Primal terror is a hard thing to shake, a fear so deeply ingrained in blood and body: in the mind, that when it arises all the senses burn and rage like wildfire. It compels them to run, to fight: to struggle… even when the provocation for such a thing is spawned entirely from something impossible- intangible, seen only in the corners of the eyes. It stirs in her, oh yes- she feels fear, but Yidhra for all of her purpose and intents is not a creature who is prone to bending to even the primal of urges and feelings.
Patience, subtly, truths twisted and manipulated, and observation above all, these are what she knows and these are the tools in which she employs; but the feeling of fear is suppressed only by small graces and she remains still even at the touch of the malleable and ectoplasmic-like tendrils and maw… at the feeling of sudden warmth pressing upon her skin in form of breath and whisper. Fetid, yes, and something akin to stale salt smell of drying seawater… the coppery suggestion of blood, and the sharp tang of rot and its sourness all breathed upon her.
This, however, is something she is more accustom to than many could ever understand. A Leviathan made mortal shape and she recalls feasting on the bloated and rotting corpses of whales as they amidst the seabed. She remembers the fatty and rich blubber, the bizarre meat that felt little more than gelatinous mess and often writhed and breathed with worm and parasite. For these memories… these experiences, it is how she begins to unwind the labyrinthian abomination made God as he speaks and whispers unto her flesh.
He is blunt, without subtly, and she considers this a charm of the moment.
To herself she finds the dream again taking root in her mind, the dreary and miserable faces of ancient beasts and gods: of powers beyond her own ability, but, in a way- he right. All others are yet gone, vanished into the annals of history and left without devotee or domain. Yet? Carnage, ah, Carnage- he breathes: he lives, and he walks in his own domain… a place she has laid claim, a place that feels more home to her than even the bottom of the sea.
This is the place in the depths she has traveled, where boiling water spills from vents and the glow of molten rock bleeds faintly through cracks in the sand and earth. Hot, heavy, and unbearably dense: riddled with ash and broken shells, with worms whose vice-like jaws clatter and bite, bone broken and flesh torn apart. Eloquent though she may be, there is a sudden poignant nature in her speech and Yidhra… Yee Tho Rah, ah she finds a serenity in even this discomfort.
“Mhm, the Gods are dying and all the powers fading, you are one of the only ones left Carnage, yes- the only one that matter right now, right here. To me.” she purrs and trembles: a mixture of both panic and excitement. “All others have found death in one way or another… why bother being devoted to those who can no longer dream.” he comments to her eagerness and has she the ability the might’ve smiled; but such a thing is lost from her face and thus leaves the beak to click and chatter as she comes to silence.
He mentions trust, and she would’ve snorted had she the ability; but alas this too is stripped from her and she finds herself instead turning to words. “It is never wise to trust a God or a High Power in any form, you may get what you ask; but the price will be much higher than you expect. This pact is not trust, Darling,” she mires in the moment- in the seconds: her gaze falling the split in the earth… to the bitter edges of Pangea’s crust broken like a wound.
It seethes, and she hears the fleshy squelching of organic matter as muscle and tissue work in tandem- as blood boils and festers well within. “But it will be made: consequences are things I am well used to, and prices are things I have always seen to their end.” she ends her pause with a step, with a leg slowly drawn and bent- moving forward in step towards the scar he has ripped open and the pulsating heart well within, and she looks down: stares into the cancerous mass without hesitation.
Some might’ve mistaken it for arrogance when she leaps, when the compact and bizarre figure springs forward into the organic mass; but it is not that, no, this is necessity.
‘I will rule.’ had been her words, and Yidhra knows the moment her skin slides into it: the moment the pulse of magic hits her… that this was what had to be done.
Crowns come with prices.
Yidhra
@[Carnage]