Thread: Krimson's Writing Samples (Status in first post)

RE Krimson's Space 06-15-2014 It would appear that her father had not been incorrect about her lacking discipline. Before his untimely death, the demon lord often shook his head at her, his youngest daughter. Jezebel didn't understand him then - she was fast for her age, and strong too. But he had been right about her excessive pride. The same pride got her thrown out by her older siblings, and now, being pummeled by a mere mortal. She had underestimated the mortal's speed, realized far too late as surprisingly strong fingers seized her arm. Her triumphant laugh broken by an uncharacteristic squeal as Mary all but yanked her out of the air, the back of her head hitting the cold hard concrete. Her wings helped break the fall, but before she could snap out of the daze of being manhandled so, the etched metal struck caught her jaw, across the bridge of her nose, and just kept coming. For a moment, Jezebel simply struggled, adrenaline and instincts in full control as she attempted to dislodge the crazed hunter. And there was no doubt about it - this woman was as psychotic as they came. But even as her wings beat against Mary, tearing new scratches and inflaming the old, the hunter was entirely unmoved in her relentless assault. Jezebel had fought off other hunters before, but never once had she found herself in this situation, being literately bludgeoned half to death. As it grew increasingly clear that panicked struggle would not save her, the demon's quick mind was already turning. Pain-glazed ambers flashed bright gold, and she summoned what she could of her magic. There was the slight sound of creaking metal, drowned about by her own cries of agony, and then a torn piece of sturdy metal cable was ripped from the wall and sent flying right at them from behind the hunter's back. The sinewy cables struck true, knocking the woman aside. And already they were bending, twisting and coiling around the hunter, holding her arms immobile by her side. With a wince, Jezebel picked herself up off of the ground. A clawed hand gingerly touched her jaw, and she winced again. She could taste copper, her own blood freely flowing from her battered face and lips, the price of her arrogance. Demonic golds gazed coldly at the struggling hunter. You will pay for that, bitch. She spat out, bruised and bloodied face twisted even further in a snarl. With another wave of her hand, she summoned the etched gun from the ground to her palm. An executioner's shot. Fitting for one who sought to execute her. But even as she raised her arm to shoot, those frenzied green-blue eyes inspired a better idea. This hunter was foolish to hunt alone, but her strength was incontestable. She had, after all, temporarily bested even Jezebel herself. Appraising golds examined the hunter's form, lingering at the straining muscles and the face convoluted by rage. No...she would not kill the hunter. Not yet. Such a feral creature could be made to serve much greater purposes. Abigor's face flashed through her mind. Jezebel smiled, arrogance and sensuality molding into one as she walked toward the hunter. Good night. A dark whisper, before she slammed the hilt of the pistol into the side of the hunter's temple, knocking the woman out. Much greater purposes indeed...but first, a hound must be trained before it can be sent out to hunt. Some breaking in is in order. Throwing the gun carelessly on top of the prone woman, she crossed both arms overhead and began to chant. A strange demonic incantation. Perhaps, with age and experience, she would master the art. But as young as she was, the best she could manage was short-ranged teleportation to a known target after a long incantation. Luckily for her, her loft wasn't far from here. When the hunter came to, she would find herself spreadeagled in chains. Her wrists bound by thick, linked steel hanging from seemingly nothing, and similar shackles binding her ankles to the ground, giving just barely enough room to struggle, but not to lash out or strike. But a dark dungeon she would not find, nor any obvious instruments of torture. Please, Jezebel had class. Mary was chained in her extravagant living room, held by demonic magic - she had taken the time to carefully enforce each post, no mortal could escape such a prison. It was almost humorous to look upon the passed out hunter, hair matted and wound still seeping crimson from where her claw had cut through skin. A sudden paltry concern worried Jezebel. All that blood...and the more that's come, hopefully it wouldn't stain her carpet and white leather sofa set too much. No matter, she had to change before the hunter woke. Appearing as disheveled as Mary did un-befitting for a demon of ancient blood. With the hunter secured in her living room, Jezebel went to clean up. Healing herself took time - magic was quite convenient in that regard. Soft golden light emitting from her hand slowly soothed the obvious gashes and bruises, and she breathed a soft sigh of relief. Gosh, getting beat up simply wasn't fun she'd have to return the favor, and soon. But first, a shower, and a change of cloth. It was nearly thirty minutes before the demon re-emerged from her bedroom, hair slightly dripping water, face unblemished as ever. She wore a simple bathrobe, a short little number of flimsy and black fabric, one clearly designed to entice rather than serve any practical purposes. It covered her hips and most of her breast, but left practically everything else bare. A single droplet of water caressed invitingly down her cleavage her tanned skin gleamed under the daylight filtering from the large lake-facing bay windows. The loft was high - but there was no guarantee that a passing pedestrian wouldn't catch a glimpse should they choose to look up. Well well, how the table have turned. The demon murmured as she approached, even the impervious smirk could not damage her raw sensuality.