06-21-2015, 04:37 AM
Behemoth was perpetuated by the limbo that was the shared mind of Millie and the Thrall. For a brief wisp of air, he caught a glimpse at the Thrall's source. It was vague, indistinct, and he was separated by a vast distance spaced in a veil of black. Yet he knew, as though he were swimming in the dreaded waters while the the scent of fresh blood trickled to his predator nose. The fresh reality tasted as the words Nealaphh narrated. The sickening rot of death suffocated his nose as the psychic explained, "Everything dies."
And yet who was the woman he spoke to? Behemoth wasn't offered every piece of the puzzle, probably so that Nealaphh's shadow could better test the level of a threat that the secondary posed. It wasn't chronological enough for the secondary to immediately understand, so the events played on, and Behemoth became nothing more than a powerless audience to the shade.
Another scene grappled with Behemoth's version of reality, he knew the mirages were intangible yet the sensations - particularly the distinct scent that wafted from every new climate - ruptured another layer of his mind as he tried to do more than simply experience with his ears every texture that he could see. And he saw only fault within falsehood.
Behemoth was the master of deception, and sure he was slacking on his game, yet he knew a memory composition from a real one, it was the same way he kept his mind sane. This cognitive lesson, perhaps meant for Behemoth, mentioned trickery. Falsehood in the psychic's folly only cued the secondary to the intention. Irritation showed in his snakelike eyes as another breath steadily trickled in, this time, he was seized with an exploding grimace. Perhaps I am your test. Nothing more. Wouldn't that be devastating, oh one with the darkest mind? If I rose to nothing more than your knees? Behemoth had seemingly - purposelessly - egged his pseudo-foe on, and hoped the thrall would find a new perspective in the reality that would be disappointment. Yet the test endured, as museless and uninformed as a ticking, timeless clock.
Behemoth only heard Nealaphh's disembodied voice, "There are many ways to manipulate people." And then descending on his ears was that of the incessant ringing of an eternal chime.
An empty room, and yet someone was listening, lending a tempting ear to his promise before the next scene spun around him with the turbulent winds of a rigorous cyclone before settling into a vague background of gray and sounding with the forlorn echo of night. A captivating figure emerged, composed of shadow with little sun in his expression. Once more his friend had come to play..
"Intent is ever always self-motivated," he grumbled to himself with the roll of his dissatisfied eyes to the brown suited male. Behemoth had given his reaction, for the most part, square as he saw it, or rather, as the innate thoughts had originally brimmed in the surface of his mind. What were the odds he would play by truth? "The same odds," he figured, that one is able to prove that the truth actually exists."
The crackling blaze of flame smoldered hot on the skin of his face. It was in this fire a demonic creature was borne, once a woman, now a monster whose skin was flecked with dismal green and gleams of red. An eyeless creature with empty holes crowded with sorrow. It seemed that Nealaphh had ended the creature's pointless existence and converted it's life once more into celestial energy. The stars that were the ruined fragments of bone remained suspended by everlasting time, only acknowledged by the moon's subtle glow.
Demeaning words now hung in the off balanced light of darkness. The steamroll of sentences ended where they began, yet lasted longer in the perpetuated pace of his mind.
The psychic entity posed a good point to Behemoth, who only thought loud enough for those who were listening to hear, "Because you are immortal, does not make you a God. It means you are just as cursed as I am. Those who attack little girl's minds, those who cannot stand themselves in the time they spend their own sticky silence, those are the men - no, - the creatures of darkness who have never seen light, I pity you. Those who are desperate enough and still have no end, yet they still play by their own last resort."
The beckoning challenges driveled on, until finally, the last pillar stood, waiting to be broken. A fool.
The monster spoke his truth, almost coaxing the shade with a sneer laden with rage. "That which makes you immortal, makes you man."
-
Millie... What a face. Was she real? Behemoth reasoned against it, yet saw no other option but to scurry forth from his coerced cornered position. He played into the creature's bet that he would follow, hoping to once again stand on top with his victory prize in hand.
Pride took the priority, though arguably he didn't like the red eyes that surrounded him, and he ended up lunging behind the gate.
A rush of color, light, and sound, streamed into his senses as his mind was trampled by the shock. It took a moment for the elastic to rebound into a natural shape. A woman with bone blonde hair hung in the sky by the careful curve of her wings.
