Darth Eversor
Burning Forever
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JnmZdTiyE-Q
Destruction, shambles.
What lay adjacent and surrounding the one who wrought death, nothing more than echoes of many like him.
Death was a parable told many-a time by different tongues and hollowed eyes that stare blankly at the sky on the battlefield just before total exhaustion of the heart and soul.
Blackened sorrow dripped from the Devil's eyes as he witnessed his own fantasy come to life in the form of rage and molestation of virtue and what the Light of day relieved for many. The foul soul that burned as brightly as any dying star did not light any particular path, but gave off a dim glow to be seen in the distance as a warning.
Horrid was the nature that escaped the maw of the Devil, beauty in manipulation of words and the guise of a smile covering twisted thoughts and a dampened spirit soaked in crimson falsehood and lies. Inviting with a kind gesture, but to be brought into darkness and destroyed and obliterated by the faulty flesh.
Like plastic or other synthetic materials, the Devil could not die or be truly disposed of. He would be reshaped and his seed of moral ambiguity would be anew with a different face and approach. His advancement upon the galaxy would be forevermore, his reign and own brand of grief was corruption in the form of slaughter.
Like a beautiful spectacle seen in stage performance, the artist weeps and feels his creativity flowing through him. The audience watches in silence and awe, and a tear streams down the cheek of the performer.
The Devil's orchestra consisted of bodies all around, and the silence was that of ever-present looming death. Blackened ichor continued to trickle down the Devil's facade, feeling every morsel of life leave his victims and finding solace and unspeakable heavenly beauty in his work. Each scream a new addition to the cacophony that would be his own peace.
Heroes find their heartbeat in the lives they save and the lives they touch, but a monster feels just the same in its dealings of fate. Does the same heart beat for different shades? Do the deeds define what is wrong or right?
Beauty is in everything, beauty is subjective.
The Devil held the final corpse of his freshly gutted plaything. The show was over, the music had stopped and there was only silence and the fresh scent of singed fabric and sanguine purity.
He rose to his feet and observed his work, their lives each an individual eternity of fine art that he would forever remember.
They would be locked away in his heart, he appreciated their contribution to his masterpiece.
Their bodies hung freely and swayed, the children lay sleeping to dream of their aspirations and greatest wonders.
Innocence intact, families together.
The mothers and fathers ascending to a heaven on cords fastened into nooses from cables, watching over their futures.
Peace and beauty, love and bonds.
The Devil had done his work.