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X-treme Wrestling Federation » Warfare Boards » Warfare RP Board
A Sharp Left Hand Curve
Author Message
Lycana Offline
The Dark Vixen of Violence


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#1
10-11-2021, 06:19 PM

e3e4449f8e9629440f98268bb9920c23


'Cause I’m half alive
Numb inside
I can’t feel anything
So lost and I can’t be saved
Your voice but a memory
Fade to black and erase the pain
Erase the pain


___________________________________________________________

It had been a long time since she had done this.

Run.

Run just for the sake of running. To feel the power of her muscles working in tandem to propel her body across the earth. The feel the wind gliding over her body as she tucked her head down lower, ears flat against her skull, keeping as aerodynamic as possible. To peel away the outer layers and allow the purest form to push through. To feel her mind be free of all the worldly issues and general craziness she had going on.

At least for the moment.

They would all be waiting for her when she returned to the village, along with a few new squabbles or gossip to wade through from the villagers, she was sure. She had been gone a few days, sleeping under the stars and running as the beast.

As long as there wasn’t yet another new guest to stir up a ruckus. The pack wasn’t a fan of people knowing where they lived. Having Marf move in and walk freely wherever Lycana went had been a hard pill for them to swallow, him being a mere human and all... but to have a phone booth plop down not once, but twice... and then sweep the one they looked to for guidance away?

Well... that had stirred the pot, even though she had explained, warned, and in general spelled it all out for them.

The wolves were a simple people, despite being involved with Gods and Goddesses and all sorts of the paranormal. They preferred to keep things rustic, as evidenced by their village and way of life. It was one of the reasons Lycana had enjoyed her position. It was a relatively peaceful life.

Was.

She stretched out, paws eating up the ground like it was nothing, sharp nails digging in and turning her lithe body on a dime, weaving around the trees in her headlong flight to nowhere.

What was once a peaceful life had gone absolutely mad in the past year... From the wolf war, the craziness that had been the Left Hand rollercoaster, the Harbinger who was still out there, her stepbrother being The Lich wandering the In-Between, to the intergalactic crazy that had occurred with Betsy...

And that was far from over.

This... Admiral Thrawn had a lot more up his sleeve, she was certain of it. The next time might not just be some kind of weird game of move the chess pieces around... next time he might be coming to get his hands on them to make them the weapon he wanted them to be. Not that she understood just how that worked, despite everything explained to her. Part of her said bring it on, she would rip his entrails out and use them to play jump rope with, daring to fuck with them like this. But, and this was a hard admission for her, there was a part of her that hesitated. Part of her that wanted nothing to do with someone who could so easily manipulate so many things in the universe at once to get what he desired. The choice was out of her hands... she had tumbled headfirst in and was on this ride for as long as... well as long as she was alive.

And that vision they had had together...

What did it mean?

Twins. Blessed by the High Priestess. A most powerful force of nature. Chosen by the Goddess to bring a span of peace. She and Betsy were.... related? It certainly felt like that was something that had actually happened, like they had lived it, a sense of déjà vu.

Her mind whirled with it all as she charges up a steep hill, rough textured paw pads gripping the rock, aiding in her agile motions. With a mighty heave, she reaches the top, powerful haunches gathering under her to send her on her way once more.

She had arrived home with a better understanding of The Force, and a lot of lessons under her belt thanks to Jim Caedus and Ahsoka... but also shaken from it all. One shoddy night's sleep later, and another surprise came knocking at her door.

Alias.

That was not something she had ever expected to happen, nearly being knocked to her knees when the wild banging at her mind's door had started, with the news and description. She thought for sure she was wrong, and had sent out Fenrir... but lo and behold, there he had been, standing quietly on the porch of the cabin. Again, not something she had ever expected to see. At least not without a blowtorch.

Or hand grenade.

Or flamethrower.

Especially not with questions about the Left Hand. Or, at least not what he had revealed during the span of their conversation. She didn’t know what had come over her, the desire to lead him to whatever it was he was seeking... to do her part where she could. Maybe she was trying to make up for what had happened. Sometimes, she didn’t even understand herself.

A slow realization dawns on her, as she becomes more aware of her surroundings, and just where she had ended up.

