When Abzu channels his magic by playing his saxophone, targets in an 10 ft radius will suddenly feel far more generous than they had before. If they had stolen something, including energy or a starseed, they may feel more inclined to give it back. After all, they should be more generous, and that person likely needs it more than they do! It is possible to fight this sensation off with a strong enough will, though this may just result in them being inclined to give something else less important instead. He can channel this magic for a total of 30 seconds.
cw: unaliving references Perhaps fortunately for Abzu, Ibirapitá got distracted from his determination to kick Abzu by the sudden roaring. Perhaps unfortunately for Abzu, the roar banged around between his ears, twisting his brain enough that he swore he already saw the aura in his eyes. He groaned, bending over and pressing his fingers to his temples.
Being an obviously queer man in the stuck-up rich circles his family claimed and still claimed had been a lonelier existence when he was younger, and that was something that did feel familiar. He had made sure to find himself in the groups where he did feel like he belonged. He was literally in an orchestra. He was a jazz guy! He dove into holding parties and getting good at it. Abzu was obnoxiously outgoing to some degree, and it was hard not to keep people around him when he was.
Perhaps, that made it easier for the emotional pain to be overridden by the literal head pain.
Ibirapitá was too distracted by his own emotional pain to keep pursuing Abzu, staring ahead at the monster in front of him. Even as Abzu clawed himself up and summoned his generosity magic as an attempt to maybe get this monster to chill out, Ibirapitá did not look anywhere else.
He was alone, and he knew it.
That was why he had no real interest in going back. What would he do, see his planet continuing to eat what was left? What could he do, listen to the same recordings of his husband's voice and dream of hearing it again? What should he do, drink another bottle, tear apart another rotted fungus, walk through another destroyed abode, scream into the sky that wouldn't listen, talk to the sea that threatened to eat what was left of the world alive?
... Most importantly, why should he care?
His world couldn't even let him die with dignity. Even without dignity, at this point, he wouldn't care. The sea wouldn't swallow him. The drinks wouldn't drown him. The delirium wouldn't take him.
It was a thin laugh that made it out of his lips.
He couldn't care.
How could he care, when there was nothing to care about remaining?
Abzu glanced over his shoulder to Ibirapitá, concern knitting his brow.
Encke was relieved when his magic actually seemed to help Ran.
If only he had magic earlier.
If only he had magic when he could have helped prevent more loss.
Maybe if he had been able to get to the people he couldn't find anymore. Maybe he would have been able to save Sailor Sedna, wherever she ended up. Maybe he could have saved Sailor Leo, Grayson, wherever he had gone. Or perhaps they had abandoned him on purpose?
He had just needed to be given a sedative. He was deeply off-balance. Why did anyone want him around at all? Encke knew that his brain was feeding him lies as much as it was hard to bury those lies with the roaring and the chaos around him. It felt like he was moving slowly while everyone else was moving quickly. They were all acting, and he wasn't.
A giggle escaped his lips. Perhaps it was like he was in a movie. The people around him blurred because the cinematography was focused on just him.
Encke watched, distantly, as Ran pulled himself up and managed to get himself to throw magic at the chrysocyon. Basiluzzo had done the same. So many others had done the same.
Why was he just standing there giggling? Was it the medicine? It might have been. Sedatives had weird effects.
... He needed to help. These were the people he had now. Even if he had lost everyone, these were the people he had now. This was how he helped one of their worlds get saved.
Everything felt so loose, but he knew where his magic was.
It wasn't hard to point to the chrysocyon to summon the effects.
Amasis
Seiana_ZI
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Guine rolled 2 6-sided dice:
5, 1Total: 6 (2-12)
Guine
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Lonely Explorer
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Posted: Sat May 11, 2024 6:41 am
Reims, Squire of Ganymede HP: (60 - 11) 49 Damage: (Direct 10 + 2d6) 16 Action: With Dering and Lisse. Calling over to Amarynthos. Attacking.
Reims’ eyes narrowed slightly at the way Lisse looked as though he wanted to say something. Like he was going to argue with him, or maybe make an excuse for freaking out the way he did.
He knew he was probably being too harsh, but he couldn’t help it. They were all in a strange situation and this guy he’d never met before was running out of nowhere and shoving crackers at Dering like he was a toddler. And then offering to get food for everyone. Must be nice to have money.
Must be nice to have friends.
Must be nice to be wanted.
