Some petty, needless infighting between 'friends'. This doesn't really have a point to it, per say; I'm just a fan of unnecessary violence between friends and also like to draw parallels between very similar people. This is, of course, stemming from an AU. This was mostly an exercise, as I wanted to stretch my action legs. It's not my best work, but I had a lot of fun writing it and that's all that matters. :) Posted this to both my AO3 and writing blog.
Blood, violence, near-decapitation, cursing, heat and flame as a weapon sorta... Lots of fun stuff in here, if that's your vibe.
There was so much Garrett didn't know about the boy who so toiled away in front of him, a crease to dark red brows, lips drawn into the deepest of frowns. At first glance, it was clear he was a bitter thing, eyes focused on everything and nothing, phasing in and out of spectral memory and the thick, night air of that which was tangible, real, dark though it may have been. A deep, unspoken loneliness clung to flecked visage, bearing the weight of untold loss, and the heavy bags under that burning burgundy gaze suggested the boy hadn't seen a proper night's sleep in far longer than he'd ever been willing to admit. Whatever story he didn't want to tell, the histories of a short, painful life lived, had been his and his alone, and that seemed to be what bothered him so. He had no one and even less to show for it, human skin hanging on a lifeless skeletal frame, slumping, hands grasping at olive and maroon silk, knuckles white with a desperation he hoped no one would make note of. The kid was anxious, maybe even terrified, floating on through the streets of Red Grave a lost and agonized soul as devils and beasts clawed themselves out of the shadows, out of Hell. And it'd all clung to him, stuck to him like glue, that stench of sulphur and blood. Whether he could admit it, taste the words in his mouth and understand them, Saryn was a demon, borne of the very same flames and suffering Garrett had. Maybe he struggled with that, maybe he fought with himself on so indisputable a truth, but, sooner or later, the time would come for him to make a choice: Confront his circumstances, meet them head-on, conquer them, and move forward; Or, let them consume him.
Garrett had known all too well how difficult a task it was to fully accept what he was, to breathe in that dry, acrid smoke despite how loudly his lungs would scream and fight against it, but it took time - time he didn't have. His own upbringing had been of unfortunate circumstance, brought up by a succubus cloaked in human flesh with a penchant for abuse, abandoned by a father of noxious fumes and caustic nature, and forcibly removed from the horrors of familiarity, only to be placed into a broken system that tried to care but failed every time. Every bruise on his body, every scrape, every broken bone, healed just as quickly as they'd been received. A certain arrogance gripped him in his youth, but that all-encompassing, fiery rage he couldn't control, couldn't cope with, guided every choice he made, even when it concerned the good in his life. To a degree, his lack of emotional maturity had something to do with it, his boyish mind incapable of understanding his hormones, the changes taking place in his body on a molecular, supernatural level, and what love had dared to creep into his heart had been all but tarnished by his inescapable anger. Soft hands, the caress of gentle fingers on his spine, were met only with balled fists and feral tenacity, and, then, that love, the warmth flooding his chest, had been lost. At the time, he didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the ramifications of his actions, thinking it only natural he say and do what he did, but days, weeks, months would pass him by in an instant and regret would settle within him, expanding until all the good in him, all the bad, had been replaced with emptiness. All the while, he struggled with the painful transformations, the random combustion of his clothes in the middle of class, and the foul-mouthed upperclassmen who saw him as the threat he most certainly was, frustration clear on his brow, remorse an impossible feeling to shake. For a time, it would consume him almost as assuredly as Saryn's rage did himself, now, but it was that overwhelming and seemingly permanent sense of guilt and shame that would serve as the catalyst for his eventual discovery of his resolve, his desire to do and be better than he was. Every day since had seen its ups and downs, but no matter how difficult it'd been, he pushed forward, stubbornly clinging to this idealistic image of himself - an idea that was unattainable.
But such as it was, that's what youth had always been, what it was always meant to be: A time of suffering and pleasantness at odds with one another as the body changed, as thoughts and dreams shifted, as relationships fell apart and new ones formed, and all one can do is keep moving forward despite it. The only other choices were in the extreme, flavors of a sourer nature, and while Garrett had suffered his fair share of sorrows, death was never an option for him. If it had been, he would never have made it this far, wouldn't have unearthed the goodness that still remained in him and in the world around him. He never would have forced himself into V's affairs, fought his own kin in the streets of Red Grave, nor would he have found the purpose he so desperately needed to keep himself afloat. It was fundamentally necessary that he stay living, breathing, shouldering his many burdens so that he might dig deep into himself and drag the humanity he still had back to the surface kicking and screaming, so frightened of the meaninglessness of his own existence and the suffering he'd endured because of it. Life as it was hadn't meant anything at all, and no matter how often the great philosophers of their time and before pondered the purpose of it, it always boiled down to nothing. Life itself didn't have meaning, merely a natural process that those afforded the gift of sentience and thought but the memories created, the experience, while one lived did. Rather, that's what ascribed life any meaning.
Ultimately, he didn't think that would mean much to the small redhead in front of him; He was too angry, too raw, still bearing the brunt of his pain, too afraid to let it go, too afraid to live without it. He was young yet, and he would learn as time continued on. Garrett heaved a quiet sigh, lips peeling into his typical crooked, toothy grin. None of that could be attributed to why they stood here, twiddling their thumbs like a pair of confused children, but it was reason enough for Garrett to give pause, carefully consider comparative similarities and differences, but, truthfully, he'd made his decision long before Saryn bothered to ask his stupid questions, beg for the unnecessary but inevitable fight he so desired. Because, in the end, the hellish wolf had grown tired of that needless bristling, the snarl of his maw, and more still his persistently shitty attitude. He and V had taken him in despite being full up on adoptees, too many mouths to feed, and while he'd admired his mate's compassion, there were some animals that simply couldn't be tamed through conventional means, or at all. It was only a matter of time until he and Saryn came to blows, but it was better that there be a formal agreement between them, even if V wasn't to hear a single word about it.
