something boils beneath Feb 27, 2020 2:19:06 GMT
Post by Nero on Feb 27, 2020 2:19:06 GMT
Nero walked, his gate moving with a particular stiffness that implied a quiet rage bubbling beneath the surface. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold it in. He’d felt it beginning to rise like bile the morning they’d been chased from their home by a goddamned ambush. In their own home. The thought threatened to make the man start foaming at the mouth with rage. He felt helpless. Lost. He remembered the anger he’d felt towards his brother after their mother’s… demise. It had made him sick. Made his body vibrate with the constant strain of simply not losing his mind to every single tiny violent impulse that crossed through him. But… this was different. He was aware, able to process. His mother’s demise had been needed, ultimately. Whatever had befallen her had consumed her mind, taken control of her body – she’d been a zombie, for lack of a better term. Not his mother. Some kind of doppelgänger corpse that had been snarling in his face with teeth stained red, and fur matted with spit and blood. ’Fuckin’ hell,’ he thought. ’I… I don’t know what t’ do. I don’t… think I can do anything.’ His gate faltered ever so slightly.
Was he even worth it to his gang? He hadn’t been chosen for the missions to the ‘inside.’ He had no healing skills. He felt his fighting skills lacked in many ways. Otherwise, he would have won… he wouldn’t have had to shamefully turn tail and run, still mind boggled and confused from being rudely awoken by snarls and screams. He’d been absolutely fucking useless. And that simple fact drove the man borderline mad. What good was he, if he could not protect? What good was he if he could not? Nero stopped suddenly, lifting his head. Where the fuck was he?
Two-toned eyes blinked, scanning the area around him. His nose stung with the distinct scent of Saints. One of his ears pinned back, and admittedly for a brief moment, he felt a pang of anxiety. ’No,’ he inwardly snarled. ’I’m not goin’ t’ be a mother fuckin’ coward. That won’t fuckin’ help anyone.’ Maybe something good could come of causing some trouble. He shied a little closer to the border, sniffing at it. He’d… never quite been to the area that the Saints called home before. Only been close enough to detect the ghost of it on the wind – enough to be instructed as to what it was, at some point. Enough to be committed to memory. But… he’d never laid eyes on the dilapidated buildings rising up. A slightly determined look crossed the man’s features. Maybe he should… push his luck just a little. Prove something to himself…
He stuck his nose a little closer to the border, sniffing.