“Stop it, you idiots! The orders are to execute the Lord publicly! You’ll hit him at this rate!” Kirin did not recognize the words, and he did not care to consider it, too traumatized by what was standing before him. The god-like creature of the underworld still stood, though he had staggered back a few paces, fresh blooms of crimson moisture spreading over his clothing. There were so many - his left thigh, right calf, his torso riddled, even the arm which had just pushed the young immortal out of the way. Blood pooled on the ground. Kirin felt his own drain from his face, his blood running cold through his veins.

     But then, there was that beautiful laughter.

     It felt as though his chest would collapse in on itself, how tightly it clenched, as he heard the sound that could only be from his angel of death. Violet eyes found themselves resting upon that man’s face, widened as they witnessed placidity melt into something twisted and sadistic, and then he was no longer in front of him. More shots were fired, and then screams. He didn’t want to look - didn’t want to see what was happening. But, curiosity is a devil, and it compelled him to override sense and crawl onto his knees to look around the corner’s edge.

     The look of glee was positively revolting and exciting at the same time - he couldn’t look away once his eyes were set. With claws alone, he witnessed his companion tear through armor as though it was meaningless, a mere hindrance to access the tender flesh beneath, saw fingers force their way into the ribs of one man, shredding his abdomen from sternum to septum, unnecessary organs spilling out onto the plush carpet that was once such a beautiful shade of mint green. Sharp fangs - which had countless times already been in his own flesh - tore mercilessly into the neck of a man rendered without limps, the holes where his arms should be weeping sanguine jets of life liquid. The brutality was unnecessary, Kirin knew, it could be accomplished in a much cleaner manner - the individuals did not even need to die, let alone be torn apart. Yet shredded they were, severed and used as macabre decorations.

     The sword did not seem to give him as much satisfaction as his own hands, Kirin noted in a disturbing observation, and when it broke against the sword of a guard attempting to defend his fallen comrade, it was discarded without any thought to claim another. And like a monster, in truth, when a blade met its mark against his own shoulder, the beautiful disaster that was Angeles grasped it with his own hands and yanked it out before thrusting his fingers into the throat of the offender. Halfway through, the horrified onlooker realized that those left were no longer attempting to fight back, but their shouts had turned to cries for mercy. Two threw down their weapons and knelt before the red head, and one attempted to run away. The poor soul fleeing got tripped up in the intestines of one of his comrades, however, and fell into the slush of gore that was now the floor.

     He screamed, and the sound made Kirin flinch away. When his eyes returned to the scene, the screaming had been silenced by Angeles breaking his neck. To the two who knelt down, the brute was more sedate in his dealings. He stood before them, a thing of nightmare, and seemed to make his decision. Picking up a pistol, he inquired in a voice that did not belong in such a scene, one which was curious with an innocence that seemed ridiculous, “How does this work?”

     The guards both jumped, glancing at each other, before the bravest of the pair spoke up. “Y-you just... Once it is loaded, you just aim and pull the trigger.” Inspecting the weapon as a child might a new toy, Angeles nodded in understanding before holding the pistol properly.

     “What a curious innovation. Who made this?”

     The question made both men look very startled, and one looked at the other before the shyer one volunteered in response, “Th-that... Is made by the Unlair family, o-of course.”

     There was a soft tsk of displeasure before the shot was fired. Aimed almost absently, Angeles fired into the skull of the first man who spoke, causing a red circle to mark his forehead. He fell forward into the pool of blood with an audible, sickly wet sound, and the other man did not even have time to scream before Angeles was upon him, his fangs in his neck, draining him in a fashion Kirin had witnessed more than once already since the start of their escape.

     And then, it was over.

     Each footstep caused a disgusting squish to fill the air, and the sudden return of Angeles’ attention onto himself, who was still on his knees, on the floor, caused an instinctive retreat for the smaller nobleman, pulling himself back behind the corner to give him time to find composure. If he had wanted to run away, his opportunity was now lost. The thought only now occurred to him. In too little time at all, the crimson monster was standing next to him again, still dripping with blood - though Kirin knew this time it was not his own. He felt a mixture of emotions at this fact, and he did not try to identify why they made his heart pound and stomach ache.

     “You are trembling. If it was frightening, you should not have watched.” The voice was back to that soft, alluring tone that had first made his heart flutter, and Kirin only now considered how easily one’s tone can affect the listener. How the voice is such a powerful device for eliciting a reaction from your partner. Dark amethyst eyes looked up, taking in the gruesome vision of his companion, and he realized that he was, in fact, trembling.

     He did not know when it had started, nor could he seem to stop, now conscious of it. The ominous outline of Angeles against the bright lighting of the hall was such a stark contrast to the Angeles he had grown accustomed too - sensual, shadowed, basked in such a subtle glow his every rivet was a mystery to be explored and discovered. Displayed so clearly, the drenching of blood causing every inch of his once pristine clothing to cling to his body, to accentuate its terrifying perfection, Kirin could not help but think how very easily those hands could wrap around his throat, and the memory of such flooded his mind with a new found panic, images of the rampage morphing in his mind to imaginations of his own demise, his own cries for mercy, his body limp and in pieces in the hands of his cruel would-be lover.

