07-12-2018, 02:46 AM
[align=center][div style="width: 400px;font-family: calibri; font-size: 13px; text-align: justify; line-height:10px;"]Death.
To one who wielded it as though it were nothing more than a weapon, had tasted the blood of countless numbers upon their tongue, had allowed their life to become nothing more than a battlefield, it was nothing more than a footnote. Many times when they had stood together, brothers bound by more than blood, who had seen each other bleed and had acted as a shield when they had begun to crumble, wondered if this breath might be their last. They had looked into the eyes of those about them and seen what was reflected within their own – driven to the point of frenzy by blood lust and the desire to win or die upon the field all they could entertain, monsters each bearing down on the unsuspecting forced to stand before them. It would have been a lie to say their heart was no longer in it within those last months, hardened to it all as it was, but what can a monster do when it had been taught only to fight and die for a purpose it no longer understood?
Beneath the touch of cold steel they had found it, bloodied lips uttering a soft gasp as skin parted like silk beneath the sword, their weight dragging them forward until it sank deeper. It did not matter how long they might ponder upon the prospect they had not thought it would be cold. To their bones the chill seeped, yet their chest burned where the blade had pierced, heart racing as it struggled to keep them alive only to doom them all the sooner.
If only they had known, had seen just how twisted their heart had grown, nothing more than a black mass in the centre of their chest. Only moments had passed when their mind once more sparked to life, when skin and bone twisted and shattered, their vocal cords straining to give voice to the unearthly scream which tore from dead lungs. A prisoner within their own body. Through hazy eyes they could only watch as the twisted husk had shambled through the ranks, unknowing and uncaring, a weapon honed to a fine edge, beyond the point of breaking.
This had been their purpose and death refused to put an end to it, forced once more to walk an earth stained by blood, each breath a ragged gasp, broken by faint moans as a rotting corpse moved in their place. Nothing prepared them for those years, for the time when the shadow of a raven would follow their shambling steps, fall seemingly a mocking laugh ringing in their head. It seemed a fitting punishment to feel such pain, muscle slowly rotting away until gleaming bone showed through, fur long since gone from the minimal patches of skin still clinging to them. An existence of pain and hate, all they knew bound in the ferocious anger which seemed a second heartbeat pushing them on until they collapsed, unable to support themself any longer.
Silence and darkness filled them. Never had they dared to hope the halls of Valhalla awaited them, such was barred to those who found life when they had tasted death, but they came to long for an end no matter what it entailed. It seemed the All Father looked kindly upon an old servant, forgotten and left to rot as they wandered the earth, pain enough as the years trickled by. Stretched well beyond their limits, bone-weary from the constant battle their life had become and struggling with the strain of a mind driven too far over the edge, they let the darkness take them.
Nothing can last for long, however.
Slow at first, barely noticeable though it might simply have been their mind refusing to accept what was coming to pass, the darkness they had been suspended within, which seemed a shroud, comfortable and familiar, began to lighten. Tightly they shut their eyes to it once it grew stronger, the golden traces of light outlining a body slow to rebuild, the years of trauma inflicted upon it too much for a simple thing. Bones came together until shattered fragments had become something recognisable as a skeletal structure, muscle, if minimal, slowly covering the ivory bone. Atop this the skin was dark, oddly so, a deep brown hidden by the ruddy tones of red fur. Unfamiliar yet close, not quite the large stature they had viewed the world from, scars missing where the skin had been healed badly, yet the pain was there. An ache worked through their hips and shoulders, a snake winding its way through newly knit muscle.
Atreus could not put any amount of time to this process, slow as it was there was little feeling or sense of time, lost years before when their life had found an end, and they proved disoriented and blurry when finally their eyes opened once more. Beneath the curled body grass warmed by the early summer sun tickled about their sides, a huff of breath seemingly trying to be a laugh escaping them, bitter in tone. Blinking into the light they could only lay there and look about themself at the world which seemed a tapestry of green and brown, so unlike the barren field stained red they had left. They knew too well those they had called brother would be gone just as they had, many would have found peace, possibly something more once death had taken them from that place, but still their heart ached for all they had lost.
Struggling to rise the cub – uncomfortable with this realisation, to once more live the childhood Odin had stolen from them – almost collapsed once more when they stretched out, paw shaky as they took the first step. Uneven was the tread they took, back paws dragging as their hips ached with each movement, yet it brought them some pleasure to feel once more even this pain. They knew not where they were, nor who they might become in this life, knowing only the name which lingered on their tongue, one they had held for centuries now. Though the chapter was new the story was far from it, the prospect of rewriting who they were strange, too much so for Art to think on long, and so they decided not to. None would remember the Berserk who had turned when death had stolen them away, a servant even in unlife, finally set free to walk a path of their own choosing.
