Anathema

The thing... it came from the stars... No one expected it, no one saw it until the thing was among them. White eyes peered out from a black skull until the thing was threatened... And then bright purple eyes snapped open all along the thing's body, all of them fixing on different points.. This thing... was not natural. It was guessed that this thing was not of our world; that it was here to destroy this place and everyone in it. The dragon, mocking the shape of a skydancer, was allowed to stay under heavy supervision, but no one quite understood or even knew what the thing truly was. Even though most of the clan was petrified of the abomination, they remained curious, but cautious. This thing could kill them all...

Was this the thing that HollowKnight had been waiting for? The little fae had been mysteriously absent when the monster appeared, sliding through the darkness without a sound. Shadowblood wants it dead, no matter what it was, but the oracle, Absinthe, advocated not to harm the dragon-shaped thing. She claimed that a ghastly fate would fall upon them all if they attacked it.. But that there was one dragon that could drive it out, or a handful, specifically... HollowKnight and his group, maybe even the strange Fae, Grimm, could drive the thing out, certainly...


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It was as if the sky was bleeding shadows. She coalesced that way, a steady drip drip drip as the stars poured themselves out of the cosmos and into tangible form, as the darkness took shape like never before. She was unholy, then, perhaps blasphemous. A beast at best, and at worst, something unspeakable.

But that was not her problem.

It was a concern for the dragons she fell among. While she did not feel the slightest hint of concern in their presence (so weak, so mortal, so fragile they all were), it was plain as day to see their fear. They balked at the idea of her on their territory, leveled their weapons at her until their limbs shook, chased her deep underground just to place her under guard. The guards were a useless precaution. She could have leveled them if she desired, could have ruined them with a touch. But there was no need, so she allowed them to fear her; fear was a powerful weapon.

Against lesser beings, too much fear could spell one's end, but she was not a lesser being. She was born from stars and shadows, an amalgamation of all that was bright in the universe and all that was of the deepest dark. The fear of the clan did not rouse them to action so much as it kept them in line. She did not stay in her cell for long, after all, as no one dared to chase her back in for fear of the consequences. And even though the clan's leader demanded she be put to death, there was another who refused to allow it.

"She is an anathema," said the second, a dragon with the knowledge of stars in her eyes. She was wise to speak up, to caution her leader against such folly. "Do not risk her wrath."

And so the being of shadows and stars took a name: she became Anathema, and she changed her shape to one of wrongness. She studied the shapes of Skydancers, the fine curves of their necks, the elegant spread of their wings. She committed their grace to memory, their gait to habit, and when that was done, she made a mockery of them before their eyes. Unlike the true Skydancers, dragons who typically flew through the caverns of the clan, Anathema crept along the earth, sticking to the shadows. She craned her neck in stiff shapes, held her wings out at angles meant to threaten rather than to fly. She exuded wrongness, and when dragons fled, her white eyes gleamed, and the edges of teeth peeked out, serrated and sharp, terrifying to witness. They ought to fear her. They were not worthy of anything but horror.

And yet there were four who refused to cower before her. She loathed them, those pesky little creatures and their glittering weapons. The first was a dragon named HollowKnight, a tiny thing that always twirled a nail on a cord, following her wherever she went. The disgust was mutual, it seemed, for more than once, Anathema saw the intent in his movement: maybe not now, but someday, he meant to kill her.

Bold ambitions for one so small, but she kept an eye on him nonetheless. She was powerful, yes, but not arrogant.

The others were unsettling in their own ways. Quirrel and Hornet, typically inseparable from HollowKnight, clung to weapons of their own and refused to retreat. Even when Anathema opened all of her eyes, glittering pits that snapped into being all along her body, they did not flinch, quelled their fear. She could sense the tremors in their bones, the uncertainty in their hearts; those many eyes did not see so much as feel. So too, the eyes understood their determination. Despite the uneasiness they did feel, they were committed. They were murderous.

But the last was worst of all, if only because he showed the least fear. How strange, to confront a mortal who refuses to run, who is unbroken by the heavy weight of fear. The clan called him Grimm, and much like they avoided Anathema, they avoided him.

It made him a kindred spirit, this avoidance. It also marked him as an enemy. If he was strong enough to wield fear to his advantage, to be feared and yet be in no apparent danger of his life, he was not to be trifled with, especially not with such anger teeming beneath the surface. He may not yet have the violent intent of the other three, but it is only a matter of time.

But Anathema will be ready. She feels a hunger building, and fear is only so satisfying. Her time is coming.

The end is near.

Bio by Tues.