01-05-2020, 04:58 PM
<link href='http://fonts.googleapis.com/css?family=Alegreya+SC' rel='stylesheet' type='text/css'><style type="text/css">.carnage_container{position:relative;z-index:1;width:460px;font:12px 'Times New Roman', serif;background:#040308 url('http://web.qx.net/zamora/stars-notdistorted.png');border-radius:300px 300px 0 0;border:1px solid #000;box-shadow:0 0 10px #000;}.carnage_container p{margin:0;}.carnage_container img{margin-bottom:-200px;border-radius:300px 300px 0 0;}.carnage_gradient{position:absolute;z-index:10;top:500px;left:15px;width:430px;height:100px;background:-moz-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%, rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-webkit-gradient(linear, left top, left bottom, color-stop(0%,rgba(118,118,118,0)), color-stop(100%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8)));background:-webkit-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-o-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:-ms-linear-gradient(top, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);background:linear-gradient(to bottom, rgba(118,118,118,0) 0%,rgba(76,76,76,0.8) 100%);filter:progid
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00767676', endColorstr='#cc4c4c4c',GradientType=0 );}.carnage_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:400px;background:rgba(76,76,76,0.8);text-align:justify;padding:15px;color:#CCDDE6;}.carnage_quote{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;top:-20px;font:18px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}.carnage_name{position:relative;z-index:15;padding-top:10px;text-align:center;font:28px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}</style><center><div class="carnage_container"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/85yyTfqG/can-rage.jpg"><div class="carnage_gradient"></div><div class="carnage_message"><p class="carnage_quote">lord, I fashion dark gods too;</p>
He had thought himself mistaken when he glanced through her eyes and saw the path the was one, saw the looming mountain in the distance. Thought, perhaps, this was someone else’s body, but it had only taken a second to confirm. He should have known this, of course, because he so rarely makes mistakes (and admits to them even less), and besides, they are connected in a way that is unique.
Love isn’t the word, but it’s something. A connection forged in war and death and the ghost of a valley, amongst galaxies.
Yet despite this – despite the fact she is connected to a god – she walks to the mountain? For what?
He could find out, of course, plunder her mind, but the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that this is a slight – a betrayal, even.
He considers possessing her from here, raking her own teeth across that lovely body. Perhaps she does not even deserve his presence, if this is how she sees fit to conduct herself.
But that is petty. So he leaves her body, returns to his own, and then he is on this hateful mountain, where the horses come to prostrate themselves before the land. It was here where he once vomited forth Pangea, a defiance; it was here where he tore out hearts, intercepting other horses, his own personal slight to the land that once tried to strip him of his godhood.
He lets her make it to the summit before he lets himself be seen, appearing from the fog. She is a sight to behold, having found angelhood somewhere in between their meeting, wings at her back and a glow about her. Usually he would have relished this, felling his own private angel, but there is still a petulant fury in his throat.
He stands before her, the fog thick around them but clear in the space between them. He does not close this space, does not touch her.
“Ryatah…” he says, shaking his head, “whatever are you doing here? What is it you seek, that you’d come here, before coming to me?”
And then he is closer, close enough to put his mouth to her ear.
“You can fuck whomever you want, but to pray to other gods? I thought better of you.”
And then he is closer, close enough to put his teeth to her throat. Close enough to savage her, and blood spills across his jaw, intimate and warm, and he keeps tearing. He uses no magic for this particular act, it is animalistic and cruel, built of a desire to punish her for seeking other gods before him.
The act is done quick enough, and –
<i>( -- and somewhere is the world of death, a woman sees the angel appear. There is blood at her throat, but it disappears before her eyes – they are often made whole, in death. Gail walks closer, curious at the appearance of the white mare, and is struck then with a realization of who stands before her.
</i>You’d like her<i>, Carnage had said, telling her of the white mare he’d once blinded.
“Ryatah?” she asks, but she knows the answer before the mare confirms. She steps closer, dark against the white, and casts a shield over them. She does not know exactly how her powers act against his, but his magic rarely works on her, and she thinks it might extend to this. She knows he will want her back, and soon, but Gail is not ready for her company to disappear just yet.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers, “I don’t want him to see where you are yet.”)</i>
He stands over her body, tasting the copper and iron of her blood. It was ungraceful, this death, more impulse then plan. He should apologize, maybe, but he knows he won’t – she should have known better, after all. He reaches out with his magic, ready to bring her back again, to see what she has to say for herself.
Her body twitches, then, nothing.
He tries again, confused, wondering for some horrible moment if the reckoning had come anew, had stripped him of his powers – yet he can <I>feel</i> the magic in him, there is his blood, rich as ever. Yet she doesn’t move.
He touches her, a stronger connection, sends the magic into her again. Thinks, <i>live</i>. But there is nothing. He feels how he could animate her body, but there is nothing of her in it.
