malicedarkened:
Another finger wrapped around, another pressure to neck. Like sand down an hourglass, time and him slowly drained. Every squeeze was dark relief. Tighter, tighter still. Just a little more. Soon, soon. Just take me.
Most of the pitch copy’s words did not penetrate, merely background taunts to see him through to the true end.
Except for one.
Puppet.
A spark went off in the hollow of Mist’s chest.
Like some match flicking, a flash. Short-lived and too weak to produce anything beyond a moment of remembrance to heat and light that just made the dark and cold so much wider when it was gone.
It was him, his anger and the fight. Burning to get out, saying it was not the end. But it was useless on its own. A spark did not become flame by strike alone.
It needed something else.
It needed -
And then the world stopped.
Fuel.
When the match struck again, Mist opened his eyes and the world awakened with him to see that flame burn a new hell.
Wrath broke out wild and alive and triumphant. Visceral as the tentacles of darkness he once called from his form, and with a reach just as far. One half sought down into the depths, where the voice had come, soul tossing like a saving line to pull. (hear you hear you need you Come To Me-)
Every other part of him set crosshairs on the leech. “I.. will.. show you darkness!” Mist unleashed his own absorption.
@malicedarkened //〚 Leech 〛:
Visions flashed before the parasites eyes– of loses suffered in the past. Being violently thrown from victory, when it had been grazing the edge of his fingertips. Failure after failure. Death and Nothingness. Not again. No. NEVER again.
With his fiercest snarl, his entire body, he pushed back.
“I have Numbers now!” He shouted back. “I have Shine! You… You won’t take this away from me!”
By his will, The Numbers abided by his wish to push back. Each a pair of hands, appendages, minds that through him, desired to live on. The desperate dark absorbed with insatiable hunger– fighting to keep himself in tact and take on more of Mist.
“You LOST the privilege to be here– when you GAVE UP.” He grinned with gritted teeth. As he continued to strangle harder, he felt his borrowed power swelling. “We don’t NEED you! So get out of our WAY! You’ll ruin EVERYTHING!”
( –… )
“Everything you touch! Like you always do! You have no idea–”
( …break– )
“What’s goin on, do you!?”
( –him. . !)
“You don’t even know– what will happen if–!”
( Hurry! )
The fire and wrath and pain harkened together into singular, razor point. A sword.
"You will never have Shine." The words tear ribbons out of his throat to be spoken. "Or Astral, or anyone. They are MINE!"
Not in possession. But in feeling. Friends, family, love. The people who you make a home. He had learned. Mist understood now. He understood.
Once more, with all might and power and sense he had left, Mist pulled. Hell intent to take everything, undo, make right.
"What will happen..." The taunt turned into a question and then an echo as it fully left him. What will happen if he does this. If he wins and the fallout crashes over.
No.96 Black Mist sank his claws and teeth. And night exploded.
"I don't care. GIVE HIM BACK TO ME."















