Prophet
Balor
Sadie gets up eventually, smoothing down her dress.
“So,” she says slowly, drawing it out.
“It’s difficult to lie to an angel like Gabriel,” Death says, “He’s clever.”
“So are you.”
Death gives her a quick smile before he remembers and squeezes her hand instead. “Come, Sadie. Let’s have something to eat.”
Balor, is what he’s calling himself now. He likes the old gods, because they’re bloody and violent and human, and because they’re not hunting him. Everything else seems to be hunting him, creatures with tentacles and broad pillars of light and fanged things. He left home at eleven, when he got angry at his mother and her skin swelled with sores.
He can take care of himself now. Balor doesn’t use his powers, though. He’s afraid of losing control or drawing attention from those who are hunting him. He feels the snake’s thoughts brush against his mind. It used to scare him, before they became his only companions. He likes their clever, hissing voices.
“I’m coming, Deidre,” he murmurs to himself, coercing a rat from the wall with his mind.
There are a lot of rats here, fat and content. His snakes feast. Balor will probably have to move soon. People are beginning to know him, to recognize the patterns every human follows. He’s only been caught a few times, mostly by demons. They took his snakes away, threatened to kill them, but he left anyway. It hurt him to feel their lives snuffed out, and he tries not to think about them.
He’s had to become used to sacrifice. Balor sits up straight when a new voice touches his thoughts. Quiet, kind, and human. That wouldn’t be unusual. Many humans have psychic abilities. He’s learned to guard against them. This one, however, knows his name.
“Hello, Thomas.”
“So,” she says slowly, drawing it out.
“It’s difficult to lie to an angel like Gabriel,” Death says, “He’s clever.”
“So are you.”
Death gives her a quick smile before he remembers and squeezes her hand instead. “Come, Sadie. Let’s have something to eat.”
Balor, is what he’s calling himself now. He likes the old gods, because they’re bloody and violent and human, and because they’re not hunting him. Everything else seems to be hunting him, creatures with tentacles and broad pillars of light and fanged things. He left home at eleven, when he got angry at his mother and her skin swelled with sores.
He can take care of himself now. Balor doesn’t use his powers, though. He’s afraid of losing control or drawing attention from those who are hunting him. He feels the snake’s thoughts brush against his mind. It used to scare him, before they became his only companions. He likes their clever, hissing voices.
“I’m coming, Deidre,” he murmurs to himself, coercing a rat from the wall with his mind.
There are a lot of rats here, fat and content. His snakes feast. Balor will probably have to move soon. People are beginning to know him, to recognize the patterns every human follows. He’s only been caught a few times, mostly by demons. They took his snakes away, threatened to kill them, but he left anyway. It hurt him to feel their lives snuffed out, and he tries not to think about them.
He’s had to become used to sacrifice. Balor sits up straight when a new voice touches his thoughts. Quiet, kind, and human. That wouldn’t be unusual. Many humans have psychic abilities. He’s learned to guard against them. This one, however, knows his name.
“Hello, Thomas.”