corvi de morte ;
❝ 暗い天の烏 —
One might liken him to a bird with the way he oversaw all that occurred on the mortal plane below the magical realm he called ( begrudgingly ) his home -- the eye in the sky, the veritable sun and moon his lidless, unblinking sight. Never had there been an inch of the world he could not see if he wished it.
So how had she escaped him for so long?
Eris, he believed her name was, though it meant little to him; what did matter, however, was her position in this three-sided chess game: one of the leaders of the rebel forces. She was in a position of power in this world, a person of influence -- and oh, how her influence had spread, how she had gathered such a following in her little cult. Yet with all that attention, all the effort he took to seeing just who she was, he could not figure out her secret.
That secret that she took such care to hide from him -- he knew it was there, knew it in the way she would look about herself to make sure no one was near, the way she would seek out some place with a magical field, somehow shielding herself from his view in a way he just couldn't figure out.
It was infuriating. She was a threat in her mystery. He would unravel her.
A bird, he was -- then a bird he would be. Such a form had always felt natural for him since he had discovered his ability to obtain it, to shift his very bone structure and hollow out the marrow; become a form so less intimidating yet no less omniscient.
Small eyes, miniscule orbs of obsidian, observed the rebel leader as she walked through the trees, cawing sporadically to see if she flinched -- she didn't. Odd. Had he the ability to narrow his eyes, he would have, yet a new body had new sets of limitations -- and strengths.
Spreading his wings, he let out another caw before taking flight, making his way airborne through the forest until he found her once more in a clearing, the ground torn by what could be nothing else but a beast -- a beast that now lay dead at her feet. For a brief moment, he wondered just how she had managed such a thing -- with no wounds on the thing's body, no less... Yet he would discover her power eventually, of that he was certain.
He would not leave her side until he knew what sort of demon she was.
With a sharp caw, he dove for the beast's flesh, talons pointed downward and primed, splitting through fur and skin and meat in a single motion; he felt it cut and curve around his nerves, feel the blood soak into his feathers, smell the thick sanguine scent envelop him, taint the air. His wings beat, furthering the reach of the odor.
Did he disgust her? A part of him hoped so -- let him see that pathetic weakness, carve her eyes out with his own nails.
Jumping to the fiend's back, avian back curved, beak picking through the opened muscle, leaning back to swallow in gluttonous gobs before twitching his head toward her, sharp, uneven movements.
Do you see me, chaos cultist? Are you ignorant?
Yet another caw, pointed at her as if he meant to speak, avian exclamation, before he took to the air briefly, wings cutting through the silent air before he turned, forming a neat circle above the woman until he lowered, landing on her shoulder. How he wished to dig into her skin -- but no, he was an ally here, wasn't he? A familiar, should this witch wish to call him such.
Let's see your magic -- and I'll show you mine.