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 Posted: Mon Oct 08, 2012 5:34 pm
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Emptiness, hollow, that’s what the world around the armored ginger felt like, her jade green orbs dancing around the ruined places, her memories of everything now in ashes. Her mind wondered what could make a place, bursting with energy and life, suddenly become so dark and empty. Her heart sank when her eyes caught a tattered, dirty, blood stained teddy bear; a pain surged through her that she hadn’t felt in years. The emotional pain of loss, only pulsing through her once before when her husband was slaughtered in the heat of battle, she was only there watching, forced against her will to witness his untimely death. It was he who sparked her interest in war, her heart filling with revenge as his blood pooled around him. It was his sword she used to kill his assailants; she remembered all the adrenaline that rushed through her while she thrusted the silver metal through their chest plates, using an unknown strength that she never realized she had.
War was over now; there were no battles for the legendary Valkyrie to fight, no citizens and children to protect. Genitrix figured home was a good place, but coming back was no reunion, she heard of all the tales, everyone saying that Flore was gone, but she didn’t believe it, she couldn’t. Her breathing grew heavy as she felt her throat bunch up in knots, tears began to sting her eyes, nothing was right, this was a dream, it had to be. Her grip tightened on the teddy she held to close to her heart, she bit her bottom lip roughly, concealing the sobs that she couldn’t let go of. Warriors didn’t cry, they were strong, they were brave, and they just didn’t cry, but how could she not? She lost the last thing she held onto for hope; she lost the people that greeted her so warmly with smiles and cheers of her rare returns. Now she had nothing at all besides the sword attached to her hip and the spirit animals that followed her through battle, though how long did that stuff last?
Alone, that’s how the once bright, bubbly red head felt, ever so slowly turning to stone as her death count increased. It was hard to show happiness after taking the life of someone, knowing someone loved that person to, but it was also hard to show guilt and sadness, knowing that the person made the choice to fight and to die. There was nothing else to feel but nothing, a shallow emptiness that made her feel so cold, the only thing warming her being the thoughts of her friends and guardians that she had now lost. Genitrix began to feel dizzy, her legs beginning to shake as the sadness grew like a fast acting seed. One of her gauntlet covered hands moving from the teddy bear she was clutching and to her side, catching a cracked concrete wall to help with balancing herself. Though instead of standing, she found herself sliding down the wall, her armor crying from the friction as it left a mark, never to be seen by anyone else.
It was weird, despite the emptiness she could feel something in the area, a skill she learned from a close friend. It was almost like expanding your mind, it was all too weird and complex, but so useful and nice, especially now. Hope trickled inside of her as she wondered if it was a survivor. The ginger popped up off the ground, her orbs peering around, looking for any signs of life, but nothing in her line of sight. “Hello!” she called out stupidly with her broken voice, placing the teddy bear against the wall before taking a step forward. She cleared her throat as she placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to draw it just in case. “Hello! Who is here!” she called again, feeling unsure of her bold actions now as a daunting feeling took over the hope inside of her.
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Posted: Mon Oct 08, 2012 6:47 pm
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The short, dark walnut hair of a girl blew in the wind to tickle her neck. A chill shot up the slim figure, causing her to shiver and clutch her dark olive coat closer to her ivory skin. Licking her upper lip, she brought her emerald gaze up to the bright, baby blue, morning sky and sighed. From the confines of her temporary camp within the rubble of an alleyway, she felt caged in this never ending chaos. She could never leave and never avoid the fighting. It seemed to follow her. Relentlessly.
The wall from a nearby building had fallen across the alleyway to create a nice upside-down "V" for her to reside under, but when the rain came the cracked cement and wood allowing her to stare at the sky now did not allow proper protection from the depressing liquid from the sky she so hated in this rubbled wasteland.
The though of this brought on the idea to move to a new camp soon. It had been a while since she had relocated. Surely it was bound to be discovered soon. A bandana fell from her sweatshirt pocket with the flick of her wrist. A pack of marlboro special blends, a small white cardboard box with a red arrow. Another flick of the wrist. An orange lighter fell from the opposite sweatshirt pocket. A butterfly knife, rainbow steel, 5 rivets on each half of the handle.
