intrigued by first impressions; cross/offy/any

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

 He, too, had once been meant for ice and snow.

  It felt like a lifetime ago that he had worn frost upon his skin and felt the icy grip of winter around his barely beating heart. It had been taken from him, as all things inevitably were, and what he had come to know as his own was soon replaced with the fiery inferno of a flickering flame that never quite extinguished in the hearth of his chest, and a tolerance for the stifling humidity that he had once loathed so deeply. The tundra-bound brotherhood was where he had finally found solace, companionship and family - a love he no longer had; children who had long since forgotten him.

  The ice reminded him of who he was, and what had been.

  He no longer missed it as he once did – some memories were better left buried.

  The warmth of day is not lost on him, as the heavy and burdensome rays of sunlight pound endlessly across the slope of his broad, heavily scarred spine – but it is no warmer than the thick line of fire dancing along the surface, exuding a heat of its own as his powerful legs carry him over rivulets of lava and through the dense vegetation lapping hungrily at his underbelly.

  For the first time in a long while, he shies away from the rumbling volcano and the plume of smoke pooling from its parted mouth – he is drawn toward the sea, with its ravenous waves lapping across the tightly compacted shoreline of volcanic rock and dusty sand drawn tight by the force of the ocean current. It is soothing, to listen to the steady churning of the tide, to and fro, and the scent of salt and driftwood is enough to ease his mind of any trouble that may be lingering on his mind. His gaze is settled upon the seafoam brushing across his hooves, blackened with soot, with the charred remnants of what lava had so hungrily taken for its own, and with each rise and fall of the sea, it is washed away –

  Oftentimes, he wished it would wash away his sin with it.

  He is not left to his thoughts for long, as an entanglement of murmurs eventually draws his attention away. His gaze steadies upon the two silhouettes to the southern shore – he had never seen either before, but the glimmer of red (not unlike his own) from a distance piques his curiosity, and reluctantly, he is pulled away from the silt and sand, moving into the brush once more to trace the island with his pacing.

  A beauty standing alongside a beast with eyes as red as the blood that had once been spilled from the scarring he now bore. A memory surfaces – the way Tantalize had looked at him upon their first meeting; the way her brother bore the same hardened, scarlet stare. Could it be?

  ”Welcome to Tephra – I am Offspring, its Overseer,” he pauses then, his gaze flickering from one and then the other. ”And you are?”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.

@[No Crosses Count] @[Neva]