and what an end I will make for you
Abbadon recoiled, startled fingers tracing the razor fine slices that had shredded the flesh of his cheek nearly to the bone. It had been dumb luck that kept his single remaining eye intact, the rusty copper organ held wide now in shock with realization. Cressida had been waiting for him; this whole time, that golden eyed cur had been waiting, knowingly, for his strike.
All for the chance to take his other eye.
Cressida remained where Abbadon had found him standing only moments before, chest torn wide and the weeping wound bared like a badge, elongated fingers dripping blood from their deadly sharp tips as he blinks back at him expectantly - and then he smiles a very slow smile, like a man savoring the first bite of a favored dish after having gone without for some time. It very quickly turns manic and when he begins to laugh it is the deep belly howl of a mad man, head thrown back and arms held wide.
"I understand! I know what it is you fear so Abbadon, I didn't at the time I was told but now. NOW it is so painfully clear I was a fool to have wasted all this time!"
Abbadon snarls but it is a weak thing and he knows it and Cressida knows it because his eyes blaze when they level on him once more, gold and inhuman when he straightens and sighs, catching his breath.
"It was never me, never me, not me, but what I can give you. Oh, I will throw you down into that bitter sleep and let you drink the nectar of death from my own lips. I have died once already, I would not mind doing so again if only to have you accompany me. Did you truly think two or three centuries of idleness would be enough to cool my blood? I, who have spent nearly every breath of my existence wallowing in the blood and entrails of friend and foe alike? I, who Samael coveted, who would have had me in your place had I not refused him? I, who have played the long game with Oroboros and won?"
The ground trembled and then jolted, buckling beneath the weight of his blood lust as Cressida loosed every chain and bind set to keep his power in check, a whisper of permission curling along his silver horns in the form of blue flame as one by one the clamps Benedict had set unhinged and fell away.
"Ur the Malevolent is dead by my hand, Oroboros the Suneater cast out by Benedict's, your lessers fallen and falling, and Samael will not save you from your failure. There is no one for you but me Abbadon, and my harbingers dance in the violence of our blood feud and shriek for me to stoke the fires ever higher. Who am I to deny they who made this sweet victory possible, their pyre?"
Abbadon The Destroyer at last knew real fear.
And then the fires roared and Cressida ran laughing to hand him his death. The inferno consumes everything on the short ways; licked and singed the very edges of even the highest plains, scorched and melted and warped the very bedrock of hell itself. Nothing was left when it finally abated save for smoldering earth and burning air.
No army.
No Abbadon.
And no Cressida.
All for the chance to take his other eye.
Cressida remained where Abbadon had found him standing only moments before, chest torn wide and the weeping wound bared like a badge, elongated fingers dripping blood from their deadly sharp tips as he blinks back at him expectantly - and then he smiles a very slow smile, like a man savoring the first bite of a favored dish after having gone without for some time. It very quickly turns manic and when he begins to laugh it is the deep belly howl of a mad man, head thrown back and arms held wide.
"I understand! I know what it is you fear so Abbadon, I didn't at the time I was told but now. NOW it is so painfully clear I was a fool to have wasted all this time!"
Abbadon snarls but it is a weak thing and he knows it and Cressida knows it because his eyes blaze when they level on him once more, gold and inhuman when he straightens and sighs, catching his breath.
"It was never me, never me, not me, but what I can give you. Oh, I will throw you down into that bitter sleep and let you drink the nectar of death from my own lips. I have died once already, I would not mind doing so again if only to have you accompany me. Did you truly think two or three centuries of idleness would be enough to cool my blood? I, who have spent nearly every breath of my existence wallowing in the blood and entrails of friend and foe alike? I, who Samael coveted, who would have had me in your place had I not refused him? I, who have played the long game with Oroboros and won?"
The ground trembled and then jolted, buckling beneath the weight of his blood lust as Cressida loosed every chain and bind set to keep his power in check, a whisper of permission curling along his silver horns in the form of blue flame as one by one the clamps Benedict had set unhinged and fell away.
"Ur the Malevolent is dead by my hand, Oroboros the Suneater cast out by Benedict's, your lessers fallen and falling, and Samael will not save you from your failure. There is no one for you but me Abbadon, and my harbingers dance in the violence of our blood feud and shriek for me to stoke the fires ever higher. Who am I to deny they who made this sweet victory possible, their pyre?"
Abbadon The Destroyer at last knew real fear.
And then the fires roared and Cressida ran laughing to hand him his death. The inferno consumes everything on the short ways; licked and singed the very edges of even the highest plains, scorched and melted and warped the very bedrock of hell itself. Nothing was left when it finally abated save for smoldering earth and burning air.
No army.
No Abbadon.
And no Cressida.