@stardomyx I hope you like this eldritch mollusk.
Oyster brings an ocean storm wherever he goes; his skin sparks with lightning and his voice booms thunder. A distant rumble heralds his anger and discomfort. On the rare incidents when he deigns to let you touch him (usually to grab his hand and drag him away from a fight that canât be won), you realise that his skin is cold and smooth, even in the dry heat of summer. In idle moments, heâs always fidgeting, twitching, picking at himself as if his very skin doesnât fit quite right on that long, thin body of his. His teeth are too white, to startling, perhaps thereâs too many of them, but that thought never lingers long. You accept the sights, the sounds, the bad attitude; because honestly? Itâs tame compared to some others.
But sometimes⌠you notice more. In battle, when the moment feels dire, you feel the air crackle and the sky darken, and something vast drapes itself over the battlefield, flooding your lungs, pushing against your eyes and your mind is filled to the brim with an awe-inspiring cold. Your throat feels tight, itâs hard to breathe, but through the salty haze of a feeling beyond fear, your eyes find Oyster, standing strong and proud against a reeling Fallen Angel that had previously been slavering over him. His eyes are a blank, gleaming white, are they even eyes anymore? as his body crackles with a blinding light and the ferocious winds of a tempest howl around him, tearing at your hair and clothes, but you canât tear your eyes away from the sight of what had to be some ancient force of nature. The air ripples with some ancient, unknown strength, and you swear, you can see something, but itâs so far beyond comprehension that youâre not even sure it exists.
You see Oyster open his mouth, and layers upon layers of sharp, glistening fangs within, but itâs his voice that shakes you to your core and snatches your heart away.
Itâs loud. So thunderously loud that you donât even hear it anymore, but your ears arenât the ones blown to bits. The sound tears the Fallen apart, stripping layers of flesh like a stripping paint, layer by layer as it shrieks, skin to fat to muscle to sinew to organs to bones, until thereâs nothing left but a pool of red-soaked mud.
And then itâs all over, as quickly as it began. Youâre soaked, of course, and the rest of the team is still groaning in pain and wincing at bruises, but youâre alive, and thatâs what matters.
No one says anything, even as Oyster unblinkingly stares at you with eyes still glazed in white and thereâs not a single blemish in the blue sky above, and heâs the only one not drowned in seawater (youâre fifty miles from the nearest coastline). Once again, his skin looks too tight on his limbs, heâs twitching and wringing his thin fingers together in knots. Thunder grumbles from unseen clouds.
What do you say? Do ask what the fuck you just saw? Do you jump to accusations? Do you fall to the ground and scream?
Or do you just look everyone over, shut down Spaghettiâs grumbling, and say âletâs go homeâ as his shoulders sag with relief?
jbbartram-illu
izzy806
stormborns
origamiaround
titsay
