Welcome to Gaia! ::

Was this that scary place Akina had told him about? The land from those Greek mythologies by the River Styx where unspeakable tortures awaited the cursed, a dead land made vivid by her tomes and tomes of stories from the dead culture. There was Sisyphus rolling his stone up the hill, allowing the only happiness to come right before the giant rock rolled back down again. Or would he be trapped constantly staring at a fruit branch that would pull away the second he reached for it or a stream that would dry the instant his hands shot out to bring some cooling sip?

No, his fate was worse. It had to be. He was doomed to watch the last moments of his best friend repeat again and again as he slowly withered away. Small fists were fastened tightly, so much so that small trickles of blood or sweat or acid ran down the child's hands. He felt so constrained, so held back, and he hated it. He wanted to explode, and it seemed as if he body were on the verge of granting him that final mercy.

Then suddenly, there was another presence in the dark, one that Brimstone could not remember, not until the rainbow locks triggered a latent memory. "You?" he hissed coldly, premature realization sounding in his young and presumptuous mind.

So it was this rainbow monstrosity that had brought him here? Why else would Asrafel be here in this place? It couldn't be a coincidence that Ilistala was attacked in the very area that Brim had first met this older Shattered. He was simply here to finish the job. "Why are you doing this? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?" Rage gripped his system as Brimstone finally had something else tangible to strike out against.

So he ran. He ran toward Asrafel with a screaming cry and black smoke flaring at his back, fully prepared to fight until he died. He just needed to feel, to release the pressure, to make someone else hurt like he was hurting. And he didn't care who it was.

Flailing as best as he could manage against Asrafel, Brimstone pulled back to swing, regardless of the rainbow Shattered's flinch, when he suddenly realized he was holding on to nothing. The man before him was suddenly a flurry of color and light, and the nuclear Shattered stumbled backward blindly, eager to avoid the shower.

His pupiless green eyes reflected the glowing light of three orbs that hovered before him. A hard, heavy rock formed in the child's stomach. If he could have managed a breath, Brimstone might of stammered out something, but his throat was dry and his breathing labored.

The first orb was a stark combination of blue and white, and the nuclear Shattered instinctively drew back from it, choosing to stand between the second and third orb instead. Gazing into the earthen orb, Brimstone felt calm and relaxed, but his eyesight continue to stray toward the last. It crackled and swirled, and something in its mystery and darkness spoke to the young Shattered. But what were these for? And what did this have to do with Ilistala?

A voice behind him had the child spinning, narrowing his eyes at another target. This one, though, he had never seen before, and something in his demeanor was discomforting for the nuclear Shattered. "Path? he echoed blindly, shaking his head in frustration. "What is this? What does any of this have to do with helping Ilistala?"

Gripping his fists together again, Brimstone narrowed his eyes in fury, trying to focus his attention on Halexei.

Brimstone listened as patiently as he could to Halexei's message, but it only served to irritate him more. There were more important things at stake then his own feelings. Power, yes. Compassion? Brim snorted at the idea. His gaze dropped to what he assumed was the ground as the Harbinger continued, refusing to acknowledge his initial failure to save Ilistala from the attackers. It was not a mistake that he planned to make ever again.

Faced with the two orbs, it did not take Brim long to decide.

"I have to save her," he murmured, trying to sound as mature as his prepubescent voice could manage. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, but nothing could shake his resolution. There was no other way for him. Ilistala was his only real friend, and he didn't want to think about what he would do without her to play with or fight with. He might be a child in some ways, but Brimstone hadn't really felt like it in a year. He constantly felt something pushing at the edge of his consciousness; it was like his head was filling with sand. "I don't care what I have to do."

Raising his gaze, he narrowed his glowing eyes and spoke with finality. "Destruction. That one." It was as if he had just picked out his favorite flavor of ice cream instead of deciding his fate. But it was just that: his fate. He would not turn back, and he would ride whatever wave rolled his way as long as it carried him back to Ilistala.

Thinking was not necessary. He had to save her.

There was no moment of euphoric reverence in light of the gravity of the decision. Time didn't slow. A melancholy hymn did not float in from the rafters. No beam of light poured out of the pitch black sky to tell the child that he was going to be okay. No, the choice--this path--was selected long before this instant. Touching the orb was simply the seal, the stamp on his fate.

Brimstone did not think. He simply flickered his lengthening fingers that were still weighted by baby fat, poking at the crackling orb like it was a caged rabbit in some shoddy corner pet store. He was only a child, but even that was ephemeral.

Lightning flashed instantaneously from the contact point between skin and orb. Every joint in his body broke. Or atleast, it felt that way, as if everything in the child was suddenly gelatin. If he fell to the ground, Brimstone did not feel it. If there was pain, it was all blinded by the searing heat and light. Before the darkness seeped back in, the nuclear Shattered could only hope and pray that he would awake by Ilistala.

Visions flashed through his mind. Most were of Akina and Ilistala, tracing past the faces of Halexei, Asrafel, Ioyla, and the other Shattered he had met in his short life too. There were other faces, ones that weren't familiar yet, and then the overwhelming stench of smog and heat barreling into his senses. There were strange stone towers that belched smoke and blazing green lights that flashed a constant rhythm in the backdrop of his mind. Brimstone wasn't sure what he was seeing, but it comforted him, fueled him. Sirens began to rage, lights flashed faster, and his heart accelerated. Fast.

