He was the embodiment of a tender violence, the ebbing flow of visceral terror and deity of its balance. Estranged in the essence of forlorn creation, and reckless, hungry desires. The spirit of dawned wars, endless nights fraught with the temptations of coursing blood and the horrific repetition of tantalizing destruction. The Luciferian King was an unmerciful murderer, an impassioned lover, the famished ender of worlds, devourer of organs – patron of demise. A God in the temple of the fallen who held the power of the Sun within his cold claws. There was no comfort when his arrival was made imminent within the West part of Boreas however he decided to make this his temporary home. There was no reassurance in the way his silver gaze roamed the new lands that resembled so well with his homeland, Egypt. The desert was a vast undulating sea, punctuated by the shadowy silhouettes of cactus, like great ghost ships upon the sandy waves. Yet there was no warmth or welcome to the unyielding delineation of his reptilian body, lean and bristled in the slender athletics fore he was still in his prime. Powerful and masculine. No waver to the spirit of his enmity, the volume of his wrath and precarious seduction with the feasible bounds of dissolution. His jaws spread,plush tongue rolling from its captivity, a myriad of night past the leering rows of glistening sabre, the lines of his mouth bore an eternal black hole as his tongue pressed upon his lips, dry lips -- the first symptom of dehydration.
" words of a god"
"words of ramses"
