#samson;

[theruinous]

@samsonxgray

Ignorance never used to be a thing Daniel appreciated, especially not his own. He’d dedicated too much of his life trying to find the truth, and retrospect can only hurt him when all of it’s been rendered pointless. By more than the end of the world, but that’s the greater reason for it. There were no prisons anymore, law and order a concept that might as well have been stripped from every book and burned in the streets alongside the dead. 

Whatever order they existed in, at best it was because of respect, maybe desperation. He didn’t try to guess everyone’s reasons for staying together. Nate had given him his and it seemed to be enough, but that’s not the part of that conversation that he spends much time wondering about. It’s their destination, because he’d never gotten a good answer for it.

Just the name of the man who’d offered it, and he finds him by the door. 

“Are you busy?” 

[fantasycorruptors]

"It was all done in the name of good. But the look on your face tells me you do not understand." The man pauses. "You wouldn't, would you? It is not at all that simple." He took off his glasses and laid them in a case about as elegant as them - about as elegant as his coat and pants. Nearly everything in him was perfect. His clothes, his hair and mustache, the look on his face. Now, the latter would be harder to fit into the definition of perfect... but it was obvious the man had full control of himself.

"I assume my nephews and step-nephews' fame precedes them like it always does. They have a certain power over people. A power that has nothing to do with whether or not they're possessed by demons, or sharing their bodies with angels, as they like to call it. And from the look on your face I can notice it. You're one of the poor souls these bastards have dragged into their crusade against fate itself."

It's no one but Samson Corbeau, the Corbeau siblings' uncle who assisted their grandfather in founding the company and beginning the experiments that would alter their entire lives. "We are all sinful. And we all need to be given an example of what fate awaits us... of what there is in store for us. Destruction. That is all. All that the Lord created once upon a time, humans corrupted. And they must suffer for it. This is why my stepnephews became what they are."

"To serve as an example. Somebody has to do this, as arduous of a task as it is... it's one of the most difficult tasks to perform. Being the bad example. Understanding that evil is rooted within you, and accepting that it will conquer all. All of the young Corbeaus are fated to die. Someday. By each other's hands. And for those who interfere with fate, there will be hardh consequences... no one but God can do this."

[hollowedbeast]

Sixteen hours. That’s how long Eli’s been back in control of his own skin, and it’s still a disorienting feeling. The silence in his head that’s terrifying with how unfamiliar it is now, no longer drowning in his own screams. His hands move when he tells them to, and it feels like the first time in a long time they’re not covered in blood. He doesn’t know the exact time frame. The better part of a year at least, left in some waking nightmare that his brother swears to him is over now. But it still leaves him almost terrified to fall asleep, like the moment some kid ripped a demon from his chest will all be in his head.

He does anyway. Demons don’t sleep much, and it leaves him with months of exhaustion and an ache in his chest he’s trying to shake off. It runs deep this time, a wound left behind when a monster was torn out of him. The few hours he gets might not be enough to soothe that, but it’s something.

He’s already upright when the door opens, though he hasn’t made it much farther than the edge of his bed. That’s unfamiliar now too, and if his body’s been dropped right back into his old life, his head hasn’t followed yet. He’s too busy staring at the window, skin warmed beneath the suns rays, but there’s an oddly tilted reflection looking back at him. It’s just as foreign to him now, when he looks closer to some wild beast just waiting to bolt.

He doesn’t. He’s still and quiet, a sharp contrast to the chaos that’s raged in his mind, until he hears those footsteps stop next to the bed and he offers a weak greeting. “Hey.”