The hidden underground chamber where the body of The Baphomet reposed.

Pistons slow to a trot, and then a halt by a large tree, gnarled with age. With a crackling, popping noise, her skin stretches, morphs, fur receding until she stood a biped once more, cloaked in nothing but the designs inked into her skin. As well as bruises in various stages of healing, creating a riot of colorful blooms all over her flesh. Lasting testament to the violent match she had participated in during Relentless. Long, sapphire tendrils spill forward over her shoulders as she reaches a hand into a hole in the trunk of the tree, removing a waterproof bag, and from that, a thin shirt that she slips over her head. A quick shimmy and she slides the shorts up, decent once more.

One of the downfalls of the metamorphosis; having to always have preparation stations at the ready.

She steps carefully along the trail, the sunlight dappling down on her, creating ever shifting designs on her person, towards the small break in the trees that marks the area she would find her destination. A sudden shift in the wind halts her in her tracks.

The stench of decay.

-mood music-


Her feet move faster now, heedless of the sticks and pebbles that bite into the soles. Even as she hopes against all hope, that it was just the carcass of a deer, she knew.

She knew.

It was quiet, too quiet, as she burst out into the open, the scene that greeted her eyes making her skid to a halt. The archway, not only still open, but damaged, a large portion of it crumbled into a pile of stone partially blocking the mouth of the cave. And in front of it... A pile of clothing. Except it wasn’t just clothing. She steps silently forward, movements hesitant, her eyes unwilling to accept what was before her. The crumpled heap of a body, one of the elven brothers who guarded the Baphomet. She kneels, checking for a pulse and finding none, before rolling him over. As his fate is revealed to her gaze, her stomach violently lurches, and she gags, hand flying up to cover her mouth.

He had been tortured, to open the door. Digits twisted in directions they were not supposed to go in. Bone protrudes through skin on limbs. Long, deliberate gashes cover his body, carefully done so they wouldn’t nick anything vital. This was done by a master... she should know, she herself was deft in the art of bladework. His eye, wide and staring, already clouded over. The other... well the other was gone.

Along with a large portion of his head.

Lycana heaves, her tummy rebelling at the sight of brain matter oozing out. The wet plopping noise as a chunk hits the ground was her undoing.

She drops him as gently as she could, and crawls wildly away to retch miserably into the tall grasses, until there was nothing left inside of her. Slowly, she climbs to her feet, wiping her face with the back of her hand as the world tilts around her. The dizziness slowly passes and she goes hunting, zombielike, until she finds what she is looking for. The other brother, throat slit from ear to ear, likely slain where he stood with no sound of warning to be had.

Stunned, she stumbles back to stand in front of the cave, peering into the darkness with bleak eyes, afraid to know what she would find in there.

Who could have done this? Elven warriors were known for their skills. Alert, silent, and deadly... they were sleek as panthers and twice as fast.

She shakes her head and climbs nimbly over the sharp pieces of the stone arch, sliding down, cutting a new gash on her hip as she does so. She ignores it, pushing forward towards the snowy white room at the end of the small hall.

Except it's not pristine white anymore.

Even from a distance she can see the crimson splatters, like macabre roses painted all over. Heart in her throat she keeps moving forward. Dread unfurls in her belly with each step. Her nightmares are realized as she breaches the doorway and steps into another scene from a horror movie.

Sylla, sister to the murdered brothers outside, was directly within her line of vision. Her pretty yellow floral dress a bright focal point in the massive pool of blood she lay in. As Lycana stares longer, it sinks in that the dress was not meant to be patterned... it was solid, and what she was looking at were bloodstains from the wounds all over her tiny battered body. She edges slowly around, eyes locked on the mess... until she wishes she had not gone as far as she did.

Her head was gone.

Cleaved from her body leaving nothing but the ragged, red stump of her neck.

Lycana’s head buzzes as she reels backwards, tripping over something to crash hard on the floor. She blinks, finding herself in another puddle of blood, the sticky substance squishing between her fingers as she scrambles about, trying to find purchase in the slick mess. She manages to slide over to what she had toppled over.

Miranda.

Or... what had been Miranda.

If you had asked Lycana to identify her, she wouldn’t have been able to. The chubby womans face was a mess of blood, secretions, pulpy flesh, and shattered pieces of bone. Just a pile of ground meat, with vague outlines where her mouth and nose should be.

