Offspring;

[Offspring]

You're afraid, like I make my deals with the devil.
You've been at it for years, but couldn't reach the next level.

  He is tired.

  Weary, worn, and tired.

  His patience has grown thin – vile, scathing words fall from her parted lips, but he can hardly discern it from the hateful way her eyes bore into his own, vehemence simmering within the core of her iris and the very same emerges to the surface of his skin. A flicker of fire tracing the coiled muscle and rigid bone of his physique; outlining the burning ember in his stare. Her words are empty, meaningless - a ploy to coax the fire from within, to rouse him, to stir the anger that has festered so deeply and for so long within the tightening hearth of his chest. He had already grown tired of her long before she had come.

   ”I have ruled over many more than you, for much longer than you.” He utters, his voice rough, deepened with the agitation roiling like the hungry and ravenous sea, and he can very nearly feel the rumbling of the volcano quiver and shake the foundation of his core, rattling him and urging him to the very same frothing, magma-laced explosion he knew he was capable of being. Her words cut, delving in between proverbial material of his being, of his existence, reaching for his thrumming, raggedly beating heart – seeking to cut out a piece of her own keeping; for her own satisfaction.

  She cannot take what he no longer has.

  ”You rule nothing, and no one – Nerine is nothing of what was promised when the world changed – the sisterhood is gone, and with it, so is your power.” He growls, stepping closer to her, the warmth of his breath brushing across her cheek. He does not say that his own power is slipping - it is not, for what power has he had but the trust and fellowship of the Tephrans? But the drive to be all that he once was is fading with each passing day. He rules nothing, and no one – he is a protector, a quiet presence (is he?) – a presence that is waning just as hers is, like the setting sun over the distant horizon, caressing he and Nayl in a splendor of scarlet and bronze, glittering in the dangerous fire of their burning gaze.

  Weary, worn, and tired - the flame reaches for her cheek, scalding and hot, while the fire crawls the length of his muscled legs, reaching for the dry and brittle vegetation surrounding them, encircling her and rising – hotter and hotter; a blazing inferno ensnaring her closer to him, where she cannot escape the heat of his flesh and the fire in his eye.

  ”Speak of my son again, and I will destroy you,” he mutters as the fire traverses the marred surface of his skin, entangling itself into the tangled, matted mess of his mane, framing his scathing glare in a fiery, blistering blaze. ”I will destroy you, and all that you hold close to you – that is where you and I are the same, Queen Nayl of Nerine,” he breathes, his burning lips close to the crest of her ear, where the Queen imprisoned with fire will hear truth. ”I will let nothing stand in my way.”

OFFSPRING

keep wishing you were me and i'll keep making you have to.

@[Nayl] - HAVE AT IT! Anything but death, obviously - beat him up; let's do this. >:)