#you won’t ever catch me drawing a shirtless man without top scars
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Enemies to Enemies
This is an original story by me. Please do not reblog without giving credit. If you have questions or suggestions, let me know!
Warnings: Murder, violence, suggestiveness, cursing
The crowd in the abandoned warehouse roared as the massive man stepped into the makeshift ring. He towered above everyone, built entirely from muscle and strength. He had small tusks that protruded from behind his lower lips, and his long, dark hair was braided with bones. His dark skin seemed to have a greenish tint to it, but that could’ve been a trick of the light. He only wore jeans, leaving his feet and chest bare, but strapped across his back was an ax that glinted dangerously.
As he walked to the center of the ring, the crowd only cheered more. He roared with the audience and threw up his hands when the announcer called from a box near the top, “Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to the Western Faction’s undefeated champion, Cintran the half-orc! With an astounding two-hundred and thirteen wins, Cintran is a fearsome beast indeed!”
Cintran grinned and gave an impromptu bow to the audience.
From the other end of the ring, the doors opened. The announcer once again picked up the megaphone. “And here is our very own champion from the Eastern Faction, Dante the half-fae! Dante has been fighting for over a decade now. Though he may look small compared to Cintran, I would be careful how you place your bets! Dante has won four-hundred and seventy-two fights, and I can tell that tonight’s match will be an interesting one!”
Cintran whipped around to snarl at the announcer, but his attention was quickly captured by the man that strode through the doors opposite him.
The first thing Cintran noticed about Dante was his fluffy white hair that sat perfectly atop his head. Even his eyebrows and eyelashes were white. His eyes were a stunning gold, and his skin was a light, golden brown. Dante was tall, by human standards, perhaps six-foot-two or six-foot-three, though he still stood a head shorter than Cintran. He was lean and muscular, with broader shoulders and long, thin hands. His chest and arms held many tattoos of symbols and sigils, with even more tattoos centered around death and the devil. Like Cintran, Dante was shirtless and shoeless, only wearing a pair of jeans. Unlike Cintran, Dante carried no weapon. His eyes were narrowed, as was his smile, and the only thing Cintran could think was snake.
Nonetheless, Cintran straightened his shoulders and grinned wider. The man in front of him was miniscule and half-fae. Cintran would make quick work of him.
The announcer continued to ramble on as the two opponents began to circle one another. Cintran smiled sweetly. “So, faerie boy. You gonna grow me flowers to death? Sing me a lullaby?”
Dante didn’t respond immediately, sizing Cintran up. His brow was furrowed, but his muscles were loose and relaxed. “Perhaps. It could make you smell better.”
Cintran grit his teeth as he drew the ax from his back. “Stand still and this will all be over soon.”
Before Dante could even think about replying, the half-orc charged and swung the ax at him. Cintran was sure that the ax had landed a blow, but he heard no scream and smelled no blood. Where Dante had been half a second before stood a tall tree stump that held the ax. Cintran tugged on the handle, but the tree stump started to grow and consume the weapon, forcing it firmly in place. There was a sharp whistle from behind him, and there stood Dante. The smaller man smiled slyly as Cintran roared and charged. As soon as he was in range, the half-orc threw a skull shattering punch directed to Dante’s head, but the half-fae grabbed Cintran’s arm and used the momentum to flip him onto his back.
The roar of the crowd grew so loud that it was deafening as Dante kneeled, driving his knee just below Cintran’s ribcage. The man tried to get up, but Dante had knocked the air from his lungs, and thick, thorny vines began to grow around his wrists, ankles and throat. The thorns pricked Cintran’s tough skin, drawing hundreds of dots of blood. He grunted as the half-fae’s knee dug deeper into his abdomen. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. This loss was too quick, too weak, and too humiliating.
Above him, Dante looked almost sad. There was a feigned coldness to his expression, but in his eyes laid a deep sorrow that he just couldn’t cover. In the claustrophobic, ear-splitting arena, the thorns tightened around Cintran’s neck and his vision grew dark and fuzzy. Dante might’ve whispered an apology, but Cintran couldn’t quite make out the words.
