Though only a few moments had passed, the tension made them feel far longer. The hairs on the back of Sanguin's neck were raised like hackles; she could not shake the ominous feeling that had befallen her. When a sound reached her, a forlorn, despairing cry of anguish, she flinched and immediately drew her scimitar. Nothing immediately jumped out at her, but, despite her rough demeanor, she remained on edge. Taking slow, measured steps, she began to advance. Her armor clinked softly with every step, and from behind the face of a crimson wolf she keenly observed the alleys for any sign of danger. Every corner became an obstacle; every shadow became a threat. She considered changing to wolf form to move more freely and quietly, but there was the chance of rushing blindly into the hyped-up threat to worry about. The unmistakable sound of impact caused her to grow still. It came from a small path she had been planning to overlook, since any threat worth its salt would surely be too big for such a small alley. Choosing to investigate, she moved down the little alleyway, holding her shield out in front of her. A moment later she emerged into a larger alley, one clearly connected to a nearby street and bordered on one side by tall, picket fence. Immediately she discovered the place's sole occupant, but for a moment he puzzled her. The man who had punched the wall, the one uttering the blood-curdling wail, seemed to be nothing more than cloth. Her presence, though, seemed to alert him, and when she saw his face -or lack thereof- she assumed a battle stance. Nothing good could come of a visage shrouded in such darkness. No words issued forth from beneath the mask; she was waiting to see if Akal, like some wild beast, would immediately attack her. Diplomacy could come after, if he proved to be nothing more than a seriously-creepy hobo.

Akal looked at the strange being before him. Not entirely human, not entirely animal. Or perhaps, it was but a mask, something Akal in his child-like state of mind failed to realize. It was a strange being, and it had a curved blade drawn. This approach frightened Akal, but even worse, caused a split opinion amongst the personalities dwelling within him. Those that craved freedom wanted to see this being destroyed, simply because it threatened to deny them the ability to return to reality in some form. The others, however, were those that craved an end, believing freedom to be nothing more than a vaguely remembered dream. The split response caused Akal to freeze in place, his featureless imitation of a face tilted simultaneously to the ground and towards the newcomer. One voice rose above the rest. One that, to Akal, was benevolent; it was the voice that had allowed Akal to survive and thrive up until this point. The voice that had told Akal what to do when he could not decide for himself or perhaps, the voice that was truly Akal’s. But this was not the voice of reason, no, it was not even truly a voice. It was an emotion, an instinct. A raw representation of what Akal had become. It was hunger, in all of its primal and instinctual ferocity. Slowly, Akal stood. He was shorter than this girl, or at least, he felt shorter. He wasn’t actually quite sure, as his vision was hazy, tinted red by the pain he now felt. His stomach let out a loud and long growl, allowing its irritation to be known. At once, the voices in Akal’s mind seemed to be silenced and Akal’s constant shaking and fidgeting stopped. Perhaps this would be obvious to the newcomer, but Akal did not notice himself. It was then that Akal let out a guttural screech, certainly loud enough to alert Venn that Akal was, in fact, in danger. This was the first time he had seen a meal armed here in Haven, so, Akal assumed that it would immediately harm him. Dropping into a strange and seemingly feral battle pose, Akal moved in a fast manner, seemingly going for an attack. The result was not an attack aimed at his strange opponent, but rather at himself. He tore a chunk of his flesh off, throwing it near the strange thing. It smelled foul and leaked an inky black mockery of blood, landing with an audible squish near the opponent. Akal simply let out another guttural screech in response to the pain, but immediately followed it with a raise of his arm. The inky black blood flew from his arm, splattering the wall nearest to him with the memory of his savagery. As his hands fell once more, the flesh began to bubble and twirl in a disgustingly fluid manner, slowly growing to be half the size of the wolf-faced thing that had dared to draw its curved blade on Akal. It was unusual that he would use his Flesh Smithing magic so… sloppily. It was even more unusual that he would use his own flesh to do so. It would take time for the thing to grow, so the wolf-faced fiend would have two choices: Deal with the slowly-growing flesh golem, or deal with the more immediate threat which was Akal. But Akal was panicked by the wolf-faced fiend who threatened him now. Perhaps it was because they did not utter a word, instead choosing to stare at Akal. He hated when the meals stared at him. It caused him to shutter with an unholy desire, one that should far surpass the hunger, but fails to. He spoke no words, instead letting out feral growls and hisses through the teeth revealed by opening the invisible mouth on his shadowlike and featureless face. They were wild and frenzied, being closer in nature to that of a carnivore rather than that of a man’s. Akal’s eyes never changed, staying featureless white dots on his face, but if one were to look into them, they could *feel* the weight of hunger bearing down upon them. There was something else in those featureless white dots, perhaps a hint of fear. Ignoring the obviously wounded arm, Akal dropped again into his feral and wild stance, though this time it was a twisted and flawed imitation of the stance the wolf-faced fiend had. It was quickly adopted, as Akal prepared to mimic the wolf-faced fiend’s fighting style. Ink-black blood continued to poor out, as if it was a waterfall, but Akal seemed to mind it not. This was a very risky thing to do, but Akal was for all intents and purposes, a cornered beast. So, he was doing what any cornered beast does; lashing out. Perhaps the worst part of all of this was the fact that there was no context for Akal to follow. That frightened him even further, but he doubted that the wolf-faced fiend had any more idea than he did about the nature of events. But he cared not what she thought. Instead, he focused on his hunger, letting it command him as it had so many times before. Akal did not worry about the consequences of immediately taking an offensive attack, for she did come at him with her blade drawn after nightfall, in a dark alley secluded from the town’s eyes. Not to mention, he was here to collect flesh, bones, and souls for Ishak, and what was this person to Akal but another offering to his savior? They were only that to Akal; an offering.

