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@sanctalatus
THE PROMISED LAND WAITS FOR ME OVER THE SNOWY FIELDS. ... sanctalatus, a highly selective and private interpretation of sephiroth from final fantasy vii, as penned by isa. headcanon-based, inspired by eldritch and religious horror, and exploring the transcendence of human experience. this blog will take notes from both the original and the remake, though places emphasis on the latter. twenty-one years and older only + MDNI.
𝒊. INFORMATION. 𝒊𝒊. SIDEBLOG. 𝒊𝒊𝒊. BLOGROLL.
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ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
ahem. @planetcry.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
ahem. @planetcry.
long time no see. reboot to come—keep a look out.
fire as a creator + destroyer. fire as enlightenment. fire as the great purifier, purger of sin, and malice, and want, and desire. fire as the Holy Spirit. fire as the heavenly power wielded by angels, flaming swords in hand. fire as God's holy presence, righteous power, and everlasting glory. and She wields the fire. She becomes the fire. She has transcended the fire. it eats and eats and its embrace is warm and unrelenting, as arduous as lovers, or killers, or the exploding supernovae echoing through Her ears like the whispers of what once were, what is, and what will be.
“ should i be expecting yet another lecture? ”
@wristguards, angeal. sc.
her eyes fixate upon the way the flickering luminescence of the dying sun seems to form mindless patterns over the surface, merely watching as it rasps out its last breaths. she tilts your head a little. is something going away really supposed to be this enchanting perhaps. the claws tighten again. she feels the marks it leaves turn a little purplish. she gazes at the nothingness and it stares right back— a distorted, flickering ball of orange. it seems to mirror the echo within her, somehow. she hums at her words. ❛ oh, we? ❜ as she blinks, the depth’s eye disappears and just an empty mass of blue - black matter remains. she moves your head up and realizes that the show’s over. ❛ how terribly sweet to be included. ❜ a hum leaves her, her voice gentle despite it all. ❛ before we do, tell me. i've always wondered. if you were to stare at what is owed to you through a mirror, would it reflect back to you or rather cause a distortion? ❜
the flickering embers of a dying flame hush the starless aether, bruising its sky in wisps of purple and orange. the endless night takes hold of perceptible reality, sinking its claws into the spectral hide of infinity itself. it is the endless: unfathomable entropy brewing at its expanding edges, dominated only by the amorphous chaos from whence it is born. he steps along those strange dimensions, wresting new existences forth with the haphazard stroke of his hand; from bedlam emerges creation unlike the accumulation of such feeble deiform's might. for this reality is his. he will speak the incantation and intercept his righteous birthright in ash and dust. the anomalous presence curls her lip, a crooked smile breaching through his steely fortifications, as though jeering: what little creatures, with little desires and little lives. as fragile as storm-tossed roots, unearthed by the faintest strain. “ you speak through a veil of fear. fear for what is to come. fear for what has always belonged to me. ” a forked tongue flicks between elongated canines. venom leaks from each word, as thick and palpable as honey. “ i have heard the whispers of this Planet, and they cry for salvation. to be liberated from you small, feeble people, leeching from what is mine. ”
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the turk steps forward, nudging the door open with the tip of her shoe. the process only takes minimal effort, given the way it barely hangs onto one hinge. no one's been here for a while, or if they had, they left in a hurry. electrorod lightly taps her shoulder, idling motions as she processes the scene. now what would shinra want with a run-down cabin in the middle of nowhere? he imagines they'll find something of interest. why else assign the turks' second-in-command and shinra's poster boy?
" now you're thinking like a turk. trying to take my job? "
he steps in, gaze falling over some kind of struggle. the couch is ripped. coffee table broken in two, allowing glass to go fucking everywhere. lamp's knocked over. the decorations that'd been neatly placed on the mantle are scattered across the carpet below.
" check the kitchen, will ya? this fight's been over but ... can never be too careful. whoever attacked had to be strong. looks like someone was thrown onto this coffee table. "
ducking beneath the threshold, his lithe frame fitting just enough to traverse the door, sephiroth murmurs, “ are you concerned that i might? ” it is a light display of the dry humor which rarely accompanies his tongue, dying out as quickly as it emerged. mako-infused eyes peer throughout the small cabin, examining the chaotic display it offers. furniture is thrown about, disemboweled with tufts of polyurethane foam strewn along scuffled floors like ropes of gore. shattered glass from lamplights fleck the corners of the room, and as he peers closer, he notices torn pieces of fabric along the jagged edge of a dilapidated chair.
he rears his head towards the adjacent room: the kitchen, as reno indicated. at first glance, the room does not look particularly better than that which they entered, and as sephiroth guides his footsteps into the destroyed space, he notices a small knife— clattered to the floor, but unsullied by any blood. a staircase runs to its right, leading towards the second floor. it appears dark. an adequate vantage point, for anyone who may still be lurking inside. the masamune is not yet drawn; in such tight quarters, it would be difficult to fight unimpeded with the blade. “ the upper floors may warrant some investigation, ” he says, his light-soled boot pressing against the base. “ wait here while i clear it. ”
“They say she’s a monster. That she can peer inside you, into the very depths of your soul. That she can become those you hate, those you fear, and those you love. And they call her Jenova.”
