Leviathan

I don't eat I just devour, everyone in every hour.
All is me is all I need, and that's all that I care.
Propelled through all this madness,
by your beauty and my sadness,
I'll never change or rearrange,
until I've finished what I've started.


{{OCC: }}

All I heard was an unearthly silence,
apart from the violence, explode in my head.
Where all at once was this moment of beauty,
no more since it slew me, no never again.

Adrenaline, the trigger in any monster's brain, doing both good and evil, was not a cure all. The body could ignore pain, could always be triggered for a fight, but this still put a toll on the heart who had to continuously and forever pump enough blood to support this ever fighting mongrel; and, as it were, a monster who could not feel pain did not to know when to stop. It was all well and good if you could fight until your head was chopped off, but in the end your head would still be chopped off when a smarter, although weaker, foe could have run away and kept his head literally. For Leviathan the head was quite important; he wished to live out his life with it attached, just as he wished to live with the rest of his body quite intact. Blitzkrieg may have thought differently about this wish, but when had Leviathan ever shown an ounce of a care for what the intruder thought?

And, given Leviathan cared little for his foe's thoughts, did he care what disrespect he paid the dog? None, really; he hardly saw his move as anything more than that any dog like him to do; using his size to his advantage when one decided to insult him with an attack that hardly worked with any dog who lived in the wild long enough. Even prey knew to try to keep their hunters from their throats and their lifeline – the ability to breathe. Sever that and you had food, sever that in an enemy and you had won the war in a quick, although quite brutal way. Leviathan was all for ending fights quickly, but he had no intention of dying simply because he miscalculated and left an obvious opening. When one grew old, some believed they grew haughty and forgot that they were mortal; for Leviathan, who had lived as the nightmarish beast caution and defensive tactics were always what he had known. He had to know how to defend himself more than anything; offensive could come when you decided you saw the opening, until then, if you were confronted, it was best to let the enemy think whatever he pleased. He may have been called a coward of a dog but what did that matter if he won? Though Leviathan's chances of winning were slim, and impossible when one thought of winning definitively – Blitzkrieg was still a creature of science, and it would take more than one encounter to fall him, just as Leviathan was the ambassador for the end times, it would take more than one encounter to end him, too.

"Armleuchter..."

Unlike his opponent, Leviathan had little use for words. He was by nature a rather quiet man who kept to himself and only spoke when something of worth came into his head; a time of confrontation, no matter how frustrated Leviathan got, was not one of those times. While Blitzkrieg was using his rage to channel all his power, there was something off in Leviathan's eyes. While they were dotting the orange colour that his eyes often fell into when his rage was unleashed, there also existed a sort of boredom. Any of Leviathan's breed had this sort of look in their eyes as they watched petty smaller, yet faster, dogs run circle around taunting them and trying to get them to play. While Blitzkrieg had charged forward, Leviathan had braced for the impact; when none came, Leviathan looked to see the blur out of the corner of his eyes. Rather than turn his head and lash out at the blur, Leviathan moved forward, almost in a false start, perhaps to trigger what Blitzkrieg had intended upon doing; Leviathan's mouth opened but he did not lower his neck completely to snatch the dog; he was all too aware of Blitzkrieg's speed compared to his own, but to think that he would be able to pinned down was silly. Leviathan instead focused his attention on accuracy, and rearranged his paws to be positioned in a counter; while Blitzkrieg aimed for Leviathan's neck nerve, Leviathan dove for Blitzkrieg's stomach while he was in mid-air in an attempt to grab hold of the dog and slam him down on the ground. The low incline of Leviathan's neck would help with this, but only if he hit.

 

Word Count: 891
Table picture by: Sighthound

Drink, that's all you can.
Listen, that's all you can,
Dream, that's all you can,


{{OCC: }}

Live, thats all you can,
Be thankful, that's all you can,
Just doin' the best I can.

