>>5332343With a clash of thunder the world rumbles, the long brittle bones of your body breaking further. It didn't seem to halt the little monstrosity, hopping down from the bed she wasted no time rushing over to the nearest window. Acanthus ascends a small footstool to reach the straining latches. Colourful droplets paint your body as she passes by. Oily and lumpy it spreads unevenly at your touch, unwilling to leave easily. With some fumbling the child got the latch free. The wind blowing open the large windows with a catastrophic clatter. Acanthus was sent sprawling by the sudden forceful power. Moving quickly you pluck the small creature from the free fall and spare her from a painful landing. Pelted with greasy rain in reward for your bravery. Clutched in your cold arms she burned, body steaming in reaction to your touch. Fighting the pain you seek refuge against the rabid curtains and blinders crouching below the redwood windowsill.
Eventually as the curtains rip free and are sucked out you risk rising up from the windowsill lip to look at the outside world. The horizon glows, blisteringly hot streaks of neon whites and reds, yellow crackling arcs cutting through the black and silver clouds. Bulbous and bumpy, cauliflowered they threaten to swallow the distant giants whole. Massive silhouettes throw themselves at one another ripping and tearing, swinging at and pinning one another as an endless melee rages. "It's growing closer!" Acanthus gestures out when she doesn't have to. You couldn't miss the clouds steadily encroaching. The horizon is nowhere near far enough to spare you both. Howling Tracer rounds zip troughs through the night sky as high density beams and explosive rounds detonate thunderously.
Against the flashing kaleidoscope of light you feel them all die, Umbral Cores crushed, shot, slashed, eviscerated, exsanguinated, evaporated and eradicated as endless souls did undoing work amongst them very selves. It calls to you, the drums of war, her voice on the rhythm, the ravenous off tempo beat of bloodshed. Copperas vapors fill the air, the stench of lust exuding from heavy liquid. Thick and suffocating. Rich sickness tasting like chocolate. You feel it. The flavours, so metallic. Threateningly fanatic. Both of your hands drive down, tightly gripping the handle of a serrated vibration blade, the warbling blade cracked from overuse but was still wieldable.
