UMBRELLAS || 005 - DREAM
Warnings: The saying that a group of four Yato mercenaries equals about to one Japanese army. Blood. Fighting. Death.
Dream Effects: The searing heat of sunlight burning.
[It was always supposed to be cold and on the planet. Above the line of roofs and lights, there would be howling winds and storms, and clouds plagued the sky, shielding the inhabitants from the sun.
The Yato weren't exactly scientifically advanced in the way of the cosmos - they could have been, but more or less? They didn't care. Weaponry and survival were the only things that they put effort in to. But if they did, they'd probably know that the sun that powered the deadlike planet was too far away to cause them much more than a mild sunburn.
That wasn't the point.
He would be standing in front of the army. These weren't samurai, they were cattle. He didn't care who their leader was. All he knew was the Yato bare instinct - to fight.
He didn't care that he had three other comrades. All he needed was himself.
There was a stimulating exhaustive feeling of when he pulled his hand back towards his body, letting the man's body he had just punched a hole through fall to the ground.]
Always so weak.
[He didn't even look up as a narrowly missed arrow sliced across his eyebrow. All that happened was the blood trickled down into the maniacal smile that was plastered onto his face.
He was proud of being a monster.
And it seemed like the cowards, useless cows, running with their tail between their legs, agreed. They fled, realising that with their giant army, he was better than them.
But he never expected the dream to shift. Shifting so that it was a different war. One that he had been too young to partake in, when it began twenty years prior. And on this world, the weather was much more formidable.
He would wake up to the blistering red covering his hands, small cracks erupting all over the exposed, frail skin of a Yato alien.]
Dream Effects: The searing heat of sunlight burning.
[It was always supposed to be cold and on the planet. Above the line of roofs and lights, there would be howling winds and storms, and clouds plagued the sky, shielding the inhabitants from the sun.
The Yato weren't exactly scientifically advanced in the way of the cosmos - they could have been, but more or less? They didn't care. Weaponry and survival were the only things that they put effort in to. But if they did, they'd probably know that the sun that powered the deadlike planet was too far away to cause them much more than a mild sunburn.
That wasn't the point.
He would be standing in front of the army. These weren't samurai, they were cattle. He didn't care who their leader was. All he knew was the Yato bare instinct - to fight.
He didn't care that he had three other comrades. All he needed was himself.
There was a stimulating exhaustive feeling of when he pulled his hand back towards his body, letting the man's body he had just punched a hole through fall to the ground.]
Always so weak.
[He didn't even look up as a narrowly missed arrow sliced across his eyebrow. All that happened was the blood trickled down into the maniacal smile that was plastered onto his face.
He was proud of being a monster.
And it seemed like the cowards, useless cows, running with their tail between their legs, agreed. They fled, realising that with their giant army, he was better than them.
But he never expected the dream to shift. Shifting so that it was a different war. One that he had been too young to partake in, when it began twenty years prior. And on this world, the weather was much more formidable.
He would wake up to the blistering red covering his hands, small cracks erupting all over the exposed, frail skin of a Yato alien.]