Andras Inanyas (inanyas) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-04-13 18:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | andras |
Who: Andras (closed narrative)
What: Finally the fallout from the Memitim attack
Where: Outside of Germantown, NY
When: Easter Sunday
Warnings: Suicide, language
Germantown, New York. He’d lain in pain there for a day, spreading hate and vengeance and anger out in waves and hoping that he was pulling in enough energy to heal himself. He was, and soon his hand was whole and his cuts were mended. The burns from the holy water, though, would take more time. More power than he had after so much being expended in the fight - and he didn’t want to pull more, because he knew that she would come for the nuns, and he didn’t want her finding him. Not in this state. Not when he derided her for her failures. So he’d slunk away, healed himself little by little, and waited. And he felt it when she killed the nuns, felt how dissatisfied she was with it, but there was nothing he could do to help.
Then it was easter, and every parading the story of that fucking risen son of a whore. Andras felt weak, sick. The burns had scarred by then and even though he couldn’t expend his rage – it was all of him, after all – it lay quieter than it should have and made him feel even more sick with himself. There was only one thing that could be done.
Their prince rose from Hell. This Prince would descend to the pits, to the river. He would take back his army and he would slaughter and rape and dine on still beating hearts, still gushing intestines. He would join with Flauros and take back his wolf and together he would rise more powerful than they could dream of. And then, he thought as he lifted his sword to his own throat and slashed deep, then he would make the fucking angels pay.