[center] [img] https://i.imgur.com/K9dXELV.png [/img] [/center] [h3][center] Outside of the Construction Project, “Sofia’s Grave” , Foreigner’s Lowlands [/center][/h3] [@Breo] [@addamas] [hider=Flames] “Hey Benita ….” Like a flame flickering. Like the crackling of a fire. Standing amongst the flickering flames; amongst the pieces of broken building falling down, broken down by the sudden exposure of heat. She called her name and held out her hand to them. To grasp them one last time. To hold them close to them as they did long before. To dance and sing and laugh again. But those memories were nothing more than memories. She refused to come out of the sea of flame. She remembered that wetness upon her cheek. And the feeling of helplessness she had felt at that very moment. A being smaller than anything else. A bug on the side of the road, insignificant to those people walking around it. A slave to her own fate. “There was a much simpler way, wasn’t there? I should have done this a long time ago. Then at last I could have returned I want to go back to a time before all of this. Then I don’t have to ■■■■ ■■■” … … ... Ha. Ha ha ha. HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA [/hider] The distance between Sofia and Benita was too great. There was no way that Benita’s arm could close the distance. There was no way her hand could break it’s way through the unrelenting force of the attack that was coming towards her. It was impossible for her hand to break through that wind. After all, her body was “compact”; something that her siblings had teased her about many times before this. Therefore, it was impossible for Benita to break through the spell. It was impossible for her to catch her opponent. It was impossible for her to claim victory in this fight. But … Demons are beings of “impossibility” given form. “My right hand cannot grab you,” Benita said, a look of triumph upon her face. However, behind her stare there was malice. Absolute hatred. She hated this person. This person was everything that Benita hated about others. This person was everything that Benita hated about her Sisters. This person was everything that Benita hated about herself. She focused herself into her hand. That beautiful right hand from behind. She saw the entirety of “it”. “Hope” taken shape as a hand. The hand of a god smiting those who had committed sin. A hand of pure “affection” that gently caressed those whom had committed their wrongdoings, absolving them of their crimes. Clash. The hand tore through the runic assault like it was nothing but glass, shattering into nothing before the presence of a greater “it”. What was once a “mystery” was reduced to nothing before this hand. This beautiful hand of “love”. A clawed hand that tore. “But ‘their’ hand can.” She silently extended her hand forward and so too did their body. It was “impossible” to dodge. But even if they had managed to dodge the claws, their minds would have been flayed by the tear in information space, drilling into the world with such deep claws blackness into the world. She also extended that “other” hand forward, as if she was tracing a path towards its target. A superficial existence of “love” that Benita was marked with. Those beings that existed as her “arm” were things that wished only for “love”. One should never set foot before “it” if they valued their life. The phenomenon occurred and the beast that scattered death. “Too slow.” There was something that “it” on her back could do. There was something that “it” and she had to do. What would she do with this hand? Benita knew what she wanted to do, and that was why ーーー “Don’t cry.” Tearing apart, melting, and whipping out; that “other hand” is a blade that vanquishes evil. This “hand” breaks through the body of Sofia as if they were nothing. This demonic hand that was the pinnacle of her magecraft; the culmination of her craft and the knowledge implanted onto the girl. She didn’t need her instrument for this. After all, it was merely a bug on the side of the road. Something insignificant to those around it. A being whose powerlessness would only bring ruin and despair. Benita was an arbitrating angel, and this was her punishment. The hand raised. A being of joy. A being of grudge. A being of love. A being of hate. Of imagination and destruction. “You of steel: My arm. I say this to you. Melt, like the sun.” The girl, Sofia Whitehall, was no more. And with her, “justice” was served. Benita only hoped that her death was painful. “That hand” would make sure of it. Even if she was not dead, the alternative was much, much worse.