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dxrknessembr8ced · 11 months ago

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Quietly walking out of their room they hide in the corners as they heard someone walk by them. What they saw is none other than a j'avo wearing now upgraded neo umbrella attire to be more fitting more their religion. These J'avo are highly skilled in protecting the halls with Hsien-Ko inside unaware the bloodshed is about to come down when he comes closer to where the two are hiding.

Once he got closer Hsien-Ko grabs him by the back using her blade stabbing him only a few times.

' PRRRAACCCKK!! '

' PRRAACCKK! '

' PPPRRRCCCSSHH! ' .

Once she's done both she and Raptor got out if their hiding spots deciding that them stealthily walk their way out of here is not an option. So they decided what fits them both best, kill everyone in the entire halls with no mercy until they can find her allies.

" Raptor, fuck this we're killing our way by force. "

Hsien-Ko grits her teeth as she channels both the power of Kouga and the T-Erebus virus from within as her body erupted into emerald flames burning away her entire clothing leaving her bare naked.

' CCCCCCSSSSHHHHH!!! '

Coating in emerald flames then came out golden crystalline structures this time they emerged through all over her body finally forming herself into the armor of the fanged wolf of legend.

' KRRRSSCCCHH ! '

' KKKRRCCHT ! '

' KKKRRRCCHHHT ! '

' KKKCCCHHHTTT ! '

From head to toe Hsien-ko have achieved what was taboo in the old tales of the makai order and Kouga let this happen giving her this power destroying an oath all in the sake of protecting her and her family and that is becoming the first female makai knight but not just any makai knight a makai knight of legends, she has become Garo.

Standing there in shock her cigar fell off her lip as she just standing there witnessing her transformation first hand.

" What the fuck...? "

Hsien-Ko stands ready now with her blade in her hands she kept walking through the halls while Raptor follows her even more excited now as the J'avo heard all the noise they run up through the halls only to met with both the now former jiangshi and the zombie together. The armored J'avo began their assault while one of them ran away to alert the rest of the cult of Las Erebus as the two retaliated by butchering and maiming their attackers with sheer violent tendencies cluttered in their minds.

They begin firing at them both fiddling them with bullets while she stands guard in front of raptor protecting her as the bullets do not damage thanks to the armor coaeted her body as she dashes forward slashing the J'avo in pieces with only one slash leading the way for more destruction she is going to caused. Hsien-Ko's anger has cranked up from one to a billion for she won't stop with the killing until her family is safe.

' KLLLLSSSSHHHH! '

Hsien-Ko growled as she kept moving with Raptor by her side like an enraged hungry wolf that she is more of the J'avo showed up this time with T-103s and packed with more firepower hoping to stop their bloody rampage.

The T-103 dashed towards Hsien-Ko head first slammimg his fist directly into her face but Hsien-Ko being a tyrant killer and apex predator amongst the bio organic weapons lifting his entire body and slamming him into the ground with such immense strength and rage still building up inside her. While with lord Raptor the zombie is going all in while she keeps her busy as she swung her foot as it turns into a gritty chainsaw made from her flesh and bones eviscerating a handful of these bio organic weapons spilling as much blood as possible while Hsien-Ko raised her foot onto the tyrant on the ground and then stomps his head in.

' PRRRAAACCCKKKK!! '

Splattering his brains all over the floor she turned around dealing with the rest of the J'avo along side Lord Raptor plunging her blade at one of them getting near her friend despite being able to regenerate Hsien-Ko is not one to let her friends get hurt even if they're practically already dead.

#{ Musing: Hsien-Ko }#{ Musing: Lord Raptor }#{ The EX-Dark Hunter }#{ Rock N' Roll Nightmare }#{ Killing Everything In Their Way }#{ Hsien-Ko's Rage }#{ The Fanged Wolf Finally Taken The Armour Of Garo }#SoundCloud

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canmom · 3 months ago

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Animation Night 193 - Harpier cries: 'tis time! 'tis time!

PREVIOUSLY, in the dark halls of ANIMATION NIGHT, you have born witness to such horrors as these...

Animation Night 25: HORROR, featuring Kakurenbo, Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust, Birdboy: The Forgotten Children, and many episodes of Yamishibai

Animation Night 77: Once More, Halloween, featuring Blood: The Last Vampire, Seoul Station, The Wolf House, and Shoujo Tsubaki - and more Yamishibai...

