his mute voices

#2

An invisible hand grasped his throat, but the sensation of pain did not make him react; instead, his whole body froze. His eyes, were enlarged in shock, released streams of tears as they drip and crack below into the floor of the black void. In an instant flash, dark silhouettes of hands appear and shooting above within the cracks below him, holding every single limb from his arms to his legs, as if they all want him to be static, and still. The hands glued themselves to his chapped lips and mocked him for his vulnerability.

"Gods, let me scream myself away -"

Resist as much as he could, the grip of the invisibility weighed him down tightly, locking him in with imaginary chains that would never break out. The muffled voices he made soon started to silence, realizing there was no avail to call for help. Struggling, and struggling, even by collecting all the strength he could gather, it seemed as if it only made things worse because he felt like he was losing his senses. Losing everything, of himself.

And as he slowly gave up, the world bestowed his body and carried him to let him sit on a golden throne.

-

The scent of soil that hinted a slight smell of blood from the bloodshed in the battlefield of the large Hoshidan plains with ambience that had a large sense of downfall twitched his nostrils. Right here, right now, and gallantly standing, the sniper smiled and gripped his right hand, holding Fujin Yumi, a divine bow that was his and his only as he looked around him, notifying to his brain that the death count was uncountable. The world everywhere currently was nothing to him; he felt free, at last, and finally out of the binds that weighed him rotten to the core. A feeling that was so longing in need to be acknowledged - the feeling of power, the need, the lust for power -

He needed it. It begged, and begged, with ("No, no, please - ") pleas screamed to his thoughts out of so many times that it was ignored. This time, everything will progress smoothly.

Fury and what seemed like hungry greed controlled his body as his right arm tugs off, an arrow in hand, and his left precisely holding the bow, repetitively, towards every of the target he desires to kill ("No, no, no,"). Kill, kill, and kill - those were the only things playing within of his thoughts. The destructions and the intent of all of this began surging right through his blood that was about to thicken his veins, slowly bumping his arteries and increasing the thumping of the beat to his heart.

"What... What is all this?"

The power-hungry sniper came to a halt as he spun to turn around behind him to look at the owner of the deep voice that intrigued his interest. To his dark blank purple eyes of nothingness had met a rather bulky and large samurai- no, a warrior, or a swordmaster, even, having spiky brown hair that swept to the back with a lion mask that surrounded the features of his face, while wearing a powerful red clad armour with sharp looking shoulder blades to signify his character that gave of a look of "heroism" to his eyes.

"Takumi, what are you doing?" he questioned.

All he could respond with that short comment and question the samurai gave was a haunting smile that plastered upon his face, which immediately faded off. Shrugging, as if not caring about anything at all, the sniper looked away and stared down at the man.

"Do you like it?" he shot out. The expression that the samurai showed only fueled more joy within his heart, though it changed he watched him unsheathed a katana that crackled of bright blue lightning and sparks. The sight did not scare him for one bit, though, it was thoroughly intimidating his heart. Confused, he was taken aback, noting that this samurai was more than what he seems. ("Please, please, I'm begging you,") Something told him that this was not the ordinary; the katana, mainly started to heat his thoughts, as if his brain was suffering from the crackling of the katana. A determined look was on the samurai's face.