[P] this black terror and turmoil

[Raum]

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

 


She smiles and light shines wicked and bright from between her teeth. It is lighthouse bright; a herald of salvation and doom.
 
Your soul could not fill me.
 
And the light of her is lightning. It is strobe light that flashes as her lips forge each word from starlight and space. Within that light Raum does not flinch. He glints like a blade thirsting for blood, waiting, waiting for vengeance as blood slips like whispers down its body. Drip, drip falls the blood, chiming with the beat of his clockwork heart.
 
Her words are a mockery, her smile a claw that reaches out beyond existence and death. Raum feels the claw of her smile scratching along the silver of his skin. Ah they grate and scream like great weapons meeting in battle, sharp upon sharp, steel upon steel. Sparks will fly and heads will roll and still the king stands unmoved, unaffected as she moves to him in light and horror.
 
She laughs with the sound of grating metal, of a tornado drawing breath. Raum turns his head to better watch her and the black of his eyes are the parts of her skin that hold the light in. His eyes are the black underground chasms, of vacuum holes deep in space where not even light can reach.
 
Still her laugh echoes, splitting his ears, his skin. She hungers, like a monster famished. She sets greedy eyes upon him, upon the deer, upon the heights of his citadel. Yet none would sate her, her taste is a thing far more refined, far more demanding. He sees that monster as  she sets her eyes on him, she sees the dark of her lighthouse space, of the beast that roils in the dark, it’s teeth vacant of flesh and blood. Oh it wants, it wants.
 
Untouchable, aloof, with a blue of ice and deep sea blue, Raum holds her gaze. Her light turns his blue into a tsunami and from within its rising wall a leviathan’s shadow looms. Legion lands, a valkyrie’s cry rippling from his parted beak. It breathes through pointed fangs and poison splatters like dew upon the ground.
 
The basilisk’s head turns toward the girl of light and death and his skull tilts. Does the light filter through the scarf about his eyes? Is it light enough to bathe his gaze within?
 
Raum watches as the beast steps closer to the stranger, talon’s scraping upon the stone as Eshek’s gaze had upon Raum’s skin. The beast rumbles a hiss, his serpent’s tongue rising, tasting metal and destruction.
 
“I have so much more.” Raum hums, his voice a murmur, barely audible over the rattle of Legion’s breath. The king watches as the monster edges closer, listening, listening to the laugh of wicked light made flesh.
 
There is no hospitable smile, no warming eyes to welcome this new creature. Raum was not made for hospitality and yet, “Tell me what might satiate your hunger.”
 
And at last he moves, pouring like ink toward Legion and the girl he watches through the dark of his blindfold. His steps are leonine grace. He moves until he stands before Eshek, the heat of lava upon his skin, the light of a thousand suns illuminating the sharp silver of his body.
 
“Welcome to Solterra.” His welcome rises as steam between them.

---

@Eshek