08-07-2020, 11:57 PM
He is compelled forward into the unknown by the unknown.
He is not willing, but he goes anyway. He goes, and he resents every step that brings him closer to the unnamed voice inside of his head. Hasn’t he survived long enough without the pull and pulse of others around him? Hasn’t he made it clear that he wants for nothing, wants only the freedom of the clear skies and a strong wind at his back? Don’t they know to leave him be, to leave him to his own devices or risk getting burned?
What is it they say about dancing with dragons?
Sabrael drags his feet the entire way, but he cannot deny the magnetic draw he feels towards this particular spot on this particular beach. He’s never been. He’s never felt the desire to linger on the shores of the damned (though surely countless carcasses have washed ashore by his own doing, at least those of the deer and boar and other assorted animals). But today that changes. Today, his molten gaze levels on the living myth that stands before him as his own feet sink into the ashen sand. He sees what has brought him here. He sees <i>who</i> has brought him here. But he still doesn’t see why.
<b>“Fuck you,”</b> another stallion offers helpfully. Sabrael is inclined to agree, but is perhaps wise enough to keep it under wraps. At least for now. At least until he figures out the <i>why</i> for himself. He knows one thing as he feels the chilly breeze rise off the surf and tousles his black mane – he’s not meant to be here.
Just as he thinks it, the bay roan feels a low pressure begin building in his head. <i>You’ll have to die first, of course.</i> Then, in no time at all, it expands like a shockwave from the very center of his brain. Light pools out of his every orifice, gold beams that blind him, deafen him, and make him mute by vaporizing his tongue all at once. A fire he's never tasted before and only for a second, then. He wavers on the spot, suddenly senseless. But in the next few seconds, the pressure travels down into the meaty center of him and explodes again, poking holes in the rest of him. The wounds are cauterized instantaneously, but there are too many of them.
He falls and dies, there in the sand at Carnage’s feet.
~
On the Other Side, he finds his legs. Death had been mercifully quick, but he is sure this next part will hardly be the same. He sees the faded forms of the ghosts haunting the shoreline, wonders if he knows any of them (wonders if he will be relegated to his own monochrome dune in short order).
He is not willing, but he goes anyway. He goes, and he resents every step that brings him closer to the unnamed voice inside of his head. Hasn’t he survived long enough without the pull and pulse of others around him? Hasn’t he made it clear that he wants for nothing, wants only the freedom of the clear skies and a strong wind at his back? Don’t they know to leave him be, to leave him to his own devices or risk getting burned?
What is it they say about dancing with dragons?
Sabrael drags his feet the entire way, but he cannot deny the magnetic draw he feels towards this particular spot on this particular beach. He’s never been. He’s never felt the desire to linger on the shores of the damned (though surely countless carcasses have washed ashore by his own doing, at least those of the deer and boar and other assorted animals). But today that changes. Today, his molten gaze levels on the living myth that stands before him as his own feet sink into the ashen sand. He sees what has brought him here. He sees <i>who</i> has brought him here. But he still doesn’t see why.
<b>“Fuck you,”</b> another stallion offers helpfully. Sabrael is inclined to agree, but is perhaps wise enough to keep it under wraps. At least for now. At least until he figures out the <i>why</i> for himself. He knows one thing as he feels the chilly breeze rise off the surf and tousles his black mane – he’s not meant to be here.
Just as he thinks it, the bay roan feels a low pressure begin building in his head. <i>You’ll have to die first, of course.</i> Then, in no time at all, it expands like a shockwave from the very center of his brain. Light pools out of his every orifice, gold beams that blind him, deafen him, and make him mute by vaporizing his tongue all at once. A fire he's never tasted before and only for a second, then. He wavers on the spot, suddenly senseless. But in the next few seconds, the pressure travels down into the meaty center of him and explodes again, poking holes in the rest of him. The wounds are cauterized instantaneously, but there are too many of them.
He falls and dies, there in the sand at Carnage’s feet.
~
On the Other Side, he finds his legs. Death had been mercifully quick, but he is sure this next part will hardly be the same. He sees the faded forms of the ghosts haunting the shoreline, wonders if he knows any of them (wonders if he will be relegated to his own monochrome dune in short order).