Venom's Story: Fire At Will

Atnynvus.

Soul-anger.

Rage.

Soul-anger.

Atnynvus.

Fitting.

Atnynvus, he was to be called. Not his name, but fitting nonetheless. He would have said he preferred being called "rage", or more literally "soul-anger", to his real name, because he was soul-angry. He was angry to the deepest depths of his being. Except he could say nothing, because no one else knew so he could not share, and he couldn't like the name, fitting or not, because he knew he would be called that, he knew he would prefer it to his true name, and thus he hated it.

As he hated all things that he knew. Because he knew them.

Soul-anger.

Kkra kimykohra.

Atnynvus.

Fitting.

Ross-Zhalott-Venom was angry, too. His was not a soul-deep, terrible anger, but it was anger, nonetheless. He had been kidnapped, imprisoned, ordered around, terrified, shaken, bored out of his mind, attacked, forced to bleed and draw blood which he hated above all else, and then bonded.

Rage.

Raserei.

Aynynvus.

Fitting.

Atnynvus stalked after his new bond towards the hanger where teleportation was allowed. They were going very quickly, but he didn't complain-- he couldn't complain, because it would be sharing the knowledge that he was unhappy, even if he wanted to. Ross-Zhalott-Venom-- one name would have sufficed, but Atnynvus knew all names, and all three names was what his new bond was, so that was how he knew him-- wanted to leave the Storm of the Black Wasteland as far behind as he could. So did Atnynvus. Except he knew that he would, and so he hated that, too.

Hatred.

Soul-anger.

Ruuvarru asythu.

Ira del alma.

Atnynvus.

He lunged, without any warning that anyone could discern, and chomped down on Ross-Zhalott-Venom's tail. It was a vain attempt at circumventing his terrible knowledge. Except he knew he was going to do it. And he knew he was destined to try, and to fail, no matter how many times the thought occurred to him. Because he already knew the thought was going to occur to him.

Fury.

Kkra-imyrkal.

Ursinne.

Atnynvus.

Fitting.

Ross-Zhalott-Venom roared at him, he knew he would roar at him, and turned to give him a vicious kick, sending him sprawling. Even big as he was, out of all his siblings, Ross-Zhalott-Venom was bigger. He picked himself up heavily, growling deep in his chest and echoing out through all three heads. Ross-Zhalott-Venom growled back, and lashed his tail, sending hot blood spraying briefly in Atnynvus's faces before the wounds healed, not leaving even a scar.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Ross-Venom-Zhalott snarled. "Don't fucking attack me again, you little twerp!"

"Don't order me around," Atnynvus ground back at him, from one head. Another was slowly, insolently licking blood from the speaking muzzle, golden eyes fixed malevolently on his bonded. He saw disgust warring with base, instinctive desire in equally golden eyes. He knew where that desire came from-- but because no one else did, he could not speak of it. Which was just as well, because he didn't want to.

Except he knew he wouldn't want to, which also made him wish he could just out of spite. And he knew he would wish that, too, which just made him angry all over again. This time he lashed out at a passing Chosen who had not been picked, one of the many. He missed-- and he knew he would miss, hatchling clumsy and tired already and, worst of all, fated to miss. He also knew that his attack had made the now-frightened humanoid-- no, not humanoid; Atnynvus knew every gene in her make-up and could call her by any one of the five different species mixed up in her blood-- glad that she had not bonded. It was not in her future to bond. He knew it. And because he knew it, he wanted to tear her to shreds.

And he knew that, too.

Malice.

Tamashiino ikari.

Tuun viirok.

Atnynvus.

Ross-Zhalott-Venom spun around, hands clenched in fists, and stalked off again. Atnynvus followed, because he was his bond, and now he was stuck with him. His chosen. Chosen because of shared anger, though nowhere near the same anger; chosen out of the handy ability to survive whatever Atnynvus could dish out; chosen because... he had no choice.

Soul-anger.

Atnynvus.

So, so fitting.