The Reaper drank and absorbed, feasted and reveled in the absorption of energy, felt it pulse through his limbs, quaking, murmuring amongst the aching doldrums, the heady anguish, and renewing the sense of calamity crooning along his Machiavellian sentiments. The only disappointing portion was that the body of the Pegasus still remained upright, carved into the fog and abyss like a towering Colossus, a darkening inferno Deimos sought to see extinguished, snuffed, smothered and doused. What would it take for his opponent to smolder amongst the tombstones, whittle his name into the roughened stone, ramble and saunter within the crowd of undead creatures?
Before he had any further opportunity to ruminate and explore the situation, a strange puff of light coiled amongst the murky darkness, eerie, unearthly, roaming as a deer, leaping, bounding for his flesh. The battered, embittered left flank didn’t permit him to escape the clutches of the divine, consecrated luminescence, drifting towards the right again only increased the onslaught, the agony, of a wound not yet healed, no matter how much soul he’d managed to steal from Gaucho. Frustrations waged an imminent battle when the most bizarre infliction pummeled him, the cervine’s silvery complexion hitting along the left side of his barrel – and a numbing sensation coursed through his veins. The impact was not an intense, loathing pain scorching, reeling or blinding his senses, but the trickle, the nuance, the drowning, cumbersome, sting of terror, freezing his motions, his movements, until he was just a stoic, impassive cretin in the darkness, wondering over the weight of horror. Was this what his victims felt as the satanic necromancy pushed, breathed and ghosted through their skeletons, frozen, paralyzed? Was this what the world felt as he marched over the earth, disturbed, mauled, massacred? Was he eternally the ominous heathen, the nefarious reverie, the foreboding, impending damnation? Did he haunt and unravel as this abyss had? And when could he make that horrendous beast feel the same, crushing, obliterating sensation again?
He was released seconds, an endless, raucous eternity, later. The anomaly gave his enemy precious moments to settle and hide into the wilderness, into the abyss, into the fog, drift off into the nocturnal enigmas, and the fiend’s vexations heightened all over again. Shaking his head, feeling the plastic horns bounding off his skull, he listened – for the scrape, for the steps, of another. Attempting to pick out the sliding, stumbling gaits of other monsters, the walking, crawling dead, unfurling strides to avoid another attempt of snatching his limbs, he finally delved into the corners of his memory, of the other’s garb. A bright, red crimson hue, a jingling fixation - the bells – like a carol, like a beacon, a chorus, an opus, a symphony of iniquity and immorality, pulsed through the darkness, urging him onward, begging, drawing, enticing him towards mayhem, towards devastation and upheaval.
The bestial devil followed the light, airy refrains, drawing into the edges of mist and shadow, motions slowed and aching, but motivations gleaming, dipping, slithering into the molten, infernal schemes of the diabolical, closer, closer, closer, until the sovereign believed he was near the dregs of the winged titan. Attempting to come along the Pegasus’s left side, the long breadth of his sword swung, intending to mark flesh, to scar sinew, to incise brutality, barbarity, and malevolence into the behemoth’s barrel, infusing the depths of his desecration, of his enchantments, with the severe plunge of demise all over again.
[576 words. 3/3 + 0/1 defense.
Taking some of Gaucho’s energy from his previous attack, the Reaper feels a bit better until the silvery-light stag hits his left barrel. But instead of pain, he feels numbed, frozen and terrorized, and he remains immobile for several seconds. Presuming this has given Gaucho time to escape, he slowly moves into the fog and murk again. Following the sound of the bells upon Gaucho’s costume, he attempts to draw towards the Pegasus’s left barrel, intending to pierce and puncture, infuse his deadly magic into the assault.]
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The blast of war blows in our ears [Graveyard Champ]
