Welcome to Gaia! ::

The hiss of steam warned her a mere moment before it was too late, to cover her face with her hands. Riley felt the heat searing against her skin, and the dust of glitter sprinkling her skin with light, itchy prickles. When she removed her hands from her face and opened her eyes again, the sight looked like a glittery, obliterated war zone. It was strangely familiar, though she couldn’t place it. Still, she was sure this was the kind of scene she should be used to by now. She picked herself up, dusted herself off, and focused on finding the exit and getting everyone out of there. Sure enough, as soon as she thought of it, the exit appeared. The glare of white could have been appealing simply for what it stood for - going home - but she knew it for what it really was. Cold. White. Wet. She wanted none of it. Her arms reluctantly wrapped around her body, pausing for just a moment when she felt the soft brush of foreign cloth against her skin, and remembered that she was wearing Uller’s coat. It was a blessing that would serve her well if she had to trudge through that muck, which looked very suspiciously to be the case. She only wished the coat was long enough to cover her legs.

The air in the room still vibrated with the heat that the steam released. She could see everything in front of her wavering, flickering with a touch of the surreal. The room was hot enough to make her sweat, but she knew she’d prefer it over the chill of the air outdoors, so she lingered. There was still that crown to deal with, and that was enough to keep her stalling. Indeed, several of her other fellow students seemed to feel the same way, lured towards the crown instead of the exit. She couldn’t blame them; crowns had lured her all of her life. The promise of power, the promise of rule was the singular driving force behind the majority of her existence; from the moment she burst forth messily from her pumpkin, until the moment she’d died. She knew how alluring something as simple as a crown could be. The symbol, the token of leadership. It was never enough. Just one more step in that ladder. One more crown to reach for, until acquisition left her wanting.

No, she couldn’t blame them for reaching for that goal.

She’d almost considered walking away. The tiniest of moments passed by, where the idea of another crown on her head entrapped her. She wasn’t climbing the ladder, anymore. The ladder had disintegrated beneath her, leaving her with nothing but splinters in her hands and nowhere to reach for. No decision had been made yet on whether this was for the better, or for the worse; but for just that one moment, Riley saw that crown as a decision made for her. A decision she wasn’t yet ready to make.

But then it called to her.

The sound of a voice other than her own within her mind felt like unbearable bliss. Her eyes rolled back behind her head, and she fell to her knees, simply enjoying the touch of insanity that surrounded her starved consciousness in a loving, warm embrace. The voice of another. Not real, not physical, but weaving itself through her mind with that old, expert rhythm that she’d grown so accustomed to. Every morning, she let them in. They filled her mind with such thoughts, such beautiful, extraneous thoughts.. and they’d been gone for so long, she’d forgotten how good it felt to be someone else for a little while. She heard that one, seductive voice calling to her from the crown, and her decisions were no longer her own. This was who she was. Who she was meant to be. What she was meant to do. Why she was created at all. That first spark of Fear burning inside that tiny pumpkin, demanding perfection of her before she was ever even born.

Aen’ryliis. The hand. The act. The change. Her entire purpose, fulfilled in every acquisition, every unification, every piece of the puzzle set in its place.

The voices she heard in her head now were drowning out that one, soft lullaby the crown whispered out to her. She knew it was calling, but she couldn’t hear it anymore. She stood back up, straightened herself out, and walked very calmly towards the crown. Others were reaching, running, their fingers desperate to claim it, but she felt none of the urges that tried to beckon her. Riley could hear them again, and they reminded her of her place.




Congratulations, Riley!

You will be great-

Well of course, you’re King aren’t..

..will follow you anywhere.

-knew you could!

Were you really surprised?

-no right to be proud,

This is who you are.

Accept it.

Here, take your crown-

Her long, clawed hands unfolded from one another. She was there, only steps from the crown. Her face held an amused, serene gaze. It was still calling out to her, she was sure; but it underestimated the voices that already lived in her head. It underestimated the hive. The soft buzzing that sifted through her thoughts, reminding her with each threat of falter, just what she truly was. Riley was a pawn borne to be a King. A King, doomed to be a pawn. There were no moves on the board left for her, except for one.

