darker than darkness_写作练习

He woke up in a complete darkness, which he knew not if it was darker than the void, but certainly it was not it. Once in awhile, the portals connected each realm runs wild a little bit and, they may, sometimes spit out their passengers into false locations. So there he was, at least he believed that was what happened. He was not in the oblivion even though all the darkness appeared to be the same. One way to make sure,was, there were sounds, music in fact, music that seemed familiar. But he hardly had heard any music in eons. The strangeness caught him, drove him into curiosity. He set up and closed his eyes to listen, but the melody was gone. He waited, finally blinked. When again his eyes were opened, the golden pupils of his, flashed in the darkness, the music came back. Louder and louder, it sounded so real as if it was someone playing it right next to Death. 

What surprised him was, there was really somebody playing the instruments next to him, a woman who he knew once in the history of Nephilim. She sang and tapped her drum, almost ignoring Death's existence.He knew she didn't, her eyes glittered as she saw him. He looked up and discovered the darkness had been gone. There left but a crowd of people playing HIS music.Yes, albeit how many years had past, he would never forget his own people, not even a second. They were, the Nephilims, who had perished underneath his hands. 

For any other people, this could be an absolute nightmare. But to Death, it meant nothing but a visage of his own memory since he remembered so well.

He looked around to his brethren, yet not anymore in amazement. From his almost-eternal life experience, he had seen things beyond imagination and he learnt how to handle them. Besides, he actually did recall this specific scene. 

Ah, yes, if not mistaken, this his was when War first became a warrior, so long ago. The memory was almost buried by the dust of time, yet unwilling to fade as it should, it was here again.

It was a tradition within their tribe. When a child oughted to become an adult he went through blood shredded ceremony. It was, to kill hundreds of lives, just for to proof oneself mature. So that was it, every one of them had to went through the process. As the firstborn, Death had seen too many of the children going through it. Many at a time, and War, by then, was just any them. He knew not about Death, nor did Death know   but his silver hair. Death had seen him around, but it was it.

No matter what or who, by Creation's name, was showing him this, knew his quest, and was cruel enough to wake this memories at the moment when the real War was trapped deep

down in the oblivion.

By then, Death did not even give the slightest attention to the silver-head youth. A warrior is not a hero, and fame has nothing to do with him. 

But it was different now. Death knew more than his hair color, way more. When he saw the young warrior walking by, he couldn't resist the urge to grab War by wrist. 


© PWN|Powered by LOFTER