05-12-2015, 04:38 PM
and when I breathed, my breath was lightning
Perhaps it is fitting that he’s here, when indefinable love has drawn them all here in the first place. They were indefinable, were they not? At least in some ways. But no, perhaps that’s still not true. They were definable. They were destructive, they were death, they were beautiful things. Together, they were simply magnified. Maybe that’s all love is – a magnification of the self. Her parents would disagree. They believed they were a magnification of each other, each one making the other better. But in the end, isn’t that the same thing?
For a moment though, she doesn’t think of him. They are hurled away from the world they know (though part of her wonders if she left that place at the sound of his call, and not just moments ago). This place is dark and cold and alien, and instinctually the electric begins to jump from her skin though she finds that the sparks don’t obey her commands. They fly around her, up and out and completely out of control and she shuts the sparks off again as quickly as they started. She could keep warmer with the electric in her veins, certainly, but not as well as when the sparks danced on her skin.
So instead, she looks around, peering in the darkness though she’s not used to such. The shadows of the Jungle are one thing, and perhaps they have provided some practice for this moment, but in the end, they do not compare to being outside the world entirely. But still, she can see (a gift from their god), and she spots him. Kratos.
And then she sees Lagertha too. Kratos coming for her from one direction and Lagertha from another. She didn’t have that many people in this world. Not her parents, questionably her sister, and sometimes questionably her Sisters (she is a fearful thing, when you know what sings inside her veins). But these two. These two she counted on in a way she counted on no one else. A General with a mouth too big for her own good and her male counterpart with a mouth too crude for his own good. And then Rhy. The golden girl. The good girl. What a trio they made.
Lagertha must see him too, because her vines snake out to snag them both and Rhy doesn’t protest. Time is limited. Their dark god said as much. Does she believe in gods? Perhaps, after this trip, she just might. Lagertha asks them about their electric, and Rhy is shaking her head slightly, but Kratos takes the lead. And she lets him. Because perhaps it will work. The electric should be attracted to anything more conductive, but what if they are too far? They might be. The wormhole could be anywhere.
Time creeps by for a moment as they watch the lightning, erratic in it’s movement in a way that Rhy knows is not natural. Not for Kratos or her, anyway. To anyone else, this might be normal. Lightning shooting as it will. But they are skilled, precise. And this is not. There’s a moment where she thinks it won’t work, when she thinks they will have to hope to god they can feel the warmth through all this cold, walking around in the fucking dark until death greets them before the wormhole does.
But then the lightning disappears. She grins slightly, but Lagertha is already in motion, propelling seeds that drive them forward through space with more speed than their legs could carry them. The seeds rake across her skin now and again, but Rhy grits her teeth and bears it. It couldn’t be as bad at the lightning that streaked across Lagertha (Rhy too, but of course, the lightning doesn’t hurt her).
If the electric is drawn to the wormhole, perhaps she can help. Rhy lets the electric free again, though not as lightning, but as waves, which push them forward, like a bulldozer. It’s hard to keep up, but they do, all three together.
But then she hears it. She turns, the waves slowing down behind them for her to look, but it’s already on them. How strange, a sound that seemed so far away to be so close. She’s too late even to scream, it’s blunt teeth sinking into Kratos’s skin as if designed for this. They don’t look back, but she does. She sees it, a creature made of ice and gold. Does it know? Does it know her sister? If the others looked, what would they see? Maybe this is what the gods made Kora, half of some creature that already existed. It doesn’t have a horse form, but something round and hard with a multitude of legs.
She wants to electrocute it, but that’s no good here. Already Kratos has kicked it off with a burst of lightning that she hopes, didn’t hurt Lagertha and her plant armor too much. Rhy feels the pulse, but it doesn’t touch her. It feels like home, strangely. But she’s already shifting, because claws and teeth are useful anywhere. The vine between her and Lagertha lengthens, and she’s thankful to her friend for being so quick on her feet. Good to have a trained warrior around. She launches off the ground and behind the group, heading for the place where the creature has landed.
There’s something comical about the sight, this round ball of a creature rolling away with legs flailing. But then it gets it’s footing, and she sees it’s eyes. Cold and cruel and bottomless, like it’s already dead. She rakes a clawed paw across it’s chest and black blood spurts from the wounds as it rushes her, but remembers how Kratos leaned into her claws before and she thrusts her paw out again in front of her. The creature is too slow, too clumsy, and it runs into the claws until they can sink in no further.
She pulls her paw loose, soaking in tar-like black blood, and turns to find her companions far ahead. She’s dripping with the black stuff. She doesn’t want to call it blood, because it’s cold and wretched (not warm and bright like Kratos’s blood). The vine pulls her forward again and lets the electromagnetic waves flow behind them until she’s caught up. But they are tumbling now, through the wormhole, the vine disappearing from around her waist. And she knows, somehow, that they won’t be next to her when they land. Wherever they land.