Animation Night 129: Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed..., featuring Hellsing Ultimate, The Secret Adventures of Tom Thumb, Mad God, Ujicha's Violence Voyager, and guess what? Yamishibai...

Animation Night 176: The Hedge-Pigge Whin'd, a rather scuffed production which, contra the writeup, ended up just showing the Darkstalkers OVA from 1997. And some Yamishibai of course.

And now, my friends, and now... the witching hour is soon to be upon us once more, and it is time we revelled in the darkness and terror, for tonight is hallow'een, easily the best festival in the western calendar.

Many thanks go to @glitch-critter and @muzothecat, who provided me some excellent suggestions for animated horror that I have yet to see. Not that reruns would be the end of the world, there's some excellent shit on the list above I would be immensely glad to see again.

To begin with, we have the recently-released The Birth of Kitarō: The Mystery of GeGeGe (幾多郎誕生：ゲゲゲの謎). Which provides an excellent excuse to get into the subject of Kitarou. So let's begin our dark and sordid tale... well, it's actually a pretty positive tale, but that's not really in the spirit of things.

GeGeGe no Kitarō is a truly classic manga series dating back to the 60s, created by Shigeru Mizuki. But it's actually older still: the earliest incarnation of Kitarō is in a kamishibai performance written/illus. by Masami Itō and Keiyō Tatsumi back in 1933, called Hakaba Kitarō (Kitarō of the Graveyard). It tells the story of a ghost boy called Kitarō who lives in a graveyard; like many kamishibai it was aiming at straight up horror. Here's a board from the original (photo by translator Zack Davisson, thanks wikipedia):

So, you know yōkai? You're reading this blog, so probably, but just in case, they are the various freaky spirits of Japanese folklore, from kappa and tengu to nekomata and chōchin-oiwa. And the reason why they are such a popular feature of modern popular culture (you all know what a kappa is, right?) is in large part due to this manga.

Shigeru Mizuki, born 1922, had a pretty wild life. He was drafted into the army in 1943 at age 21, and lost his left arm in a bombing the next year; during his recovery he made friends among the Tolai people of New Guinea. He came home after the war, and found work renting out an apartment building and drawing kamishibai on the side; gradually the kamishibai work took over. In 1953, his brother Sōhei moved in after being tried for war crimes (the timeline does not mention the outcome of the trial); in 1957 at age 35 he moved to drawing manga, debuting in rental manga with Rocketman.

Starting in 1960 at the behest of Mizuki's publisher, the Hakaba Kitarō manga adapted the story of the yamishibai, introducing a wider audience to ghost boy Kitarō with his floofy hair and little third eye on a stalk. It proved explosively popular (despite being at first deemed too scary for children), telling the stories of Kitarō's encounters with all kinds of yōkai. The state of English translations is a bit scattershot; some of it is available on mangadex.

In 1964, at age 42, Mizuki debuted in serialised manga in Garo magazine - a name you might find familiar, the avant-garde magazine which also published authors like Suehiro Maruo (ero-guro mangaka, the author of Shoujo Tsubaki) and Hiroshi Masamura (the guy who made the cat manga we looked into on AN188). There, he rebooted the Kitarō manga, starting once again with the story of the birth of Kitarō. Before long he jumped over to the much larger Monthly Shonen Magazine, and retooled Kitarō to be more kid-oriented. From then on it's Kitarō city - and the immense success of the manga gave him the chance to regularly return to the newly combined state of Papua New Guinea.

In 1968, Kitarō arrived in animation land, one of Toei's early projects. It quickly became one of those classic famous Toei anime, you know the type, the kind of thing that every Japanese person of a certain age would have seen on TV. Mizuki himself composed the OP, and it continued to get sequels throughout the ensuing fifty years, with the most recent being in 2018. This is an old and widely beloved anime so there is a lot of it: the 1968 series accumulated 65 episodes, the third series in 1985-88 is the longest at 115, but the others are no slouch either; even the 2018 series pulled out a mighty 97.

As such, it's... perhaps a little daunting! But...

The Birth of Kitarō is a prequel to the 2018 series... and rather than being a spooky-fun kids anime, it's intended as a genuine horror story aimed at adults, presumably adults who grew up watching Kitarō, returning to the earliest Garo-era tone of the manga. Set in the 50s, the story sees salaryman Mizuki arrive in a village in pursuit of a mysterious medicine, where he finds the village ruled by an old superstitious family. Naturally, before long, murders start happening. And a mysterious white-haired man is somehow involved...

