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mommydragon-of-all · 6 years

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The Crimson Storm

Soren was flying through the battlefield.

Twisting, spinning, rolling, pouncing, tearing through the biggest clusters like a tornado of flashing blades and explosions, bodies dropping in his path like struck trees, dead before they hit the ground.

The wind carried his excited bursts of laughter across the field, and it sounded so different from the usual infectious, hearty melody ringing clear through taverns and camps, dancing above, unmistakable for all who knew him. This sound was crisp and cutting, rattling the bones, like a peculiar thunder to the flash of his electric blades. It was the exact opposite of the soothing warm bubbles lifting the roofs of Haven’s rooms, easing the weights from shoulders. Some of the support fire faltered a bit as soon as Soren landed in the grove. Although the active stun field was closely limited to the blades in his hands, it almost seemed like he had the shock wave of a true thunderstorm. Deadly to those within its perimeters and giving shivers to those that watched from afar.

The startled cries of the enemy and the sounds of battle were a symphony to Soren’s ears, and he was *dancing*, riding the height, the rush of battle, and his blood was *singing*.

He brought a crimson storm over the bone dry grass field, painting a vivid picture of devastation on the sun bleached canvas. It soaked the thick paint up just as greedily as Soren’s senses did, and he was drunk on it. In the heat of battle and high on the scent of blood, he didn’t see his enemies as people anymore, he saw *prey*, he saw *play*.

Whoever thought it was a desperately stupid idea to enter this fight head on with just Soren as melee fighter supported by mages and archers from above, as this unexpected encounter found their group in such unbalanced constitution, was severely mistaken. It was just crazy. And they didn’t know yet how perfectly “crazy” worked for Soren…

Oh it was so long since he got to properly dance with his blades, he was starting to get itchy. Soren didn’t even wait out the flood of retreat arguments against his instant elaborate plan of “Lets get them.” He flashed a mad grin and literally jumped in the middle of the Trouble, then took that title for himself.

All that blood made his wide grin stand out even brighter, his sharp canines seem even longer, the glint in his eyes sharper. He didn’t just feel like a majestic predator loose on a pack of wolves turned into a flock of prey, in their eyes he very much looked like one. Many of them froze for seconds upon sight of him, even before his lightning enchanted blades reached them. A deadly mistake. They rarely had any more time to react, not that that helped them much. Soren was untouchable in his drive, evading and striking without a break in his fluid whirlwind, each movement a continuation of the last. He was ziping across the battlefield several times over, not staying in the same spot for two seconds, bodies lining his trail, the raining blood filling his footprints.

Between the shitstorm Soren kicked up and the arrows and magic blasting down, soon there were none of the enemy left standing.

The last one got an arrow in the knee before Soren reached him and promptly fell on his ass in pain and sock, wide eyes freezing on Soren. His whole body seemed to shrink more and more with each step Soren took towards him.

With the battlefield falling quiet Soren dropped his momentum, and he was approaching slowly, taking long, hip-swinging cat steps towards his last prey: prone and waiting, for lead perhaps? Soren tilted his head to the side with cold curiosity. *‘Didn’t it know how to dance?’* A chuckle bubbled up Soren’s throat. He spun his bloodied blades playfully and stopped in front of his shivering prey, swaying weightlessly on his long legs, eager, assessing. This prey didn’t seem like planning to move anytime soon. How boring. It appeared to have trouble breathing too, despite only sporting a minor wound -a little red bloom on a grey clad leg- and has gotten as pale as the dry grass under it, but Soren liked the crimson better. There was not nearly enough crimson over here.

However Soren could smell it thick and potent and alluring in the air, could feel it everywhere, cooling rapidly, only this last one’s veins still pumping fresh rivers of it. Soren drew a long breath through his nose, savoring it with slightly dropping eyelids and quietly humming in appreciation, though it might have come out as a faint growl. He unconsciously licked his lips. His canines felt even sharper than usual when his tongue dragged over them -without being mindful of the pressure- and it sent an odd shiver of excitement through him.

But he had much better “fangs” for this hunt, he remembered. Unfortunately he did have to use his sharp teeth as weapon before in a desperate situation. Soren grimaced. It was not a fun memory. (despite loving the taste of blood in general, and lacking the slightest bit of regret over it all) He took a long, satisfying lick along one of his blades though, completely unbothered by the flickers of lightning cracking over it, gloving emerald irises never leaving his last target.

The blood carried the distinct flavor of mined lyrium. He felt the sudden urge to lick his blades clean, and let this sorry excuse of a prey lay fainted by the time he is done, or maybe die of a heart attack – certainly looking not far from either possibility, but where was the fun in that. His blood would turn sluggish. A total waste not even worth a glance.

Chasing the last one always changed the key, it was always when he realized the game was almost over, too soon, always too soon. The last one was the one he paid the most attention to, that he played with the longest, indulging them in a pace more their level, prolonging the fun a bit more, even if it meant sacrificing the thrill of speed.

They usually lived as many minutes more as they were interesting, as much as they thought they actually had a chance, of escaping or fighting back, even if they were almost always so underwhelmingly clumsy and shaky, so far from matching up to Soren’s deadly fluent lead. What a pity. But sometimes they were amusing enough to pay for the extra time and attention, to make up for the dropped speed. Apparently not this one though.

Soren flicked his wrist and slowly raised the blade with an elegant swipe, head tipping in light musing about the best angle to choose for the broadest splatter of beautiful crimson, when he felt a firm but gentle hand on his arm.

He blinked, as if waking from a trace, momentarily confused. He wasnt startled by it, nor was he alerted before it reached him, there were no alarm bells springing him to action, no kicked in reflexes. Which meant, when his sharpened senses registered the approach - familiar steps, maybe even voice, scent - some part of his clouded brain must have filed it as trusted and dismissed it. (Not bothering to alert his consciousness with the unnecessary information. Nothing to be wary of, nothing to protect from.)

