a wee bit of fiction ...
Title: Scarlet
Characters: Saga
Wordcount: 375
Notes: A brief look at the events of Saga's usurpation.
It all happened so quickly -- once he had finally, finally struck -- once he had finally forced that mewling protest in his soul silent. Crushed it beneath his heel to hobble him no longer, and smiled with bloody-minded malice back at the ancient creature that stood in his way here on the Star Hill --
So quickly. So very very quickly.
One strike, one blow. One crushing blow to the old creature's ancient heart; and now the inhuman eyes stared sightlessly up at him from the slick crimson-stained stones, the wash of red seeping slowly through the snow-white velvets of his robes.
So much for the Holy Father.
So fragile, in the end.
As almost an afterthought, he laid the body out -- but spirited away the chains of office, the crested helm; those he would need. He would need them once he finished with his work --
The blood on his hands was sweet, and cloying.
But no time, no time to pause and enjoy that moment, no time to reflect on the slowly-dimming light of ancient eyes. He could not rest, not yet.
The wailing of the infant struck his ear as he raced shining-swift into the hallowed halls, and for a moment his hands tingled with power. But no, no; no such end for the child. There was a better end, a more fitting test.
There, tucked within the mountain-old altar; a blade of glittering gleaming gold came to his questing hands, akin to his own shining panoply. That, that would serve his purpose, snatched up and borne towards the silken cradle --
Let the babe be a sacrifice to his power.
What mortal could destroy a god? What mortal-wrought weapon would cut godly lifespan short? But this, this was no god; this was a mewling infant, a doddering old fool's delusion. And he would prove it so.
With eyes of blood, he raised the blade high.
“Survive, if you are Athene --”
Characters: Saga
Wordcount: 375
Notes: A brief look at the events of Saga's usurpation.
It all happened so quickly -- once he had finally, finally struck -- once he had finally forced that mewling protest in his soul silent. Crushed it beneath his heel to hobble him no longer, and smiled with bloody-minded malice back at the ancient creature that stood in his way here on the Star Hill --
So quickly. So very very quickly.
One strike, one blow. One crushing blow to the old creature's ancient heart; and now the inhuman eyes stared sightlessly up at him from the slick crimson-stained stones, the wash of red seeping slowly through the snow-white velvets of his robes.
So much for the Holy Father.
So fragile, in the end.
As almost an afterthought, he laid the body out -- but spirited away the chains of office, the crested helm; those he would need. He would need them once he finished with his work --
The blood on his hands was sweet, and cloying.
But no time, no time to pause and enjoy that moment, no time to reflect on the slowly-dimming light of ancient eyes. He could not rest, not yet.
The wailing of the infant struck his ear as he raced shining-swift into the hallowed halls, and for a moment his hands tingled with power. But no, no; no such end for the child. There was a better end, a more fitting test.
There, tucked within the mountain-old altar; a blade of glittering gleaming gold came to his questing hands, akin to his own shining panoply. That, that would serve his purpose, snatched up and borne towards the silken cradle --
Let the babe be a sacrifice to his power.
What mortal could destroy a god? What mortal-wrought weapon would cut godly lifespan short? But this, this was no god; this was a mewling infant, a doddering old fool's delusion. And he would prove it so.
With eyes of blood, he raised the blade high.
“Survive, if you are Athene --”