Od Asmodaya- Trening III, cz. III

Divinity will stain your fingers and mouth like a pomegranate. It will swallow you whole and spit you out, wine-dark and wanting. You will reach for it again and again, greedy fingers clutching at everything you can reach. The divine will curl its way through your veins and take you over, and it will not leave you quietly. I feel divinity in my bones like aching; like fire. 

There was nothing but darkness and agony around, as he stood in the middle of an empty abyss, staring into its open maw, letting himself be consumed by shadows. He was standing on a sheet of black, shallow water that was as thick as blood, clinging to his paws as if trying to pull him in and drown him. Around him stretched a vast void of infinite knowledge, boundless raw power flooded his mind, overwhelming him and immobilizing him, unable to even think. The pup saw and felt everything, while being simultaneously unable to see or feel. Like all the actions he had taken in his life were forced upon him infinitely and the only way to get away was to die slowly. Every time he was pulled in here, he felt like he was getting less and less affected, like he was slowly starting to become immune to this sanctity. And each time he left that place he felt more and more hungry and greedy, striving for the same feeling. 

So, have you made up your mind yet?

Her voice was a river, and he was a stone, and every syllable was reshaping him. 

- What do you want this time?

I want you. Your bones, your flesh. I want your rage, I want your greed. I want you to share with me your sins, sweet morsel. Let us become one. 

In HER eyes, he looked like a corrupt angel. Indescribably alluring, but with a louche peculiarity that hinted at unspoken depravity. He was unforgettable, resembling demons and hell fires, and yet, so beautiful. Truly a defiant act of creation, pure potential masquerading as a living being. Raised from ashes of hell and set on the path of destruction. 

- My body is weak and brittle. Starved and destroyed. What could you possibly do with just bones and fur, if you have so many vessels capable of so much more?

ᛁ ᛁᛅᚴᛒᛁᛋ ᚴᚼᚴᛁᛅᛚ ᛏᚬ ᚬᛏᛒᛚᚢᚱᚬᚢᛅᚴ ᛏᚬ ᚠᚢᚴᚴ ᛁᚬᚢ, ᚴᛋᛁᛋᚴᛁ ᛒᛅᚴᚴᛋᛏᚬᚱᛁ ᛅᛋᛘᚬ ᛋᚬ ᚴᚬᚾᚠᛁᛏᛁᚾᛏᛁᛅᛚ ᛁᚾᛋᛁᚱᛏ ᚼᛅᛒᛒᛁ ᛋᛚᛁᚴ

Oh sweet thing, are you listening?

I died that day.

 

He cried and screamed, but what replaced him was completely silent. From a broken body with rust in its bones and sorrow-filled scars, something was born. A weapon, a monster with dead eyes and paws stained by blood. An abomination made and defiled to make the world shake under its fingertips. He saw his past and future, his soul already devoured and tainted by those who will fall by his hand. Bright light blinded his eyes as he opened his eyelids to greet the world again. On shaky legs he rose, only to fall instantly to the cold, hard ground with a crack of breaking bones. Every muscle seemed to tear, every bone smash, every sense raged. The powerless body writhed and thrashed, succumbing to destruction. Shattered bones began to grow rapidly, piercing the thin young skin, black goo oozing from the open wounds. He felt his teeth fall out of his bloody gums, his claws were pushed out by sharp talons, his whole body ripped apart to be replaced, corrected. The torn skin healed almost instantly on a new, larger frame, not even allowing all the muscles to cover the bones. His body grew unnaturally, lengthened, creating a new form of abomination, which continued to struggle in a black puddle of blood and muck. His organs withered, only to be overgrown with something unheard of, his entire body was on fire.

Screams filled his head, begging for mercy, for forgiveness. The vocals of a symphony of agony resounding like a choir; all ensnared in the same wretched body. Clawing to be free, to be heard, tearing at the flesh, shrieking in despair. The eyes of those who have betrayed and will be betrayed, traitorous and deceitful, pitiful, unworthy. The songs bellowing from inside, confined to a body that cannot cage them. The voices of hatred and horror, anxiety and paranoia. A hideous choir, silent as the pulse. Untamed and restless. He probably would have screamed with them if his vocal cords hadn't snapped like taut strings. Bloody tears flowed from his eyes, while his body died when he was still imprisoned in it. Last cry of despair from his weak vessel. Full of grief and pain, the unfelt pain that ripped his soul from his chest to replace it with violence and a consuming flame. But this was no time for mourning, he had lost himself long ago, he had long carried the corpse where his heart should be. He died the first time he looked into his mother's eyes, and she rejected him. 

STAND UP. 

Everything froze, along with his jerking body. Asmoday opened his eyes to see the world for the first time, amazed with its loveliness. He rose, placing his unnaturally large paws on the ground, then rising on surprisingly strong, stick-like legs. That day he was born. No longer a victim, but a predator. Born of tragedy and pain, destined for greatness. 

He slipped out of the cave again, still dripping black goo and feeling the stickiness of his own blood on every inch of his body. He felt a strength within himself again, a strength he had never known before. That was divinity, the seeds of his potential. That's what Mother saw in him, that's what GOD feared so much. 

This was his curse and salvation, the source of his destruction, his madness. He had felt it from an early age and always tried to reach for it, but only now did he manage to bring it out, to become his true self. It was his destiny to let this body mature and grow, and then improve it again. Until he reaches a state that will allow him to get rid of sin and corruption from this accursed world once and for all. 

He was no longer afraid of death, for he himself had become death. 

He threw his head back to look up at the starlit sky and laughed, his voice sounding foreign in his mouth. A wide grin spread across his lips, revealing sharp teeth to the world. Half smile, half threat. 

Tell me what it's like to conquer, Asmoday.

A storm was coming. An intimate war of many casualties, casualties of a battle unseen. Many eyes searching for a purpose, a reason to continue. Eyes of rust, hazel, laurel, crystal, flowing from fear. Unheard voices screaming, begging to be heard under the crackle of thunder, ripping the sky like a dulled blade upon the sickly pale skin. He has already seen his future, he has seen every war and storm, every death and salvation. He was ready for the war, he was ready to sacrifice himself and set the whole world on fire to prevail. 

Słowa: 1200 
Nagroda: 10 punktów siły