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11-16-2015, 06:56 AM
but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams
"If you're sure." Did she question his sanity?
Probably.
With good reason.
"Yes," he breathed, waited, braced for impact—the pain and whiplash shock going through his system had begun to take on something intimately familiar, something ..recognizable, like an old friend, like how he had played cat-and-mouse with Deimos death magic in the old days. He knew what to expect. He knew what he was waiting for, a religious light burning in his mind because this was salvation from the crucible of agony—
It wasn't often his own weapon was used against him, but she was one who could do it, the ice nubs like acupuncture needles forced into his skin, conduits for her disaster—the highway for her lightning bolts, and it jerked through his system, breath getting all messed up as his nerves short-circuited and he stumbled down onto one knee, hair on end. It hurt, it motherfucking hurt, but it in a sweet kind of way—like, a pure and crystalline pain, instead of the.. foul, deep, stinking agony of his boil-curse.
A couple of seconds later he came back to his senses, and, shaking, hauled himself up on all four again. His sides were stained ugly red and yellow, crusts flaking off where his twisting and turning had torn them open, but it was a pure pain—like she had burned him clean of everything, purified him. Cleansed him. Laughing, a few tears still trickling from his eyes, he spun in the moonlit glade—danced with his pain, for it was like high notes and bells, needle-like and precise, not at all a fire ravaging his skin.
"Thank you," and he kept on laughing, blood darkened by monochromatic light seeping from his wounds, washing the last of the infection out, "Oh, thank you,", and somewhere, Irma wondered if Nyx's magic had done something to his brain.
[ @Nyx || Maybe just have it fade to black here? ^^ ]
Probably.
With good reason.
"Yes," he breathed, waited, braced for impact—the pain and whiplash shock going through his system had begun to take on something intimately familiar, something ..recognizable, like an old friend, like how he had played cat-and-mouse with Deimos death magic in the old days. He knew what to expect. He knew what he was waiting for, a religious light burning in his mind because this was salvation from the crucible of agony—
It wasn't often his own weapon was used against him, but she was one who could do it, the ice nubs like acupuncture needles forced into his skin, conduits for her disaster—the highway for her lightning bolts, and it jerked through his system, breath getting all messed up as his nerves short-circuited and he stumbled down onto one knee, hair on end. It hurt, it motherfucking hurt, but it in a sweet kind of way—like, a pure and crystalline pain, instead of the.. foul, deep, stinking agony of his boil-curse.
A couple of seconds later he came back to his senses, and, shaking, hauled himself up on all four again. His sides were stained ugly red and yellow, crusts flaking off where his twisting and turning had torn them open, but it was a pure pain—like she had burned him clean of everything, purified him. Cleansed him. Laughing, a few tears still trickling from his eyes, he spun in the moonlit glade—danced with his pain, for it was like high notes and bells, needle-like and precise, not at all a fire ravaging his skin.
"Thank you," and he kept on laughing, blood darkened by monochromatic light seeping from his wounds, washing the last of the infection out, "Oh, thank you,", and somewhere, Irma wondered if Nyx's magic had done something to his brain.
[ @Nyx || Maybe just have it fade to black here? ^^ ]
man, I ain't changed, but I know I ain't the same
