How well does your muse sleep?
Pallid light stretched; twined among gray planets orbiting dead husks. Miasma coiled and sickly fumes twisted amidst the surrounding galaxies. No cool light of stars, nor warmth of sun touched upon this forsaken place. Hollow, empty, the corporeal world slowly succumbing to endless abyss.
Dust to the still air. No wind to carry onward into the night. No spoken word to break upon the ear, nor relief from the abhorrent sight.
Stillness and ringing. High pitched and keening.
No. He turns. The fear visceral and close.
“You will not take me!” Hollow words echo and the planets shatter. Drawn and spiral upwards.
Cold pulls at his limbs. The light grows dim. In this place, empty and without substance, he is afraid.
No. He would not listen. He would not succumb.
Surging systems, and slashing talons. On his knees with battle protocols raging, but he is met with only silence and the grim, slime-encrusted, walls of Hive City.
The howling, and lowing, of creatures was gone. Leaving only the sunken space where they, like Megatron, hid from the greater predator that prowled in the night.
Dented and weary he stands. There would be no rest.
