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Erdawn Il Deus · 08-15-2005, 10:58 PM

The world swam back into focus, and Sebastian was aware that he was dying. -But we all die. We are all dying, a dying race, a dying world, a dying existence. So what then, makes my death meaningful? My life precious? My readers? The voice of my journal, my Epilogue? Harlequint? Jeszebelle? Erdawn? None of this… but I vowed long ago… to Jessica… that my death would not be meaningless - that I would live for her. Death is a part of life, life is the acceptance of death and making your life count, hoping your reward will be only the sweet rest at the breast of Our Father.

His vision was cloudy and clear all at once, swarmed by light that seemed to bright (hard, sharp light, like pinpricks) and colours that blurred together like streaked paints, forming nothing of coherence. He knew only that there was white around him and dark before (above) him. He took a breath, and the air was tight, weak and he knew that his lung had collapsed, punctured, and that brought to mind a slightly more immediate problem. -The sword…

It had been pushed so far through his body the hilt was now forever entangled in him, and removing it would be an exercise in suicide. The blade itself stuck from his back, hard against the earth (his body on its side in an almost foetal position). He was bleeding. Copiously. Crimson pooled and drenched around him, so much blood, stinging his eyes, hot and sticky, he felt lighter, numbed, and weighed down. -So this is death? Will I march proudly into that golden eternity?-

He smiled.

-No.-

An exhilaration ran through him like an electric current, a kind of buzzing, rising from his toes to his fingers in shuddering waves, excitement leapt into his heart. -So this is being so close to death, inches from the rift. Brought here by the hand of that solemn warrior. And so close to death… so close to it, am I not more powerful?- The answer was in the trembling of his body and the white fog gushing luminously from his nostrils and throat. Earthshattering. Glacial.

-Yes. Oh, yes.-

Virtue took a step back, breathing hard, long bloodied. Luminescent mist poured from what he’d hoped (unbelieving) was Sebastian’s grave, the light of the moon reflected and absorbed into every particle and recast white and pure and soft, like a blinding carpet of new snow. The air hissed, and Virtue shuddered – -God, it is getting colder. It is getting colder.- And it was. His fur stiffened, was brittle and sharpened naked to the crisped breeze, the flowing of his blood slowed and actually crystallised onto his body. The hairs in his nostrils felt all too present, his lungs sucked against his spine.

The mist sucked the latent chemical heat from everything, and moisture itself froze on the grass, the stone, the world itself, cooled like an exhumed beast. There was sudden rush, achromic steam geysering up and down, falling with almost liquid tongues, intensely billowing against the reeds and buffeting Virtue’s fur and arms, and he saw Sebastian stand up, so red with blood where his flesh was visible it stood out like naked china in the contrast. His eyes, once green like orbs of sea-glass, had flickered and were now beads of iridescent crimson, hot as brake-lights and alive with power.

But death was on him like a coat, in the blood that congealed into a cast around him, the rattling pierce of his breaths, the mad staring of his crimson eyes.

The ghost that had been Sebastian looked down, his body split open to his spine over the wall of his diaphragm, where blood spilled. His interest wavered, and he stared balefully (no, Vortue thought. soullessly, like an emptied diamond) at his opponent, and snowy mist poured from his nose and mouth and crystallised on his face into rims of frost.

-He draws power from it,- Virtue realised. -He is dying and it is making him stronger, like… like…- He bit his tongue, trying to think of anything he could use, as a point of refernce… anything he had seen before. But perhaps not him. He had heard something like this once, from his baby brother - a warrior carrying a wooden weapon had grown stronger as he moved closer to death, and every blow against him was like a thousand against his adversaries. -Maybe he isn’t like that, maybe not exactly, but my God I have to destroy him now now NOW-

Virtue flexed his good arm, closing his eyes, and with a grunt, he charged. His footfalls thundere across the field so loud as to echoe mutely, and the earth trembled at his coming but Sebastian only stared him down and the mist intensified, actually cold-burning Virtue as he approached, charring his skin, his body electric with stinging, burning pain. He roared, drew back his fist, the man was standing half-impaled on a bloody sword he would die now—

Navarre lifted his arm, and bent his body and brought it down, slapping the ground, and everything shook like the throat of God and force (invisible but so intense the air shimmered like bent glass) simply shook up against Virtue in mid-stride that he was lifted clean off his feet and hurled backwards like a lawn dart, his bones crunching, and from where Sebastian’s hand touched the grass blew backwards in ripples and was suddenly drowned in an inking carpet of red.

Fwoomp.

All the grass, from horizon to horizon, the crimson spreading like water clouds, boiling through the reeds with heart pigment, blasting petals and dirt into the air billowing in the rushing carpet of carmine, and suddenly the entire field was red and Sebastian was walking towards Virtue like a malign god, the reeds bending at his presence. Blood pattered into the crimson sea like raindrops from his body, and with one wave of his hand, the wound froze over – crystallizing shut and the ice was red. He kept striding, stoic, unstoppable, and he touched the blade that had impaled him – the cold suddenly wrenched into the very leylines of the steel and it shattered, the tip breaking off like a metal fang and resting heavy in Sebastian’s hand.

