Chaos is God in a system of true disorder. And I seek to my title of God, I have no care for whoever crumples to nothing in my persuit to achieve such.
A Castor and Pollux of dual facades. Both dried and natural. They wait where beasts take pride in tainting the sacred of paradise. A King's touch is what they called their talons of perdition. A script of the early skies warned an equivalent tale of a clipped angel named Lucifer and his molten horns; a monster's crown to himself is a one strike scythe to many others.-Palace Of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.
࿐SÉRAPH࿐ |Cazar- March 16, 7426|
A FIGURE STOOD out against the carmine rays, the scintillates of outlying thrusters reflecting in the tints of his overcast eyes. "That was incredibly interesting," the mysterious man stated in muse, his head keenly tilted to the side as he searched Séraph with curiosity. "How someone without an ounce of power managed to stop such a powerful grace," he pointed out, taking a light step out of the shadows.
Séraph's eyes rested on his fair face, sundown curls with cooper borders fell by his ears. His eyes were as coal-black and clandestine as the shadows he hid behind, his focus huddled on the sagged body of the sacrificed boy, the child's bright blood pooling around him like direful, metaphysical art.
"Who are you?"
His eyes dragged back to Séraph. "Who am I?" he scoffed in smooth velvet. He took a diligent step onward, moving around the boy's monopoly of red with a pernicious class.
Do not leave anyone alive, Franklin had cautioned her, it will kill you. Séraph was going to have to get rid of this man as well. It will kill you.
The doors gave out a moan as an imperceptible force pushed them shut, they locked with a distinct click, gashes of illuminations breaking from the foot of the entrance, curling at their shadowed feet as the plurality of the room surrendered in detailed darkness.
Her poor guidance of sight made Séraph take an instinctive step back to her only reference of light: the enormous office windows that were tearing with Solomon's breathing city. Risen cars scurried past the two broad screens, their shapes promptly veiling the room's shafts of ruby red as they came and left. Oh, how Séraph wished she were under another outfit of night.
"You don't look like the one of his," the man said, voice soft as the flutters of wings. "I know because I have been watching him for some time-you're not one of his." The cracking glass resumed meandering lower down the oversized screens, dominating the deep view with its lengthy patterns of breakage. "That's why I find this whole situation so, so curious."