A low moan escapes as she feels the bile rising in the back of her throat once more. Her eyes close against the hot pinpricks of tears, not wanting to look at the rest of the doctor. Not wanting to know just what she had suffered at the hands of whatever monster had done this.

And then a small noise.

Lids fly open to regard the pile of ragged muscle and sinew in front of her, the vaguest of slits there where there had been none before.

She was alive?!

“Miranda?” she croaks out, barely able to get her voice to cooperate over the lump lodged in her windpipe. A sickly noise, and a gurgle comes from the poor woman. Followed by another. Lycana leans closer. “Shh...” she tries to comfort, feeling helpless, knowing that she could do nothing, cursing that very fact.

The bloodshot eyes, nearly camouflaged in the beaten face roll wildly about, the gurgling, sloshing noises coming with more urgent frequency. Lycana tries to help her to a better angle, and is rewarded with a semi understandable word. “Bluh.”

“Blood?” Another gurgle in response. “Beer.” Beer? Lycana helplessly searches Mirandas panicked eyes, shaking her head, her mind whirling. With clarity borne of adrenaline, and pushed by desperation, Miranda opens the slit that was once a mouth, and grinds out slowly. “Beard.” She gasps, the rattling loud in the still room. “Man. Dead. Eyes.” She falls back, gasping but not getting air, choking, strangled noises as her body begins to spasm.

“Miranda!”

Mirandas eyes roll up in the back of her head, her body jerking once. Twice. Three times.

And then she is still.

Tears well in Lycana’s eyes, spilling over to streak down her cheeks as a low keening noise comes, unbidden from her. She wraps her arms around herself, giving in to it all, wracking sobs shaking her body. Her wails echo back to her... Nobody alive to hear her pain. Nobody alive to see her vulnerable. Nobody to share the pain of losing one's she cared about deeply. Minutes pass that feel like hours, and the quakes that control her body slowly begin to ease. She raises her head, eyes red rimmed and puffy, and sniffles. There was nothing left for her to do. She slowly climbs to her feet, her body, weary from the intense crying jag, protesting all the way. There was nothing to do except to leave Baph’s cave and...

Baph.

She whirls, her gaze going to the spot where his body should be in repose, deep within the coma that claimed him.

Gone.

She blinks. Multiple times. But the scene before her doesn’t change in the slightest. “No..” the denial hoarsely comes as she scurries over, slipping slightly in the coagulating viscous fluids splattered about. The bed lay empty, cables, IVs, all strewn about heedlessly. Broken, frayed, useless. Screens shattered from objects, or perhaps fists. Nothing changed the fact that the body of the Baphomet was gone. But there was something, something still on the ledge of a bed. She creeps closer, not comprehending until she was nearly on top of it. A message. A clear message for her.

The Baphomet’s hand.

The LEFT hand.

It's too much for her to handle. She bolts from the room, down the hall and over the broken stone, tripping and tumbling down the other side where she flounders in the dirt for a moment before simply giving in, a screech emerging from her lungs into the sky, turning into a shaking howl as she transforms into the wolf. She ignores the tattered remnants of clothing flying off of her as she gallops full speed towards home, the foliage flashing by in nothing but a green blur as she goes.

Blood.

There certainly had been plenty of that. But did it mean something else?

Beard and dead eyes.

A man with these features.

Who could it have been? She had only brought two people there, and now this?

Alias had a beard.

Alias had motive.

Alias would love to have seen the Baphomet gone.

She had left Alias alone in the cave.

But... the sheer violence of it all, that didn’t add up to the Alias she knew. Towards her and the Left Hand, certainly, but not to what would be considered innocents. He wouldn’t go out of his way to brutalize the four like that.

Would he?

What if they tried to stop him from taking Baphomet’s body?

No... no... it still didn’t...

She recalls his eyes... the eyes that had stared at her with no hint of humanity left in them during Leap of Faith. Eyes that were hard, cold, and …... dead.

The man within those cages was one she had never met before... a ruthless killer that bit a chunk of flesh out of her body, a scar she still bore, and would gladly have sunk his teeth into her jugular, drinking deep of the hot crimson lifeforce as it pumped out just to spit it back down onto her body. That man... no, that creature he had become... certainly was capable of almost anything.

