art of war / bubonicplague

[BUBONICPLAGUE]

[align=center][div style="width: 600px; padding: 10px; height: auto; overflow: auto;"][div style="width: 550px; padding: 0px; line-height: 13px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 9pt;"]While others viewed the territory as devastation, to Bubonicplague, it was something close to paradise. The humidity was gone, replaced with fire and brimstone; the feeling of still warm ash beneath his feet was ever so refreshing. The smell of smoke and charred remains filled his senses, breathed into his lungs. Bub curled his lip and heaved out a thick cloud of smoke to join the thickness of it in the air. He'd always thrived among devastation.

In his mind, the territory was near perfect now. Surrounded by heat and dangerous wastes, the resting place of a creature nearly as old as he, now blackened earth where a rainforest had once sat. Even the river that had cut through the canyon had all but dried up, the remains tainted with ash and toxic chemicals. Oh, it all did nothing but bring him joy; another deep inhale, exhale. The demon rumbled out smoothly and continued his wandering around the barren land.

God complexes, overconfidence—things he was well acquainted with. Both from experience with others, and within the chambers of his own mind. If he was being honest, it was somewhat hard to not develop such things when a majority of his life he had spent in power over others. Whole towns and villages of the most destructive creatures to live, bowing to his will, treating him nearly on the same level as his creator. A demon he was, but what a God he felt. It only irked him when those who didn't have good reason to think themselves such did. When they had not earned it the way he had. Held the life of thousands in their palm. Received offerings and sacrifices. Developed a following. Ah, he truly had the mark of one, and had it not been for the—albeit somewhat spiteful—respect he had for the one that gave him life, Bubonicplague would have taken his ascension. He was deserving, and damn, was he good in a position of power.

Power... was not something he saw within Sephiroth. He only saw a child grasping for straws; the schoolyard bully that thought himself untouchable and held the favor of all the teachers. A shame it was, truly, that there was not something that could swiftly be done. To remove the lion from power would take time. And Bubonicplague liked to think himself as a patient man. Wait for the right moment to strike. In a time like this, alone in the wasteland of a territory, the aspect seemed almost perfect. He could hear steps falling on the earth, feel the vibrations in the ground, and it was easy for him to figure who it was. It didn't seem any of the other members were foolish enough to come out to breath the toxic air. The god himself graced the demon with his presence.

Blind gaze rose from the ashen ground, settling on the place where Sephiroth trod. It took the beast several moments to decide whether to approach or not; return to enjoying the remains of the fire, or have a pride fight with the leader. A tough decision, truly. In the end, he decided to bother the little lion. Bring himself more joy than he already felt in the moment. The enormous wolf loped over, an ominous shadow moving among the smoke around them. He paused several steps away, lurked a brief moment, then announced his presence with a guttural growl. "Enjoying the view, Highness?" Bubonicplague's lip twitched upward ever so slightly. "I didn't take you for the type to enjoy fire and brimstone. What ever shall we do about this predicament?"