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 Post subject: If You Met Him
PostPosted: Sun May 03, 2009 8:32 am 
Can't wait for MWO
Can't wait for MWO
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Caked frost falls off in lumps as he shakes his head vigorously; sparkling particles of ice fly off his damp head. The man in black gives a noticeable shudder, issuing another shower of snowflakes off his body. After a half-hour of statuesque appearance, he moves from his rooted position and turns to look at the scene behind him: the small town of 500 people lays in ruins beneathe the starless night sky; brilliant, insatiable flames arc tens of feet into the air as cottage after cottage succumb to the unbending wrath. Sudden jets of fire flash into the air when the occasional powder keg catches, followed by audible shockwaves that rattle your rib cage.

Your companion is now thoroughly drenched from what snow he failed to remove by force: Though you both stand at a safe distance from the carnage, you can feel the raw heat claw at your bare face and hands. Without looking at you, he slowly advances towards the burning ruins. In similar fashion and with similar lack of provocation, you follow. It suddenly occurs to you that you find no logical reason to be here, and your "friend" only seems vaguely familiar. Yet, despite your hesitations, you feel drawn into a close proximity to him: as if he drew you here with a purpose in mind.

Orange and red hues wash over you as your friend comes to a halt, basking every inch of your body in a pleasant, warm sensation. But, your proximity to the inferno - now only a mere 10 or 15 feet - suggests your skin should be charred and flaking off even as you watch. All around you, charred earthen remains blow past you, victims to the vicious torrent of wind ensuing from the blaze. At your feet, you become aware of a very distinct circle surrounding you from roughly a 2 foot distance around you and your friend. Though not wholly familiar with godly intervention, this does not seem the place and the time. Your friend seems the only plausible explanation.

With sudden resolve, you open your mouth to speak, only to lose the words before they can run off your tongue. Perplexed, you try again, but find your thoughts melting away: as if the strange protection around you only shields your physical well being, leaving your mental faculties exposed to the ravages before you. The desire to speak without the means to do so quickly becomes frustrating, and at last you abandon your endeavor.

Eerily, like he can sense your mind's impasse, your black-clad acquaintance whispers to a fiery audience.

"What have I become," he asks you. Once more, you find an apt response beyond your mental grasp, and so assume his statement to be rhetorical.

Time passes: moments, minutes, millennia - time doesn't seem to pass in anything. Rather, you suddenly come to the realization that nothing has happened for some time "unit". In the silence, your friend chuckles, a downcast gaze and anguished pain covering his visage. Closing his eyes, irony comes to mind as an odd smile spreads over his expression.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you this was all my fault."

Though he remains rooted to the spot, an explosive prompting from the destruction before you alerts you to the meaning of "this". He continues.

"Hell, I s'pose I wouldn't believe it if our roles were reversed."

His countenance lifts as he raises his face to gaze at the fruit of his labors. Small flames dance with undue life deep within his wholly-black eyes. They seem hungry - his eyes - as if his unblinking gaze upon this hell-on-earth somehow sates an inborn hunger.

No matter the obvious strength he is capable of, your company's voice break's noticeably as his tone trembles with feeling:

"There are no questions...there is no care. Only danger. Only Death. Everywhere I turn, I meet this ferocity. Shot, tortured, beaten, left for dead, counted either less than human or not at all: can anyone understand!"

Visibly struggling, his words fail him as he stands in place; jaws set and fists balled. Neither compassion nor cruelty surface in your mind. You cannot say you do not care to hear more, but neither can you invite your emotionally-damaged comrade to confess more.


His screams quickly fade into the merciless force before him, unanswered by the powers that be.

Silence fills the space between the two of you.

Another "unit" passes you by flippantly.

"This not only mine," he manages to say; his fists clenched tightly as his bent arms tremble. To your astonishment, a sphere of darkness manifests itself above his fists. As it grows and solidifies, his composure relaxes and his spastic shivering ceases. He closes his eyes. He gulps in a lung full of air and opens his hands, making it appear like he somehow controls the black energy above them. He exhales.

They had been visible the whole time, but you cannot recall acknowledging their existence with concrete, perceptual evidence. Yet, the awkward, wispy black tentacles writhing and flowing at your friend's feet seem very real now.

"He's gone too far now, you know..."

Satisfaction seeps through to your core, like sitting in front of a warm fire after a hearty, comforting meal with your loved ones. The black sphere dissipates into the air, and your friend lowers his arms to his sides. You realize how pertinent it is that you both be gone from this place.

Instantly he turns to look at you face to face. No more than 20 inches separate you now. His eyes have acquired a shocking spark of jade color in their depths: the sharp contrast feels like a piercing knife through the windows to your soul. You shuffle your feet uncomfortably, shifting your eyes away from his. Like lightning, he grips your shoulder with inhuman speed, forcing your attention back as ice picks around his grip sear the ends of your nerves. The black tentacles feel as if they wind through the veins in your arm, coursing through your arteries into your heart. Though awkward, the sensation does not tickle.

"What am I to you?"

His emphatic questions hangs in the rising air. You both stand in the glory of his destructive nature, oblivious to everything but each other. A wealth of things pass between you, but neither utters a single syllable. Nothing changes. Nothing moves.

The dream reverses: time flows backwards, and you see all the events and destruction fold in on themselves. With no control over your own extremities, you walk backwards the way you came with your friend, though you remain conscious of all that is going on in the moment. Darkness infringes the edge of your vision as frost seems to expand from his pores, covering your odd friend in a layer of fuzzy icicles. Your breath comes up short as you breathe, and becomes increasingly shorter with each breath after. The darkness grows deeper as the asphyxiation takes its toll on your brain.

You float under the surface. Warm, bitter water smacks against your tongue. At least, that's all you distinctly remember as you rise from your resting place. Warm, sticky summer air presses against your skin as frost and ice fall off of you in chunks.

What have I become...


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