M359: The Serpent Servant

M359: The Serpent Servant

Kylesa hurries herself into a building and urges the scared languescents to exit while there is vacant opportunity to flee and before the undead swarm them, they languidly leave their confines following to sudden swarm and are overcome. Sino watches Troy use his surroundings in leverage and springs from impossible distance swift and flighty, comparative to fain glory and realization commemorate, he sees Troy’s magic and gives himself into thought.

A powerless rise for any mischievant, doted by the soulless wanderers staring on Lilith in her glory, wandering malaisant extático and like them hoping the next hexed she seeks presents itself to its execution.

The phoenix begins to nest as saturnine in slumber while the bodies continue mounting consumed by walking into scoria and becoming ashes. In arginine ash it cools and continues to tire, the roaming shells of lives fuel an onset regeneration dilemmatic, Merlin shouts to Troy thereto the leaping rider startles phoenix into motion and thereof depart leaving Merlin at a defenseless start against urgent horde.

Several lengths of distance separated, Merlin enters the street facing Sino, as buildings burn do others cinder by the waves, of twilight approaching do walls buckle as embers rumble do crematories crumble, by a tufted billow of black smoke Sino disappears. In a ginnel passage, Sino finds two things, an exit and Ophiuchus drinking blood with a gaze and from a neck that are broken, silently standing drops the body and approaches him.

Oph: Nothing has changed, master Sino.

Sino pushes his hand to his chest and him to the wall.

Sino: Remember that.

Oph shakes him loose and walks onto the chaos. Sino places his hand on a corner beam of a building and closes his eyes, he lifts his hand and departs a glowing handprint, steadily the glow becomes a fire. r

The rain keeps the fire from leaping to and between rooftops, but there is a subtle resonance to the embers of remaining fires. Dour muddied vampires find Mara in the street, watching her walk backwards from the onslaught of infected, ignorant to her guise they pause as she flees.

Werewolves rush toward the vampires only to search thru the bodies and fell the infected, they turn quickly toward the vampires, readily armed to defend themselves but slowly exiting they point to where Mara has run.

Troy: Werewolves, what do they want?
Kylesa: Let’s not soon learn how so.

They aim arrows at wolves climbing walls, but there are others whom attack before arrows fly. They have leapt and pinned both Troy and Kylesa to the rooftop, learning their scent.

Lupirion: Stay still.
Canaris: This smells of Sino – get tell the huntress!
Troy: Had we, just, a tale of conflict.
Canaris: Simple boy

A short laugh, smells again, she trembles.

Canaris: This is not the stench of conflict. Go!

Berserkers depart. Sincerely she screams.

Multifarious contempt for decency, Sino continues collapsing buildings with rage and fire, over and thru flames of walls and rising ruble, trapping Merlin into an arena enclosed with the serpent servant.

Ophiuchus, flippant by hunger of vengeance only looks forward, Merlin steps behind him, his raised hand near the villain’s shoulder begins to glow, by the time Oph turns, noticing the light, Merlin triggers a large explosion of blue fire, harmless to himself, yet throwing Oph many measures.

Oph stands with esoteric time enough to be without words. The hole in his leather almost as wide as his back he discards his vestments of robe and jacket, his skin sheds slightly over the burn, the body long possessed slumped and lethargic is now mightily robust, muscles of rage and carrying the tempo of a steady heartbeat in his veins occasionally, a snake swims under his skin, as the snake passes under the back the skin heals. His eyes roll into his head.

Oph: This doesn’t begin to scratch the surface of my power.
M: Not your usual self?
Oph: Yes, waste your time –

Sino spying the battle decides to leave at first sight of conflict, one of the wolfmen running pushes him over a walkway thru a ceiling into a burning building.

Angered into alertness, Sino cracks his knuckles with fists and begins punching one as more crawl for entry. Three against one in close burning quarters, he hits each opponent with swift force, missing a swing he is hit twice before regaining defense before renewed attack, each strike missed he is struck twice over the same. His attack skill is double two of theirs, but his defense is the same as each by scale of one. His dexterity is less than theirs as they ascertain his stamina and begin to gnarl him, as they must face a black flame magic from his blood there is an evolving rage of fire and beast.

M: What hast Sino durst to thee to make my opponent?
Oph: Much that I must, little that I dare.
M: I’m sorry, but people change.
Oph: You don’t recognize me?
M: Should I?
Oph: You know me. I first took a boy to such not only did you steal my lunch, but you twisted me in the wind and left me in a road wrought of my essence.

