[Huckleberry]

possible trigger warning for the content in this thread, and just to preface this huck is very sick and delusional.

#6082b6

Gnawing biting, endless screaming, Like rats with tails tied together, thrashing and panicked. All that lone blue eye could see was hazy shapes. Everything just looked like SHAPES. No clear forms, but jagged angles. Nostrils flaring as he stumbled in the summer sun. A clear and beautiful morning above him without a cloud in the sky to be seen.

A gaunt and ugly little thing he had become, once upon a time, he was a dashing little lad. Swaddled in a coat of ginger and blue-ish grey. Now Huckleberry was little more than skin and bones, a twitching snappish mess reminiscent of an old, dear uncle. Mange had long since eaten away at his coat, blood caked certain spots on his body where sore lay open and infected, dribbling with pus.

How the mighty did fall, Bane would be hollering with laughter, his father and mother rolling in their graves, his siblings wouldn't even recognize him now. Some part of him, deep down, wished and wanted for that. Wanting to be forgotten. There was pain, sadness, but most of all WRATH. It had sprouted like a vicious weed, all consuming. Saboro had won, it's greatest adversary defeated. Little more than a shambling husk.

Shaky legs had carried him to a small puddle of water, left over from a storm the previous day, Licking away the foam that accumulated at the sides of his mouth, he'd lap up the water. His thirst more apparent as his dry mouth with suddenly flooded and his drinking became more desperate, the skin flexing over his showing ribs. The liquid hit his stomach like a sack of bricks and almost immediately he vomited. Water and stomach bile tainting his water and he pulled away to vomit again and again, tears welling up in his lone eyes spilling down his dirty cheek at the force.

Something dark came up, thick, much too dark to be blood, but it smelled AWFUL. Like downright decay, staining his tongue and yellowing teeth a blackish color. His eye unfocused, but ear hearing something approach, he wobbled and the fear set in. What if it was,,, NO NO NO, I'm not, I WON YOU CAN'T TAKE ME BACK. He lunged with out looking, without feeling teeth aiming to rip into whatever they could grab onto. In a flash he was back in that jungle, once again.

I won, SABORO DIDN'T BEAT ME. I'LL KILL IT TODAY. I'LL FINISH IT.

[Atlas]

A figure moved along the Path of Fate, what once was a proud, stunning wolf carried itself like a wretch, bones protruding along her back and ribs to play sticks along for amusement. There is nothing left to recognize her, save for the gold flecks in her cloudy, lost eyes.

Where am I?

Atlas could barely identify scents now, she couldn't tell left from right, and bugs nested, ready, along the crevices of her ear (and what remained of the other). The decay of her mind was nothing compared to what disease took hold of her body now- nothing she ate went to her belly, she couldn't figure it out. For awhile, she assumed her children were playing tricks on her. Until she realized she was alone.

And how long had she been alone?

She chokes on air briefly, wheezing as panic begins to settle in. Saboro didn't win, Alteron couldn't claim her, but the Wilds of the In Between? Unpredictably, the Winner.

It is, along this well worn road, she finds another soul, or parts of one- she can see an outline, she can raise her head and take the air in her cracked nostrils, but nothing yet. She moves closer, until the stench of bile was so close she could almost thank the donor of the liquid for reminding her she'd lost that sense, too.

Just as her tail was beginning to wag at another traveler- someone to talk to- she is thrown to the ground, roughly, and her instinct kicks in. Fight or flight, but running wasn't an option. She could move no faster than her trembling walk, and.. and..

Her teeth could grip nothing, not with his subduing her neck and keeping her to the ground. No, her only hope were the ragged, rotten, and wretched claws now searching for anything- his face for her front, and potentially his side and stomach for her hind. But she wiggles, her strength- what's left of it- she lashes around like a fish out of water, desperate to find its way back home.

All the while she can smell familiarity, but fails to identify it. Her mind, it's playing tricks on her. Again. She could swear, deep down in the corridors of the labyrinth that it's become, that it was Huckleberry tearing away at her flesh. But that wasn't right. No, it was an illusion, it was someone in Huck's skin, and the thought sent a ripple of hate and spark through her. Whoever it is, they'd pay for what they did to him.

And then her moment of clarity passed, and she became as violent and enraged as him. She missed the taste of blood, almost as much as she missed her family. No, that's not right. Her family had always reminded her of the taste of blood.