necro-divine - Tumblr blog

[necro-divine]

Hell by WL OP

[necro-divine]

       “ ᗷᒪᗩᑕK TOᑎGᑌᕮS SᑭᕮᗩK ᖴᗩSTᕮᖇ Tᕼᗩᑎ ᗩ ᑕᗩᖇ ᑕᗩᑎ ᑕᖇᗩSᕼ. ᗷᑌT I ᗩᗰ ᖴᗩSTᕮᖇ Tᕼᗩᑎ ᗩᑎY ᑕᗩᖇ. “

[necro-divine]

WHAT COLOR IS YOUR AURA?

Tagged by: @dynamoprotocol​ thank you babe

Amaranth

bundled flowers, ribbon, merlot, overcoats, gemstones, lipstick prints, red velvet. your essence is amaranth: you are engaging and passionate, but never out of place. you do what needs to be done; your confidence is unflinching, least of all when something has slipped beneath your standards. it is hard to live up to the image you imagine others have of you. you are the demonstrater. you are the debutante. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of wine, pearl, noir, and magenta, who share your inner intensity. you are also drawn to the ambitious amethyst and indigo, who will help you grow and inspire your actions. however, you may struggle to get along with the mercurial personalities of teal and bronze who wish to be free spirits.

[necro-divine]

WHAT KIND OF GEM ARE YOU?

PEARL

you are a bit of an open wound. ⍜ the pain won’t kill you like you think it will, let yourself bear it and you’ll find you can ⍜ you might even find that the world is a lot more than your oyster. ⍜ reticent (unwillingly so), passive, introverted ⍜ resilient, generative, adaptable ⍜ you hold the ability to create and recreate the world around yourself.

TAGGED BY: @dynamoprotocol​ (ty king)

TAGGING: UHHH IDK  @primordialfell​ @padshiyx​ @otherphase​ @johtobcrn​ @ambivalentatmosphere​

[necro-divine]

       WITHIN REALITY, the construct of decision fades and obscures in the face of cataclysmic intervention. A MEMORY PRESENTS ITSELF to the one driven by LIGHTNING. For a moment, the memory is hers, the next, it is no longer hers; and yet, her voice within is her own, her eyes ... her claws, her fangs -- 

       YOUR CORPSE IS IDENTICAL, TOO. YOUR DIFFERENT BODY A MONUMENT TO YOUR LOVE.

       A FLASH before her eyes, blinding -- a face; crowned by an ending war, a chess game played with the life of millions.

       ANOTHER RECOLLECTION -- SCREAMS, GUNFIRE, ROARS -- OVERWHELMING, YOUR EARS ARE TO SOON BURST; YOUR FEET WEAKENED, YOUR ARMS GIVING IN. YOUR HEARTBEAT FINDS HASTE, SEEKING ESCAPE, JUST AS IF IT WERE ABOUT TO EXPLODE. 

     YOUR VISION CLEARS, YOU SEE IT. 

      KERATIN AND WINGS; A VAST, DEAFENING CRY.

          Shatter, skybreaker.

      Then, nothing ... you are in your room, shrouded by darkness -- a familiar and yet unfamiliar sight, deja vu of something you’ve never felt before.

      In the darkness, two eyes as white as the moon, this is no dream.

      " I ᗩᗰ Gᒪᗩᗪ YOᑌ'ᖇᕮ STIᒪᒪ ᕼᕮᖇᕮ, ᒪITTᒪᕮ ᒪIGᕼTᑎIᑎG. I'ᗰ ᗩᖴᖇᗩIᗪ YOᑌ'ᖇᕮ ᑎOT ᖇᕮᗩᗪY ᖴOᖇ Tᕼᕮ ᗩᑎSᗯᕮᖇS YOᑌ ᗯᗩᑎT, ᕼOᗯᕮᐯᕮᖇ. "

@necro-divine sent:

