Liberation [Goliath/open]

[Sabaoth]

I am the way into the city of woe

Clumps of sand lodged painfully between his toes. The frenzied panting of his mother’s breath in his ears. The loving but urgent push of a muzzle against his haunches.

'Swim, Sabaoth. Do not look back.'

This was what flashed through Sabaoth’s mind, over and over, a never-ending loop, as he gazed upon the island faintly visible in the distance. His heart pounded against his rib cage like an animal’s frenzied attempt to escape from a predator, so violent that surely it would bruise. For some time he stood silently, his silhouette illuminated by the glimpses of moonlight that peaked through fractured clouds. There was nothing but the gentle lapping of waves against the shore, and the rustle of the wind in the leaves far behind him. How long will you stand here like a coward? A vague twitch of his ears was the only sign that his own line of thoughts bothered him; he could muster no more. Many moons ago, after departing from the bold female he’d met on his travels, Roka, Sabaoth had decided that it was finally time to extract his revenge upon those who had wronged him. For so long he’d avoided it, allowing his hatred to grow and flourish within his belly. At last, he had set his fears aside and came to liberate what had once been his home: Ina’mos.

I am the way into eternal pain

And so it was that his large paws had lead him here, the water brushing gently against his toes with each soft sweep. The anger and bloodlust was rising within him like some great snake; he was so close to getting his revenge that he could almost taste their coppery blood on his tongue. He would relish the sounds of their screams ringing in his auds as he tore apart every brute, femme, and pup who dared stand before him. Very suddenly, as if encouraged by his thoughts, Sabaoth stepped forward into the cool embrace of the ocean and began to swim.

The rise of a monstrous wave before him. The metallic tang of blood from his own tongue. The stinging of the frigid water in his lungs, much like the feel of his burning muscles. A desperate cry rising to a crescendo with the roar of thunder in the distance.

The waves did not smother him now. He had been weak then, fragile, tossed about in their wake like a ragdoll. On this night they were tame as he cut through their midst like a dark wraith, the moonlight illuminating the gray fur until it shone silver. Closer and closer the island loomed as he swam, his muscles throbbing with exertion by the time he reached the halfway mark. His memories were smothering, looping throughout his mind; one moment he was staring at the calm waves of the present, and the next he was facing the monstrous ones from his past. By the time his paws finally brushed coral and then sand, Sabaoth was panting, wary from both his swim and the workings of his mind.

A flash of lightning. Salt crusted around his nostrils, his vision blurred as he gazed at the strange terrain. His fur was soaked and slicked down, contouring to his beaten form. No sign of his siblings. No sign of anyone.

Desolation.

He rose onto dry land dripping and dark, his thick fur plastered to his muscular frame. His pale eyes glimmered in the darkness as he slowly observed his surroundings, fighting the overwhelming emotions that coursed through him. Slowly his nostrils flared, sucking in the scents around him. Many of them were unfamiliar, but one…ah, one was not. It ripped through him like fire, rooting him to the spot as his eyes widened a fraction, lungs burning and head awhirl with deafening thoughts. Could it be?

Goliath.

It was so startling in its clarity that Sabaoth took a single step back, paw sinking into the sand. He had returned to Ina’mos at last, and it seemed that his brother had finally reclaimed his birthright. And Isaiah? Is he here as well? Or Aaricia? No, that was too overwhelming to consider now. As it was he stood unmoving save for the frenzied rise and fall of his chest, his pale eyes glimmering with the rising madness within him.

I am the way to go among the lost.

TAG: @zenith
WORDS: 736

[Isaiah]

The air was thick with salt, hanging heavy in the air as it was heaved in and out of tired lungs. The honey hued brute sat with his paws outstretched in front of him and his head hanging, his mother’s eyes set dead ahead. He stared at the waters he pulled himself from minutes before, waiting for the ocean noise to retreat from his ears as the storm above raged on. The coral had cut his paws apart in his mad struggle amongst the waves, and his coat was drenched, his scent forgotten in the seas. Despite his relative discomfort, the darkness was comforting and the cool air of the storm welcome, a flowing wind that soothed his aching muscles.

