Falls of the Hinterlands It's the last midnight

Oh, there it is, that spark of interest in those angered eyes. The stiffness of his body that Alduin’s eyes linger on shows the becoming of a new mind — a realization.

And then a grin mirroring that of the Cheshire blooms and Alduin knows he’s gotten him.

His soul is mine. Alduin thinks victoriously.

His soul is ours. Banesteppe corrects darkly beside him.

The hellhound doesn’t bother to correct the deity. Because he’s right. Alduin’s soul is his too. But he hardly cares, for his eyes are stuck on the agouti male’s closing figure — stalking, looming, born anew.

A walking dead man just like him.

And when he stop, he feels his breath on his muzzle — their souls linger and dance for but a moment. Much different from their first clashing of fang and claw, but somehow just as intense. So Alduin moves naught. He meets his eyes, daringly so, as his voice meets his ears and slithers into his hazy mind.

You say that we will change, together. But haven't we already?

Yes, he’s so very right. They have changed. And they’ll only continue to decay.

Now, there is only room to grow. Grow and conquer that which none else have the power to do. Only we do.

At those words and the piercing stare of maliciously righteous hopefulness, Alduin also feels the corners of his maw tilt up some. His eyes darken and a slow, rumbling chuckle falls from closed lips.

“Hope you’re ready to become a god then.” He hums ominously. “Because that’s the path we’ve taken and there is no out. At least not for me.”

Arashi could probably see the disturbing acceptance in his eyes — the confidence and belief that he will indeed become unkillable, unstoppable, and either worshipped or damned. Either one will do. One of the only emotions that’s passed through his eyes for the first time in a long, long while. 

And somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears the malicious laughs of his own god himself.