Too fast.

His blood was boiling, skin stretching as something cut through it. If he could see, he might have identified the source of the pain, but light was pouring out of his every orifice, quickly filling back up with a thick black sludge. The acid dripped like rain from his eyes, nose, and ears. He tried to scream, to cry for Akina, but it was choked by acid. It was all acid, and it was all pain.

He wanted to go back to not feeling anymore. Something popped, a grim snap, and the lights went out, leaving only the raging sirens echoing in his head. Brimstone, a child, wanted to die, but more than that, he wanted to know that this pain had been worth it, that Ilistala was within his grasp.

The rain licked clean the grime that coated Brimstone's crumpled form. Arms were exposed, long and thin, and then legs came into view. They were longer, leaner, and still marked by the same swirling curls of smoke as before, only these patterns were more intricate. Everything seemed to have grown: torso, hair, neck, fingers. But the new Shattered still lay there in the sand, unmoved by his sudden change.

"I was gonna be nice, you little ******** slut. I was gonna be real gentle with you." Morris had closed the distance between himself and Ilistala, and with one hand, he slapped her with all his might, knocking her headfirst toward a support pole under the pier. "And, darlin', you better pray to God that my buddy is okay, or else, I'm gonna get creative with you." Grabbing Stala by the throat, he narrowed his cruel eyes to her gaze and hit her again. He would hit her until she stopped moving against him.

It was the smell that reached Brimstone first, fresh and coppery. The muscles of his back twitched, and the skin along his backbone began to move, as if something was fighting to free itself. The rain continued to fall, cleaning the wounds that began to appear down his spine as long, crystalline shards pushed through. They were ragged and uneven, and by the second, the grew longer and threatening.

Stubby fingernails moved in unison, growing to points as they dug into the sand. Brimstone was standing up; he was back. Testing out his new legs, the Shattered moved like a shadow of himself, and when he finally raised his glowing eyes to meet Stala and her attacker, it was clear that he was not himself. Light seeped from his eyes in all directions so that thick green beads of color poured down his face, leaving searing track marks. He cracked his neck to the side in a quick jerky motion, following it with rapid fire cracks of each of his knuckles.

As he silently approached Morris, Brimstone's mouth contorted into a dark grin that spread wide across his now malevolent face. Even his gait had changed; it was aggressive and commanding. But it was the look into his eye that would give his intentions away the most. Standing several feet from the pair still, Brimstone was taking his time, savoring the moment.

Long, daggers of nails clicked together as Brimstone approached Morris, slowing his steps as Stala slipped into her unconscious. The tapping of his fingertips sent a hollow beat biting through the echoes of the pier. Perhaps it was, or maybe the light, or the smell, or maybe it was just that intangible feeling that something is watching you that finally made Morris turn around.

He staggered for a second, but caught himself on Stala's leg. The shadowy figure of the transformed Shattered was standing several feet from him, still partially obscured by the darkness under the bridge. "And who're you?" Morris demanded, getting to his feet cautiously. The stream of light leaking from Brimstone's eyes grew brighter, more radioactive in their color too. "I asked you a goddamn question!"

But the nuclear Shattered did not speak. He simply walked forward, holding his left hand out and dragging his nails over the firm support of the pier. The wood splintered at his touch.

Morris was breathing heavily now, looking like a caged animal. He thought about making the first strike; Brim could see it in his eyes. But the man didn't want to risk losing his life--or his prize. Grubby hands lifted Stala onto his shoulders, and kicking sand up with each step, Morris took off running.

Brimstone smiled. It was the last thing that Morris probably ever saw.

No sooner had Morris taken a step that Brimstone stood before him, claws thrust deep into the man's gut. Stala slumped off his shoulder and fell to the ground with a thud, but Brim did not notice. He lifted Morris with one arm, grinning deeper as the attacker tried to grab his wrist. The acid sizzled as it peeled off the man's skin. He was screaming, and as much as it made his blood rise further, Brimstone could not have that. With his free hand, he slit Morris's throat so that it smiled at him, dripping red down the front of his shirt.

The flailing body sputtered as the Shattered removed his hands, throwing Morris to the ground. The man had no chance of escape, and his eyes were watering now, mouth uttering forgiveness that his throat could not articulate. But Brimstone didn't care about forgiveness. Taking a knee, the Shattered narrowed his neon eyes until the light surged out of each corner. He placed one hand on the right side of Morris's chest and pressed down until he could see his handprint on the man chest, as well as the muscle and bone underneath.

He might have laughed, but again, Brimstone did not speak.

Making quick work of Morris with acid and metal and smog, Brim let his smile drop; the man had died quicker than he would have liked. As a last note, the Shattered used his index and middle finger to stab out the eyes.

But it wasn't enough. Something was still burning in Brimstone, something that needed to be satisfied. He stabbed at Morris, but the man would not respond. At his back, great smoke wings flickered on and off, surging and dying at the same time. There was a turmoil in the young boy.

Baring his teeth, Brimstone put a hand on either side of his head, trying to control himself, but with each passing second, he felt the pieces pulling apart. His body dripped acid uncontrollably, and his eyes glowed brighter until the skin around them began to crackle. The sharpened nails on his fingers stretched further until his hands were too heavy to hold up. What was happening? Out of control, Brimstone raged and hissed on the beach, kneeling over the body of the man he had just killed.