07-09-2021, 01:26 PM
Oh
(1,036 words)
I can see through you, see your true colors
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Cause inside you're ugly, you're ugly like me
Red eyes are still fixed on a horizon that no longer hold any sign of the dragon when the heavens seem to grumble above him in agony. Long pointed ears flatten against his skull as he arches his neck and looks over to Pollux, still on the ground and pleading to the skies with his brother’s helmet smoking in his hands. He’s not sure what new hell this is as the earth seems to tremble in response and then suddenly Pollux is at his side, slipping him free of the golden bridle and dropping it on the ground. Suddenly Pollux is no more as he fades into stardust, Castor’s helmet dissolving with him.
He is left in his chainmail and despite the cries of victory and loss around him, he is alone.
Obscene stands still, observing the humans trying to collect their dead or looting the corpses of those that failed to make it. What now? What was he suppose to do now? He can’t help but flick his crimson gaze back to the horizon where the dragon had gone. What had that all been about? Where had Pollux gone? Why was he still here? Whatever dream this was, he wanted to awaken. Immediately. Slowly he begins to amble down the beach, picking up his hooves to avoid the dead, as he looks for another warhorse. Maybe they might be able to answer his questions. Maybe one of the others could help him find his way home. As he searches, all around him are signs of death and he wonders why anyone would crave this kind of destruction. His trickster soul seems heavy in the wake of it all, finding no true delight when it comes to the art of war.
A clacking noise behind him makes him pause and he stops, a hoof raised, as he turns his head to see the ocean creature that breaks from the waves. It ignores the living, large claws poking at the dead and removing small strips of meat to feed. The gilded stallion shudders slightly and this seems to be enough for its eyestalks to find him. It looks upon his naked face and starts to click its claws madly, scurrying sideways across the beach in his direction. It becomes clear very quickly that its intentions are not pleasant ones as a large pincher snaps out at him and he barely dodges out of the way.
He doesn’t manage to evade the other claw completely as the dactyl cuts through the remaining chainmail and slices along his barrel. Instinct makes him draw from his power and surprisingly this time it responds. He doesn’t notice the way his blood turns to pearls and shells when it hits the sand as his skin begins to knit back together, cauterizing with a lick of fire. As if he was somehow connected to this land. What he does notice is that feeling within him, that writhing that had been missing before, as his anger and fear begin to flare again. Except something feels different this time. His insides feel hot as if he is boiling alive from the inside out. (Is this how his father had always felt with those flames lurking beneath his skin?) It’s something more than just rage and in a roar of flames the snake breaks through from his captivity of fur and hooves. A different serpent then the one he had come to know.
Each orange scale holds its own individual flame as the fire serpent wastes no time in wrapping its blazing coils around the giant sea beast, a creature of the gods fighting a creature of the gods. This snake is just as large, hungry, and venomous as the black one but he realizes with a jolt that he has some sense of himself in this one. He is aware of what’s happening, of what he is doing, of what he is. What he wants. He vaguely can hear cries on the beach as the living witness this spectacle and he catches faint words of “Demon” and “Devil” (perhaps Pollux had been right after all) as the giant serpent squeezes its opponent and hisses smoke as the crab’s pinchers seek purchase along his smoldering scales. Finding itself in a losing battle, it starts to scuttle back towards the sea and drags the inferno wrapped around it with him. Steam rises from the wet sand as the tide starts to rush up to meet them but Obscene responds by squeezing harder and harder with his thick coiled muscles. Harder and harder until the bottom-feeder stops moving and his shell begins to crack. Eventually all that’s left of the great Carcinus is roasted crab meat that spills from the shards of its splinted carapace, enough food to feed the remaining soldiers for days. A cry goes out around him as he releases his grip on his opponent (“A sign from the gods themselves! We have been blessed!”)
For once he is in control of this shift and he pulls the fire and scales back into himself until he is simply a dark stallion again, sprinkled in fine gold with the red eyes of the devil of himself. There is a cold realization that settles amongst his bones and smothers the heat around his shriveled heart. That he hadn’t minded the power. That he hadn’t minded taking control of the situation. And that he hadn’t minded taking the life of Carcinus, feeling a justified thrill as well as some worrisome guilt. It had felt good, cracking the crab open like that. Is that what it always felt like to the snake back home? If he wrapped himself around someone like Cheri's beloved Targaryen, would it feel just as good? He forces those troublesome thoughts to the very back of his mind as he dances away from the soldiers that come running towards the dead crab to collect their meal.
