Β Β Β A wickedΒ grin covers the deityβs face, exposing every last sharp tooth that lines the mouth. Smug, amused as those pairs of eyes focus down onto the poor pitiful Survivor. It never favors one Survivor over the others--they were all just morsels, a meat-suitΒ containing the things it craved: a delicious soul and the pure hope they would get as things began to look brighter. They are just entertainment and food. Β Β Β Yet, it takes a rather heavy interestΒ in this one. Of course, why wouldnβt it? It finds amusement beyond what its felt before watching the man struggle to survive, now on the other side of the Trials. A loyal servant went traitor, punished to a life of pain and suffering until it sees fit to finally remold him. It is a moment to test, to see how long the man could last--and what it could make when that fleshy body could no longer go on when all hope was gone and the manβs soul fully belonged to it. Just the way things were before. Β Β Β The large head tilts,Β still focused in on the survivor,Β βYou Look So Weak MacMillan, Everything You Fought To Destroy. What Ever Happened To You? You Used To Be So Sure Of Your Purpose, Happy To Kill Those Who Would Weaken Others, Those Who Were WEAK.Β And Now, Youβve Just Become One Of Them.β
Β Β ~<Β @macmillcn >~ Starter













