Eyes flash an angry red, cold and empty laughter issuing forth at the inquiry. A demon? How fitting, that such would be the first assumption made about him once the truth of his undead state is known. He had all but shaped himself into one, had he not? And to think that it all started with that one fusion… But then his eyes shift back to lilac with a single blink, the crimson gone as though it had never existed. A hand lifts, palm up and fingers stretched out, that critical gaze examining the motions playing beneath the exposed flesh as he curls them into a fist. To think such a small, pathetic shell could house the mighty talons of the Dragon Eidolon. Once upon a time he was merely a man, tasked with a single duty. Now he is more, with the same duty, and yet less. Humanity and soul alike chipped away until he is little more than a mobile memorial to times long gone.
“I was but a man, once. Sharing chores with others my age to ensure the continued survival of our tribe. But with one choice… I no longer know what I am. Or if I am at all. Perhaps I am just a phantom, plagued to wander these walls as punishment for the many lives I have extinguished. Perhaps I am, as you inquire, a demon, forever bound to wreck havoc wherever I go, bar this desolate, hopeless place. Perhaps I am but a pawn, in a game I cannot see. Perhaps I am all of these things, or none. But tell me, stranger - do we ever truly know who and what we are?”
Do we? Now…that certainly seems to be the question of the hour. "I think,” he says, “therefore I am.” He has witnessed that flash of insanity, though his eyes do not glow such an unholy of red hues. Glittering gold and icy blue were the colors of angels and demons; red, the color of heaven and hell. Such a fine line, admittedly, but with enough thought one can begin to discern the small differences. As surely as he stands six feet and has black hair, he has the hell, the fury in him. However–that is not to say that he cannot control the devil. In fact, he fancies that he has him curled around a finger. Or claw. His brows dip as he frowns, causing a single line upon his forehead. “I am a human; I am a nightmare. I exist because I choose to. I am the vengeance; I was the Host. I had the ability to bring the world to its knees. But I simply remain Vincent Valentine.”
dellafine reblogged this from corruptxguardian and added:
corruptxguardian reblogged this from dellafine and added:
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