Forward.

She reached out, and the world blanked into white.

At that moment, she detested white. The color of peace, and silence. The soft cold color of snow. The color of nothing, when all she wanted was everything. She willed it to change, by soaking the world in the color of her enemies blood.

Her last thought, before the world twisted and transmuted itself into her fantasy, was that she remembered her very first memory. It, too, was of the color red. She was borne into blood.

----

The squealing sound of an infant cry stung the air with its screech, cut off abruptly by the sound of metal squelching against flesh, and the roar of a crowd thirsty for death. She heard it, and she smelled it, but she couldn’t see any of it, anymore. The Red King was blind, having given her eyes to her council to sit at the top of her kingdom. The eyes of the Red King saw everything, and nothing at once. The sea of red they witnessed from their perch shifted, like the ebb and flow of water. There was no time to remain still; her subjects never rested. Time was a resource, and every drop was used wisely. There was no crime, no waste, no sin, no sleep, no escape - the Eyes were always watching. Even children were left unexcused.

Another step up the ladder presents itself. She’s seen it, coming ahead of them. There’s no escaping her sight. No kingdom dared attempt to match hers in strength and loyalty. No King had given up as much for their people, and no people had worked harder for their king than these. Tireless, inexhaustible because she made them that way. She’d torn down every shred of weakness within them, down to their very bones and deep within their heart. Each loyal subject of the Red Kingdom could hear her voice, and the voices of others, in their head. His goal was her goal. Their goal was one goal, surfacing within every thought. The metal needed to be tempered, because the swords had to be perfect, because they had to win the tournament, because the Red Kingdom conquered all. Nothing else seemed to matter to them, anymore. No one remembered a time when things were any different. No one remembered values like love, or joy, or laughter anymore. There was the goal, and the steps toward it. Life was simple, and glorious, and perfect.

Riley tipped her head in one direction when a voice reached out to her, telling her it was time. It must have known that she was already aware of it, but formalities were something of a favorite pasttime for her, and it knew that. The entire kingdom seemed to grow quiet in her mind, waiting for her decision even as they continued their tasks. But there was no decision to be made; every one of her subjects was exactly as qualified as the next. There were no two more loyal than any other. No two more prepared. She could have sent two children to the task, assured that they would return just as victorious.

Sending two subjects to the tournament was equivalent to sending her entire kingdom. They knew that. She would never leave anyone behind, ever again.

Her choice was simple, and impossible at the same time. She chose two knights from among those that had been with her the longest, and as soon as the thought left her, another cheer rose from the kingdom in honor of those chosen. They would ride with her two knights, taking that next step forward together.

But it was just another step. It wasn’t the end; there was no end. All the Red King wanted, and all her subjects wanted, was to take that next step, together.

She heard it then; the voice of one of her chosen, rising above the dim and dull roar of the collective, in a thought so individual, so glaringly singular that it buried itself deep into her cold, dead heart like a blade, and lodged itself permanently within. The moment he'd spoken, the kingdom roared in a collective outcry, demanding his death before his individualism polluted their lives. He'd already ridden out for the tournament, physically safe by distance - but his mind received the battering and punishment that his body would have.

Her people wanted his blood to paint their walls. And all he'd said was something that, if anyone thought about it very much, the collective would have agreed with. But it was his defiance, his individualism, that had drowned out his words. Words that he'd said to her, once, long ago, when the world was a different place.

I will follow you anywhere.

His attempt to rouse the husk of a creature sitting still as the grave on her throne as nothing more than a working mind and a dead body, was a terrible and startling success.