Seems like the perfect way to get into Kitarō. I missed the chance to see this film at Annecy this year, but it's already out on nyaa, so let's jump on it.

So that's our first act. What of our second?

Junk Head is a stop-motion scifi film pretty much enitrely solo animated by Takehide Hori who, at age 40, heard about Makoto Shinkai's solo-animated film Voices of a Distant Star (AN44), and was inspired to spend the next seven years working on a stop-motion scifi epic of his own. It tells of a cyborg from a future where humans have lost the ability to reproduce, venturing into a strange underground realm full of freaky creatures that, I'm told, invite comparisons to the art of Giger, Bosch, Escher and Gorey, and the films of Švankmajer (whose Alice we watched on AN50), Gilliam, and the Quay Brothers. del Toro lauded it as a 'work of deranged brilliance'.

Which is to say this is exactly the kind of thing we like to show here on Animation Night. I can't believe I didn't hear of this film before. Sources are not exactly abundant, but I was able to find a hardsubbed 720p version with a few seeds on it, so that's what we'll be watching tonight.

Speaking of the Brothers Quay, who enjoy a remarkably in-depth and thorough wiki page, they have yet to appear on Animation Night, and it's about time we remedied that! A pair of identical twins from the Pennsylvania who moved to the UK in 1969 to study at the RCA, they got their start in illustration before making a turn to stop motion film using bits of dolls and various other materials in the vein of Švankmajer.

They are incredibly prolific as a pair, making shorts in nearly every year from 1979 to 2021 (bar a couple of hiatuses). Most of their films are without dialogue, set instead to the music of Leszek Jankowski and a great many other other composers. They are huge book nerds too, adapting authors from Lem and Kafka to Emma Hauck; honestly there's a ton to dive into here and I will for sure be returning to these guys on a future Animation Night. Tonight, however, our pick will be Street of Crocodiles (2021), a musical piece in which a puppet walks through a desolate realm of "mechanical realities and manufactured pleasures", widely celebrated as one of their best films.

Stop motion seems to be a theme tonight, huh? Somehow, stop motion is just spookier than traditional animation. That theme continues with The House, an anthology piece for Netflix depicting three different stories taking place in the same house. Animated in London, each piece brings in a different director, respectively Emme de Swaef and Marc James Roels co-directing the first, Swedish director Niki Lindroth von Bahr the second and Mexican-British actress turned director Paloma Baeza for the third.

The stories span a few hundred years, from the 1800s to a flooded post climate change future. In each case, the house is the stage for tales of obsession and misguided ambition leading to disaster, whether it should befall anthro rats, humans or anthro cats. Widely praised for its animation and general weirdness, I'm quite excited to see what this mix has in store.

And returning of course will be Yamishibai, the wonderful long-running series of ridiculous cutout-animated creepypasta horror in the vein of old-school kamishibai boards. You know we gotta. And hey, if we're feeling in a really good mood at the end of the evening, I might bring Shoujo Tsubaki out of the vaults too. We shall see.

Animation Night 193 shall begin, with its gruesome course of animated horrors, at seventh hour.... which is to say 7pm UK time, just over four hours from the writing of this post. Be there, or be forever haunted by the ghosts of frames unseen (unless you gotta go trick or treat or something, we understand). The place? Upon the heath... of twitch.tv/canmom!

Hoooohhooohohoohooohooohohoooooooooo!

#animation night #animation #halloween

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toku-explained · 9 months ago

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Guide to GARO: Reintroduction

Approximately 4 years ago, I initiated a series of posts introducing every aspect of the GARO Franchise (all under the GARO tag here) and have endeavoured to keep these up over the years over some 30-40 posts. However, the first major media development since then has recently finished, and while I have already covered it, I felt updating the Introductory post was prudent, and will cover the basics and breakdown the franchise.

The Basics

"Where there is light, shadows lurk and fear reigns. But by the blade of Knights, mankind was given hope."

In the world of GARO exists HORRORS, demonic entities from the Makai Realm, which consume humans, and can possess those who do all to darkness. When possessing a human a Horror can only be identified by the reaction of it's eyes to a Madou Flame. The only thing stopping the Horrors are the Makai Order.