" ᗯᕮᒪᒪ, ᒪOOK ᗩT YOᑌ! YOᑌ ᒪOOK ᒍᑌST ᒪIKᕮ I ᖇᕮᗰᕮᗰᗷᕮᖇ YOᑌ. ᗩ ᒪITTᒪᕮ Sᗩᗪᗪᕮᖇ, ᗰᗩYᗷᕮ. ᗪIᗪᑎ'T KᑎOᗯ IT ᗯᗩS ᑭOSSIᗷᒪᕮ ᗷᑌT ... ᕼᕮᖇᕮ YOᑌ ᗩᖇᕮ. "

This condescending tone that rings in her head is familiar in a way that stops Clarissa dead. Familiar in a way that fuzzes the edges of her vision and makes her feel sick and cold. Like a person she met long ago, from a dream that she forgot, reached out in a street of faceless people in the real world to tap her shoulder. Recollections from a past that isn't hers heave beneath the surface of Clarissa's mind, the shape of them unknowable but impossible to deny in the harsh light of the Power that infiltrates her being.

"Possible that I'm here, or possible that I'm a sadder piece of shit than however you think you knew me before? Who are you? Why do I know your voice?"

[necro-divine]

The Walking Death by Anilya Larmina

[necro-divine]

"Red. A vast open field of crimson. Flowing, as if being submerged in a river of blood. You are not hot nor cold. Not breathing but not suffocating. You are not dead yet not alive; you simply ARE."

Intro of my new D&D campaign

Shoutout to my DM for starting off with my character having a nightmare

[necro-divine]

"Is it my fault, Sayrrinth?" Its far from the first time he's asked, verging on panic, curled in on himself like a frightened child. He'd been prepared to fight tooth and nail against the Mountain King and his men, but he hadn't been prepared for the greatest blow to come from within. "I hate this. I want to go home. I hate this, I hate this."

        " Oᖴ ᑕOᑌᖇSᕮ IT ISᑎ'T. "

        And it is far from their first time comforting him through it as well. For once, he finds her in a pocketed existence far from reality, a veil separated from all the war and death beyond the peace of this place. Sayrrinth bears her most immense of forms, cradling him in her claws. Her third eye parts open, and in it, she casts forth the plight of love and emotion.

       " TᕼᕮY  ᗩᖇᕮ TO ᗷᒪᗩᗰᕮ; ᒪᗩᑕKIᑎG Tᕼᕮ GᑌIᗪᗩᑎᑕᕮ YOᑌ'ᐯᕮ ᗷᕮᕮᑎ GIᐯᕮᑎ; ᗰISGᑌIᗪᕮᗪ Iᑎ TᕼᕮIᖇ ᗩᖴᖴᗩIᖇS, IT ᖴᗩᒪᒪS TO YOᑌ TO SᕼOᗯ Tᕼᕮᗰ TᕼᗩT TᕼᕮY ᗩᖇᕮ ᗯOᑌᑎᗪIᑎG ᗩᒪᒪ YOᑌ'ᐯᕮ ᗷᑌIᒪT TOGᕮTᕼᕮᖇ. "

        Before him, she casts alight an orb of light, but this one is not like the others that have come before ... it attunes to the gift of the pyramid, allowing him further attunement, a catalyst, both light and somehow ... dark.

      " SᕼOᗯ Tᕼᕮᗰ YOᑌᖇ ᒪOᐯᕮ, ᗩᑎᗪ Iᑎ IT, ᑭᑌᖇGᕮ Tᕼᕮ SᕮᒪᖴISᕼᑎᕮSS TᕼᗩT ᕼᗩS OᐯᕮᖇᑕOᗰᕮ Tᕼᕮᗰ, ᗩᑎᗪ Tᕼᕮᑎ ... ᗯIᑎ TᕼIS ᗯᗩᖇ, ᗩᑎᗪ ᕮᑎᗪ IT ᗩᒪᒪ Oᑎᑕᕮ ᗩᑎᗪ ᖴOᖇ ᗩᒪᒪ. "

[necro-divine]

It's only a tiny dragon (dragon?), but Heliinx isn't taking any chances. If it was a baby, that meant a bigger parent couldn't be far, and so the rats she sends are not messengers, but living bombs. A dead dragon and meal, two birds one stone!

