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Posted on December 1, 2013 at 02:15:03 AM by A B R A X U S
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AS A ROARING LION, WALKETH ABOUT SEEKING WHOM HE MAY DEVOUR.” -----------------------------------1 Peter 5:8 They seemed exceptional paradoxes of one another, cut from different cloths and forged in opposing fires. Where Harridan sought only to survive, and it could not be denied that in this she excelled rather nicely, Abraxus’ evolutionary avenue had transcended this instinctual yearning. Survival was of little concern, for the effort was minute; no, he yearned for something of a far grander scale. This creature birthed of the darkness desired the same thing he always had… destruction, chaos, turmoil of the most gruesome sort. He sought to test the instincts and the cunning of the “survivors”, to watch them in their descent into primitive brutality… one turned against the other. A hollow and grating chortle echoed from within him at the vehemence of her purported independence. It was not a desire of his, either real or implied, to hoard her as some useless possession, to have her follow blindly in his wake… or, for that matter, to follow at all. He had never tolerated nor valued the easily lead, those that found themselves so pliable beneath the superior strength of another, those who bent and were broken; they were as parasites, useless in every way, and were likewise extinguished. ”I have not asked this of you, Harridan. And if you were the sort to concede to my every whim, the only whim you need give in to would be my desire to eliminate you. I never required blind allegiance from my hoard.” The words are delivered levelly, their axiomatic potency undeniable even through the repulsive smirk that stretches already-taut flesh. This singular principle had, perhaps, been the driving factor behind Judila’s budding infamy… no matter what brevity had cursed it. History, as they say, was destined to repeat itself. The look of surprise that sweeps across her not-unattractive features does not skitter through the proverbial cracks of his attention, nor does it perturb him in the slightest. He has not asked for her input out of some assumed weakness but merely to avoid wasting any time on errands destined to be fruitless. Abraxus lingers a few moments in silent consideration of the information she forfeits so willingly. Admittedly, he harbors very little interest for these gypsies, the fact that they have dwindled, their numbers grown scarce over time leaves very little promise of their vitality… of their strength. He has no employ for half-starved vagabonds. Demons, however, sound ever so slightly more titillating; he is wont to hope, though, that they have earned this moniker, and have not bestowed it upon themselves for the fear it might earn them from the mindless masses. If so, this monolithic beast shall not hesitate to cast the veil of deception from their sham. ”Iromar it is, I suppose. I have always wanted to look a Demon in the eye…” .SIXTEEN.MALE.VAGABOND. |
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