The greatest opposition comes in the for of the Makai Knights, warriors who fight with weapons and magical, wolf-shaped armour made of mystical Soul Metal, the armour summoned by creating circles of light with their weapons which the armour emerges from. The most revered, and commonly considered the strongest Knight is the Golden Knight GARO. While the Knights focused on in a series are normally titles Knights with a unique armour, many Knights are without title and possess a generic armour. An Armour and Title will typically be passed down from father to son, or master to student. Due either to a law or some other factor, women may not be Makai Knights

The other main opponents to the Horrors are the Makai Priests, who rely on spells either using their Madou Brushes or other magical items. Due to lacking armour, in combat Makai Priests may sometimes have to rely on magical familiars, or specialised Madou Tools created by subjugating Horrors.

Some titled Makai Knights are partnered with special Madougu, sentient jewelry acting as avatars for benign Horrors to communicate with a Makai Knight they are contracted to, offering insights on the Horrors they fight or helping detect their activities, GARO's eternal partner is the Madou Ring, Zaruba, the only character to have definitively appeared in live action and animation. The prevalence of Madougu partners varies wildly by era, being almost universal among titled Titles Knights at some points, and virtually unheard of in others.

Certain Makai Knights can, after sealing 100 Horrors, be given a challenge the completion of which allows them the use of a Madou Horse associates with their armour.

Dependent on the era, Makai Order members act in their own volition, under the guidance in senior Makai Priests, or under the auspices of Watchdogs who oversee activity within a territory.

A common but not universal feature of the franchise are Dark Makai Knights, who have fallen to darkness in some way. This has been done in so many different ways I won't go into it. Dark Makai Priests have also appeared, but are less common. Another common feature is acquiring a special transformation for the final battle that is typically seen as a one-off.

Rather than list every entry in release order, I will be breaking my introductions into eras, some of which can be further divided. In essence though, there are 2 distinct eras, plus a few extra, and the anime.

#garo

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astarab1aze · 6 months ago

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➥ Loux Garo

fuck around, find out / drabble warning for violence, vaguely direct gore, probably poor handling of this exact situation

"Naw, y'see..." Loux said, leaning into knuckles itching for a fight, fangs bared, a sneer on his lips. Staring down the proverbial barrel of a gun, surrounded by the weres he stole from - all of them, seething, from the -bull to the -wolf, and the dragonkin in between. And he could only flash his darkest storm, his sharpest grin, hand under his haori, fingering his spoils. "I ain't jus steal from ya, ma chicos y chiquitas..."

In point of fact, he'd done a fair bit more than just steal from them - he robbed them utterly blind, and had stood there for twenty minutes rubbing their faces in it.

The bull, with hair black as night and truly impressive longhorns, stepped forward, fists balled tightly. Loux could see the rage in their eyes, beady black things, glaring down at him- No doubt on the verge of making a grab for him. Funny. They always acted it was some cardinal sin, that a trinket or two and a handful of cash be taken, but maybe if they hid their shit better, the fox wouldn't have been so keen on investigating... No personal accountability, for shame! How could he not teach them so basic a lesson? They left it all out in the open in front of a known criminal.

"'Course not, 'cause you're a rat - and rats ain't good for no fuckin' thing else."

Stormy gray met furious black in defiance with a nonchalant tilt of his head, champagne blond falling out of his eyes. He knew what was to come, could sense it in them all, could feel it spiking in the air. In the thundering beats of their hearts, the cracking of their knuckles, flexing of muscle under cloth and fur, in the grinding of their teeth, the sweat upon their brow - and he was quietly, happily goading them into the fight they so wanted, the justice they demanded. He didn't even have to do anything but stand there, feigning a scratch at his ribs, rolling his eyes the while.

It would just be easier if they could get a fucking move on already. If they wanted to beat him to death, now was their chance. He would get his, in the end. There wasn't any way he was going to get out of this anyway, so may as well let them do as they pleased.

"He's just a kid," the antelope whispered, short hair, glassy green eyes, but it didn't seem they'd meant to. Oh? What's this, apprehension?

"So what, ya think we should just let him go because o' that? Ya think he gives a damn about the fuckin' rules? Look at him, grinnin' like it's nothin'. He knows he's wrong - he just doesn't fuckin' care! Ya wanna let him have it or d'ya want yer fuckin' money back?" the wolf barked, growling as he spoke from behind Loux, claws shattering the hardwood and brick of the Packhouse bunkroom. Splintering, clattering to the floor.

Was he supposed to be intimidated? As if. He was a lackey of Deadeye once - try harder.