Fast as lightning, Dante’s hand plunged into Cintran’s chest. The world went black before Cintran could even register the pain. The half-fae stood, holding Cintran’s heart high above his head, the red blood falling onto his face and hair as the crowd roared and cheered.
Dante was wiping the blood from his face and chest when Lady Aura walked into the small room where he stayed. Her coat was made of a manticore pelt and her boots were made from the skin of an orc. She wore a silvery scarf about her pale neck. Some said she dyed her hair red with the blood of the Eastern Faction’s victims. She laid a thin hand on his shoulder, her smile sickly sweet.
“My, Dante. What a fight that was today…” Her fingers trailed down his spine.
Dante stood rigid, only his arms moving to rinse off the towel. “Mm. My last, too.”
Lady Aura’s fingers stopped their scuttling just at the small of his back. “Your last? Dante, however did you get that idea? After all, you belong to me.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
“No. I owed you eleven years of service. Today marks the eleventh year.” Dante cast a sideways smile to the woman next to him. He knew how to play her game. Straightening up, he was at least half a foot taller than her. “Now that my time is up, you owe me all you know about Henri Townsend.”
“I don’t recall such a deal, Dante.”
“The spell I cast upon you does.” Grabbing the woman’s arm, he pressed his fingers to her wrist. A black, inky mark appeared on her palm as an identical symbol appeared on Dante’s neck. “Lie to me or refuse your end and you’ll receive a slow, agonizing death.”
Lady Aura snatched her arm away from Dante’s grasp. “I know more about magic than you ever could, boy. Don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not lying, my lady. My freedom and information on the witch is all I ask.”
“I know nothing of this Henri Townsend.”
Dante sighed, pulling a shirt over his torso. He turned away from Lady Aura to pack his things into his bag when the woman’s breath became labored. He turned around and watched with a cold expression as Lady Aura choked upon her own blood, the mark on her arm expanding and charring her skin. She sank to her knees, her eyes becoming red and bloodshot, remaining trained on Dante’s face. There was a hatred there that Dante had never seen. The mark on Dante’s neck burned, but he refused to break eye contact with the woman.
As Lady Aura took her final breath, Dante knelt and removed anything valuable from her body. He took the scarf she always wore, draping it across his shoulder as he stepped out of the room. He murmured a spell, locking the door tightly. No one would find her body for a few hours.
The guards took one glance at Lady Aura’s scarf and let Dante leave without question. Once he was a good distance away in a town he didn’t recognize, he stopped to take in the world around him. The pavement on the streets was faded cracked, and some of the buildings were small and in disrepair. He was used to the world changing; after all, he had been alive for over two hundred years. But eleven years in captivity had seemed to be a lifetime. Sinking against a brick wall in a small alleyway, Dante began to flip through a tattered notebook. Every being he had murdered, he had murdered for nothing. He should’ve known that Lady Aura would never have kept her word. After eleven years, he was no closer to finding the witch.
A huge man entered the alleyway, blocking out the weak sunlight. The man was handsome; he had long, black hair that was braided with small bones, pointed ears, dark skin with a greenish tint, and brown eyes alight with mischief. A short beard outlined his jaw and small tusks protruded from behind his lower lip.
“Howdy, Dante.” Cintran took a step forward.
Dante scrambled to his feet, backpedaling quickly. Cintran had died only hours before, yet here he was, as if nothing had happened. He wore nicer jeans now, a clean white shirt, and a leather jacket.
“Cat got your tongue, Dante? I expected a better welcome! I’ve spent hours trying to catch up with you, y’know.” Cintran grinned, but Dante couldn’t tell if there was malice behind it.
Finally, Dante found his ability to speak. “What the fuck… I killed you. I ripped out your heart.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. Kinda stung, and now I’ve got this weird scar.” Cintran pulled his shirt down to show a circular scar on his chest. The scar was completely healed.
“How the fuck are you alive?!” Dante’s hand crept for the silver knife in his pocket.
