With Viscera Eyes
A mass of contradiction.
A ream of silver lead riddled the air with holes, dispersing the wind, severing it, forcing the formation of several new wind trails to maneuver the skies. The man that is now inhaling the broken/altered air has, at this point, withdrawn his weapon and is picking up the shattered shells of silver. As he is turning around, ready to retreat, he feels the raddled wind weave into a mass of contradictions -
A mass of contradiction.
- assuming the form of a maelstrom. In a single burst of scepter crayoned flashes the sky illuminates the dead world below. It is the first time the Earth has been vanquished of its demonic, vile shroud. The shadow veil is now trailing into a spiral of cosmic indecision. The cataclysmic vortex is gaining speed, buffing it's integrity as the pendulum chronologically decimates the grains of time.