» every broken promise

UP ABOVE . . .
They both are, and they are not—whispers of nightmares, bodies made from half-remembered flesh.. they're a wall, a tide, a landslide, a mess of willpower and confusion.

And they burn.

Lena's voice sings them into the inferno, a spark here, a spark there, dry skin and tinder-bones; some are wet messes, but brought to heel by the snapping tongues of flame anyway. They part for her, they skitter out of her path, they throw themselves at her only to reel back with the spectral pain of fire. She is left to stand alone at the river's edge, a beacon of hope in the dark, unraveling world.

For make no mistake—this part of the world is ending today.

. . DOWN BELOW
They hummed in the dark corners, a faint song like a magnet pulling him in—pieces of himself, taken as prizes, and now, forgotten. Discarded. Thrown away like toys. It made the anger surge in his gut again, hot and feverish, somehow so much stronger in the oddly magically amplified place. Black smoke spilled from his mouth in a hiss. It was as if, when it couldn't wash everything mortal and determined from him and claim him, it chose to rile him up instead.

They were to blame for this. For everything.

So he should just kill her—

“I wasn’t alive when it happened...” Kisamoa paused, and turned his misguided attention back to the murky vaults (more the fiction needed to anchor the mind, an idea of a place, than an actual, physical location). Did it exonerate her from Helovia's shared crimes? Did it—no. Fuck it. Fuck all of it. "Caevoc," was all he muttered in response, diving deeper into the shadows, wondering if, perhaps, it was only wishful thinking on his part. Maybe, there wasn't anything here. Maybe, he was just wasting time.

Maybe, he was going to die. With the Scint, with the Helovians, with his world, which would surely wither and die without him there to help nurse it back to health.

Kiada beckoned for his attention, swimming in that not-quite-place with a most curious object in her mouth. Whenever it floated in in front of her, it obscured her features, blurred her edges, moved her partially from his sights—hid parts of her presence, even. A small smile twisted his elongated face, baring some of his dark, sharp teeth. "Yes," he said, pleased, as he ran his nose over the thick, tarry stripes. Vjanta. His body trembled, quaked as it rippled with color—burnt oranges and burnished bronze—and a third, bright yellow eye opened on his forehead, watching Kiada with a disconcerting intensity. After a moment, it closed, and disappeared.

Slowly, the slightly more feline form of Kisamoa reached out, and tugged the pelt from her. It did not hide him as it had her, but rather, expanded to cover his back like a cloak, somehow.

For a moment, he simply closed his eyes and inhaled, blissful, but the pressure building wouldn't be ignored.

Like calls to like, though, and his head snapped around, peering deeper into the dim depths. "This way," he said, as he swam deeper.

beauty in darkness
kaos in light

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