don't care to settle in

Erebos was tempted to show them exactly what they seemed to crave – a monster, a demon, a fiend loosened from his tethers and shaking with rage. It clawed throughout his frame, yearning to break free in this worthless world and convey the armaments, the soulless promises, the acts of overpowering vengeance restlessly intertwined within veins and bones, but he held firm, stared straight into their heathen features. What more could they do? What else could they take away? There was a dare in his gaze – a bold, valiant effort to partake in the blend of knightly statures and vagabond requests beating at his chest, a pledge, a declaration, to deliver whatever crimes and punishment they decreed upon him, to strike it twofold, until the whole world burned down around him. Perhaps you should watch yours he wanted to laugh, wanted to howl, wanted to smirk and snicker and tear them all apart, piece by piece, throw them back into the sea, witness more bloodshed, more tears, more anguish because that’s all this kingdom had pledged. Over and over again, it’d been the same ridiculous requests, the same facetious motions, the same timeless, empty promises and vague weavings – and he refused to be subjected to them any longer. He’d be their phantom, their pariah, ghosting amidst their plains and heathen halls, tearing down castle walls, striking at ramparts, at munitions, striking and lancing, harpooning and lacerating, until they submitted, until they were destroyed – just as Kaos had done to them. …you’d be able to restore this place was almost a joke, a damned farce, a bewitching clamor meant to lead him astray, because hadn’t this empire always been a mockery of hope, of charity, of mercy, when it plunged them hellbound, when it clutched and grasped and clamored for their souls, their dreams? Didn’t it show the ghosts of their pasts, wreck havoc on their hearts? Were they being tortured, mercilessly embroiled and consumed, just so this refuge could be altered? Still, he was so eerily still, an ethereal minion of Mephistopheles, waiting for his moment to strike, uttering curious oaths and proclamations, keeping the wheels turning, the plots scheming, the pieces unraveling. “How are we supposed to restore it?” He expected granules of torture, more horrors to defy, more crosses to bear, more plumes and shards stuck in his sides. “What did it use to be?” Before Kisamoa had sprung from his bones of others, before he’d become entangled and rooted in this godforsaken hell?

Erebos

clever got me this far - - then tricky got me in

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@Rift Presence