[Dream 003]
[Privacy: Open]
The ground was rocky and hard where Kitchel crouched, peering around the large boulder with the man beside her. His long violet hair blew in the tense, crackling wind that was tearing around them, billowing dust and whipping small stones and bits of debris through the air. Her own hair, cut short above her shoulders, was tossed into her eyes and she pulled it aside, staring in awe with her companion at the spectacle some mile away.
The winds were a mere gale where they hid, unable to get any closer to the epicenter where they tore at hurricane intensity through the viciously purple sky, now lit from below by the eerie glow of thousands of souls, flaking and peeling off of a central mass and thrown away into the wind. There was a sharp ozone smell to their surroundings: lightning mingling freely with spilt blood and raped earth. Kitchel felt her breath catch in her throat as the man at her side stiffened. A quiver of raw demonic power ran though the atmosphere as an electric jolt through a wire, and a low pulsation of the same intense violet sunk into being at the core of the storm of souls. Although they were too far away for any normal person to see, Kitchel gasped, grabbing her companion's arm and pointing, for once wordless, to where the purple orb broke through the trapped souls surrounding it, shattering them, and rushed forward to meet the streak of gold that shot downwards at it like an arrow to its target or a comet in the night sky. A faint sheen of silvery-white, another soul, perhaps, but not weakened and lost, surrounded and trailed after it as it continued to accelerate, now a barely seen blur towards its final--and apparently fatal--destination.
For a moment Kitchel could feel the flickering interplay of powers, of two voices speaking to one another of the fate of the world upon the final battlefield, and then all was consumed in the soundless explosion of brightest light.
Kitchel blinked her eyes open, at once wide awake.
"Oh. Wow." She sat up, somewhat shaky after the tension of her memory. "What a rush."
The ground was rocky and hard where Kitchel crouched, peering around the large boulder with the man beside her. His long violet hair blew in the tense, crackling wind that was tearing around them, billowing dust and whipping small stones and bits of debris through the air. Her own hair, cut short above her shoulders, was tossed into her eyes and she pulled it aside, staring in awe with her companion at the spectacle some mile away.
The winds were a mere gale where they hid, unable to get any closer to the epicenter where they tore at hurricane intensity through the viciously purple sky, now lit from below by the eerie glow of thousands of souls, flaking and peeling off of a central mass and thrown away into the wind. There was a sharp ozone smell to their surroundings: lightning mingling freely with spilt blood and raped earth. Kitchel felt her breath catch in her throat as the man at her side stiffened. A quiver of raw demonic power ran though the atmosphere as an electric jolt through a wire, and a low pulsation of the same intense violet sunk into being at the core of the storm of souls. Although they were too far away for any normal person to see, Kitchel gasped, grabbing her companion's arm and pointing, for once wordless, to where the purple orb broke through the trapped souls surrounding it, shattering them, and rushed forward to meet the streak of gold that shot downwards at it like an arrow to its target or a comet in the night sky. A faint sheen of silvery-white, another soul, perhaps, but not weakened and lost, surrounded and trailed after it as it continued to accelerate, now a barely seen blur towards its final--and apparently fatal--destination.
For a moment Kitchel could feel the flickering interplay of powers, of two voices speaking to one another of the fate of the world upon the final battlefield, and then all was consumed in the soundless explosion of brightest light.
Kitchel blinked her eyes open, at once wide awake.
"Oh. Wow." She sat up, somewhat shaky after the tension of her memory. "What a rush."