He clenched his teeth as he felt the presence move, the aura brought to life by an unknown and motivating force. He peeked around the corner to catch the shape of her, the appearance, the look. She was distinct, an advantage to his endeavors, but her force signature was even more so. He couldn't put his finger on it, a hint at something more, something familiar. And Reverance within felt a quickening, a near proximity to something similar and akin, souls that should have known each other. Gabriel pulled his hood up and stepped around the corner, wiping his mouth with his right hand in an instant of contemplation. Perhaps he had given away his intention, perhaps he had made his presence known. It was of little importance.
He spotted two children playing in the alley way, tossing dice across dirty asphalt that stunk of grease and bile. The dice didn't clack, they clopped in the filth and Gabriel couldn't help but transform the children's faces into that of Tormund and Samson. One quarter Kiffar, three quarters Arkanian, and all Gabriel. He blinked steadily, the consideration of pausing in place flashing across his mind, only to be overtaken with the brevity of his current obsession. He found himself at the penumbra between two carts, metal and on rusty wheels, one serving fried vermin and another serving soured fruit. The smells mixed in the air, gagging and penetrating and violating and stinking. He turned and placed a credit on the counter, grabbing one of the vermin on a stick, and tore out a piece of the grilled carcasses abdomen. He contemplated hard as he masticated, the loss of his life as he left the carts and the children behind, remembering the oath that Reverance took to destroy any memory of that life before him. The wife, the kids, fading memories that Gabriel struggled to maintain, always struggling. And yet, he felt no regret for the life of his wife and her lost potential. She had deformed and decayed in his memory, turning from cherished partner to vessel. Merely a thing that bore him children, not his love.
He shook his heard, trying to knock the sense of melancholy from his mind and thoughts. It was hard, especially with the nagging burden of his parasitic twin, resulting in his taciturn ways of deep thought and mental fortitude. Given the right circumstances, he would spout philosophy and dogma, but his attention was often encumbered by his own concurrent nature. His was a constant state of strife and struggle, an event of peace as rare as it's occurrence in the universe. And perhaps, in his mind, that justified it. He shouldn't experience the release from his own pain, when the universe was so deeply entrenched in it. He should bare it and grow stronger with it, nodules of weakness and compassion and mercy forever extinguished with each chime of the clock. He grew stronger as his pain endured and it was only right that the universe be given the same opportunity. A universe removed of weakness, removed of compassion, removed of empathy and mercy. Where the responsible claim responsibility and the feeble find comfort on their knees, beneath the wings of the strong. That was a perfect universe, his goal born from entropy. Just like trees that required fire to spread, he would treat the universe the same. And those who could withstand him would be worthy of the universe they were to inherit.
The internal soliloquy and dialogue focused him, sharpened a dulling blade, as he followed the woman with the red hair. He didn't move to avoid those coming towards him, unfortunate enough to encounter him in such a state. Those that felt the need to not move from his path where knocked to the ground, like hitting a moving wall. He would find out why this woman brought these thoughts to his mind, what in her stirred such reverie and affection for his cause.
[member="Anara Valnor"]
