Chapter 22 - Dynasty

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Dazed violet cracked open with confused groan once again, visibly wincing as he groaned at the blinding light that assaulted the space currently residing within. Blurred hands spread out at his sides, feeling the uncomfortable tingle of fine greenery meet his tensed grip with steadying unease, Sarid had lay alone but in good health despite... something. Vanished had the darkness that smothered him and his befuddled sanity, replaced by this stabbing sunlight permeating through the holes of imitated hanging nature. Drips of inky liquid cascading down the flawless greenery, like a sweet dew. At last, as the unusual enrapturing nausea left his head, he shakily stumbled to stand posed, orbs failing to correct to the rounded hills now present once again. Surrounding him, was an illusory forest of crimson autumn leaves; swaying in the feignly scented breeze and twisting around the range the unnatural wood was nestled between.

And out of the sprawling forestry, did the crawling vines and stretching brush fall into a faded halt. Between the shrinking gaps of the ancient wood, lay a great beyond: the void as desolate and white as cleanly parchment engulfing the grand patch of grim beauty almost painted on to the copied empty canvas. Sarid's body buzzed with a humming ache, arms still burning with a ghostly touch, and yet he dared not look. Could not look.

"This can't be real..." the distraught malak murmured, words spilling out in bolstered despair. And through the shifting strands that veiled the corners of his vision, did she appear for a second time.

"What is real?" she questioned with a hum, eyes like a serpent as they lit up with amusement over the malak's bewilderment. The ominous beauty still sat in the same position: the same wood, the same appearance. Upon that disconnected branch, did she announce herself with the faintest curves of a smile; innocent of any hostility despite the hovering claws held settled under her chest. This time, however, that draconic tail did not coil tensed around the natural formation. Sarid stepped back with an unsettling crunch of the shrubbery underfoot; arched fingers of deja vu climbing up his burdened body.

'How...?'

Struck by the unbelievable shock of the figure before his eyes, the man did not make a move to reach for his weaponry this time, finding them pointless against this higher foe. And yet, the poisoned stare the woman had once targeted him with, now was released into a lighter look: gentle features having relaxed despite his guarded self. Until, the shrill texture of tracing a material with that of a honed edge bristled his eardrums, and it whistled again once hands brushed the tattered vestments Sarid supposed he still adorned. Looking down with just a single glance, the half-malak froze once that gilded artistry painted itself into his mind.

"I hope you like them. It suits you well," the woman stated casually, the wisps of a smoky cloud trailing from the ornate opium pipe relaxed between painted fingers. Her mouth twitched with an ember of humour to accent the dry words.

Sarid splayed his arms out before him, now irregular orbs trembling with implausible confusion at this abstract reality now having been placed in. The orbs sank, and his gaze fell into the perfect water below: reflecting the poignant expression slotted over rising frustration. Deep inside this natural mirror, materialised a figure immersed in what he wished was a seperate world.

The reflection drowning in this translucent doorway appeared one that arose subconscious contemplation, as it cast the truth over him: apart from a set of new clothing draped over his exhausted form, were two distinct artistic forearms similar to that of this paracausal lady. A pair draconic, oriental arms that had ravaged the cleanly human skin he would never give away, simmering a faint golden gradient to snake over his forearms. It's disgustingly magnificent artistry and detailed paint work a spitting image of the one that gazed from afar, an intricate design birthed from the heart.

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