        The bombs find their mark. Obsidian and light, she witnesses the small rodents as they come, tilting her head with curiosity. A brow rises, well-aware othat they are portents in the design of ...

        Ah, she understands, now.

        The click of a trigger, she assumes, or perhaps her own prism settling into acceptance, the explosion is generous, and she feels her own crown and armor become singed at the heat and scratched by the shrapnel.

         Dust and particles settle, victory emerges in the shape of a battered draconid, scorched and idle, snuffed out.

[necro-divine]

       Get your shit together, Sen.

         He spots a simping gilf. // @necro-divine​

[necro-divine]

bleedinghearth​:

For every being on the planet who acts in a way that’s heartless or without empathy, that compassion seems to reside instead in Teddy, Weeping Dragon, he whose heart bleeds for the unfortunate. Amissa’s second-greatest achievement, a perfect being, an efficient being, a beast of terrible power, who would sooner extend a hand to be taken, than a fist, or a gun.

She laments no one trusts her anyway, and he looks at her with a knitted brow and shining eyes, blinking away yet more tears. He’s confused, at first, and then he remembers that not everyone has unwavering faith in the powers that Be. Gods were fallible; Man had figured that out long ago, and started killing them, replacing them with false idols they thought would never fail them.

And in the meantime, the gods’ hands never idled.

She speaks, and she speaks of dark, horrible things. She speaks of, what, to him, sounds like the inevitability of loss. And he knew, deep down, somewhere, that this war would have losses that affected him directly, but he didn’t want to believe it. Not that he didn’t weep for the civilians just as passionately, not that he didn’t lament over lives taken too soon, far too soon, for children who would never have their birth parents, for mothers and fathers who didn’t have enough left of their babies to mourn.

It’s different when it’s your family at stake.

“…I understand.” But his voice breaks, and a pathetic sob wracks his body, enveloping her in his arms. He understands, he knows, but his heart, poor, battered thing, doesn’t want to accept the possibility. Like a child, it demands, over and over, why, why, why, why. Why him? Why not somebody else?

It’s selfish. He knows it is. But when you’re irrational, and grieving someone who’s still alive, you tend to get a bit selfish.

   " ᗪO YOᑌ? "

    The sensation this creature evokes within her is a strange one -- her darkness gag at the overwhelming empathy that dwells within him, shocked that one being could hold so much ... so much of what made this man themselves. They weren’t present in their finite world, in that perfected reality the kal’uluk’rai had birthed with devoted arms of creation.

     She can only wonder why, but a hunch tells her that his kindness had found him felled before her rule. Those that shine the brightest burn away the fastest, after all.

     Her brain prism crackles with energy, and for a moment, she sees red. Sayrrinth clings to him involuntarily, his vulnerability seeming to seep into her, accepted unwillingly.

      " GOᗪS, YOᑌ ᑕOᑌᒪᗪ ᗷᕮ Tᕼᕮ ᗪᕮᗩTᕼ Oᖴ SOᗰᕮOᑎᕮ ᒪIKᕮ ᗰᕮ, TᕼᕮOᗪOᖇᕮ. " She feels embarrassed at this weakness -- doubled in the notion of not recognizing where it hails from. " ᗷᑌT I'ᗰ Sᑌᖇᕮ YOᑌ'ᖇᕮ ᗰOᖇᕮ IᑎTᕮᖇᕮSTᕮᗪ Iᑎ Tᕼᕮ ᗷᗩSTᗩᖇᗪ ᑌᑭ TOᑭ. "

       Her claws lightly bury into his back, and in that, she chuckles; attempting to drive away, to once more give her small digits use, removing tears despite the fact they might continue to spill.

       " Oᑎᕮ ᗯIᒪᒪ ᖴIᑎᗪ ᕼIS ᗯᗩY, TᕼᖇOᑌGᕼ Tᕼᕮ ᕮTᕮᖇᑎᗩᒪ ᗷᗩSTIOᑎ Oᖴ ᒪIᖴᕮ ᗩᑎᗪ ᗪᕮᗩTᕼ, I ᗩᗰ TO ᗷᕮ ᕼIS GᑌIᗪᗩᑎᑕᕮ ᗩᑎᗪ ᕼIS ᒪIGᕼT. TᕼᗩT ᗰᑌᑕᕼ I ᑕᗩᑎ ᑭᖇOᗰISᕮ YOᑌ. 