Isaiah was surprisingly calm, despite fearing the worst in his journey to Ina’mos. He’d forgotten what a paradise Ina’mos was, and with every crack of lightning, the island was illuminated in a ghostly glow. While he could smell very little beyond the seawater, the mingled scents of wolves managed to whip through his nostrils in spurts, scents strong and fresh. Part of him wondered if he’d stumbled into the same visions of grandeur and insanity that had once plagued his kin, but he shook it away. This was real. It had to be.

And suddenly, a figure washed up on the shore. It was a monster of a brute, and Isaiah had never known another giant in his life besides his own bloodline. The creature was tall with determination, and through the fronds which he had rested, Isaiah was sure the creature didn’t see him in his chaotic arrival.

Boldness and excitement rose in the caramel male’s chest—Goliath. It had to be. He pulled himself up, his lithe form certainly less bulky than the male in the distance. As he walked, it became instantly clear that either Goliath had changed his appearance entirely, or this was a different wolf. Covered in salt water, scent wasn’t much of an indicator, but Isaiah approached him with relative caution. He was a confident fighter, and the brother of the alpha. Certainly this brute wouldn’t challenge him beyond what was intelligent.

But the closer he walked, the more his eyes widened and his demeanor returned to its judgelike-yet-charming quality instead of excited and boyish. He raised his head and chest and stopped at a fair distance in front of the other male. He was covered, absolutely from head to toe, in hideous scars. Yet, there was something ferociously familiar about his blue eyes, and his coloring and size made him unmistakable. At this close range, the stressed creature’s smell was pungent—and had the very same tones that his, Goliath’s, and Aaricia’s all had. Something undeniably related, no matter who owned the nose that smelled it. He smiled despite himself and cocked his head to look at the wolf opposite him, his voice dripping with the tone he knew the other would recognize.

“Well, you’ve gotten uglier. If it were possible.”

And then, all of a sudden, it was so hilarious that Isaiah began to laugh. It was warm, its tone a harmony of joy, disbelief, and bitterness in one single brew. He fell to his paws, honeyed coat rippling with his laughter. He was a superstitious wolf, and a spiritual one. To Isaiah, there were no coincidences—only spiteful, humored gods and goddesses that had waited two long years to cure the heartache of one small family on the face of the earth. Upon the millions of faces he might have come across in his journey, he had met both his sister and brother by chance—and for that, he made a mental note to give thanks when he wasn’t in front of Sabaoth, and when he wasn’t about to suffocate on his own laughter.

tags: Sabaoth, @zenith
muse: decent
words: 650

[Sabaoth]

There was a hint of movement to his right. The tiniest fraction, a glimmer of moonlight upon honeyed fur, had Sabaoth turning his skull, pale eyes blazing as he stared into the shadows. The sways leaves of palm trees cast darkness over him, occasionally split by a ray of light. It was through these shadows that a hulking frame walked, moving towards him like a ghost, bits and pieces of a caramel-hued pelt dancing in and out of his vision. Despite the stoic façade which had settled upon his visage like a mask, Sabaoth’s behemoth heart thrummed beneath his rib cage, deep chest rising and falling steadily yet swiftly. Closer and closer the beast loomed, size rivaling Sabaoth’s itself; it had to be Goliath, he decided. The rumors were true, and Sabaoth was home.

It was when the brute was several feet away that he spoke, and in the same instant the shadows shifted, revealing vivid jade eyes. ”Well, you’ve gotten uglier. If it were possible.” The voice was smoother than Goliath’s, and his gaze…it left no room for debate, the realization stealing the very breath from Sabaoth’s lungs. Not Goliath, but Isaiah.

There was a long moment where he could do nothing but stare, his thoughts a whirl. How? It rang through his head continuously, over and over so deeply that it was deafening, until finally he was broken out of his reverie by Isaiah’s booming laughter. Instinctively his lips curled into something between a snarl and a grimace as his brother’s words finally sank in.

”And you’re still just as pretty as a picture, aren’t you?” He rumbled in response, eyes flashing as he moved towards Isaiah. It was like physically ripping his feet from the earth, each step heavy and slow until he came to a halt, his eyes roaming across his brother’s features. He’d thought that he would never see Goliath again, much less Isaiah, and now here he stood before Sabaoth like some God returned to earth. For a moment he considered the possibility that perhaps someone had mistaken Isaiah for their elder sibling, and yet he dismissed the assumption swiftly. Isaiah’s pelt clung to his frame, drenched much like Sabaoth was. He’d made the swim in search of Ina’mos as well, and he did not yet smell like this island that they stood upon, once called home. It was overwhelming, pressing upon him with all the weight of the world, and yet he could not show weakness before anyone – even his blood. It was the first time in years that he could look into the eyes of another without craning his head, and what he found were the eyes of his mother, bright and piercing as he met them.