"Proper ladies shouldn't carry a knife, Terra. Proper women let men protect them." Her aunt's voice haunted her as she stared at the nine inch blade. "A real woman wouldn't be caught dead without one." Terra whispered as she ran her slinder, pale fingers along the ever changing colors of the cold steel. Her aunt had passed, as had her uncle, the man who bought her the blade. The only family she had left before the apoclypse aside from her little brother. Somewhere out there she knew he was still alive. She had been searching for him ever since the apocolypse came and killed her aunt and uncle in a building fire. No the apocolypse wasn't the cause of their death. Radicals were.
A flick of her skilled hands and the flame shot from the small orange lighter, igniting the tobacco stick between her lips. A deep drag in and a hash exhalation of smoke, Terra began gathering what little belongs she carried. The contents of her pockets, previosly strewn upon the broken concrete. The small bag of rations, the twin brass knuckles she carried, silver with "mama" engraved on one, "said" on the other. The hand gun her father hid from her as a child, left to her uncle after his death long ago, now hers through "inheritance" as well. The scratched and marred locket holding the mixed ashes of her aunt and uncle. Together even in death. The small bits of rope and zipties she carried. The large water bottle, and the one change of clothes she owned.
Drawing all of these items into the light blanket she carried, she tied the corners and slung the make shift bag over her small frame. The cane that lay hidden in the shadows of the rubble was the last thing the girl grabbed after standing. She leaned it against her leg as she straightened her torn, tight-fitting jeans, and examined her boots. Tied. She looked down at her exposed bra and frowned, zipping her black sweatshirt up halfway, still leaving her bra exposed but her bellybotton was concealed, hiding the tattoos peaking from her hips and ribs.
One last glance at the sky. It was morning. Perfect time to move. Maybe 9:30ish? Taking another drag of her cigarette she took up her cane and began to walk. The bent cigarette hung from her lips as her slim figure traversed the broken streets. The pale skin of her face was marred by dirt and wounds, concealed by darkness from her black hood. The day was young. She would set up camp in a new location by sundown if all went well.
As the girl walked she leaned on the cane, limping. The dried blood on the torn right pant leg indicated to a wound. The gate of her walk, however, indicated something deeper. Smoke billowed from under her hood as she exhaled the cigarette smoke, her eyes shifting uneasily around the broken streets. Her mind thought of a nice place to rest for the night. An old theatre would be nice. Or an abandoned bar. Mmm. Bar. The thought of alcohol caused her mind to wander. New mission.
She was already beginning to hobble towards what she hoped would be prosperous in way of booze, when a girls voice called out. A low mist began to roll among the streets towards the girl as she spoke. "Who's askin'?" Obviously Terra knew who she was speaking to as she followed her ears with her eyes to see a cute, red haired girl in armor calling to her. The armor made her nervous but Terra had her own make-shift armor under the sleeves of her sweatshirt. She'd be alright. If this girl attacked she'd be met with many a hidden ace.
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Posted: Sun Oct 14, 2012 9:08 pm
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Ṧαʀҝђѻȵ
▂ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ ▇ █☬۞۞۞۞☬█ ▇ ▆ ▅ ▄ ▃ ▂ ▂
Ӎαʟєʋѻʟєȵȶɪα
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♱ Ego et Pater Pater♱ ♱Antecursor De Malevolentia♱
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Lights played gorgeously along a reverberating backdrop. The canopy was vacant of all colors, the vivid white was the all-seen. He had been called for a little serenade of battle. Something that would commence instantaneously. As usual he would bear no weaponry. His Void was screaming listlessly at him. A silent reprieve brought only by his existence in the non-existent. From betwixt the precipitous appearing room he was place between what was the floor and the ceiling. Levitating as it was called, though this was only lead by the simple motive of being in meditation. About his figure weapons floated encircling him in a clockwise three-sixty rotation. Different auras emitted from their facets, different powers, different usages.
Physics seemed to play no part here, everything seemed to be just the will of the individual, doing what you wanted when you wanted. It was the luxurious confines of self-created solitary-confinement. His armor shone brightly, its dark surfaces streaked so perfectly, edges so rounded and smoothed. From his point in the center of the room his legs had separated from their Indian Style setup. Slowly they fell below him, each was together, no separation. From behind a lit screen his eyes screamed at the world. Odd though, he had a feeling the mask would restrict something that was needed. If the restriction became apparent its removal would be instant, no thoughts. A deep amethyst iris shook as his preparations were thought. Alongside the amethyst iris a pearl white shook all the same, staring through the mask into a simplistic world of white.
