Ā Ā Something familiar about this beast, but he canāt pick out just what it is. The noises it makes are almost pitifully agonizing, and Oki almost feels guilty to be pointing his blade at this poor creature. Perhaps it would give the beast some relief to be put down, then. If in death, it finds some form of relief, he can at least feel less upset about this. His jaw sets hard as the wolfish beast scents him, muscles taut while he grips the sword. It does not sound completely beastlike, it is as though, somewhere, the voice of a man is intertwined with the guttural groans and quivering growls.
Ā Ā This beast is not like any demon he has seen before. As it moans, unleashing a cry that is almost melancholy in tone, gooseflesh prickles along his arms and his hackles bristle slightly in alarm. He notes that the beast itself does not yet attack, but the creatures rolling like ichor out of its fur are aggressive. They only add to the population of beasts seeking to wreak havoc, or so he would think. The smaller, skittering beast makes him uneasy. This whole situation is unsettling, but he refuses to let it reduce him to a fearful warrior. That is not his way, he has vowed to face foes regardless of what they are, so long as they are threatening the lives of others.
Ā Ā In the dim light, a sheen of wetness catches on the small creatureās cheeks, tears rolling down its face. Itās enough to throw him off, but he instinctively swings the sword down as it charges, cleaving through the monster. The despairing outcry is pitiful and his heart burns with a strangely confused, unsettled guilt. Something familiar, he finds himself again focusing on what it may be. A glimpse of a string hanging beneath the larger beastās neck and realization slowly dawns on him.
Ā Ā Finally, it makes sense. His eyes snap wide in shock as he sees the necklace swaying beneath the beastās haggard fur. Incense, sharp and nearly cloaked beneath the scent of blood and musk. That scent had been the first thing he noticed about the fellow hunter. He staggers back a couple of steps, taking in the tattered cloth stretched around the beastās eyes, the torn clothes that almost look familiar, though ripped and covered in clots of grey fur.
Ā Ā Ā The wretched feeling of self-loathing burning through itās mind, threatening to block out the few remaining shreds of humanity it still tried to cling to, to remember itself, to feel something beyond the hurt of itās own misgivings and failures.Ā
Ā Ā Ā Rearing up on itās hind legs, the Beast snarled out in response to the slash, the tiny form molded by itās own grief fading away in black-ish smoke like a wisp with only a small cry.Ā
Ā Ā Ā It didnāt want to attack, it didnāt want to hurt, but the blinding pain of his own mind caused it to flex itās claws, seeing the stranger as a threat to the safety of-- of what? Why did he feel so angry at the disruption to his pain? Not thinking, not wanting to think, the fur on his mane bristled, the muscles in itās legs coiling to lunge--
Ā Ā Ā One it didnāt want to recognise. One that had been spoken to it in the same incredulous tone before so many times, just before the added hurt was packed in even tighter into the box he tried so desperately to contain it in. The innocent tilt of itās daughters head as it came home covered in the gore of innocents. The horrified eyes of itās partner as it mercilessly beat a man to death with itās own fists. The terrified look of itās wife as it approached with ragged breathes and raised weapon. The hoarse whisper of the one it had befriended on the bridge just before the burn of gunpowder of itās throat--
Ā Ā Ā The beast clutched at itās head, pulling back from itās attempt to attack, shaking itās head. Who was it this time? Who was it that called? Who was it that it wanted to kill so badly?
Ā Ā Ā It couldnāt think, and with the teeth that lined itās split-open mouth, it couldnāt talk. All it did was snarl through the dim of itās own mind, bristling at the otherās intrusion on itās thoughts.