06-03-2018, 06:36 PM
and lord, I fashion dark gods too;
The boy begins to protest not long after the images arrive, but Carnage pushes on, salts the wounds. The boy had been stupid, to question him, and stupidity must pay. The dark god savors the images of Tangerine, to whom he thinks of fondly (there was a fire to her, when she’d come to his prison, part of his game, she had been the only one to turn her back on the oasis, a measure of spine that had momentarily impressed even him). Eventually, though, he cuts the images off, and the sky is empty, save for his own ethereal form. His son is still hollering, and then – oh! – he charges, wings beating, a futile charge into the sky.
Children are exhausting. They don’t learn. Warrick is foolish, willing to pit himself things so much greater than he, and for what? For things already done, women already taken.
“Enough,” Carnage mimics, though there is a warning to his tone. Yet the boy – surprise – charges forward still, and the dark god sighs.
Spare the rod and spoil the child, the saying goes. He spares nothing.
He reaches out, tendrils of magic, grabs hold of the boy as if he was restraining a naughty child. He holds him for a minute, looks him in the eye.
“You’d be wise not to challenge me, son,” he says, “you’ll find the results are not in your favor.”
He slams him down, them, throwing his body into the dirt with his invisible hand. Not enough to kill, or even damage overmuch – the action is meant mostly to embarrass. To serve as a lesson, though Warrick seems quite unwilling to learn.
“Respect your father,” he says to the boy’s crumped form, “especially when your father is a god.”
c a r n a g e
HEY i powerplayed him i hope that's okay and if you want it to go another way holler and i'll edit!!