06-21-2017, 01:52 PM
He’s restless in his personal hell. He watches from afar as the world he knew splits and mends, spirals and stitches itself. It’s different, it’s new. He longs to get his hooves on it. It’s not fucking fair. All the greats come back at least once. Was he not worthy enough? Had he not left a big enough stain on Beqanna’s history? For christ sake they don’t even remember his time on the throne (short to be fair) but he had been a damn good General to the Tundra. Had left his mark on the Chamber and on many individually. He had imprinted on so many, there were still those that remembered. So how can you let his sworn enemies return (too many to list but Magnus had been a particular sore spot) yet Cross remains here, locked up and listless. Existing and not. A shell of his formal brooding and formidable self. It’s pathetic. Disgusting.
His lips curl back in a grimace, red eyes (once bright and glowing now only burning like dull coals) giving away his restlessness. His body aches with memories and while his body is languishing, his mind is still bright. A hoof strikes out in his agitation and collides with nothing, empty space and black voids that are infinite and endless. This is his world now, his life if you could call it that. Down below his terrible abomination of a son says he’s bored and all he can do is coldly laugh. You don’t know the meaning of the word boy. You have no idea.
He fidgets and sighs, rolls and spins, groans and rages. And when he can finally take it no longer, he screams into the blackness, raw and furious. ”RELEASE ME FROM THIS HELL!” He may deserve to be here but god damn it he will claw his way out someway…Somehow. Anything is better than this.
(once king of the tundra; once General & Legate of the Chamber)
What if I’m not the superhero?
What if I’m the bad guy?