It mattered not to Leviathan if Blitzkrieg felt pain; one didn't need to feel pain in order to die. The monster could eat him alive if that was what it came to, but it was too quick to believe that tonight's scuffle would end in dinner. The war-dog may have been bred for fighting, for being the ultimate weapon, but wasn't it ironic that those who had bred him; the Nazis and the like, had failed in their mission to eradicate the impure? Of course they had come close, but it was rather laughable from Leviathan's standpoint, whose breed had successfully wiped wolves out of Ireland. Not that Leviathan thought of this, he didn't even know of his breed's past of Blitzkrieg's breeding. It mattered little, Blitzkrieg was nothing more than a fairly muscular wolf to the wolfhound. The monster's instincts told him how to fight, what to watch out for; not that he needed this, it was to be assumed Leviathan had been in many fights. Go for the neck, end the battle quick – only the youngest fell for that some sort of attack. Leviathan had no fear of this dog, he knew what he had done and knew how to defend himself. He was old, and knew better than to start fights he couldn't finish.

"I said... ... That is none of your business."

Of course. Any sense of dignity this dog had in Leviathan's eyes faulted and crumbled. Maybe he had acted too quickly, but the monster was a monster due to his fuse. He could be provoked so easily, and this old soldier demanded some sort of respect. Could he be faulted for it? Well this machine, this war-dog with all his ability, was unstable. If Leviathan had not burst forth first, than certainly the Shepherd would have. Science had nothing upon Nature and Nurture. Scientists could create the ultimate weapon, but rust would rot it away. There was always a balance with nature, even if it had to be distorted in order to achieve this order. Perhaps the giant monster was this balance, he met the war dog in his own way. An intruder who decided he could say what he wanted and get away with it without any sort of repercussion. The old wiry dog didn't know what exactly he was getting into; human trained dogs were something to be reckoned with, to be sure, but Leviathan was an ancient killing machine. His breed was the war machine, perfect and without the emotional faults that Blitzkrieg's had! The clash of the old and the new would certainly be a bloody one. Science was a very sensitive thing; machines broke down without maintenance, things rotted away with the mere touch of water. But the nature? The nurturing ways of life? Well it lived on, quite well, if one could look at Leviathan as proof of the concept. Even if life was not nurturing, nature lived on, while science needed to be walked through carefully, 'lest it fall apart. Dreadful.

The swipe had missed, and Leviathan's paw scratched against the surface of the ground. Stumbling over his legs in a very controlled fashion, he just barely missed being latched onto by the leech of a wolf. He felt the wind from the dog's attack; the beast nearly weight as much as he, but the monster didn't care. Seeing that they stood next to each other now, Leviathan tried to plow into Blitzkrieg, shoulder first, either to knock the dog down or to send them both down. To think this war-dog decided that he could take down the aged ancestor that easily! It was an amateur move, an insult, to try to end him in this way. Not to mention Leviathan was still taller than Blitzkrieg, to go after the muzzle was rather silly; the throat, however, was open – the wolfhound knew this, certainly. As for sadistic tendencies? Leviathan would prove to be quite sadistic; he was a cannibal, after all. He would eat his own severed limb, he would drink his own blood, although he favoured the blood of this enemy. He was certain such a muscular and well bred fellow would taste wonderful, much better than a stringy old man.

 

Word Count: 827
Table picture by: Sighthound

Drink, that's all you can.
Listen, that's all you can,
Dream, that';s all you can,


{{OCC: }}

Live, thats all you can,
Be thankful, tha's all you can,
Just doin' the best I can.

The soldier dog met the monster's gaze, instinct told Leviathan this wouldn't end well at all. Dogs did not stare each other down unless some tension was to be broken; this dog, this war-dog was definitely full of himself and willing to defend whatever it was he thought he had to defend. Leviathan of course, felt no need to be submissive, this dog was not his master – when he had been a wanderer, no dog had been his master, he could stare down any number of city dogs. However city dogs and this German Shepherd were different, the monster would have to be careful. Old age or not, he was still a monster, could still be provoked by the number of prodding people put him through, in this case, this wanderer's simple defiance. They both knew their abilities, and that was the issue. Neither one was ready to back down. All it took was an innocent prick and they would be set off. The monster exhaled, dist fell off of his nose and his fangs descended from his wiry fur.

