Sinister webs and nefarious entanglements, rupturing and piercing, punctured, hallowed bits of heaven smoked and tarnished in the fiendish enthrallment of his vicious desires, monstrous cataclysms, molten provocations. Thriving in the depths of death, in the veiled slate of his infernal bedlam, poisonous, viperous contentions of a predatory haze, he maneuvered with Tartarean prestige, supremacy in the hearts of gallows and reaper armaments. Movements were rapacious, consuming, swallowing junctures of oak and ash, scalding skeletons, scintillating carcasses of yesteryear, the lacerating blade of his body swinging amongst the wounded portals of the Edge. Hot roll of coiled muscles rose and fell, ethereal fatality in the burning, smoldering wounds of a god’s peril and triumph, breathing amongst the fallen, cracked palaces, and fragmented palisades. He was a glimpse of minatory intensity, the barbaric vehemence of rapier brutality and brevity, a sharpened, pulsing laceration divesting the world of its blessed convictions and fluttering hearts. To the core, he was travesty and corruption, to the simmering, sultry veins of his layered, demonic abyss, he was immorality and decadence: a machine, a beast, a cutlass of mercenary ambiguities. Caught in the throngs of villainy and dissolution, apathy and nonchalance, the insouciant, dominant crown of chilling, frigid wickedry, the silent clamor of unholy malice, the malicious behemoth stole life and gave nothing in return. And he, this menacing, ominous creature, made his home in the haunted barbs of shade and Stygian veils, snapping what was already perished, withered, decrepit, disappearing in the copse of an endless cycle, traversing in the empty, vanquished herald of the forsaken and damned. Silken weavers of terror and strife, plagued and ruined, absconded and devastated. Treacherous, deceitful, hollowed bits of hell.
It was in these scorched shadows and nether silhouettes that he caught an unfamiliar scent, brazen, bold, foolish, like a harpsichord melody played in the haunting walls of destruction. Did other herds encourage visitors, wanton tourists, heads locked in clouds and blissful ignorance? Did they wish to lose vital pawns, or long for escape from disillusion, shove their scions into other worlds and see if they managed to scrape amongst the living? Motions erupted in a siege of flesh and sin, the raw requiem of hushed punctures, iniquitous, licentious steps, carrying the bulk of his muscled threads, venomous raptures and reveries, calamitous, wolfish strings of dangerous, foreboding artillery. His narrowed gaze, blue and harsh, severe and fierce, took in the imprudent youth, ivory and crimson, horned but not of his own earth. He didn’t recognize her scent; too unfamiliar with the rest of the lands, too elusive, isolated, and apathetic to bother with the other tinges of life. Stone and statue, carved nonchalance along the bridge of his intimidating features, the daunting, formidable brush of his archaic design, the malady of his magic, the fearsome sweep of his arcane motions, sibilant and twisted, raptorial splendor, seared along the edge of the lands, into her standing sphere. He drew his tangible form in front of her, towering, silvern threads of despair, melancholy and eradication, no emotion gathered along his handsome, rugged face – only the begrudging, composition of ferocity, cruelty, glacial, nonchalant composition. Deep, grating tones seized the discordant candor of his voice, too unused, too rough, savage, tyrannical, demanding, a stroke of reaper vocals. "State the reason for your trespass.”
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
