#ruinblessed

     CLOCKS ARE BEGINNING TO lose their value ----- why bother telling time when the world is being engulfed in an eternal night? Witching hours are beginning to overstay their welcome, but naught will persuade them to leave and allow the sun to once more rise. The train is hollow, save for the Noctis, the conductors, and the other four... three. Steel carries them closer to the snowlands surrounding the heart of the Empire, but before they can feel the Glacian’s breath ‘pon their skin they must once again suffer another interruption from scourge’s spawn ( the true reason why all fear the dark ).

     They are stronger than they seem, the imps. Glass pierces the silence and shatters to the aisle’s floor, launching from amidst the shards a winged gremlin. Claws dig themselves through threaded ebon, the daemon’s weight sending the crystal’s chosen slamming against the wall ( his brain nigh rattling about in that skull ). Surprise is promptly drowned by a surge of vexation; he’s long grown tired of dealing with these damned things. Ivories gnash, and in the wake of crystalline fragments igniting in his grasp is the familiar blade known for a hilt composed of an ENGINE. A parry is enough to stagger the creature desperately reaching to slice his neck, and he finishes it off with a heavy boot between the eyes, sending it back through the broken window.

     A war drum plays within his rib cage, eyes frantically darting about surroundings whilst trying to recollect memories of his comrades’ whereabouts. Gladio and Ignis should be up ahead, giving them a chance to group up with Biggs and Wedge.