He kept walking.

Virtue pushed himself up, his head ringing and bleeding, warped and dizzy, but getting up because life seemed to be so important, something so worth fighting for, and mindless of the pain and dumbing numbess in his limps he charged, ignoring the sluggishness that stole over his muscles in the frigid temperature.

Sebastian reached down in mid-stride and picked up his blade, a runic slab of ebon steel, and it glaciated at the razor edges in crimson vine-works of frost. Suddenly he wasn’t walking anymore, he was sprinting, him and Virtue coming at each other together, and they met and the world trembled.

Grass burst into crimson fragments of dust around them, so cold, so cold, Virtue swinging his arm to collapse Sebastian’s chest and the ghost Wolf turning aside, both blades with him, cutting chunks from his adversary’s sides and letting blood to the grass, crystallizing where it dropped. Virtue howled and bulled forward, ramming the broad-side of his shoulder into Sebastian’s still-turning body, hitting him like a derailed train and staggering him clean off his feet, grabbing his right arm and twisting with his colossal hand and dropping the broken sword-point from Sebastian’s. He pulled backwards, planning to tear the arm off completely when the Gjost Wolf of Iscariote titlted his head to look at Virtue, and barred his teeth.

Suddenly, the goliath’s hand burned, seered away in a womb of alien red ice, steaming white, the fingers brittle and broken and splintered into uselessness and the flesh peeling dry from the palm. Sebastian whipped around as Virtue growled, and drove his runeblade to the hilt, nesting it through Virtue’s sternum, and twisting on thhe pommel, and smashing a lung to a pulp inside the cage of his thorax.

Blood burst from Virtue’s lips, and Sebastian let go of the blade and suddenly his hands wove and darted and cracked into the beast, over and over and over, each blow weaving those invisible lines of force, spreading red ice through Virtue’s body and skeleton, the Khuutra swatting Sebastian away as best he could but still taking on the rain of blows.

Suddenly, Sebastian slid backwards. They stared at each other, and Virtue felt the webs – woven into nests and bundles across his body in various positions, constrict.

Boom.

OoC: Bah, sorry, needed to go too fast for finishing this properly. Cheers all and see you in a week.

