WOLVES WITHOUT TEETH ( geralt of rivia.. )

008. become the beast..

In a world of monsters, there is much which passes into the land of humanity without ever once having deserved to be seen as anything more than a heartless action. Wars, violence, injustice; humans eat humans almost as much as any of the dark creatures born from earth's bellows just to clean its surface and claim it for their own gore feast.

To a world of monsters, what is one more evil soul, but just a teardrop in an ocean? Unnoticed it falls.

One of Yulis' scarlet skeletal hands brushed through Sylvain's hair, fixed his crown, while the other, hinged and forever connected, rubbed his inner thigh, sore and tired. Embedded in the northern king's sighs of relief from the massage, Yulis too seemed to hum along a perverse pleasure.

"Your Highness," his poisoned voice dripped hope into Sylvain's closed eyes, slithering in through minuscule gaps, right into his skull, amongst his best of thoughts. They've almost all been currupted. "You cannot go to war with an empty stomach."

To that nudge of reality, Sylvain opened his eyes. There was one big price for his legs and it was a bloody burden to know of and carry after he had signed away all villagers of Arcapan to a selection of the lambs to slaughter. Now, his new legs were prune and grey, so cold not even the bucket of steaming water and the message could get blood bumping through them as they should. He could walk, slow and in pain, but considering the orders coming from Nilfgaard, orders of war, he was not fit to carry armor, not fit yet to ride a horse.

"I need more time," he whispered, staring at the black cloth he had thrown over a mirror that should have reflected him, sitting before it. Instead it was just a fluttering shadow, dancing by the winter breeze freezing away the open window frame in little, round icicles.

"You need more nerve," Yulis correcred him. His poisoned hands left Sylvain entirely, stepping around his chair and the bucket of warm water. The tip of his boots hit the bucket and the water raised over the edge in waves, kicked over to the carpets on the floor of his room, to which, after so long, he was able to return at last, instead of sleeping in a below decent tower. "You know what happens if you don't man up and follow the instructions of the spell I have spilled precious blood for," voicing his reminder threat, Yulis took out a needle-like dagger from his sleeve and pocked Sylvain's knee.

He felt nothing, not even a gentle sting. Yulis' smile darkened, seeing realization of submission return to this childish king. Everyone had something to earn from this game of conquest they all secretly plaid and making prideful rulers rolls around following his instructions were the sweet rewards outside of a well played deal for Yulis.

"It would be such a shame to waste Nilfgaard's kindness because of cowardice-"

"I'm not a coward!" Sylvain shouted. His hands gripped the armrests of his chair. Hurried, though he barely felt the legs anymore, he took the souls of his feet out of the warm water, back onto the towel besides his shoes.

"There are two perfectly good prisoners in Arcapan's dungeons who can fuel you for at least a month. After that, you will have prisoners from keeps which would have fallen by your sword, my king," Yulis tone always twirled dangerously steeped from mockery, into honeycomb compliments, twisted words only a mage could craft to speak around the true meaning of his thoughts, behind his cruel red eyes. "And Arcapan will bleed no more. What say you?"

Sylvain bowed his head halfway through the conversation, busying himself slowly to tidying his boots back on on senseless feet. Though green greed exceeded brighter than the summers so far away from them still, he refused to have personal servants. Truth be told, even if he wished to have some, there were so few people left in Arcapan after the sacrifices made for his legs by Yulis that the whole of them could be counted on the hands of just the people in that room.