Delusions and Darkness - Fabled Countryside [closed]
The frightening form of the monstrous beast charged through the halls of the grand castle, passing by thick hordes of black creatures. Drawn to the rhythmic beat as was their nature, the mass of the black ones hastened after the monster. Some crawled. Some ran. And some leapt towards him in waves. Several at a time were knocked away with single blows, as the castle was scoured in a rush. It seemed nothing could stop this massive beast from his search. Too much time was passing and the deeper he made his way into his own castle, the darker things grew and the stronger the Heartless became. Gradually, the beast's movements slowed as he struggled against the enemies. The wolfish forms soon began to outnumber their weaker counterparts. It was harder to simly dismiss his enemies.
Hallway after hallway. Room after room. Nothing. No sign of life.
Few thoughts entered the beast's mind, having let go of his ties to humanity the second he had stepped foot in the castle. It had been necessary to keep himself from being hindered. Adrenaline and instinct now drove and empowered him. The instinct over territory. The instinct over his pack. Both fueled his energy and willpower into barreling through this danger. Ever since he had landed on his world, all thoughts of his own well-being and his precarious situation have been absent. He had his goal.
Finally, the great monster found himself trapped in a corner in one of the many rooms. Surrounded by a seething mass of Heartless, he was forced to stop and fight. A brief pause, just enough for the beast to turn towards his attackers and let forth an infuriated snarl, before the wolves simultaneaously jumped on him. Each of them sunk their teeth and claws in, determined in their own right to defeat this obstacle so that his heart would be theirs. Enraged, the beast fought back, his own weapons piercing and destroying them. One after another they were tossed aside. But where one would dissapear, assuredly another would be there to take its place.
Beginning to lose, the monster gatherd his strength and charged through the crowd. The smell of blood was on the air and his goals turned from a rescue mission into one of locating a temporary safe haven. A brief rest was needed. Thus, he ran for his own sanctuary, The West Wing.
Upon entry, he found that, indeed, things were quiet here. The familiar shadows of broken furniture and crushed portraits had been left unchanged and uninterrupted by the intruders. The beast took a moment to lick his wounds, in particular the deep gashes in his arm, but something caught the corner of his eye and drew his attention away from nursing his injuries. Shock crossed his face as he recognized the glowing object. Unbelievable.
It was the rose.
Hallway after hallway. Room after room. Nothing. No sign of life.
Few thoughts entered the beast's mind, having let go of his ties to humanity the second he had stepped foot in the castle. It had been necessary to keep himself from being hindered. Adrenaline and instinct now drove and empowered him. The instinct over territory. The instinct over his pack. Both fueled his energy and willpower into barreling through this danger. Ever since he had landed on his world, all thoughts of his own well-being and his precarious situation have been absent. He had his goal.
Finally, the great monster found himself trapped in a corner in one of the many rooms. Surrounded by a seething mass of Heartless, he was forced to stop and fight. A brief pause, just enough for the beast to turn towards his attackers and let forth an infuriated snarl, before the wolves simultaneaously jumped on him. Each of them sunk their teeth and claws in, determined in their own right to defeat this obstacle so that his heart would be theirs. Enraged, the beast fought back, his own weapons piercing and destroying them. One after another they were tossed aside. But where one would dissapear, assuredly another would be there to take its place.
Beginning to lose, the monster gatherd his strength and charged through the crowd. The smell of blood was on the air and his goals turned from a rescue mission into one of locating a temporary safe haven. A brief rest was needed. Thus, he ran for his own sanctuary, The West Wing.
Upon entry, he found that, indeed, things were quiet here. The familiar shadows of broken furniture and crushed portraits had been left unchanged and uninterrupted by the intruders. The beast took a moment to lick his wounds, in particular the deep gashes in his arm, but something caught the corner of his eye and drew his attention away from nursing his injuries. Shock crossed his face as he recognized the glowing object. Unbelievable.
It was the rose.