SUCH A VICIOUS MAN. His whole being screamed ferality like that of the beasts the Pharaoh oh so adored. He enjoyed their independence, the fierceness in how they held themselves with claws hidden within paws and deep growls bubbling within their throat. Being in a room with Grimmjow was akin to being in a room with them, but such hardly bothered Ozymandias. No, no, it had the opposite effect on him. It intrigued him instead. He wished to tame such out of him to the point that those growls bubbled into purrs; the beast no longer prone to wanting to lash out at the one who held their chain.
Considering the usual boredom that he faced, it would be a nice way to pass the time — another accomplishment to add under his belt of many. ❝Mm, are you always so unpleasant?❞ he spoke after a time, lazily tossing a grape into his mouth and chewing slowly as he turned golden eyes back towards his current guest.
what he is, is a doomsday in deadwood, a devastating split spleen ensnared 'tween the ribs of a lockjaw fever forged from damned discretion, the ear - splittin’ rumble of scattered rubble rammed deep within the jaws of a dead, rotted god, festering and feasting ‘pon the war - torn cities in his throat like wicked wild wolves weaned on winter’s fruit; pitch - black in colour, and equally as deadly in its onslaught on the steel - trap of his lips. Sneering, Grimmjow tosses his gaze towards the blistering blaze of this man who dares to pillage the title of ‘ king ’, this man who oozes of pure power and something twice as wretched something decaying, something crumbling, something cracking like rust of iron smeared on one’s skin : a forced godhood. Ah, but the gods are dead to him; he’d know, for he has smothered them with their teeth.
❛ tch. and yer’ just a party - pooper, ain’t you ? ❜ His scathing throat spits. What he wants is to devour this man : to sink his thirty teeth into the sharp synapse of his smooth shoulders and rip the taut flesh to scarlet shreds; he yens to wrap his firm fist around this man’s throat and squeeze and squeeze and squeeze, until every drop of power has been wrangled from him, until every pint of blood screams in this beast’s belly, until each and every bone lies battered, broken and bruised. Natheless, this beast knows better than to lunge at a prey unknown. For the moment, he tests the waters, feeling the burn and blister ‘pon his cold hard soles. ❛ anyone told ya’ to lighten up ? ❜
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