Crystalline blue narrowed on opposing red, his grin masking his intent, and arms soon came to cross over his chest. A mere handful of minutes had gone by since Saryn first opened his mouth, and while Garrett had certainly been a bit lost in thought, he'd let the moments drag on purpose, watching the wheels turn in that little head of his. Every second that passed only further soured exhausted features, a noticeable wrinkle to a small nose, that snarl deepening to reveal pearly white, sharp teeth, discolored gums. He wondered, briefly, how Saryn had managed to survive on his own all this time; Had he been devouring other demons? Humans? Or had he not been eating at all, blindly fighting instead? The pale, almost infected color of his gums seemed to suggest something, but he couldn't be sure what exactly - and, ultimately, it hadn't made a difference. Regardless of what brought Saryn to this point, he was sure to be an interesting opponent, one so rife with aggression and, potentially, a slow reaction time. This fight would be over as quickly as it would begin, provided Garrett's assumptions rang true, but he was open to the idea that he could be wrong and thus he was well prepared for any differences.
"So, y'sure y'really wanna do this, kid? It ain't gonna be fun," he said simply, allowing his human skin to steadily crackle and break like porcelain, clouds of thick, black smoke beginning to billow forth from between the cracks. He would satisfy Saryn's craving for violence willingly and without complaint, but the glint of his own teeth should be taken as a warning, a promise, that he would not make this easy. He wanted a battle, but he would be getting a war, and that's what happens when one bites off more than they can readily chew. "I'm not gonna make it easy."
And the deathly glow in an opposing gaze gave him all the reply he needed, really, that hollow emptiness stinging with a familiarity he'd rather not return to. Questioning it would only serve to forestall the inevitable and give rise to heightened tensions, agitate the embodiment of unbridled rage in so small a form. Saryn released the silken fabric of his sleeves, brows furrowing, beads of sweat dribbling down the sides of his face, and he shifted on his feet, arms up, as if he were waiting for Garrett to take a swing. It was almost amusing, that he would think this fight would be in any way conventional. The wolf knew full well he was a demon, a rabid dog cloaked in the skin of a young man, and he would provoke it, assault his senses with stinging sulphuric fumes, grinning like the fiendish bastard he'd become, and he would wait. Wine-red eyes narrowed but remained entirely fixed on Garrett, not a trace of fear to be found, every muscle bracing for what he no doubt thought would come, and when it didn't, features creased by irritation would allow for a glimmer of confusion to shine through. He was still just a boy, after all, in his heart of hearts. Garrett had to use that to his advantage, but it would be easy, so very easy, to manipulate and use against him. It'd been a long time since his opponent was a demon bearing relative humanity in a similar manner as himself and he supposed that's what was going to make this that much shorter an affair.
A cool breeze drifted between them, carrying poisonous smoke downwind in Saryn's direction, and it wouldn't be long before that frustrated, confused face would shift into that of disgust, agony as the sticky, caustic gas filled his lungs with every breath he took. In the meantime, Garrett let his arms drop to hang at his sides, that awful grin of his widening as pieces of his own countenance fell away, thick ashen fur and scorching embers peeking through. The demon in him was shamefully eager to begin, muscles rippling beneath black ink and leather, his bones snapping and twisting to make room for the vicious creature to rise from the deepest part of himself, claw to the surface, set fire to the earth. He knew he was a hazard, a vicious combination of what was human and what wasn't, built from brimstone and molded by flame, but that would become ever clearer, an indisputable fact, when rows of gnarled teeth split his maw. Foretold disgust took hold of the boy and already had Saryn begun to choke, an arm rising to shield his mouth and nose from the painful assault of virulent smoke. His shoulders trembled and shook as he coughed and sputtered, struggling to breathe, free hand shakily hanging in the air before him, a shoddy attempt at clinging to his fighting stance. Foolish boy. It was sad, almost, that he'd been so hungry for battle, so willing to throw his life away for the sake of his anger, his rage, and it would all be for naught. There was no point to any of this, even if one should include the hormonal and tragic pains of his own life, because it would not end well. There would be no deliverance, only the affirmation of his own stupidity and poor judgement. Survival was a possibility equal to an untimely death, but the boy would have to start moving, pull himself out of the cloud, and face Garrett properly in the same way he would need to confront his childish way of dealing with his pain.
"Cough cough," Garrett teased, teetering on his heels and toes as more and more of his human facade shattered to pieces and fell to the earth like broken glass, oil-slick, twisted paws breaking through flesh and blood, his tongue wetting his lips. "Better start movin', kid. Stayin' in place'll do ya no good, y'know."
"Shut up," Saryn spluttered, his voice little more than a low rasp, a growl, and the wolf watched as he took his advice to heart, stumbling to the side out of the stream of smoke. His eyes never left him, locked firm with clear blue, and, it seemed, his own transformation was beginning to take place, raw muscle ripping through skin to form the fanged, skinless maw of a petulant mutt.
"Oh? So the lil' doggy barks after all, hm?" He wanted to laugh, lend further credence to the truth of how this would all play out, but he abstained; Such would've only proven him mad and while he was most certainly a feral beast kept safe in human skin, he was no monster. Or was he? "Let's see if you've got any bite."
In a sudden burst of flame, smoke, and ash, Hell would spit forth from its depths the form of a massive wolf draped in its fires, embers burning in the cracks of Garrett's hide, crimson gaze unyielding, bright and unfathomable. Claws dug into dust and dirt, a guttural growl building from deep within his hulking frame while black fur shook free the remainder of his humanity, now so Catholic a representation of animosity, retribution, aggression, might, destruction. Garrett was built for a war of Biblical proportions, trapped by human morality, so fitted with the unquenchable thirst of the devils scraping their useless claws against brimstone and smacking their lips in need of water, of blood. Vile smog wafted free of his gaping maw, blackened saliva dripping from between gnarled rows of teeth, that guttural growl finally leaving him - and it was deafening.