He glanced between the bull, the antelope, the gator, and the exit, gray temporarily affixing to woodgrain, mind tumbling over a handful of exit plans once all was said and done. He could've shifted into the form of a fly and left right then, but he wanted this, this confrontation, something reckless and dark gnawing at the back of his mind, snipping at his heartstrings. Counting on this, wanting this to happen, for someone to catch him in the act and show him how fucked up and worthless he really was. Maybe it was baser, more idiotic than even that, instinctive drive to go down and take everyone else with him pushing him ever further down the path he'd chosen. Was he trying to get himself killed? Or did he know his best and only chances were on every gamble he'd ever taken? He'd survived all this time on his own, after all, and how else but adapting to the ugliness of the people and world around him? Steal to make deals and pay for meals, kill or be killed, dog eat dog, the whole shpiel. This was their chance, their turn to prove true what seemed as natural law. There would always be killers and thieves, so there must always be someone to stop them, be it the common man or folk who didn't mind beating the shit out of a kid.

"Do you want to go to jail?! Are you crazy?" the antelope yelped, drawing Loux's attention back to center. "I'm not going down with you! Especially not since--"

"Since what, coward? Since he's Loux Garo? Ya think we didn't know that? It's even more reason to just get rid of him now!" Wolf again, heavy paws thumping into the wood beneath them, scraping his claws into it. Whatever. "We'd be doin' everyone and his mom a fuckin' favor. We'd be heroes, for fuck's sake."

Loux wondered if they were even paying attention to him anymore, if it would be easy to slip through. See, part of him was keen on vanishing into the night, but it was quiet, overshadowed by impulsivity and boredom, pinky digging into his ear to show as much. A little surprising though, that they've decidedly jumped to the idea of killing him.

"Kid's not jus' a thief, he's a fuckin' murderer! A terrorist! Hate to say it, but I think yer right..." Gator, hissing in agreement, heavy tail grinding against the floor. "Killin' 'im leaves a bad taste in m' mouf though, maybe we shouldn't. We'd 'ave blood on our 'ands--"

"And who out of us doesn't, huh?!" bellowed the bull, and Loux decided he'd just about had enough of their utterly pointless, circular conversation.

He stepped forward, gaze never again returning to the bull's face, and he raised a hand, two fingers in the air with his thumb tucked in. "Iffin ya feel like doin' it, go ahead. Get it o'er wit, ain't got all day t' wait till y'all can figger out 'ow to get away wit assaultin' anybody, me included." Then he curled them, and a spark would catch flame in the bull's hair, crackling in the dim light and giving off its own. "How's 'bout a lil provocation?"

And he laughed, madly, taking pleasure in the sudden terror bleeding in between all seven of his would-be killers, swiftly turning on his heel and with an arrogant flourish, doing much the same to the wolf. Again, swinging around to the antelope and delighting in the way that she screamed. Starting fires in fur and flesh, little ones, small ones, enough to cause panic, enough to goad into action. The bull and the wolf each howled and growled, anthromorphic hands rushing to put out every flame, and they would succeed, of course they would, even as their skin burned. A flurry of gasps, too slow on the uptake, and though his smile was wide, his hands ready to set them all ablaze, they would have their graceless retribution.

The twinkle and chill of ice shot through the air too soon after, frigid shards shattering on impact with brick, lodging into wood - and freezing everything around them like a volley of blighted arrows. Oh, not good. As smoke then clouded the room, he felt himself tumble a step forward, barely able to keep standing, in place of the bull, hands frantically flutter to his chest, then under the right-side of his ribcage. He hadn't felt it at first, distracted by his own provocation, hot fingers melting into the ice burrowing in. His eyes went wide and he hazarded a pitiful gasp, an even worse laugh, diaphragm catching on the pressure, his nerves not quite registering the pain just yet. Shaking on his feet, blood curdling in his veins, gut viciously churning, sudden anxiety clutching at his heart. The heat of his blood poured from his chest, mixing with water, and all around him batted away the smoke, rushed closer, watched him fall to his knees as the agony of it took root at last.

"We...we have no choice now, do we?" Voices blurring together. "He set us on fire!" Too many at once. "Yeah, but-" Shouting. "He's still just a kid!" His heart was slowing, fire wouldn't come to his call, the magic dying inside before he could ever hope to make use of it. "Hey, he ain't gettin' back up." Fuck. "Oh yeah! We shoulda opened wit that ice cast - 'e's weak to it." Wheezing, eyes burning with smoky tears he couldn't weep, trembling on the floor in a heap, willing the spike of ice to hurry up and melt so he could pull it free-- "C'mon, this'll be easy."

