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08-12-2016, 02:09 PM
He seethes rage at the world for how it dares to create a place that shrinks him into the size of mere bacteria in relevance to himself, small, insignificant, unseen but able to destroy and powerful, crushing worlds, empires, everything in his wake if he can possibly get his way into it. He is typically a moving mountain, dark figure of shadow with deep eyes like he’s dared to tear the moon to pieces just to slip them into the sockets of his skull, devouring images and faces with them. He is used to being feared, and here, they don’t even quake in his wake.
Out there? No, there is nothing that he will allow to surpass him.Their singularity and loneliness breeds two things: violence that fills the dominant, and fear that overtakes the submissive, and dare Zhu not to fall into the one that doesn’t suit him.
Cracks slither into the ground beneath him as cloven hooves stab into their dry bodies, begging for moisture that will come in due time. The wind is snatching at his mane, grabbing dark rolls and tearing them backwards. Heavy clouds have coloured this expanse into a grayscale painting, monotone and empty. No trees dot the outline, nor do mountains. Bodies fade into blurs until they are nothing more than invisible shapes, hidden five miles out or possibly even further, never once coming to think there is someone out there. No one wants to search out here.
The shadowlord prides himself in the idea that people come here to die, and here he is, coming here to amass his size into a microscopic scale against the storm and the salt in the air, pushed from the sea that has worked with bountiful aggression to birth a storm he is ready for. He always loved them in the Throat when he was a child, watching lightning burst through the black and the rain, cackling as if it enjoys its defiance.
Thunder rumbles in his ears and he slips himself a smile into the fray, lengthened tail curling the narrowing end into a coil as he prepares to let himself bask in the pleasure of rain and power.
The world begins to cry as he sinks to his knees. Salt sinks in his midnight hide as he rolls, grinding the rarely clean spinal marking into the ground as a noise close to what could be a purr rumbles in him. He is content, pleasured, near happy but never joyful, lacking a thought within his head as the world envelopes him.
OOC: deems this a bleh post but AYYYEEE IT'S TIME
