A/N: *cringes* This started off a drabble with War being cruel and wanting and unable to show it in all her glorious rage. Then it warped into something that...urk. Please don't hurt me.
Warnings: femslash War/Pepper, Non-Con, BDSM, Mutilation
As the Edges Blur
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You see," said War, running nails a hateful red across her jaw, "you can't fight it."
"And that's what galls you the most, little girl, you can't fight this."
Thoughtfully, as if pondering a point War bent down and bit. Hard.
Pepper arched, her green eyes screaming a challenge. War smiled at the desperation that lined the bottom of that look, savoring the flavor of uncertainty, so much more potent from this little girl than those masses of men whose skeletons now moldered, some still in the dank trenches or infested swamp-prisons that swallowed their lives and laughed at the hollows in their rotting eyes.
They had tasted all right, but the flavor was marred by the time they spent. They tasted of decay and the loss of hope. War would never challenge HIM, but she was always a tad resentful that the young men who should have been filled with life and fire always had HIS mark upon them. They were already half-dead anywise, with an aftertaste that lingered, unlike the slow burn and power that came from men gnawing on their bits, eager like hounds for the taste of blood.
The sheer power that filled her was always gone so quickly, War thought sullenly, they never lasted long. The men and women that had that particular flavor of sheer spite and anger and blind, vainglorious charges into the midst of battle also had the unfortunate knack of getting picked up by HIM very quickly. But, she thought as she casually crushed a rib, she would make this little fighter last a very long time.
She'd seen the girl from that day in which everything that could go wrong hadn't, except for that last crucial stand-off. It was rather humbling really, knocked off by that mite of a girl-child and a few twigs. She didn't even have the decency to self-flagellate and starve herself or go without shoes like some of the more bothersome preachers of peace. It really had been deflating, although that last comment about always being there was a classic. What made it even better was that it was true.
It wasn't that she was underestimating the strength of the Prince of the Pit, Spawn of Satan, no. She would have been a fool to do so, and War was many things, but not a fool. Though she supposed that the Prince of Darkness would be rather unhappy to see his little childhood friend come to an end like this.
What would he do, she mused. Would he smash the world in a petty childhood tantrum? Would he destroy her in a flash of hot light and freezing flames? Or would he just blink, all powerful as he was, and she would no longer exist, just a void and humankind being all kind and peaceful like the brainless sheep that they were. Filthy creatures really, the way they smelled and squealed about pain and how they were deliciously prone to following whatever puppet their little organizations held up. What was the word again...ah, government.
She chuckled soundlessly, watching with pleasure the way the girl was still fighting, face pale and sweat rolling down. No doubt she would have scratched and bit savagely if she weren't gagged and bound. War was powerful and could wreak destruction on half of mankind if so stirred. However, when it came to actually keeping a human alive...that was a different armoury altogether.
So far it was taking all her self-control to simply not tear and rend and mutilate until there was nothing left. To feel that heart pumping, panic and pure fight powering it, still keeping the beat within her hand. To feel the tissue squelch obscenely as she ripped her hands out of entrails and curious organs that bled clear and yellow and dark nail-red. How her teeth could sink into that skin, tearing it, feeling the blood run down her chin and between her breasts, as the muscles strained uselessly and the screams sounded voicelessly.
The throat would be the first to go, War thought, already feeling the heat gather downward, smoldering between her thighs. To slash the thin skin that barely covered that pulsing point, feel the heat of the body and the smoothness of the vocal cords, and to rip them out, one hand on the strands like unwanted wires, the other cradling the back of the head. The frantic fluttering of what used to be taut cords but were now just filament of useless tissue would be exquisite. The eyes with their terror and blind struggling would be even better.
Now War had a predicament. Should the eyes go next, or that red, red mouth?
The gentle give, then rupture of delicate fluid-filled organs would be exquisite. But--the anger and rage that filled the green eyes would be gone in lovely ruined sockets, and that would take the fun out of the game. War considered, then ran a crimson tipped hand underneath the gag.
The life in this girl-child, these maddened eyes of spring that begged to be burned and pillaged, they brought back old memories. Greece, ah, when men fought and honor was more important than life. War remembered a hot summer evening with life that was so close it felt personal and burned with something totally different than ordinary need for battle.
"'The Sacred Band,' they called themselves, believing that the power of their love could defeat all their enemies. Pathetic. The power that came from a group of men buggering their pretty little boy-whores would cause the opposing forces to fall on their knees." War sneered elegantly, steel-gray eyes glittering with malice and pure vindictive amusement. "And all of them fell, all two hundred, the day Alexander came."
