#sprda

THE  SILENCE  THAT  OVERTAKES  HIM  - TEARS  HIM  ASUNDER . (  Tidal  wave —  screeching  silence  that  tessellates -  he  ,  stuck  in  the  static .  ) “  Vergil ,  what  have  you  done — - ?  What  happened  while  I  was  gone ,  Vergil — ? ”  HEAR  THE  LAMENT :  crescendoing ,  WEAVING  in  sickening  patterns  around  the  still  awakening thunder-roar  of  his  voice .  INTO  THE  UNKNOWN -  the  immediate  role  of  fatherhood  having  claimed  its  rightful  place  here  in  these  sacred  bones .  HE  IS  A  TOMB  ,  decrepit  and  UNCERTAIN .  He  is  lost —-   almost  uninformed . “  I  require  your  honesty  Vergil  . ”  The  weight  of  this  world  devours  him  whole .  The  absence ,  the  change .  THE  WOLVES  ARE  AT  HIS  DOORS —- -  he  speaks  in  ancient  tongue :  ‘ I  do  not  know  what  to  do  here  . ’

        DEVASTATING AS IT MIGHT BE ,   there   had   always   been   a   firm   resolve   (   UNSHAKABLE,   UNBREAKABLE   )   that   led    him   down   a   path   which   embraces   a   dark   lineage   which   would   do   nothing   but   cause   utmost   DESTRUCTION .   A   plea   that   falls   on   deaf   ears   (   harrowed   gaze   boring   into   those   of   FATHER   DEAREST   ) ,   stony   mien   UNBREAKABLE   in   the   face   of   absent   father .   Perhaps   he   still   views   him   as   nothing   more   than   a   HALLUCINATION ,   pieced   together   by   memories   of   childhood    &    legends   of   old .  

        WHAT KIND OF FATHER WAS HE ,   to   have   disappeared   during   moments   most   needed ?   Hollow   silence ,   easily   shattered   yet   deliberately   UNTOUCHED ,   response   found   only   in   the   incline   of   chin ,   tongue   pressing   to   roof   of   his   mouth   as   he   gazes   at   the   LEGEND   BEFORE   HIM .   What   horrors   has   he   unleashed   upon   this   WRETCHED   WORLD ?   Unto   his   own   kin ?   What   could   have   been   kept   INTACT   if   youth   had   been   kept   unmarred   by   BLOODSHED    &    DEATH ?

oh Hello thats my son gay reyes 

i mean gabe 

       The mere SIGHT of the one before him is enough to cause a flood of emotions and reactions alike in the boy’s mind. He needs a few moments to really adjust to what he’s seeing, standing still, deer caught in headlights and so statuesque he almost looks like a WORK OF ART made out of the finest marble and gemstones the world has to offer. His silence does not last long, however, and Nero shifts his weight to his other leg as the ever so familiar SCOWL settles upon those cherubian lips. One of the very few features on him people call angelic. There’s nothing holy in the way violence coils itself snug inside of him again, turns him into a CORNERED ANIMAL READY TO RIP AND TEAR. 

   enouGH   

   DNFVDSHG DEATH SOUNDS MORE FUN IM CRYIN