With a piercing whinny he rises on his haunches into a rear, his forelimbs punching the air before him, and casts a hard look around with that bloody gaze. A challenge for whatever this strange world wanted to throw at him next.
He is left in his chainmail and despite the cries of victory and loss around him, he is alone.
Obscene stands still, observing the humans trying to collect their dead or looting the corpses of those that failed to make it. What now? What was he suppose to do now? He can’t help but flick his crimson gaze back to the horizon where the dragon had gone. What had that all been about? Where had Pollux gone? Why was he still here? Whatever dream this was, he wanted to awaken. Immediately. Slowly he begins to amble down the beach, picking up his hooves to avoid the dead, as he looks for another warhorse. Maybe they might be able to answer his questions. Maybe one of the others could help him find his way home. As he searches, all around him are signs of death and he wonders why anyone would crave this kind of destruction. His trickster soul seems heavy in the wake of it all, finding no true delight when it comes to the art of war.
A clacking noise behind him makes him pause and he stops, a hoof raised, as he turns his head to see the ocean creature that breaks from the waves. It ignores the living, large claws poking at the dead and removing small strips of meat to feed. The gilded stallion shudders slightly and this seems to be enough for its eyestalks to find him. It looks upon his naked face and starts to click its claws madly, scurrying sideways across the beach in his direction. It becomes clear very quickly that its intentions are not pleasant ones as a large pincher snaps out at him and he barely dodges out of the way.
He doesn’t manage to evade the other claw completely as the dactyl cuts through the remaining chainmail and slices along his barrel. Instinct makes him draw from his power and surprisingly this time it responds. He doesn’t notice the way his blood turns to pearls and shells when it hits the sand as his skin begins to knit back together, cauterizing with a lick of fire. As if he was somehow connected to this land. What he does notice is that feeling within him, that writhing that had been missing before, as his anger and fear begin to flare again. Except something feels different this time. His insides feel hot as if he is boiling alive from the inside out. (Is this how his father had always felt with those flames lurking beneath his skin?) It’s something more than just rage and in a roar of flames the snake breaks through from his captivity of fur and hooves. A different serpent then the one he had come to know.
Each orange scale holds its own individual flame as the fire serpent wastes no time in wrapping its blazing coils around the giant sea beast, a creature of the gods fighting a creature of the gods. This snake is just as large, hungry, and venomous as the black one but he realizes with a jolt that he has some sense of himself in this one. He is aware of what’s happening, of what he is doing, of what he is. What he wants. He vaguely can hear cries on the beach as the living witness this spectacle and he catches faint words of “Demon” and “Devil” (perhaps Pollux had been right after all) as the giant serpent squeezes its opponent and hisses smoke as the crab’s pinchers seek purchase along his smoldering scales. Finding itself in a losing battle, it starts to scuttle back towards the sea and drags the inferno wrapped around it with him. Steam rises from the wet sand as the tide starts to rush up to meet them but Obscene responds by squeezing harder and harder with his thick coiled muscles. Harder and harder until the bottom-feeder stops moving and his shell begins to crack. Eventually all that’s left of the great Carcinus is roasted crab meat that spills from the shards of its splinted carapace, enough food to feed the remaining soldiers for days. A cry goes out around him as he releases his grip on his opponent (“A sign from the gods themselves! We have been blessed!”)
For once he is in control of this shift and he pulls the fire and scales back into himself until he is simply a dark stallion again, sprinkled in fine gold with the red eyes of the devil of himself. There is a cold realization that settles amongst his bones and smothers the heat around his shriveled heart. That he hadn’t minded the power. That he hadn’t minded taking control of the situation. And that he hadn’t minded taking the life of Carcinus, feeling a justified thrill as well as some worrisome guilt. It had felt good, cracking the crab open like that. Is that what it always felt like to the snake back home? If he wrapped himself around someone like Cheri's beloved Targaryen, would it feel just as good? He forces those troublesome thoughts to the very back of his mind as he dances away from the soldiers that come running towards the dead crab to collect their meal.
With a piercing whinny he rises on his haunches into a rear, his forelimbs punching the air before him, and casts a hard look around with that bloody gaze. A challenge for whatever this strange world wanted to throw at him next.
obscene
(1,036 words)
![[Image: Obscene-Pixel.png]](https://i.postimg.cc/fTkjKh9Q/Obscene-Pixel.png){kind=tracking}