Ragnarok Law
Proverb IV ~ "By Blood Or By Infinity." DO ANY PASSION TO MAKE IT FOREVER, OR DOWN IT BEFORE IT IS VILIFIED!!!
(ZI-ZAH)
(OH-KAI-EE)
I exited the church's stain glass double doors, pausing on the top step to the entrance to allow the excitement from the coronation to blow in the wind. Snow blanketed the Windy City, my fur trim hood coat and black boots countering the winter breeze. I removed a black Earth Psychedelia carton from the top left inside pocket of my coat and a gold lighter molded into the shape of Swordfish II from the pocket on the opposite side. I unbuttoned the five leaf clover on the carton and pulled out one of the Sour Haze cigarettes with my teeth, a filtered rolled into the brown paper made for a smoother hit. Pushing the cockpit in on the middle of the customized lighter, the plasma cannon in the front of the ship ignited a long concentrated blue flame. I brought the sparked fire to the tip of the THC, using my other hand to shield the burning from the excess wind. I took three quick puffs to allow the burn to draw down, swallowing the gathered steam on the fourth pull to confirm the hit.
I tucked the carton and the lighter in their respective pockets as I stood there, enjoying my clover stick while looking over the snow fed city. I was the final person to exit our empire's historical building, absorbing the resulting energies of my ceremony into The Law's Maturity.
"You cleaved thru him in one slash, young one. That is the first time I've seen such a thing from someone still developing into their full spirit."
Our Godmother Zephoné felt the need to inform me, calling the bisecting a symbolization of the power I am fated to have. My hands were still shaking from the ax hitting the concrete once it sliced all the way thru, and possibly from the scene I committed himself to.
Many moments of murder and deaths has crossed my hand and my conscience, I've seen both the old and the young fall in the most devastating of situations, I've even bled enough of my own blood the support another body. These were events that any normal developing teen would certainly have some sort of psychological trauma that would be almost impossible to regain a sound mind from. This me has had the guidance of not just the instinctual survivalist that is my mother, but also the wisdom refining experiences that my Prodigal Family allowed me to learn from.
But through all those experiences, I've never witnessed a body splitting, organs bursting, and blood gushing to such an extent.
Today is B'Earth Day as well as my coronation, which were affirmed on The Top Floor of one of The Six Raptures. There was no way I'd allow myself to show such weaknesses in front of The Family, most of all not in front of Our God Authority.
I held the paper blunt between my lips and held all of my fingers out in front of me, tightening them wide and curling them into a fist over and over.
My intuition took control of my mechanism, withdrawing a Raffica from the holster strewn around my shoulders. I pointed the screaming Beretta to my right, where the pseudo-suspicion was detected.
My left eyebrow rose toward my hairline in confusion, I could've sworn I saw movement in my peripheral vision. I am the only one here, so anyone present, hiding or lurking the way I'm assuming is only an enemy...
Or my condition.
I have to take my meds.
Inhaling and exhaling the THC, I kept my beautiful scorching pistol in hand while trying to steel my senses. I shut my eyes for a minute, random access memories flashed before my mental windows like high beams at night.
"FROM ABOVE!"
As I was trying to straighten my psyche, sixty-three pounds of a red skinned child came flying down from ancestors knows where. Her dainty arms wrapped tightly around my shoulders, securing grappled leverage for her landing. The free falling girl's body swung down and collided with my back, her thick Indian knitted wool leggings wrapped all the way around my torso and locking at her boots.
Just a little more weight, a little more pressure, a little more friction and we would have went tumbling down fifteen carved jade steps. To the ignorance of this sonic spirited youth.
"ARGH! Zza, what the fuck?!" I swore angrily at the careless nine year old, bracing my balance before we went breaking bones down the edged minerals.
"You're all mine, Dastardly Dusty. You and your filthy bits will rot in the brig until the day you're called back to hell." The little girl enacted in a deep voice, holding a gun made from her fingers right behind my right ear.
She's aiming at the sweet spot. The Kill spot.
This nine year old girl is a fucking sponge.
"What are you doing here, Zza? I told you to wait at the condo." I scolded the red skinned youth, grabbing her by the collar and holding her up in front of me.
"Why are you mad?! You really think I was going to miss your coronation? Thank you for inviting me, by the way." Zza spat back at me, seemingly more upset than I was.
Zza Zeppelin-Dycer. A 4"8 nine year old with as limitless energy as the Sun in whole and the imagination as vast as the space around it. Our first encounter is fated for comic-con, and ever since she has glued herself to my left arm, my shooting arm. So much so that I've had to perfect shooting with my right hand, not that I was bad before. The wounds on my shoulder and the metal in my arm made the task difficult, and the bad memories made it almost impossible.
It is because of this eventual necessity, pushing me pass my boundaries sooner than later, and the passionate fire burning in her indigo oculars is why I initiated the sprite child with the Ragnarok Stigmata, or the Ragna Stigma, and dawned her my first Fray Proxy.