"Das ist nicht deine Sache, Gesöff."

“What?” Leviathan grumbled, the dog's words were foreign, but the tone told him whatever the dog said it wasn't positive. It wasn't someone not wanting confrontation, it was an arrogant war-dog trained by man – or bred by man – to do horrid things, while Leviathan was not made by man. He shaped his own destiny. “Yeh know what I asked, speak in the same tongue I do.” Leviathan's voice was aged, growling, rumbling like the starting of a volcano. Leviathan was irked by this demon; he knew what was asked of him and decided to speak in some sharp, angry tongue that Leviathan did not recognise. He obviously knew the language Leviathan spoke, and perhaps it was a simple mistake, but this dog could not be forgiven. They had kept their eyes locked on one another, both had proven neither one was going to prove less dominant. This war-dog provoked the monster, and the monster, ever slowly, became less patient. His breed had been known to be patient; but he was not the base of his breed. He was an abnormality, feasting upon others, and the thought of eating this dog seemed hard to pass up. Leviathan wasn't hungry, but he could go for a meal; he had never tasted a war-dog before, and this fit able male would prove to be an interesting taste.

Without any true sign, Leviathan lifted a paw and slammed it in the direction of Blitzkrieg's skull; the first attack, perhaps it would hit, perhaps not, but the monster hardly cared. He had given this monster a chance, and he defied him. It was no longer about taking him prisoner, it was about hunger, about gluttony. If he dragged the dog back to Raidon and Hitora, so be it, if he dragged his wounded body alone back to Raidon and Hitora, so be it. The wolfhound put his knighthood behind him, this opposing force was not going to leave this area quietly. His eyes, slowly, began to dip the colour of blood; the beast's rage, from grey to a slightly tinged red-orange. The German Shepherd may have been bred to be a soldier with distinct and strong power, but Leviathan had learned and become a monster that few could push over easily. Nature versus Nurture, indeed.

 

Word Count: 694
Table picture by: Sighthound

Drink, that's all you can.
Listen, that's all you can,
Dream, that';s all you can,


{{OCC: }}

Live, thats all you can,
Be thankful, tha's all you can,
Just doin' the best I can.

"Blitzkrieg,"

The foreign name meant little to Leviathan; while Blitzkrieg analyzed him and saw him to be an enemy, Leviathan looked at the dog wandering where he had come from. He was a large dog, larger than Leviathan had expected, and his collar seemed to alert Leviathan of having relations with man – always a bad sign. Man could do many things to a dog, both good and bad. Maybe this dog was just lost, but his lack of words made Leviathan think otherwise. This dog didn't speak like a lost dog, he spoke like a dog who knew exactly where he was and was unwilling to talk. Exhaling, Leviathan continued with his questions, “do ye know where ye are? And if ye do, why are ye 'ere?” The great monster dog looked at the bred war-dog; he knew nothing of the war this dog was bred for. He hardly knew what on earth Allied Powers would have meant in this context; probably something along the lines of Ohu or the South Alps – but this was no Ohu dog. This was an outsider, Leviathan was sure of it.

