#ourgh walrider my beloved i have missed writing He

[wclrider]

“it hurts.”

prompt.   ( accepting )

𝙰   𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚈   𝙶𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴   𝚃𝙾   𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁   𝙷𝙾𝙿𝙴,   something   new   he   finds   himself   doing.   something   human.   it   would   stand   to   reason   then   that   such   a   kindness   would   be   borne   of   the   human   he's   found   himself   bound   to.   however,   he   is   busy   and   the   Walrider   is   running   out   of   patience   for   this   militia   that   stands   against   him.

❝   𝙸   𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆.   ❞

and   he   is   that   of   some   weary   god,   worn   thin   by   the   suffering   of   his   devoted.   𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴   𝙾𝙵   𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴   𝙷𝙴   𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳   𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆.   of   course   the   swarm   would   know   the   ichor   that   seeps   from   waylon   as   he   lays   languid,   bleeding   out   upon   the   floor   like   some   kind   of   gutted   lamb.   they   used   to   stick   them   for   him,   an   offering   of   sorts,   to   soak   his   mountain   in   their   gore.   relished   in   it,   fed   upon   it.   but   now   things   are   different.   𝙷𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙳𝙸𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃.   looms   o'er   him   and   sees   that   doe   eyed,   vacant   and   rather   pathetic   stare   and   feels   no   vitality   from   it   as   he   had   before   with   the   other   lambs   to   the   slaughter.

𝙺𝙴𝙴𝙿   𝚆𝙰𝚈𝙻𝙾𝙽   𝚂𝙰𝙵𝙴.     that   is   what   he   was   supposed   to   do.   they   were   a   team,   after   all.   is   only   thankful   that   waylon's   family   was   not   here   to   witness   him   in   any   more   agony   than   the   glances   they   have   caught   after   the   initial   fray   he   suffered.   like   a   rabbit   in   a   snag,   he   had   seen   him   before.   terrified,   fragile,   wounded.   furthermore,   Miles   would   certainly   be   quite   cross   with   the   Walrider   should   he   fail   at   such   a   simple   task.

𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽𝚂   𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈   𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃   𝙰𝚂   𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝚈,   the   static   grows   with   his   wrath.   his   intentions   are   made   clear.

❝   𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳   𝙵𝙰𝚂𝚃.   𝙸   𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙱𝙴   𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶.   ❞

𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽   𝚃𝙾   𝙰   𝚁𝙾𝙰𝚁   𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂,   shakes   the   ground   as   his   own   sort   of   decree.   without   words.   without   language   that   one   could   understand.   it   was   the   tongue   of   beasts.   of   old   gods   and   the   fear   that   waits   in   the   dark.   it   was   violence,   and   a   proclamation   of   their   end.   tears   them   apart   with   ease,   enjoyment   even.   he   may   not   have   craved   to   the   flesh   of   the   lamb   beneath   his   protection   but   he   did   relish   in   the   cries   of   the   beasts   that   had   struck   it   down.   just   as   doe   eyed   and   vacant   as   any   other   animal.   when   the   screaming   had   stopped   he   is   close   once   more.   no   rage   evident   in   his   tone   or   movement   as   he   examines   Waylon.

❝   𝙱𝙴   𝙽𝙾𝚃   𝙰𝙵𝚁𝙰𝙸𝙳,   𝙰𝙽𝙳...   𝙷𝙾𝙻𝙳   𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻.   ❞

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂   𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳   𝙱𝙴   𝚂𝙾𝙾𝙽   𝚃𝙾   𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙻   𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁,   his   nanites   making   quick   work   of   it   as   he   passes   a   hand   over   them   as   though   they   were   nothing.   it   was   not   often   he   got   the   opportunity   to   speak   directly   to   Park,   often   conversing   with   Miles   and   allowing   the   two   mortals   to   quarrel   and   plan   as   they   may.   though   it   was   never   out   of   distain   for   him,   but   rather   a   lack   of   understanding.   something   cold.   he   simply   saw   no   reason   for   it   was   all,   not   until   now.

❝   𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻   𝚂𝚄𝚁𝚅𝙸𝚅𝙴,   𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙺.   𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙴.   ❞

𝙰   𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃   𝙾𝙵   𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚃𝚂,   some   things   never   change...

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