Haunted

... Haughty Eyes...

Before the moon became full

In the east of Ruplex, Duplic, the waves of the sea rise at 21°c in torrent, confusing the coast of which mood it should adopt. The trenches in the heart of the waters were 900 metres deep, harboring the coziness of Titanic shrill of piercing cold. A section in that heart of the sea did recreate disasters as a ritual, taking a form seeming to be a triangle or kite, in the form of an hollow that close and open after every millennium. A path no soul had tread.

That spot for ages, had been where the gods assigned the controls of waters and air took leisure, when done with each task, letting the globe of darkness roll in programmed orders. The spot-waves of the lip of the waters brushed the consciousness of the torrents as it metamorphosed, as the reincarnation of a god who'd failed to ensure the effectiveness of the assigned while he'd first lived. The triangular hollow in the heart of the ocean seemed to strike connection between the clouds and the water as the color of the waters in the hollow switched at every down pour of rain.

Before the closure of the hollow every millennium, all gods and goddesses tread the trail of waves, to the edge of the horrow, surrounding the hollow in a again-we brood, forever-we'll-brood, kind of rubberneck, they'd raised their voices in shrieks, yells and sundry relations of the glottis, each beast portraying the magnitude of its prowess. It was yet another millennium for all gods and goddesses to summon at the edge of the hollow, tread the track fashioned by the growl of the great tamkalash, the saviour of the underworld, the queen of the coasts, the rider of the gigantic sea serpent, Cervierthai, who had promised to be present with all her majesty to seal the oath of the seventh call of the millennial gathering after she'd defeated the then ruler, Pyres.

Every bohgs were prepared for receiving the great queen, celebration of the millennial years and sealing the oath of the seventh call which had jerked the sole interest of the saviour of the underworld.

No one had ever gone to summon the queen but her instinct, the only revered she was married to, conceived for and brought forth the wrath of spell cast on the waves of the sea which now was the suicidal intensity of torrent, per coziness.

The queen, a best definition of absurdities, embodied in the shell of a beautiful form. Her hair drooping with seven locks, dark as the eye of a coal with the glint of silver brushing the consciousness of it elegance, such that the knotted tips of the locks smoked continuously, even as she dived her way through the depths of the ocean, the torrent fuelled the ember of the smoke. No matter how deep she tread the deeps of the ocean, her calling hair never got smogged: the mystery of her supremacy. Her hands delicate and soft, as though she'd never held the sheath of a sword. She hadn't gone about with a sword in hand, because the horns of Cervierthai has been enough: the right horn for justice, the other for destruction. To her, justice and destruction are two different things. While the former succeed dialogue, the latter despise it.

Many gods had been nuts about her from distance, but none had ever said it to her face, after the plight of the brawny pylrus, who now count the strokes of rain that'd fallen before he was made. He'd not gone, neither had he said a word, but had walked straight to her at the eyes of the gods and felt her lips with his, leaving her in the hallucination of his intentions. He'd not fought his lips free before the doom, without a word from her, fell on him, get-cracking his sole to the duty he'd been doing and had persisted in: the ignition of the motions of fear which had birthed awe in them- the gods.

She took into account the goddesses than the gods and placed them in the manner of her favoritism. She made whatever she would, called whatever she would, destroyed whomever she would, traversed whichever depth she would, her limbs, legs, feet, toes shining like bronze burnished basked in the heat of hell, beguiling and alluring in a siren order. Her breasts, pointed in a sonsie form like the balls of frost, did give her the reason to visit wherever she would in the depth. But her boundary was confined to the depth, for Cryon, lord of the earth would die for his lot.

She paged the serpent, got on it and rode swiftly to the edge of the hollow, being awaited by the one hundred and twenty six gods and goddesses - the bohgs. Confetti of ideas rippled in her heart as she made her way to the edge. Many decisions to be made, many plans to be adopted, many rules to be adapted, many absurdities to be installed by the waves that carry their wishes from the point of the hollow to the boundary of the spread waters.

They would make merry first, then by-and-by, they would recount by giving accounts of their inputs in the upholding of the interest of the oceans and the kingdom maintained and secured by the smoked hair queen. Each bohg having his or her spots of reclamation: everything should be gotten by force or be forced to get everything you do not need. Such theory had and would be the flux driving the subjects of the queen as hammered into them by herself.

