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11-19-2013, 05:28 PM
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the Rift
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>> sweet dreams
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11-19-2013, 06:41 PM
 Massacres awakened and brandished on the thickened, taut skin of satanic raptures, caught and embroiled, tangled and enticed, by the plaguing flames of rumination, antipathy and heresy. Between the columns of avarice and slaughter, in the ashen claws of diabolical machinations, cruelly besotted and devoured by the plume, the rush, of apathy, settled the villainous exploits and pursuits of the irreverent Reaper. Like a slithering, sinuous murmur, like a haunting, poignant croon, he disturbed, he possessed, the ghostly, swindling, wounding facet of demise, quietus and diligence, the calculating mold to a fire, flaming, brilliant, exotic and unattainable, reaching across coals to singe and smolder alongside the grand divide of reticence and recherché. Warrior and sovereign, plaited and sculpted amongst the potent puissance, the scathing, unholy debauchery, the argent domination, wove detachment and finessed forbidding, seethed, tormented, until the earth sank beneath his daggers, ravenously plucked and destroyed. He met the distraught hymns of its feverish morality with the same ethereal ruin, the same heathen brushstrokes, the same penetrating, statuesque depravity, over and over again, delving, roaming, striking into unholy carnage, imperious, unforgiving, reels of eldritch titans and predacious grandeur. Furor, ferocity, fiendish incantations unfurling, uncurling into demonic art and Tartarean brutality, barbarity in a bard’s final, harbored lament, in a poet laureate’s twisted opus, in a licentious credence bolstering, coiling, curling into impassive resolution; marching across the grounds of the Threshold with the hot grind, the scrupulous friction, of formidable intrigues, of guarded arrogance, hushed, emboldened, sinister terror. Chilling the length of the borders, severe, clear, desolate and hollowed, hardened, primordial enmity, raptorial predilection – hunting, scarring, mutilating, and seeking the impending menace, the tumultuous doom and disaster to render minatory enticement, to formulate deplorable, horrible fortitudes and munitions, the abhorrent artifice, the malevolent, malicious immersion of vicious, vehement rancor. He swindled and moved, stole and craved, howling silent chords of unsung disorder, singing, consuming, rigid, slated promise of fatality, when the disdain filtered away from his cryptic conceit, and familiarity bristled across his licentious contemplation. It couldn’t be. The scent of another, of power, might, brawn and secrets, so many guarded entrails and innards, resolute, stoic scheming, specious voids, distorted, aching gallows humming their archaic canon. For a moment, he ceased all movement, rendered the serpentine thoughts into inveigling sentiments, marbled Mephistopheles seeking the dregs of a once forgotten maelstrom; seraphim, blackguards, fires hastened from the tempests of bloodlines, moonlit tides shrinking into memories, into images, of yesteryears unexplored for the passing eons, decades, years, months, days, hours, heinous dedication to rampant decadence. Did his sanctimonious plunge, his ruthless fixation finally pay some trivial game with his mind, warp and deceive, punish and declare, convict and condemn, or did she truly wander amongst these halls, breathing revolution, derision, acrimony and indignation, clinging to the same filaments, the same webs, as he? Was he deluded, desolation, isolated again, forsaken, renounced, abandoned or relinquished, torn from the lost creeds of smoking sires and scrupulous dams? Or did his scythe hit upon the angelic, singsong screams, the venomous rapture, the intoxicating reverie, of his remorseless brethren? Lured by the siren sepulcher, the horrible, nefarious seething in pariah scabbards, he pressed the minute, rigid motions into carnivore resonance, the humming, reticent blur of a rapier’s enigmatic allure, infernal, slinking treachery. The piercing juncture of his gaze finally captured her in the cold slinking of power, damnation, condemnation, and his mind was not bewitched, not ensnared, by the silvery masquerade of her actress garb and costume; she is a creature well guarded, well adorned for a masque, but not by the blood she shared. His blackened heart swelled, however, for a few moments, and the harsh cutlass of the silent legends, of the strung mythos, chaos, supremacy rankled amongst the impassive features carved, cut, into his face. His jaw parted, and the sliding, bestial iniquity slipped into the puissant, pernicious air, death reunited with seraphs, and the combination boiled, brewed, fermented into the withering inferno, hissing, strangling, suffocating the layers, the lacquers of kingdoms, augured, portended. “Zuriel.” He lowered his skull, gave an offering of respect, of esteem, for a being regarded even before he, weighted and measured from the gods, eager for upheaval. Sister.  Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch. 
