#macmillcn

     A wicked grin covers the deity’s 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-suit 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.      Yet, it takes a rather heavy interest in this one. Of course, why wouldn’t 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 man’s soul fully belonged to it. Just the way things were before.      The large head tilts, still focused in on the survivor, “You 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. And Now, You’ve Just Become One Of Them.”

@macmillcn

Continued from X

@macmillcn

How did the Trapper become a survivor?

    Dark eyes, blackest eyes watch, observing from a distance as the once proud Killer of the deity--as it proclaims to be--shifts between the victims at the campfire. If there is a way for it to feel any emotion besides a burning rage and a lust to hunt and kill, there would be amusement. So long at each other’s throats, fighting each other. There’s no love lost between the Shape and the Trapper.     Heavy breaths escape from beneath the white mask, those dark eyes trailing to follow the ex-Killer as he leaves the safety of the campfire. The perfect time. Silently, barely letting the fallen sticks crack beneath his heavy steps or the leaves rustle, the Shape stalks, keeping close but not enough to reveal itself to the rival. Waiting for the opportune moment to strike. . .