Old memories, of War naked on the side of the battlefield. Anyone who thought they saw an ivory-skinned women with ruby-red hair that took in light until it became a waterfall of blood against the setting sun saw another waterfall of blood soon after, gushing from their chest or as their entrails fell to the ground in stinking coils. War had paid them no mind, ramming three fingers between her legs, feeling each smack of flesh on flesh, each delicious give and sudden entrance into a warm body by cold steel. The pain and fire of life and sheer massacre had washed through her, wave after wave as she had panted with the exquisiteness of it all. The final anguish and suicidal charge of the last man as he had watched his lover fall had sent her over the edge, as he had fallen, blood spewing from the three spears that had skewered him. War had arched, supple thighs opening wide as she rode out pleasure in the aftermath of carnage.
"A beautiful man, a worthy human who showed the world the beauty of slaughter, the sheer wonder of cutting down your enemies in the name of ambition. And he butchered them all."
War ground her mouth down on her captive's. Just hunger and the crush of red lips on red lips bruising in their power and horrifying in their madness. Hot wet heat and an aggressive tongue ravaging like an army, tearing up the fields, sowing salt. There was nothing sweet or kind or anything even remotely human in the splitting of soft tissue under sharp white teeth. War raked her scarlet-taloned hands through coppery hair and yanked painfully. Then wrenched Pepper's head, lunging deeper into her mouth.
And the blood, the blood that tasted of fire and fight and anger and flavored with the edge of panic and hysteria. War gnawed and shredded, trying to drink all that she could get. Sucking greedily, hungrily at the flow of metallic liquid that was the essence of steel and sparks and that defined her, her, this little girl-child with her hair like the taste that was WAR running through her veins War was grinding her hips cruelly against the little mound and the eyes were shrieking NO NO she backhanded the face feeling the spike between her legs and------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She woke up, just bright eyes suddenly opening. She sat up, eyes wide and sightless as a doll's, swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, skin shimmering in the brief glimmers of starlight reflecting off bare curves. There wasn't a sound in the house as she walked to the lavatory, closed her eyes as she approached the mirror.
In the mirror, War opened her grass-green eyes and ran a finger down the wet inside of her thigh. Bringing the finger to her red, red lips she smiled a fighter's smile, blood and fury and arrogance that more than one unfortunate had seen. Pepper flexed her nail-bitten hand and decided that it was never too early to…see the world.
Warnings: femslash War/Pepper, Non-Con, BDSM, Mutilation
As the Edges Blur
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"You see," said War, running nails a hateful red across her jaw, "you can't fight it."
"And that's what galls you the most, little girl, you can't fight this."
Thoughtfully, as if pondering a point War bent down and bit. Hard.
Pepper arched, her green eyes screaming a challenge. War smiled at the desperation that lined the bottom of that look, savoring the flavor of uncertainty, so much more potent from this little girl than those masses of men whose skeletons now moldered, some still in the dank trenches or infested swamp-prisons that swallowed their lives and laughed at the hollows in their rotting eyes.
They had tasted all right, but the flavor was marred by the time they spent. They tasted of decay and the loss of hope. War would never challenge HIM, but she was always a tad resentful that the young men who should have been filled with life and fire always had HIS mark upon them. They were already half-dead anywise, with an aftertaste that lingered, unlike the slow burn and power that came from men gnawing on their bits, eager like hounds for the taste of blood.
The sheer power that filled her was always gone so quickly, War thought sullenly, they never lasted long. The men and women that had that particular flavor of sheer spite and anger and blind, vainglorious charges into the midst of battle also had the unfortunate knack of getting picked up by HIM very quickly. But, she thought as she casually crushed a rib, she would make this little fighter last a very long time.
She'd seen the girl from that day in which everything that could go wrong hadn't, except for that last crucial stand-off. It was rather humbling really, knocked off by that mite of a girl-child and a few twigs. She didn't even have the decency to self-flagellate and starve herself or go without shoes like some of the more bothersome preachers of peace. It really had been deflating, although that last comment about always being there was a classic. What made it even better was that it was true.
It wasn't that she was underestimating the strength of the Prince of the Pit, Spawn of Satan, no. She would have been a fool to do so, and War was many things, but not a fool. Though she supposed that the Prince of Darkness would be rather unhappy to see his little childhood friend come to an end like this.
What would he do, she mused. Would he smash the world in a petty childhood tantrum? Would he destroy her in a flash of hot light and freezing flames? Or would he just blink, all powerful as he was, and she would no longer exist, just a void and humankind being all kind and peaceful like the brainless sheep that they were. Filthy creatures really, the way they smelled and squealed about pain and how they were deliciously prone to following whatever puppet their little organizations held up. What was the word again...ah, government.
