[ For a moment, all Ephemera wants to do is scream. Throw himself at the nearest possible enemy and tear them to pieces. Force the world into some semblance of alignment because none of this tracks, none of this fits how it ought to. And it's too dark to paint up here, not unless he goes out and buys himself some work lights.
He flexes his hand again. Watches the burn flex, shiny and raw. He barely feels it. Disengage, soldier. Or attack. Either way, commit. ]
no subject
He flexes his hand again. Watches the burn flex, shiny and raw. He barely feels it. Disengage, soldier. Or attack. Either way, commit. ]
you can't.
[ Too raw. An obvious opening. ]
it's too fucking loud.