09-28-2018, 04:12 AM
He's an unworthy son and he's known it the whole time; but his father had chosen randomly (or so he says) and he feels that maybe he can make up for his uselessness. That's why he put so much effort in this quest, even if he can hardly forgive himself for toying with the zombie girl almost too long. The sickness of the Heart however, calls to him, like a long lost sibling, and he knows that he is able to help it. In some way.
And when all the others have arrived; Carnage gives them another task. There's been pieces of Pangea in them this whole time, and of the Mountain also. So that was what the two-timed pain of crashing dirt into their bodies had been for. See? His father, the God, knows the bigger picture.
But the translucent bay appaloosa has no time to think about it very much. The dirt needs out. And the rock too. Surely there must be a way to do that... but the magic works in itself. He can feel the pieces moving, just when his skin had closed on those places; and it wriggles it's way out. But will it be enough?
The pain is hardly bearable with the pieces coming out. He can't really think clearly, but his devoted self scratches his skin until he bleeds like the others do. He watches the reddened pieces of dirt coming out of himself and the others in sheer fascination - then he is forced unto the ground, as if hit by a large rock on his back. He's choking. Oh - dear - god, he's choking. There's been dirt in his lungs this whole time; that's the magic that had made him able to breathe underwater. Dark magic of his father's. Wonderful magic. So pure. Like how the zombie had been alive.
Oh, shit. The eye. Horses can't throw up, and he can only think of the eye in his stomach. Ready to be digested. No! Pangea needs it back. It was accidentally stolen, but if Pangea needs to be whole it needs every piece of magic it can get. Lying sideways on the ground now, he tries to claw at his belly, but the pain is swarming inside his head, there's flickers of light in his vision as he tries and fails to reach his stomach. No! It can't be his fault if this place doesn't live. An eye. An eye.
And then somewhere in the fog that is his mind, he realizes. Pangea can have his eye. Clawing at his face now, however, it seems too hard to actually do it. Oh, if someone else could do it for him instead. But everybody is wincing on the ground and bleeding like he is, and passing out, and...
No. No, he can do better. Better than all of them. He can sacrifice more than any of them, because if he lives through this, then he is worthless anyway.
And so he crawls forward, following the trickle of blood and dirt that is his own. Ready to give. Give it all. Because he doesn't stop crawling at the edge; he shoves his mangled body forward until he tumbles in and gives in to the bliss of being swallowed whole.
Because there's nothing more he can give than all of himself.
And when he wakes up on the beach like the rest of them, he is devastated that he has been rejected. Useless. Defeated, he lies on the sand, bleeding, and his eyes closed, waiting for the thunderous voice that no doubt will send him back home like the worthless excuse of a horse that he is.
And when all the others have arrived; Carnage gives them another task. There's been pieces of Pangea in them this whole time, and of the Mountain also. So that was what the two-timed pain of crashing dirt into their bodies had been for. See? His father, the God, knows the bigger picture.
But the translucent bay appaloosa has no time to think about it very much. The dirt needs out. And the rock too. Surely there must be a way to do that... but the magic works in itself. He can feel the pieces moving, just when his skin had closed on those places; and it wriggles it's way out. But will it be enough?
The pain is hardly bearable with the pieces coming out. He can't really think clearly, but his devoted self scratches his skin until he bleeds like the others do. He watches the reddened pieces of dirt coming out of himself and the others in sheer fascination - then he is forced unto the ground, as if hit by a large rock on his back. He's choking. Oh - dear - god, he's choking. There's been dirt in his lungs this whole time; that's the magic that had made him able to breathe underwater. Dark magic of his father's. Wonderful magic. So pure. Like how the zombie had been alive.
Oh, shit. The eye. Horses can't throw up, and he can only think of the eye in his stomach. Ready to be digested. No! Pangea needs it back. It was accidentally stolen, but if Pangea needs to be whole it needs every piece of magic it can get. Lying sideways on the ground now, he tries to claw at his belly, but the pain is swarming inside his head, there's flickers of light in his vision as he tries and fails to reach his stomach. No! It can't be his fault if this place doesn't live. An eye. An eye.
And then somewhere in the fog that is his mind, he realizes. Pangea can have his eye. Clawing at his face now, however, it seems too hard to actually do it. Oh, if someone else could do it for him instead. But everybody is wincing on the ground and bleeding like he is, and passing out, and...
No. No, he can do better. Better than all of them. He can sacrifice more than any of them, because if he lives through this, then he is worthless anyway.
And so he crawls forward, following the trickle of blood and dirt that is his own. Ready to give. Give it all. Because he doesn't stop crawling at the edge; he shoves his mangled body forward until he tumbles in and gives in to the bliss of being swallowed whole.
Because there's nothing more he can give than all of himself.
And when he wakes up on the beach like the rest of them, he is devastated that he has been rejected. Useless. Defeated, he lies on the sand, bleeding, and his eyes closed, waiting for the thunderous voice that no doubt will send him back home like the worthless excuse of a horse that he is.