He could hear the comments being made. The gasps of disbelief. The suggestions about bleaching his hair -- but what about his eyes? Contacts for babies? Maybe bleach them, too. Adoption? The father didn’t want him, didn’t even want to meet him, but would pay child support. It was his fault the family was torn apart. If only he’d been born with blond hair. If only he’d had blue eyes like his brother. It was his fault, but as long as he was around, might as well make the most of it. A private school meant more money provided. His mother just wanted him to have a good life as long as he was under her roof. So what if he never got to go with his brother on trips. It wasn’t like his brother’s dad had any obligation to him. So what if he had to fend for himself. So what if no one liked him. Was he even worth keeping around? Not after he was an adult. What then? Maybe he should just end his misery and--
Reims blinked. Something snapped him out of the train of thought. A howl maybe? Crying?
As the weight of everything came crashing down around him, Reims snarled.
“It’s magic,” he repeated through gritted teeth, making sure Dering was holding onto his lute before releasing it.
The giant wolf was the problem. He knew it.
“We need to take it down. Mary!” Reims looked around and called over to his teammate. It looked like he was comforting Ephesus. That was fine and all, but the sooner they took out the Chaos, the faster everything would get back to normal. He hoped.
“Get anyone around you to focus and attack it. It’s the only way to stop this for good,” he called to him, his hand lowering to hold onto Dering’s upper arm, as though trying to make sure his friend would stay standing.
For just a moment, he dropped his sword and turned to Dering to take him by his shoulders and force him to at least face him.
“It’s magic. Whatever you’re feeling -- it’s the Chaos trying to hurt you.”
He couldn’t say it wasn’t real. It was magic drawing those feelings to the surface, but everything he felt was real. And he could only imagine it being the same for Dering. For Lisse. For Yvoire and Rose and the others--
“We’re going to stop it, okay? All of us,” he said with a glance over to Lisse as well, silently daring him to give up and run away.
Reims then leaned down to pick up his sword -- but it wasn’t there. He blinked and looked up to see it floating almost exactly where he’d released it.
He stared at it strangely for just a moment, before grabbing the handle and charging forward with his boosted strength to attack the wolf once more. If Dering was too shaken up to fight it, he hoped keeping it at bay was enough.
Quote:
When Reims channels his magic, the lust for battle courses through him and his strength is increased, allowing him to hit twice as hard as he normally would. Every time his weapon makes contact, there is an extravagant burst of colorful light from his weapon, as if catching and shattering light even without a light source. This can be distracting but does not cause additional damage. His magic pool lasts for 30 seconds.
Hp: 75 - 15 - 11 = 49 Action: Direct Damage to the main, effected by dance magic +4 Damage: (Rolling) 2d6 + 10 = 23
Vela nodded back in answer to the acknowledgment of her thanks and she rolled her eyes "Yup zombies, it is always something weird in this universe we live in isn't it. She felt the wave of loneliness that hit her. It was a heart-wrenching feeling. Vela decided to ignore the smaller zombie creatures and focus on the large one. This battle wasn't an easy one. She was dancing to the magic of the other senhi and she was raining burning embers down on her target. Soon though she would have to switch up her attacks to kicking or her fist since she was going to run out of super senshi magic soon enough.
Rose, Page of Lysithea HP: (50-15-10+13healing-11) 27 Damage: 7 Action: Getting healed by Botein. Feeling a bit like she doesn’t belong. Attacking the large chrysocyon.
It seemed battles like this were a test in avoiding friendly fire as much as they were an opportunity to defeat Chaos. Rose backed away as the smaller wolves were vanquished, well aware of her own limitations.
Doubt grew in her with every passing moment. Should she have stayed behind? Would her presence there end up doing more harm than good? If only she had more power…
She couldn’t worry about that now. Distraction might be fatal. She couldn’t change the fact that she was here. She had to do what she could. Everything she could.
When an ethereal amulet appeared around her neck, Rose was momentarily concerned that she’d dropped her guard, but then her aches faded away and the few scratches she’d acquired sealed back up.
“Thank you,” she breathed, offering a grateful smile to the Senshi who’d cast it (Botein).
Then the great chrysocyon roared again. Rose glanced around wildly, half expecting more of the smaller ones to creep up on them, but nothing seemed to happen except that a deepening sense of dread came over her. She felt, for a moment, as if she were all alone—a helpless Page among her stronger and more experienced allies. She wasn’t needed. Perhaps she wasn’t even wanted. Her doubts became heavy, unavoidable. Where had her friends gone? Were they hurt?
