Enough was enough.
Too many had fallen for Gaia and reaped little reward. The most recent betrayal would be the final one. Nothing can kill, destroy and violate more harshly than ridicule.
He mourned. The sorrow ran deep as the memory of the warrior dancing his victory in a pool of the enemy's blood plagued him.
Where was that glory now? Where was the victory? There was nothing but heart rending betrayal, a savagery that went beyond
anything they had fought.... and it pains him.
Where had the passion slunk to? He needed to find that dark corner and draw her out, to once again service Gaia as he was meant to. She cries from the rape of her lands. She weeps, agonized, the destruction of Her children. Her Chosen. She burns with the fires of hatred.
This chaos must be stopped. They must be returned to the untarnished beginnings. They must be cleansed.
They must be Reborn.
As the giant forests replenish themselves after the blazes cut through them.
As the Pheonix rises from it's ashes - so shall his beloved Gaia.
So, then, shall he.
The greatest puzzle cracked open as an egg in his palms, casting golden light that enflamed the dark
passion writhing within him, potential energy frothing at the gates to be let out. To be used. To be properly guided and
channeled into the utmost of battles..... where victory truly begets victory because only those that are worthy, only
those that are strong, only those that have broken the puzzle will remain standing.... noble, valliant, undefeatable.
They will be the first to see the new dawn, as Father Sun rises over Gaia's ashes and coaxes Her to life once more. Once all is destroyed ... there is no choice but for life to begin again.
His back turned, rigid, against all he has known, and what he would have been. Still holding the precious egg across rough palms he turned and strode into the sunset, and into the darkness. In that vast night he will find the weapons that bring the destruction of Gaia, the weapons She has provided - for why else would they be there? He will, finally, stop biting the hand that feeds him and follow the signs She has left all along. He will answer Her cry to use the weapon in the Wyrm and return them all to how it was before.
He understands now, with a clarity that shines brilliant in his mismatched (.... fanatic's ....) eyes.
An understanding he will never again be able to articulate. A new name belched past his lips as he slowly began to Dance the Spiral, to enter the first Circle of Hell. His voice erupted in twisted song that cast doubt from his mind and freed the passion (.... obsessive lust ....) that had been so carefully cultivated from years of ridiculed structure. Each taunt that graced and stung his ears fueling further his drive, to realize, above all, he was right. They were wrong, always misguided, he had now found the way. The only way.
He felt the new rumblings begin; the vicious loyalty that binds him, directs and drives the relentless process to the final Victory. In the toxic fumes of the Circle his heart withered and blackened, then began to fill and beat (... with prophet's titan strength ....) once more. He howled, delerious (.... madman's hymn ....), ripped from Gaia's womb and cast aching into the wet darkness. And within this lightless pit, within the Abyssmal depths of the turgid mind, he clawed his way back (.... to Father's incestuous arms ....) and learned to breath again. That drive carried him, singing his praise chorus to the Wyrm itself until he collapsed within the Second Circle.
