[rayquaza7996]

Oro (chosen name Whisperer) and Kesha
(there is also an npc-style Kuhna but obviously said Kuhna doesn't exist in my pen, he's just here to get killed)
(this takes place before Kesha's time at the Clinic)

The black bleeder snarled, sniffing the ground. At six inches long, Oro was tiny, even for a Bleeder. But he had big dreams, just like his master. Dreams only for after they had vengeance. He hated controlling Kesha against her will, but he had to, for her own good - she needed this, so that she could move on from what that demon had done to her.

She struggled, of course, but not much - she trusted Oro to do what he knew was right. She trusted him completely, and he her. She just couldn't always do what she needed to. She was...weak, that was right. She didn't fight. She didn't snarl. She was sweet and shy, flower-like, in his mind. He sighed.

I'm so sorry, Kesha. I wish from the bottom of my heart - from the bottom of your heart, I suppose, really, I mean it's kind of like a loan, right? - that I didn't have to do this, but you have to move on, and you refuse everything else, you refuse therapy and you refuse moving on. You insist on being unhappy and alone, and that's not good for you, my dear Lady.

Kesha mentally agreed. Whisperer, she added on, I trust you. I don't want this to be done, but it's not like I have much a choice, now is it? I can't have a man's death on my soul! I can't! Please, Oro, for me, for my own foolishness, for my bleeding heart - don't!

My lady, his death won't be on your soul - it'll be on mine. One heart, my lady, two minds. That's where it is, me, and I refuse to allow you to suffer. Ever.

And with that, the possessed cat and the black bleeder (who rode upon her back) padded off, the Kuhna's nose to the ground, sniffing. There it was - that scent which inspired deepest hatred and anger in Oro the Whisperer and inspired terror and lust in poor Kesha, poor messed-up, abused, fragile Kesha, poor wilted flower. But, though she didn't know it, she'd not be a wilted flower much longer. Nay, she was, deep in her subconcious, already changing, from a poor, fragile, wilted flower - innocent and unlucky, cute and childish - to the nightmare that some called a broken-winged bird - someone with something essential gone, that made them demonic, angry, that made them lust for vengeance. What she had lost - her innocence, her childish naivity - had been essential to her personality, and without it, she was an empty shell, unable to exist unfilled forever, needing something to let her live, to heal her. To break her.

[rayquaza7996]

A black Corbine flew overhead, but the huntress and hunter ignored it. It was nothing to them. Oro the Whisperer didn't believe in omens, if he did, wouldn't he have eternal bad luck, being a beast of black luck? He didn't know, but he didn't care. Why did it matter to him? He had a task - to find that Dystath and beat every little speck of putrid, corrupted, useless, hollow life out of him, until his body was gone forever, until his soul was burning in the places of Punishment. He was singlepurposed right now, and he didn't know - she didn't know - what came next. But whatever it was, they'd be ready.

They'd be ready later, when the time came. The time wasn't now, and they didn't know when it would be, no, now was a time for hunting and vengeance and rage and hate and blood and gore and death. Now was a time for all the death and destruction the harmless-looking lizard and the fragile wilted flower of a Hydrokuhna could create, and it was much, much more that they appeared as.

In perfect synergy, the pair tracked, nearly invisible as shadows. The scent was older, and they had to follow it for hours, tirelessly working on and on, unsure, worried, but ready for whatever lay ahead.

And just as suddenly, they saw him, an Elder Kuhna, with black fur and a blue glow. Kesha's controlled body tensed, down into the streets, hidden, unseen. Around her, people passed, hardly seeing the shadow of a kuhna. Oro the Whisperer quietly prepared, to fight, to kill, possibly to die.

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Kesha made a calculated leap (Oro, actually, but really, what did it matter? She thirsted for his blood, too.) and knocked him into an alleyway, Oro the Whisperer using an illusion to cloak it. Her aquatic-blue fur (stained an inky color along the back from her little Bleeder) was puffed out, and she was snarling, froth dripping from her mouth, insane. He growled back, using his superior size to escape her grasp.

"You? Kesha, correct? I really must thank you, for my work on you has found me many ways to get what I desire." He snarled. "But you, you, always the soft one. Attacking? I'm suprised. Oh, your eyes, so hollow inside, like a broken, bleeding heart, I suppose. I never knew you felt anger, but you must. Your bleeder, I assume that's what's controlling you, it is just your feelings. Not even real. An illusion."