He tried to lift his head and wear his best smile, crooked and vile as ever, knowing well and good that no matter how youthful his appearance, calling him a child didn't truly make it so. A fist dove into the mess of his hair, smelling thickly of singed hair, tangled in and yanked him backward, winding him in the process. He sputtered and coughed on every breath, robbed of his power in an instant, arrogance swept clean from his face. Blood pooling on the hardwood between his knees, spilling between the cracks, sticky on his skin. Feeling around the spike, coming to the realization that with this, he very well could die.

But even in the end, he would provoke, he would incite, he would demand it.

"Took y'all long 'nough to figger tha' out..." he croaked, "Gon-gonna finish the job or leave a girl waitin'? Got shitta do afta this--"

"Shut the fuck up!" Hoof to the spine, another forcing the spike out of him - bruising, cruel all the same. He couldn't begin to quantify the pain he was feeling now, layer upon layer of carefully woven protective thread shorn through. Ribs cracking, dislodged, out of place, shockwaves spidering up and down his spine- and he couldn't move, more and more blood pouring out of him like a faucet, neck near to snapping, everything everywhere all of it--

"F-fuck you," choking on the sounds he made.

There was a pause, brief, thoughtful, pregnant with consideration, next steps. Everything came in bits and pieces, words picked and plucked from what he could manage, throbbing pain echoing through him sharply, drowning much of it out. He couldn't think- Exit strategy, how to get away--

And for what felt like hours, all seven of them took their turns. Hoof stomping him into hardwood, cutting him open with shards of ice, wood, and glass, holding him up by his hair and throwing enhanced fists into open wounds, holding him down and doing the same to his face, kicking him, breaking his bones, shattering his will, taking ample advantage of the time it took for him to recover from contact with ice. Succumbing to their own impulses, appealing to their own sense of justice. He was helpless, teeth tumbling out of his mouth, nose twisted and broken, lips split, shoulder and right hip dislocated, jaw fractured, ice forming in his hair, back bent and nothing, nothing, nothing but sheer unfathomable agony and despair taking him. No means to protect himself, robbed of the opportunity by happenstance, by accident, and led as a lamb to inevitable slaughter - one he deserved, one he thought he'd commanded of them. Thought he wanted, punishment to fit his crimes. Writhing before them, victim again to a pause followed by merciless strikes, impacts spattering his blood across the floor, iron on his tongue, vision blurred, hearing lost to dull ringing and throbbing hums. Head snapping sideways with the next blow, flesh around his eye swollen to bursting--

"How's 'e still conscious?"

"Dunno, best keep goin' then."

And again, again they went, ripping clumps of hair from his scalp, tearing through his haori and qipao, clawing at the stitching to each and every one of his infinite pockets. Arms pinned painfully behind his back, wrist broken, fingers gnarled, head hanging in the air with the stench of blood and defeat to accompany him. There was nothing he could do, brain on fire, crippled by the damage done to his body, no exit strategy to be had, no winning, no getting out of this, it's time, it's now, finally, no--

If he couldn't get to the finish line, if he couldn't find the sanguine star and revive them, then this...this was the next best thing. This was his only other option. People like him...they didn't deserve their chance to fix things, didn't have the right, hands too soiled, putrid and rotten to the core. Torn in half on whether to live or die, inklings of coveted confidence and strength lost, lost, never his to keep. He thought of his mother then, his father too, and his sisters, Letha and Silvere, Antonetta, Beau and Jackie, everyone, everyone he'd ever wronged, who suffered his existence, the fruits of his agonies, his hate, his anger. And he wondered if this would be a fitting end for him in their eyes, if this was what they wanted for him too. Let justice be served, let him die so none else could fall alongside him. Let there be no more blood to wash his hands, stop him now.

On the verge of losing consciousness, Loux was beginning to succumb to it all, the furthest reaches of him aching to numb and crumble away. So in tune with his body, yet somehow torn away from it completely, a ghost in the same position. But a final blow to his already ruined stomach had been the end of it, new blood gushing from impaling wounds, and he lay there, limply, overwhelmed, near to falling apart at a moment's notice. He should've been dead minutes ago, yet somehow...somehow, he wasn't. Somehow, his eyes were still open, staring blearily into his reflection, seeing nothing more and nothing less than what he hated most of all - beaten, gored, broken to pieces, as was right and true. Breaths short, shaky, and few, skipping, catching in his throat as radiant warmth was born anew inside him, tendrils of cool fire weakly stretching into even his most damaged of nerves.