Saryn's eyes widened, watering from the heat emanating from Garrett's hellish body, the smoke, the ash–
But the wolf would give him no time to react, no time to gather himself and finish what he'd begun on his own, no. He was nothing if not true to his word; He bolted forward, every muscle in his hindlegs propelling him toward the boy so overwhelmed by astonishment and, perhaps, fear, flames roaring beneath his hell-rotten flesh. Even as Saryn realized what was happening, that Garrett had no intention of showing him mercy, scrambling to get out of his way, the wolf had proven himself faster, and with a tilt of his enormous head, the second he was within reach, he snapped his jaws shut around Saryn's torso, biting into flesh with a slick, muffled pop, like a balloon underwater, until silk had been shredded and blood began to seep into his mouth. Bones shifted and snapped, grinding against his teeth, and a shrill, agonized shriek filled his ears, raw terror a tantalizing drug in the bloodstream. He tasted that fear, his horror, rich and sickly sweet, demonic ichor giving the wolf a healthy dose of untamed power not his own as it slid down his throat. Electricity shot down his spine, surging through and over him like a tidal wave, unforgiving, and it threatened to take him along on its current. His throat rumbled with the continuation of his growl, and just as he was about to let go and dive into wild, feral urges, he remembered himself, thrashing his head wildly, viciously, tearing and ripping through the boy trapped in his maw. Blood splattered across dirt and stray patches of dying grass like heavy rain, viscera coating his tongue, metallic, catching the light of the setting sun.
Saryn wanted this, he told himself. He wanted to fight without holding back, without being stopped, contained. But why? Why really? Did he have so little regard for himself, his safety, his life? Was he so stupid as to throw himself away for the sake of something old, something that could be forgotten in time so long as he allowed himself to face it? He was screaming, and soon his voice would die in his throat, vocal chords so strained and unaccustomed to use. Was he doing this as a means of hurting himself, to allow himself to shift focus onto the here and now, something he couldn't ignore? How tragic, but he was far from unique. Much of Garrett's younger years were spent in the middle of pointless fights and his childhood had been spent entirely at the shit end of the stick, suffering the wrath of a mother who should've never been - and hadn't wanted him in the first place. Demons were everywhere, too, disgusting and invasive, stains on everything they touched, and they were persistent, distasteful reminders of his nature, of his own demonic blood. He was used to violence, used to insurmountable pain. He had to be, because if he didn't adapt, he couldn't survive. What did Saryn expect to do here? Writhe betwixt fiery jaws and scream over and over again until the shock took him? Garrett had robbed him of the time required to finish his transformation, so what was he to do? What was his plan? He lowered his head and dropped the boy to the earth, watching him fall in a crumpled heap, crimson gaze unwavering, firm. All that incessant pestering and he was content to lie down and die like a dog, was he? Surely he had more fight in him than this. Pitiful. Unless–
The wolf dipped his head lower, blood-soaked maw probing for an answer, sniffing at the boy's seemingly lifeless frame. Tongue lolled between his teeth, lapping at the slick red pooling at his paws, all the while breathing in Saryn's deathly scent. Silly boy, did he think Garrett could be so easily fooled? He was biding his time, waiting for him to draw nearer and nearer until an opportunity presented itself. Smart, even it'd meant near fatal injuries. Exposed threads of muscle stretched over wounds with lightning speed, spreading over his body like a cancer in the bloodstream, tight and taut, and before he knew it, Saryn would arch his spine and lunge at him, pushing from the earth with five-toed paws dressed in rows and rows of bloodied talons, pale glowing eyes finding their target, jaws going straight for the throat. Razor-sharp fangs sliced into hell-rotten flesh, tearing away at ash and still-burning embers, and Garrett's head began to swim, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a herd of untamed horses, hooves thundering underfoot. The pain hadn't even registered in his brain, only the pressure, his growls silenced by force, but he could naught but cackle.
That's more like it.
Heavier paws shoved the smaller dog, his claws catching on devilish red thew, and he raked them down Saryn's sides, falling backward in tandem with his momentum. Hind legs kicked at his underbelly, but those miniscule jaws bit harder, locked on his windpipe. Garrett's breaths soon labored and he continued his assault on Saryn's unprotected underside, the fires of Hell beginning to build in his gullet, stoked by tremendous, uncontrollable power. Faster and faster, until their bodies twisted and intertwined, tangled in a flurry of fur and shredded muscle; Neither had been afforded time to think, forced only to act, and as ferocity took them both, blood splattering upon the earth, so had a certain savagery, claws scraping, digging deeper, until innards and bone shone through. Garrett reared his head, thrashing wildly beneath Saryn, every bit of his might powering his hindlegs. Those fangs had proven much more difficult to rip free, but the wolf would prevail, finding purchase in blood and viscera and launching the boy high into the air; Quickly did he rolled onto all fours, heat coiling in his gut, and as he angled his head, locking onto the rabid beast, he opened his massive maw and the coil snapped, setting free an explosive plume of smoke and flame, scorching anything above and before him. He braced himself all the while, tensing his muscles; Saryn plummeted, weight brought down by gravity, but Garrett was all too quick to meet him, even as blood and bits of sinew and mangled organ tissue fell upon his ashen form. The scent of burning flesh wafted into his nostrils, overpowering his senses, but he remained resolute in his intent, clapping shut his jaws and ceasing fire if only so that he might snap them around Saryn once more. Crisp and blackened, charred to the bone, but the boy was ready, gnashing his teeth, eager to clamp his puny little maw around Garrett's snout. A paw lifted, smacking his head away before Garrett could make his next move, fangs settling for grinding an ear between them and claws caught on the cracks of his body, the blistering heat of hellish lava flow going ignored as Saryn brought him to the earth alongside him.