11-19-2013, 07:48 PM
11-20-2013, 06:16 PM
The art of ancestry boiled, seared, and severed their veins, a collected maelstrom, a brimming, nefarious oeuvre to the mastery of deceit, to the harbingers of doom and Machiavellian threads, to the whittled armaments of callous, colossal chaos. In each scathing, caustic, savage, corroding stroke was a bestial flame, fire and brimstone, lacquers and layers of chilling raptures and devilish quandaries. Gifted and presiding with the bestowal of oblivion; where so many creeds faltered, fell, stumbled, quivered and quavered, theirs held strong, a universal enmity and hostility coating their lungs, their bones, their ichor. Little pieces and slivers of old, arcane artifice; she, playing the gods, angels, seraphs and reverence, placating, soothing, assuaging, cutting and snarling, ripping and mauling until the fiendish gleam of her smile washed away the traces of her innocence, lacerated guile. He, cold and ruthless, destroying and puncturing with the remorseless siege of demise, of wickedness, hiding naught but the vague recollections of emotions and sentiments, ruining, slaying, swinging an immoral scythe until it ground against skin, until it ruptured against arteries. Collected together, in the misshapen, twisted, distorted armaments, cryptic, unholy, villainous heathens molded in the same glassy fixations, could only unravel the earth, could only poison the lands, could only breathe hellfire and obliteration, elimination and massacre, into the sown hearts of the divine. She’d seen him as the boy chasing sandy dunes, the quiet, wide-eyed scion, before the torment, before the anguish, before the rift in life and caresses, before he was stripped and devoid, forsaken and isolated, stolen from the idealistic frames of family and heritage. He’d seen her as the specious, whimsical, dancing girl offering divinity, nestled and soothing, before stealing it from the shackled, captured prisoners, the chained, rotting corpses, clutching and melting the fervor of lamentable beings. In other world, would he have followed her, painted the same canvases, the same chords, the same, bone-chilling lies and manipulations? Or was it his destiny to alter pathways with the blood, the scorn, the derision of upheaval and insurrection? Amongst their journeys, they must have felled many angels, many paragons, many treasures, listened to the wails, the screams, the screeching decibels of victims rendered vacuous and torn – and finally, upon the same threshold, the kingdoms would feel what it was to truly crumble. Her voice laughed, peculiar, high, lilting, as singsong as her warbles across the forgotten sands, tumbling, rolling, reeling and mocking until each aria sauntered into the fathoms of the timeless waves; and he remained reticent. Had they even altered? Time only hastened the growth, the shape, of monsters, and to find her so familiar, so habitual and customary, with icy sonnets and glowering ambitions, relieved the taut muscles, the rigid strings of undulating cores and coils, he slipped away from the recherché and into the tome of childhood again. There was naught to hide, to shield, to shelter from his all-knowing sibling, blood of his blood, brutality of his brutality, might of his might, and the once blank features were christened and nestled into a curl, a slide, of his lips, inching upwards in a lop-sided smirk. The sleek, deep intonation of his vocals cast into the shadows, slithering, crawling, reveling in the mired cruelty brewing and gathering in their stead. “It is good to see you.” A moment passed as she grew closer and he faded away, the strangling, suffocating abyss of his touch rarely yielded, and though he could control, contort, distort for lapsing seconds and snippets, the probable mishaps overweighed and overwrought the ability to caress his family. She seemed to understand, remember, calculate and examine the odds, merely tracing the glacial expanse of her powers over the infernal hands of his necromancy. He tilted his head, and was suddenly a juvenile again, curious, examining, inquisitive and calculating, weaving the heady strands of meticulous designs and schemes amongst his scheming mind. “What do you seek here?” The Reaper desired the knowledge in order to compose, orchestrate, construct and sculpt the musing, the revolution, the sedition and subversion brought by his sister, by tied bloodlines fastened and bleeding into the entrails, into the innards, of beatific benedictions. Power fused with power only offered the reveries and decadence of licentious bonds, extorted, condemned and corrupted. Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch.
11-22-2013, 03:19 AM
11-26-2013, 08:11 AM
Turmoil, the world bellowed; the empires shuddered, the kingdoms faltered and swayed, the loams wept. “How fortuitous.” Domination slipped from her lips, a callous, clever noose, aligned to the gallows of their prosperous, predacious reunion, haunting and halting the severed slips of previously tied ropes. The depths of his puncturing eyes absorbed, captured, her form, assembled the fathoms of her dreams, her yearns, her desires, and his mind mulled, calculated, distorted the ripple of countless creations to be eagerly torn apart by their ruthless machinations. A foreboding trace of the unknown, ruled and reigned by the merciless twist in their feverishly sculpted designs, from fire to stone, from unraveled strings to taut, meticulous ruses and schemes, covert and clandestine, shadowed and blighted, plagued. They coveted oblivion, deceit, cold, barbaric entropies, enmity, harsh, unreeling shells of hollowed, hallowed compositions, angels and devils dancing upon the same threshold, upon the same empire, scouring the halls for their ultimate upheaval. Were she to stir calamity with him, were she to prosper maelstroms and perform feats of villainy, conspire and ravage, ruin and paralyze, with the semblance of his malice, of his malevolence, of his abhorrence and unholy tenacity, their enemies would understand the value of power, the wild, ferocious splendor of decadence. They’d scream, shout, an unrelenting force of repose and regret, and the wicked demons, the seraphs and the blackguards, the greedy and the conniving, satan’s blade and mouth, would finally render them into withering, decaying, festering silence. Strength, diligence, and devious armaments, all united and conformed to their monstrous display of heathen munitions, a maddening pulse of depravity, a scathing, searing burn of morality, and he relished every morsel of their combined apathy, heartlessness, power and precision. The edge of his vocals simmered again, roamed and combed the inner halls of their darkened veils, of their patchwork disorder and revolution, reeling and steaming with the foreboding indulgences of mayhem, of malice. “I want the same.” Cruelty and savagery in the same flickering flame, embers and coals, sparked, ignited, incensed by the cold convergence, by the augured, presaged fixtures, by edges of shoal and shore, smoky laughter and silent opuses. He tilted his head again, and was suddenly the boy once more, innocent scion locked into future scabbards and sheathes, but underneath the curiosity, the inquisitions, were the trappings of iniquity. He’d grown far too much beyond the reach of Isilme, traced the foundations of brutality, and longed to offer the same to his sibling. Like an act of childhood, the dark, smoldering vocals pervaded the air, presented his sister with a plaything, a world to preside in her wishes. “Come to the Basin, Zuri?” Death, you bring death, and destruction to all that you touch. | ||||||||||||||||||||
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