#thxvoidwalker

A     BREATH,     A     MOMENT,     ----------     [     that’s     all     it     took     ]     -------     treading     upon     slicked     rooftops,     these     were     the     wretched     wolf’s     hunting     grounds.     the     silence     was     deafening     as     he     takes     each     step,     beneath     him     are     the     hushed     cries     and     clinking     of     shingles.     heart     a     steady     beat     now,     when     he     was     a     younger     man     it     would     have     been     rushing,     treading     in     for     the     kill     upon     unsuspecting     individuals.     but     now     he     wasn’t     looking     to     draw     blood,     for     now     all     he     sought     was     to     slip     through     unseen.

A     BREATH     IN,     -----     [     the     blink     always     pressed     deep     into     his     lungs     ]     and     he     jumps!     goes     falling,     gaining     speed     before     the     color     slips     from     the     world.     the     power     of     the     void     in     a     hushed     whisper     as     he     grips     hand     into     a     fist,     the     brand     upon     his     hand     glowing     harshly.

AND     THE     WORLD     STOPS,     before     slowed     boot     could     reach     the     lower     roof.     taken     in     by     the     void     once     more     he     beholds     the     hovering     figure     before     him.     A     WORLD,     A     MOMENT     ALL     THEIR     OWN.     it     could     all     fall     away     right     now,     it     wouldn’t     mean     a     thing     [     he     would     end     up     there     anyhow,     left     to     toil     endlessly     ]

A     QUIRK     OF     HIS     LIPS     UPON     CORNERS     WHO     KNEW     NO     JOY,     surely     just     a     trick     of     the     mind,     before     he     speaks     to     him.     spoken     like     a     kiss     upon     the     back     of     hand,     with     a     tenderness     and     affection     that     rang     out.     the     only     worship     he     would     offer     him     in     these     moments     they     had,     glint     in     tired     eyes,     twinge     of     lips     and     carefully     picked     words     to     lay     at     his     feet.     simple,     but     meaningful     all     the     same.

𝑂     𝐻𝑂𝑊     𝑅𝑈𝑆𝑇𝐸𝐷     𝑀𝐸𝑇𝐴𝐿     𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆     𝑂𝑈𝑇     𝐼𝑁     𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑇𝐸𝑆𝑇,     towering     behemoth     readjusting     his     vision     and     staving     off     the     hunger     of     the     void     with     one     harsh     movement     of     blade     piercing     marble.                                                                         𝑆𝑈𝐶𝐻     𝐴     𝐺𝑅𝐸𝐸𝐷𝑌     𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐿𝑀     𝐼𝑇     𝑊𝐴𝑆,     and     there     before     him     was     the     realm’s     ever     smug     god,     chosen     and     molded     from     mortal     flesh.     what     pitiful     wretch,     poor     excuse     for     divinity,     would     ravage     mortal     souls     for     its     own     benefit?     𝐔𝐍𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘.     and     still     as     he     looms     there     heaving,     he     can     feel     the     voracious     realm     treading     round     the     rusted     metal     and     heated     blood     he     placed     around     him,     a     warning.                                                                         𝐼𝑇     𝐵𝐸𝐺𝑆     𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆     𝐹𝑅𝐴𝑁𝑇𝐼𝐶𝐴𝐿𝐿𝑌     :     𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸!     𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸!     𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸!     ----     a     glance     around,     unlike     before,     and     although     he     had     no     visible     gaze     his     essence     was     dripping     with     disgust     for     this     realm.

Anger   blooms   in   face   finally   taken   in   by   daylight,   lips   are   gnarled   and   curled   in   anger,   in   rejection.   The   piece   of   Daud   that   remained,   that   he   still   clung   to,   held   o’er   the   edge   of   a   balcony.   One   movement,   just   one,   he   could   drop   it   –   be   free   of   the   last   restraint   that   he   has   on   him.   Fingers   tremble,   fist   clenched   tight   squeezing   the   mask   in   disdain   before   pulling   it   back   over   the   edge   and   tossing   it   to   the   floor.   A   look   of   defeat   and   annoyance,   confusion,   and   exhaustion   written   across   his   complexion.   Cybil   looks   into   the   hollow   eyes   of   the   mask   as   it   peers   back   at   him,   the   emptiness   speaks   to   him.   It   was   nothing   if   not   a   symbol   of   the   connection   to   the   Knife   of   Dunwall,   the   one   he   claimed   to   resent   for   the   shadow   of   control   he   exerted   over   him.   Without   identity   almost,   and   now   that   he   was   free   to   be   himself   he   had   no   idea   who   that   was.   What   could   hands   that   did   violence   possibly   create   now,   in   the   aftermath?   The   world   was   shifting   and   changing,   and   the   realization   of   the   rather   complex   feelings   towards   his   life   and   his   mentor   were   both   unexpected   and   unwelcomed.

When his eyes opened, he knew where he was. That frigid cold that penetrated through the skin and pierced straight to the bone. Of course, Corvo was no stranger to the Void anymore. He often dug through its bowels in attempts to chip away and discover what he could, but it wasn’t often that he was pulled in without searching on his own. 

Being pulled in without his own consent meant only one thing-he was there and he was aware. 

Corvo’s eyes closed shut as he stood in one place atop that hollow stone, listening to the unnerving quiet that was only penetrated by faint hints of whale song and source less wind. Fists pulled closed near his thigh and when he spoke it was through gritted teeth. 

“Where are you? What do you want?’

He opened his eyes and the madness that was evident when he was in the Void was more apparent, pupils staring straight ahead-daring the Outsider to show.

The shrine seemed to glow softly from the violet lanterns that adorned it and the room. Fox quietly approached it and removed hiscmask so he could get a better look.

The rune on it sang out and he knew he should tell Daud, but something held him back. He traced a gloved finger over it and dust lifted away. He frowned softly before reaching into his pocket and pulling out sea glass and small driftwood carving of a whale.

Gently setting them on the shrine he stood back and smiled. There. Now it looked much better to him. Maybe he should dust it a bit.

He turned to search for a rag in the ramshackle room before finding none. With a sigh he pulled out a handkerchief and began to dust.

Once done he sat down to admire his work.

𝙏𝙃𝙀   𝘿𝙊𝘾𝙏𝙊𝙍   𝙒𝘼𝙎   𝙌𝙐𝙄𝙏𝙀   𝙐𝙎𝙀𝘿   𝙏𝙊   𝙁𝙀𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙂   𝙍𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍   𝙊𝘿𝘿 .     he      supposes      it      came      with      the      territory .           he      had      become      rather      accustomed      to      the      feeling      of      strange      ideas      buzzing      around      in      his      mind      like      a      nest      of      bloodflies ,      hungry .           however ,      this      was      a      strange      feeling      even      for      him ,      many      times ,      as      he’s      passing      between      the      veil      between      consciousness      and      sleep      he      would      feel      some      strangeness .           perhaps      a      result      of      sleep      deprivation      and      stubbornness .

eyelids           feel      rather      heavy      as      a      hand      thread      through      his      soft      hair ,      and      he      finds      himself      drifting      to      sleep ,      unable      to      keep      up      with      or      continue      his      thoughts ,      weariness      was      like      a      block      in      his      mind .           his      body      goes      limp      as      he      drifts      to      sleep ,      slumped      at      his      workbench      all      cluttered      with      trinkets      both      completed      and      in      progress .           perhaps ,      after      a      few      hours      of      rest ,      he      would      be      able      to      continue      his      work .

@thxvoidwalker