The time has been allowed for the creation of the Cherubim to come to pass; the more the wearisome, the less the more we shed our hatred onto one that is less than natural. What has occurred to this world, what horrible act of Heaven has acted onto the world to make it so dead, but so alive underneath the waters that are alive; washing against nothing but another shapeless wave, breathing little fruit but the singing of the fish and dragons living underneath the waters?
At this moment, our main character is but dead, and not alive; but a demon who has denied the world, and accepted the blade as his final formation. He lasted the final hours with the advantage, but means nothing in this time period, as winning and advantages do not purpose the same opportunities. What more could have occurred to his final words, but the simple things that make life beautiful? The scream that lifted from his bowels and inserted into the world’s fragile bits of air that remained before the flood occurred; what more but the wound that lusted upwards into his head, causing him to see the waters fall from the Heavens, downwards from the ancient clouds.
“Venetians, this is the final hour where we see one another for the final remainder of our lives,” the surviving Cherubim Wielder said, casting his blade as large as a man’s tall formation onto his shoulder. “I am done with the world in this final hour, what more can be asked but to continue into this world without that which has been taken from me? The vision that was once was, and the woman who has been murdered from the hands that witness false accusation against me.” He raised his free arm and directed his whole index finger to the attention of the demon that caused him the grief and the thoughts that would soon pass onto the flood.
Venetians snorted in surprise to the human’s words, but was not offended. He raises his Karnataka, his Soulrasza’, and decided to attack into the motion of his feet first; lifting his foot onto the direction of the human’s head, he directed an direct hit onto his forehead, which caused the human to bend backwards but his legs remained constant onto the surface of the grounded earth. Venetians demanded another strike with his other foot, but still, he had missed and with that strike felt that his ankle was wrapped around the tight hand of the human.
“You fool, too think that you would fall for such a simple trick and learn to get away with it,” the wielder announced, pressing the body inwards towards him and onto contact, he directed an entire strike against his head, the body motioning against the air. The whole formation of Venetians left side of his face uprooted in an a total disbelief of chaotic proportions; his body flew towards the eastern side striking the ground and spitting dust up into the air with his body.
“Too think that this was the challenge that would bring me honor towards God,” Venetians said standing back onto his feet in a slow movement. He realized that his jaw was crooked onto a broken match. “This will not occur aga---” before he could catch onto his words, the Wielder had vanished from his previous spot and appeared before him inches from his face almost frightening him onto satisfaction and horror. The wielder dropped his sword onto the dusted sand of the hills, and severed Venetians with a barrage of punches to the stomach and face. Each swift punch demanded slow motion to a result of a more powerful connection to the bones, his knuckles cutting like small blades into his flesh, and breaking the bones of the demon.
I can not continue to take these punches or else I will be the one against the ground, believing in the blood that roots from the vessel. Venetians thought inhaling each strike, making an even amount of numbers for each contact. The sunstone’s from the sun became a berserk into his corner of his eyes and announced that he was onto the defensive, but the balance between the two was immeasurable; he was blocking the entire assault but his arms could not intake the number of punches the Wielder was throwing inwards onto him.
What’s wrong with me, where is the power coming from, I don’t understand this basic principle! Venetians decided his best luck would be to strike with his forehead onto the wielder, but the pain would be scanned as unbearable---he stuck! The wielder backed three steps away from his opponent and had his hand onto the mass of his head.
Venetians awhile the blur was still alive rushed inwards with his sword and demanded that he throw his sword into the wielders chest. Onto instant he believed he had altered fight, bringing in the tip of the blade into the left corner of his bosom, handing in the final world. But it was not what had occurred. The wielder indeed caught the blade with the free will of his hand; the blood from his arm started to ooze out from underneath the bottom of his fingers; the damage was done.
“Too think that some demon would try to dissuade me from this world,” the wielder said. “You will not dissuade me or persuade me onto death!” With the strength that belonged to the wielder he pressed away the blade and ducking downwards, picked his sword, and stabbed Venetians in the center of his stomach. The blade went inwards, all way without hesitation. For the death kill he turned the blade into a clockwise rotation using his handle the blade twisted the demon’s intestines from the inward flesh.
Venetians tucked the blade into his stomach; begged the blade inwards into him but was unable to do anything; he sought death but there was nothing to achieve.
“I might not have been strong enough,” he paused, choking on his own blood. “But,” he continued, “I will continue to search for that which is the dealer of this world and I will find the reason behind the numbers.” At this he falls downwards, and was released from the blade’s sting. The Cherubim wielder turned around, noticed that the skies were flooded with rain, and at that instant, the water came down and took away all his thoughts, forever.