her of andar street. It was a sort of bland imprisonment that would be been able to turn into something of well worse. The men's voices in the room nearby, that spoke to low voice not to make to be heard by her, they weighed her as a boulder in the soul. It was alone now. For indeed. The cause of that trip and the thousand mishaps which you/they had had to make forehead, was the direct consequence of her choice not to separate from its lover. But Saint had now disappeared, in an unbelievable way, you/he/she had abandoned her and that void left her inside between the hope of its return and the hate was contended for that abandonment. The tumult of its heart was so much violent not to even allow her to rationally wonder thing you/he/she was happened and if this depended indeed from the wish of Saint. Sabrina eavesdropped to the door of entry the discussion between his/her father and the other men of the village. The heart beat her strong. His/her love done give to a monster? Was impossible!
Nothing didn't warn in Saint that could leastly unite him/it to a monster. He/she didn't know more than to do. It felt the urgent need to react to that ill-omened events, taking a stand, otherwise it would be fallen in the abyss of the desperation. Why did its village hate its love? Sudden cries tore her/it from its thoughts. Of run leaned out to the wharf that separated its house from that of the neighbors and the horror painted him on its face. The monster had returned and now you/he/she could also see him/it finally her in all of its appalling structure. It was a demon ebony color, the thick anthropomorphous body it was of unbelievable dimensions. You/he/she had taken of assault a group of houses, setting on fire her with gushing out violent throws of flame from his/her mouth but this time his/her arrival it was not rapid as the last one. After having struck the houses, he launched in flight I pour the people that escaped for the village. From his/her mouth other blazes that wound the people in escape went out, then it planed, placing its heavy clogs in earth. With his/her terrible clawed hands it grabbed a man that raced and it tore to pieces him/it as it was a crumb of bread. Sabrina received a shove that for a little it didn't throw her/it in earth. The men assembled in his/her house, together with his/her/their father, you/they were catapulted out and they hastened in help of their people. You he fell of them behind instinctively shouting for making courage. His/her father turned him of release and pushed her/it violently, making her/it fall in earth.
"Not to risk you to follow us, goes to immediately hide you in the forest, is an order!"
The voice of his/her/their father was a thunder of mixed anger to fear. It was as if you/he/she had howled her in that instant how much she was important for him. Sabrina bursted to cry and runs in opposite direction to theirs. Meanwhile Ivo had grabbed a lance that cast with violence behind the monster. As it was in his/her intentions, he/she succeeded in striking the part more vulnerability than the horrifying body. The deadly one to be proruppe in an infernal grunt. You turned of release, but Ivo was already hidden behind a redwood. To that point other men were prepared in circle on the opposite side to that of Ivo, encircling the demon. It started timely a rent throwing of arrows. The darts didn't succeed in penetrating in depth in the hard meat of the monster, but however the wounds were evident on its body. The decision to go down in earth was a big error for that demon. Meanwhile other arrows were hammered in the wings, and when it retried to detach the flight to escape that unexpected trap, ripiombò in earth disorientated. The raging anger of the demon, however, didn't make him attend. An unbelievable throw of fire wound the trunks where his/her aggressors were hidden. Many of them rolled in earth, sending forth gruesome cries, while they were burning alive, others of them succeeded in estranging in time from the trees. The monster started racing toward the wood, really in her them same direction. Ivo, that was still to his/her shoulders, launched him against an atro javelin that centered him/it among the shoulder blades, not stopping however his/her run. In few instants it reached a group of men escaped to the flames. Prometeo turned him of release and saw that immense creature race really toward of him. It unthread the ax that had tied to the belt and wide apart legs it waited for him/it ready to strike him/it. Was its life ended? His/her beloved wife? His/her precious daughters?