Really and truly, one witch should not have expressed so much pride over being a frilly, fabric clad sentinel that not only protected those she loved but also aided in being the origin for a number of flying toys. But it would have been odd had Belladonna not taken some joy from the experience, and she could not help the laughter that poured from her as Mort took cover behind her or Chuppi tossed happy to die toys from under her skirt. So with a great deal of glee the witch watched as the remaining toys sacrificed themselves for the students. The arrival of glitter and sparkles was not looked upon with any sort of ill will, but rather enjoyed as part of the grand show. The Furnace King went out with a pretty bang, all show and pomp, which should naturally be fully appreciated. A hand rose to cover the witch's eyes from the falling glitter while the other groped backwards for the zombie.
The loud noise from behind startled her momentarily, but a sharp color had caught her gaze. From the glitter and sparkling dust a crown had fallen, clattered with all the delicate noise of royalty against the floor. Its metal work was gorgeous, enough to have distracted Belladonna had the pulsing red light not done the job nicely already.
The hand stretched out behind her faltered, forgot what it was that she had searched for and instead pulled back toward her own body. Red is a color she is all too familiar with, a color she knew like the back of her hand, only better because the jewel is the same vivid shade of her hair. A breath passed where she considered stepping backwards, of just letting the crown lie. After all, who wants to be a stuffy old Christmas King anyways?
But, oh, it calls to her...
Instead of toward friends, the witch's hand swept down where they grasped at her skirts, like a princess who knows what is to come next, she pulled them up and over Chuppi before she stepped forward. Fluidly her head rose up in a noble gesture, a poise that she had worked for, had been trained for. Heels clacked against a wooden floor, edged through the little layer of glitter that had collected underfoot. The world began to fade, everything around her but the crown began to lose its sharpness. A tiny voice tried to speak up, tried to tell her to go back to her lover and friends, but it was easily silenced. Easily ignored and overpowered by the subtle whisper.
Wear me and I will...

White rose up, something solid besides the crown and quickly engulfs the young ghoul. But there is no fear, nor any need to stop walking as she blithely continues on. The crown is her purpose, its symbol merely just a physical form of destiny. She knows if she walks long enough, that this white will gain color and will coalesce into what she needs. And like all things, if she believes in them hard enough they'll come true.
This instance is no exception. Far off in the distance an ember sparks, tiny and small but growing steadily stronger. In a few short strides it blossoms forth, a burning fire that engulfs Belladonna's vision. Fire does not burn fire and she welcomes the burnt orange and ruby flames. It burns away, licks at her feet and hands and blends into her hair until in slow increments it forms shapes. They are not familiar, but their story easily unfolds as a hallway is made solid, then the floor and little details within it. There are ornate light sources suspended from the ceiling, all filigreed and pretty that softly swing if someone walks too suddenly by them. Though everything is doused in scarlet, the detail remains. Plush rugs seamlessly create a path for the witch, careful threads create a repeating pattern that beckon her forward. The dress she normally wears has expanded, grown larger despite how huge it was before. Now it covers her legs completely, drags against the ground so that she has to pick up the front like any proper royal woman should. Her fingers are decorated in delicate metal spirals dotted with jewels, while her hair is left down but intricately woven with red roses and tiger lilies and bits of ribbon only two shades lighter than her curls.
Yet what is not explained, neither by her purposeful gait or the elaborate gown or even the lush surroundings, is exactly what Belladonna is meant to be doing. She is ruler, that much is clear by the weight upon her head, evident by the harsh circle of metal that she knows was odd to grow used to, but which she now bears with poise and grace. At the end of the hallway a pair of blood red oak doors stand, closed though they cannot keep out the cheering and shouting from beyond their massive shapes.
"Are you ready?"

A small figure waits before the doors, almost unnoticed until it spoke. Somewhere in her mind the witch is sure this is Chuppi, but she is all over red and not at all like herself. But the person smiles at the witch, is kind and friendly and above all, trusted. That is the thing that rises stark in her mind as she peers down at the creature, as her hands rise to adjust the crown atop her head.
She is surrounded by friends and allies and those she knows will not betray her. A small part of her knows that it is impossible to fully acquire a person's trust, but Belladonna has the closest approximation she can and that is enough for her kingdom.
And oh, what a glorious kingdom she has created. A nod is given to the adviser at the door, a pose of regal benevolence is struck and the witch exits out through the slowly opening doors out to what she has built. Stone greets her feet, makes the most marvelous little clicks as her heels bite against the surface and bring her out of her castle. Belatedly she realizes it is the entrance, for the stone expands far out, is flanked by large pillars and directly before her slopes down as stairs. A quarter of the way down the stairs even out onto a large landing before they continue on and on until they seamlessly blend with the citizens of her kingdom. The people are ornate as well, carefully made up in appearance. They have made their lives by creating beauty, in honing their skills for aesthetics. Though the ghoul knows her people are opulent, can rely on themselves, they need help. Hands meant to craft works of art are not meant to wield weapons, and her people need more protection than the knights waiting for her further down the stairs.
This tournament will bring them that. Her knights will fight, they will win and she will gain what she needs for her people. She has worked so hard, has labored and done what was necessary to keep her subjects happy and free of disease and torment, free of worries.
She does what she must for her kingdom...

