#accxser

A greater DEMON—- term not unfamiliar, though to call him a demon seems too small a thing. Not unknown, but little spoken of, as if the mere mention of his name would draw him forth like some terrible curse.

                                        He feels cursed.

                  << He is called THANOS, one who takes great pleasure in death. >>

Ronan’s violet eyes rest dark and heavy upon the one before him, silvered eyes showing bright beneath his dark hood. Fingers stained black tighten around the haft of his own weapon, energy humming beneath his palm, waiting to be sent where his will would take it should the need arise.

                                       << And who is your Great Demon? >>

          The name was not familiar to his ears, as many other things whose origin traced back to another galaxy. But he did not need to know the name to understand tha archetype, he did not need to have seen the demon in action to recognise the impulse of destruction. Fëanáro breathed in deeply, like one who is about to yell, yet when he spoke his voice was controlled, restrained; even though he let the quiver of his rancour ring in his low vowels.

          « Moringotho. It means “Black Foe” in my native language. »

          It seemed that they stared at each other measuring their anger, or whatever strong sentiment raged under the surface of their faces; and he had an abundance of it, believing that none could feel wrath in a greater measure. But that one, his host, could surely at least rival it, maybe he could be the exception that equaled it; for few could meet his gaze, let alone hold it.

          But not even such a challenge managed to kept his eyes away from the hammer for long. It seemed to bend the very structure of the Force around them, even though the Accuser was no Force-user. The hands and mind that had wrought that weapon into existence had capture in such a power that, for a moment, the thought of their work enraptured him.

feel better <3

      THE KREE STARED AS IF SHE WERE A PARIAH. As if the Luphomoid did not belong at the side of their new champion. It didn't matter to her, her dark eyes flickering across their faces in contempt. Ronan was a GENERAL who did what they could not, were too afraid to do. To her, that had been cowardly. When they thought him a zealot and exiled him, he had done his duty. And luckily, she had been positioned as his LIEUTENANT. Not because she had wanted to but out of necessity. The only being powerful enough to destroy her abuser. She thought back to vowing loyalty in exchange for the destruction of her master. A fury boiling till it was all that she could feel. And so far, the promise of his death had not been acted upon. But his people had urged him back into their arms and he was desperate to oblige. Bound by a love for them that she could not understand. 

      HER FINGERS CURLED INTO HER PALMS, THE stares of his people had set her teeth on edge, her spine erect to aching. Her general had called upon her, as he often did. A trust blossoming between them after inhabiting the same space for so long. Often, she caught herself staring quite longer than she deemed appropriate. The violet hue of his Infinity Stone still touched upon him like a blessing. She realized early on it would be impossible for her to leave his side. And his name easily left her lips as she turned a corner to witness him standing with the hammer tight in his hand. It stilled glowed with the power he bestowed upon himself. A power she wished she had, only so that she could take the vengeance she was desperate for. But instead, her arms were heavy by her sides. 

          ❛ RONAN, YOU CALLED.

                       What can I do for you? ❜

       SHE COULDN'T HELP LET SLIP A SMALL TASTE OF sarcasm. Her cybernetic voice once again making it sound hollow, distorted. Lips pressed together as she rose her head to meet his gaze like an equal.

With eyes of darkness; he is a watchful hawk --- upon the godking of purple; he has bestowed his best of gifts. To be marked is to be worthy; & to be worthy is all that he needs to befriend.  As if time itself has bowed to the gravedigger; with a wave of bony fingers; lithe in description, time stands still --- but not for the accuser. Small steps taken from the corner, a subtle chuckle, he has done a mighty fine job; if he does say so himself.

                     & carelessly, he shoves languid form from his lap to the floor

   Because gazing at him as he spoke of violence — of conquest and victory — had electrified the very soul she thought to exist only in fairytales. She felt his power beneath her fingers, under the lips that mercilessly kissed his and left them swollen. ( Kiss bitten. ) And to reinforce such a beautiful image with more stories of his youth only fanned a growing flame in the pit of her stomach. A familiar feeling of genetic upbringing — to find the strongest mate — billowed comfortably. Yet, she found herself able to ignore it and look at him as if he himself had moved the stars with his bare palms. Suffering the pain of touching the brazen stars just to see them the way he wanted to.

      ❝ Thanos, ❞ she began, ❝ … sent me off alone. I think he might’ve intended to kill me but it doesn’t matter now. He sent me to a crowded city planet. Where my presence was known, everybody had known who I was. And they all wanted to kill me. I was young, I didn’t understand. And I remember one of the thugs had insulted me. Insulted Thanos and described exactly how he was going to kill me and send pieces of me to the Titan. ❞

      A laugh left her, one she had not expected. Because Thanos would not have cared if she were torn apart and the parts delivered to him. Perhaps he would’ve been grateful to receive his property back.

      ❝ But I had caved his head in with a single hit. And I remember laughing because it hadn’t been painful for me. I wanted to rip him open, so I did. I opened his chest with my bare hands and pulled apart his ribs. ❞ The memory tasted delicious on her tongue. Like the metallic taste of blood and she warmed at the thought of sharing such a story with Ronan. Because a silent fear had crawled past cybernetics and into the delicate meat of her mind. A fear that she would never be enough. Violent enough. ( Strong enough. ) Despite her brutality, Nebula had thought for a moment the blood that stained her hands did not glow strong enough for him.