Perceptions
A figure dressed in the darkest of blues stepped into his element. He was no fool, no mere mortal; he was a slayer of men and monsters. No creature had strayed into his mundane blade and lived, such was his power, such was his aura.
A stranger… It had to be a stranger.
No friend could draw so much blood with such a look of cold uncaring, with such a remorseless sneer. Blood streaked his cheeks (though he could avoid this) as if he wished to keep a battle mark… He was a killer with an angels face, destroyed by the world.
He finished, leaving his victims no time to scream, severing heads to claim their bounty later on. He was the best and worst kind of mercenary, pushed into the flames of oblivion by his world; only the toughest survive the demons of a mixed race.
An extinct race.
A loss of all.
He was a survivor; he hid in the day under his guise, gathered a semblance of life, then he gave it away to the night. In the night he did what he had to. In the night he killed.
But at least he knew why now. At least he had a reason to protect.
He became aware of a presence.
He turned, 'I assume these were meant for you Lina,' The faces of a dozen distorted faces glistened in the moonlight by their campfire, 'Sweet dreams, you will forget it was me in the morning.'
Lina watched him move away.
'You never believe it is me who does this.'
She did not. She could not.
No one believes it is the angels who fall.
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You should know who this is about (think of the blue and the angel bit) and just so you know: I don't own em I still want em, Just don't sue me (em)
A figure dressed in the darkest of blues stepped into his element. He was no fool, no mere mortal; he was a slayer of men and monsters. No creature had strayed into his mundane blade and lived, such was his power, such was his aura.
A stranger… It had to be a stranger.
No friend could draw so much blood with such a look of cold uncaring, with such a remorseless sneer. Blood streaked his cheeks (though he could avoid this) as if he wished to keep a battle mark… He was a killer with an angels face, destroyed by the world.
He finished, leaving his victims no time to scream, severing heads to claim their bounty later on. He was the best and worst kind of mercenary, pushed into the flames of oblivion by his world; only the toughest survive the demons of a mixed race.
An extinct race.
A loss of all.
He was a survivor; he hid in the day under his guise, gathered a semblance of life, then he gave it away to the night. In the night he did what he had to. In the night he killed.
But at least he knew why now. At least he had a reason to protect.
He became aware of a presence.
He turned, 'I assume these were meant for you Lina,' The faces of a dozen distorted faces glistened in the moonlight by their campfire, 'Sweet dreams, you will forget it was me in the morning.'
Lina watched him move away.
'You never believe it is me who does this.'
She did not. She could not.
No one believes it is the angels who fall.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------
You should know who this is about (think of the blue and the angel bit) and just so you know: I don't own em I still want em, Just don't sue me (em)