Hopefully cats really do land on their feet.
For a moment though, she doesn’t think of him. They are hurled away from the world they know (though part of her wonders if she left that place at the sound of his call, and not just moments ago). This place is dark and cold and alien, and instinctually the electric begins to jump from her skin though she finds that the sparks don’t obey her commands. They fly around her, up and out and completely out of control and she shuts the sparks off again as quickly as they started. She could keep warmer with the electric in her veins, certainly, but not as well as when the sparks danced on her skin.
So instead, she looks around, peering in the darkness though she’s not used to such. The shadows of the Jungle are one thing, and perhaps they have provided some practice for this moment, but in the end, they do not compare to being outside the world entirely. But still, she can see (a gift from their god), and she spots him. Kratos.
And then she sees Lagertha too. Kratos coming for her from one direction and Lagertha from another. She didn’t have that many people in this world. Not her parents, questionably her sister, and sometimes questionably her Sisters (she is a fearful thing, when you know what sings inside her veins). But these two. These two she counted on in a way she counted on no one else. A General with a mouth too big for her own good and her male counterpart with a mouth too crude for his own good. And then Rhy. The golden girl. The good girl. What a trio they made.
Lagertha must see him too, because her vines snake out to snag them both and Rhy doesn’t protest. Time is limited. Their dark god said as much. Does she believe in gods? Perhaps, after this trip, she just might. Lagertha asks them about their electric, and Rhy is shaking her head slightly, but Kratos takes the lead. And she lets him. Because perhaps it will work. The electric should be attracted to anything more conductive, but what if they are too far? They might be. The wormhole could be anywhere.
Time creeps by for a moment as they watch the lightning, erratic in it’s movement in a way that Rhy knows is not natural. Not for Kratos or her, anyway. To anyone else, this might be normal. Lightning shooting as it will. But they are skilled, precise. And this is not. There’s a moment where she thinks it won’t work, when she thinks they will have to hope to god they can feel the warmth through all this cold, walking around in the fucking dark until death greets them before the wormhole does.
But then the lightning disappears. She grins slightly, but Lagertha is already in motion, propelling seeds that drive them forward through space with more speed than their legs could carry them. The seeds rake across her skin now and again, but Rhy grits her teeth and bears it. It couldn’t be as bad at the lightning that streaked across Lagertha (Rhy too, but of course, the lightning doesn’t hurt her).
If the electric is drawn to the wormhole, perhaps she can help. Rhy lets the electric free again, though not as lightning, but as waves, which push them forward, like a bulldozer. It’s hard to keep up, but they do, all three together.
But then she hears it. She turns, the waves slowing down behind them for her to look, but it’s already on them. How strange, a sound that seemed so far away to be so close. She’s too late even to scream, it’s blunt teeth sinking into Kratos’s skin as if designed for this. They don’t look back, but she does. She sees it, a creature made of ice and gold. Does it know? Does it know her sister? If the others looked, what would they see? Maybe this is what the gods made Kora, half of some creature that already existed. It doesn’t have a horse form, but something round and hard with a multitude of legs.
She wants to electrocute it, but that’s no good here. Already Kratos has kicked it off with a burst of lightning that she hopes, didn’t hurt Lagertha and her plant armor too much. Rhy feels the pulse, but it doesn’t touch her. It feels like home, strangely. But she’s already shifting, because claws and teeth are useful anywhere. The vine between her and Lagertha lengthens, and she’s thankful to her friend for being so quick on her feet. Good to have a trained warrior around. She launches off the ground and behind the group, heading for the place where the creature has landed.
There’s something comical about the sight, this round ball of a creature rolling away with legs flailing. But then it gets it’s footing, and she sees it’s eyes. Cold and cruel and bottomless, like it’s already dead. She rakes a clawed paw across it’s chest and black blood spurts from the wounds as it rushes her, but remembers how Kratos leaned into her claws before and she thrusts her paw out again in front of her. The creature is too slow, too clumsy, and it runs into the claws until they can sink in no further.
She pulls her paw loose, soaking in tar-like black blood, and turns to find her companions far ahead. She’s dripping with the black stuff. She doesn’t want to call it blood, because it’s cold and wretched (not warm and bright like Kratos’s blood). The vine pulls her forward again and lets the electromagnetic waves flow behind them until she’s caught up. But they are tumbling now, through the wormhole, the vine disappearing from around her waist. And she knows, somehow, that they won’t be next to her when they land. Wherever they land.
Hopefully cats really do land on their feet.
rhy
the electric lioness of riagan and rayelle