A loud cheer goes up, her kingdom happy for its lush, crimson King. The witch raises a hand, a wave and a wide smile for their enthusiasm. They quiet after a moment and she folds her hands before her, elegant in her sweetness.
"Today we join the tournament. As the first of seven, we are the strongest, the most glorious and the ones who shall be victorious this day." There is no time to speak further as another shout drowns out anything she had wanted to say, but she is practiced in this art. She knows when to pause and allow them their joy, when to hold fast and make them listen.
"Friends, loyal and true... I know you shall join me in my praise for these valiant knights, who fight in our name."
Here the knights below rise off their bent knees and stand, take their burgundy cloaks in their hands and walk up the steps to their ruler. Once more they kneel before her and the witch holds out her hands, palms up.
"But only two may represent us, only two can be our champions." A small spark lights against her hands, burns bright for a moment and then dulls into a cool, vividly red star. The two knights who are immediately before her are the closest friends with the most strength. They shall lead her charge where their bonds of friendship form a triangle that cannot be shaken. They have all fought hardest together, proven not only their worth and adoration for her, but their loyalty as well.
"Wear me and I will guide you." She tells them and the crowd below as she steps forward, motions for them to stand. They oblige and tower over her, but it is a comfortable thing. Something time worn and familiar.
"Wear me and I will grant you favor." Belladonna tells the first one, the most beloved of her knights, as she afixs the red star over his heart.
"Wear me and I will give your hope." Now the star goes over the second knight, loved in a different manner but still dear to her.
"Wear me and together, we shall win."
Trusted with kindness, rewarded with victory. That was how Belladonna ruled, and that was how she would bring continued prosperity, continued happiness and continued salvation from the unfortunate things that might plague those she cared for. It was flawless in its opulence, excellent in its faith.

As it struck the floor, the sound of the crown's fall reverberated so insistently through his mind that it stilled his breath and stole the grin from his lips. He could hear nothing but the clanging echo of it settling, not the doors creaking open behind him nor the nervous twitter of students departing. He could see nothing but the Furnace King's crown.

No.

His crown.

West was familiar with greed. The ones who sparked and fed it were his cousins of a sort, and he had nothing but respect for their work. He knew the feel of their sin: a fluttering in the chest and stomach at the thought of obtaining more, more, more, money, fame, power, more than one could ever need. Never enough. What he felt now was so much stronger than anything even the oldest demon of greed could have fostered. Something inside him had collapsed at the sight of it, leaving the greatest of voids, one that he knew he would never fill until that wonderful crown rested on his head. It spoke to him. He couldn't help but wonder if this was what it felt like to communicate with a hunter's weapon, a broken and brainless thing that had once been so violently alive. West shook his head, his gaze never leaving the glistening metal. This was nothing like that. It couldn't be.

He strode forward, stopping short when his foot struck something hard and insistent, a stinging barrier he couldn't see. The boil's hand extended toward it, fingers skimming the invisible wall, his slow smile returning as his skin sizzled. The pain was a promise.

Wear me and I will help you change the world.

His kingdom was red, pulsing in one direction like a vein, never turning back. He rarely planned his ruthless assaults, he simply pointed at an enemy and his armies attacked. Their strength and bravery made them victorious. A handful fell so that many would never know suffering. He had quickly learned that there would always be more bodies willing to fight, even though every subject knew he had no real allegiance to any of them. They knew there was only one he trusted completely. One he cared for.