                  TᕼᗩT ᕼᕮ ᗯIᒪᒪ  ᑎᕮᐯᕮᖇ   ᗷᕮ ᗩᒪOᑎᕮ. "

[necro-divine]

tfk00r​:

      The rage was overbearing, it was quite simply overwhelming. It overwrote all of Husks rational thoughts, the Hunter Killer struggling to hear anything over the screaming tempest that existed in his head. He was aware of what he was doing, and he was aware of all the different sources of pain: his smoldering head, the various wounds on his body, the blade buried through his being and keeping him close to TFK01.

     He was aware that the Type Full Killer was saying something, but with the flames of hell itself screaming in his ears, he couldn’t hear a single word. All that he wanted now more then ever was to kill the imposter in front of him, to dash them out of existence… Not just for himself. For the Trappers it had killed, for the Packs safety, for Levi, Teddy, Airin, and all of the other friends he had made.

     The promises he made to each of them ringed in his head at the same time. He needed to get back to them safe and sound, he needed to survive, and to survive, he needed to kill, and for once he had no qualms or hesitations about this act.

     Husks mouth opened wider as that golden glow only got brighter and brighter, the flames seemingly being sucked into his maw as that glow intensified to a fever pitch, and he’d lurch his head around and shoved it right up against TFK01s.

HUSK used BIO FORCE CANNON!

     The aurum beam that ripped out of his muzzle was nothing less then simply destructive. It was overwhelming, and Husk could feel the power deplete from his core as he fired, and yet it kept coming. He could feel something else channeling its power into him, and the visage of the Leviathan only grew more ferocious the longer he held it.

      Keep going, keep pushing, until it was nothing left but atoms.

HUSK used BIO FORCE CANNON!

     It had accepted the void that swallowed it willingly, believing it would return, unaware of the direct manifestation he had been made into. TFK01 embraces the kiss of death from HUSK’s maw, and in that burst of energy, flesh, skin and fur are removed by sheer force of power. The cannon was simply too potent, to capable of annihilation for it to resist.

     Not much remains when the weapon revs up, but when it does, what little DID is evaporated in the haze of its vivacious color.

     Once all is said and done, nothing but 01′s helmet remains, suspended at first by the outburst, it falls emptily, clanking against the floor in its heavy design. The void now lays empty, vast and endless before HUSK. Only for him to witness.

     THE HUNTER KILLER HAD BEEN CONQUERED, THE BEGINNING OF THE END HAD COMMENCED.

      A nightmare comes to an end, and with it, only three remain -- only three remain.

                  only three remain.

                                                  ONLY THREE.

[necro-divine]

augurhound​:

   “Me. I care about what was planned. Because–”

   He stops. Why? He’d been happy living his life until now (well, as happy as you feasibly can get, being him), so what changed? Did anything change? 02 shrugs. He’s frankly not sure how he hasn’t descended into mad nihilism by now. If everything matters, or nothing matters, or if it was some nice little sweet spot just inbetween both.

   “Yeah, well, when I want things, it’s bad. It ends badly. It always ends badly. The common denominator in my life is me. Whose fault am I left with, then?”

   Only one variable, one mathematic constant, one singular integer that determined everything. Perhaps the concept of drawn out fates and predestined paths was pointless if so many things could be rested on his shoulders. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. He walks a thin line between reason and irrationality; they’re difficult to reconcile.

   “Minerva,” He pauses, and then looks at her. “You’ll be attracting attention if you go against expectations. You have no way of knowing if this wasn’t her plan too. Maybe this was her goal all along; maybe she set you up with Aurion just to have you break the vow for this exact second. You’ll never be able to know.”

   02 nods, in concession, and in thanks.

   “In retrospect I suppose it doesn’t matter. I guess we could thank her. I don’t know.” His jaw sets, firm, and looks away. “We win or we all die. What are you gonna do to help.”