Kesha, momentarily freed from Oro the Whisperer, shook her head. "Sorry, Dystath, but illusions don't feed me, don't hunt, don't fetch waterskins. Illusions don't possess, don't speak, don't breathe. Illusions don't leave bloodstains in my fur; illusions don't hide me from sight. Illusions don't heal me; illusions don't hide me. If you hadn't hurt me, if you hadn't shattered my heart, if you hadn't broke me, I wouldn't be here, now would I?" Her voice was filled with such malice, such pure hate.

Dystath blinked, considering fleeing. This wasn't the Kesha he knew and abused! This wasn't the kit who had sold a ring-bind to him for her mother's sake! This wasn't the girl he had betrayed, abused, crippled! (He figured the Bleeder had healed that.) This wasn't the girl he had injured and left to die in the sands of the Nabias! This wasn't the useless, hateless, sweet girl, unable to resent him no matter what! Who was this? He didn't know, nd it terrified him, absolutely, positively terrified him, beyond belief.

She lept, and he did nothing, was unable to, paralyzed by fear. Oro perched above, on a building, holding illusions to keep the battle cloaked from any of the few law enforcers here.

"It's the end of the line, Dystath, dearheart." She sneered at her words, marring her one-beautiful, now-scarred and stained face. Making it more hideous than any blood or fang or claw could have possibly done so. "The end of the line, for not me, but for you."

[rayquaza7996]

The Ancient Kuhna tried to pull back, tried to avoid the neck-swipe. The Ancient Kuhna tried quite hard, squirming and throwing his weight around, screaming his throat out (though Oro's spell blocked the noise from the streets of the then-enforced slums).

The Ancient Kuhna tried, it really did. The Ancient Kuhna failed.

The scream he let out as the cruel, horrid Kesha, the bloodstained and scarred Hydrokuhna, ripped out his throat, was absurd. Blood pooled from his broken, dying body, all over Kesha's feet - one of the last unstained parts of her. She snarled, and then roared. She didn't understand her sudden happiness, her sudden euphoria. Shouldn't she have been horrified? She had just killed a living, breathing, intelligent being, a being with thoughts and wishes and dreams!

She had never felt quite so good in her life. No experience had ever matched it for her - not mating, not hunting, not dancing, not even taking drugs. Perhaps that was what killing was, a miricle drug. But she didn't see the ramifications.

She suddenly felt a strange pain, and all went black. Above her, Oro fell, similarily unconcious, landing on her bloodstained belly - now even worse from the blood of the newly-killed corpse. Her body was changing, somehow.

[rayquaza7996]

Kesha awoke, still in the backalleys of the Slums, but her back felt different, bigger. Oro was coiled, sleeping, by her belly. She nosed him awake. And then she concentrated on the new-feeling, until massive, broken wings flared out behind her.

Kesha herself looked slightly different now. Throughout her stained, mangled blue fur were feathers, most numerous around her shoulderblades, where they flared out. They were the dark blue of her fur shading to Oro's inky blood's color, more black than red. Her eyes also shone that inky color, like something wrong was going on inside them. They looked like (and forgive me for the metaphor) pools of her partner's blood.

Something in her heart had snapped, and her soul had changed. Her body had followed suit. Just like a real demon would have. Perhaps that was what she was, a demon. It wouldn't surprise her. Oro himself hadn't been unaffected, being the physical manifestation of her heart; his changes, however, were more subtle. The most noticable was that the crack in his face had widened, and he subsequently bled faster. But looking closely, one might see the dark purple markings that had appeared on the once-pure black bleeder. They might see the new tint to his blood, a shade purple-blue, subtle, very subtle, but yet massive. And one who had known him a long, long time might have noticed the tiny new rip in his tiny wings.

None of this was lost on Kesha, his master and partner and friend. But she, already having had seen this in the strange hallucination she had had as she changed, wasn't suprised. Oro, having had seen the same, wasn't either. They had gotten over their suprise. But there were enemies (real and imaginary) to be felled, lands to be held, and smells to be smelled.

"Time to go, Oro. We don't have time to wait."

"Always with you, my Lady. Always with you."