Despite his injuries, he was proving an interesting opponent, one with some amount of skill and tenacity, the potential to outwit and bring forth his demise. But this was no mere display of ability; It was provocation, a plea for more. As his body hit the ground, bones shattering upon impact under his and Saryn's weight combined, pain tore through him, vertabrae displaced, ribs cracked and fractured. Like a flower, a vicious, violent bloom, that pain morphed into sheer agony and for a moment, a fraction of a second, Garrett was impressed. Unfortunately for the boy, he was made for this, every splintered, broken bone settling back into place, repaired by the calcification of stolen life force, bleeding gashes so quickly stitching themselves closed. Saryn landed atop him, but soon fell beside him, staggering, hanging his head above pools of thick scarlet, heaving and shuddering, and he would take advantage of this, rolling over once again to launch himself into his side and pin him down. Claws akin to knives pierced through his chest cavity and just as Garrett was about to rear his head and deliver another bout of hellish flame, Saryn snapped his own around and let out a sound so loud, so deafening, it caught the wolf by complete surprise, eardrums popping, that pitiful rasp from before now an earth-shattering screech. He recoiled, faltering. He could hear nothing but a persistent, terrible ringing, as if a bomb had gone off right next to him. What the fuck? He growled, snarling down at the vile creature beneath him, and he pushed all of his weight into wounds freshly made, thrusting his down, clamping gnarled maw around his throat and breathing a fire hot enough to melt even the most resistant of metals. Saryn flailed, thrashing like the enraged, feral animal he was, no doubt screaming and howling until he was abruptly silenced, those wretched vocal chords of his smoldered and burned, but ashes on the wolf's tongue. Garrett vibrated with abraded strength, expelling cascades of his almighty inferno, the fullness, completeness, the terror of Hell. He retracted his claws the moment Saryn's body went limp, only to swat that wide open maw into the dust, a pool of his own blood.
He stayed there for some time, glaring down into eyes that seemed to dull, that petulant glow fading into nothing more than dual pits of utter blackness. He pushed harder, dry, scorched dirt shifting with the movement of Saryn's head, mandibles crushing beneath his paw, until he was certain he would not get up again. The wolfish fiend heaved his shoulders, sensing the slowed beating of the boy's heart, ichor still steadily pumping through his veins, but it was faint - and he would not have the strength to rise. Not again.
"Stupid child," Garrett would bellow, watching intently as muscle receded from facial features, the legs of a broken hound vanishing with the ribbons of torn flesh, demonic protection abandoning the boy to his fate. What so hasty a transformation would reveal was little more than a gored, naked man, organs spilling out of his abdomen, his head hanging from his neck by mere threads, curdled blood sticking to charred skin. What an ugly shape, the damage done near irreparable and certainly so had he been truly human; Slowly, slowly did Garrett retreat, climbing off of the boy and taking his place beside him, staring down at his barely breathing, mangled body, desperately searching for a reason that might've tucked itself away in his fight, hellfire rage dissipating, that awful rush choked into nothingness by unfathomable exhaustion. Despite his lack of understanding, how quickly the battle had ended, he admired Saryn's tenacity, his ability to do any damage at all. To his credit, it wasn't easy for Garrett to gain as much power as he had and it'd taken more time than he was readily willing to admit. Had this ridiculous fight taken place at any point in time before today, he was sure the boy may well have overpowered and beaten him. Or, at least, done damage his body couldn't have hoped to heal as quickly. Still, he was thoroughly taken by fatigue, weakened and enfeebled by it, front legs quivering the longer he remained upright. Smoke billowed forth from the ashen cracks along his sides, cloaking him in shadow and smog, and soon his wolfish form would shift and twist into that of a man, and from there he would lie back, blood coating his skin, still hot, still fresh. He breathed, ears still ringing, chest heaving.
The look in that boy's eye…
How alone, how angry had he been that he would resort to such lengths in order to reclaim some sense of purpose? What had he lost? Who had he lost? Or had he only wanted to be seen, heard? In all his arrogance, Garrett had paid him little mind, questioning his motives when it was convenient, when his own thoughts hadn't been focused on delivering the beating Saryn had so petulantly demanded until, finally, he'd given in. He resisted every attempt V had made to understand him, to know him, burying what would lend him trust, the help he likely needed, and he was fraught with a peculiar sort of misery Garrett had known all his life but, still, it was rooted in something foreign. Thinking back on it all, Saryn had very clearly been pushing for an end to his woeful life, too afraid to strike first, but instinct and adrenaline guided the choices he'd made when he found his bearings. He burst Garrett's eardrums with a single howl, faked him out when he'd investigated his lacerated form, and there were a handful of times he very nearly got the upperhand, but his heart was not in it. He wasn't fighting with his soul, the whole of his being, lashing out blindly despite his aptitude. This was never about fighting; It was about punishment, guilt, the desire to be torn apart for whatever mistake he'd made, whatever baggage he uselessly clung to. But as he thought before, Saryn would need to pull his head out of his ass and process what aches and pains gripped him - if he survived.
Crystalline blue sagged shut, briefly taking in a vibrant orange sky so dotted with tufts of stained clouds, a long, drawn out sigh escaping him. No matter what he'd thought, Garrett still found no answer, but he supposed it could wait until the boy had his wounds tended to. He might be too weak, too tired, to resist him then. With the recession of his ego, he'd gone from haughty and villainous to that of a concerned acquaintance, mulling over the state of his mentality and emotions - and his crippled body. A phone call, really, was all it would take in order to have him seen to, and he knew just the girl for the job, but, for the moment, he would succumb to his exhaustion, his consciousness fading fast.
