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02-02-2015, 05:58 AM
i am the vanguard of your destruction
[ GEHH honestly I didn't *mean* to legit take two weeks in replying :x life just ate me up until now... ]
Familiarity only deepens the disappointment. The anger. The numbing, blinding sense of rage, of blue curtains of fire erupting in his mind—obliterating mind, thought, heart.
He had no right. He had no reason, because there was never a reason for this.
Blowing a hole in someone else's life.
Taking life.
His face is a snarling mask, his eyes full of rage. Beneath it, he couldn't recall ever having been this angry, riding a violent high that burned up all the pain he felt. She had had friends. Maybe children. Those who would miss her, and mourn her, and never forget her, their hearts forever whispering this dull, agonizing pain as they beat, beat, beat, beat on without her. What had it been worth? Why had he done it?
He hadn't seemed like that when he was younger. Mauja had killed more than he cared to admit, but he knew he had had no right. No reason. No nothing.
Just the hollow act itself, filling up an empty heart with blood that wasn't his.
They switched positions around the burning corpse, a jumping game to take the first blow, and his black heart snarled at them. So eager to take the first blow, so eager to feel his wrath, the only kind of justice he knew. Perhaps the memory of pain would keep them from doing this again.
"FILTH!" he roared, his voice a thunderclap and his eyes lightning. His breath was too hot in his throat, like fire wanting to be spit out—and the dragon, the fucking dragon, flashed before his face, wings spread and belly aching with flame.
A single, piercing moment of fear. Mauja knew the memory of pain, too. And he knew the power of the fear of pain.
Black-rimmed ears slicked to a thick neck. Fuck that. He had fire too. He had fire and he was angry, so ruthlessly he slashed his horn at the white creature, wanting to tear her from her throne in the heavens and watch her fall to the ground like snow.
Maybe he didn't want her to die. Maybe, because he knew the void she'd leave in Abraham's dark heart, and the silence she would leave in his mind. Maybe he didn't want her to die because he feared that silence in his own thoughts, and even in his near-blind wrath pity stayed him from playing his most violent cards.
Abraham had no right to kill.
Mauja had no right to kill either.
But he could damn well give the youngster a hell of pain to remember his transgressions by.
So with a wordless bellow that was similar to why? he lowered his head and angled his horn slightly aside, aiming to barrel full force into the dog's face using his own right shoulder as a battering ram.
[ @[Volterra], @[Abraham] ]
Familiarity only deepens the disappointment. The anger. The numbing, blinding sense of rage, of blue curtains of fire erupting in his mind—obliterating mind, thought, heart.
He had no right. He had no reason, because there was never a reason for this.
Blowing a hole in someone else's life.
Taking life.
His face is a snarling mask, his eyes full of rage. Beneath it, he couldn't recall ever having been this angry, riding a violent high that burned up all the pain he felt. She had had friends. Maybe children. Those who would miss her, and mourn her, and never forget her, their hearts forever whispering this dull, agonizing pain as they beat, beat, beat, beat on without her. What had it been worth? Why had he done it?
He hadn't seemed like that when he was younger. Mauja had killed more than he cared to admit, but he knew he had had no right. No reason. No nothing.
Just the hollow act itself, filling up an empty heart with blood that wasn't his.
They switched positions around the burning corpse, a jumping game to take the first blow, and his black heart snarled at them. So eager to take the first blow, so eager to feel his wrath, the only kind of justice he knew. Perhaps the memory of pain would keep them from doing this again.
"FILTH!" he roared, his voice a thunderclap and his eyes lightning. His breath was too hot in his throat, like fire wanting to be spit out—and the dragon, the fucking dragon, flashed before his face, wings spread and belly aching with flame.
A single, piercing moment of fear. Mauja knew the memory of pain, too. And he knew the power of the fear of pain.
Black-rimmed ears slicked to a thick neck. Fuck that. He had fire too. He had fire and he was angry, so ruthlessly he slashed his horn at the white creature, wanting to tear her from her throne in the heavens and watch her fall to the ground like snow.
Maybe he didn't want her to die. Maybe, because he knew the void she'd leave in Abraham's dark heart, and the silence she would leave in his mind. Maybe he didn't want her to die because he feared that silence in his own thoughts, and even in his near-blind wrath pity stayed him from playing his most violent cards.
Abraham had no right to kill.
Mauja had no right to kill either.
But he could damn well give the youngster a hell of pain to remember his transgressions by.
So with a wordless bellow that was similar to why? he lowered his head and angled his horn slightly aside, aiming to barrel full force into the dog's face using his own right shoulder as a battering ram.
[ @[Volterra], @[Abraham] ]
