The Forever Flames
The flames of hell danced like Auspahs inside irises that could incinerate a man with a frown or compliment a smile that ignited hearts. These infernal gems cast downward to their clutch; a ragtag collection of defiant souls who, if not in life, then in death clawed out bloodied semicolons in the history book of Existence. A lionhearted pride of people who refused to dwell in afterlives that were tantamount to imaginary, who refuted oblivion and remained coherent atop Bridge Noumenon. People who likely had willpower so strong they could throttle the ether of the universe and choke their enemies with it. But this was all they had. Willpower. The rest of their efficacy was stolen by whom they quickly came to know as charlatans; the raggedy floofing skeleton named Death and the ascendant mutt named Icthlarin. Agents of a cruel cycle that cursed people with minds that always lasted longer than their bodies. They left no swords, no magic, no prayers, and no tricks. All that remained were the clothes upon these forsaken peoples' back when they died and their innermost flame that never could be snuffed out.
Salvation was finally here.
"You have held on for so long,"A whispering voice as sweet as strawberry shortcake on Valentine's from your beloved began.
"Your resolve is stronger than orikalkum. More beautiful than hydrix. Are you ready?"The soothsayer and the clutch were all on their knees amid the shadows cast by the Underworld mountain, hidden and quiet from Icthlarin and his own flock that were crossing the bridge. His barked orders fell on deaf and terrified ears as Amascut's beasts tore them asunder. There were simply too many this time. These infiltrations were always planned in time with the voyages across the bridge. The jackal's wrath was no easy thing to deal with.
[cont. below] The purpose of life is finding the largest burden that you can bear and then indeed bearing it.
13-Feb-2017 08:12:57 - Last edited on 15-Jun-2017 02:29:07 by SeaveráPrice