Fire poured through Ylvir's veins, joining the lead that had also taken residence, and the darkness inside him clawed for release. He gripped the body of his mother closely, growling relentlessly at the man before him.

"You killed her!"

The snarl hardly seemed to affect the man except for the slightest flinch. Otherwise, he was perfectly calm, frowning at the accusation.

"She was already dying," he defended coolly. "I merely sped up the process. It was a mercy, really. And correct me if I'm wrong, but you helped. Unwittingly, of course, but all the same. How awful you must feel knowing you were instrumental to your own so-called 'mother's death."

Ylvir's sharp teeth grated against each other as he held them back from snapping at the patronizing man, his fur and spines bristling with rage. But his red eyes still watered. He still shed tears for her death, and for his part in it.

"No, y-you killed her," his voice broke along with his heart.

Strivsky saw the creature's weakness. It still amazed him that it was able to reason like a person would. He almost hadn't believed it from the stories the old couple told him--he had thought them mad. To call such a creature their son? It was laughable! And yet, they believed it, and so did the creature itself, it seemed. He supposed he shouldn't have been surprised. They were fools, the lot of them. It almost made everything too easy.

"Come now. You know I am right. Would you have rather heard that infernal coughing for days on end, only for the same result? Of course not. It's better for everyone this way," he assured it, the creature avoiding his gaze. "Now, you are without a keeper, and I am without a charge. I'm sure we can help each other some way, eh?"

The creature froze, its rumbling coming to an abrupt stop, the silence more unnerving than the constant threat in the air. Ever so slowly that red gaze met his own, burning with harsher cold than the winter itself. Strivsky's bravado vanished as he felt the same fear as that first night creep upon him, his scar burning at the memory, reminding him of what the creature was capable of. Something had changed. The beast no longer looked like a lost pup--it had become a predator, one that was not only prepared to fight, but eager. There was hardly a trace of that bizarre reasoning left in its countenance now.

It dropped the dead woman's body finally, crawling over her slowly on all fours, stalking towards him with pure malice in its eyes. He backed away just as slowly, attempting to swallow through his fear-choked throat, only finding his mouth had gone dry anyhow.

The creature suddenly snarled again, lips curling to reveal gleaming fangs, ears pressed flat against its skull, sharp spines bristling, its wings and muscles bunched in preparation to leap. Luckily he was prepared for such a thing, he thought as he gripped the dagger's hilt hidden in his sleeve. If he was going down, he was going to make sure the foul creature joined him.

He pulled the dagger out, brandishing it just so the creature would not only see it, but see that he knew how to use it, and was unafraid to.

"Now, now," he tried to speak firmly. "Let's not put all my hard work to waste. You have no idea how awful it was helping those fools. Not only did I have to do farmwork, I had to listen to those miserable 'parents' of yours speak about Ylvir this and Ylvir that, every single day. I'll never understand how they could talk about you like you were an actual person--a son, no less. Disgusting."

This only served to agitate the beast. Strivsky wished he had curbed his tongue when the creature lunged for him. Reflexively, he swung out with the knife in such a way that would wound the beast, not kill it. He had been honest in that he didn't want his work to go to waste, and the creature's death would mean precisely that.

When the thing pulled away from him, Strivsky knew he had drawn blood, but so had the creature with its blasted sharp claws, along the side of his arm. The creature itself hardly seemed to notice its own wounds as the blood dripped to the floor in a consistent pattering, the only other sound apart from its rumblings and Strivsky's own labored breathing.

They circled each other for a moment before the beast again made its move, pouncing. Strivsky once more aimed for non-vital parts, though it was difficult since the beast was not offering the same courtesy. Its jaw clamped tightly on his shoulder causing his to bellow in pain, its claws raking towards his belly, where they surely would have ripped easily through had he not fended them off with the knife.

The beast refused to release his shoulder, so reluctantly, he moved the knife towards its own belly, met by scale before plunging in. The beast howled, and in consequence, released him from its vice. When they pulled away this time, Strivsky noticed that his dagger was no longer in hand, still buried within the flesh of the creature.

He panted heavily as he watched the beast yank the dagger out with a growl, letting it clatter to the floor. Ignoring the pain in his shoulder, Strivsky dove and rolled towards it, coming up again right next to the beast. As it struck out towards him, he picked the knife up, barreling towards the creature.

He hadn't been sure he could pull it off due to the creature's size, but the beast tumbled over from his tackle. He wrapped his limbs around it in an immobilizing hold, pointing the dagger at its throat as it tried to squirm out of his grasp, to which he only tightened it, pressing the dagger deeper.

"Yield," he screamed at the creature just as his own wounds screamed at him.

The creature only struggled more, its own strength overwhelming his as its wings thrust outward, pushing him off. It knocked the dagger out of his hand with one swipe of its paw, then bore over him, the creature forming its own hold, claws digging into flesh.

As Strivsky looked into the blazing eyes above him, he was certain he was looking into the eyes of death. This would be his end, he was sure, and he had hardly been more terrified.

Only those eyes flickered. The red vanished for the briefest second, replaced by a startling grey.

The beast fell off him, howling in pain.

Ylvir fought to control himself. He had let his darkness and rage take over. And he had enjoyed it all, the taste of flesh and blood and the screams of pain, until the last moment when the man's life was so clearly in his own hands and the terror shown pure in his eyes.