Blood, violence, near-decapitation, cursing, heat and flame as a weapon sorta... Lots of fun stuff in here, if that's your vibe.
There was so much Garrett didn't know about the boy who so toiled away in front of him, a crease to dark red brows, lips drawn into the deepest of frowns. At first glance, it was clear he was a bitter thing, eyes focused on everything and nothing, phasing in and out of spectral memory and the thick, night air of that which was tangible, real, dark though it may have been. A deep, unspoken loneliness clung to flecked visage, bearing the weight of untold loss, and the heavy bags under that burning burgundy gaze suggested the boy hadn't seen a proper night's sleep in far longer than he'd ever been willing to admit. Whatever story he didn't want to tell, the histories of a short, painful life lived, had been his and his alone, and that seemed to be what bothered him so. He had no one and even less to show for it, human skin hanging on a lifeless skeletal frame, slumping, hands grasping at olive and maroon silk, knuckles white with a desperation he hoped no one would make note of. The kid was anxious, maybe even terrified, floating on through the streets of Red Grave a lost and agonized soul as devils and beasts clawed themselves out of the shadows, out of Hell. And it'd all clung to him, stuck to him like glue, that stench of sulphur and blood. Whether he could admit it, taste the words in his mouth and understand them, Saryn was a demon, borne of the very same flames and suffering Garrett had. Maybe he struggled with that, maybe he fought with himself on so indisputable a truth, but, sooner or later, the time would come for him to make a choice: Confront his circumstances, meet them head-on, conquer them, and move forward; Or, let them consume him.
Garrett had known all too well how difficult a task it was to fully accept what he was, to breathe in that dry, acrid smoke despite how loudly his lungs would scream and fight against it, but it took time - time he didn't have. His own upbringing had been of unfortunate circumstance, brought up by a succubus cloaked in human flesh with a penchant for abuse, abandoned by a father of noxious fumes and caustic nature, and forcibly removed from the horrors of familiarity, only to be placed into a broken system that tried to care but failed every time. Every bruise on his body, every scrape, every broken bone, healed just as quickly as they'd been received. A certain arrogance gripped him in his youth, but that all-encompassing, fiery rage he couldn't control, couldn't cope with, guided every choice he made, even when it concerned the good in his life. To a degree, his lack of emotional maturity had something to do with it, his boyish mind incapable of understanding his hormones, the changes taking place in his body on a molecular, supernatural level, and what love had dared to creep into his heart had been all but tarnished by his inescapable anger. Soft hands, the caress of gentle fingers on his spine, were met only with balled fists and feral tenacity, and, then, that love, the warmth flooding his chest, had been lost. At the time, he didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the ramifications of his actions, thinking it only natural he say and do what he did, but days, weeks, months would pass him by in an instant and regret would settle within him, expanding until all the good in him, all the bad, had been replaced with emptiness. All the while, he struggled with the painful transformations, the random combustion of his clothes in the middle of class, and the foul-mouthed upperclassmen who saw him as the threat he most certainly was, frustration clear on his brow, remorse an impossible feeling to shake. For a time, it would consume him almost as assuredly as Saryn's rage did himself, now, but it was that overwhelming and seemingly permanent sense of guilt and shame that would serve as the catalyst for his eventual discovery of his resolve, his desire to do and be better than he was. Every day since had seen its ups and downs, but no matter how difficult it'd been, he pushed forward, stubbornly clinging to this idealistic image of himself - an idea that was unattainable.
But such as it was, that's what youth had always been, what it was always meant to be: A time of suffering and pleasantness at odds with one another as the body changed, as thoughts and dreams shifted, as relationships fell apart and new ones formed, and all one can do is keep moving forward despite it. The only other choices were in the extreme, flavors of a sourer nature, and while Garrett had suffered his fair share of sorrows, death was never an option for him. If it had been, he would never have made it this far, wouldn't have unearthed the goodness that still remained in him and in the world around him. He never would have forced himself into V's affairs, fought his own kin in the streets of Red Grave, nor would he have found the purpose he so desperately needed to keep himself afloat. It was fundamentally necessary that he stay living, breathing, shouldering his many burdens so that he might dig deep into himself and drag the humanity he still had back to the surface kicking and screaming, so frightened of the meaninglessness of his own existence and the suffering he'd endured because of it. Life as it was hadn't meant anything at all, and no matter how often the great philosophers of their time and before pondered the purpose of it, it always boiled down to nothing. Life itself didn't have meaning, merely a natural process that those afforded the gift of sentience and thought but the memories created, the experience, while one lived did. Rather, that's what ascribed life any meaning.
Ultimately, he didn't think that would mean much to the small redhead in front of him; He was too angry, too raw, still bearing the brunt of his pain, too afraid to let it go, too afraid to live without it. He was young yet, and he would learn as time continued on. Garrett heaved a quiet sigh, lips peeling into his typical crooked, toothy grin. None of that could be attributed to why they stood here, twiddling their thumbs like a pair of confused children, but it was reason enough for Garrett to give pause, carefully consider comparative similarities and differences, but, truthfully, he'd made his decision long before Saryn bothered to ask his stupid questions, beg for the unnecessary but inevitable fight he so desired. Because, in the end, the hellish wolf had grown tired of that needless bristling, the snarl of his maw, and more still his persistently shitty attitude. He and V had taken him in despite being full up on adoptees, too many mouths to feed, and while he'd admired his mate's compassion, there were some animals that simply couldn't be tamed through conventional means, or at all. It was only a matter of time until he and Saryn came to blows, but it was better that there be a formal agreement between them, even if V wasn't to hear a single word about it.
