Rainforest Cliffs
08-09-2017, 08:21 AM
So, he can't say much about sense, because he didn't have much. He was an ever-shifting, rapidly changing creature, both of body and of mind. He was an accidental fifth force in a body of four, and gods knew that made things interesting, and their powerful madness hadn't left much room for common sense.
But boy, she was making no sense, and it intrigued him. Here was a tall, hideous creature, on a beach with a supernatural storm brewing out over the waves, and he was taking apart a dead Pistris (—first off, who the hell has a dead Pistris anyway?). And what did she do..? She hopped down, giggled randomly, and asked to help. Kisamoa's face betrayed little surprise but still he found himself staring at her for a moment. She kept giggling. She kept smiling. Everything about it was so subtly off that he couldn't decide whether to fall down into the madness with her, or be offended by it. Like, keep your crazies to yourself, I'm not that far gone yet, but then again.. He probably was, too.
He had managed to endear himself to a handful of the Helovians, but whatever they had felt for him had probably vanished along with their loved ones; outright massacre wasn't something you became loved for, except by the freaks. And this little girl, she was clearly one of them, but she was eager to start the task. No questions asked. She dug her nose into the soft flesh, and Kisamoa was left to watch in confusion. It was like he couldn't register what he was seeing, not with any of his presences.
"Right," he said quietly to himself, and buried his sharp teeth in the Pistris's pectoral fin and dug out the fine, pale bones. He heard her question, but ignored them as he laid the bone down. He didn't particularly want to answer, but that thing called 'sincerity' kept clobbering him in the head.
It was too late to turn back anyway. He was committed to it. Not only for his promise, but for the sweet rush of power as well.
Because, oh, this thing was going to generate power like nobody's business.
"Something I shouldn't," he finally replied, flippant. He didn't bother with answering the question about his name. He was everyone, and no one. He wasn't even sure he actually existed outside of the intersection of minds.
She surprised him, though. He had gotten a few looks of appreciation before, some murmured thanks, those who chose to let go of the old and look to the future, but most of them seemed bitter about what he'd done. The confession coming from Castiella made his thick brows shoot upwards. "They were?" he asked, his deep voice accompanied by a smoke of white. Damn, the storm was coming on fast. He bent to the Pistris again, and pulled out another of the small bones. He laid it carefully on the sand, and when he spoke, it was as if he was speaking to the bone, and not to her.
"I saved them so they could save me," he said to the white fragment, before flicking a gaze over his shoulder. "They destroyed this world. Now, they get to fix it."
And his electric eyes smoldered.
But boy, she was making no sense, and it intrigued him. Here was a tall, hideous creature, on a beach with a supernatural storm brewing out over the waves, and he was taking apart a dead Pistris (—first off, who the hell has a dead Pistris anyway?). And what did she do..? She hopped down, giggled randomly, and asked to help. Kisamoa's face betrayed little surprise but still he found himself staring at her for a moment. She kept giggling. She kept smiling. Everything about it was so subtly off that he couldn't decide whether to fall down into the madness with her, or be offended by it. Like, keep your crazies to yourself, I'm not that far gone yet, but then again.. He probably was, too.
He had managed to endear himself to a handful of the Helovians, but whatever they had felt for him had probably vanished along with their loved ones; outright massacre wasn't something you became loved for, except by the freaks. And this little girl, she was clearly one of them, but she was eager to start the task. No questions asked. She dug her nose into the soft flesh, and Kisamoa was left to watch in confusion. It was like he couldn't register what he was seeing, not with any of his presences.
"Right," he said quietly to himself, and buried his sharp teeth in the Pistris's pectoral fin and dug out the fine, pale bones. He heard her question, but ignored them as he laid the bone down. He didn't particularly want to answer, but that thing called 'sincerity' kept clobbering him in the head.
It was too late to turn back anyway. He was committed to it. Not only for his promise, but for the sweet rush of power as well.
Because, oh, this thing was going to generate power like nobody's business.
"Something I shouldn't," he finally replied, flippant. He didn't bother with answering the question about his name. He was everyone, and no one. He wasn't even sure he actually existed outside of the intersection of minds.
She surprised him, though. He had gotten a few looks of appreciation before, some murmured thanks, those who chose to let go of the old and look to the future, but most of them seemed bitter about what he'd done. The confession coming from Castiella made his thick brows shoot upwards. "They were?" he asked, his deep voice accompanied by a smoke of white. Damn, the storm was coming on fast. He bent to the Pistris again, and pulled out another of the small bones. He laid it carefully on the sand, and when he spoke, it was as if he was speaking to the bone, and not to her.
"I saved them so they could save me," he said to the white fragment, before flicking a gaze over his shoulder. "They destroyed this world. Now, they get to fix it."
And his electric eyes smoldered.
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
