04-23-2018, 05:31 PM
As suddenly as the words slipped from ebony maw, he is being submerged. A surge of black water wraps him in its warm embrace, but he does not fight it.
Down, down to the depths of Maugrim’s lair he goes. Every so often he is able to get to the surface, to take in as much oxygen as he can before he is plunged into the lake again. It grows harder to hold his breath, he blows out countless bubbles in an attempt to fight off the will to breathe.
It burns. Like hot lava sliding it’s way down his trachea. The inhalation of liquid is enough to make his lungs scream out in unbearable pain. The cat and mouse game continues as he is held beneath the surface and then allowed a fleeting breath. Exhilaration overtakes him - he’s not afraid. The torture his lungs is enduring makes him feel alive (although he’s certain he’s knocking upon Death’s door).
His chest is on fire as he is held under the waves for one last time. The eyes of the finisher peer out from the blackness, and Mortem feels himself slowly fading from consciousness. It is peaceful now - he slips from the madness around him into eternal slumber...
It burns. Sputtering and coughing black liquid from his lungs, the stallion looks ragged. Stringy charcoal mane falls in front of his face. Each breath is work, it hurts. A pain he’s never endured.
Ice eyes look back to Maugrim. A feeling deep within him sparks - he’d experienced death first hand. He’d seen the darkness, the nothingness. All of this, the finisher had the power to do. All of this, he had the power to do. It was thrilling, magnificent.
He cannot speak now, all he can do is stare at the murky stallion with eyes that scream “I understand.”
Down, down to the depths of Maugrim’s lair he goes. Every so often he is able to get to the surface, to take in as much oxygen as he can before he is plunged into the lake again. It grows harder to hold his breath, he blows out countless bubbles in an attempt to fight off the will to breathe.
It burns. Like hot lava sliding it’s way down his trachea. The inhalation of liquid is enough to make his lungs scream out in unbearable pain. The cat and mouse game continues as he is held beneath the surface and then allowed a fleeting breath. Exhilaration overtakes him - he’s not afraid. The torture his lungs is enduring makes him feel alive (although he’s certain he’s knocking upon Death’s door).
His chest is on fire as he is held under the waves for one last time. The eyes of the finisher peer out from the blackness, and Mortem feels himself slowly fading from consciousness. It is peaceful now - he slips from the madness around him into eternal slumber...
It burns. Sputtering and coughing black liquid from his lungs, the stallion looks ragged. Stringy charcoal mane falls in front of his face. Each breath is work, it hurts. A pain he’s never endured.
Ice eyes look back to Maugrim. A feeling deep within him sparks - he’d experienced death first hand. He’d seen the darkness, the nothingness. All of this, the finisher had the power to do. All of this, he had the power to do. It was thrilling, magnificent.
He cannot speak now, all he can do is stare at the murky stallion with eyes that scream “I understand.”
|Proceed with Caution|