Wings, iniquitous hues of a deep purple partnered with a bright pink spiraling decadence of colors. Such a glorious trait to uphold, the Angeli Libra were truly blessed, free of mind and free to the wills of their own. Many were wiped away in the Civil War of the council. Though few remain they were those chosen to uphold the cherished rights of Balance. You were to do as need sought you to do. If the Balance swayed fro of the Good you are to commit an evil. The committing would only be chosen by what you see fit to create it. Why Balance though? Why so dark and uncanny? Simplistic, their race was but a trial run of infusing the Angelic Demeanor alongside the Demonic Demeanor. Perfection was sought but a blasphemy was created. You see, with freewill they were enacted upon free-thinking. It's a flaw, though unseen by just being stated as such. No, you see the Angels were supposed to worship the Father with no questioning. These however, tested those boundaries.
As was stated previously Sarkhon was but one of these Angels still in existence. He had always questioned the Lord but never took action to throw him down. What did it matter though? You see, as quickly as they were created they were in power. Thoughts of an Apocalypse to clean an already demolished world were made long before Man's creation. These times were when humanity was a simplistic discussable topic. Yes, the Sound of the Seven Trumpets, the call of the Horsemen, but who allowed them exit unto Humanity? Who was the Council that governed both Heaven and Hell? The Angels of Balance. Sarkhon himself represented the Council long ago but soon left it behind when he had left.
His "leaving" was caused by a Call that he could not ignore. You see, he was under manipulation, under a spell that had controlled even his mind. This was something that tested everything that went beyond all man-made beliefs, it proved that there was power even beyond the Lord himself. Gods of Before, those that governed the explicable thought of the Universe. Deities in a sense, those that had chosen what created what and when it was created. These deities had called forth for Sarkhon, called forth the knowledge he wished to interpret but could not create. His thoughts were for a more conformed balance in the world, something that was beyond a lamentable fathom. The depth of these thoughts sparked from existing far too long. He had always watched Heaven and Hell, watched the quarrels, watched the Christ be crucified. All this, it could have simply been avoided if one thing had been mentioned. That one thing was the Decree. The Decree is a show of who is above and who is below. Not to say that you should boast it like an ego-maniacal maniac but instead prove that you are He who created You. Assert yourself, prove the fallacy in a mocking decision. Sarkhon had no thoughts to completely abolish the Lord himself but to instead make way for something better. A more nostalgic Heaven and Hell. He wished for Demons and Angels alike to live amongst Humanity with no fears of them demolishing the souls of all. But why have them live amongst humanity? The Bible, it struck endless fear into the thoughts of All. Made way for something that was Always there, something that needed to be feared for Power to reign over them.
Think of it in a Greek mythology term. Zeus needed the worshiping of his creations to stay in power. His choice in releasing the Kraken under Hades will was to try and bring forth this worship once more. As we all know though, Hades relied on the Fear that mortals held for the Gods. In doing what Hades had wanted Zeus to do he released his own Power by sheer ignorance. While he weakened in strength Hades grew from it. Our God, the Savior, the Lord, he seeks your Fear and your appraisal for his power. Without Demons he would get no Appraisal, without the Fear of his Wrath he would strike no Hierarchy in himself. It was all needed to keep his creations in check. Sarkhon sought a world where all was bereft of things such as this. He wanted the acknowledgment of all to know of what is there and what is not there. Such a concept seemed so perfect, but as we know, nothing is perfect. There would be times where those that sought a harmonious evil would rise, a wish to topple all of the Balance.
His wish had given a gleaming smile unto all of the Gods. It was upon his whim and their own he would be the Father of a new world, Father of an entirely new retrospective Universe. So be it, he would willingly abide by it. Life had been spawned once more, the thoughts of the Law of Nature only being ripped aside with the Unintelligible knowledge that one being sparked something so Grand. This wold be his world and his only masters were the Gods that blessed him with all of his Might, all of his Glory, and all of his Heralding animosity. Time grew by slowly, his world being created in a millenia of time. From him he spawned two new creations. A deity over Heaven and a deity over Hell. They were Brethren, spawned from him at the same point. Their mindsets all the same but their Dominance all the different. You see, it is opposing mindsets that spark senseless violence, and Sarkhon sought to keep this in check.