Several seconds trickled by in which both Sanguin and Akal were motionless. She stared into the empty pinpricks of light, feeling very vulnerable and very human beneath their glare. Her mind, spurred on by fear, was struggling to put together a cohesive plan of action. In her employment at Fairy Tail and even before, she had faced many mages with impressive powers, but they had pretty much all been human. This...thing, before her, was something entirely different. Unbidden, the image of enormous fangs and raking claws gouging through her armor and flesh alike leaped into her brain. At a loss, she struggled to adjust her stance, trying to make sure it was perfect since she didn't know what else to do. Then came the shriek. Like cockroaches in a room illuminated by sudden light, her thoughts and rationality fled before it, and her body went into a state of minor shock. The scream wasn't just frightening, but it was _loud_, loud enough to play her eardrums like congas. Akal's sudden movement, however, was enough to arouse her fighting instincts sufficiently to galvanize her into action. When he rent himself, spattering the stone and wood surrounding them with his own inky blood, she couldn't help but wonder why. Immediately in the wake of such wonderment came memories of blood magics, ones that draw their power from sacrifice rather than magic power; those, she knew, were among the most devious and horrible of all magical arts. Therefore, she steeled herself as the grotesque hunk began to ripple and swell. When Akal began to growl, she did as well, and a very wolflike way. Hype was flowing through her veins, picking up speed. If anyone was qualified to take on a monster, it was a beast. Behind her mask, her face twisted into a toothy smile as Akal copied her stance. To her, there was no question of dealing with one or the other—only that of if they could be beaten. Her voice was a snarl, barely understandable, as she spoke. “Spirit Warriors, Spirit Predators! Wild Heart!” Instantly and unceremoniously, Sanguin split apart. The air shimmered, and in a split second there were three of her where there had only stood one. The next moment, four more had appeared, three crimson wolves and one more masked warrior. Wasting no time, the seven fanned out. Two wolves attacked the Flesh Golem, one of them crushing a newly-formed limb between its jaws before disappearing, while the other -with a warrior by her side- jumped in to snap at it before jumping back. The others, three warriors and one wolf, advanced to Akal to surround him, taking care not to come into contact with the black blood.

Akal was genuinely lost. Which one was the real one? Were any of them real? Akal did not know. So, instead of allowing this wolf-faced fiend's lackeys confuse him, Akal launched into action. He was a mimesis of this wolf-faced fiend, then. Letting out a guttural series of roars that, just barely, sounded like "Shpear It Wayers, Shpear it Predas!", Akal allowed the mind game to be played. Of course, not knowing exactly what the magic was, Akal was simply guessing after this point. They were so obviously different from the wolf-faced fiend’s own images, but they would serve Akal’s purpose for the time being, despite even now threatening to fall apart at the merest action. They circled around the obviously real Akal, prepared to attack the three surrounding him. It was a tight circle, but Akal would make it even tighter with one simple spell. He wasn’t one for shouting out the name of his spell, instead relying on the guttural screeches of terror in the midst of combat. So, it was guaranteed that he would let some of those out when he felt pain. So, when he began to roar even louder than he had before, it was a clear sign that he was experiencing *something*. Two of his mimicked spirit predators popped out of existence in that moment, as well, though probably because of their own instability. That left only two of his spirit warriors, so he no longer had a circle. Perhaps he should have delved deeper into mimicry, rather than only eating a mage who knew how to mimic other mages. But to Akal, it did not quite matter at this point. Akal, who was at one point smaller than this wolf-faced fiend, grew to stand at least a head above her. His body contorted and twisted, and antlers appeared on his head. Or maybe they were horns that had grown to look like antlers. Regardless of what they actually were, Akal’s cries stopped. It was rather disturbing, really, what happened after that. His arms twisted and grew into bestial shapes, closer to a stag’s forelegs, and his back legs twisted and contorted into even more bestial shapes, becoming closer to the individual legs of a spider. His upper body remained the same, turning him into a sickening rendition of a centaur. He had no more magic to use, so he would have to rely on physical strength. If he was defeated by the wolf-faced fiend, he could run and feast on the townsfolk. Clearly he had nothing to lose if such well-trained meals were already here. Perhaps the wolf-faced fiend would suspect as much, and simply attempt to divert him for a while? Or perhaps she did not. It was so much easier to think when all those other voices were quiet, but rationality could only remain so long before it too was quelled out by the insatiable hunger. Letting loose one more guttural, frenzied, roar, louder than the last ones, he began to move in a twisted and sickening way. He began to run, no, *charge* into the spirit warriors, a trail of his ink black blood still flowing like a waterfall. It was actually beginning to let up, though it still gushed forth in torrents. With clever tactics, Akal would be defeated, but doing the wrong thing might set him off into an even more maddened frenzy.