Time, lapsed.

As the seven heaved and hoed, moving away from him, satisfied in their work- He had no strength to speak of, but he wouldn't let them leave so easily, not as magic returned to him, even if only little by little.

He willed another spark, begged it to catch flame and burn, burn until there was nothing left, roar and twist and grow far into the night sky until naught but red could be seen, blending into bloody violet with the abyss. For he was nothing, nothing if not vengeful, nothing if not a sore winner, nothing if not an opportunist, even in the end, even when his deserved fate had come for him - maybe there was weaseling his way out. Changing with the wind, coaxing his bloid to boil and serve as fuel on the fire, as tangerine flickered across his face, iron cooking before his very eyes.

Bigger, taller, greater, hotter, eat and scorch away bedframes, wall art, blankets, curtains, wardrobes, and shitty knock-off decor, thick black smoke billowing into the room, ash flying as chars burst and crumbled. Slow at first, then all at once consuming. Cosmic threads blanketing his seven adversaries in universal flame, such that attached to spirit and bone, cutting jaggedly through flesh, boiling and pustulating, popping, cracking, exploding on fat deposits, bursts spreading the wildfire. He watched, coldly, through the blurr of his storm, eyes nearly swollen shut, as the bulls both thrashed in the hall, horns getting stuck in the wood, choking on the smoke, panicking, screaming, roaring. Hellflame claws searing through them, the scent of his blood intermingling with their roasting meat, skin sloughing then steadily charring, the antelope and the wolf and the gator all to follow. Aching eyes flit toward the rest, the final pair, timid creatures too afraid to use their voices, bolting in their panic to get away. Frightened rabbit, flightless songbird, flame snaking between bodies turned blackened skeletons crusted with ash, like whips to coil around their ankles and drag them back in.

He killed them all, running the final two through with arrow-sharpened bolts born of the flames now catching on the cieling above, and he listened in trepidation and cold indifference as they screamed and pleaded for their lives. Prayed to their worthless gods in the hopes They might save them. His fire spread yet further, claiming the support beams above and funneling into the hallway, where it would continue on its path, neither smoke nor tongue to damage him further, contrarily cauterizing open wounds, wrapping him in arms of orange light - his, however dim. Stinging, burning, he winced all the same, laying in the mess he'd made, the bed he ought to sleep in.

He killed them, he killed again, and again, enveloping the Packhouse in his unending, devouring flame. Merciless, overkill, as it kept burning, a haven for his kind no longer - a haven for none at all - but a blackmark, a lie the people of Salem's Crossing would tell their children, and an omnipresent threat. Ever to blame, ever at fault, and such was true. He instigated, he fucked around, and they tore him limb from limb, and while he hadn't counted on his stroke of luck, that magic should return to him so quickly, he would've been a fool to have let all this stand. A false victory for them all, for many would die after dealing just punishment, killing all with smoke or raw kindles, fire, structural damage--

In time, he knew the Packhouse would collapse, and he wondered if he'd die after all. His head hurt, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move. If he could increase his heat... Palms sweating, he coughed, ribs rattling, aching-- Lashline sparking, puffs of smoke to mingle with the clouds, his flame growing ever further, filling into every square inch of every surface, orange and black eaten by rolling waves of violent red.

#☿ || Drabbles.#♞ // Main Verse.#➥ Loux.#violence /#murder /#loux getting his ass beat /#/ i wanna say he's sorta unreliable because his perspective changes sort of pretty erratically throughout #/ like he has a lot of thoughts and they contradict each other at points #/ but he is Like That #/ and he really did *take* that beating #/ listened to firestarters the entire time i wrote this #/ there's a generally hopeless and sort of matter of fact tone to this and trust. that's on purpose #/ if it reads kinda like a slog...honestly because it's supposed to be #/ loux is absolutely not in the right #/ i've also noticed that while he excuses his behavior he doesn't *make* excuses for it. he never explains his behavior either #/ y'know what i mean?#/ anyway i can't work on this anymore #/ i focused too much on progressing it skjdhffs

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