But that had been reserved for her...

Hadn't it?

Then there was Marf...

Marf with the penchant for sheer savagery.

Marf who would think nothing of gutting a man.

Marf who hated the Baphomet with every fiber of his being.

Marf who had a beard and turned his emotions off when need be.

No. No! She refused to believe it. He wouldn’t do this to her, knowing how important it was. Not with how he cared for her. Or would he? Would his utter loathing of the leader of the Left Hand outweigh everything in this case? Would he see this as a way of helping her break free fully from the ties that still bound her to that group? To try and prevent it from ever rearing its ugly head over the XWF once more?

Would Marf do anything to rid the world of the Baphomet?

She slams into the door of the communal cottage full force with a snarl, the flimsy latch giving way under her sleekly muscled frame, bringing Marf to his feet as she slides across the wooden floor, claws trying to find purchase on the slick surface until she comes to a stop.

She transforms back, standing exposed, shaking, covered in dirt and blood, eyes wide with unchecked emotions. He takes one look at her and gapes. “What the fuck Ly?” Concerned, he comes toward her, hands outstretched.

“Did you do it?” Her hissed accusation makes him pause, his brow furrowed. “What are you talking about? Where the fuck have you been? Are you okay?” He steps forward once more, as she takes a step back making him stop. “Did. You. Do. It?”

“Lycana, I have no clue what the fuck you’re talking about.” he reaches out and grabs the nearest piece of fabric, a sheer curtain and gives it a few tugs, but it resists. So, he gives a heave and simply yanks it right from the wall, ripping the curtain off the rod and going to her with it. “What the hell happened? Are you hurt? Where did all this blood come from? Can you just tell me what the fuck is going on?” Concern mixes with frustration in his voice as he tries to wrap her in the material. She jerks away, taking the curtain with her.

“Let me in.”

“What?”

They stare at one another.

“I said, let me in.” He slowly steps back, sinking onto the edge of a chair as what she meant became clear. He tilts his head and holds his hands out, indicating his willingness to do as she asked. She wastes no time, diving into the depths of his mind, swimming through the memories, the visions, and everything else to find...

Nothing.

It hadn't been him.

She retreats back to herself, her body trembling as she holds the mostly transparent fabric before her. Guilt washes over her features as she bows her head, staring at her blood coated toes. Marf carefully lets out a small breath, studying her with a neutral expression on his face. “Mind telling me what the fuck this is all about?”

“Baph’s body is gone!”

Silence.

Their eyes meet. Lock.

Silence.

They stare at one another. Chaotic gray colliding with shuttered cerulean.

Silence.

And then....



[Image: 8e203f88029e6d2a674a145ad1c60ba1.gif]



His deep, rumbling laugh fills the room, glee evident in his eyes as his head falls back with mirth. Lycana’s lips flatten as she silently watches his joy.

“Maybe someone mistook it for yesterday’s trash and threw it out?”

“.....”

“Trust me, you’d know if I did anything with that douche bag’s body. You’d never hear the end of me gloating about how I burned the damn thing and pissed all over the ashes.”

“.....”

“Not having that disgusting fuck’s meat suit around is only going to better the quality of your life. Fuck everything about the Baphomet, I hope he dies a coward’s death as he deserves.”

“Marf... the elves and doctor are dead too...”

The sound of her voice catching brings his amusement up short, though the pleasure of the news still lurked in the depths of his eyes. She launches into a description of what she found, tears filling her eyes, threatening to pour forth as her voice trembles.

“.... So much blood. Half his head was gone... and his brain... Syllas head, Syllas head wasn’t even in the room. Or I didn’t see... I didn’t want to see... all the blood. And Miranda... Poor Miranda. She beaten to death... I don’t understand any of this, how... and then Baphomet’s hand... someone cut it off, and left it there for me to find and...”

“Wait...”

She pauses.

“His hand was cut off?”

She nods.

“You think it was left there for you?”

“It was his left hand... and nobody else goes there, and they all knew I was second in command and.....”

“And you thought I would do that to you?”

Harshness colors the phrase as she blinks, startled.

