empty as light
By nature of rapport, when a game begins the pieces must fall into place. Some inserted onto squares they've known inherently, others haphazardly thrown onto the board. Everyone is made of ash and no one stands a chance to time, but still. Still. They fight as they always have, bite and tear and sink as they always have— until the gust winnows their personhoods back into dust. Their perpetual state of being only holds because they are subsequently not-being. And once their bottomless shadows begin to leak, they must fight to remind themselves what it is to be empty as light.
Every step begins as a reminder that they're fighting for their lives, because the world has decided to tide them into strategy, into calculation. When two dragons of majesty soar into their view, the light of divine speeches singes Henry's eyebrows. Their magic trickled into the very ground they tread on, and he knew this sort of glory was of hallowed descent. Or mimicked, hand-in-horrid-hand, to the likes of gods. And he laughed at the irony of it all. Was he supposed to pity them? A child and father who were set onto the board as toys?
Henry sent off the first flare, hinging on the idea that the closest thing to clemency is to finish the game before it can truly begin. Spindles of darkness began to spawn from his fingertips, bleeding into violent fervor while skulls began to align malignantly. Bolting his dark power down from the sky, he set his spell to plummet like the sun.
Henry inflicts 1 damage from a Death Spell (15) at Gricenchos!
"Have a little Death, dad!"
@supportingdancer, @baldursson
