12Floating Into Silence
Ashes from the fires fall from the sky. His pale figure sways with languid steps within the sickening vapour. A steam rises from the land around him as if the sin of his actions were hoping to burn into his flesh and blood. Dark coloured eyes are focused ahead as his silver-plated riding boots further reduce to pulp the deformed flesh beneath them.
That is the way, Salathiel.
He moves towards the sound of the nurturing voice. Dark hair the same obsidian as his callous eyes dances as they flames do about his waist.
You will fail me not. There is a smile in the voice that now echoes in his ears and the man's emotionless face suddenly contorts as he begins laughing feverishly.
Eight figures glide slowly towards him from behind where he stands. The dark silk of the long floating bodies of robes hovers unnaturally around concealed feet. They are silhouettes distorted by the blood stained haze.
The blades held in either hand dragging behind him rise up to impale the bodies beneath his feet and the phantoms glide forwards to hover around him.
'I care not for filth,' he says with quiet intensity - a hard adrenaline filled voice.
He lifts his boot and the flesh beneath it clings to the rubber, detaching from the bone with a slicked sound lubricated by blood and innards. He spits at the corpse.
His lips curl into a smile as he says with deathly calm,
'Not fit to filth up my shoes. Not fit to dirty the air. Not fit to taint my sanctuary. Only fit to-
-purge.'
Warning:
The topics that are discussed in this piece may be offensive to some people. They are: murder, rape, incest, torture, fratricide, sexuality (specifically genderqueer characters including a main transgender character), and undertones of pedophilia. Discretion will be used in the situations and dialogue.