#weewoo here we fucking GOOO

[darkmissionary]

@voicelesshatred

Death reveals all, our hidden natures- What we would happily sacrifice in order to escape it’s sweet lover’s embrace.

See a man with blood on his hands, how quickly the artifice spins together to protect himself from accountability. Yet there was no fiction to be had, only the rusted coppery scent of spilled blood soaking through wool and growing sticky in the already humid night air. The eyes of a young Hyur’s hunger unchained and slathering for more meat and viscera.

Did the beast inside desire the hot, pounding thrill of vengeance? The dull burning build of lust? Stabbing disgust and violent rage seemed more likely, but he saw Caim in all of his wretched, naked hate. A hatred so deep and rich, it would glut the Abyss until it was bursting at the seams.

“I was full prepared to take this mongrel’s life. I did not expect him to be so popular, otherwise I wouldn’t have wasted the time coming out to this damnable forest.”

There were few places Fray despised more than The Black Shroud. Sanctimonious Padjals feeding the whims of Elementals so divorced from humanity, their ideas of justice and retribution may as well make as much sense as the values of Sylphs.

“A sellsword, eh?” he remarks more than inquires. “You’ve earned your fee, yet a measly bag full of rusted gil hardly seems a fitting reward. You’re after something else, the killing merely bides time and does little to hone your sharper instincts. For neither fame nor glory do I take lives, but because it is necessary. Not simply because this man was deserved worse, not to fool myself into thinking my actions merit Eorzea a safer place, but to enact punishment he escaped. I make no claims to be righteous nor noble, but I have learned how to harness the vitriol and the clawing, aimless rage into power.”

Power was always the shining lure that glinted beneath the bottomless well. It’s siren call was a song that Myste understood intimately, now enthralled by the chokehold of his inner darkness.

The Duskwight’s eyes gleamed crimson in the shadows, a menacing aura pouring from his being. Caim’s aetheric signature was but a weak flame lost in a torrential flood, buried beneath the crushing weight of the ocean of Fray’s malice.