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Victria

"Anger Management"

This log takes place during the 4 hour lull between the 6/6 and 6/13 sims.

-

 

 

 

Three of the Scorpiad attacked at once, pedipalps clicking wildly. One of those deadly claws was enough to sever a humanoid in half with little pressure. The tips of their stingers thrust forward over their heads, sometimes striking faster than the eye could track. Victria danced in the middle of the horde, screaming in defiance as she escaped harm time and time again. Whirling, ducking, rolling in and out of their range, she toyed with them until she tired of the game, then she would strike.

 

The first snapped a mighty pincher where she had been and found a blade buried in the joint where the claw met the next segment. A severing of tissue there rendered it useless. While it screamed and thrashed wildly, another struck, stinger thudding into the deck plating where she once stood. Again her blade flashed, the strength of her genetics slashing through the segment where it was weakest, removing it entirely. Enraged and in pain, the Scorpiad attempted to snap her up in his claws, but his writhing counterpart was in the way. And so the dance went, minute by minute she took piece after piece, angering and enraging them to the point of foolish mistakes, delighting in their pain and torment. At last, she had struck the final blow and the triad lay piled upon one another, twitching in death, their thick carapaces oozing ichor from dozens of places.

 

She stood a few feet away, blood lust still high, fists tightly clenched around her dual blades, body shaking with the effort it took to stop her striking the dead things over and over. A scream ripped from her throat, piercing the air with all the malice and rage that her slight form couldn't contain.

 

At some point during this gruesome dance of death, Mark had entered the holodeck. He didn't know if she'd noticed or not, not that it mattered, the bond provided. It was how he'd managed to track her from the bridge, winding through the corridors, past a few crewmen who we're giving wider berths to everything now. It led him to the holodeck, where he wasn't much surprised to see what was taking place.

 

So, he stood, and he watched. This had to have been about as bad as it ever was. He'd seen her frustrated, hungry, but this was a new level. This made him nervous. Because, what he felt in her affected him in a way he hadn't yet known. He had almost lost it on the bridge, and now here, he could almost rush out and attack her. Which meant she could do the same, and she probably had less restraint. As slow seconds ticked by in what felt like hours, he was becoming more and more sure this was a bad idea.

 

When she finally turned away from the pile of carapaces on the floor, and faced him, the option of slinking out went away. As their eyes locked, Mark stood tall. He didn't want to fight her, or be added to count of bodies on the floor, but he couldn't back down either. He was still her superior. He had to maintain control. If he couldn't do it with words, he'd have to do it the other way. As ill conceived as idea was.

 

"Leave," she growled through clenched teeth. Her voice barely sounded human and would have not been out of place coming from some demonic creature sent straight from hell. Every line of her body radiated anger and tension and she made no attempt to keep the rising beast tethered. As he continued to stand and stare, she began to advance in slow, measured steps, circling slowly as if to cut off his point of retreat. "Get out," more grating words ripped free and spat at him.

 

"No," He calmly replied. His fists were clenched, knuckles white however. He had little doubt she was going to attack, regardless of what he did. He was also vaguely aware that she still held her sword, while all he had was a lack luster type-2 phaser. Not to mention the fact it was holstered. Could he draw and fire before she closed on him? Maybe. Would he find out? Absolutely. Her rage coursed through him, feeding his own desire for combat. He couldn't deny that from the moment he'd first laid eyes on her on Camelot's promenade over two years ago, he'd been curious to find out what she was fully capable of. Looks like he'd finally find out. "If you can't tell the difference between me and that," His arm stretched out to the pile of Scorpiad, "then attack and get it over with."

 

A wordless, blood-curdling scream filled the distance between them and was the last warning he had before she launched at him. Muscles bunched and then she was flying at him, sword in hand, swinging down to strike him at the base of the neck as though to cleave him in two.

 

His eyes bulged for less then a heartbeat as a lifetime of instinct took over. With more force then he knew he had, he pushed off with his right foot, dodging to the left, narrowly avoiding the blade. Her headlong rush, and miss left her staggered for only a second, she'd turn around and cut him down, if he didn't do something. "Computer! Sword!"

 

"Please specify-"

 

"Just replicate her's dammit!"

 

The sword appeared by his right foot, and by the time he'd reached down to pick it up, she was on top of him, ready to bisect him down the middle. In a sickly metallic clang he parried, needing to use both hands to stop her assault. Still she pushed against him, threatening to over take him. He grunted as he pushed back, the adrenaline beginning to flow, Victria's training and the bond telling him more and more that this was right.

 

Her fury seemed to only increase at the appearance of the sword. The momentum from the horizontal sweep continued as she spun and sent her blade spinning wildly on the diagonal. Each thrust was carefully timed, each strike planned in advance. She was driving him to a specific area into a specific pattern, using her attacks to herd him, setting him up like a pawn in the ultimate chess battle. The rage that overflowed served to focus her rather than blind. Her instincts sharpened, her senses became more acute, and the intensity that twisted her face into a horrid mask only grew. Sword clanged against sword as he blocked some of her strikes, feeling the jarring power behind them.

 

He danced out of her reach to compose himself, but she was already on him by the time he'd managed to reset his stance. Still, like her, he was getting better as the fight progressed, and he let his instincts move his body. There were two things gnawing at the back of his mind however. She had both strength and speed on him, which was always a constant. However, his theory that her rage would make her sloppy, and prone to mistakes had proven to be false. On this field, she was better then him and he couldn't deny it. His only hope was to break her blood lust. Easier said then done however, as attack, after attack, after attack left him only time to defend, or die.

