Forbidden

The heat

Tw//
Implied Death

Metal crashes onto metal, shifting of feet and thumping of limp bodies all happen at once. On the outskirts was a pale man, his short, hazel locks complimenting his complexity.

He stands lightly on a hill, watching the war break free. His eyes were focused on how the warriors danced amongst each other. How every step one took, the other stepped another. His hand held a book, the words on the pages singing a tune without making sound in his head.

His body lowers, his legs crossing over each other as he rests under the shade. The ambiance of the war below brings life to the book he reads.

A flash of green and white, however, brings his attention away from the paper. George raises his head, his eyes joining the gaze of the green figure in the distance. Something about the way that the warrior moved across the field, striking down everyone in his way, pulled George to his bare feet.

His grass stained feet held George to the ground as his body swayed to the rhythmic sounds of metal on metal.

---

The battle at hand was fast paced but exhilarating. The way everyone yells and falls around me makes me remember how easy it is to be a god. I was still worn from the battle I had moments before with two other gods.

No matter how fast they moved, how much they tried to catch up, it failed. These men spent years training for this war and here I am to ruin their hopes.

Tick - They fall every second. Everything they're fighting for goes to nothing.

Tock - They all fight for no reason

Tick - Humming seems to help me focus

Tock - Humming a tune while people are dying sure does calm me down

Tick - I lose my focus, my hands slipping and my speed slowing

Tock.

I close my eyes, letting the breeze flow through my hair. There was a moment of stillness on the battlefield, everything falling quiet enough to hear a leaf touch the ground for the first time.

My eyes slowly open to a blue figure, the shape standing between me and a wall of animals and plants. I was on the ground, looking up to the figure as he glanced back. With his black and white goggles over his eyes, all I see is a small smirk to show a dimple on the right side of his cheek. His mushroom cap balances no matter how fast he turns his head. His steady hands lay flat, leveling with the slope on the hill hundreds of feet away.

I take his hand, his arm pulling me up with ease. No matter how I glanced at him, I simply couldn't make out who or what he was.

---

Seeing the figure dance on the field makes George want to join in. With a leap into the air, and a flick of a wrist, vines and creatures followed him down the slope and to the warzone.

As George got closer, the figure began to make sense. It's Dream, the God of Destruction and King of Creation. His names don't match up, but the stories people tell are as if they've followed him through thick and thin. Dream slowly sits down, as if worn out from eons of fighting.

George takes another look to his left, seeing another wave of soldiers charging towards Dream. He reaches his hand out, ordering the things that have followed him since the forest in pure silence.

When Dream stops moving, George's emotions fluctuate quickly. He hasn't even started doing much of anything, and yet the adrenaline rush was already beginning. George steps between his small army and Dream, waiting for the moment to release his mercenaries.