ask-the-lost-magus said:

"A costume, hmmm.... Maybe as a Ionian warrior, perhaps? It seems to be something you would be comfortable wearing," Markus suggested. Mikala, meanwhile, clapped her hands. "I wanna see you dressed up like Markus, when he bothered to dust off his armor! it's amazing!" ((Google Goetia Armor and you have his armor. Minus the hat, haha i am so sorry))


"I think my mod found the wrong armor, because this isn’t armor at all.

ask-the-lost-magus said:

"This is my fault." The words rang out against the silence as the blood dripped from the Judicator's ruined body. Feathers rained gently from her bloodstained wings as the magus reached out and caught one. Beneath the tree from which her body hung, Markus found himself helpless in the face of the latest in a long line of lost friends, and gave a cry of pain and anguish as the magic escaped its bounds and warped the world around him.

It was only a secret to Kayle as to how her lover exactly died, and the image of it never leaves her mind. She still remembered how the man was hung roughly on a tree, his body abused, arrows shot everywhere, axes and swords stabbed everywhere his being, and in one final act of mockery, his own sword sewn right through his palm, as a remembrance on how his “so-called skills” did not protect him from such fate.

"Are you sure you want to know what exactly happened?" It was the question that Kayle was kept on being badgered on. Only in death, unfortunately, did she knew.

The wind picked up in strength, and her dangling feet was carried along, her hair that was not stuck to her skin covering what little of the gore it can as the wind passes through. However, her hand stayed in place, being encumbered by the sword sewn through her skin and around her bones, too heavy for the wind to carry.

Markus was convinced that all of this was his fault, but a question was still asked to him by a voice, somewhere in the back of his mind, questioning his entire sanity.

"Are you sure you want to know what happened?"

Another gust of wind, and the Judicator’s body swings with it, carrying bloodied feathers with it. Markus reaches out and caught one, the image of it burning in his mind, remembering how silky white it was when he last saw it. 

"Are you sure you want to know what happened? Are you really, really sure?"

The world turned to darkness in the magus’ eyes, and therefore failed to notice the butterfly that perched on the judicator’s sword hand, as if mourning with a fellow one.

ask-the-lost-magus said:

"I hate you." was all the black winged teenager said to the being designated his mother. He took a deep, shuddering breath, before continuing. "I hate you, for what you did to me, how you treated me! You did nothing but insult me, ridicule me, tell me I was worthless! Now look at me! A master mage! WILL KILLING YOU MAKE YOU PROUD OF ME?!"

"I will never be proud of something who destroyed me. Try as you may, it will never happen.”

ask-the-lost-magus said:


“The wish that I’ve kept in heart,
Is getting harder to see,
As I watch it stray in the dark,

Can Endless magic help make me see?
Beyond the depths of reality,
The happiness that I’ve dreamt of so long,

As I sit on a chair for some tea,
I began to think ever silently,
Whether time would ever grant me wish,
Even if I waited for a thousand years,

Golden butterflies frolic around,
In the golden land they all sing without sound,
If you have love, then maybe you’ll see,
The truth written red,

As I grasp the roses around me,
I watch as they bloom madly,
But one by one, in the golden sun, they vanish rapidly,

Where has it gone?”