 

There was no hope for him. Even before the fight started, he was a dead man and there was no room in her consciousness for any other outcome. She was going to kill him. In her mind, it was inevitable. Strike after strike hammered home, though amazingly her blade never slid in for the killing blow. There was a reason for that and it was one that non Al-Ucard could never fully understand. They longed for the kill. It was the reason they were created, but the spilling of blood was a waste when it was not needed. She fully intended to drain him. She had only to set the play in motion that would give her the required access.

 

Again her blade sliced through the air, slamming into his blade as he managed a parry. The thin instrument whipped quickly in the opposite direction almost faster than he could counter, but slammed again into his blade with an ear-splitting cry of metal against metal. Sparks flew from his blade and yet she didn't pause. One last strike drove him back yet again, directly into the trap she'd set. The bulk of a dead Scorpiad loomed behind him, cutting off any hope of escape.

 

She'd kept him so distracted, he noticed the fractured carapace right behind him only as he had to take another step back. His foot held for but a moment before it slipped, sending him tumbling backwards. His back hit first, allowing his head to bounce off the floor as energy of his motion transferred along, disorienting him as the sword fell out of his hand. In the moment it took him to realize what had happened she stood over him. He glanced to his left, where his blade lay just beyond the end of his finger tips. It was over, in more ways then one. After everything they'd been through, every fight, every headache, every sleepless night together, this was how it would end. A thousand thoughts blinked through his mind, trying to balance all the rights and wrongs he'd committed in the last two years on this ship. Still, laying here, at her mercy... when he really thought about it, he'd do it all over.

 

Her blade stabbed through the air, piercing the carcass behind him and she screamed in victory. Two hands grabbed the tunic of his uniform and she yanked him to his feet. There was no look of recognition in her eyes. No hint that his emotions were even filtering through the bond. Her Hunting instinct was simply too overpowering. Crushing him against her, she shoved his neck aside and sank her fangs into his carotid artery in one fluid motion, closing her eyes as she began to drink. It was the first she had ever bitten him and she was not being gentle. Her fingernails dug into his back, clawing at him through his tunic. Moments passed and she continued to drink, fully immersed in the process, her mind given over to the beast. She would not stop until he was empty, until she had taken every drop and fully claimed him as her own. He was not Mark. He was not a friend. Their shared experiences no longer mattered. He was prey and she the Hunter.

 

And he was about to die.

 

His eyes widened in shock, and he let out a gasp of horror as she began to...to...to feast on him. This he could not abide. She could have sunk her blade into his chest, and he could have died with some dignity. To be fed on like this...defiled in such away...it produced a furious anger that he'd never felt before. On the surface, he'd always managed to explain away the feeding as a necessity. Now, now he knew. She didn't feel a thing, not even as she tore him open. She was not Victria. She was not his friend. She was nothing but a beast, and while she may kill him, he'd ensure she'd die with him.

 

His type-2 phaser dug mercilessly between two of her ribs. Even with only the default stun setting, at point blank, it wouldn't end well. "Put. Me. Down. Now," He let out in a ragged grasp, taking every bit of control to simply not fire immediately.

 

There was a heartbeat of hesitation before he felt her fangs dig in again, so he pushed the trigger. The phaser beam burned into her torso, lighting her core up like a dull flame for a second.

 

The staggering force of a point-blank shot did not go unnoticed. Her fangs ripped free the moment she was struck and her head snapped back as she roared in pain. The force of the weapon shoved her back in violent fashion. Every muscle tensed as the stunning effect of the phaser ripped through her. Ribs cracked as she struck the wall, head slammed violently against the holographic grid. Despite the pain, she staggered to her feet, body trembling with the effort, using the wall for support.

 

As her icy gaze swung back, some of the madness was gone. There was still anger, but not the overwhelming rage that drove her to kill. Seeing him in the state she'd left him seemed to bring her to her senses. She was at his side in an instant, yanking the phaser from his hand before he had the opportunity to fire upon her once again. She ran her tongue across the bite she'd left, the coagulants in her saliva helping to staunch the flow. "Mark," she whispered, her tone tinged with pain. "Why did you not leave?"

 

"I care...about you...I thought I could handle you..." At that he let out a sarcastic huff.

 

"Fool," she hissed, wiping his blood from her mouth with one dark sleeve. "I have taken much from you, but you stopped me before I could take it all. You will live, though you do need medical treatment."

 

"If you take me to medical, they'll ask questions."

 

"Then give them a story. You were injured on the holodeck during a training exercise because you did not know I had removed the safety protocols."

 

"Sure, preparations in case of an Al-Ucard escape, they'll buy that." His eyes rolled in a combination of sarcasm, and blood loss deliciousness. Mark pushed himself into a sitting position and pressed one hand to his forehead as a wavy of dizziness washed over. "Help me up. It's the least you can do."

 

Rising, she used her significant strength to pull him to his feet, holding him close to her as he swayed unsteadily. "We could transport you."

 

"And draw more attention? No thank you. You will help me there." His head rose and he stared at her. In a moment of coherent thought, and surprising strength, his fingers clenched around the front of her collar. "We will discuss this. After we've dealt with the Scorpiad, and your brethren."

 

"Yes, this is something we cannot simply ignore," she agreed, her eyes shifting to the angry wound on his neck. She found it extremely difficult not to reopen the gash, wanting nothing more than to finish what she'd begun. Finally meeting his eyes again, she slipped one arm beneath his and supported his torso. "Let us get you to medical before you lose consciousness. I do not want to have to explain that as well."

Edited by Victria

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