06-01-2019, 11:17 PM
distant gods will laugh and bicker among themselves, an inner monologue of running commentary. They will look on, pushing pieces to an elaborate game that they hold all the pieces to, watching- waiting for it all to fall into perfect aliment; A perfect disaster pushing their chosen champions over and over until they lie dead- bleeding, until the amusement fades and there is nothing but apathy. Where they can withdraw, dust off their forges and create something new to torment, to destroy as equally as they create. Gods created with nothing but their attributes, death, space, stars, voids.
Argus is a Mortal God, if such a thing was ever true. Nothing like the celestials that ruled with apathy, or the voided ones who consume hungrily until nothing remains. They have lived eons paw to paw step with mortals. A god made, not created is such a damning thing. Hungry and eager, tired and looking to prove themself - they were not young. But every single year was felt in every name carved into their soul, every soul consumed - raging against the amalgamation of experiences they all combined to make: Argus.
Argus was an unstoppable force, to say that nothing has stopped them yet. Gods have attempted to slay, and have in turn be slain by the beast that now bleeds black. Ruby eyes once shone blue now only see in red. Red on their paws, red in the battles around them - the strife they cause. Argus has never once- been stopped. Clans have turned to dust and family have been lead to ruin - Argus has played both the sinner and the malevolent end to both in tandem. Argus can be killed, argus has been killed more times than they can count - some by their own hand: but stopped? No.
The child rattles in front of them, stubborn and true - bleeding innocence that will be snatched away with - robbed by the death of everyone they care for. It happened in Argus- it happened in a place just like the Pitt- so familiar to home and yet not. In bleeding clarity the Shinigami sits in silence, as the other rants- raves. bleeding and vicious little thing - and realizes that she is just a child. They are all - children playing games fighting for not what is right but what is fair - in a world rigged with apathetic all might gods and powerless, worthless mortal gods who watch it all from ground zero.
Something in the wolf twitches under the typhooner's - (the realist - the loyal brave - foolish little thing they are-) under stella's harangue. A shudder runs through their entire form. "My loyalties are for me to ascertain- the good captain made it clear I am not welcomed in the typhoon - nor do i wish to return to it." Stiff joints relaxing as a tension bleeds away- as their wings collapse to their sides and a careful roll of shoulders before pulling back. "You ask me why i am warning you - because you are a child who plays a game that will surly kill everyone around you." Argus replies, her voice no longer soft or sharp - monotone. Relaxed in the way only the most trained can detect. A readiness in keeping you're body relaxed for a fluid unexpected strike. "you're foolishness will cost someone their life - you would be lucky if it was only you're own."
"such a fuckin' headache" They shake their head softly - "If your sister is here- i'm not sure I've seen 'er in more than passin' you looking for her?" The jerk their head- right wing arching out from their back towards the jugnle "most of the pitt concentrates within the jungle. You're best bet is there."