To one who wielded it as though it were nothing more than a weapon, had tasted the blood of countless numbers upon their tongue, had allowed their life to become nothing more than a battlefield, it was nothing more than a footnote. Many times when they had stood together, brothers bound by more than blood, who had seen each other bleed and had acted as a shield when they had begun to crumble, wondered if this breath might be their last. They had looked into the eyes of those about them and seen what was reflected within their own – driven to the point of frenzy by blood lust and the desire to win or die upon the field all they could entertain, monsters each bearing down on the unsuspecting forced to stand before them. It would have been a lie to say their heart was no longer in it within those last months, hardened to it all as it was, but what can a monster do when it had been taught only to fight and die for a purpose it no longer understood?
Beneath the touch of cold steel they had found it, bloodied lips uttering a soft gasp as skin parted like silk beneath the sword, their weight dragging them forward until it sank deeper. It did not matter how long they might ponder upon the prospect they had not thought it would be cold. To their bones the chill seeped, yet their chest burned where the blade had pierced, heart racing as it struggled to keep them alive only to doom them all the sooner.
If only they had known, had seen just how twisted their heart had grown, nothing more than a black mass in the centre of their chest. Only moments had passed when their mind once more sparked to life, when skin and bone twisted and shattered, their vocal cords straining to give voice to the unearthly scream which tore from dead lungs. A prisoner within their own body. Through hazy eyes they could only watch as the twisted husk had shambled through the ranks, unknowing and uncaring, a weapon honed to a fine edge, beyond the point of breaking.
This had been their purpose and death refused to put an end to it, forced once more to walk an earth stained by blood, each breath a ragged gasp, broken by faint moans as a rotting corpse moved in their place. Nothing prepared them for those years, for the time when the shadow of a raven would follow their shambling steps, fall seemingly a mocking laugh ringing in their head. It seemed a fitting punishment to feel such pain, muscle slowly rotting away until gleaming bone showed through, fur long since gone from the minimal patches of skin still clinging to them. An existence of pain and hate, all they knew bound in the ferocious anger which seemed a second heartbeat pushing them on until they collapsed, unable to support themself any longer.
Silence and darkness filled them. Never had they dared to hope the halls of Valhalla awaited them, such was barred to those who found life when they had tasted death, but they came to long for an end no matter what it entailed. It seemed the All Father looked kindly upon an old servant, forgotten and left to rot as they wandered the earth, pain enough as the years trickled by. Stretched well beyond their limits, bone-weary from the constant battle their life had become and struggling with the strain of a mind driven too far over the edge, they let the darkness take them.
Nothing can last for long, however.
Slow at first, barely noticeable though it might simply have been their mind refusing to accept what was coming to pass, the darkness they had been suspended within, which seemed a shroud, comfortable and familiar, began to lighten. Tightly they shut their eyes to it once it grew stronger, the golden traces of light outlining a body slow to rebuild, the years of trauma inflicted upon it too much for a simple thing. Bones came together until shattered fragments had become something recognisable as a skeletal structure, muscle, if minimal, slowly covering the ivory bone. Atop this the skin was dark, oddly so, a deep brown hidden by the ruddy tones of red fur. Unfamiliar yet close, not quite the large stature they had viewed the world from, scars missing where the skin had been healed badly, yet the pain was there. An ache worked through their hips and shoulders, a snake winding its way through newly knit muscle.
Atreus could not put any amount of time to this process, slow as it was there was little feeling or sense of time, lost years before when their life had found an end, and they proved disoriented and blurry when finally their eyes opened once more. Beneath the curled body grass warmed by the early summer sun tickled about their sides, a huff of breath seemingly trying to be a laugh escaping them, bitter in tone. Blinking into the light they could only lay there and look about themself at the world which seemed a tapestry of green and brown, so unlike the barren field stained red they had left. They knew too well those they had called brother would be gone just as they had, many would have found peace, possibly something more once death had taken them from that place, but still their heart ached for all they had lost.
Struggling to rise the cub – uncomfortable with this realisation, to once more live the childhood Odin had stolen from them – almost collapsed once more when they stretched out, paw shaky as they took the first step. Uneven was the tread they took, back paws dragging as their hips ached with each movement, yet it brought them some pleasure to feel once more even this pain. They knew not where they were, nor who they might become in this life, knowing only the name which lingered on their tongue, one they had held for centuries now. Though the chapter was new the story was far from it, the prospect of rewriting who they were strange, too much so for Art to think on long, and so they decided not to. None would remember the Berserk who had turned when death had stolen them away, a servant even in unlife, finally set free to walk a path of their own choosing.