god doesn’t love you more than anyone else. -- @protectist
A laugh threatens the great divide between them, but the sound fails to materialize into existence. He lacks the energy to make the effort. Sephiroth slowly rolls his shoulders back– half shrug, half ritual. Limber limbs make for nimble reflexes. Itchy trigger finger doesn’t even begin to cover the half of it when the man in front of him has a minigun mounted onto his arm where his hand should be.
But his back remains turned, and Sephiroth sneers, unseen.
“God,” he repeats, and the echo holds malice in of itself as he angles his head to look at the other man from over the polished silver of his left pauldron, “I have no need for gods nor their love.” A god could choose who to make and unmake. What could be. What would never be. Love is simply not part of the equation. “You are a man more foolish if you think the divine factored fairness into their grand designs. Does an insect crushed under your boot wonder, in its final moments– Is this an act of god? And so it is.”
