The battle rages on and the skies of the desert outside the walls of the Cathedral darkens to deep gold with blackened clouds. The fool called Plague by the onlookers from the city walls tear apart the enemies oblivious to his presence. The torrents of motley benefactors regroup by the front gates, where the battlepriest swoops a great sword from a high craig. Amidst all the chaos are two men in uniform waiting for the storm of war to subside from the natural trench they lay in.
Charlemagne dreams of his grandfather and the red truck years and years ago... ages. He thinks of Kayla's face. He smiles. He doesn't want to remember the bad parts. He closes his eyes and drifts while the battle wages on, and a sea of green glass, filled with sentient golden artifacts and indescribable effigies moving with autonomy, and rose colored humanoids with amorphous sacs flowing behind them... a beautiful, deadly, and deafeningly loud scene above the trenches. He dreams of a world of his imagined perfection.
He doesn't notice it as a benefactor's root-like jade fingers penetrate the ribcage of Roderick, and his trance is broken only by the screaming of the poor man. Charlemagne snaps out of it in time to realized his lulled state from a many eyed plant-like benefactor. Things run slow...
Charlemagne punches the stroking members of the benefactor out of his own face with his right hand, and then from the ribs of Roderick with his left, back now to the creature... throws himself backwards, crushing the eyes of the monster on the ground... It sends him images of peace... comfort... NOT IN THE DAMN MOOD, BURN IN HELL... Plucking out the eyeballs... planting his fingers inside the creature's sockets, and tearing apart the soft tissue inside the hardened jade...
Roderick clasped his hand over his chest, oozing blood, while trying to hold his stomach shut... "Get the fool here now", he pleaded to a half delirious man kneeling over a mangled monstrosity.
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