She is gone.
He seeks out their vision connection, but there is nothing. Darkness all the way down.
“Come back,” he commands, as if this would work, as if he could speak her back into being when his magic had done nothing.
He so rarely makes mistakes, but it appears he’s made one now.
<p class="carnage_name">c a r n a g e</p></div></div></center>
XImageTransform.Microsoft.gradient( startColorstr='#00767676', endColorstr='#cc4c4c4c',GradientType=0 );}.carnage_message{position:relative;z-index:10;width:400px;background:rgba(76,76,76,0.8);text-align:justify;padding:15px;color:#CCDDE6;}.carnage_quote{position:relative;z-index:15;text-align:center;top:-20px;font:18px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}.carnage_name{position:relative;z-index:15;padding-top:10px;text-align:center;font:28px 'Alegreya SC', serif;color:#B34747;text-shadow:1px 1px 4px #441211;}</style><center><div class="carnage_container"><img src="https://i.postimg.cc/85yyTfqG/can-rage.jpg"><div class="carnage_gradient"></div><div class="carnage_message"><p class="carnage_quote">lord, I fashion dark gods too;</p>He had thought himself mistaken when he glanced through her eyes and saw the path the was one, saw the looming mountain in the distance. Thought, perhaps, this was someone else’s body, but it had only taken a second to confirm. He should have known this, of course, because he so rarely makes mistakes (and admits to them even less), and besides, they are connected in a way that is unique.
Love isn’t the word, but it’s something. A connection forged in war and death and the ghost of a valley, amongst galaxies.
Yet despite this – despite the fact she is connected to a god – she walks to the mountain? For what?
He could find out, of course, plunder her mind, but the reason doesn’t matter. What matters is that this is a slight – a betrayal, even.
He considers possessing her from here, raking her own teeth across that lovely body. Perhaps she does not even deserve his presence, if this is how she sees fit to conduct herself.
But that is petty. So he leaves her body, returns to his own, and then he is on this hateful mountain, where the horses come to prostrate themselves before the land. It was here where he once vomited forth Pangea, a defiance; it was here where he tore out hearts, intercepting other horses, his own personal slight to the land that once tried to strip him of his godhood.
He lets her make it to the summit before he lets himself be seen, appearing from the fog. She is a sight to behold, having found angelhood somewhere in between their meeting, wings at her back and a glow about her. Usually he would have relished this, felling his own private angel, but there is still a petulant fury in his throat.
He stands before her, the fog thick around them but clear in the space between them. He does not close this space, does not touch her.
“Ryatah…” he says, shaking his head, “whatever are you doing here? What is it you seek, that you’d come here, before coming to me?”
And then he is closer, close enough to put his mouth to her ear.
“You can fuck whomever you want, but to pray to other gods? I thought better of you.”
And then he is closer, close enough to put his teeth to her throat. Close enough to savage her, and blood spills across his jaw, intimate and warm, and he keeps tearing. He uses no magic for this particular act, it is animalistic and cruel, built of a desire to punish her for seeking other gods before him.
The act is done quick enough, and –
<i>( -- and somewhere is the world of death, a woman sees the angel appear. There is blood at her throat, but it disappears before her eyes – they are often made whole, in death. Gail walks closer, curious at the appearance of the white mare, and is struck then with a realization of who stands before her.
</i>You’d like her<i>, Carnage had said, telling her of the white mare he’d once blinded.
“Ryatah?” she asks, but she knows the answer before the mare confirms. She steps closer, dark against the white, and casts a shield over them. She does not know exactly how her powers act against his, but his magic rarely works on her, and she thinks it might extend to this. She knows he will want her back, and soon, but Gail is not ready for her company to disappear just yet.
“Close your eyes,” she whispers, “I don’t want him to see where you are yet.”)</i>
He stands over her body, tasting the copper and iron of her blood. It was ungraceful, this death, more impulse then plan. He should apologize, maybe, but he knows he won’t – she should have known better, after all. He reaches out with his magic, ready to bring her back again, to see what she has to say for herself.
Her body twitches, then, nothing.
He tries again, confused, wondering for some horrible moment if the reckoning had come anew, had stripped him of his powers – yet he can <I>feel</i> the magic in him, there is his blood, rich as ever. Yet she doesn’t move.
He touches her, a stronger connection, sends the magic into her again. Thinks, <i>live</i>. But there is nothing. He feels how he could animate her body, but there is nothing of her in it.
She is gone.
He seeks out their vision connection, but there is nothing. Darkness all the way down.
“Come back,” he commands, as if this would work, as if he could speak her back into being when his magic had done nothing.
He so rarely makes mistakes, but it appears he’s made one now.
<p class="carnage_name">c a r n a g e</p></div></div></center>