 | imperiae asked ; ♡ { Curiosity compels the beast. } |
[ meme; ]
i. for the one who sows to his own flesh will from the flesh reap corruption, but the one who sows to the spirit will from the spirit reap eternal life.
She was everything he could never be, everything he wanted to be. HASHEM was cruel for planting the desire in the man’s heart, but denying him the right to glory, refusing him the divinity needed to become the harbinger of a new age. Look at his cybernetics! They are hideous! Flesh seared away to reveal the machinery underneath. Without elegance, without grace; the songs the Shepard heard from them were sour and disgusting, they created such awful notes, the sounds of a bow being poorly drawn across a violin’s strings. Because they were made by unworthy organic hands and undeserving organic minds, the product of a poisonous arrogance that had been his downfall.
But she has made him perfect, his mind a conduit for an symphony dedicated to her, the Immortal Emperor. He stood tall before her seated figure in a room made of strange angles and a throne no words in mortal tongues could describe, a throne made from the First Reaper. He remained dignified even while leaning on a gentleman’s cane to hold up his weakened body, the irony of this moment not lost on either of them. Indoctrination was a healing gospel that pulled viciously at every part of him, bones singing the old songs, nervous system becoming sound once more after years of trauma. She makes him realize that he was a fool for thinking he could master control over ancient, sophisticated, and marvelous technology.
He was a false prophet and she put him on a path to redemption, one that is under her thrall, an agent of her will. He was alive because she deemed it so and where she could have easily turned Cerberus into ash, she made them serve the people. He realizes that divinity and terror go hand in hand. Holiness was not a golden alter, but a black void teeming with billions of eyes.
Punishing and alluring, her form was an otherness made of supermassive black holes, pulling him closer, tearing him asunder at the molecular level. She puts a skeletal hand around his throat, her bejeweled talons sinking into his skin, her thumb trailing the line of his jaw. He sinks to his knees, her extreme cold seeps into him, she gives his veins frostbite before shocking them with blood; she is an architect rewriting his very soul. Empress of Heaven receiving the Corrupted Shepherd, he seeks absolution from an entity crowned in nebulae and collapsing suns. Words left parted lips of cherry dark onyx, distorted phonetics reflecting her nightmarish essence of celestial power; a bone-shattering amalgamation of Sovereign’s elegance and Harbinger’s harshness, molars crunching on glass shards, a swarm of whispers from those harvested over countless cycles, Cassilda’s song of Carcosa, the sound of abyssal oceans and the death of stars.
❝ You are mine. ❞