Crystalline blue narrowed on opposing red, his grin masking his intent, and arms soon came to cross over his chest. A mere handful of minutes had gone by since Saryn first opened his mouth, and while Garrett had certainly been a bit lost in thought, he'd let the moments drag on purpose, watching the wheels turn in that little head of his. Every second that passed only further soured exhausted features, a noticeable wrinkle to a small nose, that snarl deepening to reveal pearly white, sharp teeth, discolored gums. He wondered, briefly, how Saryn had managed to survive on his own all this time; Had he been devouring other demons? Humans? Or had he not been eating at all, blindly fighting instead? The pale, almost infected color of his gums seemed to suggest something, but he couldn't be sure what exactly - and, ultimately, it hadn't made a difference. Regardless of what brought Saryn to this point, he was sure to be an interesting opponent, one so rife with aggression and, potentially, a slow reaction time. This fight would be over as quickly as it would begin, provided Garrett's assumptions rang true, but he was open to the idea that he could be wrong and thus he was well prepared for any differences.
"So, y'sure y'really wanna do this, kid? It ain't gonna be fun," he said simply, allowing his human skin to steadily crackle and break like porcelain, clouds of thick, black smoke beginning to billow forth from between the cracks. He would satisfy Saryn's craving for violence willingly and without complaint, but the glint of his own teeth should be taken as a warning, a promise, that he would not make this easy. He wanted a battle, but he would be getting a war, and that's what happens when one bites off more than they can readily chew. "I'm not gonna make it easy."
And the deathly glow in an opposing gaze gave him all the reply he needed, really, that hollow emptiness stinging with a familiarity he'd rather not return to. Questioning it would only serve to forestall the inevitable and give rise to heightened tensions, agitate the embodiment of unbridled rage in so small a form. Saryn released the silken fabric of his sleeves, brows furrowing, beads of sweat dribbling down the sides of his face, and he shifted on his feet, arms up, as if he were waiting for Garrett to take a swing. It was almost amusing, that he would think this fight would be in any way conventional. The wolf knew full well he was a demon, a rabid dog cloaked in the skin of a young man, and he would provoke it, assault his senses with stinging sulphuric fumes, grinning like the fiendish bastard he'd become, and he would wait. Wine-red eyes narrowed but remained entirely fixed on Garrett, not a trace of fear to be found, every muscle bracing for what he no doubt thought would come, and when it didn't, features creased by irritation would allow for a glimmer of confusion to shine through. He was still just a boy, after all, in his heart of hearts. Garrett had to use that to his advantage, but it would be easy, so very easy, to manipulate and use against him. It'd been a long time since his opponent was a demon bearing relative humanity in a similar manner as himself and he supposed that's what was going to make this that much shorter an affair.
A cool breeze drifted between them, carrying poisonous smoke downwind in Saryn's direction, and it wouldn't be long before that frustrated, confused face would shift into that of disgust, agony as the sticky, caustic gas filled his lungs with every breath he took. In the meantime, Garrett let his arms drop to hang at his sides, that awful grin of his widening as pieces of his own countenance fell away, thick ashen fur and scorching embers peeking through. The demon in him was shamefully eager to begin, muscles rippling beneath black ink and leather, his bones snapping and twisting to make room for the vicious creature to rise from the deepest part of himself, claw to the surface, set fire to the earth. He knew he was a hazard, a vicious combination of what was human and what wasn't, built from brimstone and molded by flame, but that would become ever clearer, an indisputable fact, when rows of gnarled teeth split his maw. Foretold disgust took hold of the boy and already had Saryn begun to choke, an arm rising to shield his mouth and nose from the painful assault of virulent smoke. His shoulders trembled and shook as he coughed and sputtered, struggling to breathe, free hand shakily hanging in the air before him, a shoddy attempt at clinging to his fighting stance. Foolish boy. It was sad, almost, that he'd been so hungry for battle, so willing to throw his life away for the sake of his anger, his rage, and it would all be for naught. There was no point to any of this, even if one should include the hormonal and tragic pains of his own life, because it would not end well. There would be no deliverance, only the affirmation of his own stupidity and poor judgement. Survival was a possibility equal to an untimely death, but the boy would have to start moving, pull himself out of the cloud, and face Garrett properly in the same way he would need to confront his childish way of dealing with his pain.
"Cough cough," Garrett teased, teetering on his heels and toes as more and more of his human facade shattered to pieces and fell to the earth like broken glass, oil-slick, twisted paws breaking through flesh and blood, his tongue wetting his lips. "Better start movin', kid. Stayin' in place'll do ya no good, y'know."
"Shut up," Saryn spluttered, his voice little more than a low rasp, a growl, and the wolf watched as he took his advice to heart, stumbling to the side out of the stream of smoke. His eyes never left him, locked firm with clear blue, and, it seemed, his own transformation was beginning to take place, raw muscle ripping through skin to form the fanged, skinless maw of a petulant mutt.
"Oh? So the lil' doggy barks after all, hm?" He wanted to laugh, lend further credence to the truth of how this would all play out, but he abstained; Such would've only proven him mad and while he was most certainly a feral beast kept safe in human skin, he was no monster. Or was he? "Let's see if you've got any bite."
In a sudden burst of flame, smoke, and ash, Hell would spit forth from its depths the form of a massive wolf draped in its fires, embers burning in the cracks of Garrett's hide, crimson gaze unyielding, bright and unfathomable. Claws dug into dust and dirt, a guttural growl building from deep within his hulking frame while black fur shook free the remainder of his humanity, now so Catholic a representation of animosity, retribution, aggression, might, destruction. Garrett was built for a war of Biblical proportions, trapped by human morality, so fitted with the unquenchable thirst of the devils scraping their useless claws against brimstone and smacking their lips in need of water, of blood. Vile smog wafted free of his gaping maw, blackened saliva dripping from between gnarled rows of teeth, that guttural growl finally leaving him - and it was deafening.