Merlin’s face loosens to ponder, his head tilts to memory, of trees and winds of distant clouds.

Oph: Shedding skin having hunted you in a city with a disturbing amount of twins, I sought revenge, not supper, you then chopped me with a scabbard blade, almost killing me. Do you remember it?

A memory of soldiers and gallows of dusty roads.

M: You!? Perhaps I should burn you out!
Oph: You dare!

Sino fights the last of aggrieved three, despite bleeding arms and neck. But for battered across midsection, screaming with every shock by the time, he overcomes the final werewolf. The wolves’ hearts outward tears he while almost laughing. Squeezing the blood from a werewolf heart over his head and face he hears shouting from beyond the burning room.

Oph: Fallen, devoted, devour the burning world!

The dead that have risen focus on Merlin, in a gust of wind the proxy of foes tumble and theretofore the ghouls upon him, his hands glow and electricity leaps between his fingers and with their skulls in his hands.

Ophiuchus gradually steps rarely blinking. His host’s eyes are dullening and dry, sullen and red around edges, his tongue flickers mindless with each thought. The dead risen rise yet again, from floors they are bloody, from rubble they are dusty, from fire they are burning, walking toward Merlin who strikes them with his magic. They amass as he swings chairs, commotion brings him to hold a table top as shield only to kick it against a grouping of swarthy several and a bygone burner bashing a bottle of booze to burn them all and raise the acrid flames toward the gods. Forcedly, he jumps thru flames landing to surprise of a knife wound to arm from foe. He sends Ophiuchus to the wall with wind and rescinds the penetration.

The mist becomes light rain pouring enough cloud-cover to allow unnerving twilight.

Oph: I grow tired. Do you feel like dying quickly, Merlin, or should I torture you first?
M: I do appreciate such good timing. It’s good to have choices.
Oph: I think we all do.

Agnar, who some would say is twice the size of Ophiuchus’ host, picks him upward and throws him outward, but he will not be thrown easily, grasping at the sleeves he falls into the base of a wall that buckles, the fire has taken its roof and the rain taken the flames, but the center is a furnace. Ophiuchus digs feet running into the wall’s main beam making it topple onto Agnar. As he avoids fire flourishing and more of the insatiable dead, Agnar pulls himself from the rubble.

Agnar: Clip his wings!

Merlin attacks before the dead find him, thirteen exchanged punches and Merlin breaks Ophiuchus’ hand, he sets the bones and continues fighting.

M: Let’s break something else.

A hammering swing of anger starts eleven more and breaks the same arm, the limb straightens with his sign of pain.

Oph: Why are you so difficult!?

Seven more and he breaks the other arm, but Ophiuchus continues fighting, lame swings and shoving, a head-butt to weak effect.

M: Now I see your final moments.
Oph: I’m slowing you down, right where I want you, give up while you can.

Five absurd swings and he wrenches his foe’s shoulder.

M: What good would come in efforts just.

Three terrible struggles and Merlin kicks the knee to buckle bringing Oph to the ground.

Oph: This isn’t over.
M: Yes, it is… …into the moonlight.

Merlin snaps Ophiuchus’ neck, his body falls surfeit.

Agnar unburies himself by throwing the stones of the wall at the undead, Jonak arrives and cuts his own hand with a knife and speaks a terrible sound.

Jo: Give your hearts to me.

The undead begin tearing out their hearts and offering them to Jonak as they fall around them with black and blood hearts rolling. As Merlin attends to Agnar, Belladonna walks with pestilential fog beside her, she sees the snake master slither from the mouth of the body, to stop it she creates walls of fog to confine its direction. The smoke pains the snake and it moves faster until at the feet of Lilith who takes it between her claws.

Lilith: All this from a familiar…

She examines it squirming, biting her to no affect.

Lilith: I hope it was worth it.

She tilts her head and eats the snake, her eyes begin to close and she moans with a hundred voices, her eyes roll white as the ground and nearby buildings shake.

Lilith: Bittersweet.

Misappropriated Requisition

A political cartoon, a warrior of the times guarding the chalk outline where someone once rested, holding a sign that reads "private property".

I had no choice to respond to this with equal force, to imagine things the right way instead of the errors of reality, or simulation of imagination.

There are all the dreams of humanity, the combinations of obligations, facetiousness, and consideration, all of which are subject to a reigning future.

While the admittance to powerlessness, a river of raindrops and temporary peace, despite opportunity to forget there are some who remember to persevere, into independence, into complicity.

