#gory tw

[blvesilence]

GONG YOO — seok-woo in train to busan.

[hercules-angelis-blog]

Not all Scars are Visible |Self-Para|

The rain crashed down making the ground muddy and harder to move through, the sound of metal clanging against metal surrounded Hercules completely, there was no escape. Screams and grunts filled his ears as he watched the men around him slaughter each other, whether it be one on one sword fights, or arrows piercing the chests of men he considered brethren. Hercules’ armor was slick with other mens blood, his sword dyed a sinister red, dripping with the substance. His stomach bile was at the top of his throat, but he had no time to stop. To stop would mean to die. 

An animal like scream came from behind him, he spun on his heel to see an enemy soldier charging at him. Hercules automatically evaluated him, there was a deep gash in his cheek, other than that there seemed to be no blood, yet he had a slight falter in his step on the right side. Like a well oiled machine, Hercules counter attacked. He ducked under the mans swing, knocked into his left side causing him to fall, and then kicked away his weapon, and sliced his achilles heel. A hair raising scream ripped from the other mans chest as Hercules turned away to assess the battle. The smell of blood, death, and rain mixed together to make a nauseating stench that caused Hercules to dry heave, doubling over. 

No matter how many battles Hercules was a part of, it would never be the norm for him. It would never be okay for him to cause pain and harm to another human being, it just wasn’t who he was. Yet, here he was swinging his sword at men he had never spoken a word to, aiming for vital tendons or organs to render them useless. Suddenly, a searing pain shot down his back, and the smell of blood seemed to completely override that of the death and rain. He turned to face his attacker, a look of anger pasted on his face, a look not many didn’t cower from. Yet this man in black armor, his eyes seemed to be that of satan himself, black as oil, not a look of remorse, fear, or anger. In fact, the man in front of him seemed to have no emotion at all. Hercules reacted with a nuclear force, swinging his sword, which the man easily dodged and counter acted. Catching Hercules off guard and causing him to fall to the ground, landing on his now injured shoulder. 

With a cry of pain, he looked up at his attacker, who now had his weapon pressing firmly into Hercules’ carotid artery. The sound of the battle surrounding him seemed to cease, the only thing he could here was his own ragged breathing, his pulse booming in his ears, and the mans deep laughter. “Well?” Hercules snarled at his defeater, “Just kill me and move on to the next.” He spit blood into the mud next to him, a sign of internal bleeding. With a sneerish smile, he mocked him, “Haven’t you ever been in a battle before?” The man in the black armor chuckled again, a sound almost like death. 

“Why on earth would I kill you Hercules Angelis?” Hercules’ sneer dropped at the use of his name.

“Do I know you?” He asked looking deep into the eyes, searching for any familiarity.

“You’re very well known where I’m from, and I’m not going to kill you because...” the man kneeled down to get closer to Hercules’ ear, “...the people you love will do that for me... when they find out what you are.” He began to laugh again. Heart pounding even harder, Hercules grabbed the mysterious soldier, and drove his sword straight through the mans torso. The laughing turned into a gasp, and dribbled into gargles as blood flowed from the mans wound, mouth, and eyes. Hercules didn’t stop staring into the mans eyes until he took his last breath. 

Hercules jerked up, screaming as tears flowing from his eyes mixed with the sweat that drenched his entire body. He grabbed the sword that he kept next to his bed, and swung it around the room, an automatic response. Realizing there was no one around, he placed the sword back onto the table, and laid down. Hercules allowed himself to do something he rarely did. He allowed sobs to wrack his body and cried into his pillow, for all the soldiers he knew who died, and all the soldiers he himself had killed. For a moment, he even cried for the man in the black armor. 

[retired-dragons]

Ok ok ok so get this

I burned myself on my bedside lamp, gaining a burn on my eblow an inch in diameter which blistered and peeled immediately, decided to run down the hallway in socks (we have wooden floors), slipped and bruised and grazed both my knees. This is pretty much an analogy for how me trying to get my life together is working out for me tbqh…

[evilsjin]

The Decay- Finale

So because this rp blog is ending.

Piece by piece he started to decay, descending farther and farther into madness. His mood became erratic, nobody knew what he was going to do or why. His skin started to break down from the pixels in which they were made, the pain tearing him apart. Every day was a struggle, but he had to accomplish his goal. He had to do something before it all ended. He wanted to make the smallest difference, even something, just so people remembered that he had existed.

The final day was a blur. His limbs were gone, and he was curled away in the corner of his farm, left to reflect on his final thoughts. His breathing was raspy, every inhale like a stab to the chest, every thought an aching in his head. He had done nothing. After finally tasting a glimpse of freedom, it was taken away, and oh so soon. All those years planning, all the time spent with his own mind was all for naught, and it sent shivers down his spine.

In the end, he died alone, his last words only a whisper that was caught in the wind;

"Forgotten..."

{Character End}