who we are and all that we're trying to be
Carnivore predilections, a return to cold malevolence, in the rampage, in the feast of virile frames and feral flames, animalistic acrimony threading, beating to the pulse in his veins, an undulation of damnation and condemnation. A searing fervor reached into the back of his mind, pulled and seared at every instinct, an winding, raptorial motion, argent domination without its simmering contemplations – a dream, of course – nothing more than like days spent across the battlefield, unholy violence stoked to the bridge of its arcane possession. Wretched and devouring, a threatening cataclysm, fiendish incantations in its Tartarean guile, as if embedded, infused, unraveled from mouths of underworld depravities, the steps of his breadth a barbarous wake, too much too soon and the world would burn apart beneath his claws, the pads of his feet.
How easy would it be to destroy everything in his path?
His throat, his chest, sought to unleash another howl, to let, permit, the soulless dissolution rampage through ribs and over lungs, to terrorize the landscape of dark, haunting woods, abandoned, relinquished, renounced, a stark, cold, rancorous entropy. As if he’d never been altered, as if he’d never been changed, as if he hadn’t eroded from the monstrous animosity of his past, Reaper again, in hardened muscles, iron intimidation, sinew of wolves and dogs and hounds.
He might have done it all: lingered in the notions and thoughts of carnage, possessed by the demonic interludes of whatever this slumber had wrought, had another’s strange, unknown confusion not entered his mind.
An Attuned connection, stretched thin in the clarity, but there just the same – and his piercing eyes immediately shifted towards the tree above him, to where the leopard was perched.
(Not a dream then; this was real and tangible, utterly bizarre, confusing, confounding, terrifying and treacherous). These were his paws. His claws. His jaws. His monstrous entity, leaping and bounding to the surface again (he’d been the master of all the other beasts within – why was this one any different?)
His attention shifted back, torn and twisted, crackling and fumbling, riveting from one thing to the next – haunted perhaps, by too many tremulous tribulations and trials scratching across his skull. A breath and then he shifted them away, tried desperately, in the total company of a stranger. The other wasn’t unlike Oliver, except Deimos would’ve expected Oliver to announce his presence (with either worry, anxiety, or apprehension). This one merely embodied curiosity, and so he tilted his cranium, a narrowing of his eyes, a deep rumble of his tones cast towards the unfamiliar presence. Who are you?
It takes dying to know
How to live as ghosts
