Coming out of retirement. Gleaming quintessential thundergates house the indigenous metropolis from atop a crowning black architecture known to the gargantuan, sky splitting spires belonging to Trinity City. Among the ambient shade of light mirroring the abysmal lid ajar, this silhouette enclosed by biblical tyranny kept a demeanor so still and so calm to the face of a reflected domain, fractured diamonds withheld the luminosity that could outrage the thriving power supply fueling the inert electricity of the city. Its veins of brilliant infrastructure made it even the more devastatingly efficient. All four floating levels, each one a representation of authenticity. Trudging against skin of diamond, vivid winds score muses across the elevation of such an altitude, whereas, faded, orbital white strands of iodized hair frame an unseen structure of liquid danger. High above in this, the masking clouds hindering the howling sun disperse themselves across the ravenous realm revealing the full orb that casts its vibrancy to all corners, but more so, the gargoyle poised in eloquence. Fixed from throat to heel in an abundant and majestic composition of stylized nanite threading and plating, Jadaniel, the Full Fledged, hung brazenly to a jutted spire ruling the high sky. Spans of focused white noise scatters the innumerable plates of specialized inorganic microbes that shift to the known vibrancy of the opaque gleam. Held tight by the unseen layers of burning musculature, the seraphic and supreme build up that towers within the unique all-opaque nano-suit coils with intakes and outputs of breaths heaving the graphic chest plate gleaming with the emblem of Medusas visage. Her teal stare matched only in defiance by the slithering myriad of serpents spiraling around the contours of his torso. Unforgiving talismens made from war cling to their holsters about his outer thighs, calves, and lower back which would signal only to the moment of departure, while attached to the outer forearm of his left waited a sheathed digit of slick analogy, it could not be discerned only in its blunt appeal. Cloaked, however, by a thousand-folded white carbon-alloy overcoat, it all but ensured the beautiful architecture designed to end worlds as it fitted to his most conveinent kinesthetics. Marring nostalgia was written like Greek lines within the contours of the Son of Armageddons face. Scores of silence and musical fissures made the hollow sterness in his stare of the untapped world that surfaced his inner most prophesies of war and genocide and back into a world bleeding with glory that he had left for a solice that would soon forsake him. It was inevitable. A breaching contrast of the mind hindered the falty awareness of himself as the moments that were stolen from him returned in kind with the veiling again of the sun by invasive clouds which made the slate-sheet grey of his eyes refract what light was left and enveloped the irises with a metallic shell. The dark shadow of the day returned, and with them, a piece of it was taken – protected. Mutual hums of alchemic transmutation rip across the vivid sky for just a fraction of a thoughts inheritence, when the leading body of the Last Apprentice shook with a vibration that scattered the minute anatomy of matter consuming the world silently around him. A supersonic rush of phantasmal energy struck the artists frame only for him to disipate before his image could have, which resulted in the tearing of the fabric of space, and its recoil to shout with a clap never felt as the entire third level shook in despite. In the feel, there he became. Sheltered by the civilians of everyday civilization, he became as blended as the rest. Lights, shadows, voices and dynamics all conjured a symphony of noise and redundancy to everyday life, a life that was long ago. Retaining chasms purchased the visual conductivity of all that was before, behind, above, below and beyond them. Taking into a sick account of every beating heart, flow of thought and hum of technology that could be reveled. Petals of war spoke fluently from their sculpted finesse words indistinguishable before iron-clad hands found themselves within pockets deep into their home, where digital boots cling with defiance to the base world below them and levitated Jadaniel across the pavement walked by gods and goddesses. The irony.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Mar 2014 16:17:30 +0000
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