We come back once more to the man laying in the white of nothing. We gave you, what we like to give, a brief intro onto who this "Man" really is. Slowly he descended, his feet touching the floor with but a light sound of the metal touching the floor. Yet it was not metal, it was the condensed substance of his own Essence, a near Ethereal boundary giving nothing but a high end flow. Adamant in a sense, it was unyielding and he only wanted it to get better with time. Why the condensing of his Essence? You see, in the past there was only the power that he flown with, a seemingly uncontrollable Essence. Time went by and as he grew to his own knowledge so did his control over himself. You see, each article of armory was made to a condensed form to resist nearly any substance. It was with this intangible substance that he could force each particle of protons together and make way for worse substances. A meta-physical yes, but something that was so immense it was opportune to a physical appearance. Though be it the material touched a Mortal entity all would be but a waste. Bed ridden, hospitalized, it would harm them past the flesh and bones straight to the soul and only in time could it be mended. You see, its flow was pure, volatile if not first cleansed for Mortal bodies to touch. That is where the proton came in, the positive flow. Yet, all at once it held electrons, you see the armor was Ethereal and Nethereal, meaning it was resembling each natural aspect of Life and Death.
The descent complete he watched only in front of him. The way he held himself appeared as if he was waiting for something. No... he knew what he had wanted. His left hand hovered over the cross centered within in his chest. Slowly its light flooded his hand and, with but a snap his arm jutted forward. This quickened snap released the light that once flooded his hand. Slowly it poured out, its formation being of the same cross only larger. Ten feet high by five feet wide. Chains shackled each intricate formation in the Cross' body. Slowly the extended arm was tensed, this tension derived from the mediocre clench in his fist. With fist clenched the chains rattled lightly as they became strained against one another. They were tightened, their anchor being prepared to relinquish them as soon as he wished. A bend in his elbow heading backwards, the chains were pulled just as his arm was. It was now held to his side, the palm being upward of the sky. A slight rotation in his wrist, the palm was down now, one more snap backwards. A thunderous crash echoed seemingly to no end. The bindings were set free. Before him a door opened, the image of where he was heading next set in motion.
A few steps was all it took before he was looking down from the Troposphere. All below him was turned to ashes and dust. Destroying a simplistic building would not harm this place at all, he only sought to give presence to himself. OH HO! WHAT HAVE WE HERE? Is that a....SKYSCRAPER?! Indeed, it was a skyscraper, the perfect thing to be destroyed in the wake of his entrance. He was bent at an awkward angle, his back seeming to almost force his face to touch the Door's surface he had created. His weight was off center, his foot slipped beneath him... he had began to fall. Time seemed to stand still as he made his way downwards, the air seeming to buffet his body with each passing notion. He was tumbling to and fro, cartwheels, backflips, frontflips, MY LORD THE MAN WAS FLIPPING OUT. Though he was in complete disarray he was content and held no issue with this. A connection, he sought it within the concrete structure of the building. The particles, he had spotted them, forced them to separate from their condensed state but not quick enough until he crashed into a substance that resembled hardened clay. A boom, the roof had caved in. Each floor, he crashed, his wings making the destruction all the better. Each beam he had passed, what was once metal, iron possibly, was being bent unwillingly.
It was estimated the building was about fifty stories in height. FIFTY, and he had only crashed through two so far. Maybe this idea was not well thought out, then again he had his second thoughts but it was too late now. Another crash, office chairs were flying everywhere, shrapnel of the stone and metal that made the building just flew about unto the streets below. "Ow..", the sarcastic noise of a man who technically felt no pain. "Ow...", yet again he was being sarcastic, the building began shaking violently. By now he had made his way through nearly twenty stories and still had more to descend. You would think after falling so much it would have been noticeable, well it was. The pieces thrown around by the building had already slammed into the others. With a domino effect each individual building around the block was being toppled, cars left behind to rust and turn to dust were being crushed. Lifeless corpses were tossed like rag dolls upon the broken remains of the street.