She looked around. The Senshi who’d healed her was still nearby. There were countless people fighting. They’d all come here to help Fang, to save his world. How many of them even knew him? Rose didn’t. But she’d wanted to help. She couldn’t hear about someone in need and not try her best.
Rose shook herself out of it. She reached down for something else to throw—a rock or a piece of debris—and lobbed it as hard as she could at the great chrysocyon.
Cynthus, Squire of the Moon HP: (75-15-10-11) 39 Damage: 9 Action: Getting angry about feeling lonely. Attacking the big chrysocyon.
“I wish I had fun magic,” Cynthus sighed—mostly to herself, but there were tons of other people around so she knew she’d probably be overheard and didn’t care in the least. There weren’t three of the same Senshi anymore, in any case. And the smaller chrysocyon had all been defeated.
The big one wasn’t happy.
Not that the big one had been all that happy to begin with.
Cynthus wasn’t happy either. She felt… sort of useless. Which was bullshit, honestly. She was definitely doing things. There were other people here way more useless than her. The boomers should seriously retire. Ugh, they were so lame. She hoped to God she didn’t end up like them. Not that she really believed in God. That wasn’t the point. What was the point? Why was she suddenly so bummed out? She sort of wished she were at home curled up in bed, but also… she really needed her friends. Even dealing with Reims would be better than being all alone.
But she wasn’t all alone. There were other people literally right there. Bright Stripes (Parsifal). Grandma Frills (Murikabushi). Some other Senshi she didn’t know (Elsa). How did she get stuck around a bunch of Senshi? God, this was such a mess. Why did she bother coming at all? Maybe she was stupid. Maybe mom had been on to something when she’d left.
No, Cynthus was not going to think about mom right now. She was a b***h and she’d hurt Dad and she didn’t deserve to make Cynthus feel any sort of way about anything except angry.
Cynthus was angry.
She probably could have done something a bit more useful, like use her magic to heal someone, but what she really wanted to do was beat the undead s**t out of the big chrysocyon, who wasn’t a cute pupper at all if it was making her think about mom at a time like this. She ran at it and struck with her crook again, nearly colliding with a familiar Squire in the process.
Yvoire, Squire of Ganymede HP: (75-15-10-11) 39 Damage: (10 + 2d6 [5+2]) 17 Action: Attacking the big chrysocyon, then being lonely and sad.
Once the smaller wolves were dealt with, Yvoire turned to use the last of his magic on the giant one. A stream of molten gold hit its rotting flesh, then puttered out, leaving Yvoire with nothing but a parasol to defend himself.
His surroundings seemed to fade away. He heard the great roar, and various voices, but it was all muffled. He saw figures in his periphery—silvery wings and glittering diamonds, brown leather and golden armor, an eagle soaring overhead, but they may as well have been miles away.
He thought of Daddy alone in the woods, a shadowy figure reaching into his chest, stealing his soul, and leaving him for dead. He remembered sitting at Daddy’s bedside, begging him to wake up, crying himself to sleep at night as hope dwindled and reality set in. He remembered standing next to Dad at the funeral, accepting hugs he didn’t want, nodding along to the condolences as if they meant anything. He hated the quiet voices. He hated the pity in their eyes. He hated whoever had taken Daddy away.
Yvoire was drowning. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t avoid the great wave of misery that washed over him. Grief was suffocating. Loneliness was like a weight against his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs, crushing his heart.
Daddy had died alone. Maybe he’d died fighting and the only reason Énna had any sort of power was because someone had to take on the name of Yvoire after him. Maybe Yvoire would follow him into oblivion. Maybe none of it mattered. It hadn’t been worth Daddy’s life. Yvoire would trade all of it just for the chance to have him back.
Sailor Alastor, Eternal Senshi of Despair HP: 44/100 Action: Attacking the giant chrysocyon; still holding Lucien and staying near Sessrumnir Damage: (Direct Damage ; 10 + 3d6) = 17
Alastor was breathless. It wasn’t that he forgot how to breathe exactly, not so much so that he couldn’t. It was as if his lungs had seized up, like his blood had frozen, like his heart had grown thorns. He felt needles in every sluggish pump it made.
The mind was a powerful tool, and he’d been foiled by his own before. Grief turned to desperation, desperation turned to deception.
After he’d lost Percy, after he lost Atrius and Virgil and Dr. Eld, Lucien, after Marius–
There had been a hole in his heart that never really filled. No matter how much grief he poured into it, no matter how much time passed. It never healed.
