#voranis

A little comic of Artanis x Vorazun (StarCraft 2 LOTV) inspired by this song by Kelly Sweet:

Is there anything more ominous than the sound of a ticking clock.  A melodious and rhythmic sound, to signify the passing of time.  That what was is now done, and on to something new.  Dread and hope, melding together in one small sound.  And yet, it's doom can be transferred onto so many other things.

The sounds of footsteps as they draw ever closer, growing louder.  Even fabrics become ominous; the crisp heel to toe of a leather boot or the heavy thud of plated sabatons.  The sound is so powerful in it's intent, that all else is drowned away.  Except for that focal point.  The rise and fall of a chest, doing it's best to stay steady.  To keep breath silent in it's exhale, maybe those footfalls will go away.

A heartbeat, ticking, faster and faster.  Pulsing blood and magic to flow, to empower, to defend.  Their mind steeled, a wild animal backed into a corner.  Death is in the air, ticking ever closer.  Looming, and then overwhelming as it manifests physically.   Shattered is a good way to describe it.  First shock, and then despair as they take in the figure.  All it takes is a moment, for the spell to be caught in their throat, their fingers to tremble.

What was intangible becomes real, that feeling of dread in the form of a man.  His hands grasping at the collars of the robed individual.  The spell that had been cut short became grotesquely visualized as it was pulled from him.  The magical essence drawn up and into the sickly looking man, the words seeming to solidify and congeal as they were devoured.  The ticking speeds up, eyes that had been lost, turn to terror and realization.  It beats alone, the entity only shares familiar shape, a steady thrum of magic pulsing through canisters were the only sounds.

He can't control his body enough to scream, the feeling of drowning setting in.  An exhale, the pale form breathing out a sickly magic.  The magic bonded onto the robed man.  It would be like sweat being reabsorbed into the body.  The figure didn't stop, another inhale drew from the mage more spells, more of his essence brought up forward.  A stunned fear in the man, as his eyes slowly dulled, it was hard to say whether there was pain or not.  All of it had happened so fast.  

Soon the only sound was of the humming of the magic and machine that was bound to the figure.  The ominous tension had been sated, time no longer had a sense of relevancy.  The ticking had faded away, until only the figure remained.  Time began moving forward again, hearkened by the sound of dripping, some small and sometimes large.  A steady pat, signaled the growing of a dark puddle, soon covered by the robes.

The guise let out a breath in the form of a chuckle, bare hand coming up to wipe away residue from his mouth.  The magical pulse had dulled down, the glow intensifying.  Dark lips curling up into a grin, hands clenching into fists to flex the now bloated muscles.  Veins coloring with the ichor that now flowed through it, even his cheeks darkened.  The ominous visage looking far from sickly now, and yet still reeked of death.

"One down my dear.  And not nearly enough to go."

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