Upon pressing play, the audio is abrupt and startling with a speaker-screeching squelch, accompanied by a faint and muffled humming that tapers off just as it's starting to get coherent.
"MONSTER..."
There's a quality to the voice that's picked up as the "eyes" of this video clip are cast down upon a sight -- something deep and rumbling, something that, if played through the network's internal linkups, would make one's ribcage drum. Something deep, something old.
The sight, though:
A canvas of gold sullied in dark reds and blacks, speckled in scales and stretched skin. A pole of wood has pierced through this canvas, and that's where much of the brightest red pools and bubbles over, starting to stream through the grooves the scales make. It risks flooding the glassy, amber eye that stares upward.
"THE GODS...WILL NOT FORGIVE THIS...NOR LET IT...GO UNPUNISHED..."
A rumbling overtakes the audio, followed by a loud rush of what must be air -- at least, up until the pole in view jerks suddenly, rending some of that golden flesh, splitting it, exposing muscle and glimpses of bone underneath. It's not a squelch this time, because the rumbling returns, louder, to the point where the audio just cuts out into static.
The faintest bit of a chuckle is picked up once the audio starts to fuzzily creep back in, punctuated by a soft, chiding tsking.
"Listen to you," murmurs a voice, much clearer now. The owner of the video's "eyes," as it were. It's a gentle, unnervingly mild tone -- condescending in a way. "Wasting your last breath...on someone who will never care what you say.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
VIDEO//source: anon//postdate:03.15//TW: gore, eye trauma
Date: 2020-03-17 11:06 pm (UTC)"MONSTER..."
There's a quality to the voice that's picked up as the "eyes" of this video clip are cast down upon a sight -- something deep and rumbling, something that, if played through the network's internal linkups, would make one's ribcage drum. Something deep, something old.
The sight, though:
A canvas of gold sullied in dark reds and blacks, speckled in scales and stretched skin. A pole of wood has pierced through this canvas, and that's where much of the brightest red pools and bubbles over, starting to stream through the grooves the scales make. It risks flooding the glassy, amber eye that stares upward.
"THE GODS...WILL NOT FORGIVE THIS...NOR LET IT...GO UNPUNISHED..."
A rumbling overtakes the audio, followed by a loud rush of what must be air -- at least, up until the pole in view jerks suddenly, rending some of that golden flesh, splitting it, exposing muscle and glimpses of bone underneath. It's not a squelch this time, because the rumbling returns, louder, to the point where the audio just cuts out into static.
The faintest bit of a chuckle is picked up once the audio starts to fuzzily creep back in, punctuated by a soft, chiding tsking.
"Listen to you," murmurs a voice, much clearer now. The owner of the video's "eyes," as it were. It's a gentle, unnervingly mild tone -- condescending in a way. "Wasting your last breath...on someone who will never care what you say.
"There'll be no epitaph for you."
SQUELCH.