        " ᗷᕮᑕᗩᑌSᕮ YOᑌ ᗪOᑎ'T. 

        ᑌᑎᑕᕮᖇTᗩIᑎTY IS Tᕼᕮ ᖴIᖇST SIGᑎ Oᖴ ᗩ ᑎᕮᗯ ᗩGᕮ Oᖴ TᕼOᑌGᕼT. 

        I KᑎOᗯ IT'S ᕼᗩᖇᗪ, I, ᗩᑎ ᕮᐯᕮᖇᒪᗩSTIᑎG ᑕOᑎᑫᑌᕮᖇOᖇ, ᕼᗩᐯᕮ ᖴᗩᑕᕮᗪ IT TOO. "

        It was interesting to look back on things when they were much simpler, when she felt in absolute control of the situation. Truth was, she had always felt it since she’d come to this world -- as if her eyes scattered across the regions had company; leeches that drew from their might to use as their own.

        She wonders if these two powers had abused her sight at any point, stolen her servants; those small sight wards that spied on the world for her, ever omniscient. 

         " YOᑌ'ᖇᕮ YOᑌᑎG; ᑎOᗯ IS Tᕼᕮ TIᗰᕮ TO ᗰᗩKᕮ ᗰISTᗩKᕮS, TᕼIS ᗯᗩᖇ ᗯIᒪᒪ ᗷᕮ Tᕼᕮ ᗷᖇᕮᕮᗪIᑎG GᖇOᑌᑎᗪS Oᖴ YOᑌᖇ GᖇᕮᗩTᑎᕮSS, ᒪᗩᑎᑕᕮᖇ.

         ᗷᒪᗩᗰᕮ Tᕼᕮ ᐯOIᑕᕮ ᑕᗩᒪᒪIᑎG ᖴᖇOᗰ Tᕼᕮ ᗪᗩᖇK, TᕼᗩT Oᖴ YOᑌᖇ ᑕᖇᕮᗩTIOᑎ ᗩᑎᗪ Tᕼᕮ ᗪᕮSTᖇᑌᑕTIOᑎ TᕼᗩT ᗷᕮᑕKOᑎS ᗩT Tᕼᕮ ᑕOᖇᑎᕮᖇ Oᖴ YOᑌᖇ ᕮYᕮS. "

       A huff, the look in her eyes is one of newfound perception; the wyvern has had enough of her own little games, ironically enough. 

        " Yᕮᗩᕼ ᗯᕮᒪᒪ, I ᗪOᑎ'T ᑕᗩᖇᕮ. TᕼᕮY ᑕᗩᑎ Gᗩᘔᕮ ᑌᑭOᑎ ᗰᕮ ᗩᒪᒪ TᕼᕮY ᗯᗩᑎT -- I'ᐯᕮ ᒪIᐯᕮᗪ Iᑎ ᑭᕮᗩᑕᕮ ᖴOᖇ ᒪOᑎG ᕮᑎOᑌGᕼ, I'ᐯᕮ ᕮ᙭ISTᕮᗪ ᗩᑎᗪ ᕮᗩᖇᑎᕮᗪ ᗰY ᖇIGᕼT TO ᕮ᙭IST. 

        IT ᗯᗩS ᗩᗷOᑌT TIᗰᕮ I SᗩᑕᖇIᖴIᑕᕮᗪ SOᗰᕮTᕼIᑎG ᖴOᖇ ᗯᕼᗩT I ᒪOᐯᕮ. "

        Her hold on his wrist tightens, light sears -- unlike last time, the motive she uses near him is not dark; dark like the powers she had given him. This time, it is its opposite.

        The light numbs his skin, and there, forms a strange bracelet -- a lightmade mechanism that appears as if an aura revolving around his hand. 02′s perception will identify it as a key. 

        To what, it remains unknown.

