He flinches underneath the forcible question; it’s a call to action that Victarian wouldn’t hesitate to claim. Their world has been condemned by the magics for so long and so finally their world lashed out in response. This is when the normals should take flight and ascend to their own power and prove how strong they are without additives. The only hesitation is that they have all been stripped and so they are left wondering who is what and what is who. Is that a shifter prowling the treeline? Is that a telepath standing in the midst of a group? It’s a matter of weeding them out, but the challenge lies in that alone.
Who is ‘them’?
They are the horses who are horrified when they stare across the field. They are the ones wailing as their souls are ripped in half. Victarian sifts through and finds some that are trying to grasp for a chance at this new life. A lopsided expression of amusement softens the ridges of his face although his eyes remain hardened and unyielding. ”I don’t,” why would he pity them? They didn’t take into consideration their powerless counterparts before this happened; they oppressed and sat above the normal on their thrones of magic and arrogance. ”They deserve what they get,” he adds with distaste, his mouth curling into a frown now. ”They thought themselves better than us,” he assumes that Hellbane lacks any magic and that it is only his color that derives his uniqueness, ”but now we are equal.”
The call to action bangs at the forefront of his mind now, offering him an opportunity to elude further oppression and to be something greater than the fallen magics. Victarian’s ruby eyes find Hellbane again, drifting away from the scrambling of the field. ”What is it you have in mind?” A land with no magics, where they can prove their strength on their normalcy; that’s what he wants, what his body craves.
Victarian
just because we check the guns at the door
doesn't mean our brains will change from hand grenades