#zoddlicious

[wingsofgild-archived]

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Music for Griffith and Zodd on a tropical island looking for fruits.

This Crusade AU is the most beautiful thing ever. LOL

[wingsofgild-archived]

@zoddlicious

“Just so you know, kitty, I bent over a table in front of a man today just so an encounter with him won’t result in your premature death. I hope you will take this gesture of kindness and repay it by apologizing to all those you’ve intentionally pissed off for no good reason. I still require your services, and you cannot serve me if you are dead.”

[wingsofgild-archived]

Murder cat gives Griffith a big, fluffy hug that nearly crushes him.

“Thank you, Zodd. Here, have a photo of my glorious thigh gap.”

[wingsofgild-archived]

Melee

@zoddlicious

Smoke stung his eyes. The ash of corpses and blood painted black the sky. Screams echoed around him, that of a field of piled carcasses, with those freshly dead wheezing out their last breaths, gurgles of red bubbling from their mouths as steel-plated boots trampled them underfoot.

His muscles ached. His throat was parched. His armor, once pristine, was caked in grime and dried fluids. He dared not to look into those gaping orbs faded of colour, lifeless stares, etched into frozen grimaces of agony. They were willing. They’d sworn him their sword. They were of the fewer, a small but needed relief amongst the horrors and guilt. He led what remained of his men in a final charge, still strong atop his steed, his cry ringing over the cacophony of noise, loose strands of white hair fluttering about his neck, peeking from under his helmet.

Despite overwhelming odds, the tide was in their favour. Griffith pierced a mounted soldier with his sabre, a bright spew of blood amidst the fume, and took a quick survey around him. “The enemy is weak!” He shouted. “Victory is nigh!” He dodged a spear for his head, and returned the sentiment in kind. Red splattered on his cheeks. “Fight now. Fight on. Fight for ruin, and you will rise one day more to witness glory.” He swung his sword in the air. “Band of the Hawk, we will prevail!”

A unified roar of savagery answered his call. His men were exhausted and bled, but after hours of toil, the mind extinguished, replaced by instinct honed through years of enduring the worst of the world and the sheer need to survive. He rode ahead, leading one last assault against enemy lines. He was certain of triumph, a grit between his teeth and cold eyes narrowed, a glint of resolve unshakable. Just as he struck down the general, gutting the opposing force of its head, an eruption of screams stole his attention, pulling his gaze to the left flank of his Band.

Men were fleeing, his and the enemy’s alike. Blood sprayed into the air, so much spilt that the very air became drunk of vibrancy, a stark column edging closer as the rest of the battle quietened and the shrieks of terror shook even the most hardened of hearts. Griffith turned his horse, eyes widened. His hand trembled around the hilt of his sword. A shadow took shape from the smoke. It was a giant man, hardly armored, who swiped down knights as though a blade through rags. The Nosferatu, Immortal, God of the Battlefield, Black Lion - soldiers and mercenaries gasped as they scrambled away. The beast crept closer toward him. His eyes shone through the dark.

“...Zodd...! It’s Zodd!” The knight beside him cried out, terror carving lines of shadow into his face. With a jerk on the rein of his horse, he took off, abandoning his honour, his sworn duty, heralding a wave of soldiers to bolt from the scene.

Griffith frowned, watching the advancing menace. This man was clearly not of the enemy, and he was slaughtering the Hawks, for reasons Griffith could not fathom. He raised his sword, a call for retreat at the tip of his tongue. Before it could fall, a glimpse of blond hair flashed in the distance. The silvery flicker of knives flew through the air, and embedded into the flesh of the behemoth. His breath hitched to silence. His eyes gaped. Horror choked the word from his lips. He yanked on the rein of his horse, and flew toward the site of gore with his grip clenched around his sword.

“Judeau!” He screamed, heart pounding in his ears. “Fall back. Fall back!”