Merry began and all the one hundred and twenty six took their positions in sundry forms, causing the waves of the waters to rise to the height of the clouds, gulping them while they shouted, shrieked and yelled in annoying joy, stirring jealousy in he who reside in the sun, spitting venoms from the borders of their lips, venepuratives and lean attributions of what had not and shall not be. The queen being the jerk of motivation, Metamorphosing her form, from an octopus, to a sperm whale to what look like a hound with the head of a fish and the body of a matriach. All taking after her as they chameleon on into discrepants torso of till the waves were tired of peeping.

After the waves had taken their usual forms and the bohgs were cautionedly satisfied by the bid of their savior, the queen rose to address them, standing on the space, the air in between the hollow, floating in the seduction of the atmosphere, to thereby seal the oath of the seventh call, never to knot the water as a tie against the water.

As she opened her mouth to set-free the words locked behind the bar of her tongue, the clouds looked pale, yellow, red, green, blue, grave-white, orange, Violet then went dead black as well as the waters, as a body of clouds hewn a chariot that conveyed an anonymous personality, adhering to the laws of gravity as the cloud-chariot lowered gradually till it rested on the head of the queen, sending her askewed till she fell under the weariness of the ferment, floating yet in the air, the space between the hollow. He came. He that is to come.

The cloud took it normal form, but, the sea was never again the same.

As she fell, the cloud-chariot deliquesced and were retrieved by the neighboring clouds, for the height of this being deserve the broad space between the two lips. He stood by her head, enchanted the air till it adhered to his prowess as he controlled the unconscious queen, making her float towards whichever way he looked till he was fagged of the frolic and released the remonstrating air to resume its duty.

The one hundred and twenty six where prepared for war, taking different forms of sea beasts, striking confluence between human and the aquatics. No fear, no dread, those being part of the oaths knitted at the tail of being an aquagod. One fifth of the bohgs took the form of anacondas with flaming heads to burn the robe in which he was girded and strip him n***d, while the other bohgs took sundry forms and waged a truculent oppugn against the intruder, without seeking the reason of the intrusion. Perhaps, q - clinq- atqtq.

The battle began as the anacondas charged at him in a sinful surge to crush whatever attributes he was made of, throwing their tail sharpened as of a knife fashioned from a steel, its edge determined and easy to cut-free, cut-all, cut-at-a-go. As they charged towards him, he lifted himself in the name of what he would not give a name and chopped them all off from between with a dive, driving the gold sword through their stomach, the medial part where the gourd of the venom is situated.

The divided anacondas with the flaming heads grew new tails PDQ and resumed their charge as he released his great rope, in the nature of a net and bound them, then, threw them into the hollow that's got no bottom, because the deeper one fall, the keener such get exposed to newer realms embedded in the mysterious depths of the ocean.

As he let the net fall through the hollow, he held the end of the rope and used that as a bait and tool for other bohgs charging at him.

"You Shall Pay"

Cried the serpent as it approached from the usual tour it always went after it'd conveyed the queen to whither she'd wished. It was noted that a serpent had an auto-translator in its sensor allot extensive or absurd implication to whichever words it heard, so, it would go thus on a tour for a period known to it, then return to bear the queen. But now it ain't her awaiting its arrival but Yen, the haughty eyes.

It growled at second gaze and dashed toward the indifferent Yen who dangled his tool but missed, as the raging serpent sent him rolling imbalanced on the waves. Yen had once thought that casting a spell would be inutile, rest assured that a sword would be enough to spill the justice. But now, rules have been tampered with and he had to do the deeds before the deed would be done by the serpent.

"Orih blah blah buh"

The lines. At that, there was a backseat driving in nature as the cloud went melanoid encore: grievous-inky this time. A mist of dysequilibrium, dense vertigo, fell on the serpent, the queen, who was regarding consciousness anew and all the one hundred and twenty six, inclusive of the ones caged in the ardor of the nest.

"Cerviethai, take us to limbrado! "

He commanded, his tone tampered with guts, ripple of effrontery dripping from the hewn phrases he'd dished in the bowl of an healthy sentence. He laden the serpent, 900 feet long, with all the bohgs, the queen, and himself seated between the horns seated snugly in the sockets they were embed.

Lost in the labyrinth of reality, gulped in the waves of hypnotism, the queen, her bohgs and the serpent as well as Yen made their way through the deepest, coldest, cozy and taunting phase of the ocean.

Yen sniffed a faux pas in the air, as the serpent took the part that led to the outer word, reflecting on what he'd watched the queen told the serpent when twas time to return to her kingdom, from heaven.

"Cerviethai, take us home"

Didn't go collinear than that. The great Cerviethai jerked around and headed to where waters were knotted as frost in the most sensitive part of the ocean: the alcove of Tamkalash.