who we are and all that we're trying to be
No, life was never fair.
Those lessons had been instilled within him from a young, tender age, when the world altered and changed at the expanse of his magic, of the way life drained around him when he had no control, no nuances, no understanding of the power beneath his skin. Or when efforts were put into resolve, into adamancy, into convictions, and still, it didn’t matter. Instead of melding into a blinding sort of wrath though, he seethed beneath a wake of frigid, glacial walls and thresholds, painstakingly cloaking himself in primordial anthems and diabolical schemes, molding into a perfect reach of composure, reaching for the scathing nuances when necessary. When thrones toppled. When kingdoms scalded. When the earth’s weight was too much. When he tried and lost anyway.
His wrath and abhorrence didn’t consume or unravel him – it fueled him.
Deep into the heart of unfair tactics, he might have scoffed and snorted, furrowed his brows at her level of ridiculousness – the alternative was to say nothing, fight back (fight fight fight; those were echoes too, brandished and smoldering, between the air of smoke and fumes), and carry onward in his stoic enterprise.
On her spin towards his back, he didn’t immediately coax his blade into the fruition. He hadn’t lived multiple lifetimes to be stuck on one playing field, with only technique, with only form, with only age-old muscle memory allowing, permitting, him survival. The General lifted a foot back towards her at the feel of a blade sticking at his clothing, much like a massive kick, intending to at least force her backwards with either force or surprise. Then he spun too, whether or not he caught the edge of her knife along his garb or flesh didn’t much matter (what was one more scar?), striving to push his sword towards her throat.
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