Alastor was lonely. A part of him had died but the rest had gone on. There was no healing, no coming back from that. He’d made do with what he could, for days. Years. Centuries.
The burden of time was relentless, and the only solace he’d found had been in the lies he told himself with such fervor that he finally had no choice but to believe in them. He hadn’t made friends after that. How could he? Who cared to shoulder that burden when their world was closed off and dying? How could he be open with anyone when he walked a world that blamed him for its downfall as much as they did for every other thing?
He’d tried. He’d spent his whole life trying. He’d wound up on an empty world, alone, with his lies.
Sometimes, he wondered if this was a lie. Another fairy tale he told himself to make it through the day. Sometimes he had a dream, a nightmare, full of loneliness and despair, and sometimes that felt right. He’d spent most of his life alone, anyway.
It felt right, even if it wasn’t what he wanted for himself or anyone else.
The loneliness he felt now was not unfamiliar but it was crushing. His body moved but his mind felt stuck.
There were brief flashes, of single, acute seconds of loneliness so sharp in his mind that he felt each one like a spear. What if he lost them again? What if, one day, Michael fell before him? What if Atticus was hurt too much to save? What if Lucien didn’t wake up?
What if he was all alone again?
Alastor’s long life was a blessing and a curse. He could get more done–he could do more than anyone ever had for his world–but alone? Was it punishment for doing too little? Was there not enough blood on his hands? Or too much?
He felt cold. He felt sluggish. Lucien felt heavy in his arms but he held him closer, anyway. Lucien was safer in his arms, Alastor wasn’t going to lose him. Even if Lucien couldn’t remember much of anything prior to waking up from stasis, Alastor did. And it hurt to have those memories, to have a lifetime–lifetimes–to carry, and no one understood.
They listened, but it wasn’t like Alastor talked about the burden of lifetimes. He was alive and he had a job to do, how could he dwell on the toll it had taken on him? He could just file whole years away in the back of his mind, and sometimes he could trick himself into thinking they didn’t exist. One less weight on an already heavy heart.
It was lonely, to carry the legacy of an entire world in your mind. And maybe, maybe, there were others on Alastor–alive, that he just hadn’t found yet. Every day he told himself he couldn’t give up hope, just as he had every day since he first awakened as a Senshi. Some days were worse than others. This was the worst it had been in a long time.
Alastor knew, even if he didn’t want to admit it, that he was probably the last Alastorian in existence. There would be no others, then. No one born to that world, no one to know how beautiful and strong it was. No one to see the mistakes and learn from them, no one to dream of the possibilities, no one to sing their songs and tell their stories, no one–
‘I’m here, Devyn.’
Oh, Michael. Right next to him. And he could see Ephesus, even if he couldn’t quite reach him. And Lucien, who cared so much to protect him that he’d gotten himself hurt. Lucien should know how durable Devyn was, he should know–no, how could he. He’d forgotten so much.
But he was here.
And Michael was here. And Atticus was here.
And Devyn was here.
With them.
Alone in some ways, but not in others.
He’d carried the burden of loneliness before but his experience brought him little comfort. He could manage this. What was there to do in such times except manage? You had to push forward. You couldn’t give up. You had to fight.
But, he was always fighting something.
For the first time, he felt Sessrumnir’s hand on his shoulder, and it brought some comfort in the haze of despair.
‘I’m here, too.’ Distant, maybe. Struggling under the weight of memories and emotions that he didn’t want. But Sessrumnir wasn’t alone, and neither was he.
He didn’t put Lucien down. Solemn-faced and stoic, Alastor buried the emotions that he could. They were impractical and useless here, unless he needed further inspiration to lash out at the one responsible. He didn’t.
These emotions weren’t his own, but that meant everyone else was probably suffering under their own barrage of unwanted, unearned anguish.
“Don’t apologize.” Lucien had nothing to apologize for. He’d been brave, he should be proud of himself. “You’ll stay in my arms.”
He had magic. He didn’t need his arms. Only briefly did he move, so he could squeeze Sessrumnir’s arm. They were connected in their mind, and that was better than anything else he could offer.
The faster they got rid of the chrysocyon, the faster things could go back to normal. The faster they could deal with whatever this was.
He channeled the loneliness, the emptiness, the despair, into his magic.
