| It is heavy—this fear that cling to him like a leech. It is a fear that tears at the insides of his very existence, a wholesome body. This body of his had once been a twisted and monstrous thing, just as he had once been a monster. He had been a devil before the mountain had come and taken it all away. And now he was left with nothing, nothing but a growing fear each day. A fear that did not die away and bury so quickly just as all his other fears had before. He is left with a constant habit, a stomach that turns constantly out of anxiety for what may come. But most of all he is scared of when it will come. He wonders when the darkness will consume him again, when it will take away his free will. It has only been a couple years of freedom, and he will not go without a fight to get back all those decades and lives he had lost from being constantly consumed by the darkness. But he always answered the call… It was always so sweet. So bitterly sweet the taste was. If he has learned anything in his past lives, it was the knowledge of not acting like a fool. He does not show his apprehension for what will eventually find him again, but he looks forward. The devil, underneath it all, wears a mask of many kinds. It is a skill he had picked up being in this new body—and surprisingly the owner of this body was a master of the craft. The cunningness and mastermind of everything and almost appeared that anything could come easily to him. It was something new, a fresh find, to feel such strength in the body of the soul who is named Rodrik. He had, an old soul, harbored many bodies throughout the thousands of years. The names of each body he hosted had always been weak and their names had all consumed into one being. However, this body, this Rodrik, had been something different. There had been complete acceptance that day he had been transferred into this new body. It appeared, no felt, as if they had been one of the same. Looking back now, it made sense. Aryeh had been a careless choice for action but more of a holder until Rodrik had been born. If only the creature, this body, knew before that he had killed his own uncle for such a sinful possession. Rodrik tosses his head, letting the thoughts troubling him slip away into the darkness. The field just lies before him and he is not here to waste any time. If he is to ensure the safety of himself for the coming of the darkness then he must work for it. He must start from the lower ends of it again—even if he had been a king once. His nutmeg eyes, a dominant gene passed through his mother’s side, scan across the field. The chestnut stallion makes his way across the field at a steady pace. He is never in a hurry, but chooses carefully to whom he approaches. Rodrik has always found it easier to watch others and learn what their intentions are. He has always found actions speak louder than words even if he was a master of persuasion. The blanket buckskin catches his eyes first. He watches her for sometime, particularly noticing she does not allow her emotions to cross over her features. There was something in the way she moved as she leaves the water to graze, a familiarity that Rodrik knew for sure was not the creature he knew. However, he does not wait to analyze the situation anymore. The chestnut stallion is already on his way to her and her little grazing area on this spring day. “Hello,” he greets warmly as he approaches. |
| angels banished from heaven have no choice but to become devils |
![[Image: lRJZ7qE.gif]](https://i.imgur.com/lRJZ7qE.gif)
