The Pinnacle
05-05-2018, 02:40 PM
Anger; always so close beneath the surface. A comforting blanket, so easy to turn to, a spark for the hungry kindling. He was greed and guilt and flimsy self-control.
He was four dead gods, and not a team player.
They had separated into four corners because they had once been wise and graceful, and then remained apart for such was the way it had always been—and then, they had all died, anyway. Kaos's dark eyes blinked as he stared out over the gathered horses and creatures, their dance stilled by Hope's emergence, their quest ended. He envied them the lightness of their feet, the lightness of their hearts, this moment of joy when all he felt was the world weighing down on his aching shoulders.
She strode over to him, swift and certain. His eyes narrowed, muscles trembling, her radiant aura scorching his piecemeal soul. She was everything he was not: elegant and light, and ..confident. He hated to admit it.
”Do not place the blame on the Matron. She did not know.” Her voice was quiet, and Kisamoa merely tilted his head in acknowledgment. Part of him wanted to yell that it didn't matter, that he put his blame wherever the hell he pleased, but he held his tongue. "And what's, pray tell, our purpose?" he hissed, bitter and venomous, but she merely touched her awfully warm head to his shoulder; a blinding, searing pain.
No one else seemed to shy away from her, as if stung by her presence. Blinking the aftermath of the agony and the rage from his eyes he concluded that whatever it was that had happened, happened only to him.
Perhaps he was allergic.
And even as she praised and thanked him, it was her moment; she controlled it, and he hated the feeling, hated being at a loss for words. Nothing but snarls and sneers wanted to crawl onto his lips; his mouth twisted into a hideous grin of sorts as she spoke of the Hopelights.
Then, his own orb collided loudly with his hip, and he flinched. Whatever shape it took was hidden in the seams of his shifting body, a smear of radiant light; Hope disappeared just as Kisamoa turned to snarl at her.
"Well," he said, his voice irritated, "that's one way to ensure you have the last say." His long, matted tail curved behind him as he took a couple of steps along the rim of the gathering, before he paused and raised his horrific head. "I suppose we'll continue her party without her."
He was four dead gods, and not a team player.
They had separated into four corners because they had once been wise and graceful, and then remained apart for such was the way it had always been—and then, they had all died, anyway. Kaos's dark eyes blinked as he stared out over the gathered horses and creatures, their dance stilled by Hope's emergence, their quest ended. He envied them the lightness of their feet, the lightness of their hearts, this moment of joy when all he felt was the world weighing down on his aching shoulders.
She strode over to him, swift and certain. His eyes narrowed, muscles trembling, her radiant aura scorching his piecemeal soul. She was everything he was not: elegant and light, and ..confident. He hated to admit it.
”Do not place the blame on the Matron. She did not know.” Her voice was quiet, and Kisamoa merely tilted his head in acknowledgment. Part of him wanted to yell that it didn't matter, that he put his blame wherever the hell he pleased, but he held his tongue. "And what's, pray tell, our purpose?" he hissed, bitter and venomous, but she merely touched her awfully warm head to his shoulder; a blinding, searing pain.
No one else seemed to shy away from her, as if stung by her presence. Blinking the aftermath of the agony and the rage from his eyes he concluded that whatever it was that had happened, happened only to him.
Perhaps he was allergic.
And even as she praised and thanked him, it was her moment; she controlled it, and he hated the feeling, hated being at a loss for words. Nothing but snarls and sneers wanted to crawl onto his lips; his mouth twisted into a hideous grin of sorts as she spoke of the Hopelights.
Then, his own orb collided loudly with his hip, and he flinched. Whatever shape it took was hidden in the seams of his shifting body, a smear of radiant light; Hope disappeared just as Kisamoa turned to snarl at her.
"Well," he said, his voice irritated, "that's one way to ensure you have the last say." His long, matted tail curved behind him as he took a couple of steps along the rim of the gathering, before he paused and raised his horrific head. "I suppose we'll continue her party without her."
beauty in darkness
kaos in light
kaos in light
.. and kaos opened up its eyes
