Drakameer

"Son Of Pain"

Drakameer staired blankly. His eyes of a quickened swaying defined of embers rising. Torn into existence there burning taunted the creature of the dark in his service. A message embarked to a full conjuring before him. The plans written on the paper sprung to life so compliently. Simple and varied until completion wrapped its somber tone. Strolling through the quilled ink dowsing its legs with the black lacquer of its infliction, a spider wrote out quickly what was to be commanded. Its legs polished black ensuing there agility quickly to pen the important directives.The master had contacted Drakameer this way for over 5 years. A devious,devilish way of secrecy. His companion was silent in temperament. Obedient to the tender relaying of the boss' every word. Milcor slept in the crevices and dined on a feast of whatever flew into his web. His main purpose. He was the masters personnal messenger. His muse by thought churning the substantial reterick into a tuned final writing.
This evenings message was unusually taunting. The contrite substance of authority bitten into the hue of the parchments edges. When Milcor finished the message read as such:

Drakameer,

Your idle neandering is foolishness for my purposes. I want you suited up this night. Trimezpia is a sore upon my tongue. There laid coaxing of there God sickens me. I want you to cancel them out this day! You are my finest warrior. My perfection in completion of my own blood and power. I have gifted you with speed, strength, the likes of which no man has ever seen! You are my finest creation. The ark of my bones neatly cradled into a black ocean. You are the carrier of sickness and pain, suffering and disparity. This night I expect your victory. All my power is yours.

I await the news of the results of your wickness!

The Master....

Drakameer seared beneathe his chest. An oozing of his blood and waste churned doubly in his stomach. He was ready to accomplish wonders for his master. Milcor sat back against the wall where the message laid. His beedy eyes stairing upward at his king. "My king, I am your servant. Do you require a message to be sent back?" Drakameer penned his thoughts respectfully below the message he had recieved. Answering so in a silent reclusion of anger. The smoke of his consuming departure painting the air amidst Milcor as he watched his kings every move. Gently calming himself by the fire he wrote his thoughts and tied the dyed parchment upon his seal. dipping in the blistering heat of a candles waxed gifting his insignia stamped of an iron statement. A processed delivering of extreme authority. Petitioned by the light of his own hand. "The master doesn't tolerate failure!" Malcor held the wrapped parchment with two of his legs and scurried off into the darkness. His stride hell bent with a distinct intent. Out into nothingness he disappeared. "Master I shall please you.." Drakameer whispered silently into the empty room. He sipped slowly from the silver chalice that beckoned his attention. His form reverting back into the shadows. Tightly enlisting its dark glow as a blanket to embrace him as he pondered. The sweat Dripping as fire protruding in a cauldron of flesh and filth rebirthed. He was infinite and also infinitely empty.

The portrait hung within the room cast by a dimming light that accentuated the face of an angel. Drakameers heart slowed, his pulse declined to a steady silence. Pain wrapped its arm around his shoulder and cleaved to the despondent chatter of memories infused in hollowed breath. Of a time long ago. A dream far away.
And in his damnation he nudged the awkward centerpiece of forgetfulness. Closing his blackness within by the lips of a chilling cold. Mystery cloaked it's meaningless stride of circumstance.

And into death and night he took his place beside the devil..

His son of pain unfathomed

Forever eternal..