Saryn's eyes widened, watering from the heat emanating from Garrett's hellish body, the smoke, the ash–
But the wolf would give him no time to react, no time to gather himself and finish what he'd begun on his own, no. He was nothing if not true to his word; He bolted forward, every muscle in his hindlegs propelling him toward the boy so overwhelmed by astonishment and, perhaps, fear, flames roaring beneath his hell-rotten flesh. Even as Saryn realized what was happening, that Garrett had no intention of showing him mercy, scrambling to get out of his way, the wolf had proven himself faster, and with a tilt of his enormous head, the second he was within reach, he snapped his jaws shut around Saryn's torso, biting into flesh with a slick, muffled pop, like a balloon underwater, until silk had been shredded and blood began to seep into his mouth. Bones shifted and snapped, grinding against his teeth, and a shrill, agonized shriek filled his ears, raw terror a tantalizing drug in the bloodstream. He tasted that fear, his horror, rich and sickly sweet, demonic ichor giving the wolf a healthy dose of untamed power not his own as it slid down his throat. Electricity shot down his spine, surging through and over him like a tidal wave, unforgiving, and it threatened to take him along on its current. His throat rumbled with the continuation of his growl, and just as he was about to let go and dive into wild, feral urges, he remembered himself, thrashing his head wildly, viciously, tearing and ripping through the boy trapped in his maw. Blood splattered across dirt and stray patches of dying grass like heavy rain, viscera coating his tongue, metallic, catching the light of the setting sun.
Saryn wanted this, he told himself. He wanted to fight without holding back, without being stopped, contained. But why? Why really? Did he have so little regard for himself, his safety, his life? Was he so stupid as to throw himself away for the sake of something old, something that could be forgotten in time so long as he allowed himself to face it? He was screaming, and soon his voice would die in his throat, vocal chords so strained and unaccustomed to use. Was he doing this as a means of hurting himself, to allow himself to shift focus onto the here and now, something he couldn't ignore? How tragic, but he was far from unique. Much of Garrett's younger years were spent in the middle of pointless fights and his childhood had been spent entirely at the shit end of the stick, suffering the wrath of a mother who should've never been - and hadn't wanted him in the first place. Demons were everywhere, too, disgusting and invasive, stains on everything they touched, and they were persistent, distasteful reminders of his nature, of his own demonic blood. He was used to violence, used to insurmountable pain. He had to be, because if he didn't adapt, he couldn't survive. What did Saryn expect to do here? Writhe betwixt fiery jaws and scream over and over again until the shock took him? Garrett had robbed him of the time required to finish his transformation, so what was he to do? What was his plan? He lowered his head and dropped the boy to the earth, watching him fall in a crumpled heap, crimson gaze unwavering, firm. All that incessant pestering and he was content to lie down and die like a dog, was he? Surely he had more fight in him than this. Pitiful. Unless–
The wolf dipped his head lower, blood-soaked maw probing for an answer, sniffing at the boy's seemingly lifeless frame. Tongue lolled between his teeth, lapping at the slick red pooling at his paws, all the while breathing in Saryn's deathly scent. Silly boy, did he think Garrett could be so easily fooled? He was biding his time, waiting for him to draw nearer and nearer until an opportunity presented itself. Smart, even it'd meant near fatal injuries. Exposed threads of muscle stretched over wounds with lightning speed, spreading over his body like a cancer in the bloodstream, tight and taut, and before he knew it, Saryn would arch his spine and lunge at him, pushing from the earth with five-toed paws dressed in rows and rows of bloodied talons, pale glowing eyes finding their target, jaws going straight for the throat. Razor-sharp fangs sliced into hell-rotten flesh, tearing away at ash and still-burning embers, and Garrett's head began to swim, adrenaline pumping through his veins like a herd of untamed horses, hooves thundering underfoot. The pain hadn't even registered in his brain, only the pressure, his growls silenced by force, but he could naught but cackle.
That's more like it.
Heavier paws shoved the smaller dog, his claws catching on devilish red thew, and he raked them down Saryn's sides, falling backward in tandem with his momentum. Hind legs kicked at his underbelly, but those miniscule jaws bit harder, locked on his windpipe. Garrett's breaths soon labored and he continued his assault on Saryn's unprotected underside, the fires of Hell beginning to build in his gullet, stoked by tremendous, uncontrollable power. Faster and faster, until their bodies twisted and intertwined, tangled in a flurry of fur and shredded muscle; Neither had been afforded time to think, forced only to act, and as ferocity took them both, blood splattering upon the earth, so had a certain savagery, claws scraping, digging deeper, until innards and bone shone through. Garrett reared his head, thrashing wildly beneath Saryn, every bit of his might powering his hindlegs. Those fangs had proven much more difficult to rip free, but the wolf would prevail, finding purchase in blood and viscera and launching the boy high into the air; Quickly did he rolled onto all fours, heat coiling in his gut, and as he angled his head, locking onto the rabid beast, he opened his massive maw and the coil snapped, setting free an explosive plume of smoke and flame, scorching anything above and before him. He braced himself all the while, tensing his muscles; Saryn plummeted, weight brought down by gravity, but Garrett was all too quick to meet him, even as blood and bits of sinew and mangled organ tissue fell upon his ashen form. The scent of burning flesh wafted into his nostrils, overpowering his senses, but he remained resolute in his intent, clapping shut his jaws and ceasing fire if only so that he might snap them around Saryn once more. Crisp and blackened, charred to the bone, but the boy was ready, gnashing his teeth, eager to clamp his puny little maw around Garrett's snout. A paw lifted, smacking his head away before Garrett could make his next move, fangs settling for grinding an ear between them and claws caught on the cracks of his body, the blistering heat of hellish lava flow going ignored as Saryn brought him to the earth alongside him.