He watched the familiar hand guide his arm back down and felt every drop of bloodlust leave him in a rush. He got almost disoriented for a second from the sudden deflate. But then his gaze, drawn further by a warm bright flutter in the wind, reached Hadiden’s face and he was grounded again.

… (Keep reading here if the line isnt working like on phones usually)

.. .

A blink broke the moment suspended in time, and Soren inhaled sharply, eyes widening.

Fuck, he almost wasted their last breathing chance of getting information out of this great mess. He was part of a bigger thing now, they needed to know all kind of stuff . This was no random bandit horde, no local incident to be cleared and be done with it.

Yet he got carried away, as per usual. Moreover, he “flashed his fangs”, quite literally, so disturbingly and undeniably. He turned his head down and away from Hadiden. His eyes stung a bit for a second for some reason but he blinked it away. It was strange. Shit, he didn’t want *Hadiden* to see this… this monstrous, cruel side of him. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t. Or rather, he refused to acknowledge it. He usually had no problems with going full savage beast in a battle for the whole world to behold, having wild fun and tearing the enemy apart, bathing in their blood and riding the height, grinning like a wolf above their ripped corpses without an ounce of sorry. His smoldering, more animalistic, wild sides, ready to blow into fire at the first wrong wind catching into it weren’t particularly well received across Thedas. Having your instincts and stuff boosted had its downsides. However he lived an unapologetic life, he wasn’t proud of things like his cruelty or brutality. And at this moment, in the presence of this beautiful, kind and caring man he couldn’t help but want to be more worthy of the warm hand on his arm.

For the first time in his life he outright *feared* judgment from someone, feared to be feared. He found himself desperately wanting to be trusted, to prove to Hadiden that there was no side of him, no matter how ugly, that would turn against him, that would harm him.

People often were taken aback when they saw Soren in battle. Some might utter how they would have never imagined him kill so brutally and lightly after how much compassion he showed towards everyone and their mother. But it was really simple. Threats were different. When a persons status turned into enemy there was no mercy left to give, they become prey or obstacles to destroy.

The bloodlust… the bloodlust was a bit more complicated. Even Soren himself didn’t know how much of it was original trait and how much it was amplified by all the blood magic jobs done on his body, all the boosts on his basics. A common side effect of enhancing blood manipulation seemed to be the slight general enhancement of the whole package too, the body being such a wonderful complex, which came as a nice bonus on things like hearing or instincts and reflexes, but a real bummer on things like touch, from the fucking sand itches to the joyrides of feeling pain on totally new scales. Soren needed to work on evasion seriously and go through another, stepped up pain tolerance training –like the original wasn’t HELL- so he wouldnt kneel over from less than appropriate level of injuries…. Only quality pleasures made up for that royal pain in the… well. That train of thought just turned towards awkward. But mostly everything had its up and downsides. The surprise distance upgrade to his sight that came with the night vision enhancement was neat, though the bioluminescence his irises gained was not exactly helpful to stealth.

Anyways, it was all part of him now and he owned it, he refused to regret any of it, or be defined by it. He also came to peace with his “darker” sides and urges and learned to accept himself and acknowledge his own needs and know his borders and edges.

He normally wouldn’t try to suppress a part of himself and pretend it didn’t exist just because it was… undesired, but he felt a sharp pang of longing to be accepted, to never become feared by this wonderful person.

Part of him would always remain a beast, but maybe he didn’t want to be a wild one anymore.

Suddenly, having a leash sounded a lot less like loosing freedom and a lot more like having an anchor, someone to belong to. He liked that thought. He liked it too much, and it was damn scary.

Following that spark of longing, old warning bells shook him off that rail. He straightened up fully, taking a deep breath and forcing a small smile on his lips. He spoke up before Hadiden could voice whatever he was thinking behind that gaze, the gaze that practically burned Soren even as he carefully avoided the smallest glimpse towards it. He wasn’t ready to know what emotions it carried, for being judged, or answering concerned or accusing questions or being scolded or… or *something*, so with a tone hopefully light and easy, he cut ahead to avoid being cut -just like in battle.

“Ah, right, this is the last one, isn’t it? Im gonna… ehm… go look what the others might have on them of use and let you question this one.”

Damn, he almost stuttered. He never stuttered, under no circumstances. Not in front of anyone but who he was infatu…… Anyways, true that he often got distracted mid-sentence or something, not for lack of finding what to say, but new floods of thoughts getting stuck on each other on the way out or changing course abruptly. But this… This was unusual and he had to get away before he dared think too much about it.

With that he turned and left, not once daring to look back at Hadiden, but with his eyes downcast he caught a good glimpse of the enemies face, shaking on the ground in shock, terrified out of his mind, like an apprentice about to fail his harrowing. He looked about ready to sell his own mother to the man who relived him of Soren’s presence. Oh, looks like his rampage proved to be useful for Hadiden after all. Self-satisfied, he smirked before his turn broke his sight on the prone enemy and it shrieked, covering impossibly more, seemingly tumbling himself to the next stage of shock.

Soren barely took a few steps when he could hear the guy start spilling without question, tripping over his own words in a high pitched rush. Soren huffed. Yep, having a beast *on leash* certainly could have its benefits on both ends of it.

….

It was later, while he relived a still twitching corpse of the weight of coins and some other valuables, that his wandering thoughts peeked back and he remembered … there was no tremble in that hand on his arm. A spark of hesitant hope glinted in his chest, not giving a shit about his flaring fears or shouting wisdom born from experience or the worry for the big signs of a force never before encountered.

………………..

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