RICHARD SIKEN : CRUSH STARTERS (PART II) || @unholy-spawned || accepting
▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 || It's been one of these restless nights, Scorpion has been fighting the demons inside his head. Overthinking, rolling around in his sheets, overwhelmed by emotions and feelings. Trying to dive into the ocean of his deepest dreams to calm his mind. Hopeless, as he would encounter and experience another sleepless night. Encompassed in this stronghold of loneliness and sorrow, originally built to secure his heart from incursion; for its structure remains long gone, and there are only remnants of hardened scars of ramparts - pungent metallic tang of blood, bones, and ash - remain.
While Hanzo Hasashi remains solidified as a corporeal, formidable being, there lays harrowing self-immolation in his subconscious. With such vicious cycle of living and dying, the demons in his psyche dare once again to expose this manipulation, as fulminating scorch of his flames soar like painted wings into the night sky. Perhaps the unattainable version of the flawless Hanzo Hasashi who live in his fleeting dreams, the daydreams of his fullest potential as the harrowing nightmares plunge him between the opposing versions of himself, bound at each end of the timeline, struggling to move in one direction or the other. Each portion of his body pulling towards either side, tearing synapses apart, with heart and brain moving in polar opposite directions, as he tries to be the warrior the Earthrealm expects him to be. Mother of all disappointment and shortcomings is expectations, Hanzo muses, as tempestuous rush of emotions become a dreadful ocean in his heart and soul.
It feels like his heart is in a cage, trapped by the love he still cannot disengage. Undying love blinds him, raging an inevitable war to wage. How his erupting emotions ricochet between doubts and certainties; as Hanzo finds himself amidst the shaking, the bracing, the unsteadiness and then the collapse. The rubble coughing in the dust of himself, groaning under the burdensome weight upon his raw, rubbed shoulders leaned against the Grandmaster's chamber. And the concept of time becomes elusive yet again; a fleeting moment that is difficult to grasp. Minutes to hours, exclusive as it slips away in an endless clasp. The seconds ticking by without remorse, and his mind tries to hold onto every moment. But time remains an unyielding force, a relentless adversary that never stays dormant. How could I resist against something so vast, fast, and immeasurable? Hanzo clutches the kunai, what was left of Harumi Hasashi, as the caged, frozen vessel of her fragile being sits numb in his psyche; mute with eyes blurred without a morsel of life.
"The everburning flames glare all the same, just as the coals and shreds of glass I bear that spit into the towering fire of my heart and soul," the sharp gravel of his voice mimic the clutched maelstrom of certain gloom and rage as he stares at the hellspawn. He can't distinguish whether it is manifested from the abyssal depth of his subconscious or a real, tangible, material thing coexisting with him amidst the vague reality. Otherwise, the rhythmical creation of beauty that is his poetic spilling, in this case, more of a brooding soliloquy of his unspoken words spilling forth as his feverous warmth does. "Bleeding is a feeling I know too intimately and familiarly, for I bleed in my mind and body, as it will ironically carry my soul with the sanctity of Earthrealm; let my fire protect it and keep it safe as long as I can." ▬▬ι═══════ﺤ 🔥 ||