These were the only thoughts that roared him in head. The two men that were together with him immediately interposed him with the shut lances on the walk of the monster to defend their head. They tried to stop him/it, piercing him/it, but the demon grabbed the braccias of both and tore her of clean. In front of that scene Prometeo felt his/her legs surrender for the fear. He/she didn't succeed in doing nothing. In an instant he/she saw the face of the demon one meter away from the his. Then as in a dream it was found to observe the head of the monster from the tall one as if himself had gotten up in flight. Its eyes were filled with the ceruleo color of the sky. It didn't warn the narrowness of his/her body anymore. You/he/she was hovering in the sky. All of its senses had disappeared, only the sight remained tied up to double thread with its conscience. That demoniac face had something of too much relative. For an instant it was him almost seemed to see a mirror. An endless pacific sadness wound its being, lukewarmly. You/he/she had not succeeded in saving his/her village and you/he/she had not even been able of sferrare the last, even though vain, proud attack against that malignant presence. But by now it was not able it stuffed void. The die was drawn, it would not be more you is some decision on his/her behalf. The ceruleo roof that overhung him/it became leaden and irresponsibility reached to hiss its thoughts.
XXIV
Saint had spent the night huddled in the big concave trunk of a redwood plurisecolare. Thousand nightmares had happened to its psyche, already exhausting his fragile reason. You/he/she had to feel almighty and instead. instead it was tired, weak. It warned the whole immense insufficiency of the human being, only, only. That feeling of nothingness was a fool that made him/it unarmed in front of the outside. It kept on being repeated:
"I have understood everything, they are me that command, I can change the rules of the game to my liking, enough that I/you/he/she strive me."
But that effort seemed him unattainable and abnormal more than the work of Atlantide.
"The world is on my shoulders this world!"
It had the feeling that every tree, every thread of grass, anything present around him, it fed him of his/her energy to exist.
"If the world is one representation of mine, I already consider me more skilled, succeeding in maintaining a certain personal lucidity, to still recognize me as I individualize, while everything of my Spirit is absorbed in to give life to this endless series of tones that composes him around. How could I ever succeed in deciding to be able to change something?"
Saint talked to tall voice to the trees, to the flowers, to the air same that breathed and that he/she filled him the bellows, allowing then him to create the sounds of its same words. It was as if he/she directly talked to his/her conscience. It had the impression that everything penetrated in him. An intuition, made him/it then collapse in knee. You held pressed the palms of the hands on the temples to avoid that that illumination escaped its attention.
"The conviction is the key! I am convincing me that this world feeds him of me and this thing it really happens. The wise man, has spoken instead to me of all other thing. You/he/she has told me that I could change the things to my liking, to be powerful, but you/he/she has never mentioned to the fact that the outside pits one representation of mine of the reality. Only he belonged me!"
The occultist already felt his/her immensely lighter shoulders.
The conviction is the key.
As when he is little boys and the game that have us propinato or that ourselves there are invented, it convinces us to the point to nail us for whole times in that situation, without giving us possibility of breath. Also from adults, everything is a joint of thousand games together. The matter is complicated more, but only in appearance. Our life, our world, is only rules and stratagems of a lightening game. We go to work because you/they have convinced us that what we do both a job. We frequent
such that person because you/he/she has convinced us his/her way to do, but enough a wrong primer to provoke the collapse of the fragile structure on which these paradigms are founded.
Fanaticism is the estremizzazione of the game that does him/it therefore to become irreversible.
Fanaticism is the nearest condition to the truth.
The truth in itself and for itself doesn't exist, as as it regards the happiness. Our ability is alone to create us a reliable truth, custom for us.
Strongly of that intuition that had returned him lifeblood to again face the unknown iniquity of that hostile world, Saint it went out of the concave trunk, where you/he/she was absolutely held hidden for an arc of time for him illegible. Moved the first footsteps in the thick of the wood and with amazement it realized that the wounds that had been cured him had restarted to bleed and rather they seemed, deeper than before. Above all the back ached him immensely. All that kicks that you/he/she had boxed, had put us some, but tyrants now reached to pretend the rightful part of pain that was up to them. It was a miracle that was still standing. It needed to find some water to be able
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