The Lev n Fax Saga

Part Ten

The anger writhed in his gut like a living thing, thrashing and burning its way through him. Sorin hated it. He hated the way it left him shaking and restless like nothing else. In the end, he couldn't even stand to go home, and so once he got back to hell, still fuming, he didn't bother. It'd just smell like Cyrus and it'd only make everything worse. Instead he detoured out of the city and deeper into hell.

It didn't take him long to find his favorite hellscape. Hell must have been listening, a rarity indeed. The scape was massive, quiet, and few humans ended up here. Sorin shifted the moment he stepped foot in the pale jungle. He'd blend better this way; unlike a jungle on earth, this one was entirely in greyscale. While his demonic form did have ginger tabby markings on the head and tail, the rest was white. It was less color to be in this feline form than as a humanoid. Any souls wandering in this hellscape would easily be seen before he was, and he could head in the opposite direction long before anyone got close enough to annoy him.

Well, annoy him more than he already was.

With an easy heave, he jumped up into the nearest tree, digging his claws in as he scrambled up to the nearest branch. Not for the first time he thanked what stars had blessed him that this form had thumbs to help grip. One of his cousins (twice removed, if he wasn't mistaken) had a similar firm. Unfortunately, that cousin was both small (compared to Sorin's unnatural size, anyway) and very little was changed. A regular house cat, practically. Though his cousin found it quite funny to joke shout being a traditional familiar for her witch.

Sorin shook off these thoughts, and then regretted dismissing a much needed distraction. The anger still churned, leaving his fur on end. He ached to dig his claws into something. As he padded along the branch, he swiveled his ears in an effort to catch any stray sound. He almost hoped he did. As sharp as his senses were in his human form, he did miss this form's. This form felt like home. The fluid, feline grace translated somewhat to his human form, but never enough for his tastes. It was something Cyrus had understood, even if Sorin had rarely felt brave enough to stay a cat.

And he was back to Cyrus again. It was like the witch had touched every part of his life. He couldn't get away from him.

He hopped to the next branch, tail lashing both in agitation and for balance. The other thing he liked about his demonic form was that it was easier to simply dig his claws into something instead of letting his magic lash out. A tree wouldn't complain that he was shredding it's bark.

He lashed his tail again for good measure, and then climbed higher. As if that would ease the ache in his chest. He didn't know what to feel. To think. He just knew it ate at him, and so his solution was to climb, to keep moving, until he no longer felt like he was going to circle back and give Cyrus another earful. He'd managed to not lash out at Cy once but there was always later.

Terror. Terror was one of the feelings he was struggling with. Terror that his temper would get the best of him in a way he couldn't take back.

He batted a silver leaf out of his way, and then crouched low. Of all the people he'd been angry with, Cyrus had never been one. Even in the moment he'd been scared of his own fury. He'd never been afraid of his anger before, and it had left him off kilter. He flicked his ears back and gave a low growl, just to give voice to his frustration. The sound echoed and rebounded back to him, over and over from all directions, before abruptly vanishing as if it never had been.

Movement below caught his attention. Time to move on, then. He launched himself at a nearby branch, and then another, losing himself in the repetitive motions as he fled deeper and deeper into the jungle, angling higher still, until he hit the end of of the treeline, and stared out over the bleached, bare expanse before him. Nothing but skeletal trees and wind over there.