For a moment, he had delighted in that terror, and he wanted more. He had wanted the man dead, obliterated. But Ylvir remembered his mother's dying words--of his promise. He couldn't kill. It was wrong, wasn't it?

But that man was his mother's murderer--he deserved to die! It's kill or be killed! Then that would make him a murderer, too. He couldn't do that. He couldn't live knowing he had done something so horrendous.

So the man could live knowing he was a murderer, but Ylvir couldn't? Where was the justice in that?!

Ylvir wanted justice, yes, but not like this. He refused to be like this man. He refused to be a killer.

But his violent side refuted against him. He was so close. He wanted to take his vengeance; to destroy everything that had taken from him. Taken his friend, his father, his mother. That man was vulnerable now. Ylvir wanted recompense, and he wanted it in blood--his blood.

No! No, he didn't! There had to be a better way.

This was the better way! Time to finish what he started.

NO!

And so Ylvir's divided mind split his world in two.

Strivsky watched warily as the beast suddenly collapsed in a heap of fur, feather, scales, and spines. It was nearly motionless, and he might have thought it dead were it not for the noticeable, though unsteady rising and falling of its breaths. He cautiously dragged himself away, towards the dagger that gleamed with dark blood on the floor when the beast began to rise again, changed once more.

This time, it looked even more wicked and deadly. It was smaller and more arched, contorted with a deadly sharpness and possessing a darkness that made it seem like a living shadow. There was something else different about it--something missing that made it look to be a whole new creature altogether, were it not for the red eyes that turned to him once more, no longer reflecting a simple desire for battle, but a need for his complete destruction. It paralyzed him with fear, and instilled him with the knowledge that whatever hope he had for life before was now pointless. He was going to die.

With a low roar that promised carnage, the otherworldly creature of darkness lunged at Strivsky. He closed his eyes in what he supposed were his last moments, gripping the dagger and hoping the creature would at least make his death a swift one.

The pain he expected never came, though. Instead, a cry of rage and agony issued--a human one.

Strivsky opened his eyes to see the beast locked in another battle with...something else. It looked like a man, large and leanly muscled, wearing nothing but his trousers and covered in various wounds that oozed blood over his lightly tanned skin, but from his back protruded large wings of blackened feathers and long quills down the length of his spine. Strivsky watched, stunned as the strange man and the beast expertly maneuvered around one another, as if they each knew what the other's next move was. Every time the beast would move, the man would intercept, often employing those large black wings, holding the beast back until it slipped away again, only for them to repeat the process, tumbling about noisily in the small cottage.

Strivsky crawled cautiously away until the winged man held the beast down, effectively pinning it, then lifted his face up to look him dead in the eye. Strivsky realized then that the strange man was still very young indeed--a boy on the cusp of manhood. His gray eyes stared at him with clear hatred that startled him, but showed an equal amount of determination before he spoke.

"If you wish to keep your life, leave now," he spoke clearly, despite his obvious effort to keep the beast down with the copiuos sweat that matted his dark hair and beaded down his skin. "I can't hold back much longer."

The beast slipped from under the young, winged man then, slashing at his exposed stomach, rending flesh and drawing blood as he cried out. The creature let out its own agonized howl as a similar wound was somehow made on its own belly. The young man collapsed, straining to get back up, pushing with those large wings, only to fall repeatedly, having no success. The beast too struggled, but its own pain did not seem to affect it as much, and soon its eyes found Strivsky again.

Strivsky's only hesitation was caused by the pain of his wounds. He pushed himself to his feet with great effort as he saw the beast make its way. Glad that his legs were in better shape than his bleeding torso, he ran out the house, barely dodging the swinging claws and snapping jaws of the great beast. He hardly even noticed the snow as he ran out, escaping the beast.

When he got a certain distance, he noted he was no longer being chased. He paused, steps faltering as he looked behind him. His eyes trailed across the fresh snow just barely disturbed by his own footprints and stained by his blood, seeing that there were no other prints. His gaze finally came to the cottage he just fled, and there on the threshold he could clearly see the dark creature and the winged boy wrestling in the cold, their condensed breaths twining just like their strained limbs until their forms blurred into one, melding together and forming the same creature he had initially fought. Ylvir.

Ylvir's mind reeled. He didn't know what had just happened, but he knew he was out of his depth. When he spied the same man he had wrestled previously simply standing there, watching with widened eyes, he felt his blood begin to boil. That man should have left, or he should have died. Ylvir wasn't sure which, but he knew the man should not be there anymore.

With a growl and a wimper, his cuts bleeding copiously into snow with steam, he lifted himself up only to stumble and fall again uselessly. He needed to get up. He needed to fight. But his energy was waning, his body unresponsive. His vision swam as he still eyed the man with all his hatred. Ylvir refused to let things end this way, but he was helpless to change it.

His rage, his misery, his agony and frustration rolled through him in a final tidal wave of emotion, leaving his throat in a haunting howl.

With the last dredges of his energy spent, and his tragedy proclaimed to the world, Ylvir reluctantly let go of his hope, releasing himself to oblivion.

Until the sky itself was torn asunder with a mighty screech, like thunder splitting the air.

Hold on Ylvir, a distntly familiar voice resounded in his mind. I have come to pay my debt.

------

Again, I apologize for my subpar writing. This is my first ever action scene, so it's probably a little underwhelming, but at least I tried, yeah? Anyway, I know it was probably really confusing, but not to worry. All will be explained in due time. Just bear with me.