Toska

Lost in a snowy haze, they were forced to travel through a storm as he searched for a way out of the frozen abyss. The setting sun made the sky cry many colors as its tears painted the snow in a deep purple. 

The storm blocked out the wonderful shades and engulfed the entire field in a purple haze, obscuring Toska’s sight and the white wolf’s sense of smell. Somehow, with a sense that even Toska doesn’t possess, the wolf noticed something far beyond the snowy veil, barking at it relentlessly. No matter how loud he shouted a command to calm it down, it continued until it eventually ran into the blizzard. It was impossible to call after it, so he did what he could do and followed whatever footprints he could find as he trudged through the snow. In a cruel gesture of fate, as the blizzard began to subside, violent growling noises echoed from the distance which turned into shrieks of pain. Just when the wind relaxed and he had the chance to run towards it, a cacophony of flesh-shredding noises resounded in the snowy field. 

No flake of snow danced in the air after the blizzard ended, revealing the bleeding horizon and its many shades of grief in the sky. A pool of mangled organs and cracked bones with tufts of white bespeckled on the pile greeted him when he followed the trail of blood. When there was once a deafening and incessant howl, there was nothing but an ear-grating silence in the prismatic abyss. Nothing but the flat snow-covered plain met his eyes when he looked around. 

All that remained was the pile before him and the horrible sounds that endlessly reverberated throughout every part of his body. As the silence grew louder within him, much louder than the snowstorm before, he found no other way to release such volatile energy. With the fire of all the setting suns he faced, he cried out with such intensity that there was no difference between his fleshly vocals and his machine audio. A star-shattering howl filled the field with his fury, eviscerating the universe’s eternal silence. 

Great ribbons of mist flowed from his mouth as he howled to the sky, gripping his face as if his skull threatened to burst open. It was in that encounter with death where he witnessed its meaning the most, a meaning that coiled around his soul and tore it from the inside out. It was in that one shard of hope in the vastness of insignificance that summoned the most poignant despair he could conceive of. Not a single tear he shed which dripped down his face like boiling water could thaw the frost of fate. While the harsh beeping and manic static continued to leap out of his riven throat, there was a vibration in the earth and a low hum in the distance. It was enough to silence him and make him see the horde of cybernetic nightmares marching his way, one of which with the head of the white wolf attached to its neck, weaving its wires through its flesh like veins to unify the sacred with the abhorrent. 

Upon seeing that, his life flashed before his eyes as the universe collided with his will, igniting a violence he forgot he possessed. With a fractal howl, Toska held on to the sheath and handle of his sword, letting it charge the blade with as much energy as it possibly could. He stared at the horde that covered the red horizon, fixing his gaze on the one bearing the head of the wolf. 

Whatever neurons it tried to possess failed as the wolf’s lips twitched with sparks of a snarl. He charged all the energy from the sheath that he could, overcharging it to the point of it twitching in his hand and biting through his nerves. His patience shattered when he saw the humanoid machine twist the wolf’s lips into a grin that clashed with its bursts of growling. To see those same pale blue eyes and that sunny smile become eclipsed by the abominable made a fiery rage breathe through him. 

In one motion, he unsheathed the blade, pointing it behind it and then releasing just when they were close enough to propel him using the burst of energy from the crossguard. Cutting through the snow like the wind, he held onto the sword with both hands and swung the gargantuan blade of light horizontally, mowing down a good chunk of the horde and releasing the wolf from its cybernetic prison.

Blood burst into stars the color of the setting sun, sparkling like a galaxy over the rusty husks. He had no time to reflect on the wolf’s significance as he charged directly into the army, swinging his sword of light with a speed he hadn’t reached in a while. There was no need to recognize himself, where he was, what he was doing, for all of it felt like the right thing to do, the only thing to do. To shove the burning blade between spiralling rows of teeth and let each ivory tooth fly into the sky was like helping nature with its perfection. 

The cries of pain from the chimeras, no matter human or monstrous they sounded, melted in the vast ocean of existential grief whirling within Toska. Every whimper was a note sung by the wave that came together for a suffocating symphony of all the suffering he had faced until now. Using the sheath as a short spear and stabbing his enemies to recharge it with their blood, he became a crucible of Cyberia, an ouroboros of violence. When the storm of cries ended, all that remained was the last breath of dusk perfuming the metal and moans of the field with a last kiss of crimson.