“Oh, you know. The perks of sleeping with the necromancer on staff. I have to admit, dying was weird. But I’m better now! And, since I died, the Western Faction thinks my body was burned, so I’m home free.”
“What the fuck.” Dante wasn’t sure what was going on. He straightened himself, preparing for a fight. “So what? You back to try and win? There’s no necromancer around this time, Cintran.”
“Nah. We’re cool.”
“Wait, what? Then why the hell did you follow me?!”
Cintran grinned, his teeth and tusks pearly white. “I heard you’re looking for Henri Townsend. I know how to get to the bastard.”
Dante blinked. “How…”
“Ah-ah,” Cintran stopped him, “I’m getting something out of this too. I don’t know why you want to get to him, but he has something I want. If I tell you how to get to him, I’m coming along with you.”
“And who’s to say you won’t just kill me? What if this is some big ruse?”
“Because I need your abilities, my friend. I’m a chill dude. I don’t get rustled over much. A little death never killed anyone.”
Dante didn’t respond, wondering if Cintran was in his right mind.
“Anyway,” Cintran continued, “Us prisoner gladiators gotta stick together, when we aren’t killing one another.”
“So…” Dante paused, gathering his bearings, “What do you want from Townsend?”
“That’s for me to know.”
Dante rolled his eyes, allowing himself to relax a bit. “I will kill you if you try anything. And next time, I’ll make sure you stay dead.”
“Sure thing, kid. I’m not lying. Do some of your voodoo or whatever to see if I am.” Cintran grinned, cocking an eyebrow.
Dante pinched his temple. “First, I’m not a kid. I’m two-hundred and thirteen years old. Second, it’s not voodoo. Voodoo is a different form of magic that I’m not quite acquainted with.”
“Damn! You look good for such an old geezer!”
“Shut it.”
Cintran chuckled, leaning against the alley wall, inspecting his black nails. From this angle, Dante could see the silver earrings that adorned the other man’s ears. Cintran’s eyes were shadowed, and he gave Dante a crooked smile. “We both want something from this witch, Dante. I can either help you, or you and I can both lose. We fought because we had to. Hell, you killed me because you had to. So, make it up to me. Help me get to this witch.”
Studying the man in front of him, Dante tightened his book bag around his shoulders. Cintran was right; he wasn’t lying. And after a hundred years of searching… Dante was desperate.
“Fine.” Dante held out a slender hand.
Cintran grinned, grasping Dante’s hand in his calloused one. “Perfect.”
Dante turned, settling back on his place against the wall. Leaning his head back against the bricks, he studied Cintran’s face. “We’re going to have to do something about the bone braids and tusks though.”
“What?!” Cintran touched a finger to one of his tusks, clearly offended.
“Come on, man. People will freak out if they see those things.” Dante felt a headache coming on. So far, dealing with Cintran was about the same as dealing with a prepubescent child.
Cintran began to pace, muttering angrily as he took the bones from his hair, tossing them aside. “Fine, I’ll get rid of these. They weren’t really my choice anyway. Had to look the part of a killer, y’know? But my tusks… I’ll be a laughingstock without them.”
Dante muttered, “A lack of tusks isn’t the reason you’re a laughing stock.”
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
Cintran shrugged. “Anyway, I can’t get rid of these.”
“I’m not pulling your tusks out, man. I’m just shrinking them so they hide behind your lip. Like just really large lower canines. I mean, your upper tusks just look like large canines.”
“God, you’re the worst. Alright, fine. But don’t you dare get rid of them. Only shrink them.”
“Alright, sit still.”
Dante focused on Cintran from across the alleyway, using his magic until the tusks shrank from view. When he was finished, Cintran touched the tusks, which now resembled extremely large teeth. “This sucks.”
“You can close your mouth all the way now.”
“I could do that before.”
“You really couldn’t. Have you listened to how much you talk?”
“Fuck you.”
Dante rolled his eyes, yawning and curling around his book bag. “Whatever. Go find somewhere else to sleep. This alleyway was mine first.”
Dante heard no reply, but when he glanced to where Cintran had been, there was only empty space. He didn’t like how quickly and quietly the half-orc could move.
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