/lit/ - Literature

>>8236568
Hahaha so funny, my man!

I'll take you on a 9 days journey, see if you'll like bitch.

>>7994713

"Master?" He asked. "Is she…like me? A nephilim?"
"Like you? No. She's an abomination of a different color. Her hunger is different from yours. Yours stems from the fact that everything you touch rots or decays before you can eat it whereas she is already a thing of decay." The man looked confused. "She's a crypt orchid, a member of the undead. She feeds on the living. Few have ever walked the earth and from the look of things, this one must be on the verge of starving to risk emerging from its lair. But then again, in this twilight never turns to dusk in this place does it?"

When the trio arrived on the edge of the settlement, not a soul was in the open. The woman began smelling the air as humans smell food.
"Something in the wind to your satisfaction?" The devil asked.
"The people," she sniffed again, licking her lips. "Their scent is delicious." Without warning, she broke away from the protection of the devils shadow and sprinted towards the closest shelter. She threw herself against the makeshift door, weakening it. Then a second time, a third. Satan approached from behind and observed the connecting shanty's to the right and left. Sizeable bloodstains dotted the crude porches. This was the crypt orchids preferred feeding spot. She let out another terrible scream, the echo saturating everything. But as passionate and pitiful as the cries were, her vocalizations were getting her no closer to the meals hiding within. The strength she'd shown before was fading. Her fists no longer banged the wood panels as hard. In a frantic fervor she pulled at the boards across the windows only to be denied. Defeated, she leaned against the threshold of a shanty. Her breathing came as shallow pants. Her legs regained their wobble.

"Is no one receiving visitors?" Satan called after her. The woman didn't answer but instead leaned her weight against the shanty. Satan looked to the nephilim. "It looks as though she requires assistance. Why don't you play the role of the gentleman and open the door for her?" The man dropped the snakes in his hands and obeyed. He walked to where the woman stood. When he approached, her eyes turned on him, wild, feral. Her face looked shallower than before.
"I have to get inside." She croaked. "Open the door."

“I can do that." He replied. She watched as the man lifted his right hand and laid it flat against the door. At the slightest contact the wood began to age. First it shrank in the area around his hand, like a dozen seasons of weathering for every second that passed. Then slow ripples radiated outward, the panel began falling away in piles of grey splinters. Even the crude hinges began to tarnish, the metal curling back on itself like unkept fingernails. The door groaned one last protest before falling inwards. When it hit the floor, the remains scattered like ashes. No sooner was the door gone the woman shoved the nephilim aside and entered.

Chapter One

After the fated rise and fall of the antichrist, a silence fell in the lands below heaven. With all the beasts and sinners shut away in the pit, the only thing left to keep watch over the ashes of what was once Eden was a scorched and lonely sky.

A grey hand reached up through the ash of the wasteland to break the silence and the surface. As the long nails of the fingers dug in and took hold, the head of their owner began to emerge. Behold, the ruiner. Satan's brow rose and pressed through the soil, the smell of the pit rising with him. Another arm broke through, pulling the smoking body up to its waist. Granules of dirt tumbled between leathery wings to fall silent again. He kicked and writhed to be free. And there at the apex of the long climb out of hell, Satan sprawled and collapsed on his back. Lying in the ash and spent of all energy, the red sky bathing him in its eerie glow. He struggled to move. But his limbs, still oozing sulfur, would not obey.
Surrounded by an atmosphere as raw as an open wound, even Satan marveled at the magnificence of the spiraling black clouds overhead. He breathed in the ash and cinders, the stench of burnt ozone permeating everything. As sickening as the mix may be, it was still preferable to where he’d come from. Unable to move further, he slumbered for days until the sea of clouds morphed into a collected mass and released a deluge upon him. He slept through all of this. When the sound of thunder approached in the night, his eye lids parted.
As the rumbling in the clouds drew nearer, he knew what would follow, or more accurately, who would follow. The earth around him vibrated with an unseen energy as the tiny hairs on his wings stood on end. Lightning split the sky and fell upon him in a brilliant flash. In the face of such sound and light, Satan didn’t flinch when the visitor appeared. The glow around the being emanated from its silhouette, turning the darkness to daylight. It’s only shadow was cast by the outline of armor and a sword that burned almost as bright. It burned to look upon the light and Satan raised a hand to shield his eyes. But as soon as his arm moved a little, a sandal as heavy as a mountain pinned it back to the ground. The tip of the burning sword sang like a hymn as it cut through the air and stopped an inch from his nose. Few beings carry such an instrument, and the devil knew the instrument well.
“Hello, Michael.”