Prometheus

and Pyr

A call comes on the wintry air—a summons of gathering, dancing on breezes of frost and ice before resounding through the darkened cave. I scowl at the sound, fetid lips cracking as blood and bile drip down my chin, landing with the faintest echo upon the cold stone floor. I look up through disease-ridden eyes, glaring against the light that filters in to invade my shadows. I see your silhouette, already perched near the cavern’s entrance, waiting with a quiet impatience for me to follow. ‘Come, brother.’ You urge, and I growl before lifting myself on thin, putrid legs, knowing that you are right. What good would it do us now, to hide in our shadows as we have done?

The time is ours, brother—and we must seize it.

Reaching into the deepest parts of my soul, I call upon my magic, allowing it to transform me as I walk towards the outside world. Warmth suddenly floods my bones, the sensation unfamiliar to my rotten body, now masqueraded by the thin, satin guise of life. It is beautiful, isn’t it? From the darkened depths I had crawled, a daemon of death, only to emerge into the light as a god—handsome, strong, and perfect. The line between life and death is so malleable when you have met their fate, known their tactics, and reveled in their strength.

What could possibly be more godly than that?

Chuckling with a breath far smoother than the dead could ever manage, I creep upon their gatherings, you following ever diligently at my shoulder. I wish I could say that, upon looking at the herd, the Basin’s fortitude is as steadfast and as fierce as it had once been—but alas, they quarrel like children, whining over one another about the pettiest of things. My tongue is sour and my teeth itch to bite, to put them in their place like the infants they pretend to be, but the words die before they are able to leave my lips. Why should we lower ourselves to them, when we are clearly so much more?

Scowling, I turn with a sharp flick of my long tail, focusing my attention on the one supposedly named Rexanna. From what I understand, she is the Thief at the head of the spies, and if I am to climb the ranks, then I suppose I will have to acquaint myself with her. It is a tedious process that I loathe, but your steady urging is a fair reminder—I can’t always go for the throat, even if my tongue is wet with thirst. To play nice or cut her down, we will have our glory. I can promise you that, my brother.

I shift my gaze as I draw closer to her, searching for a moment to meet the eyes of the Reaper. He berates the little children—as he should—and I dare let slip a smirk, the mirth reaching up to my eyes before they turn again to the golden mare. “Rexanna, isn’t it?” I murmur with a voice like velvet, the coldness of my glowing eyes betraying the smoothness of my words. An archangel I might seem, but the devil still lies within, swathed in macabre lies and black secrets, veiled only by life’s perfect illusion. “I’m Prometheus, a fellow spy,” I almost offer a smile, but already exhausted enough by this charade, I continue smoothly, gesturing as you settle at my side, “and this is Pyr.”


notes; He's in his potential form, no wings.
I'm sorry if I misplaced or overlooked someone; I didn't read through everyone's posts :3
“Speech.”