The gleam of a knife flashes in the darkness. The demigod's quavering breath holds in a silent scream. The shadow rumbles in.
He– it, because he is a monster– is angry, a burning anger for reality. And yet...there is a perverse pleasure.
[emotions conflicting
oh! it is a dark paradise!]
The pleasure is overwhelming, an oceanic feeling that drowns him from within. But Torment ascends as second thoughts flash through his mind. Then down the knife slices to partake in sin, down the knife slices and second thoughts are dispelled. His quivering sanity brings him the slightest comfort.
(it is right, says his sanity. he is our enemy.)
And then bursting forth, as if this was the release he needed, there is a feeling. He needs it, the blood. It consumes him and he is gone. He has, now, a single goal.
[oh! will such pain suffice?
there is an ecstasy in rending / as down blood flows a crimson stream– unending]