Despite Irrydae’s reassuring words it was not Ophelia that responded to his derisible pursuit for relief. Not right away…no. It was him.

"I think I owe you a smiting for your blasphemy..."

A lump twisted in Murder’s gut and an odium began to boil his blood that he’d never felt for another creature previously. When the God came into view Murder craved nothing more than to vanquish him. A deed that he justly believed would liberate Helovia and permit the tenants of this callous expanse a superior, less oppressed existence. While Murder did fear the azure and alabaster beast that stood over his effete carcass he had more formidable emotions than trepidation that kept him from trembling in the Time God’s shadow. Only one query rang in Murder’s audits as he gazed back into the deity’s cerulean pits…

Do Gods bleed?

Precipitously a lurid crack occupied Murder’s senses instead, wiping all other contemplations from his mind. He became aware of the fowls instantaneously; his vermillion chasms observed them glide through the air so impeccably and immediately recognized them as two of his companions. Murder’s heart leapt at this realization however the elysium was short lived when, as if in measured frames, he viewed one of the bird’s necks rotate 180 degrees with a nearly inaudible snap that somehow seemed to be the loudest most tragic din Murder had ever perceived. "That is only a sample. Ophelia asked for me to give you your crows back, but you could say that I am disinclined." Murder was incapable of crying out, his body so drained of vigor he could scarcely keep his eyes open yet the adrenaline surging through his veins kept him awake. It was then that she arrived.

"You called to me as a friend and yet you would try and take me in a weakened state, why?" Ophelia’s tone was icy and inimical, something Murder couldn’t hold against her. He had done unforgivable things to the pallid Queen. If she let the Time God kill him for endeavoring to steal her, then imprudently trespassing on her lands, Murder would understand and even venerate her for the verdict. Yet once again Ophelia exhibited her maturity as she approached the crestfallen bastard as he lay sprawled upon the soil like a vulnerable colt. Her warm muzzle touched his flank encouragingly and strangely sent an incentive to move through Murder’s debilitated form. On of his anterior pistons began to paw at the earth as he attended Ophelia’s dialog with the divine fiend silently. There was righteousness in the pearlescent damsel that still astonished the cobalt behemoth as his red orbs watched her with reverence. After all Murder had put her through she was still fighting for him and it made him bilious from humiliation. He did not deserve this.

The Time God began to speak once more in retort to Ophelia’s argument and attempt at negotiations. Of which the Spark evidently found to be quite droll. When the deity began to state Murder’s faults Murder exhaled steadily and let the insults slide off him. He would not let the words of someone he reviled so entirely affect him. He was better than this God. He may not be as influential, as confident and as salient, yet Murder would take being this inferior mortal form with the capacity to empathize, and even love, over being that merciless cretin any day. Suddenly the atmosphere became voltaic and febrile as the Time God’s electric wings sprung from his shoulders and a bolt vaulted from his jagged horn into ostensible oblivion. But of course there was an objective to the God’s actions which became apparent as the stench of charred flesh reached Murder’s nares and he watched as yet another one of his cohorts descended from the firmament hitting the earth with an unsettling crunch.

Agony plagued every inch of Murder’s body. With each unnatural demise of his crows it was as if a piece of him was being flayed. It was the worst kind of torture, one only a demon would sanction in the taciturn depths of hell. Finally Murder established the impetus to stand, though it took every bit of his energy just to ascend from his sorrow. Getting his robust pistons situated under him was only half the battle, the real work came while forcing them to bear his mass once more. Murder wanted to die but he would not give the God the pleasure of seeing him despair. As Murder got to his feet he looked at Ophelia with a loss in his eyes that he knew would be eternal. He wanted to explain everything, as absurd as his logic’s sounded, but Murder knew at this moment he could not properly communicate with the seraph standing before him.

Abruptly the dramatic atmosphere was shattered by the screeches of innocence. Murder revolved his crania to see the juvenile demi-god, in all her childish virtue, saunter to her mother and began to suckle greedily, ignorant to the horrors around her. She was beautiful. Slowly he turned back to the God and seized his gaze with a savagery unusual to Murder. His muscles tensed as Murder coveted to strike the false idol that was so cockily poised in front of them, though he was not foolish enough to try. Now it was not only for the injustices done to him that Murder sought to eradicate the God of Time but for the way in which the lightening stallion chastised a girl who had done nothing but serve him. Ophelia had borne him a truly remarkable child, and in Murder’s opinion when a female gave the gift of life she deserved to be honored for that not castigated. A belief the God noticeably did not share. Murder could not fathom what had angered the God so at the sight of his darling offspring. She was almost a mirror image of the brute; something Murder thought would delight the narcissistic divinity instead of infuriate him. Murder rotated his dome leisurely back to look at Ophelia, despondency in his vibrant optics.

“Your daughter is lovely Ophelia.”

Murder’s words were soft and compassionate; his eyes looked into her twice hued spheres with remorsefulness. She was the true Goddess here. He did not know how to expound what his prospects had been for the attempted stealth of her but he figured he would give it a try, Ophelia merited that at least.

“I’m sorry; I have wronged you in so many ways. I never intended to harm you; I would have kept you safe I promise. My conduct was merely me being selfish, I comprehend this now. You said you would aid me and I took that too literally. I imagined if I stole you and your daughter that the God of the Spark would be obligated to yield my crows out of his adoration for his kin. I see now that I was very very mistaken, you are just as much a victim of him as I am. You did not warrant any of this. I will not ask for your clemency, I have too many times before; I just owed you an explanation no matter how asinine my rationality was.”

Murder fell silent again. His heart beat rapidly in his ribcage as he waited for Ophelia’s reaction. Murder had a sense he would not be getting his crows back today, or ever. He was gradually coming to terms with this awareness, as hard as it was for him to grasp. Murder had made his fair share of mistakes and now he would have to pay for them, as he should. Life is cruel, but Gods are crueler.

{ ooc: Woah...sorry it took so long and is so long o.o }