Suddenly, it wasn't safe. The cursed walls vibrated with sound, Millie became the master a she traded roles with her prey and spoke with a newfound authority. The hitch of the mousetrap pinned his snaketail as his thoughts wiggled him from the helpless close. The woman, both strong and weak, catalyst and victim, whole and broken.
He was recalled to "reality" at the sound of her faint voice and his thoughts repeated the question back to him, Was there anything he could do?
Stray thought pounded in his mind, suspect to be Millie's, or perhaps an attack meant to bombard him from the enemy thrall. What really was the difference anyway? The girl's shrill paranoia thrummed the strings of his own sanity, as he attempted to bat her measly thoughts away with his own internal sound.
"Dare you defy me, demon?" Behemoth lashed to whatever adversary dared to trespass within the sanctum of his mind. "Perhaps you do not know that it is your immortality that makes you breakable."
The monster placed his thumb over the luminous emerald eye, caressing her once-cheek as he spoke to the demon. "Within her, you weaken yourself. Or perhaps you deem only the weak flesh worthy, as you fear your own isn't stable enough to endure the elite. Even Gods feel fear, and some day, you will cower at those lesser than you, even on my last day, I shall stand and you may fall once more on your broken ability. Earn your worth, or do not speak from another's mind."
The folly of his lie, could well mean his death, yet the man risked it anyway. For something more than the girl, for what her freedom meant to him.
...
The possessed Millie, or perhaps, the impersonated girl that never was, stared with the fateful glow in her new eye, illuminating the dark pools of murky liquid that flowed in drifting, everlasting currents. Her mind was amuck. Her soul... Who knew if it had survived or been shredded with the shade's merciless humanity. There was no self destruct button, no door to escape, Behemoth showed his weakness, while the girl showed her own fate.
"Girl... Millie, it is in the moment when the darkness is most upon you, that you can feel the light. I have but weak weapons, for anything is a drain on my hands. Woe to you who has but a single hero to save her from the clutches of her own mind. Instead and forthcoming is a monster who cannot bear his claws. A hollowed man with no nemeses but the blood within his own bones. That is who you face, and yet, imagine the crippled remains of your pride, Thrall, when I destroy you and release the girl from the confines of this cage!"
And yet who was the woman he spoke to? Behemoth wasn't offered every piece of the puzzle, probably so that Nealaphh's shadow could better test the level of a threat that the secondary posed. It wasn't chronological enough for the secondary to immediately understand, so the events played on, and Behemoth became nothing more than a powerless audience to the shade.
Another scene grappled with Behemoth's version of reality, he knew the mirages were intangible yet the sensations - particularly the distinct scent that wafted from every new climate - ruptured another layer of his mind as he tried to do more than simply experience with his ears every texture that he could see. And he saw only fault within falsehood.
Behemoth was the master of deception, and sure he was slacking on his game, yet he knew a memory composition from a real one, it was the same way he kept his mind sane. This cognitive lesson, perhaps meant for Behemoth, mentioned trickery. Falsehood in the psychic's folly only cued the secondary to the intention. Irritation showed in his snakelike eyes as another breath steadily trickled in, this time, he was seized with an exploding grimace. Perhaps I am your test. Nothing more. Wouldn't that be devastating, oh one with the darkest mind? If I rose to nothing more than your knees? Behemoth had seemingly - purposelessly - egged his pseudo-foe on, and hoped the thrall would find a new perspective in the reality that would be disappointment. Yet the test endured, as museless and uninformed as a ticking, timeless clock.
Behemoth only heard Nealaphh's disembodied voice, "There are many ways to manipulate people." And then descending on his ears was that of the incessant ringing of an eternal chime.
An empty room, and yet someone was listening, lending a tempting ear to his promise before the next scene spun around him with the turbulent winds of a rigorous cyclone before settling into a vague background of gray and sounding with the forlorn echo of night. A captivating figure emerged, composed of shadow with little sun in his expression. Once more his friend had come to play..
"Intent is ever always self-motivated," he grumbled to himself with the roll of his dissatisfied eyes to the brown suited male. Behemoth had given his reaction, for the most part, square as he saw it, or rather, as the innate thoughts had originally brimmed in the surface of his mind. What were the odds he would play by truth? "The same odds," he figured, that one is able to prove that the truth actually exists."
The crackling blaze of flame smoldered hot on the skin of his face. It was in this fire a demonic creature was borne, once a woman, now a monster whose skin was flecked with dismal green and gleams of red. An eyeless creature with empty holes crowded with sorrow. It seemed that Nealaphh had ended the creature's pointless existence and converted it's life once more into celestial energy. The stars that were the ruined fragments of bone remained suspended by everlasting time, only acknowledged by the moon's subtle glow.
Demeaning words now hung in the off balanced light of darkness. The steamroll of sentences ended where they began, yet lasted longer in the perpetuated pace of his mind.
The psychic entity posed a good point to Behemoth, who only thought loud enough for those who were listening to hear, "Because you are immortal, does not make you a God. It means you are just as cursed as I am. Those who attack little girl's minds, those who cannot stand themselves in the time they spend their own sticky silence, those are the men - no, - the creatures of darkness who have never seen light, I pity you. Those who are desperate enough and still have no end, yet they still play by their own last resort."
The beckoning challenges driveled on, until finally, the last pillar stood, waiting to be broken. A fool.
The monster spoke his truth, almost coaxing the shade with a sneer laden with rage. "That which makes you immortal, makes you man."
-
Millie... What a face. Was she real? Behemoth reasoned against it, yet saw no other option but to scurry forth from his coerced cornered position. He played into the creature's bet that he would follow, hoping to once again stand on top with his victory prize in hand.
Pride took the priority, though arguably he didn't like the red eyes that surrounded him, and he ended up lunging behind the gate.
A rush of color, light, and sound, streamed into his senses as his mind was trampled by the shock. It took a moment for the elastic to rebound into a natural shape. A woman with bone blonde hair hung in the sky by the careful curve of her wings.
Suddenly, it wasn't safe. The cursed walls vibrated with sound, Millie became the master a she traded roles with her prey and spoke with a newfound authority. The hitch of the mousetrap pinned his snaketail as his thoughts wiggled him from the helpless close. The woman, both strong and weak, catalyst and victim, whole and broken.
He was recalled to "reality" at the sound of her faint voice and his thoughts repeated the question back to him, Was there anything he could do?
Stray thought pounded in his mind, suspect to be Millie's, or perhaps an attack meant to bombard him from the enemy thrall. What really was the difference anyway? The girl's shrill paranoia thrummed the strings of his own sanity, as he attempted to bat her measly thoughts away with his own internal sound.
"Dare you defy me, demon?" Behemoth lashed to whatever adversary dared to trespass within the sanctum of his mind. "Perhaps you do not know that it is your immortality that makes you breakable."
The monster placed his thumb over the luminous emerald eye, caressing her once-cheek as he spoke to the demon. "Within her, you weaken yourself. Or perhaps you deem only the weak flesh worthy, as you fear your own isn't stable enough to endure the elite. Even Gods feel fear, and some day, you will cower at those lesser than you, even on my last day, I shall stand and you may fall once more on your broken ability. Earn your worth, or do not speak from another's mind."
The folly of his lie, could well mean his death, yet the man risked it anyway. For something more than the girl, for what her freedom meant to him.
...
The possessed Millie, or perhaps, the impersonated girl that never was, stared with the fateful glow in her new eye, illuminating the dark pools of murky liquid that flowed in drifting, everlasting currents. Her mind was amuck. Her soul... Who knew if it had survived or been shredded with the shade's merciless humanity. There was no self destruct button, no door to escape, Behemoth showed his weakness, while the girl showed her own fate.
"Girl... Millie, it is in the moment when the darkness is most upon you, that you can feel the light. I have but weak weapons, for anything is a drain on my hands. Woe to you who has but a single hero to save her from the clutches of her own mind. Instead and forthcoming is a monster who cannot bear his claws. A hollowed man with no nemeses but the blood within his own bones. That is who you face, and yet, imagine the crippled remains of your pride, Thrall, when I destroy you and release the girl from the confines of this cage!"
![[Image: -Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif]](http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/35600000/-Gildarts-fairy-tail-35651033-300-180.gif)
"I have never met a strong person with an easy past." -Atticus