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Name: Jetstream
Gender: Tom
Clan: BloodClan
Rank: Third Tier and Warlord
Apprentice: Calypso
Difficulty: Extreme
~ I am the shadow on the moon at night, filling your dreams to the brim with fright!
[img width=470 height=350]http://i48.tinypic.com/1z6utsn.jpg[/img]
Picture by ѕнα✝тєя ~
A paw arched through the air, sand specked, shaggy ivory fur smeared with a metallic smelling crimson that flew from the swiftly decending limb in glinting droplets that reflected the bleached, stabbing sunlight with every liquid movement. From the powerful extension potruded a set of gleaming razors, perfectly and wickedly curved, each point sharpened into a flesh tearing, sinister point that had a malaovlent, almost sadistically eager look about them. In fact, the weapons were so perfectly shaped, in their evil magnificence, that once could almost say they had been molded by conjured shadows and hardened solid into an obsidian steel upon whatever cruel anvil the skythe of Death had been hammered upon.
Their brilliance only intensified with the action of perfection quickly perfomed upon burying themselves ever so satisfyingly into the deep reaches of scarlet splotched, bristling cinnamon fur and tender flesh, drawing out the warm life force of whatever demon dared to combat the immortal devil that held reign over the fiery depths of a punishing hell.
A screech rang out in fluid response, though it was of no normal creature. It rang with a petrifying sense of pain, yet mingled strongly with an overwhelming tone of raw amusment and joy, even as pain slid like molten flames through the severed veins of the other beast. While the limb faded off into the not so distant, dust upturned and blood plagued air, a trickle quickly widened the rip in what might have been reality, the down poor of a sudden, staining red ink slipping down untouched skin to nourish the dry, cracked earth with the nutrients lost of the barbaric desert dweller.
Following the events that took place in just over the span of a few seconds, a malicious snarl rose in chorus with the wraith's tortured scream, possessing the voice of a horrible nightmare come true, from the deepest reaches of the inner chest that might have harboured a hidden, smoking furnace of rage and hatred, the sound bust forth like magma from a volcano, barely making it through the twisted jaws of the creature unscathed by the rows of pointed, jagged teeth that so clearly could tear out muscle and crunch through bone. The sray of spit that followed was laced with a crimson glint, from the blood that lined the pink, ripped gums of the wide, feral creature's dark maw.
The grosteque noise was cut off as a rather large, though not as massive as it's predesessor, light brown paw crashed into the other tom's head, almost hauntingly clear claws piercing through the skin there that so desperatly held to protect the broad, hard skull of the combatant. Despite the clear force of the hit, the midnight forged, what might have been a mangled feline, refused to budge, to even trasition from his rock hard, steady position into the unbalanced form of a stagger.
Instead, it, or what could be recognized as a he, performed a fluid sweep of his own limb in retaliation, bringing it up into an uppercut that tore long furrows into the exposed, broad chest of his opponent, travelling up his throat to end at the tip of the chin in a shower of red diamonds that fell to the ground in gravity's restraining grip.
The other tom, smaller, yet still sturdy, was thrown back into the air as intended by the larger monster, who dove forward with what might have been the fresh intent to kill. His eyes, if they were eyes, were corrupt with a strange, satanic gleam that mimicked individual gates to a blazing oblivion, each burning, petrifying orb containing a light of fiendish lust. The experianced hell cat slammed both forepaws into the large shoulders of the other feline, tilting his upper body back in a battle of brawn in which the other simply couldn't match. His spine groaned as it bent beneath the weight, begging it's hosting body to release it from the immense stress it had suddenly been forced to endure without warning or practice.
With no other choice and the threat of a broken, paralized body plaguing the forever scarred, younger tom, he gave in, thrusting out his hindlegs to straighten out his back and allow the dominant feline to pin him firmly against the sand, large incisors aimed for the exposed underside of the cat's throat. They snapped just inches away when the cinnamon's paws reached the neck of the savage assailant first, trying with a doomed expression to push those powerful, snapping jaws away even as the repulsive sight of foul smelling saliva oozed from the crooked, scarred jaws of the other feline to litter the younger demon's already carved facial features.
"You're pathetic Jokerpaw! To have allowed your weakness to take control and open yourself up to such a beating!" The larger black and white tom spat a glob of crimson his tongue had swiped from his jaws onto the chest of Jokerpaw in a show of his dislike. He overcame the weight that pushed against him and lunged for the throat. In quick reaction, the BloodClan apprentice struggled to slide his head over to the side, and when he succeeded, the other tom's already ripped and smashed nose, which, like a cannible's museum, displayed upturned tissue and hanging, rotting cartilage, rammed the ground. "You assume to much Jetstream, ever thought that I wanted the beating? Perhaps to enjoy it?" The malavolent cackle split the hazy air around them, loud and shrill and clearly reflecting the insane personality of the twisted apprentice.
Jetstream's eyes lit up as his nose made solid impact with the ground, an array of colors flashing before his line of sight even as there was no pain due to the adrenaline that had wormed it's way into his head. The Warlord pulled his muzzle free of the sand with a furious snarl, snorting the grit from his already torn nostrils in a dramatic show. "Like father, like son." The deep, powerful voiced boomed through his own thoughts, yet it was not his own. A wandering soul from wastlandic depths had dropped in for a visit, or, much more specifically, to watch the fight. From the corner of Jetstream's scarred eyes, he caught a glimpse of the dark tom, black as a corrupt deamon's blood with chilling eyes that mirrored glaciers.
Caught in the sudden distraction with a scowl at the unwanted spectator, the third tier missed the dark flash that slammed into his side with painful force, claws running across his precious ribs, fangs brandished just before they plunged into the shadow blanketed tom's shoulder. A sudden, raw hatred boiled the nightmarish feline's blood as he twisted his body around at the same time as his sideways collapse to the ground. The beast's claws raked mercilessly across the top of his son's head, hooking him up and slinging over his monstrous body in a simple gesture of superiority.
Within seconds, the prodigious feline was on his large, residue painted paws and charging the fallen apprentice, teeth wrapping around his scruff to haul him into the air with tremendous power, head whipping back and forth as the incisors sank deeper and deeper into flesh and muscle with every harsh movement. Forelegs rose as Jetstream balanced upon his back limbs, driving his nails into the shoulders of Jokerpaw and dragging them over and over again across the length of his side even as he made loud noises that couldn't be deciphered as a screech of agony or laugh of pleasure. Perhaps both.
With one more exagerrated movement of the behemoth's ruined jaws, the smaller tom was slung across the golden desert grains with a spray of dirt that quickly found it's way into the horrible wounds that had been carved into the younger feline's ravaged, blood pouring sides. When the other feline didn't get up, yet his ribs still rose in fell with laboured breath, the victorious Jetstream gave a low grunt of contentivness and strode over towards his soul director with a stoic frown that seemed to always plant itself upon the face of the Prince of Blood. A small nod followed from the ethereal tom that only Jetstream could see, his low voice a wisp in Jetstream's tattered ears.
"Is that all you do all day? Hammer you'r fellow BloodClanners with constant cruelty in an effort to make them something they can never be, which is a clone of you, if I might add. And who, in their right mind, would want to be like you?" The voice was serpentine and dripped with a deadly venom, yet it held a faint resemblance of amusment somewhere in it's midst. The Warlord glanced back toward where he had left Jokerpaw, but all that remained was an already dry, stained patch of sand. "I simply want them to be worthy..." The Warlord began, but Necromancersoul cut him off with a sneer. "Of what?" Came his questioning interjection. Jetstream allowed himself a thin smile in reply.
"Of living."
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