She chuckled soundlessly, watching with pleasure the way the girl was still fighting, face pale and sweat rolling down. No doubt she would have scratched and bit savagely if she weren't gagged and bound. War was powerful and could wreak destruction on half of mankind if so stirred. However, when it came to actually keeping a human alive...that was a different armoury altogether.
So far it was taking all her self-control to simply not tear and rend and mutilate until there was nothing left. To feel that heart pumping, panic and pure fight powering it, still keeping the beat within her hand. To feel the tissue squelch obscenely as she ripped her hands out of entrails and curious organs that bled clear and yellow and dark nail-red. How her teeth could sink into that skin, tearing it, feeling the blood run down her chin and between her breasts, as the muscles strained uselessly and the screams sounded voicelessly.
The throat would be the first to go, War thought, already feeling the heat gather downward, smoldering between her thighs. To slash the thin skin that barely covered that pulsing point, feel the heat of the body and the smoothness of the vocal cords, and to rip them out, one hand on the strands like unwanted wires, the other cradling the back of the head. The frantic fluttering of what used to be taut cords but were now just filament of useless tissue would be exquisite. The eyes with their terror and blind struggling would be even better.
Now War had a predicament. Should the eyes go next, or that red, red mouth?
The gentle give, then rupture of delicate fluid-filled organs would be exquisite. But--the anger and rage that filled the green eyes would be gone in lovely ruined sockets, and that would take the fun out of the game. War considered, then ran a crimson tipped hand underneath the gag.
The life in this girl-child, these maddened eyes of spring that begged to be burned and pillaged, they brought back old memories. Greece, ah, when men fought and honor was more important than life. War remembered a hot summer evening with life that was so close it felt personal and burned with something totally different than ordinary need for battle.
"'The Sacred Band,' they called themselves, believing that the power of their love could defeat all their enemies. Pathetic. The power that came from a group of men buggering their pretty little boy-whores would cause the opposing forces to fall on their knees." War sneered elegantly, steel-gray eyes glittering with malice and pure vindictive amusement. "And all of them fell, all two hundred, the day Alexander came."
Old memories, of War naked on the side of the battlefield. Anyone who thought they saw an ivory-skinned women with ruby-red hair that took in light until it became a waterfall of blood against the setting sun saw another waterfall of blood soon after, gushing from their chest or as their entrails fell to the ground in stinking coils. War had paid them no mind, ramming three fingers between her legs, feeling each smack of flesh on flesh, each delicious give and sudden entrance into a warm body by cold steel. The pain and fire of life and sheer massacre had washed through her, wave after wave as she had panted with the exquisiteness of it all. The final anguish and suicidal charge of the last man as he had watched his lover fall had sent her over the edge, as he had fallen, blood spewing from the three spears that had skewered him. War had arched, supple thighs opening wide as she rode out pleasure in the aftermath of carnage.
"A beautiful man, a worthy human who showed the world the beauty of slaughter, the sheer wonder of cutting down your enemies in the name of ambition. And he butchered them all."
War ground her mouth down on her captive's. Just hunger and the crush of red lips on red lips bruising in their power and horrifying in their madness. Hot wet heat and an aggressive tongue ravaging like an army, tearing up the fields, sowing salt. There was nothing sweet or kind or anything even remotely human in the splitting of soft tissue under sharp white teeth. War raked her scarlet-taloned hands through coppery hair and yanked painfully. Then wrenched Pepper's head, lunging deeper into her mouth.
And the blood, the blood that tasted of fire and fight and anger and flavored with the edge of panic and hysteria. War gnawed and shredded, trying to drink all that she could get. Sucking greedily, hungrily at the flow of metallic liquid that was the essence of steel and sparks and that defined her, her, this little girl-child with her hair like the taste that was WAR running through her veins War was grinding her hips cruelly against the little mound and the eyes were shrieking NO NO she backhanded the face feeling the spike between her legs and------
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She woke up, just bright eyes suddenly opening. She sat up, eyes wide and sightless as a doll's, swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up, skin shimmering in the brief glimmers of starlight reflecting off bare curves. There wasn't a sound in the house as she walked to the lavatory, closed her eyes as she approached the mirror.
In the mirror, War opened her grass-green eyes and ran a finger down the wet inside of her thigh. Bringing the finger to her red, red lips she smiled a fighter's smile, blood and fury and arrogance that more than one unfortunate had seen. Pepper flexed her nail-bitten hand and decided that it was never too early to…see the world.