Twenty more stories, yes, he had been counting this entire time, he was almost ready to land. Yet, the building was already falling to pieces before him. "Ten....Ow. Nine....OW. Eight....OW OW. Seven, six, five, four, OW, three, two, OW, one. Ding you have now reached yo-", another thunderous clap as his body landed flat against the concrete of the ground. Now he was looking up, his body bracing for what would have been an immediate destruction. Before him now invisible waves of energy were being spouted, the likes of which were being pinged to the very atomic particles that comprised the entirety of the elemental structure. It was a tremendous wall around him that would soon be thrown off to the side towards some....girls? What in the bloody ******** tea loving hell were they doing here? Oh well, a little too late to care. He watched as each piece of rubble was thrown to and fro of them. Surely somewhere along the lines they would provide a decent mechanism of defense.
He was hellbent and broken a tad by the fall but his body healed itself within the moments he slowly began lifting himself from the fall. With one quick motion his arms extended, the simplistic nanofibers of his suit stretched outwards to conform with his form. With one notion all the soot, all the dust, all the blood, gone. He was once more cleansed of all the filth he had "accidentally" landed upon. Now, not be a mere forty feet diagonal of Malbolge; Sarkhon stood only hearing him talk like a whisper amidst all the calamity he had ensued of his own accord. A warning was given to the women who stood adjacent of them all. Maybe it would be more of a warning by coincidentally throwing a ******** ton of earth at them. Be it man-made or not it would hurt like a ********. A slow walk, the wide wings tucked behind his presence so haplessly to show they were under complete control. The winds, so toxic by the fumes of now unstable power plants blew his hair back, the deep indigo strands billowing like grass amongst a luxurious plain.
We have said the mask had a screen, but we never rightly described it. The mask itself takes after an early predated model known as electroencephalograph or better known as EEG. EEG is a type of scientific integration system that deals with the electromagnetic radiance that a neuron gives off. A software known as Semiautonomous Enhanced Combat Ops: Neuro-integration Delivery AI or for sake of typing, SECOND was placed in the mask. Being attached to the visual cortex allows his sight to be placed against the mask itself, allowing him to seemingly peer through it. Now, what powers this is himself. Being powered by a parasitic nano-energy and an electrolytic microstack allows the suit to pull from the user itself, drawing forth from the strength he emits. . It can also take over the operator's purely autonomic and regulatory functions in the event of somatic damage. One of the Praeterien's most innovative features, however, is it's ability to not only monitor the physical and neurological state of the bearer, but to actually optimize them. SECOND continuously regulates dopamine, lactic acid, and corticosteroid levels, anticipates and counteracts debilitating stress and fatigue reactions. By the integration this mask has it also gives off using himself as a kind of zone sending off the metal it is created by. What does this exactly mean?
You see, the metal this mask consists of is not just anything regular or haphazard, it is a combination of two prevalent metals. One being Netharanium, a psycho-sensitive metal that induces the natural inhibitions of nearly any object. Its traits also give it a higher resistant to heat and freeze breaking by means of an intangible cross wiring of microscopic scale-like patterns that, as stretched or condensed together simply mesh as one or spread evenly like a massive chain-link. The second metal, that if not activated affects only the one in contact with it. Supprimere, a metal known as a Resonance suppressant. By emitting a harsh wavelength that in turn pushes back the pull from a Resonance stream the affected is forced into a weaker state making themselves pull with more and more strain. The latter is also said for the wearer. This mask, unlike others views on many channels, the types being a variation of over six thousand viewpoints. The substances could be barometric, acoustic, or even energy itself. The metal itself, when integrated allows the user mere thought control over what the mask does next. It relies on the proverbial Master for command prompts and allows from them read what the possibility is in the substance they are fighting.
