my kingdom come [DM]

holy tits on a stick, thank you muse ♥



The banshee was a woman of her word; no vow would remain unfulfilled. She had threatened his existence with the promise of death and despair among the lives that had come to foolishly adore and value him, she had granted him the leeway of avoiding such a fate, she had mercifully allowed for him to remain unscathed throughout the duration of time between his traitorous actions and now, and still he persisted to interfere with her children?s lives and disrespect her wishes. Her generosity, however, would not cease to exist for the despicable creature; she would offer him one final act of kindness by granting him exactly what he urged for: a slow and utterly painful death.


The summon for her progeny had not slipped beyond her attentive radar despite the fact that she and her most recent offspring resided far beyond the premises of the infamous coliseum where blood was shed, the tone of Seraphim?s voice identifiable even at a distance. Fury would find its way writhing through her system as was typical, fueling her with the adrenaline she would need to harbor for the purpose of fierce and gory combat that lingered on the horizon, wry amusement soon following suit as she contemplated the situation at hand. Surely the brute was aware of what his actions would bring, but the wraith could not help but succumb to curiosity as she pondered why he had decided to lay his life on the line for his children ? it was a lost cause; she had programmed them to detest his very existence and, if by some phenomenon, he managed to drain the life from her very veins, their adoration towards her being would cause them to loathe him all the more. Certain that she would learn of his motive in due time, the banshee fled her current domain, stealing one last glance at the youth slumbering nearby before thoughts of blood and death shrouded her diseased mind, encouraging her to finish her mission.


The ice queen proceeded at a lumbering gait despite the urge to sprint towards her destination, conserving her energy that would be unleashed during what could be the final battle of her life, memories playing on repeat with each stride taken ? thoughts of her children, thoughts of Cyanide, of Desdemona, of the former and glorious Tortuga, of Nnoitra, of Kaien?all embedded within the sanctuary of her mind, still as prominent as they had ever been. Immediately, the wraith regretted her decision not to say goodbye to her youngest litter as she approached the battlefield, too far now to turn back ? too close to back out. Defenses began to surface as numerous silhouettes developed on the horizon, recognition striking her as her skull lowered over her breast, her chin tucked against the curvature of her neck, and her ears pressed flatly against her crown, a sinister smirk elongating across her lovely countenance as she witnessed her eldest son reach out to comfort his father and then as Seraphim?s adopted brat shuddered with sorrow. Her daughter?s reaction contrasted that of the other two and the matriarch found pride glistening within narrowed, metallic depths, wonder worming through her interior then as she pondered the whereabouts of her missing son, skull physically shaking to rid herself of the thought. No ? Seraphim deserved the entirety of her attention, not her Codeine, not her Artemis, and not her Ares.


Hackles bristled and her shoulders rolled forward to provide the base of her neck with excess fur, the front and sides of her neck encumbered in rolls of flesh as she drew her skull back some, the smirk stagnant upon her features as she maneuvered mere meters away from Seraphim, intentionally placing herself at a forty-five degree angle from his left shoulder in preparation of her impending attack. Limbs would spread equidistant apart and tail would descend in alignment with her spinal column, each appendage bending slightly to lower her center of gravity while her toes splayed across the earth and her nails bit lightly into the soil for traction, careful to take precautions in the case that the brute should take the first move. Confident that she had drawn the attention upon herself, a low rumble of satisfaction would vibrate her chest cavity before jaws unhinged with the promise of speech, directed at her adversary. ?You dance on the fine line between life and death, sweet Seraphim,? the banshee cooed, fury contained in favor of feigned innocence as the twisted grin extended upon her visage.