Quote:
Eternal Sailor Attack: End of all Hope
Alastor speaks the name of his attack and every enemy nearby will feel an absolute hopelessness; pure despair will override nearly all emotion and thoughts and it is nearly impossible to focus on anything beyond the overwhelming misery. The air feels thick with gloom and melancholy and seems impossibly heavy, like it is crushing everyone within radius. Targets may feel as if there is suddenly an unbeatable obstacle they have no chance to overcome. Targets may become acutely aware of the hardships and loss in their life. The magic can make someone feel physically exhausted and can be disorienting and emotionally draining; as the despair sets in they may feel like the crushing weight of it all is bruising them or making it hard to breathe but all sensations end when out of radius or when the magic fades unless players choose otherwise. The magic has one use and lasts for 45 seconds. It affects all enemies within a fifteen foot radius of Alastor and the magic will follow him if he moves, but the effects end if the character moves out of radius.
Ephesus, Knight of the Moon HP: (85 - 11) = 74 Damage: (Direct Damage 10 + 3d6) 24 Action: With Amarynthos. Heard Reims and is using his summon to attack.
Ephesus was so close to Amarynthos that he could feel his heartbeat. He could feel his warmth, could hear his gentle but confident whispers of encouragement.
He was trying. He knew Amarynthos was right. Whatever this was, it would pass. He just wished it passed quickly. There was such a heaviness in his heart that he had to hold tightly to Amarynthos so he wouldn’t collapse under the weight of it.
He knew he could be better, stronger. He wished he could act on that strength.
Amarynthos was so close to him and he knew he wasn’t alone. But he could still remember all of the miserable days he’d spent not knowing what he was going to do. The nights of trying to figure out what to eat, of hiding under the bleachers to watch the baseball team play and hope that someone would drop their food under their seat, of hiding in the locker room early in the mornings to try and use the hand soap to wash his hair, of hoping no one would come near him and make fun of him for his appearance or notice that he was filthy.
And nothing could have been done about it. Not when the person who was supposed to be taking care of him was a cop. Not when they refused to accept him for who he was, and instead tried to change every bit of him.
What if, one day, Amarynthos fell in love with someone else? What if he decided that even if they were neighbors on the Moon, he would rather spend his life with someone who hadn’t awkwardly followed him around from the shadows for years before he knew he existed? What if something happened to Amarynthos, and Ephesus’ magic wasn’t strong enough? What if something happened to their friends and their parents? Another youma attack? Another explosion?
He could hear someone calling Mary’s name, and he forced himself to lift his head from Amarynthos’ shoulder. He wiped the tears away as he tried to see. Reims was calling for them to focus. The big chrysocyon…
Ephesus feared that he was being too clingy. He didn’t want to burden Amarynthos, even though he knew Amarynthos had never felt that way about him before.
He could help. He could do more than just cry.
Reaching down to his side, he took hold of the bauble of water. Even if he couldn’t physically bring himself to do anything, he had his summon. She appeared before them, her head low and tail swishing. She didn’t seem eager to leave his side, but seemed to understand what was needed.
The tiger lunged at the chrysocyon, right beside where Reims and Cynthus were attacking it, and took a swipe with its powerful claws.
Quote:
Summon: A golden tiger that shimmers with moonlight. When summoned, it will slash or bite with terrifying ferociousness. Players can choose for their characters to avoid damage, take temporary, or lasting damage at their discretion. Its roar drains hope from opponents for the duration of the channeled magic, with lasting effects up to the player. This tiger is a powerful protector and will do whatever necessary to guard its Knight and allies.
The loss of the smaller chrysocyon was met with another loud roar.
Ganymede stumbled, thrown off balance in only one shoe. The other fell from her hand and shattered at her feet.
Suddenly she was seventeen again, watching a cat scamper away into the darkness, bearing magic she didn’t want while the dust of a youma collected at her feet.
She fell into dreams: a field, beds of lava, ice coated islands, a temple. A hand reached into her chest for the first time, searching, grasping, and she felt death coming, knew that it was close…
She was eighteen and alone, waiting in a room that was too quiet and too empty, in a building that was too clean. She sat in an uncomfortable chair staring at the doors behind which her father had been taken. Then she paced back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, from one corner to the next, her heart pounding, nerves fraying the longer it took for anyone to come talk to her.
We’re going to die like this, Christopher, she’d said later. We’re going to die like this, because today… today was supposed to help him, it was supposed to make things better for a while, but it killed him anyway. And nothing we do is like that. It doesn’t help. It just keeps going on and on and on, and we keep fighting and losing and fighting and winning and fighting and nothing changes, and if something that was supposed to help him killed him, then how long do we really have if nothing we do helps anything?
