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It was, at long last, that when they found each other they were both ready to take the other’s life.




...

“Klothk chragra rohr k’trune, graun.” The one in black growled.


The surrounding trees grew forlorn as the frigid air twisted long streaks of white upon their faces of bark, as if saddened by more than just the cold. The moon glowed gray and hid behind the murky clouds illuminating them in a dour haze. Among the trees were scattered crows looking on silently.


“Grehr gothgr t’rohra, Kyrkoth.” The one in gray growled back.


Their words trembled through the mist and echoed aggressively off it’s every shimmering drop. At first, the two voices sounded alike, almost indistinguishable, but with an attentive ear, the two killer’s tones where easily separated. The one in the black robe spoke nearly voicelessly, his malicious breath taking the shape of his words, while the one in the gray garment enunciated the words of his canid-like language a bit more clearly. They both had pale skin and long silvery hair that seemed to only augment their already lean figures. It appeared as though neither were armed until the killer in gray removed something from his back. Slowly, an extraordinary weapon seemed to grow from the mist itself, a slender, glistening blade with one side curved and one side straight and jagged.


The killer in gray lunged out first, his double-sided blade leading the way. He had only a few feet before that blade met the eager hands of his enemy. The killer in black slapped it away and, following a sharp series of blue sparks, let out a taunting roar, but the killer in gray was ready. He followed through with the curved side of his blade, swinging it upwards as it parted the white mist. The killer in black snarled as he spun out the other way, the curved edge biting at his robe. His feet skidded back on the wet ground and he looked up through his silvern hair at his enemy.


“T’gra rrun tkar draumohr.” He said, drawing only an amused smirk from the killer in gray. “Grolek tregrun.” He continued. The killer in gray narrowed his eyes and maintained his ready stance. “Orkath t’rek grethga chlor, or trormohr, Lochra.” As his words seeped into the cold night, the surrounding crows began to clamor, as if urging the killers on.


The killer in black stood up straight, his back arching into a slightly exaggerated position as his spine cracked into place. He let his arms unfurl and his fists open up, revealing ten menacing claws of toxic steel. His head leaned back and he let out a howl, the air from his lungs blasting the white mist upwards in a fountain of blistering sound. As he howled, his body began to change.


The killer in gray charged again head on. His nimble feet touched the mud, unfazed, in five long strides. As he rapidly approached his enemy, the curved side of his weapon created a bowing stream in the mist. The killer in black let his gaze remain turned up to the sullen sky. He felt lines of coarse fur sprout down his neck as his shoulders rose and his arms and legs bulged, tightened and lengthened. He felt his teeth grow razor-sharp and his eyes go cold-white. As his bones stretched and cracked, his dagger-size claws tore his black robe to shreds. As the paces between them shortened, the killer in gray calculated exactly where and when to make his move. With only inches between them, the killer in gray blinked his misty-blue eyes and in less than an instant he disappeared into a cloud of mist. He passed right through his enemy and his blade trailed his path, turning upwards and to the left, but his enemy was ready. After a pop of blue spark, the killer in gray materialized again and leaned hard to his right, avoiding a swipe of his enemy’s claws. He spun back around low and retorted back into his foe who was unleashing his ravenous attacks.


The killer in black roared and the on looking crows screeched their excitement as the killers met in a clash of blue spark and white mist. In one instant, the double edged blade spun high and in the next, it spun low and to the left like a vortex of liquid steel. But the ten sadistic daggers were slashing back and forth with chaotic perfection, searing a storm of hot spark through the foggy air. The jagged edge of the blade bolted through the gaps of the fray as the killer that wielded it phased in and out of sight. Sword and swordsman were in absolute balance, attacking and evading in their phantasmal dance of mist and metal. But the lethally rabid claws seethed with a savage frenzy and lashed out with wild hunger, biting and scraping at their elusive foe.


The killer in gray feigned to his right and as his enemy predicted, he deftly reversed his footing and shot his blade out wide, swinging up and around in two full rotations. The killer in black took to his anticipated gap, twisting his waist to avoid his enemy’s first swipe but accepting the second as it cut through his muscular forearm. The killer in black snarled and made his move, rushing his foe and snatching him by the back of the neck. The killer in gray buckled and growled, reversing his hold on his weapon and forcing it back. To his surprise, the killer in black took that attack as well, quickly grasping the slender blade with his free hand as it sliced through his tough skin. He was not at all willing to relinquish the grip he had on his enemy’s spine and windpipe.