Despite his injuries, he was proving an interesting opponent, one with some amount of skill and tenacity, the potential to outwit and bring forth his demise. But this was no mere display of ability; It was provocation, a plea for more. As his body hit the ground, bones shattering upon impact under his and Saryn's weight combined, pain tore through him, vertabrae displaced, ribs cracked and fractured. Like a flower, a vicious, violent bloom, that pain morphed into sheer agony and for a moment, a fraction of a second, Garrett was impressed. Unfortunately for the boy, he was made for this, every splintered, broken bone settling back into place, repaired by the calcification of stolen life force, bleeding gashes so quickly stitching themselves closed. Saryn landed atop him, but soon fell beside him, staggering, hanging his head above pools of thick scarlet, heaving and shuddering, and he would take advantage of this, rolling over once again to launch himself into his side and pin him down. Claws akin to knives pierced through his chest cavity and just as Garrett was about to rear his head and deliver another bout of hellish flame, Saryn snapped his own around and let out a sound so loud, so deafening, it caught the wolf by complete surprise, eardrums popping, that pitiful rasp from before now an earth-shattering screech. He recoiled, faltering. He could hear nothing but a persistent, terrible ringing, as if a bomb had gone off right next to him. What the fuck? He growled, snarling down at the vile creature beneath him, and he pushed all of his weight into wounds freshly made, thrusting his down, clamping gnarled maw around his throat and breathing a fire hot enough to melt even the most resistant of metals. Saryn flailed, thrashing like the enraged, feral animal he was, no doubt screaming and howling until he was abruptly silenced, those wretched vocal chords of his smoldered and burned, but ashes on the wolf's tongue. Garrett vibrated with abraded strength, expelling cascades of his almighty inferno, the fullness, completeness, the terror of Hell. He retracted his claws the moment Saryn's body went limp, only to swat that wide open maw into the dust, a pool of his own blood.
He stayed there for some time, glaring down into eyes that seemed to dull, that petulant glow fading into nothing more than dual pits of utter blackness. He pushed harder, dry, scorched dirt shifting with the movement of Saryn's head, mandibles crushing beneath his paw, until he was certain he would not get up again. The wolfish fiend heaved his shoulders, sensing the slowed beating of the boy's heart, ichor still steadily pumping through his veins, but it was faint - and he would not have the strength to rise. Not again.
"Stupid child," Garrett would bellow, watching intently as muscle receded from facial features, the legs of a broken hound vanishing with the ribbons of torn flesh, demonic protection abandoning the boy to his fate. What so hasty a transformation would reveal was little more than a gored, naked man, organs spilling out of his abdomen, his head hanging from his neck by mere threads, curdled blood sticking to charred skin. What an ugly shape, the damage done near irreparable and certainly so had he been truly human; Slowly, slowly did Garrett retreat, climbing off of the boy and taking his place beside him, staring down at his barely breathing, mangled body, desperately searching for a reason that might've tucked itself away in his fight, hellfire rage dissipating, that awful rush choked into nothingness by unfathomable exhaustion. Despite his lack of understanding, how quickly the battle had ended, he admired Saryn's tenacity, his ability to do any damage at all. To his credit, it wasn't easy for Garrett to gain as much power as he had and it'd taken more time than he was readily willing to admit. Had this ridiculous fight taken place at any point in time before today, he was sure the boy may well have overpowered and beaten him. Or, at least, done damage his body couldn't have hoped to heal as quickly. Still, he was thoroughly taken by fatigue, weakened and enfeebled by it, front legs quivering the longer he remained upright. Smoke billowed forth from the ashen cracks along his sides, cloaking him in shadow and smog, and soon his wolfish form would shift and twist into that of a man, and from there he would lie back, blood coating his skin, still hot, still fresh. He breathed, ears still ringing, chest heaving.
The look in that boy's eye…
How alone, how angry had he been that he would resort to such lengths in order to reclaim some sense of purpose? What had he lost? Who had he lost? Or had he only wanted to be seen, heard? In all his arrogance, Garrett had paid him little mind, questioning his motives when it was convenient, when his own thoughts hadn't been focused on delivering the beating Saryn had so petulantly demanded until, finally, he'd given in. He resisted every attempt V had made to understand him, to know him, burying what would lend him trust, the help he likely needed, and he was fraught with a peculiar sort of misery Garrett had known all his life but, still, it was rooted in something foreign. Thinking back on it all, Saryn had very clearly been pushing for an end to his woeful life, too afraid to strike first, but instinct and adrenaline guided the choices he'd made when he found his bearings. He burst Garrett's eardrums with a single howl, faked him out when he'd investigated his lacerated form, and there were a handful of times he very nearly got the upperhand, but his heart was not in it. He wasn't fighting with his soul, the whole of his being, lashing out blindly despite his aptitude. This was never about fighting; It was about punishment, guilt, the desire to be torn apart for whatever mistake he'd made, whatever baggage he uselessly clung to. But as he thought before, Saryn would need to pull his head out of his ass and process what aches and pains gripped him - if he survived.
Crystalline blue sagged shut, briefly taking in a vibrant orange sky so dotted with tufts of stained clouds, a long, drawn out sigh escaping him. No matter what he'd thought, Garrett still found no answer, but he supposed it could wait until the boy had his wounds tended to. He might be too weak, too tired, to resist him then. With the recession of his ego, he'd gone from haughty and villainous to that of a concerned acquaintance, mulling over the state of his mentality and emotions - and his crippled body. A phone call, really, was all it would take in order to have him seen to, and he knew just the girl for the job, but, for the moment, he would succumb to his exhaustion, his consciousness fading fast.
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