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03-16-2013, 10:59 AM
 THE PLAGUE
Deimos
He was there because he had to be, tucked away in the corridor of shadows, horror and havoc, scattered from the rumble of voices so the vindictive chords of his alluring sorcery didn’t burn them, leave them wilting, harboring for more members as they were hastened to eternal sleep. The monster listened, a behemoth of silence and danger, taking in the sentiments, words and phrases that brought them all to the pinnacle of creeds and promises ushered by calculations and machinations. Like so many times before, he offered very little in return for all the junctures spread between them, benedictions of bloodshed and names that turned into turbulent tides of anarchy and indulgence – they crooned for bloodshed, and the offerings had been rendered. Were he an instigator, an agent provocateur, he may have drummed for more, clamoring for the earnest shambles of broken, pathetic creatures only waiting for his next upheaval. However, he was not of this nature – too composed, too rigid, too chilled and glacial to spare the moments of time and dominion. He allowed opportunities to relinquish themselves to him, interludes and impulses of vacuous, inane objects craving their demolition, their demise, the predator that waited, stalked, and devoured with one simple derision, one craving, unwinding allure of puissance and pernicious glory. Reclusive, he would not actively seek or hunt the murmured heralds, but strike when the chance was born, murder and condemn, consign to oblivion as they passed in ignorant harmony. He had supremacy, he had dominion, and in some unholy, vicious, menacing way, he’d bestowed his power, might and brawn to the condition of ensuring that this malicious Plague would bear the same furtive lineage. He gave a nod to his leaders, and his body to the group, while his heart remained frozen, owned by none and fueled by loathing.
GENERAL  |
