thearena | (no subject)

Who| Atticus & Wesker
What| For Wrath and Ruin!
Where| Tomorrowland, for the most part
When| Friday
Warnings/Notes| Death post! So, the usual. Violence and whatnot. (And Atticus' unfortunate nudity.)

There were a number of things that Atticus didn't like about turning into a wolf. The burning pain was definitely number one, but he also didn't like the way he didn't have control and the way he couldn't seem to get his human brain to communicate with his wolf brain sometimes.

Like now, for instance.

He'd been staying mostly in Fantasyland since he knew that's where he had his wolfiness and he knew what a bonus that could be. But he'd run into the Small World ride for some shelter and come across a few of the muttations in there. Terrifying. Now he remembered how he always used to avoid Small World when he came here, and he wished he'd kept to that. Of course as soon as their teeth came out, Atticus' wolf side took over, and he shifted, howling painfully, and took off running.

And because he couldn't get his wolf and human sides to be friends, he couldn't tell his wolf brain not to run into Tomorrowland, so that's exactly what it did as it sprinted from the terrifying children.

As soon as he crossed the border, there was a painful shift back, and Atticus was left, naked and sweating and still running further into Tomorrowland. (Sometimes his human brain took a little while to take over again.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There were a number of tributes that had settled in Tomorrowland, some more talented than others, and Wesker, his great power restored, had been keeping tabs on them. Studying them. Looking for weaknesses. Plotting and planning.

The sudden appearance of a new face might have thrown a wrench into the works, but somehow, Wesker found it difficult to be concerned as he watched the young man run up, naked and panting.

How he had gotten into such a state was a curiosity, but not one Wesker bothered to dwell on. What did it matter how the stranger had come to be, when he already knew what would happen next.

With a deep exhale, he detached from the wall of the eatery, and slipped through the shadows as only he could. A ripple of pale lavender and white-blond, smoke-like, moving closer.

Atticus was totally oblivious to being watched. None of his enhanced senses worked the way they should when he wasn't in the right area of the arena. When he got a little ways into the area, he finally slowed, pausing under a tree to catch his breath. His clothes would be back in Small World, he knew, but he wasn't sure how he could get back to them without running into those kids again.

Perhaps Atticus heard him there toward the end - the scrape of a pebble beneath his shoe, the ripple of his cape as he moved - but, even so, it didn't matter. Here, in this place, Wesker was next to unstoppable.

He was suddenly there, appearing as if from thin air, his long, impossibly strong fingers curling around Atticus' throat. Squeezing, choking, strangling, as he lifted the young man free of the ground and slammed him back against the tree.

He said nothing, his face an impassive mask, his eyes hidden away behind the impenetrable dark lenses of his glasses, as he stared up into Atticus' face.

He did hear something, but by the time he'd turned to see what it was there were hands around his throat, and his feet were off the ground. Much as he hated shifting, hated losing control that way, he wished that he could now, could save himself that way. He twists in the man's grip, hands coming up instinctively to wrap around the man's forearms, trying to push them away even as he lashes out with a foot to kick his attacker, just wanting to get away enough to attempt flight back to Fantasyland.

The first kick took him in the side and though Wesker grunted, he wasn't deterred, his fingers only tightened on Atticus' throat into a crushing grip. The next one though, was high and with a sickening crack Wesker's head whipped to the side, his glasses flying away, his hands falling as he staggered back.

But it was only a heartbeat before there was another snap of bone and his broken nose visibly reset, muscle and bone shifted beneath his skin, healing before Atticus' very eyes.

His teeth flashed, white and menacing, and a hand dragged across his lips, wiping away the blood before he came again - moving so fast, he was nothing more than a pale streak.

Atticus managed a soft, "Fuck," at the bone snapping back into place, and he scrambled to his feet to get away. He didn't think he'd make it far, but he pushed off the ground into a spring in his attempt to escape.

But Wesker was there, his body braced and his shoulder down in a brutal check designed to send Atticus sprawling again. To disorient him and keep him down long enough for Wesker to follow up with a hard kick to the ribs.

With a deep groan, Atticus curled in on himself, instinctively protecting his middle. He had literally nothing protecting him from this man, and he couldn't even manage to scramble away through the pain.

Atticus' curled defensively around his ribs and Wesker merely shifted, taking the opening that the young man provided. He stopped kicking... and started stomping instead, his boot heel coming down in a crushing blow on Atticus' skull with enough force to crack bone and teeth.

Atticus had just enough time to wonder if this would even kill him if he were somewhere he was still all wolfy before he blacked out completely.

Wesker brought his heel down once, twice,... the sharp snap and crack of bone degrading into a wet squelching before - silence. A quiet unbroken but for the sound of Wesker's breathing, of the beating of his heart. Unbroken but for the echoing boom of the cannon.