himself, but now? Now he drags himself back to reality, heads shaking and body staggering as he sucks in air into aching lungs. His heart is hammering, a steady thump that reminds him he is alive in this existence, even if his claws are digging into the ground where he had fallen to his knees briefly. His control had been lost, and to the outside observer, they had only seen this massive monster suddenly slouching and crumbling, dropping the thick foggy essence it held onto the dying ground. 

It pools around his fingers, and if he could have, he would have sneered down at the fucking fog, like it was contained in a little bubble that it couldn't quite pop. The prince.. he hadn't thought of that in a while, but the taste of this soul? Rotten, angry. It reminds him of the prince, and he has to learn to control that now. But this isn't about that fucking rotting soul, it's about this rotting soul. This monster in front of him, the one he can fight, and his heads shake separately, tilting up as he gathers the essence once more, sliding it down into the middle mouth. Bones snap shut, teeth rattling as he grows resolute, and he finds a way to properly absorb the stinking essence. It feels vile, but there's a power that's undeniable in it. 

Monsters did have souls after all, no matter how corrupt and discordant they were.

Laughter bubbles as he digs deep, finding himself ripping a hole in thin air. It's nothing at the moment, gathering up that essence around it, trailed out from him as it absorbs it, and begins to twist and writhe. The bones begin to form first, and then the sinew, the muscles. The skin. It rapidly forms, standing only a little shorter than him at full height, and he can feel the ache of fatigue deep down. Using this monster's soul saved him from having to use his own energy, and he watches the creature thud down on all fours. Heavy, angry, with a sharp horn. The rhino watches him blankly, and he keeps his ever grinning mouths shut for a moment.

"Kill it."

A rumble, and the rhino is off, charging, and he's soon moving with it. The rhino wouldn't be able to kill this monster, but at least he could do some damage with it, and himself, and he finds himself grabbing a front leg this time, sinking teeth and jaws down, claws raking. The monster maybe doesn't feel this, but he doesn't care. He'll shatter this thing from the inside out, and his middle head releases, the others following, as he suddenly crawls up and up. Fire and heat singe at his senses, but he's destroying everything he can, while he can keep this form.