”Aaricia?” He asked after a moment, unable to pose it as a proper question, but Isaiah was intelligent and Sabaoth assumed he would know what was asked. He’d never been close with Aaricia, less even than he’d been with his brothers, and yet it felt like the appropriate thing to ask in the moment.

WORDS: 508
TAG: Isaiah + @zenith
NOTES: yey c:

[Isaiah]

Sabaoth moved towards him as if he were almost in pain, every step moving with a rigidity of effort that Isaiah understood as a great show of emotion for the brute. As the behemoth came to face him, the honey-pelted male dipped his head, the overflow of affection that he felt for Aaricia not pushing through the surface for his brother. It wasn’t for lack of love—rather, the boys had never been outwardly soft, and for good reason. It wasn’t becoming for them to seem weak in front of one another, but Isaiah was intelligent. Despite their differences, he was overwhelmingly happy to see his kin, though the only outward indication would be a settling of his demeanor and a soft blink towards the other hulking brute.

Ahri’s eyes met Belial’s in the moment that the two brothers looked at one another, their sizes almost perfectly matched, and thunder cracked in the sky above angrily. They were only built slightly differently, each muscular and enormous, but Isaiah’s features was more refined, more feminine. At Sabaoth’s comment, he smirked back at his brother. “Someone needed to be the best looking one.”

Truly, he was the most gorgeous of all his siblings. Aaricia was beautiful in her own right, and certainly would be a prize for any male who managed to steal her heart. But Isaiah was both beautiful and handsome, and to any honest soul, was the picture his brother had described him as. It had earned him the attentions of females from every breed, color, and shape—males too. But Isaiah was not swayed by any of them, and as would be to the disbelief of any set of eyes, was completely pure. Isaiah had never taken a mate, and to a lesser end, had never even attempted to sire pups, despite the attempt of females to taunt him with their heat. It had been excruciating, sometimes, to pull himself away from their scent. It wasn’t that they weren’t kind or beautiful or smart or any other quality—nor was it only in vanity. Isaiah was saving himself for one individual in particular, and he hadn’t met her yet. He would only be swayed by the most perfect mix of individual he could find, and thusfar, he was the only one.

The caramel brute also thought it unlucky, or a bad omen, to be swayed by simple females. He had grown with a femme who taught him that the body was a temple, a gift given by the gods that was not to be ruined or tainted for instant gratification. The body was to be worshipped and cherished, and all life was precious—even that of enemies. Isaiah had killed. He reflected on it not with horror or guilt, but in somber recognizance. He killed mercifully. Quickly and efficiently. It was the only way, in good conscience, and in his time, he’d become quite skilled at it.

He hadn't met her... except... for Neviah. He shook his head absentmindedly. He couldn't know until he saw her again, and he wondered for a moment if she would do as he wished and find him again, if she wanted to see him. There was something about her. She was the most beautiful creature he'd ever seen in his life, even moreso than himself, but he couldn't know for sure without knowing her better. Isaiah attempted to shake her from his mind.

After some time looking as if he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to kill something or had horrible gas pains, the charcoal brute spoke again. “Alive,” Isaiah reported, understanding his brother’s question, “and on her way back to Ina’mos as we speak.” His heart swelled for his dear sister again, secretly excited to see the whole family together. The thought begged the question on his tongue, and as if on cue, the sound of rusting leaves meant that someone was coming. His scent was strong and the size of the looming creature was unmistakeable.

“Speaking of our siblings,” he oozed as he moved to sit next to his brother to face the newcomer together. His crystalline emerald eyes twinkled with excitement, and another snap of lightning illuminated the two wolves. A cocky, cheesy smirk crept slowly across his lips, his voice projecting towards the other.

“Either bears have come to inhabit the island, or our dear brother has come to greet us.”

tags: Sabaoth, @zenith
muse: good
words: 750