08-15-2005, 10:58 PM	#8
Erdawn Il Deus Senior Member Join Date: May 2003 Location: Threading the jeweled thrones of earth under my sandalled feet Gender: Posts: 2,985 Thanks: 4 Thanked 45 Times in 39 Posts Points: 22,968.27 Bank: 757.83 Total Points: 23,726.10 Donate	The world swam back into focus, and Sebastian was aware that he was dying. -But we all die. We are all dying, a dying race, a dying world, a dying existence. So what then, makes my death meaningful? My life precious? My readers? The voice of my journal, my Epilogue? Harlequint? Jeszebelle? Erdawn? None of this… but I vowed long ago… to Jessica… that my death would not be meaningless - that I would live for her. Death is a part of life, life is the acceptance of death and making your life count, hoping your reward will be only the sweet rest at the breast of Our Father. His vision was cloudy and clear all at once, swarmed by light that seemed to bright (hard, sharp light, like pinpricks) and colours that blurred together like streaked paints, forming nothing of coherence. He knew only that there was white around him and dark before (above) him. He took a breath, and the air was tight, weak and he knew that his lung had collapsed, punctured, and that brought to mind a slightly more immediate problem. -The sword… It had been pushed so far through his body the hilt was now forever entangled in him, and removing it would be an exercise in suicide. The blade itself stuck from his back, hard against the earth (his body on its side in an almost foetal position). He was bleeding. Copiously. Crimson pooled and drenched around him, so much blood, stinging his eyes, hot and sticky, he felt lighter, numbed, and weighed down. -So this is death? Will I march proudly into that golden eternity?- He smiled. -No.- An exhilaration ran through him like an electric current, a kind of buzzing, rising from his toes to his fingers in shuddering waves, excitement leapt into his heart. -So this is being so close to death, inches from the rift. Brought here by the hand of that solemn warrior. And so close to death… so close to it, am I not more powerful?- The answer was in the trembling of his body and the white fog gushing luminously from his nostrils and throat. Earthshattering. Glacial. -Yes. Oh, yes.- Virtue took a step back, breathing hard, long bloodied. Luminescent mist poured from what he’d hoped (unbelieving) was Sebastian’s grave, the light of the moon reflected and absorbed into every particle and recast white and pure and soft, like a blinding carpet of new snow. The air hissed, and Virtue shuddered – -God, it is getting colder. It is getting colder.- And it was. His fur stiffened, was brittle and sharpened naked to the crisped breeze, the flowing of his blood slowed and actually crystallised onto his body. The hairs in his nostrils felt all too present, his lungs sucked against his spine. The mist sucked the latent chemical heat from everything, and moisture itself froze on the grass, the stone, the world itself, cooled like an exhumed beast. There was sudden rush, achromic steam geysering up and down, falling with almost liquid tongues, intensely billowing against the reeds and buffeting Virtue’s fur and arms, and he saw Sebastian stand up, so red with blood where his flesh was visible it stood out like naked china in the contrast. His eyes, once green like orbs of sea-glass, had flickered and were now beads of iridescent crimson, hot as brake-lights and alive with power. But death was on him like a coat, in the blood that congealed into a cast around him, the rattling pierce of his breaths, the mad staring of his crimson eyes. The ghost that had been Sebastian looked down, his body split open to his spine over the wall of his diaphragm, where blood spilled. His interest wavered, and he stared balefully (no, Vortue thought. soullessly, like an emptied diamond) at his opponent, and snowy mist poured from his nose and mouth and crystallised on his face into rims of frost. -He draws power from it,- Virtue realised. -He is dying and it is making him stronger, like… like…- He bit his tongue, trying to think of anything he could use, as a point of refernce… anything he had seen before. But perhaps not him. He had heard something like this once, from his baby brother - a warrior carrying a wooden weapon had grown stronger as he moved closer to death, and every blow against him was like a thousand against his adversaries. -Maybe he isn’t like that, maybe not exactly, but my God I have to destroy him now now NOW- Virtue flexed his good arm, closing his eyes, and with a grunt, he charged. His footfalls thundere across the field so loud as to echoe mutely, and the earth trembled at his coming but Sebastian only stared him down and the mist intensified, actually cold-burning Virtue as he approached, charring his skin, his body electric with stinging, burning pain. He roared, drew back his fist, the man was standing half-impaled on a bloody sword he would die now— Navarre lifted his arm, and bent his body and brought it down, slapping the ground, and everything shook like the throat of God and force (invisible but so intense the air shimmered like bent glass) simply shook up against Virtue in mid-stride that he was lifted clean off his feet and hurled backwards like a lawn dart, his bones crunching, and from where Sebastian’s hand touched the grass blew backwards in ripples and was suddenly drowned in an inking carpet of red. Fwoomp. All the grass, from horizon to horizon, the crimson spreading like water clouds, boiling through the reeds with heart pigment, blasting petals and dirt into the air billowing in the rushing carpet of carmine, and suddenly the entire field was red and Sebastian was walking towards Virtue like a malign god, the reeds bending at his presence. Blood pattered into the crimson sea like raindrops from his body, and with one wave of his hand, the wound froze over – crystallizing shut and the ice was red. He kept striding, stoic, unstoppable, and he touched the blade that had impaled him – the cold suddenly wrenched into the very leylines of the steel and it shattered, the tip breaking off like a metal fang and resting heavy in Sebastian’s hand. He kept walking. Virtue pushed himself up, his head ringing and bleeding, warped and dizzy, but getting up because life seemed to be so important, something so worth fighting for, and mindless of the pain and dumbing numbess in his limps he charged, ignoring the sluggishness that stole over his muscles in the frigid temperature. Sebastian reached down in mid-stride and picked up his blade, a runic slab of ebon steel, and it glaciated at the razor edges in crimson vine-works of frost. Suddenly he wasn’t walking anymore, he was sprinting, him and Virtue coming at each other together, and they met and the world trembled. Grass burst into crimson fragments of dust around them, so cold, so cold, Virtue swinging his arm to collapse Sebastian’s chest and the ghost Wolf turning aside, both blades with him, cutting chunks from his adversary’s sides and letting blood to the grass, crystallizing where it dropped. Virtue howled and bulled forward, ramming the broad-side of his shoulder into Sebastian’s still-turning body, hitting him like a derailed train and staggering him clean off his feet, grabbing his right arm and twisting with his colossal hand and dropping the broken sword-point from Sebastian’s. He pulled backwards, planning to tear the arm off completely when the Gjost Wolf of Iscariote titlted his head to look at Virtue, and barred his teeth. Suddenly, the goliath’s hand burned, seered away in a womb of alien red ice, steaming white, the fingers brittle and broken and splintered into uselessness and the flesh peeling dry from the palm. Sebastian whipped around as Virtue growled, and drove his runeblade to the hilt, nesting it through Virtue’s sternum, and twisting on thhe pommel, and smashing a lung to a pulp inside the cage of his thorax. Blood burst from Virtue’s lips, and Sebastian let go of the blade and suddenly his hands wove and darted and cracked into the beast, over and over and over, each blow weaving those invisible lines of force, spreading red ice through Virtue’s body and skeleton, the Khuutra swatting Sebastian away as best he could but still taking on the rain of blows. Suddenly, Sebastian slid backwards. They stared at each other, and Virtue felt the webs – woven into nests and bundles across his body in various positions, constrict. Boom. OoC: Bah, sorry, needed to go too fast for finishing this properly. Cheers all and see you in a week.