05-23-2021, 07:42 PM
CrownS
“We are broken, like a mirror,” it explains in a voice like dry leaves.
“Can we be whole again?” he asks, but the answer is already thrown across his mind before the question is fully realized. All their thousand little pieces can be brought together again, if he only tries.
And he will try. That’s why he came to Pangea, isn’t it? He lifts his blue eyes to stare at the engraving of his predecessor with its burning torch. Ghaul’s corpse slumbers quietly in its tomb and he knows it is there. Waiting. Crowns draws a deep breath before his bones snap and contort into new shapes, until his hooves become talons that tear through the rock with ease. Time has been gentle to the conqueror’s body and left it mostly intact, albeit dry.
The boy forces himself to devour as much of it as he can stand. The taste is much as he expected it would be, but he was not prepared for the way it sets his veins on fire. It feels like the first time his fever took hold of him and birthed the magic that now pulses through him. All the memories, the dreams, and emotions of the Pangean king come crashing against his own even after he stumbles back from the desecrated remains. His chest heaves for breath. Still, his work is not finished. He closes his eyes and his body sways as he summons another to him, dragging him to the desert kingdom.
When his eyes open, his grandfather stands before him. Sage green eyes find his face and they narrow venomously.
“Crowns,” he greets flatly. The boy does not reply. Questions are answered before they are spoken as the old serpent looks to his brother’s body. Their clash is brief, a meeting of fangs and talons that end the way they both knew it would. The old man falls into the cloud of dust they’ve kicked up and Crowns swallows hard as he watches.
“Larva,” he whispers finally before his jaws close over the other’s throat. As before, he gorges himself on all that his ancestor has to offer. He fattens himself with an endless history of deaths, of births, and of loss. There is a pang of guilt in his chest when his grandfather stops thrashing beneath his teeth.
“He will return. Death loves him too dearly to let him stay,” it whispers against the magician’s temple. He nods, but a tear rolls down his sapphire cheek all the same.
He leaves a trail of claw marks that shift to hoof prints in the dirt and clay. Little droplets of blood spill down his face from wounds both his and not. This awful winding path follows him into Silver Cove and all the way to Bible where he stands, trying his best not to cry or shout. His body is engulfed by the delicious agony of all that he has gained today.
“Bible,” he mumbles as he observes her, recognizing her and yet not.
“Can we be whole again?” he asks, but the answer is already thrown across his mind before the question is fully realized. All their thousand little pieces can be brought together again, if he only tries.
And he will try. That’s why he came to Pangea, isn’t it? He lifts his blue eyes to stare at the engraving of his predecessor with its burning torch. Ghaul’s corpse slumbers quietly in its tomb and he knows it is there. Waiting. Crowns draws a deep breath before his bones snap and contort into new shapes, until his hooves become talons that tear through the rock with ease. Time has been gentle to the conqueror’s body and left it mostly intact, albeit dry.
The boy forces himself to devour as much of it as he can stand. The taste is much as he expected it would be, but he was not prepared for the way it sets his veins on fire. It feels like the first time his fever took hold of him and birthed the magic that now pulses through him. All the memories, the dreams, and emotions of the Pangean king come crashing against his own even after he stumbles back from the desecrated remains. His chest heaves for breath. Still, his work is not finished. He closes his eyes and his body sways as he summons another to him, dragging him to the desert kingdom.
When his eyes open, his grandfather stands before him. Sage green eyes find his face and they narrow venomously.
“Crowns,” he greets flatly. The boy does not reply. Questions are answered before they are spoken as the old serpent looks to his brother’s body. Their clash is brief, a meeting of fangs and talons that end the way they both knew it would. The old man falls into the cloud of dust they’ve kicked up and Crowns swallows hard as he watches.
“Larva,” he whispers finally before his jaws close over the other’s throat. As before, he gorges himself on all that his ancestor has to offer. He fattens himself with an endless history of deaths, of births, and of loss. There is a pang of guilt in his chest when his grandfather stops thrashing beneath his teeth.
“He will return. Death loves him too dearly to let him stay,” it whispers against the magician’s temple. He nods, but a tear rolls down his sapphire cheek all the same.
He leaves a trail of claw marks that shift to hoof prints in the dirt and clay. Little droplets of blood spill down his face from wounds both his and not. This awful winding path follows him into Silver Cove and all the way to Bible where he stands, trying his best not to cry or shout. His body is engulfed by the delicious agony of all that he has gained today.
“Bible,” he mumbles as he observes her, recognizing her and yet not.
you got me on my knees; i'm your one-man cult.
@[bible] this was a weird post and if you hate it you don't have to reply to it but I love bible