. . . Rhama panted lightly, then cracked her knuckles, planting her taloned feet steadily on the ground, forked tail lashing out behind her and her arms spread, claws unsheathed.
Xacspheles had a similar stance, posed in such a way that displayed the primal power of his muscles, rippling under the dark scales.
The kitsune had said that he wanted to see them at full power, Rhama was second, and it was her turn.
She grinned, her comrade had no chance.
As they had been ‘training’, more like playing, really, but Rhama had become well attuned to the earth beneath her feet, she knew it would help her if she asked, it liked her.
Rhama darted forwards, then leaped, the earth pushed her up, her mana filled her body with strength and heat and power.
Xacspheles ducked her pounce and laughed, no matter, she landed and rolled to her feet, jumping up and springing off of a wall, then off the earth again, delivering a savage kick to her once-mate’s head.
The blow wasn’t very damaging, dracanae had thick skulls and heavily armored faces.
Xacspheles reeled, turning around and his navy-striped tail lashing out behind him.
Rhama grinned, baring her fangs, then sticking out her tongue, exposing the venomous stinger. She then ran up and around, grateful that the earth didn’t cling to her feet like it did with other races. She raced around the edges of the buildings, zipping and darting back and forth, her mana charging her body to move faster, stronger. The stone cracked under her feet and the soil trembled at her strength.
She sprinted over and landed a fast punch to her comrade’s side, spinning and kicking his chest before leaping after him, catching him by the throat with her hand and slamming him back into a wall, the force cracking the wall.
Rhama leaned up and hissed into his ear, “Dead.”
Xacspheles chuckled, then tapped the wall with his palm and she let him go.
Her once-mate gave her an amused smirk, then tapped her nose. “You held back.”
Rhama chuckled. “And I still beat you, wonders never cease, do they?”
They heard clapping from the balcony, Holly Barker was standing there, Rhama wasn’t sure if the woman could expose more of her skin if she was naked.
“Well done, Rhama.” She heard the kitsune’s voice and flattened her antennae, she hoped the dog knew he would face her unbridled wrath soon. “Lets go.”
The kitsune strode away, now in his most vulnerable form, a dark-skinned man with ice-white hair.
Regardless of this open flaunting of his weakest form, Rhama was forced to follow him by the sudden flaring of arctic cold in her belly. Xacspheles stepped behind her, the familiarity of her friend acting as a kind of buffer from the freezing fire that was this kitsune’s star ball.
Instead of using the doorway, one plainly opened for them as the kitsune was met with an all-too-playful looking Holly Barker; the pair of dracanae leaped up and roughly clawed their way up the stone and wood of the walls, leaving long gouges across the decoratively carved murals. On the other side, there was a small smithy. Working at the furnace was another kitsune, this one red-auburn in color, obviously powering the flames via a long chain, one that was thin and twisted in such a way that her eyes couldn’t follow it.
Glittering in the middle of the chain was a red star ball, one that pulsed with heat and fire, the same pulse that seemed to pump across the chain and into the fire.
Foxfire, or what kitsune called Fokkusufaiyā, the only fire that could burn a dracanae.
Rhama now felt an enormous hatred towards Notchimine, a rising, sticky heat that flamed in her belly, triturating and for just a moment, extinguishing the ever-present cold in her gut.
This furnace was a relic from the Great War, something the dracanae had made to break the few captured kitsune into giving them information. It was called ‘Devourer’, it siphoned and consumed kitsune powers, especially those of a fire type, for use in forging weapons imbued with the same powers.
After the wars one of the treaty agreements was the destruction of such devices.
Evidently the purge of them wasn’t as thorough as was thought.
To her surprise, Holly picked something out of the flames, a branding iron bearing an ornate, glowing letter N, the left side of which was encircled by a crescent moon.
“On your knees.” The kitsune ordered, and Rhama obeyed, not of her own will, actually the icy pain from the starball in her abdomen, made her grit her teeth a moment before it bled into her body and forced her down, laying her head on a wooden barrel. “Stick out your tongue.”
Rhama opened her mouth and let her long, scarlet tongue lay out, grimacing at the taste of the air, full of kitsune and color magic, wood and all around her was the saccharine scent of the loogaroo.
Her analyzation was abruptly interrupted by a searing pain on her tongue.
However, Rhama didn’t struggle, her fiery eyes watered a little and her tail lashed, grunted a little, then, when permitted, stood and kept her tongue out, baring the brand.
In the open air, which still bore all the scents she had spoken of, the brand stung and seared, she still heard it sizzling lightly on her flesh.
She closed her eyes as she heard the same sound, a hiss and the soft sound of a split tail lashing on the earth.
Rhama turned when she heard him stand, he hid his shame well, almost as well as she did with his red tongue hanging out of his mouth. The brand was black and angry-looking, puckered and ripped.
She held out her taloned hand, when her once-mate nodded she laid her claw-tips delicately on his tongue. After a few soft-spoken words she had managed to remove some of the pain and heat while still leaving the burn.
She was a more skilled magician than he was, he couldn’t give her the same favor and that kind of spell was dangerous to use on oneself.
She heard a shuffling and whirled, growling, only to see the kitsune, holding his hands up in an expression of surrender before adjusting his posture, holding out a stubby, paw-like hand, looking up into her fiery eyes.
Rhama huffed and bent down, tail lashing while she stared straight at the kitsune. She didn’t trust the kitsune, Ajiro Minoke, not one bit.
He touched the brand lightly, there was a rush of heat, then icy cold, but Rhama merely rattled the fins at the sudden temperature change.
When the kitsune moved back her tongue was mostly numbed and the burning sensation, one she was very familiar with, was gone. She straightened and shook herself out, taking her long tongue back into her mouth.
She said nothing to her unlikely healer, rather bowed her large head slightly, taking a taller, prouder stance. To be branded by one’s enemy was a shame to a dracanae. Her mana had suffered greatly at this insult, she could feel it, the diminished power.
Rhama snorted, slitted nostrils flaring and her breath shimmering with heat in the air, regardless of this new brand, a scar and a searing insult she was still a dracanae. Not just any dracanae, she was Rhama the Strangler and she’d choke Notchimine if it took her last breath. She felt Xacspheles shift behind her and flicked her tail. It was good that he knew her well, or at least knew the patient, if viciously enraged throb of her heart-sound. She would kill Notchimine. That was what she promised this creature who dared to call himself her master, only death.