“Tre gurresh, Lochra?” He said through a horrific grin. “No grolnvrok dra chraroa.” He continued. “Ursh tvecken grelck grava thok.” His grip tightened with each malevolent word, slowly draining the killer in gray of his air and blood. “Ursh tvecken grevach no lo ‘chroda!”


In the white trees of the coldwood, the dark spectators flapped their wings and cried such a raucous that the killer in black, so enthralled in his moment of mouth-watering ferocity, let his eyes drift upwards to feed off their frantic song. His lips turned up more as he readied himself to shred apart his enemy. He pulled the killer in the gray up against his chest and lifted him off the ground so his pointy ear was inches away from his steaming fangs.


“No krega t’rohn.” The killer in black whispered.


The killer in gray closed his eyes and, through the pain, shut off all noise. He waited. He waited until the very last possible moment. He waited until he felt the bones of his throat being pulled back and his neck muscles being torn. As the claws began to retract, the killer in gray released his grip on his weapon and twisted his wrist free of his enemy’s hand. All his pent up concentration exploded in a flash as his body turned to mist. Intangible, he sprang backwards, passing right through the killer in black and as he did so, he made sure his hand took hold of his sword. He pulled his weapon right through his foe and out his back before phasing back to normal and spinning the blood-soaked blade up high, taking it’s mark flawlessly below the chin of the his enemy.


The killer in black fell to the ground eight feet away from his severed head. The crows fell deafly silent in a heartbeat and they watched, motionless, as the survivor in gray walked off into the coldwood
Written By [Ironballs "the Preposterous One"]


gentleness, even at death

they slit my throat, killed my life,
but still,
i refused to be angered,
they chained my legs, muffuled my cries,
but still i refused to strike back,
shaved my head, cut my arms,
i refused to beg,
hung me to near death,totured my soul, and i struck back,
to not strick was to be torturted,
to strick was to be killed,
we disaplian our children, when we ourselves do wrong
[whiteashfire]




Dying, the Child

By: [Zakuro-iro no Kara-Karasu]


shes dripping, knives dancing in her hand
lovely annie, annie they-made-me-do-it
it's XXXtasy and she paints red, doesn't stop
it's so juicy she cuts cuts cuts away

she she she could, make them gone gone gone gone
so goes and makes them gone gone gone gone
she got so much pleasure when die die died by the knife that night

and so the story goes
knife, massacre, beauty she made a show
oh no i think daddys dead
diced him up for the rerun show
and now i think mommys next
slicing nice for this rerun show
the horrified screams not reaching me
oh what a beautiful massacre

why not 3? you've already slashed me up 2
oh so very beautiful
shedding brilliant light every time shes cutting you
with the gaze in her eye its as if she chokes you
raising cane, dying drei(3-german)
and she with not one tear...no cry
she whos died screams and calls to you
with the gaze in her eye its as if she chokes you

shes dripping, knives dancing in her hand
lovely annie, annie-they-made-me-do-it
it XXXtasy and she paints red doesnt stop
its so juicy she cuts cuts cuts away

and so the story goes
knife, massacre, beauty she made a show
oh no i think daddys dead
diced him up for the rerun show
and now i think mommys next
slicing nice for this rerun show
the horrified screams not reaching me
oh what a beautiful massacre

beautiful, love that dirty dark side
on your, in your mind
i see that you have learned to listen

why not 3? you've slashed me up already 2
oh so very beautiful
shedding brilliant light every time shes cutting you
with the gaze in her eye its as if she chokes you
raising cane, dying sechs(6-german)
and she with not one tear...no cry
she whos died screams and calls to you
no time left this is the psycho horror show

the story behind this is actually quite nice so ill explain it: when a little girl, hearing the stories of the boogieman and monsters living under beds and in closets finds that she infact has a fiendish creature making its home under her bed it doesnt surprise, or frighten her. After seeing that this child wasn't afraid the monster becomes quite fearful of her...seeing in her eyes that she isnt your average little annie he begins to whisper his biding in her ear and she carries it out without hesitation. She actually seems to find a BIT too much pleasure in doing so...and "why not 3, youve already sliced me up 2?"



Murderers