“No... I... No... It was just...”

She had, of all things, forgotten the significance of the hand when her mind was going through the list of suspects. She had blamed him, without considering that fact. She had blamed him, when there was clear proof it never could have been him. Destroy people, sure. Dispose of the Baphomet’s body, absolutely. But do something like that to intentionally fuck with her mind, never.

Never.

Her face burns, flushing with shame as he stares at her. “I wish it was me.” he states, slowly rising to his feet once more, serious now. “But it wasn’t. Why did you even have his body anyway Ly?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why were you keeping that fucking bastard alive?”

“I don’t know!” her voice rises, a high-pitched note entering it.

“After all that piece of shit did...” Marf shakes his head. “Look, I don’t know what's been going on with you lately. You haven't been yourself.”

“No...” An agreement. “I have to go... I need to... I...”

“Have to find out who took Baph’s body.” he finishes for her. A slow sneer curls his lip, his hatred for the leader of the Left Hand clear on his face. “Alright. Go on then. I don’t understand it but... what else is new.” He walks as he speaks, making his way over to the bottom of the stairs.

“Marf, wait!” He complies, turning around, one hand on the banister to look at her. “I... I’m... I never...I’m... sorry.” her voice falters and dies, not knowing the right words to say, ‘sorry’ not enough. Not able to explain what was going on herself. His lip twitches slightly, and he gives his signature head bob, treading up the stairs, leaving her behind awash in emotions.

Lycana stares at the empty space for a moment, a sharp stab in her heart telling her just how much she had fucked up. She hesitates, a war within her. And she makes a choice. She turns away, still clutching the curtain to her as she grabs up her phone from the side table where she had left it, quickly stabbing the screen. She taps her foot impatiently as it rings, until with a subtle click, it is answered on the other end.

“What do you want?”

“Arcana, I need a favor.”

“Of course, you do, I'm kinda busy”

“Please tell me you're not...”

“Ugh Lycana! Do you think if I was with Jimmy I’d be able to even talk?”

Lycana chooses not to answer that.

“Look, its important I come see you and...”

“Fine. Fine! I don’t have time to argue. I’ll just poof you over...”

“WAIT!”

But it was too late... With a puff of swirling cerise smoke, Lycana is teleported out of the cabin, curtain and all.


To Be Continued.....

___________________________________________________________



“You know, I never thought I would come out and say this, and I don’t expect it to happen with any sort of regularity but...

Bobby Bourbon got something completely right.

Yeah, I know.

Eat it up Bourbsy, the odds of me admitting something like this again without some snarky ass comment attached to it, are slim to none.

“Lycana, you don’t have an ounce of quit in you.”

Not even half of one... Not the slightest damn drop.

I have said this since the moment I stepped foot into this company last November, and it didn’t seem like anybody was wont to believe me. They scoffed, turned away, assumed they could chase me from the halls of the XWF. Expected that they could made me run away through match after match after match. Declared their wars to empty the federation of the menace of my presence.

And all failed.

Here I am, eleven months later still making my mark on those who are willing to go toe to toe with me.

Never backing down in the face of adversity, of ridicule, of the odds stacked against me. None of that matters, and it never has. I just keep coming back for more, willing to give it all just to prove the point that I am here to leave bodies in my wake. From moonsaulting Caedus off of the roller coaster, to taking TK for a spin down onto that car off the cage... I will do all, risk all, give all.

And then stand up and come back, hungry for the next.

I still have a lot to fucking prove... and trust me when I say, expect to see a hell of a lot more from Lycana.

And soon.

The Bastards know quite well about my tenacity, a fact that probably annoys the fuck out of them... much to my enjoyment. Each time they think they have gotten rid of me, I pop up yet again to be a thorn in their side. Every opportunity put before me to grace them in the ring with my presence, I will take with utter glee. Each and every time getting more savage, and ferocious in the process.

So Relentless?

Yeah boys, that wasn’t the end.

It won’t be the last time I come for you... or those belts. I have made it quite clear that they are what I want, and I will not ever stop trying to get them. I may have to step back and allow other teams to have a go at you both... but always keep in the back of your minds one thing...

I am still sitting on the shot I earned during my time as X-treme champion.