        " YOᑌ ᗯIᒪᒪ Kᕮᕮᑭ TᕼIS, ᗩᑎᗪ ᗯᕼᕮᑎ Tᕼᕮ TIᗰᕮ ᑕOᗰᕮS, YOᑌ ᗯIᒪᒪ ᑌᑎᒪOᑕK ᗩ SᕮᑕᖇᕮT I KᕮᑭT ᕼIᗪᗪᕮᑎ ᖴOᖇ ᗩ ᒪOᑎG TIᗰᕮ. ᗯᕼᕮᑎ Tᕼᕮ ᗯᗩᖇ ᕮᑎᗪS, YOᑌ ᗯIᒪᒪ GIᐯᕮ IT ᗷᗩᑕK. ᑌᑎTIᒪ Tᕼᕮᑎ, IT ᗯIᒪᒪ ᗷᕮ YOᑌᖇS. "

[necro-divine]

         " Tᕼᕮ ᖇᕮᑭᖇIᕮᐯᕮ Oᖴ ᗰY ᗪᕮSTIᑎY IS ᗩᒪᒪ I ᑎᕮᕮᗪ TO ᖴOᖇGIᐯᕮ. "

          “ I ᕼᗩᐯᕮ ᑕᕼOSᕮᑎ ᒪIᖴᕮ ᖴOᖇ TᕼIS ᗯOᖇᒪᗪ. "

[necro-divine]

boriiqua​:

Conflicted. Their face closes up, but they never stop growling and frothing at the mouth. Huffing mint colored fumes into the air.

       " ᗯᕼᗩT IS YOᑌᖇ ISSᑌᕮ, I ᕼᗩᐯᕮ ᑎO IᑎTᕮᖇᕮST ᖴOᖇ YOᑌᖇ GᗩᗰᕮS. "

[necro-divine]

bleedinghearth​:

He can’t help himself.

Even though the little wyvern pleads with him not to cry, tears still fall. He’s too tender and gentle for war. He’s always known this, but it still pains him when he sees the scars it tears into his loved ones.

“I can’t help but feel like it is,” he admits, finally, his voice thick with tears, them rolling down to wet Sayrrinth’s loving claws as big globules. Terrifying beast, weapon of mass destruction, Project M, unshakeable Malbol’Giath, but his foundation trembles with a combination of sorrow and confusion.

Who can be afraid of a monster who weeps so readily, whose heart beats so strongly on his sleeve?

“He needs to rest, Sayrrinth,” he chokes out, finally, “Something’s wrong. I dunno what, but he’s tetchier than when he left. Somethin’ beat him to bits, and now he’s fucked up about it. He can’t go out fighting like that. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but- I worry.”

He always worries. Worries they won’t come home, or if they do, it’ll be in a box.

      And in turn, Sayrrinth finds no qualms with wiping his tears, gently pushing them off of his face with her small talons. Sayrrinth had been ... heartless at times, but she is no fool to recognize the condensed kindness and love that radiates off of the man before her. It’s not something to be toyed with. Then again, none of them really were, and she felt oh, so guilty for the things she’d done.

      Her colors darken, and she shares his burden just this once, tries to.

      " ᑎOᗷOᗪY TᖇᑌSTS ᗰᕮ, ᗪOᑎ'T ᖴᕮᕮᒪ SOᖇᖇY ᖴOᖇ IT. 

      ᑕOᗰᕮS ᗯITᕼ Tᕼᕮ ᗯᕼOᒪᕮ GOᗪ-ᑫᑌᕮᕮᑎ ᗷᑌᑎᗪᒪᕮ. "

      Sayrrinth titters, her humor to cope with reality.

       " ᕼᕮ ᕼᗩS ᑎO ᑕᕼOIᑕᕮ, I'ᗰ ᗩᖴᖇᗩIᗪ. ᑎᕮITᕼᕮᖇ ᗪO I. Tᕼᕮ ᖴIᖇST STᕮᑭ TO ᗯIᑎᑎIᑎG TᕼIS ᗯᗩᖇ, IS ᗩᑕᑕᕮᑭTIᑎG Tᕼᕮ ᑕᗩSᑌᗩᒪTY Oᖴ Tᕼᕮ ᖇᕮᗩᒪITY ᗯᕮ ᕮ᙭IST Iᑎ. "

       She holds him closer, even if a third of his person is the size of her whole, the conqueror shows no real effort in finding that an issue.

