free_form2 Meditations On Sacrifice
Should I imbibe this potion... I will die.

To enact its magic, would be to diffuse me through the surrounding ether, in a moment, as if I were a mist to be thinned into infinity, only to awash me in accursed light. A perfectly efficient method of disposal... It will be painless, they say. They tell me they know the extent to which I suffer - as though they could. That with nought but a swallow, I could finish my exile, my very existence, forever.

They say I should be the one to do it. But they are weak... They can no longer bring themselves to look at me, much less end me. They hesitate. They fear me. Even when I am like this and they have their perfect, pure, strong forms, still blessed by the Abyss' embrace, they fear me. And well they should. I am no longer like them... I am beyond them. I have the ultimate power - the power of choice.

This body, this likeness... This is my dominion... Mine to command. No other's.

I can sense them... Out there, outside the mines. Cowering. Not daring to speak. They are the frail ones. They are the crippled. They are the ones enslaved by Atia's will.

And they... Shall... Die. They will lose this war and be purged by the stinging cry of light's cleansing kiss. I could join them in defeat and death. But should I survive... Then a stronger dawn shall rise. A new horizon, as yet unmatched in supremacy.

I will not drink this concoction. I will not cower. I will not end. And through a Slayer now to act as my chosen, I shall be reborn, anew...! This is not the end... This has never been the end. Atia's spawn shall be upon my leash and then... Then they shall know my suffering and so very much more, besides.

And thereafter, even the Abyss shall overflow with the bleeding of many an ebony heart...