In the brewing silence, he carved wolfish rapture, the seething, scorching blend of warmth and acrimony casting behemoth shades along the Edge’s heart, sinking and intertwining amongst his murky depths, his calamitous fixture, his rogue, blackguard potency. He hated and loathed, condemned and damned, and he would yearn to do the same to them, these gnarled intruders, these fellow heathens, these constant surge of creatures that demanded, claimed, and commanded for things that were not their own – petulance and avarice intertwined into a measure of arrogance that he could appreciate later. For now, all he wanted were their deranged hearts nailed, pierced, punctured, lacerated to the junctures of their hallowed halls, bleeding and lifeless, blackened and calloused, morose and damned to the silly, simpering wiles of their foolish grandeur. Would Mauja allow him to stroke the lethal annihilations of his blood now, to stoke the fires of his necromancy, to ignite and unfurl across the dominion until their enemies wilted, withered, devoured and consumed by the earth’s darkened scion? Would he allotted this opportunity, proffered this grand gesture, to doom and consign an oblivion upon their eyes? The savage walked within his herd’s skeleton and said nothing – his imminent silence, his arduous immorality, his perilous, portending enchantments were enough to declare the status of his allegiance, the intangible glow of his prowess and puissance. His argent gaze settled on the realm of the intruders, vast numbers collected, none recognized, none cared about, nonchalant, intangible, impenetrable, staring at the masses, awaiting the moment to strike. No words, no snorts, just the still before the storm, the statuesque, marbled vessel of death’s fatal caress.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
Bring me to Life [Invasion - ROUND ONE]
