The flames and fire, the rush and coil of embers, of ashes, of fury and wrath, had told him to look ahead – to peer into the open horizon, to stop glancing back at what once was and what never could be again. He’d never realized how difficult this simplistic task was until he turned corner after corner, avenue after avenue, corridor after corridor, without the Reaper’s shadow beside him, without the illustrious glow of valor beating through him. He’d become something else entirely between the haunting vignettes and the ghostly refrains, a shell of the gallant lad who only used to gallop after his friends, laugh, instigate and provoke mischief; more demonic, more ruthless, more disheveled and maligned by the way the earth sculpted and scratched at his unrelenting surface. The prince had always refused to give in – the temptations to merely fumble, fall, and never get back up again were minute compared to the enticements and yearnings rippling through his mutinous core. But as the beast stared out over the backdrop, the mirror images of reflecting pools and shadows, of dark, entrancing, unending waves, he thought about those dreams and ambitions – savage and soulless (a twist of the knife into enemies, a cutlass swung into chests and bones, soot of the fallen resting beneath his hooves) – and pondered over how to unfold and unravel them all so they’d meld neatly into place, glorious and abhorrent. He wanted his army to be strong, be meticulous, be all powerful, an omniscient body of endurance and fortitude, might trickling into their sinew, out their wounds, pulsing and pervading, a sensation of violent madness rooted deep into their cores, so when the world looked upon them, they knew their capabilities. He wanted his soldiers, his warriors, his brethren, to gaze and stare at opponents and understand what it was like to divide and conquer, to maraud and maroon, to harpoon until there was naught left but triumph and disaster. The determination, the resolution, sprung from his limbs and curled back into his veins, until he and his companions were just maneuvering, rapacious machines, emblazoning the Stygian canvas with their promise, with their prowess.
 
Erebos’ muscles were carved from blood and diligence, undulating as he, kitsune, and griffon feasted upon the midnight skies, oils, and desolation – fearing absolutely naught but the end of their reign, digging into the surf and swell, thriving across the Halycon daze. He saw no one and felt nothing, giving in to the rise and fall of his daggers, of his crown, of his molten, surging heart, stoked vigilance and violence in the creed of his movements and motions. He listened to the staccato beat of Enyo’s talons, he listened to Orsino’s outstretched claws sinking and clawing their way through the earth, and wondered how much malice, how much menace, how much absolute abhorrence they could strike into this great, grand earth when he was done with it, when they were through –
 
A hint of otherworldly stars glinted towards his right, and the northern prince ceased immediately, curiosity meddling into his Machiavellian methods, stopping only to stare the intertwined shadows, the memories, the wraiths of upheaval staring back at him. Orsino hissed something feral, a nocturnal heave of contradictions and sedition, while Enyo glinted with those feline eyes, and the youth was a brewing tempest, a cauldron, an inflection of poised ruin and calamity, sketched on the fringes of his inquiry, on his consternation. When he stepped closer, when she came more into light and recognition, his memory quirked, sputtered, mocked; because he’d replaced her as she’d vanished into the hillsides, as she disappeared into the midst and mist, and he’d presumed she’d be just one more of the beings who never returned. “Ki’irha?” He proffered, gesturing into the quiet with his hushed intonation, vigilant, boyish stare riveted on broken pieces, reaching out into the void, into the forlorn heavens, and wondering if he’d stepped back again – too soon, failing to venture into the foretold future when there was a piece of the past glittering and glimmering before him.

Erebos

i have nothing, but then the have is not as good as the want