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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍
𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦: 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘺𝘳
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𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬
THE SMELL OF SMOKE is clear in the air and a small hint of rust is mixed within it. The ash crunches beneath my boots every step I take and the unsettling feeling in my gut worsens. I mean, how could it not? Everything I had built in this formerly barren land has just been burnt to the ground by the very people I once loved and trusted.
The small piles under the ash make the hair on my arms stand straight and a shiver to travel down my spine. The wind blows slightly and ash blows off the one closest to me, revealing the charred bones of my former lover. The necklace clutched in her bony hand has barely been scathed - the pendent itself all that remains of the tightly woven necklace.
A guttural snarl rumbles in my chest and I feel my eyes flash pure silver for a split second before I regain control of myself. She was the only Tengoku Kitsune I had found in over 2000 years. This whole village was a sanctuary for Kitsune - no matter which of the thirteen they were, just as long as they didn't kill.
There are thirteen different kinds of Kitsune, and each have a corresponding element. There are the Heaven or Celestial or Prime, Void or Nogitsune or Dark or Kukan or Yako, Wind, Spirit, Fire, Earth, River, Ocean, Mountain, Forest, Thunder, Time and Sound (or Music). One of the most important things to a Kitsune is freedom, and that is what they had here before their home was burnt to the very ground they lived upon.
I pick up the pendant and the symbols on both side dig into my hand as I grip it tightly. I relax my hand and see that the valknut has left an imprint on my palm and that the triskellion has made small indents on my fingers. These are my symbols. They have been for millennia, and they will be for many millennia more.
The sound of maniacal laughter breaks me from my thoughts and the hair on my body rises, the sickening feeling in my gut worsening. They're still here. Even after everything they have done, they still have the guts to remain in the home that they burnt to the ground and incidentally ended up angering the remaining occupant, and creator, of said home.
My emotions take control, but I still remember everything.
The ground speeds beneath my feet as I run towards the laughter, and my eyes turn almost pure silver. The scent of their pure glee and pride shoots through my senses and a growl rips itself from my mouth. The growl didn't alert them to my presence - one of them incidentally turning alerted them. They were too slow, even for Viking warriors.
One of my clawed hands digs into the smallest ones throat and pierces his windpipe, whilst my other one shoves the warrior charging at me away. I jerk my arm back and the warrior's throat comes out with it - blood streaming down his chest and my arm, and a vicious smile on my face. I drop the hunk of flesh to the ground unceremoniously and turn to face the others, tilting my head to the side.
"Who's next?" I ask, grinning and baring my elongated teeth. "And is it going to be a challenge?"
As expected, they all charge at me. I punch one in the gut and flip him over, almost breaking his back. With another, I knock his legs out from under him and break them in the process. As I continue my way through the small army, bones get broken and limbs get torn from their respective homes, but none of them die - not yet.
I crouch down in front of the leader and tilt my head. "Why did you attack us? What did we do to provoke you?"
She spits on me. "You are the great dýr that killed many of our kin! You deserve to die! You are the dýr!"
"You don't know whom you disrespect and accuse do you? And you never will."
I spin around and grab the youngest by the rib-cage. He whimpers and struggles against my hold, causing my nails to bury into him. He cries out and the woman behind me reaches for him. I look back and her and grin. My teeth elongate and I bury them into the boy's upper arm, sending wave upon wave of pain and venom into his system, making him scream so loud he ruined his vocal cords.
I drop him to the ground and stare at his writhing form for a second before a dagger buries itself into my foot. I snarl at the perpetrator and kick him in the face. I kick him hard enough that the handle buries itself into the underside of the jaw and nicks his carotid artery, making him a dead man either way.
Anger, hatred and sorrow flow through me, sending my mind in all different directions. I want to curl up in a ball and cry my heart out, and at the same time I want to kill everyone and everything. I choose the latter. Of course.
