Let Thunder Be The Death Of Me

Ahhhh! It is done!

—

It was the twin-moon knight that first captured his interest. The raven hair and her silver garb, the ever calm presence except for the fire ablaze from her sword, a blessing of his to her.

But as it all stands, he knew she was the moon he could not grasp—not that she was too far, but the pull could bring devastation, foiling his purpose.

To wage war, he had no time for love albeit craving one, a love else from his mother. Though, even after everything seems to simmer down, his tongue is tied from speaking of such blasphemy to her. It all seems too late, especially now that the right time has been gone for far too long, that she must have believed that he didn’t want the same as her.

Yet he let her remain, and she too chose to remain as his blade.

—

When he saw the tarnished, a lowly intruder stepping in, adorning her armour, it brought not only void to his chest but also rage to his blood.

First strike, second strike. With all his might he unleash his flames, burning away at the intruder. The tarnished, while able to evade his wrath, still caught the remnant of his strength and slowly but surely dwindle in front of him. When an opening came, he pounced at the graceless mongrel. With the blunt of his spear the crescent-adorned helmet soon crashed onto the floor. His gaze, through the serpents, went to the fallen ready to burn the wrath he had into their mind.

But to curse himself, as the helmet had rolled away, he didn’t expect a sight of someone with her raven hair. He thought he was out of his mind, lost in his madness after being separated from her for far too long, yet he couldn’t strike down the last blow at the owner of those eyes. Violet sapphire, glistening to his flame like a shade of glint stones in the night sky.

He knew the tarnished had also wield her blade and adopted her sorceries; this lowly creature had dare used it against him. He knew that her fate had ended at this fool’s hands, yet he couldn’t bear the thought of slaying such resemblance and such a parallel of prowess.

Like a twisted way of his yearning coming true. An embodiment of something he didn’t know he could even dare to wish for ever again. He was repulsed at himself for thinking of such a thing, the blood in his mouth taste like bile at the thought. But as the seconds passed and the realization crept up his mind, he only find the idea ever more tempt.

A replacement.

A forgery.

This tarnished is naught but a mimic to her greatness.

But he, smelled like her.

“Tarnished…won’t thou put down thy blade?”

He expected fierce rebellion protests through those twin blade, another flurry of cuts from the echos of the twin moon. The tarnished had came here to fought him, whatever the reason maybe he is not here to be courted or befriend. Yet all he see was the hand which clenched tightly around the handle slowly lets go. He could have sworn he heard the little sigh from that smaller frame.

An opportunity.

“What…is thy name?”

“Xeric”

—

The sketch looks better somewhat 😩