#ethyrael

@ethyrael 🌕 i forgor meme :c

"you seem to think quite a bit."

it were agitating, if kokushibō wielded less patience: this insistence on knowing her, despite how she aimed to keep distance, to nudge the child away. she seemed to possess a talent for sticking her nose where it didn't belong.

unprompted. / always accepting!

and it wasn't something he thought of often — the world kept producing slayers to battle, so thus, he assumed it would never stop. an endless cycle of ripping and breaking; to akaza, there was no greater bliss.

"it won't stop," he speaks with a euphoric expression, "if a time comes where i'm the strongest — people will naturally want to challenge me, again and again."

hands cradle his cheeks, slowly crawling up the curves of his face — a shudder moves through him.

unprompted and/or meme i lost. / always accepting!

"do you think your words shake me?" spoken flatly, no joy to be found on his expression. in the end, he didn't expect her to forgive him — he didn't expect forgiveness from anyone out there. however, he didn't let that stop him from persevering — he will push forward; he will be better.

"it doesn't matter what you think of me," he continues, "whether you think i've really changed, or whether you think it's a fluke."

lost the meme and/or unprompted / always accepting!

"you know, you have the full capacity to grow — to become something unfathomable, something unforgettable," while the two were not the same, it was still something he recognised in the other; the potential for greatness, "why do you refuse to evolve into something stronger?"

bleeding / injury sentence starters. / accepting!

and slowly, akaza emerges from the carnage. it was child's play to him — silencing entire villages, it was something he could do in mere moments. the worst part was, between the time taken to cause such mass murder and the time it took for the sun to rise, he was rarely able to devour everyone he had destroyed.

so, in other words, he killed all those people for no reason at all.

scent of gore rich on the wind, with a flick of upper three's arms, blood splatters along the ground — trying to clean himself of the crime he'd committed.

"no," spoken playfully, as if all those lives did not matter, "i haven't had enough, actually."

and perhaps they'd caught him at the perfect time; sitting amidst a small patch of grass, staring up at the stars. the sound of birds chirping from the day dying down — surrounding dōma, there is an undeniable sense of peace.