Stout, stout was the figure of this man. His height rivaled Malbolge's by a mere three inches, but it was just enough to show the real difference in the two. Body, he was built, a slight medium athletic build, nothing but muscle, considering how he was this was preferable to how he fought and how he carried himself. His voice, as he was talking in previously mentioned scenery it was a deep resonance, but not too deep. Imagine Morgan Freeman, only white and with a tad bit of a higher pitch. Yea....Morgan Freeman, the man could say he killed your family and you were next and you would not care, his voice was that soothing. Now, his hands gripped nothing, nothing but the faint polluted air that an uncontrolled humanity could leave behind. What had he brought with him? Oh yes, atmoskinesis, the simple manipulation of that which was natural in disaster in life alike. Oh, is it that predictable? Another balance description this has became. You see in fire's wake it creates destruction, but after subsiding the lands it had ravaged become more fertile, they progress further and give way to better plant growth and allow for a more nurturing environment towards wildlife. Water, its role is almost all the same. Air, it gives us what we need to breath but also carries that which could ultimately kill us. Earth, it is the force that gives us something to walk upon, its structure is always in motion, a constant strain between the tectonic plates that can spiral out of control instantly.
By rapid oxidation in the exothermic process (a.k.a combustion) one may release heat, light and other various responses that in turn ignite what we call; Fire. To dumb it down just a little fire is a rapidly successive excitement of atoms within a substance. Simply put by constantly exciting the atoms surrounding the area one is allowed to create fire due to an extreme surpassing in the flash point. If one were to constantly excite these atoms further the atomic structure would immediately reach a new substance much hotter than the aforementioned. This substance is known as plasma, essentially the fifth element. In this form it instantaneously creates its own form of particles known as photons. If we think deeper plasma is what is consisted of solar flares and a big part in lightning. Now, I mentioned lightning. Why? You see, each element has its variation, the only one alone being air itself.
Water, H2o, the combination being one of the most well known in history. The combination of two Hydrogen molecule to one oxygen molecules. A vital key in water's infinite resource is hydrological cycle of evaporation and transpiration, condensation, precipitation, and runoff. Evaporation and transpiration lead to the on land precipitation that keeps wildlife nurtured, that gives plants the vital nutrients they desire. When these molecules are slowed down to a more stable motion they begin to allow their combinations to freeze, forming a cryogenic manipulation. What is cryogenic? It is another scientific term for freezing, or in lament terms, ice. By manipulating the original H2o molecules one may create their own water from nothing or manipulate already existent water.
Air, a consistency of multiple elements 78.09% nitrogen, 20.95% oxygen, 0.93% argon, 0.039% carbon dioxide, and small amounts of other unimportant gases. This being taken into account one could immediately create increased desirable effects to infect a mortal, or at higher levels an even higher being. Why does it have no true alternate form? Simple, this form does not change into any other substance in the slightest. The user may encompass all of what is around them, manipulating everything they need. The user may warp and bend this air to perform the needed assessments. These assessments can be majorly increasing the pressure of the air, making it easier to draw air from the body of a foe by impact or simply bloating them with too much air.
Earth, an intrepid foundation of many minerals, formations of many different things. There is a plethora of many different means, means that exist to solely reconcile. What is the variant of Earth? The lava, the melted down core of pressurized Earth and various minerals. From it the user is allowed to manipulate its very aspect, turn it against everyone. Users, by integrating their own self with the earth may, by synchronization, feel the earth itself move. More attuned users feel even the slightest twinge within the Earth. Vibrations big or small may be felt, regardless of all around. This allows for greater maneuverability in the thick of combat as well as a means of quick countering.
Alongside Malbolge he stood, his stance being that of poignant unawareness. He was watching the two girls, had no knowledge of their reaction to the rubble still making haste to them. With but a simple nod to the man of Praetorium he looked around curiously as to what he had gotten into. A mess, the river that tore through the city was filthy, grime, disease, festering menaces to everyone and everything. Dead fish, decayed or dying, floated amongst the volatile surface. Among all was the smog surrounding the field of what could possibly be battle. Disgusting, putrid, it held a thick air, something he was glad he had not to breathe. A stance was taken ever so carelessly among his form. His legs began to seemingly wobble of their own free will and the body itself seemed to slump backwards at a slight degree. His preps were made, the Wushu art known as the Drunken Style was activated, his form now being a sauntering nostalgia to what was once a slightly menacing man. Now he lay in wait, watching for what would happen next. Be it apologies or be it rage, it mattered not.
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♱I play with Malice.♱
♱ I am He who made the Big Bang go "Bang".♱
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