"No Life 'Til Leather"

"Symphony Of Destruction" Pt. 3

-I don't usually do this, but fair disclaimer - grab something nice to drink before starting this epistle, this is 10 and a half k words long lmao (never writing anything as long as this EVER again i SWEAR.) anyway, enjoy. and also enjoy dave mustaine doing various activities along megadeth's '92 roster. idk most of them man, they keep changing bandmates like gloves-

again, enjoy.

>w<

For what IS music?

Music is the moment.

The moment in which everything gets unscrewed a little loose and falls off its designated rest - rumbles around the floor, clatters at one's feet, forcing them to bend down and pick it back up. Pieces of skull and brain, the headless puppets grasping at their thinly veiled veins that spilled whatever red life-wine was left, for the music dictated their every move. Can't dance without a brain, right?

She tugged at their strings - left, right, center - all over. Clouds of orange, red and dark-ish gray erupted all around, like some fairly forgotten Lateran funeral procession, where colors led the way onward for the departed to join their new home upstairs. Here, however, they were just the byproduct of a few ori-implosions that left the ground shaking in their wake.

Everywhere, in a carefully dictated circle, the marionettes obeyed and flew high up into the air, catching the notes of her dreamed up symphony. Guts sprung alike springs, or snakes hunting their elusive dinner, painting the nightly forest a salmon pink. W stood in the middle of it all, her ears catching each sound with an immense sense of glee - for it was all hers. All hers, no one else's.

"..." The ones in front watched, yet refused to dance. A few broody dolls stood still, some dropped to the floor in an attempt to outrun the deathly shrapnel, some dropped to the floor after a failed attempt at doing just that, their faces and lungs pierced by flurries of tiny ori-shards. Blood flew, guts puked out whatever they held inside. Vic jumped at the occasion and stuck his flame-spewing moron-sword into the ground.

"Just you... you... just you wait... just you..." He kept mumbling, yet no one heard. W kept cackling like a choking hyena, spinning in place with her arms wide open, inviting death to come and hug her tight. Smoldering rubble fell all around in a fiery rain of burnt meat and rags, all completing her perfect visualization of the big night that never came to be. Andy blinked.

"Oh, Law." His meek voice articulated deep, deep inside his head. The gray of his irises had somewhat mixed and blended with the overbearing red of the surroundings, pooling into one bleak, indescribable mixture of shock and fear - quickly thrown out the window to make space for a growing impulse of violent rage.

Sparks flew. Thunderbolts pierced the sky.

Andy stood tall, towering over any pile of burnt bodies left to stain the night's serenity. Knife outstretched, he aimed the tip at Vic's absently unfocused face.

"YOU!"

Eyes turned at once, as if a freezing cold gale swept across the flame riddled field, dimming the fires and gathering, then aiming the attention of the few that were still left alive towards the boy's shaky voice. Andy took a few wobbly steps towards Vic, his mind dead set on completely ignoring the maniacal chortlings of W spinning around like a dreidel somewhere behind his back.

"Me? What? What "ME?" Vic pulled back hard on the rubber pipe attached to his sword, bending and stretching the material sideways. Some substance hissed, some sparks flew, but eventually the blade shot from the ground, as a fiery plume of blue and white followed along. "What about ME? WHAT AB-..."