       " Iᖴ ᕼᕮ STOᑭS ᖴIGᕼTIᑎG, ᗯᕮ ᒪOSᕮ; ᗩᑎᗪ TᕼIS ᗯOᖇᒪᗪ ᕮᑎᗪS, TᕼᕮOᗪOᖇᕮ. 

       ᑎO IᖴS Oᖇ ᗷᑌTS. "

[necro-divine]

tfk00r​:

     In that very moment, images flashed into Husks head. His fight against 02 & 01, all his time spent with 03, overlooking that beautiful horizon with RU, laughing with Levi, venting his worries to Clarissa and Teddy, eating those delicious brownies… His jaw set.

“What peace have they given me? You should know that- you were there to see all of it.”

     He’d feel something welling up inside of him, an alien rage that burned and boiled his blood. Husk knew what was at stake, what would happen if he lost, and that set inside him a burning rage that wouldn’t let him fail as his eyes drifted shut, the pain of the fakes teeth sinking into his neck getting him to grunt as blood pooled, but he’d bury that pain within himself.

“I understand, now. I was so afraid of myself, that I buried everything away, and in doing so, I created a monster. I think it’s about time I let the real monster out.”

       Husk would pause as he’d come to terms with that sentiment, and he felt the plug that kept all those various emotions at bay. He felt all that anger, all that hatred, and all of his fury over everything that had happened to him, over everything that happened to his friends, his family, and over every wrong him and everyone he cared for had endured. 

      That was when he’d give it one simple tug, and it all flooded out as he decided he wouldn’t run from it anymore.

“GRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

     Black flame burnt around Husks body then as his eyes snapped open, black sclera with crimson irises burning holes into the Type Full Killers body as he’d roar viciously.

       He twisted his own body, feeling the blade slip past his own body and pierce flesh, but he’d grab hold of it instead with his own shadow. It drove that steel into TFK01s own flesh, and were he to lock eyes with Husk would he see something horrifying:

     Half of the Silvallies features had been burnt away, replaced by a black flame that shaped itself like The Leviathans own. Its mouth opened wide, and a golden light burnt deep within its features as Husks shadows sought now to grab 01, tearing at his own flesh much like how the dopples own tore at the Hunter Killers, and they sought now to hold him in place.

“ANSWER YOURSELF THIS:

 WHAT IS A RAVEN TO A LEVIATHAN?”

  If 01 could feel a degree of fear, they’d manifest it upon the sight delivered in front of him -- the claws at his side wound his body, overwhelm his stygian dread in a micro-cataclysmic reaction that shatters the steady composition of his darkness. Neurons within violate themselves as they are witnesses to a truer breed of their night.

  The slight shift had been enough, but at the same time, a betrayal to his want. 01's weapon pierces husk's form, successful, but the visage of the distortion beneath finds no real amusement in the notion. 

  They bring themselves flush against them, and 01's blade sinks into his chest. Blood dribbles from his maw, plentiful in its no longer vantablack coloration. Now, a pure crimson, vulnerable by the hurt of their steel.

  01 chuckles idly, groans, then chokes on his blood; claws coming limp and away from HUSK's person. Their gaze barely even meets the mortifying visage above, talons securing along the edge of the blade that goes through his chest weakly.

   " The heresy o-of what ... y-you've done here, will p-persecute you for a-ages.

         In the stars, y-you will see my face, and when t-this world meets i-it's end, you will w-wish it had b-been at the shape of my talons. "

    He cannot feel it, but the fear in his mouth radiates in the taste of bile mixed with his own battered flesh, internals brutalized and his form threatened to be consumed by a darkness far much older than his own, far much wiser ... no longer compounded to a simple trinket of gods. 

    TFK01 finally meets their gaze, lifting his jaw to find the eyes of the end, and for one last time, a toothy smile clad in the gore of failure.

            “ As long as you’re mine ... “ They muse, their maw preparing another beam of dark energy.