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WARNING This thread contains: graphic sexual content or extremely offensive material starting with the 16th post. Reader discretion is advised. |
He couldn’t help the possessions as they happened. Demons lived and breathed through him. He was but one in a thousand sharing a single corpse, animating it with fluid, decaying motions. His world was like a film being played in slow motion, with darkness between each picture as life passed him by. He couldn’t account for the gaps, and he didn’t care to. The Angel had stolen his memories, and the Angel had made him this way. He was beautiful in every way. Madness was subjective.
Samael was not mad, but he was holy—chosen and blessed by heaven and hell alike. Injuries happened, and he reveled in the feeling of pain illuminating his nerves with fire. It helped him to remember that he was alive, for everything else was illusory. He watched himself move from a distance as though he trudged through mire. It was the only time the veil lifted and his eyes opened, though the cogs were rusted and the gears were slow to turn.
Skeletal, he’d stayed in the cave unmoving for five days now. Dawn invoked motion and he rose, padding out into the rosy light. There was a single word on his tongue, and a single phrase repeating in his mind—screaming, drowning out all else, though it hardly lifted above a harsh, menacing whisper. He couldn’t think while the mantra repeated. Fear rose, metallic on his tongue and acidic as bile. The waves echoed the sound, crashing against the rocks and spraying him with brackish mist.
It was cold, and the ground beneath his feet was slick with ice, daring him to step wrong so it could send him tumbling into the sea, never to be seen again. The snow was everywhere, and he hated it. Crimson eyes glared out across the white—the wind biting into his pelt and tousling his coat as he stood on four limbs just inches from the water’s edge, contemplating his next move.
He didn’t like it one bit.