The king smiled as she swept into the throne room as if summoned by his thoughts, a bright spot of light in a sea of scarlet. She climbed onto the dais, leaning close to whisper into his ear, then lowered gracefully onto her throne. The tournament. He gestured at one knight, she at another. A familiar ache rose in his chest. He wished he could be the one to go, to prove himself as he once had. But there were so many subjects eager to dive into the fray. He couldn't deny them the pleasure.

Wear me and no one will touch you.

The horsemen had been the first to splinter. There would be no apocalypse without War, and the majority of those brutal, beautiful creatures were content to live under the red. The rest were not permitted within his borders. In their weakened and divided state, it was not hard to keep the others out.

The hunters remained a constant threat, but one his people could easily handle. Core research, golem detection, runic nullification—enough had been discovered while raiding the other kingdoms to keep his relatively safe. He had no doubt there were still spies in his ranks, but he had no great plans to steal, no intricate webs of lies to untangle. The traitors would be revealed in time. They always were.

Halloween was always welcome. There was never any lack of new subjects.

Wear me and we will win.

It was his time. This pair of fighters would triumph, and the kingdom would have their symbolic reward. Everyone already knew they were the strongest. It was time to remind them.

Wear me.

"Mrrr . . ." Mort did not like the look of that crown, nor the way Bells and Chuppi eyed it. There were waves of malevolence coming off it, blurred and vague smears of green and orange that made him nauseous to look at. He knew what they meant, what they symbolized - at least to a degree. None of it good.

But people were staring at it almost . . . almost liked they coveted it. Not even a shake of the witch's arm seemed to bring her to. Mort's brows knitted with consternation as he backed away, deeming this room a bad influence. Perhaps there was something they could do about it outside, maybe find that helpful elf guide . . . The crown needed to be taken away somehow.

He shuffled out and, noting the candy canes, snapped off a few for later investigation. He wanted one damn souvenir form this trip, because seeds weren't enough to compensate all that fire. Or the gruesomely cheerful toys.

(( Exit! ))

Shun's eye snapped open as reality hit him once again. He felt dazed. Confused. What the hell had just happened? Shaking his head, he pushed himself up, feeling a sort of lingering hunger for power within him still. It was a familiar feeling, now that he thought about it.

After the incident with turning into minipets... he had a similar sensation. Power.. it was something he always strived for in a way, wasn't it?

Feeling a little disturbed, he just made his way outside, running a hand through his hair as he did so. The crown was gone. There was no point in lingering in here any longer.

Once outside, he paused as he saw Arel ushering everyone towards the portal. It seemed they wouldn't be needed for twelve days after all. Mitsu will be thrilled to hear this. Stepping through, he let out a breath as he was feeling warmer in here in the office. Sort of.

Yet the crown, was only an item to be wielded. A name and nothing more. A title and nothing less.

Take me and you will obtain power
Use me and you will lose everything else.

Its hollow words were lost even to its new owner: not quite fully dormant and yet not quite active.

Behind its new owner, the Furnace King sighed, and collapsed entirely, dissolving into thousands of pieces of strange, discoloured fragments. Indeed nothing left behind: even the toys, what remained of them, had stopped moving. Everything was oddly lifeless and still.

Xiu slowly dropped her hands as Riley's voice penetrated though the confusion and fogginess of her mind. She turned her gaze upwards to meet to hers, shrinking slightly when the mindflayer held her arms out to her. There was a moment of hesitation, and then the baku slowly moved forward and wrapped her arms around her friend's waist.

What was happening to her? And what was this necklace? She didn't ask these questions aloud--she didn't have to, as the confused, frightened look that she was giving Riley said it all. Drawing back, she lifted a hand and hooked the necklace with two of her fingers, gently pulling it away from her neck. She knew that it wasn't really, but it felt as if it was choking her.

Hoping that she would not mind, Xiu slipped her other hand into Riley's and gave a weak nod. "Yes," She whispered, keeping her gaze low as she didn't dare to look at anyone else right now, "Let's go home. Please."