Your Knight has returned. I wonder, will it scare you to see my hollow eyes and blood-stained armor?
I hope so. Your screams taste so delicious.
Across the purity of white he is a stain of crimson, a phantom with a blackened soul tucked into a carmine marionette. How the color leeches up his legs is a trick of the eye, fooling all who thought there was still goodness in the heart of the ruination he had become. Whipping across his flesh, as if to draw the essence of the paint to his canvas through the punishment of olden ages, the chilled wind stirs short locks into a halo of hellish fire. Long limbs eat up the ground like a predator, devouring every inch, planting his disease into the earth with every poisonous kiss of his hooves upon the soil and snow. Let the land fall to destruction beneath his presence, let the skies weep bloody tears at his return. The demon has crossed the border into the plane of the living once more, and his jagged teeth and falsely kind features would feast upon the innocent and the guilty alike, sparing none. After all, who had spared him when he had faced down those at the gates of misery and despair? The light of the innocents who had held root in the coal shard of his heart were the only ones excused from the realm of the living, one the bloodied Knight did not feel as if he belonged in. Their names were branded into his youthful flesh, scratched and carved into his organs, forever keeping what little of his love he could give so that they may taste it once more.
Ribbons whip at his hocks like an encouragement to move faster, ears pinned to a cranium that sports a spiraled lance pure as the blizzard surrounding him. Frozen silver irises glare into the horizon, jagged snowy face pinched into an irritated mask. The sky is dark, had been so since the demon had first crossed into the land he had left what seemed like eons ago. Only the Lunar maiden was high in the sky, but something had gone terribly wrong during the Knight’s absence. Tolio snarled into the pale light, snow piling higher the further he ventured into territory he had long since turned his back upon. Upon frozen soil he tread, harks pinned harshly to his cranium, nearly disappearing into the thick, short mane he now wore with bitter pride. To calculated eyes, the pathway to his home submitted and appeared once more to his sharp memory, and with sharp clicks of hoof against frozen stone the looming figure- canvas rippling over muscles he had not left with, and scarred far more similarly- advanced like a bloodied feline through the drafty passageway.
The Aurora Basin.
Like a massive, jagged-toothed maw the pathway cracked open into the familiar landscape of his herd’s home. Snorting aggressively, harsh steam cloying around his maw, the archangel sneered sarcastically as sharp mercury gazers raked harshly over the environment laid out before him. Critical.
”Fuck I hate snow.”
Deja vu, perhaps? Like the day he had first entered Helovia, Tolio stretched his long structured pillars and began to careen down the tricky, rocky path. Stones sprung and shot from beneath his hooves, cracking and pounding against the earth, rolling beneath the force of his passing. Higher he pushed himself, outcrop an unstable and exhilarating formation to traverse. From his pharynx came a bellow, the roar of a lion escaping from the frame of something far less predatory. He summoned his brethren, not out of demand for them to come and listen to whatever some may have to drone on about. No, he raised his voice in challenge, in delirium. Two ivory and two crimson hooves slammed the earth, resisting forward motion until his forehalf canted into the air, bloodied walkers striking and slicing the air in the same way he had when first entering the land. Only when he touches earth again does he yell out, pearl horn jutting into the pale moonlight overhead.
Into the still, foreign air he calls jeeringly. “Who will welcome me home?! Come now darlings, I even wore my best dress!” his lyrics rang out, sarcastic and cruel, teasing. Prancing arrogantly, but clearly feigning it simultaneously, the scarred stallion tossed his mighty head and called once more for his bastard siblings. “Tell me, how much have you missed me? How far have the lesser species fallen in my absence? Come, come and entertain your darling lover! It’s not nice to keep a lady waiting!”
Might as well give them a rude awakening, right?
As if waking them from their slumber so sharply could possibly make them any more irritable. Highly unlikely, considering they had fully grown redwood trees up their asses most evenings regardless.
Ah, how he’d missed this.
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