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A righteous conflict will come to an equinox, followed by the falling action in favor of the victor. It is a harsh realization of one's own demise, worse another such. 

A midden of limp bodies had lay resting at his feet when he bound at you, you had met her eyes glazed in a frightened stare. As is one rushing in too fast.

He had clasped your horns as one would take a feral bull, pinning you down and making do of your weapons. Searing flames had burst at your seams, the simple sound of a snap now miles away. An axe, now out of your reach, and out of a way to grasp it.

One could compare the man above you to an animal, an escaped, starved lion from a cage; ferocious. Angry.


You felt his pulse throb and push on your veins when he pressed your face to the slate and ripped apart your garment, his maw unhinging and delving into your succulent flesh. A yellow surface became tinted with bright crimson as he ripped into a meal ala ants harvesting their next feed.

You couldn't speak, only attempting to flip and remove the parasite from your back.

Another flash of hellfire finally ripped the wail from your throat as your legs went up in black, black smoke. 

He tore your arm from the very strands and fibers linking it to you, yearning to hear your pleas for mercy, for something to end. He focused on the meat. 

You had looked up and saw stars. A flurry of spinning constellations as he cut open your thighs. 

You heard your bones clicking against the floor.

Blood. Blood. So much.

He had dug his digits into your skull and you felt the snapping and flowing of your individual digits as he ripped them off and popped them into his mouth. 

Would he keep your skull as a trophy? Maybe your ruined jacket. The room became hazy.

And then he had dug harder, nearly snapping your very neck to stare you in the eye.

As he popped them out of your skull, you had seen the very gates of hell in the king's eyes. 

You heard a wet, squishy noise from his mouth as he dined on your oculars like fine confectuaries.

You were getting tired of this, by now. And maybe he realized.

The king of the moon, covered in blood and sweat, pinned you to the ground again, his frenzy hidden behind an eerie fog of calm. 

You had felt your brain sloshing out of your skull as he gripped your horns and cracked the bone beneath, pulling, pulling.



Somsnosa calls your name and you are in the afterlife.

The couch is a welcome change from the floor. You are in one piece again.

You are surrounded by fish and the smell of distilled meat.

Raw meat.

You hate that smell.