[center][h3][i]Chinasa the Pallid[/I][/h3][/center]

His arms unwound from his powerful chest, while at the same time his finger tips grazed the smooth floor. He could feel the dust. He could [I]feel[/I] the... dust. It was a marvelous, refreshing sensation after a millennia of stationary imprisonment. 

His pale lips parted way to reveal the half human, half feral snarl that suddenly contorted his angelic face. His white hair laid over his shoulders and veiled his eyes, they were reminsenct of dove feathers against his vision. 

It was a dastardly mixture of umbrage towards Eyra and a thrilling exhilaration for being free that moved him to a standing position. 

And it was the same emotions that sucked, drained, and ripped the darkness from the angel's chamber. It was all replaced with a pale white that seemed to stretch out towards the furthest corners. It covered all but the sentient. The heaviness of his lionic legs were a kindly reminder of his appearance; the heritage of his fragment of Aton. 

From the power of his instinctual drainage, he formed the amphorous black and red staff. The moment his upper left hand had wrapped around its frame, he bounded past his siblings with preternatural speed and started up the stairs to freedom. 

His crown smoldered with the same material his staff was made of, a black and red ooze of pure color. 

[b]"I knew she would! I knew she would and It still enrages me beyond white!"[/b]