IP: 76.233.25.82
Posted on November 18, 2013 at 04:58:29 AM by A B R A X U S
|
AS A ROARING LION, WALKETH ABOUT SEEKING WHOM HE MAY DEVOUR.” -----------------------------------1 Peter 5:8 ”I will admit that I have been many, many things during my lifetime… but lovestruck has never been among them.” The word, one he rarely employs for he believes, quite rightly, that it holds no suitable place within his vocabulary, curdles upon his tongue like the rot he feels it to be. Never before, not in the many years he has stalked the earth as the hellion he is now, could it have been presumed that Abraxus had ever come to love another individual. Love was some abominable toxin, a pollutant fabled and worshipped by the feeble of mind, a debilitating and pointless desire for the affections of another creature. It would have been fallacy even to believe that this monolithic beast had come to love Teagan, his ill-fated imprint. The whelps she had bore him had been conceived out of utility, their existence dictated by survival. No more, and certainly no less. Cunning, hatred, malevolence… these had proven far stronger, far more reliable and functional than love. And so these were the tools he had chosen, and continued to choose. He delights in the feel of her flesh folded and vulnerable betwixt his teeth, the nearly imperceptible throb of her quickening pulse that he swears he can feel. Abraxus has been constructed to do just this: to control and dominate, to decide when the flickering candlelight of life shall be smothered and made no more. And yet, as titillating as what he sees undoubtedly is, all of it seems to pale in comparison to what he does not see. Harridan does not move to struggle against his bindings, nor does a whimper or yelp rattle from within. This is to her merit, he supposes, as any such diminutive and weak reaction would have acted as a spark to the proverbial powder keg of his primeval predatory instincts. This, and his own deeply-ingrained desire to eliminate fear where it is so blatantly displayed. That Harridan displays none of this intrigues him, proffering up some small inkling that she may have retained the vigor he had always believed her to possess. ”How very curious you are, Harridan,” he croaks, fixing her a knowing glance that, while enticing, betrays not even a shard of what his true intentions may or may not have been. He has never been brash, never taken by the pull of the moment; his every movement had always been methodical, calculated, his diabolical mind continually traversing three steps beyond the present. Time had not succeeded in changing him. ”You speak as if you would love nothing more than to see me do just that. Is that the truth of it?” A smile heaves at the edges of his torn and tattered lips, glistening cords of saliva dripping unabated from the ruin of his mouth. ”For now, we must content ourselves with simply having a look around, seeing what we can see… and then, when the time is right, we may just show Moladion what Demons really look like.” He allows the briefest of silences to creep and curl between them before a single brow pitches skywards. ”Now, enlighten me… where might we begin?” .SIXTEEN.MALE.VAGABOND. |
Replies:
- Play that song again; - By HARRIDAN November 24, 2013 at 06:03:53 AM
YOU SHALL KNOW ME BY THE TRAIL OF BLOOD - By A B R A X U S December 1, 2013 at 02:15:03 AM
Post a reply: