Post by Damien on Dec 17, 2007 20:21:34 GMT
Damien lumbers toward the group of creatures, revenants of the plains of Midian. They back away, even they knew of him, his existence known to all who would accept it, for he is tied to eternity.
He grins, as ever, his mouth contorted, all fangs and massive black eyes that draw in light, black holes that coat his stark, pointed face.
He swings his head back, a river of black hair falling behind him, trailing behind him over the floor. He was tall, thin, spiked with bone, a mannequin of a creature bereft of thought and will, yet housing the power of All.
He contorts, his arms jerking as he straightens, his grin fading as a raging scream fills the air. A crack appears across the sky, the scream becoming louder, deeper, like torture in resonant form. Damien spasms again, an echo of a laugh coming not from his mouth, but seemingly from his entire body. His body begins to stretch and twist, and as it does a stone Cross, bladed at edge, with handle at the bottom emerges from the crack above - as tall as the Palace.
Damien snaps back and forth, long stark fingers bursting from his chest and back, reaching for the handle of the weapon. His mouth opens, fangs gleaming as black oil spills from it, taking form of black beings devoid of feature. The fingers, elongating, finally clasp the Cross, and the ground disappears below the now terrified creatures, a void for a mile around, and waiting below there is only Damien's devouring grin.
He grins, as ever, his mouth contorted, all fangs and massive black eyes that draw in light, black holes that coat his stark, pointed face.
He swings his head back, a river of black hair falling behind him, trailing behind him over the floor. He was tall, thin, spiked with bone, a mannequin of a creature bereft of thought and will, yet housing the power of All.
He contorts, his arms jerking as he straightens, his grin fading as a raging scream fills the air. A crack appears across the sky, the scream becoming louder, deeper, like torture in resonant form. Damien spasms again, an echo of a laugh coming not from his mouth, but seemingly from his entire body. His body begins to stretch and twist, and as it does a stone Cross, bladed at edge, with handle at the bottom emerges from the crack above - as tall as the Palace.
Damien snaps back and forth, long stark fingers bursting from his chest and back, reaching for the handle of the weapon. His mouth opens, fangs gleaming as black oil spills from it, taking form of black beings devoid of feature. The fingers, elongating, finally clasp the Cross, and the ground disappears below the now terrified creatures, a void for a mile around, and waiting below there is only Damien's devouring grin.