So, I might choose to run singles for a time, maybe I’ll tag here and there. Maybe there are other things that are weighing on my mind. Choices that I must make. Directions I wish to go. Things I need prove. Perhaps you two will even grow the balls to face me in one-on-one competition! But one thing will remain constant, I will always be watching, always biding my time...and I will be back for another go at them when I feel like it.

Until then, I have to turn my attention to Warfare and the poor, unlucky Quid, who had the misfortune of drawing me to stand across from him in his very first match.

I’m not really sure what booking was thinking this one... serving Quid up on a golden platter but I guess I will be stepping into Corey’s role as gatekeeper for this one.

Hello darling...

I hope you are ready to show the world everything you have to give... and it not being anywhere near enough.

Sorry to break it down so abruptly for you, but I prefer to deal with the facts... and looking over your meager little offerings when it comes to what there is to be known about you? Well, I can’t really say I’m all that impressed with any of it. I’m going to be honest with you Quid, I sincerely hope you surprise me... I hope that you come out swinging and give me the challenge that I desire. That you give me a run for my money and make me work to pick up the pinfall on you.

But I doubt it.

Let’s take a little peek at what is known about you, shall we?

It appears that you are an arrogant, insincere, prying ass little fuck that cannot keep his nose within his own business.

How charming.

One egotistical piece of shit leaves the company and another waltzes right through the damn door. Although I don’t think you, or anyone else could hold a candle to Page. If you don’t know who I’m talking about, consider yourself lucky. Or I mean, if you get struck by a bout of insomnia or something, his promos are pretty good at doing the trick.

I do hope you try to use your psychoanalysis skills on me, to try and get into my mind, see what makes me tick. Many have come before you and never figured it the fuck out, but I do get a kick out of when people try.

You got questions my dear? I got the answers.

Who is going to be an insignificant blip on the radar? Easy... that’s you!

Who is in for a world of pain and a hard lesson? Also you!

Who is going to win that match? Ahaha... me.

See that? Anything you want to ask me, go right on ahead and do so. I’d actually love to hear from you... see just what you are thinking about this match. What research you have done on me, since that’s something you seem to take pride in. I do too. You enjoy exploiting weaknesses, and using them against your opponent. Same here. AND you will resort to any means necessary in order to obtain a victory... Again, samesies.

Maybe this will be fun after all!

Except for the fact that odds are, I do it better. Add in a little dash of Quid admitting he is a craven little bitch and that’s the end of that dream.

They really decided to give me, of all people, someone who gives up at a little pain?

Me.

The Dark Vixen of Violence.

I have to ask again... bookers, what were you thinking?!

Quid, honey, I don’t know what you did... You piss someone off? You insult someone from the staff? Maybe they just didn’t like your face... but you are stepping into the ring with someone who loves to cause pain. My goal is to make people bleed, to hear them scream. I like to leave my mark on them so they can remember just what it was like to face me for weeks afterwards. Make the doubters regret looking by me. This is what I live for. You’re going to have to tighten up that shriveled little sack of yours if you have any hope of coming out of this not looking like a pathetic little pansy.

A few good shots and what's going to happen?

Am I going to have to chase your ass down just to keep the match going?

Are you going to break down ugly crying in the corner pleading for mercy?

Or are you just going to run sobbing up the ramp, giving up completely?

So much for a goddamn challenge.

I have to say, I truly hope that I am wrong about all this Quid... because it is looking more and more to me like this is going to be nothing but a massacre. You will creep down that ramp and I will send you right on back up it, realizing if that your nuts retract because of a little bit of pain... wrestling probably isn’t the answer for you.

I am going to do everything in my power to make it hurt Quid. I’m going to make you cry, make you work, and force you to bring it or feel even more pain. Either you will toughen your ass up... or you’ll quit. No skin off my back either way... because to be clear, once I get by you my focus will be elsewhere. You really should be thanking me... I will make or break your career... even though you are starting out with a loss. Pssh... gives up at the first sign or being uncomfortable, what a load of shit. I guess it’s a good thing it's not Xtreme rules or anything like that, right? Small blessings... very, very small.

Because it doesn’t matter that I can’t use any weapons. I AM the fucking weapon.

Find your balls and come out and play Quid...

I’m waiting.”


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