[ Yes he did. But the wording was very deiberate, and very hypothetical. Pitch actually had every intention of keeping his word (this was so delicous, after all) but he couldn't help pushing just a bit harder. Just to see if that sublime feeling happened again.
It seemed as though Alla had hit his limit, though. For as badly as he wanted to play at being human, he was certainly able to remember how to run with cloven hooves for feet. That combined with this odd locust swarm that was made of many smaller spots decided Pitch that Alla was some sort of fragment. A chysalis. Some part of a deity that was actively trying to stay hidden. But whether it was hiding in order to heal or grow in power, Pitch could not say.
Either way, he was still charmed that those spots were being used as attempted cover, and as they came at hm, the phantom of far too many legs and eyes met them like ocean beakers meet rock. Fear, true fear, comes howling up from the dark places to overtake those spots and actually devour some few before the rest can retreat to that red haze.
The fear is there though. The fear of the soldier, knowing he has to poke his head out of the foxhole and not wanting to. The fear of the mother, for her son who's gone off to war. The fear of the old man, mumbling to himself alone in his cell at the asylum. And the little girl's fear, of nightmares and the man in her closet. All this and thousands more. Millions. The fear of an entire world. ]
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It seemed as though Alla had hit his limit, though. For as badly as he wanted to play at being human, he was certainly able to remember how to run with cloven hooves for feet. That combined with this odd locust swarm that was made of many smaller spots decided Pitch that Alla was some sort of fragment. A chysalis. Some part of a deity that was actively trying to stay hidden. But whether it was hiding in order to heal or grow in power, Pitch could not say.
Either way, he was still charmed that those spots were being used as attempted cover, and as they came at hm, the phantom of far too many legs and eyes met them like ocean beakers meet rock. Fear, true fear, comes howling up from the dark places to overtake those spots and actually devour some few before the rest can retreat to that red haze.
The fear is there though. The fear of the soldier, knowing he has to poke his head out of the foxhole and not wanting to. The fear of the mother, for her son who's gone off to war. The fear of the old man, mumbling to himself alone in his cell at the asylum. And the little girl's fear, of nightmares and the man in her closet. All this and thousands more. Millions. The fear of an entire world. ]