SPOILER WARNING FOR CHAPTER 15
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Yes this is rushed---- no it's not cuz Iwannarereadchapter15beforebed--whotoldyouthat??--
AGAIN--please read this amazing stupendous FANFIC I highly HIGHLY RECOMMEND IT!!!! @spadillelicious IS SUPER SUPER TALENTED GO TAKE A LOOK AT HER STUFF!!!!
ALSO!! please do tell me if the videos I post are ever loud- my pc has silly settings at the moment I apologize---
breaking my silence and coming back online NOW because this is literally game over wonwoo my skrunkly professional playing, twitter porn filming, koyahngi loving baby
Fighting against V1 felt like motion – unstoppable, ungovernable, uncontrollable. Sensations tore out of the consistent static that stained millennia with silence.
With isolation, sitting still on the throne of hell. As ordered.
And the shattering of it was nothing short of spectacular.
This machine, small and agile. A magnificent creature manufactured in the image of mankind –soulless and lifeless. (He thought it was lifeless, he thinks he might be wrong – like many times before). It moved with mastery across mountains of squirming, writhing flesh. Ever moving, ever fighting. Hell is its stage, and it proudly presents itself with grace, elegance, and perfect violence. It delivered what was sought with pure, instinctual, exceptional savagery.
It drew blood from him. And along with blood, ecstasy.
There’s poetry to it. Sinful, sacrilegious poetry.
To be etched by this thing so easily. Bullets hot and scorching, piercing through armour until they burn and burrow deep under his skin. To be trading blows. Bow low to evade another swing before the release of twin swords slicing through the scene. To leap into flight only to be grappled and slammed back into the ground. Pinned, dazed, tethered. It demanded submission.
He should feel fury, yet that had faded long ago.
Crimson looked rosy under the cathedral lights. The iron on his lips tasted like metal.
When its whiplash wrapped around his wrist again, it felt like a snare. The pull of the welcoming mirage of closeness. Perhaps salvation if he dared to entertain.
Hatred, anger, violence. Love, passion, devotion. Both burn bright until all-consuming. And in the heat of the moment, he recognized the blurring of the lines.
He thought of them. Untethered angel and machine. So wildly contradictory and identical all the same. Two sides of the Mobius strip – seemingly separate, until their paths merge seamlessly into one. Intimately intertwined, indistinguishable from one to the next.
To push each other into the slit between life and death. Until the fine sparks from clashing metal ignited the flicker of flames into ferocious roaring. Until nothing mattered except here, now, them. Until the light from the fire painted their shadows into one.
The universe could not tell where one began and the other ended.