| Rodrik has drawn the most peculiar and common to him. For some of them had been weak and strong, some of them had been worthy while others had been worthless in their service to him. Rodrik has always manipulated others—simple stepping stones—to where he got in his life, or to get what he desired most. It had never mattered to him how he had got there, only that he achieved the very goal itself in the end. He was the conniving little red devil, after all. He should have laid in the black sands, buried beneath the skin and bones of the dying. The waves of the ocean should have taken him; the salt should have dissolved him. But then, always, he would be here in this never ending cycle of birth and death. Not even the natural course of nature itself could keep him from such unworldly bounds. If anything, he was part of the very cycle itself—just as the season came and gone, just as life comes and go. He is the giver and the eliminator, the balancer between life and death. The devil chuckles at her comments of the field. “I can only offer you something matching of this torture and purgatory.” He licks his lips casually, tasting the bitter sweetness of this conversation already. “But perhaps you would find a haven in Pangea.” He mulls over the idea a little with bringing the mare there. The cons and pros are unknown, but he has always sought out the strong among the weak. Some from the field had always been promising while others had simply proven little. There was a risk in all of this, but little cost for him. “What do you think, Karsi?” A home from this hell hole was what she wanted. Rodrik did not need to specify that it was a wasteland, offering little food and warmth. However, it offered promising outcome for the very future. Pangea just need a little push and work to get the gears oiled and rolling. |
| angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils |
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