Twelve years, and the war still went on and on and on.
Then she was twenty-five—in a grand, luxurious room that wasn’t hers, at least not until painstaking effort made it so. She wasn’t Paris; she was Liesel, sitting alone before the fire, touching his thumb to the fresh scar on the opposite palm, yearning, always yearning, desperate for all the things he couldn’t have, wishing for freedom and feeling guilty for it, nothing more than a puppet to those who would never care for him.
My life and my loyalty I’ve pledged to Jupiter and Valhalla, Serge had said. But everything else I pledge to you.
Again, her memories took her elsewhere. She was older than Liesel but younger than herself, struggling to survive in a world that existed only in her memory. She walked along the edge of a forest and knew she was walking toward her death. She found them there—the man from Elysian and the girl who wasn’t Rhiannon.
Have you any fight left in you? the girl had asked.
A hand sank into her chest. The explosion that followed was blinding. When the light cleared, all that remained were a pair of lifeless bodies and crystalline dust that drifted along the warm breeze. The shards of a shattered starseed settled into the Earth, where they twinkled like stars.
Then she was twenty up in the ruins of the Moon. The ghost of a long dead Queen stood before her, a beacon of pure light. Ganymede hated her. She hated the war, and all the stupid stories about its origins. She hated how it had consumed her life. She hated the silence and the pain, the knowledge that the war would likely outlive her, that she too might become nothing more than ghost and memory as Chaos spread from star to star, enveloping everything in its path.
She was twenty still, and kept in a cage like a pet—a bird with its wings clipped, though hers hadn’t been great yet. They came to her with poison and lies, with pain and torment, sticking their hands into her chest only to be forced away by a power she didn’t understand.
On your knees, one said, and burned her own mark into her shoulder.
She saw faces—Valhalla, pale and worn, bleeding from a cut along his brow; a young boy with dark curls taunting her with a symbol of Jupiter; many whose names she didn’t know. They came and went, bringing the stink of blood and death with them.
They brought her a starseed and gave her a choice. Ganymede lifted her shaking hands and cupped them in front of her, glowing palms ready to accept her next meal.
Then she was twenty-one, alone in a cemetery with blood dripping down her back, staining the silver-white wings that were new. Valhalla lay before her, half consumed by Chaos, gazing up at her with hazy, unfocused eyes as his armor disappeared, taking his strength and his magic and everything that made him hers.
I’ll fix everything, she said—breathless, desperate. Come back to me.
She was twenty-two in the middle of a battlefield, not alone but still solitary somehow, one bright light forced to bear the weight of their survival, either because others looked to her for it or because she took it upon her own shoulders. A scythe swung out, cutting down two or three at a time, soaking the ground with blood and gore. Ganymede knew this was how she would die. Perhaps Laurelite herself would do it, not even a Queen then but fearsome still. They were no match for her. Ganymede feared they never would be.
Then she was twenty-seven facing the combined might of a Queen and her Sovereigns. Every gain they made was met by three more losses. Something rolled to a stop at her feet—a head of bright hair, and pale eyes in which the light of life had already gone.
She was twenty-eight, and Empyrean was dead. She was caught between two Generals. Her wings were cut from her back, her gown stained red from her own blood. She heard voices calling to her, saw Valhalla, Sessrumnir, and Cybele, but she couldn’t reach them. She fell into darkness, and when she awoke she was there again—Laurelite’s prize, Jet’s path to Sovereignty.
You have suffered enough this night.
But those words weren’t meant for her.
Then she was thirty-four, or Liesel was—on his knees in the blood soaked earth, Serge a heavy weight in his arms. Liesel tipped his head and stared up through the clouds and the rain, the gleam of a blade approaching in his periphery. He couldn’t see Ganymede through the storm, but he felt it there.
Paris always felt it, too: the great heartbeat of her world in sync with her own.
Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump…
Ganymede came back to herself with a gasp—in the middle of another battlefield, with her allies struggling but still pushing onward, the roar of a great wolf echoing in her ears. Her gaze flicked around, from Valhalla to Yvoire, through the rush and swell of bodies, all the moving parts of an endless war. Cybele and Ida. Lysithea. Varuna. Alastor. Sessrumnir. Fang. So many whose names she didn’t know, but who fought for the hope that one day Chaos would no longer have any power here, or anywhere.
