OOC: Dream
Trees swept by his peripheral, sandals pushing the underlying earth away as he moved through a desolate forest. Golden kunai fell from his hands, breaking the grim silence with metallic clatter and pained breaths as oppressive shadows reigned overhead in a darkness even his eyes couldn’t pierce.
The strength of bark supported his wounded back for a brief period of rest, hand curled tightly over his shoulder with teeth clenched against pain.
The weak character in an easy game has the fate of dying first.
A brief, fleeting uncertainty, then a word sounded with an unwavering will, resonating like the strong sound of a hammer striking against iron with the same sharp clarity and determination.
No.
A few wayward strands of matted hair clung to the bark of the tree as he tore away.
Obscured from his vision, the undeniable presence of something dangerous forced him to leap from his path and take refuge against another tree in a desperate bid to save himself.
A flash of pain in torn skin, the warm feeling of blood sliding down his cheek, metal glinted with a silver sheen before falling to the earth. He fell with it, feeling his body give out beneath him, adrenaline running high with a mixed sense of exhaustion and relief- only for his knees hit a hard wooden floor instead of dirt, the forest shattering into a long, barren hallway.
Cut up and bruised fingers were clean, palms braced against polished boards and walls made of seamless glass stretched outward, connecting a number of rooms much like a very large single floor house. Sunlight filtered through the slotted bars of the ceiling, reaching out to him from above while white eyes reflected against transparent windows.
Others with the same eyes and carved ink on their foreheads moved with a silent sense of purpose in a picture of lifelessness. He reached out to call to them, hands coming into contact with only solid barriers before he realized there was no escape.
Horrified realization and tempered rage flared only to be suppressed by the sudden onset of claustrophobia that swamped his senses with an overwhelming pressure in his chest, and an accompanying silence that made him wish he had the breath to scream just to break it.
Torn feathers fell through the bars, steadily piling on the floor in a blanket of red and white and in the moments before consciousness faded, words that sounded smooth and comforting cut through the chaos with a warm strength.
“You are the one whose sight has been graced the most strongly.”
The strength of bark supported his wounded back for a brief period of rest, hand curled tightly over his shoulder with teeth clenched against pain.
The weak character in an easy game has the fate of dying first.
A brief, fleeting uncertainty, then a word sounded with an unwavering will, resonating like the strong sound of a hammer striking against iron with the same sharp clarity and determination.
No.
A few wayward strands of matted hair clung to the bark of the tree as he tore away.
Obscured from his vision, the undeniable presence of something dangerous forced him to leap from his path and take refuge against another tree in a desperate bid to save himself.
A flash of pain in torn skin, the warm feeling of blood sliding down his cheek, metal glinted with a silver sheen before falling to the earth. He fell with it, feeling his body give out beneath him, adrenaline running high with a mixed sense of exhaustion and relief- only for his knees hit a hard wooden floor instead of dirt, the forest shattering into a long, barren hallway.
Cut up and bruised fingers were clean, palms braced against polished boards and walls made of seamless glass stretched outward, connecting a number of rooms much like a very large single floor house. Sunlight filtered through the slotted bars of the ceiling, reaching out to him from above while white eyes reflected against transparent windows.
Others with the same eyes and carved ink on their foreheads moved with a silent sense of purpose in a picture of lifelessness. He reached out to call to them, hands coming into contact with only solid barriers before he realized there was no escape.
Horrified realization and tempered rage flared only to be suppressed by the sudden onset of claustrophobia that swamped his senses with an overwhelming pressure in his chest, and an accompanying silence that made him wish he had the breath to scream just to break it.
Torn feathers fell through the bars, steadily piling on the floor in a blanket of red and white and in the moments before consciousness faded, words that sounded smooth and comforting cut through the chaos with a warm strength.
“You are the one whose sight has been graced the most strongly.”