P∆R∆NOI∆ PT. 2 [FEAT. VAAEN]

{emil} {word 185} {paranoia pt. 2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

There was no telling to the horrors that lurked with the bowels of decadence; there was only the unseen monstrosity of wrath that painted complacency red, and the Vatican was the biggest canvas seen in centuries—it was his lifelong duty to set it aflame.

The only indication of impending doom was the rapping of workforce boots, and the soft, consistent tatter of red droplets splashing against the cold pavement. Inhumane light-blue eyes trailed the exquisite architecture of his descendants, confining every bit of disgust in the contour of a devilish grin. The veil of ambition was nothing but a sheath for complacency; and he would show them the price of comfort, and the beauty of growth.

Gray furs slowed their soft dance with a coming halt, sharp pearly whites came to bare as a dark baritone scarred the serenity of the atmosphere. There was no solitude to be found on the precipice and change, there was only a fuckload of wrath and the few that were lucky enough to gag on it. “The worst thing about being a badass is having no competition.”

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

{emil} {word 100} {paranoia pt. 2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

An Italian nose crinkled with a sniff, eyes pulsing with interest with a booming static leaving no trace of the monstrosity. Boots pattered intently behind an unknowing Knight-Commander, the contour of a grin emitting a chuckle. A bloodied, dripping hand tapped the shoulder a younger blonde, a scarred anomaly tilting their menacing face with steadily dilating orbs. The hidden essence of the man slowly dissipated, and the taste of true wrath began to pervert the atmosphere; its power matching a demigod, with maliciousness beyond mere sadism.

“Ciao ragazzo,” the deep baritone started, “Where can I find some wrath?”

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

{emil} {word 185} {paranoia pt.2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

A thick, and sickening prolonged cackle slowly shredded the remnants of humane morality in the atmosphere, and the fresh red liquid that rapped from his hands did nothing but accentuate it. He licked the devilish curl about his lips, taking a single step forward. “Huh?” He asked, his visage an innocent palette. “Oh, no. This is just blood from your little Vatican children.”

His boots took another pace, and the full-force of his superior spiritual gravity continued to slither along the Knight-Commander’s shoulders. He cackled again.

“But you know, you’re funny, Emil.” And like the snap of a finger, every molecule of light-heartedness about him mutated into the pure, unquantifiable anger that boiled in his oceanic orbs. “But the problem with you fucking humans, is that you have no fucking wrath!”

The mysterious Italian couldn’t help but to accent his raging rant with motions of his bloodied hand, and simply powerless to the slow, passionate walk he took toward the Quincy. The walls began to crumble and tremble with the pure hatred of his being—and there was nothing but hatred.

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

{emil} {word 227} {paranoia pt.2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

Oceanic orbs dilated disgustingly, and the cap of his rage burst from the tongue of the young Knight-Commander. He was just another simplistic fool who didn’t have a chance at understanding the beauty of strife, and he didn’t wield an ounce of it. “Senseless violence?!” He raged, ventilating his building anger with a discharge of his nostrils, his scarred eye twitching uncontrollably. He stopped walking. “You are all a bunch of complacent fools!”

He ignored the collection of battle-ready Quincy that appeared behind him, they were all idiots to underestimate his intelligence; he knew that releasing his spiritual pressure would draw the strongest to him; he still just didn’t give a molecule of a fuck.

“I’m here to help you all—you all need to break!” A ghastly purple reiryoku began to lather his entire form, and it bathed him in the palpable wrath that emanated from every syllable. “And you should all be grateful!” He swiped his left hand in the air, smashing blood against the wall, and with a slight counter-clockwise twirl, a purple beam blared from his forefinger and turned every mortal behind him into ash. There was only the scent of death, a gigantic explosion a collective of yards behind him, and his furious eye contact with his prey.

“You should be grateful, you should be thanking me!”

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

{emil} {word 174} {paranoia pt.2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

His speed was impressive; illogical even, but he was already in the juggernaut’s target, and any high-speed motion was inferior to his eye. The moment Emil’s hand appeared before his jaw, the Espada’s dextral hand had already been extended prematurely, and his throat had been seized in a vicious vice grip. Though, he didn’t even try to dodge his oncoming fist, and he simply let it punch against his jaw, knowing it would leave no scratch or twitch on his body, but he knew well that the opponent had probably broken his gloves and certainly knew functional knuckles was a thing of a the past.

“Know fucking wrath!” He howled through a pinched visage, bringing his gigantic left fist to crash against his victim’s ribcage with a speed that almost rivaled the young man’s agility. His entire ribcage would have been fractured, but he should have been grateful that he restricted his strength to not kill him outright, and even more grateful that he was receiving the chance to taste and wield wrath.

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE

{emil} {word 245} {paranoia pt.2}

complacency shall burn,
and you will all be grateful.

The temperature dropped with a small tide of tears, and his amusement channeled into a strengthening of his grip, matched with a dark cackle to choke the ego out of him. Every molecule of liquid that trailed down his eyes was a portion of his released passion—the shackles he would break, and the knowledge he had to gain. “Let go of yourself!” He howled, the smile that radiated in his interior completely contradicting static anger pinched onto his face.

He sneered. He didn’t know what type of sorcery the mortal was summoning, and lord knows he didn’t care. He sensed the pure rage entangling with the male’s mind, but ain’t nobody had time for this shit.

His raging visage smashed forehead-to-forehead with the Quincy, his virtually impenetrable skin no doubt knocking the consciousness out of the man, with enough concussive force to internally and externally rend him. Though, there wouldn’t be a mere scratch on the Espada’s face. He viciously heaved him onto the ground, cracking his neck as he stared intently at the young man. He inhaled deeply, restoring the resolve of his visit. It was his duty to guide the worthy beings down the path of wrath, and allow them to taste the beautiful fruit it could bear.

“Your hair smells nice.” He blankly stated, sniffing the remnants of the scent. He nonchalantly waved his hands through the air, rupturing the very dimension itself to unzip an ominous black pathway.

MADE BY KIROUKO OF GANGNAM-STYLE