biblical bush

Minoth has always perceived life - the living part, that is - to be about celebration, and beginnings, and ongoingness. He certainly acknowledges that life is pervaded by death, that life is colored by death with broad and fine strokes, that life cannot exist without death and that it would be foolish to assume let alone to preach otherwise.

Minoth, by this plateau of assumptions, could argue that the savior of humanity, of Drivers and Blades, of Alrest as an entity, would be one that strikes with the blossoms of health and forgiveness and excelsior and promise of continuation into the empyrean sphere of eternal heaven, should they be equivalent to the blessing, which some basic principles of universal good do assure.

This is the basis of his belief, the foundation of his worldview.

But Minoth is not one who cannot be shaken. Minoth looks to the skies above for bad news as much as he quests for good.

Minoth might like to think that there is a utopia gifted by the gods, for some people (Amalthus may poison him to the opinion that some are not worth saving; can Minoth be saved from this? quite a question), but if Malos tells him the word, Minoth will taste to utter it.

Minoth will taste Malos at his core, of course, concerned with the axial morality of obeying the servant of the lord.

"Anything I can do to understand you," he says, even weeps, for Amalthus has beaten down his pride and he does not feel that he knows the way.

But Malos can tell him. Malos, for his own reasons of efficiency, had selected Minoth out of the crowd in Omrantha, deigning to discuss the way and the truth and the death incumbent upon them all, for to wipe away humanity's sins without a trace.

Minoth had thought this not an immediate compliment, validation, estimation of worthiness, but a chance at one. Immediately, he sought to please Malos; to determine what it was about himself that might be objectionable to someone who truly knew the thoughts of the Architect, and delivered them downstream to His people.

So that's how they ended up here, in an innroom, pressed into the darkest corner where the wall met the bed, looking for things that weren't there in places the Praetorium never would have told anyone to look.

Minoth considers to himself that there will be some sign, surely, that Malos is who he says he is, or else it won't really matter, as the world becomes forsaken under Amalthus's proclamation - who else makes time to prophesy, and to approach to believe?

He buries his tongue beneath the tangle of the bush, prostrating himself as Malos's hands trace sigils of absolution in his hair.

Malos doesn't pull. Malos doesn't need to. Even if he hasn't chosen, here, as Minoth thinks he has, he is satisfied with his choice of confidant. And Minoth is but another soul upon these myriad Titans, questing for death just as the humans do. He's part human, anyway, isn't he?

It is the sheer fervence with which Minoth acts, grasping for divinity with his lips and his teeth even as his eyes cannot see for to guide, that begins to unmoor Malos. How committed Minoth is - it's not pathetic. It's inspiring.

Malos is burning. Malos is erupted, from his Core. His heels dig into Minoth's back and his fingers come around the crooks of the shoulderblades that connect the wings to the body, the arms to the knight.

"You seek to keep me, then?"

The long-haired head stays low. "Ask, and you shall receive." There's a snarl of verve in his voice, just the barest tinge as it's muffled beneath curls and folds.

Malos raises a brow, though he knows not for whose benefit the expression is given. "Seek, and ye shall find."

He doesn't know if he believes it. Does he even have to, if Minoth already does?

Doesn't he have to, given that Minoth does?

And here he'd thought humans were the ones beyond saving.

Minoth continues his work, evangelizing himself and the hidden regions of Malos that the Architect did not touch, did not need to create and had no use for.

Blades can't reproduce, right? Not even the Aegis, and even he would agree with this neat turn of logic.

This isn't to say that the bush, lacking of substantial branches, cannot create and prosper, cannot be fruitful in its own divisive way.

But Malos's satisfaction is short-lived. Minoth's own endurance wears thin; he is but nearing human.

The redeemer cometh. The apostles preach. The damned survive.