Post by Veran on Nov 17, 2011 2:40:25 GMT -6
An opaque darkness had emanated from the jewel of the mountains – the city of the Holy Miracle - and engulfed even Emmanuel beneath its shadowy veil. For the first time in since that fateful day where the Expanse had been filled with Yahweh’s divine light the denizens of Jherra now looked out to the horizon and saw not the perpetual twilight that burned on the far reaches of the sky, but the black pitch of night. For the first time in their lives they stared at the stars above with both awe and an inextricable feeling of dread. The world had been scarred, and it was almost as if even through the distance they understood the silence that now resided within the walls of what had once been known as Crystal City. No one would be able to tell of the sheer depravation – of the horrors – that had taken place there on this day. Like Sodom. Like Gomorrah. Like Aircano… The divine and awesome wrath of God had descended upon this land and would forever plague the human mind for as long as it still existed. As fate would have it, this would not be for much longer.
Seven days passed.
On the seventh night, the shade receded over the Crystal Expanse. Slowly Emmanuel’s rays shined once again beyond the mountain range and the frozen dunes; painting the heavens in twilight hues of blood and flames. Eventually the familiar high towers poked through until all of Crystal City reappeared. The brilliant, opalescent gemstones had all but lost their gleam – their surfaces tarnished, worn and tattered by what seemed to be centuries of desolation – the streets were black with dried blood whilst the ash of bones fell from the sky like snow. The closer to the apex of shadows the grimmer became the scene, with the crystal structures slowly being shaped into something different – burned and rusted – as though somehow Genesis had melded with the dark abyss in this very place. Still the victims of the carnage hanged above like the cadaverous foliage of a barbed tree. Finally the shade dissipated, revealing in the center of what had once been the wedding reception of two demons… the First Aspect of the Arashi.
It simply stood, surrounded by ruin, overlooked by moon and stars; not even giving so much as a glance to the scene that surrounded it, as though the hell of its own creation was but a meaningless canvas against the background of a hollow existence. It stood in that same position where it had purified the Herald’s own flesh and blood in displaying the true essence of divinity in her white, angelic bones. It had waited since for the zenith of this night – the moment upon which the seventh day of peace would end.
It too came to pass.
The pale mask turned its gaze to the north. To the Downward Spiral. To Utopia. To its harbinger. And it began to walk.
Seven days passed.
On the seventh night, the shade receded over the Crystal Expanse. Slowly Emmanuel’s rays shined once again beyond the mountain range and the frozen dunes; painting the heavens in twilight hues of blood and flames. Eventually the familiar high towers poked through until all of Crystal City reappeared. The brilliant, opalescent gemstones had all but lost their gleam – their surfaces tarnished, worn and tattered by what seemed to be centuries of desolation – the streets were black with dried blood whilst the ash of bones fell from the sky like snow. The closer to the apex of shadows the grimmer became the scene, with the crystal structures slowly being shaped into something different – burned and rusted – as though somehow Genesis had melded with the dark abyss in this very place. Still the victims of the carnage hanged above like the cadaverous foliage of a barbed tree. Finally the shade dissipated, revealing in the center of what had once been the wedding reception of two demons… the First Aspect of the Arashi.
It simply stood, surrounded by ruin, overlooked by moon and stars; not even giving so much as a glance to the scene that surrounded it, as though the hell of its own creation was but a meaningless canvas against the background of a hollow existence. It stood in that same position where it had purified the Herald’s own flesh and blood in displaying the true essence of divinity in her white, angelic bones. It had waited since for the zenith of this night – the moment upon which the seventh day of peace would end.
It too came to pass.
The pale mask turned its gaze to the north. To the Downward Spiral. To Utopia. To its harbinger. And it began to walk.