To error is the way of forgetfulness, comparative to crimes of the self, that is to say that we cannot be contrived, but in the manner one endangered animal in a specialized refuge can, for perhaps, become fifty-thousand apex animals, which new arrangements much be made, how wonderful this thought is that entire planets, if not entire galaxies, could be creations in order to let humanity do what it finds natural.

That someone could think that space guarded by the living is not theirs is not inaction, it is activity to avoid a bad feeling, to change for but the sake.

I fear it is a sick many of minds that release the dead like captured pieces no longer exploitable, this is true in unnecessary detested plagues, these are the trivialities of the manipulated truths.

The creationist makes their creations, and the revolutionists continue to misunderstand, without cause to learn the truth of the momentum, which one can block if possible as many can if available it seems, but not understanding ownership a delusion acts in their stead.

If is not property, how can it be taken; if believed that property is wrong, then how are amenities confiscated under confiscation; if property is communal, how is a political body a requirement?

There are clear mistakes alongside trepidation of leadership, those that sign themselves to service and those that assign themselves to charity, these are the many things that fight to control a line that isn't there.

The dependency on dependents, a state requires people that require a state, a redundancy of speculation surrounded by its own gravity, a people require certainties, where the universe does not cease outside of the vacuum.

I cannot follow if I cannot lead, screaming for a challenger, were I to take league with weakness I would make agency of theft, not stronger than the meek, not weaker than my false desires, and soon to insanity I could redirect what I cannot see nor imagine while being blind to the world.

To more the merrier whom can make peace like the sunlight, to surety that less have contributed more than others, while sounding as the fray are oft to do, which hidden in their individualism as a collectivist, find it hard to allow property if they themselves are not property of a collective.

It is not a collective because we begin at different moments in time, as often a pool of blood spills from a single wound, humanity spills across time from its end to beginning, even perhaps in reverse, a gathering of the deathless and the truth of the living.

Al hambre de siete dias, no hay pan duro.

~ proverbio español

ews - dark mirror

it was cold and warmer yet another night, i closed my eyes and began, thru the merciless awakening where the summer trees meet the first autumn rain, and earth spills over the ground to stones with scratchings like welcome, avast aprized afore, never fear of writing like the leaves, without ability to anger for the hunger and the noise, would it break for time of asking or the dead memories escape // tied together,of witch there are many weather found and nevermore, fields of eternal afterlife beyond the boundaries of memory or the skies that press against the skin from days that haven't risen as you fall into the stars, not unlike the unforgiven as a colony of mars, forgive the altruist inquisition or the terror of the river of time, the riveris faster at the end for the sand, but there are the waves gentle and disharmonius would my muscles rips to pieces to break from the depth i don't know all to catch the crying mountain or the drowning feildspring where the ligting chases fire into the bitterest of colds, even the ice know when to break or sink to forests far below where each drop of heaven's vapor coincides with ebb and flow, ifthe sand does all the thinking be the firstot me you show,

I rest on hatred of but not of canvas nor paint, thosetimes when the mind is blind between targets of direction because the blur and focus dance together, aware of situations like this time, i have seen, do i shift from thot to thot while you waitfor ice to throne, would you carry time before you down the river from your bones, the silver wasthe passage, not to lose awareness like a thred of fate i near the proxy and request another soul, i'mnot sure of what I do but this place cannot be home, yet a hole in the ground where the interned can stone their own, where ideas are but a mercy and in fairness, i pause to prove a point, this is what you meant by madness and worthless tho is bothers me, i lash to write the curse without a word, the ink spills as a window breaks, all a burrowing talon of the beast who counts against not hunting until toying with the quary, that this story could be stoped a condensation falsely trims the edges and the pain this hunt alone, should the mountain come to water, an avalance caused by predation unearthing

Understanding Your Singularity

We see the stars at night and the sun at dawn, once wondering why the night ends and the day begins and knowing we can learn more, humanity finds new questions to share and new answers, which we use to ask ourselves the meaning of the universe. What emotional struggles we cannot in duration so quickly know, we let the troubling red sun set and rest until anew.

It may be the most important thing to know if we are the light long overdue of the magnificent night sky, the dawn without rest or dusk without test, but it is important to be aware that the fires of uncountable stars cannot compare to the life of dawn or the mercy of dusk. The light against the surface shines and we share that surface as humanity, the light is the end of energy that cannot exist without a source.

The entity explodes in all directions, times, and modes, we are the singularities in relays of intervals of evolution, to shine against something other than ourselves, as continuous light in transparency.

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