Ganymede could fight through loneliness and dread.
It was what she’d always done.
She mustered up her strength and sent her magic forth.
Burn, she thought.
Burn the Chaos away.
Guine
Valhalla
Quote:
Eternal Sailor Attack:Searing Passion The enemy's focus temporarily narrows upon a single, abstract desire that manifests itself in a physical sensation, a heating of the body that grows progressively stronger throughout the duration of the attack, until the target feels as if they are burning up from the inside. They're likely to feel weak and disoriented once the attack has burned itself out.
The attack itself reaches its peak after about 45 seconds, and can only be used on a single enemy within a twenty foot radius. While it could be used twice if absolutely necessary, it is physically draining on Ganymede and would commonly only be used once during battle.
Skoll, Super Senshi of the Pack HP: 39 / 75 Basic (3/3 uses): 2d4 Super (1/2 uses): 3d4 Physical Damage: 10 + 10 (Ellicott buff!) = 20 Skoll Action: Full GROWLING SHOOT STYLE
Her arm throbbed as she tested her ability to keep a fist. Barely. Damnit. The rib bone must have caught the tendons. Ugh, she was gunna be out of work at least for a few days because of this and her apparent need to punch through one of the creatures.
Hati was gunna have words.
The zombie canine roared again and she gritted her teeth as it reverberated in her arm. Loneliness sank into her bones and she started to growl in her throat.
Loneliness was an odd thing to Skoll. Her entire life had been her and Hati, against the world. She was all claws and teeth and anger to his even words and patience and compassion. He tended the wounds that she got fighting for what she thought was right.
Would that she hadn't had to fight at all.
The feeling threatened to drag her into the abyss behind the rage and snarling teeth, to a place she hadn't touched since the b***h that had given birth to her and Zev had left. To the place where she'd been when her father started drinking and dodging debt collectors.
To the place she'd come out of with bared teeth and sharped claws.
Rage ignited over the despair threatening to consume her, the despair she never touched, the despair she locked away in order to even function. It engulfed it as magic swelled in her limbs to steel her resolve.
She wasn't alone, not now, not ever again. She had Hati and Asmo and the life returning to her world. She had those around her, and maybe she hadn't quite figured out a court or pack of her own yet...
But she would never be that scared and lonely little girl ever again.
Skoll charged the zombie chyrsocyon and roared back. She launched herself into the air, right leg chambered.
Then it slammed with all the force of a super senshi trained in kickboxing doing a flying round house kick into the beast's bloody face.
Botein, Super Senshi of Amulets HP: 50-11= 39 / 75 First Stage Magic Used: 0/3 Second Stage Magic Used: 1/2 Dice Results: 8 Action: Throwing stones at BBEG while crying crying
Botein nodded and smiled when she saw the three she had helped look better. She might not be a big fighter but she was happy that her magic was now stronger and she could heal more people. With the first aid kit in her subspace she could at least patch people up the mundane way. She waved towards the knight with the braid and the other senshi she had helped even as she responded verbally to the knight who was still relatively right by her, "Your welcome. I'm glad it helped."
She might have said more or done something else, she might have even seen if anyone else needed medical help but that all went out the window when the large zombie like creature roared once again. Botein had been suffering through her hunger, fairly use to at least being generally hungry before, but this... this hit her like a freight train. Loneliness.... alone.... all alone...
With a shuttering gasp the small woman sank to her knees, her arms wrapped around her for any type of comfort that it could provide, muttering "I'm not alone. I'm not alone." Her brain was doing it's best to assure her that she was in fact alone. She had no partner. She had no team mate. She had no family. They were all miles and miles away.... lightyears even. Her 'friends' were nothing more then acquittances. No one loved her. No one liked her.
No one ever thought about her.
Not her classmates. Not her teachers. Not her coworkers or her bosses. No one. Not even her mother. Botein was always the one to reach out. She was always the one to call or to talk. She was always the one.
No one cared.
No one.
Alone.
"I. Am. Not. Alone!" She bit out even as she tried to scrub the tears off of her face, leaving behind streaks of dirt. "I am not alone!" Botein said louder and with more conviction as she grabbed the closest rock. "WE ARE NOT ALONE!" With a scream the senshi threw her stone as hard as she could at the creature that had the gall to make her feel so small and insignificant! How dare they!