“I am Leviathan,” the old dog spoke, staring at Blitzkrieg, alert but more like someone watching a prisoner. What was this dog's intentions? He did not seem to be a threat, other than not answering questions beyond their words and standing alert. Yes, this dog definitely was one trained by man, Leviathan was certain. For what, however, Leviathan could only guess; most likely something that meant violence, humans loved to breed dogs for such. Leviathan could not even begin to grasp Blitzkrieg's past; or what the name 'Leviathan', a Jewish creature showing the end of the world, would mean to the Shepherd. The old dog hardly moved, he kept the war-dog in his sights, and did not let his guard down. This beast would prove interesting, even so, the Wolfhound mix did not want confrontation. He would surely give it his all, given the chance, but he was old; the less energy he wasted the better. It would be better to take this dog prisoner and present him to Raidon or Hitora than dismember this fellow on his own terms. With this dog's expertise – he seemed almost like a soldier – Leviathan could assume, if he were willing to follow any orders, he would be a worthwhile member to the South Alps. Until he had the war-dog in his power, however, Leviathan would not speak of the South Alps, Raidon, or Hitora. He hardly needed this fellow lumbering into the heart of their pack and destroying them based on information given to him by a cannibal. The thought amused Leviathan; if this war-dog was a soldier, trained by humans to do awful things, would he expect a dog as old as he, to eat him alive? Probably not.

 

Word Count: 601
Table picture by: Sighthound

                    

 

                                             
                        Drink, that's all you can.
                        Listen, that's all you can,
                        Dream, that';s all you can,
                        
                        
                        {{OCC: }}
                        
                        Live, thats all you can,
                        Be thankful, tha's all you can,
                        Just doin' the best I can.                     
                    
                     The sea monster took his time lumbering along the ground. His nose was to the ground, although his ears perked; it was rare he decided to patrol for the South Alps, but sometimes he could catch a few wanderers off their guard. Seeing such a large beast seemed to provide people with protection if they spoke or acted a certain way, and would fill them fear if they acted another. The darkness hardly mattered to Leviathan. Some were well suited to the night, others well suited to the day, but he had learned long ago one had to take whatever one could. He had learned to be opportunistic, to wander long enough meant he'd find food sooner or later. However he wasn't hungry today; although it was hardly like him to turn down a meal if it appeared, the cannibal did not look for a fight. Lifting his head slowly, his eyes and nose scanned the darkness. His eyes were not the best, due to his age, but he could still smell things. A scent he did not know came into his skull. For a moment he wondered if it was the one he had been warned against by Skoll, however this demon was not the same, so he thought. Whether or not this demon was better or worse compared to Meccu, however, Leviathan hardly could guess. This was still an intruder, and an intruder had to be dealt with. Holding back a sigh, the old dog moved toward Blitzkrieg, still unaware of where the dog was. However the scent grew stronger; the dog had been around this are for quite some time. This troubled the great beast; how could they have not seen it?

Tilting his head, a faint rustle caught his attention. Someone was deciding upon resting in the forest; probably the one Leviathan searched for. He wasn't cautious in his approaching, nor was he scared or full of pride. He simply lumbered on, almost dragging his paws, it seemed, although this was not due to any of his bones falling apart. Indeed, they were not as strong as they once were, but Leviathan simply had a way about him. He was an old monster, while others claimed to be death itself, Leviathan claimed so such thing. He ate to live, lived to eat; he had no intention of taking over any area; but those who opposed his 'king' or his 'queen' were going to meet a knight of odd perception. Letting out a growl, Leviathan paused; the scent and sound got stronger, he no longer meandered along as if he were lost, but instead his steps were deliberate. "Who be 'ere?" His tongue traced over his aged fangs and his eyes scanned the darkness for the monster, the dog, the dog in monster's mind. He had little idea what to expect, but he expected this was no lost dog. This was a threat, so it was best to be on guard or simply not to make idiotic mistakes. Leviathan was old, he was not going to let himself fall into inexperienced trickery, oh, no. Still; he had never come across one like Blitzkrieg. He knew nothing of his own past, let alone the past of the humans' world. His dog was older than he, probably had seen even more than he, but the wolfhound mix didn't care. He was bred to take on wolves; even if that practice had long since fallen away, he still had the ability. A large Shepherd was simply another kind of wolf, one might say.                     

 

                    
                    
                    Word Count: 712
                    Table picture by: Sighthound