Hunted | Jenmae

[Seren]

He knew.

The separate of mind and heart was made apparent as the Witch graced him with her touch. He followed her down to the stone earth, kneeling amidst the remnant blood of her knees. The sacrifices had been prepared - and with a moment's notice they would be commanded to end their miserable lives. Yet, before that, as the seconds moved ever forward...the heart ached. Yes, that which the Wolf desired more than anything was but a ritual away - his Witch was finally within arm's reach.

But as his amber gaze met that of the woman he had traveled back to find...as she silently bid him to encircle her form with his arms...he felt the tremble. She was afraid. Afraid of that which came after. Afraid of the conclusion to her tale - in the hopes of prolonging her legacy. Both Seren and Jenmae knew what had to be done. Their minds had been steeled and made up from the moment of investigating the tome. However, as Jenmae trembled, Seren's heart caught. She would find solace in the tightness of his embrace.

For but a moment, his brow graced hers following the instruction. Time was ticking away. But before it would all come to an end, there was one nugget of truth he had to share. "He's waiting for you. That stubborn, little Wolf." He would not say anything further, lest her concentration be compromised. Yet, when the ritual was done, the woman of the present would not be alone. Even as her life ended, another would begin. And with the time they had left, the Wolf embraced his Witch.

When finally the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon made its ascension, Seren knew it was time. His embrace shifted and his fingertips tightened about the haft of his weapon. Before he moved, his silent command erupted into the minds of the thralls. Twelve lives began to extinguish as their wrists were forfeit. The blood pooled and spilled as a slow river, and the Wolf gave it time to advance before raising the blade of his hatchet. There was much that the Little Wolf inside him wanted to say as the metal graced her pallid throat.

But they had come too far for sentimentality to ruin the ritual. If ever there was a moment in her life for focus to be paramount, it was now. Thus, the Wolf gave Jenmae a confident nod...and moved the weapon in a clean line over her throat. The edge did its work, opening her throat and corrupting the flawless dress that she wore instantly. With the deed done, he held fast for Jenmae to do her part of the ritual. It was all up to her now.

[member="Jenmae Ophiro"]

 

[Jenmae Ophiro]

Feeling his arms tighten around her as he felt the tremble was enough to still it, the woman quieting against him as they spent the rest of their minutes together in silence, both contemplating the task that lay before them, and undoubtedly the chaos that would befall their world should she fail...

They could feel it, the pair of them, when the moon rose to it's apex above them, blocked from view by the stone that surrounded them. There was a tension to her form as she watched at the edges of her vision the men they'd collected set to their dark work. As the blood began to flow and fill the rivets in the floor there was a deep rumble of power that thrummed below the pair. A darkness gathered and rushed towards the centre of their ritual circle, faster than even the blood could flow inward.

For a moment she thought to speak, her eyes lifting as the hatchet rose in his grasp to lay against the pale expanse of her throat. The tilt of her head as she made to look at him exposed it all the more, all thought of speech left behind as she caught sight of the resolution in his gaze. His sure nod was returned with one small one of her own as he drew that blade across in one swift motion.

There was a brief moment where pain swallowed her vision - though almost immediately it was gone, washed away as the power from the ritual, from all that life offered up, exploded against the pair. One last blood choked gasp escaped her as her mind was swallowed up in that wave, washed away and the vessel, though still bleeding in the Wolf's arms, was left empty. What had once been the White Witch was swept off and transported to that place beyond. Darkness became blinding light as the world were lost things went spread before her, and she called out to what she needed.

The answer was resounding, a booming like thunder as power responded to her call. The creature that came was warmth where the pallid specter was cold, depth where she had not thought to find it. Eyes the colour of liquid gold, swimming in a sea of shadow, sped towards her over that expanse. A voice came to her then, painfully familiar but with a cultured lilt that she would never grow to gain herself - "Sweet child... Thank you." Though she had no body to speak of, she could feel the soft press of lips to her forehead, warm palms cupping her cheeks as the wealth of the Witch's gratitude washed over her. Then there was nothing.

It had been only moments, but all warmth had bled from the siren in his arms in what seemed like an instant. Where normally there would have been spasms as the body fought not to let life leave it, there had been only stillness. As all that blood rushed towards him, and Jenmae's own contribution began to stretch towards it, there was only a moment to worry that it was too much for the Witch... That she had not been able to hold her resolve.

Then her body gave a violent jerk, those empty eyes that stared up at him widening, the dark depths alight as they began to bleed over into that blackness he knew to be her power. As her vision became like ink she gave one startled, blood choked gasp as she sat upright, the wound at her throat beginning to stitch itself closed. Shuttering violently, hands rising to gingerly touch the gaping wound at her neck, the Witch turned those bottomless black eyes towards her Wolf. Her voice came, not that of the one he'd sent off, but one that was rich and smooth, lightly accented from their years spent parroting ancient words to one another, pouring over texts instead of sleeping.

"... Blood."

 

[Seren]

If she comes back to you, she'll need the boy - and she'll need you.

There was an instant of shared resolve between the Wolf and the Young Witch. For what seemed a small eternity, he held the woman fast within his arms, keeping her warm inside his steadfast embrace. Yet, when the appointed moment came, there was no hesitation from Seren. Though his heart quietly balked at the notion of rending apart Jenmae's throat, it was what needed to be done. With his part played, the Wolf began his quiet vigil. Waiting, and trusting, that the woman who laid still within his arms was able to fulfill her end.

Before long, power erupted from the beyond. It manifested simultaneously with the jolt of the one within his arms. She rose at once, rasping as the divide in her flesh began to make itself whole. Seren watched, only for a moment, until that accented voice graced his ears. It took concerted effort for the edges of his lips not to twitch into a smile, but ascension gripped him thus. His offhand extended and beckoned the youngest forward - and once more there was not an instant of hesitation.

She'll need the boy.

The hatchet moved and mimicked the fate of the Twelve. A lengthy partition was made down the length of his arm and the fresh crimson was offered to the reborn woman. The Wolf waited on baited breath for his beloved to indulge in the offering - hoping that this was the final step. Hoping that, at long last, he would have it all.

And as the present moved ever forward, the one that was would find herself in amidst a land of blood. The heavens above were of a blanched crimson, with flecks of gray forming incoherent clouds. Precipitation fell perpetually, yet there was no cool refreshment to be found in its touch. For, unlike water, this rain was literal blood, and thus its touch was lukewarm at best. Moreover, the earth itself was as literal flesh. The Blood Wastes was an infamous corner of the Netherworld - and it was here that the Sacrifice's eternity would begin.

But for as bleak an existence as this was, she was not alone. Before her laid a modest flame, kept alive despite the light downpour of blood from above. The emerald pyre danced in ethereal motion, all whilst being tended by the careful prods of a man seated upon a lengthy stone. He looked up from the flame, offering a toothy smile. His freehand motioned for her to join him on the stone. Your pup will be ecstatic to see you...

[member="Jenmae Ophiro"]