#*(c:stryfe)

   Condensation has formed on the glass, a small ring of liquid forming around the base, turning pink as it mixes with the blood and viscera on the counter. It drips over his fingers when he takes the glass and brings it to his lips for another mouthful of stale beer.  By the time he swallows, he knows that company has arrived. Not by the disgustingly cheery ring of the bell hanging above the door, but by the sudden swell of hope the bar wench in front of him feels when she sees the man whom she believes to be a savior.

   “I would tell you I’m sorry, Dolores…” A pause as he basks the fear that screams from her mind. He does need to be a telepath to know that she is utterly and completely afraid. It is written all over her face, the hope fastly draining to terror. He cannot help but smirk at that. His left eye flares suddenly, a bright flash of gold, and her neck twists at an odd angle, snapping without him even raising a finger. She crumples like a rag doll. “… But I’m not.”

    "Does unleashing a scourge upon mutant and mankind not make me wicked?” The cruel smile remains, as if he is proud of the deaths his pox has wrought. Cable once called him an obscenity. He finds more and more that he agrees. 

meme // @heirofapocalypse

The smell of burning ozone fills the air, not unlike the scent that warns of imminent lightning. But it isn’t a storm. A bright blue light rips through the inky blackness of the alley. Like the maw of some great beast it widens, gaping open for a few tense seconds, crackling with energy, before the Chaos-Bringer emerges.