'Apostles! What's with their rank….God, monster, no? That's not important right now! What do they want!' The variegated boy, pestiferous with plight of libidinous pink loathsomely queried, his mind earless, heedless to the stygian realm before him. Sentinel of steel emphatically closed, divorced, abstracted did the nascent boy lay, dawn upon the precipice of repugnance, disunited from his exclusive target, his every notion snared by the twain bloodcurdling beauties who stalked before him.
Perspiration unconsciously coagulated, forgathered atop a plane of snow, yet never to fall, tyrannised by Eros's regnant command. 'I assume they want me…but what for.' The boy splenetically impugned, desperate in his attempt to recall, to recount, to perceive a reason, yet, he drew upon nought but the spasmodic choir of his cacophonous heart. Still, before Eros could breathe a declaration of worriment, he would find his blood frozen, treacherous to his sovereign ascendency, for gnarled gossamery lips of cadaverous cardinal derisively barked.
"Eros! We have some questions to ask you! Come with us!" The solar-haired girl mandated, her tone jagged, every word akin to the stabbing of myriad blades, callous, nascent to notions of inquiry did she move, her encroach unrefined, barbaric, absentminded gems of sanguine rested atop tanned flesh, innumerable fangs unvarying to that which antecedently pontificated, diseased by dribble perverted a reprehensible hue of pink.
Impenitent stony palms wrenched the eerily apathetic boy, impregnating his disinterested visage with the concept of animation, for his mind lay elsewhere, bedded by sentiment of wistful yearning, 'I was with the council. They wanted to know what happened in the dungeon.' The impassioned voice sourced from divergent crimson hysterically elucidated, echoing rapturously amid Eros's cognisance. 'Are they with the council? Do they just want to question my recount of the story…or have they already figured out my Gemini status to that of theirs?' The boy deliriously deduced, his every motion, every breath omnipotently ascertained by the paradoxical twin beauties.
Blistering. Tanned flesh, roguish, treacherous, intertwined atop a pestiferous plane of snow, impenitent to the winsome boy's stolid analysis, skin antagonistic to temperate notions, bearing a body of monstrously igneous constitution, as though flame personified. *Sssssss* loathsome did such pestiferous cry egress, sourced not from voice of sentient inheritance but passionless flesh. 'AHhh!' Eros torturously cried, his left wrist profaned, vitiated, raped by seed of sun, claret bile bubbled, continuously distressing the precipice of myriad veins, obscured by nought but his senior's hand.
Subconscious tears gathered, amalgamating upon the extremities of Eros's heterochromatic gaze, yet, Eros nevermore remonstrated such anguish. He merely moved, content with such harrowing, execrable status quo, twain eyes of variegated hue lucid upon a geminate portrait of diaphanous undistinguished stone.
{+10 Affection (Háðung Hróðvitnir)}
{+10 Affection (Mánagarmr Hróðvitnir)}
Myriad unbounded steps listlessly mewled, derisive, scurrilous upon Eros's obscured ears, spasmodically ruptured solely by the discordant broil of flesh, Eros's anterior wrist of snow appeared a perverted aberrant tan, yet, the youth's intent lay not rapt upon such foreign, debauched visage, but the assiduous trenchant scrutiny progeny to the gothic, melancholic beauty whom stalked behind him. Heterochromatic eyes, the left a lucent, wistful achromatic wax, the right an infinite, atramentous night settled prominently upon the adolescent's eternally encroaching visage, laced by poison, not of malevolent anathema but impetuous attraction, an interest hitherto malcontented.
"Háðung, I think you can let him go now. He's not going to run away." Wistful, forlorn did such a lugubrious remark emanate, her tone cadaverous, as though sequestered to notions of zoetic vivacity, evermore morose, the dour opposite to the girl's singular peer.
'Hu-' Eros innately stammered, his brain nascent, cretinous to the gothic doll's precipitant droll of consternation. However, such thought of regnant stupefaction would be given voice not by the winsome boy but by the treacherous barbarian titled Háðung.
"Huh? How can you guarantee that Mánagarmr? Who's to say he won't flee the moment-" The vehement, perfervid voice of the monstrous apostle barked, her lips sodden with sudor of antecedent carrion, forgathered from source unapprehended, too opaque to be mistaken as nought but bedraggled polluted saliva.
"He won't," The girl morosely blurted, her figure everlastingly esoteric to that of Eros, veiled by a curtain drawn by nought but human limit. Her resonance lay deathly apathetic, a serene, monotone sheath upon the adolescent's mind, so why? Why did the barbaric contemptuous girl before him bear such bloodcurdling countenance? Eyes anteriorly effulgent, as though sun personified appeared dim, burnished by a cloak of vitreous eclipse, seemingly divorced from this world, skin of tan lay ghostly, cadaverous, while her scalding grasp numbingly embraced the boy's wrist, not out of hate, but desirous reinforcement.
Surrendered, bedded by nought but stagnant, sweltering air, did the tanned wrist of Eros brew, instinctually burrowed amidst the epicentre of his chest, cradled by the spasmodic choir of his dissonantly cacophonic heart. 'What was that? What happened to Háðung's eyes? No, what happened to my wrist…I thought I was all but immune to such blazing, incandescent heat after attaining Fiamma's ability,' Eros inwardly monologued, variegated eyes perpetually sealed upon the waking beast, her heterochromatic eyes fulgurating with a lambent angst, while twain pupils appeared withered.
"Haha- Fine. Even if he runs off, I'll just hunt him down," Háðung derisively howled. However, her tone bore voice apocryphal, a fictitious brashness sovereignly ascertained by all. Heterochromatic eyes, the right incandescent, exalted, the left of stygian depravity frenziedly scoured the ecclesiastical plane upon which the triumvirate presided, nerveless atop every aperture. "Come in here," The girl superciliously clamoured, puncturing a chasmic divorce between the seams of a wrought iron, grandiloquent door. Within seconds did the contemptuous visage of Háðung evanesce, her 183cm visage sentineled by a shadow of lurid abstruseness.
Absent-minded did Eros move, plain of snow intertwined upon terminus apex of hyperborean metal. He would face the monstrous apostles questioning. However, before such proclamation could yield articulation, his variegated pupils would refract sight not of caliginous darkness but mottled shade of achromatic wax.
Mánagarmr, her figure slumped, arciform before the boy, head of particoloured countenance level with chest garbed by blazer of petulant maroon, flesh as though formed from the moon's seraphic effulgence appeared listlessly postured towards Eros, her eyes interwoven with the boy's, mollified by his gaze. Upon her face of indolent, torpid apathy diaphanously stretched a smile, one that imminently distorted. Myriad erratic motions, progeny to sinus innocuous, appeared birthed, for it twitched, enamoured, enthralled by scent anteriorly unheralded. Saliva inattentively inundated the polychromatic flooring, spilt by grail of pristine carmine, while her face of apathy birthed a visage of crystalline, omnipotent aphrodisiac enamourment.
{+10% Affection ( Mánagarmr Hróðvitnir)}
'Why does she look like that?' Eros absentmindedly murmured, his figure forced through the aperture of rotund wrought metal. His mind poised upon but a singular query, 'I wonder what would happen if an apostle were to fall?'