     “Here, I was beginning to think you liked it,” Angeles spoke again, leaning down, ignoring the horror that had suddenly seized Kirin’s expression. Strategically, perhaps, he placed his arms on either side of the shorter immortal, pressing them against the wall, effectively creating a barrier that would need to be crossed for any hope of escape. The pounding in the raven haired man’s chest was undeniable, and he told himself it was from fear, knowing that any moment, if his partner wished it, he could be dead in an instant. “My face... Don’t you like to watch it? Can you tell me you did not feel anything... Here?”

     The words were spoken softly now, Angeles just inches away from Kirin’s face, his breath hot, the scent of gore mixing with his own pheromone in an intoxicating combination that made Kirin’s stomach churn from the sudden shift in mood. One of Angeles’ hands moved, as well, to accentuate the full meaning of his words. Slender fingers attached to razor sharp claws trailed over to the slight man’s waist, curling against his abdomen before finding the path downwards, pressing a touch with firm meaning over his crotch. Color flushed his cheeks, an immediate response to such an incitement, and his stubborn nature was ruffled despite himself, “I-I would no-!”

     Lips pressed against his own, the motion sudden but tender, silencing the excuse he had not even truly formed as the soiled immortal switched from one passion to another. Kirin could taste the acrid tang of blood, though it was foreign, unlike any flavor he had know - it was sweet, succulent, but made bitter as it started to dry, exposed to the air and souring. There was a brief, chilling thought that this is what his kind tasted like, before Angeles’ tongue pressed into his mouth and he could only think of how savory this man was.

     He’d allowed paranoia to rule him once more, the fear of the unknown to drive him away. Accepting lack of control to such a degree was hard, terribly so, but this creature did not wish him harm. It was unfair to dwell upon the possibilities of when that changed, considering how much he currently felt he owed to this gorgeous man. So simply, he felt his body relent, his fear melt into the rising desire to indulge in a kiss from his murderous demon, and he lifted his arms to wrap around Angeles’ neck.

     The relief was overwhelming, and it shocked him that, as his own tongue pressed against its invasive counterpart, his throat started to tighten. Moisture dampened his face, and it was not until he felt his partner retreat, breaking off the kiss, that he realized the crushing wealth of emotion that had mounted in his chest. Part of him, some irrational and paranoid part, had truly feared that he would be torn apart by a man who was drunk on the lust for blood. Another begrudgingly accepted that some part of him was oddly fascinated with that look of complete lack of inhibition, like a rabid animal lashing out for no reason that because it as possible. That some sick, twisted part of himself even relished that there was such a contrast between Angeles tearing into the neck of another, and the delicious passion enjoyed when he savored Kirin. But perhaps, most of all, was the relief that even now, when the noble felt so weak and pathetic, doing absolutely nothing but watching horror unfold, outside of their prison and in the light of day, Angeles felt desire for him still.

     His vision blurred through the tears, and his pride was bruised with the realization that he, too, could display such an undignified self. Yet through that fuzzy vision, he witnessed those golden eyes widening with something akin to surprise, then those lips turning upwards into a teasing smile. Sighing faintly, the bloody mess of an immortal shifted once more, from a crouch back into a seated position, his arms wrapping around Kirin to pull him forward, into the other’s lap. So close, he felt the still wet blood, warm and sticky as it dried, saturate his own scrapes of clothing as he was pressed against the larger man.

     The warmth of the embrace filled the noble, chasing away the shivers that had assaulted his frame, though the tears still flowed. He could not recall the last time he had cried - as a child, perhaps? - and for this reason, he was unsure how to make them stop. They were choking, and his chest felt smothering as it constricted, like an invisible snake was crushing his ribs. And then, there was something hot and moist on his cheek, dragging across his pallid flesh. Every breath was felt with such incredible intimacy, his made him shudder for an entirely different reason, realizing as the soft tissue dragged up, caressing his skin and lightly teasing his eyelid, that his terrifying brute was licking away his tears.

     Nothing else really mattered. Not the smell of blood so strong it was nauseating, or the fact that just around the corner, there was a massacre of his kin. He couldn’t recall when he had become this way - perhaps when he was imprisoned for no real valid reason - but he accepted, for the first time, that he was hopeless. Whatever paranoia his mind attempted to concoct to dissuade him, the desire he felt was too strong. As Angeles licked his other cheek, Kirin pulled back just enough to break contact, then shifted to ensnare his partner in another kiss, his own tongue taking advantage of the slight ajar nature of Angeles’ lips to plunge into the depths of his mouth. He had memorized its dimensions long ago, the feel of the roof, the sharp edges of his teeth, and how to suckle just enough to make the man react and seek more.

     This time, however, the crimson haired immortal withdrew, though the heavy state of his breath told the slighter creature it was not for lack of excitement. “If we do this here, it will be more trouble to get through that door later. Have patience, my minx. I’ll excite you more before this is through.”

     Embarrassment possessed Kirin, strong and fast, but he bit back the instinctive reply rife with sarcasm, smothered his disappointment, and just kept hold of Angeles a moment longer, his amethyst eyes, still glossy with emotion, making a final plea that his pride wouldn’t allow him to vocalize. His partner was unmoved, though when his weight shifted, long legs finding themselves under him, he chose to heft Kirin up with him, rather than push him off. The balance that took was impressive, though the youth figured it was likely no feat at all for his enigmatic companion. A final caress was felt drifting down his back, cupping his rear in large palms before the taller of the male’s released the other, Kirin left bereft of emotions since too many had taxed him to this point.