![[Image: tumblr_inline_om4d12Tg1T1rvkloc_540.gif]](https://68.media.tumblr.com/9e7e9002458bc25edea316fb0d805682/tumblr_inline_om4d12Tg1T1rvkloc_540.gif)
The malicious greatsword, Malcontent, lay on Madoc’s lap as he stared across the dimly lit room. Battle-calloused fingers of his right hand grazed over the blade, though his focus lay ahead on nothing. The quiet sounds of Arshtat preparing food behind a nearby partition barely reached him through his muddled haze.
On occasion, his dark eyes twitched, or his nose wrinkled with a scowl. The smirk had been long-forgotten on the Xaela’s lips. He could no longer tell if the anger he felt was his or Malcontent’s. It had all begun to bleed together into one, unified, barely-contained fury.
Breaking the silence, a smug voice rolled. “AÍžnd̶ h̶eÍreÌ¡ y̨’͢th͘ouÍ gÌ¡h̸t ÍŸI w̨as̶ ḑeÍ€aÌ¡d,â€Í the vision of Stanton grinned as he leaned against the far wall.
“Piece of shite,†Madoc’s low voice grumbled, sleep-deprived eyes blinking blearily. “Can’t even…die properly…â€
The man appeared before him, leaning in to stare, mere ilms from Madoc’s horned face. “O̶hÌ¢, I̸'lÍŸl alwaÍ¡y̨s Í beÌ¢ ͘hÌ¢er̸eÍ¡.Ì› ҉‘̛OÍžwÌ•'sÍ¢ iÍ¢t Ì›f͘eelÍ…̢k̨noÍwÍin͘’ ͘ye̕’͡re pÌ›owÍ¡eÍrleÍžsÍs? HÌ•aÌ›viǹ’ nothÍ¡iÍn’̷ ÍtoÒ‰ do Ì´bÌ¢uţ ÍŸwaÌ´iţ, lÍ€i͘kÍe ̨tÍ heÍœ weÍ¢ąkÌ¢ w̨hęlp y’͜a̵rÌ¢e?â€
Madoc’s right hand twitched. He met the man’s gaze. Black eyes glowered, but words stayed locked in his throat.
“SÌ›tÌ›illÌ• ÍtÍžhÍ iÌ·n̶kÌ· Ížye’̢rę b̧eÍtter Ò‰tÍ¡hÍaÍžn mÌ¡e?Í¡â€Ì¶
“Aye.†Madoc only offered a shaking whisper in reply. Unconvincing. Losing.
“̵NÌ›ayÍ ," Stanton corrected with a laugh, “ÍYou Í¡a̶n̴’ mÍeÍ€ aÍin̨'Ì¢tÍž Í¡sÍ¡ǫ Í¢diffeÌ›r̶ent.̸ ÍKilÍlÌ¡inÍ¢'̵s in ye’ ÍŸbloÍ o̵dÍ.Í â€¦Ì¶AlwaÒ‰yÍs hÌ¢as̵ ÍœbÍ¡eeÍn.Ížâ€
The rage in Madoc burned red-hot, and the symbol on his palm felt as if it could burst into flame. Each bone and tendon in his right hand tightened and flinched against metal, eager to grip the hilt of the brutal, whispering blade. His breathing was heavy as he struggled to remain in control of himself.
“̸SÍo,͞†Stanton smirked, then reached and touched the back of Madoc’s hand with his fingertips. “͘ThinÍžk it’s̸ tiÍ€mÍœeÍ toÒ‰ do whaÍ¢t Ò‰yÌ¡e’̧rÌ•eÍž g̶o͘odÍœ aÌ·t…҉â€
At the touch, the palm’s mark pulsed. And then, Madoc saw red. The sword’s aether. Blood. The ring.
The ring.
The crimson band snapped into Madoc’s mind with a catch of his breath. The thought then burned like a strong drink. Lingered like a good kiss. His heart raced. He stood despite not willing it, and his chest tightened with a low rumble. Old habits, old desires, surfaced. Suddenly, nothing else mattered. He’d given the ring to Oyuu for safekeeping. To stop him from doing something he'd regret. But now, he needed it.
“GoÌ¢ g̸et it,â€Ì· the voice of Stanton whispered.
Hearing him rise, Arshtat peeked behind the wall. Grey eyes widened as she saw the greatsword in his hand, accompanying the darkened expression on his face. “Madoc..?â€
The scarred Xaela did not reply. He stormed out the door and into the main hall of the Order of Ouroboros, leaving a trail of scarlet aether in his wake.
Stanton smiled and followed.
(Art by me, animation by Hithren!)