[[In general anyone could have heard her shout XD ]]
Ellicott, Super Senshi of Dances HP: 39 /75 First Stage Magic Used: 1/3 Second Stage Magic Used: 1/2 Dice Results: 9 Action: Throwing things because even though she wants to smash the damn thing in the face... she isn't stupid sweatdrop
She gritted her teeth against the nearly overwhelming urge to cry and just curl into a ball. Now was not the time for that. Now was the time for vengeance. The damn thing ******** around.... it needed to find out!
Ellicott smiled, more like barred her teeth, as those she had used her magic for seemed to snap out of their own dark thoughts and dive right back into the fight. She grabbed some stones and threw them, one after another, at the dog zombie thing aiming for the eyes and any other place she could where friendly fire wouldn't cause an issue. She might have been a better hand to hand combat person but she still couldn't get over the shiver of fear that the zombie and its critters caused. So rather then up close in person she would stick to distance bombardment!
Princess Cybele HP: 99/125 Physical Attack: 15 Action: Lost in thoughts, trying to punch the chrysocon
Another roar took the breath from her lungs. When she straightened, when she tried to stretch her wings behind her and shake the noise and impact away, another strange feeling wedged its way into her chest.
There was no way to argue that she was physically alone. She was surrounded. There were people here. There was a monster. There was a job to do.
That had never mattered, though, had it?
How many meetings had she sat in, with the Negaverse? How many jobs had she done for them, the unpleasant kind, the kind that nobody else wanted to do? How many battles had she fought? How many stars had she snuffed out, how many lives, when she'd pulled souls from people's chests with her own fingernails?
She'd been good to them. She'd been loyal, obedient, silent, everything that she'd been supposed to be.
All that, and she'd always been a servant, a tool. She'd always been more purpose than person.
Many of her Negaverse memories were hazy, like nightmares, but one stuck with her. She remembered the look in Rakovanite's eyes, after she'd been captured risking her life to try to save the others. She remembered how he'd called her acquisition.
She'd purified to get away from that life, of course. Most people here would look at her Princess wings, at her new Transcendence, and never know that she'd once worn black. They wouldn't know how broken-hearted and empty and alone she'd been.
They wouldn't know how much of that she still carried with her.
She was still Sylvite's pet, wasn't she? As soon as that girl had purified, she'd started asking for favors again, as if she hadn't been the one to stick her hand in Cybele's chest and broken her in a way that could never be fixed. She was still more than happy to use Cybele's strength for her own purposes, her magic to help her own friends.
The others would, too. Even now, the strangers sought her out so that she would do what she could to protect them. They were right. She would do it. She was still loyal, still hardworking, still a cog in the machine.
And it still would only get her so far when the job was done, wouldn't it?
She was still empty on the inside in a way that not everyone saw. She was still broken, still not quite a person, still a perfect soldier in a way that kept her from being as good at anything else as she should have been. She was more solider than sister, more soldier than wife, more soldier than friend. She was getting better at the rest, but it didn't mean she was nearly as good as she should have been.
She wouldn't blame anyone for keeping her at arms length emotionally.
She could certainly still be in a crowd and be completely alone.
It wouldn't stop her from fighting, though. That was the one thing she was good at. Springing fowards, she moved to punch at the beast.
Amasis
Indigo_Plateau
staripop
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Meighei
Bishoujo-senshi Mahou-shoujo
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Posted: Sat May 11, 2024 4:40 pm
HP: 100-15-11=74 Shielding Magic: A starry fabric hood like the night sky appears on Urania’s shoulders. For the next 15 seconds, she can pull the hood over her head and her body will begin to shimmer and twinkle like stars and other astronomical sights. While this effect is active, she becomes hard to see and attacks against her have a higher chance of missing. It is more effective when it is dark outside and is near useless if used in sunlight. Two uses.
Urania felt something that she had only ever felt once in her life: loneliness.
The first time she had truly felt this feeling was when she first awoke from stasis on her world when Archideus’s light broke the crystal the senshi had been placed in.
Her world was dead. It had endured a thousand years without life. Without its senshi who was asleep for all that time. And now, there was nothing left…
That wasn’t now. That was then.
But was then really so far in the past as Ptolemy believed?
Everyone and everything that had ever lived on her homeworld was dead. The senshi was all that was left alive. All of Urania was gone. Forever.
Everyone and everything but her.
Tears ran down her face just as they did on the senshi of this world she was now on.
Yet Urania was no longer here. She was in her own mind. She may as well have been on another planet.
