It looked like Jadis’s castle but she couldn’t be sure. Where was everyone?
After the entire thing that had happened, the illusions, the lies, the dream within a dream within a dream within a- WHEN did it END!!!???? “For the love of- WHAT THE HELL IS REAAAL????!!!!”
She yelled in frustration, arms shaking form the cold, shaking as the world shook around her. The artist was torn in two directions. To go towards the voices, back towards the light, or….
In the other direction was a path that went down into the dark. There in that shadow was a presence, lingering in the dark, plummeted down, promising, and feeling-lingering doubt as to whether or not she’s the only one who made it out…or not.
There was the faintest of lights in the dim, like the bait on the end of a lure- that’s how it felt. She thought of those angler fish…it HAD to be a trap- surely right? But doubt bit at her.
Mercilessly.
Relentlessly.
It wasn’t fair!
After going through more harrowing that one could expect in a lifetime- and be dropped right into this!?
Kyla’s skin felt like it should have been steaming against the cold, the fever was hot, making the edges of her vision blurry- she blinked against the sting in her eyes, even as she stumbled forward.
But what if everyone was down there?
But why would she be alone?
They wouldn’t leave her would they?
No
.
Despite how she felt, they’d not lea-
That voice. Who was that again? Someone was calling her?
That voice had come before, where again-? In the dark?
Yes.
Aslan, Merlin- YES, it was their voices, but where? When did they come with them on the mission? It felt like it had been so long… she couldn’t remember, her mind was too muddled to concentrate. Stumbling forward, in a direction she wasn’t sure at first she knew the world was crumbling; if she didn’t hurry she’d die. She’d die and not be able to save anyone. At this rate, with no strength, no mana, no concentration, walking into that darkness was suicide. Worse. All her previous attempts to be assertive in her mind had failed. She failed over and over-
…’ I’m not strong enough, to protect you…. I’m not strong enough to do anything…’
‘…No matter how hard I- t-try to be…I’m just…just me...
’
"I’m useless on my own.”
Kyla was more drained then just body. She reemerged with something missing, something weakened and broken in a place she couldn’t fix. Still, the voice called for her, by name. She had to-
‘wake up’
“..I…h-help. I c-can’t, not like this. They are back there- someone is there…. But I’m, I’m spent there’s nothing left in me...” In the stories the keybladers could charge into fight after fight like they could never run out if inner strength, and here she was stumbling like a loser. She was scaling the steps upwards towards the voices. NOt very reliable at all, if her comrads were back there, toiling, fighting, lost- and all they needed was her to act as even a distraction- she was failing them now wasn't she? That thought scared her most of all. Was this the light she was wlaking to, were the voices real? Or was that doubt some other heartfelt hint, a small inkling she had always hoped would stand the test of reality that prove boends between hearts were strong. What if she was ignoring it? She HAD to choose. Maybe someday she’d find the strength to be strong on her own. But it wasn’t today. She’d be nothing but a burden, but perhaps if she found those voices, she could return, and drag who ever- what ever was left behind back to the light. If Sora could do it, if Kairi could do it, if other people could do it, someday- She could too.
If there is anyone lost and alone back there- don't ..don't despair. Wait. Wait for me, I'll come back for you. And so she found her way up there somehow, hand fumbling along the edge for balance. But if what she found up there was false- if she failed yet again. There was no reconciling the guilt she'd birth inside her spirit. She'd know that.It be the beginning of a deeper darkness something her 'mirror' could work with.
Posted: Mon Jul 25, 2016 7:52 pm
{ -- } { Silence }
As they ran down into the dark lower levels, there was a resounding and terrifying crash behind them—the grand hall collapsing, drowning everything in shadow save that distant light ahead.
And so they continued onward, chasing that light surrounded by shadow.
And so they continued onward, deeper into the unknown, deeper into darkness.
And so they continued onward, the world too black for their eyes to adjust, and the light remaining ever out of reach.
So they ran upward toward the voices of comrades, the world around them falling to pieces, the details beyond the ceiling as much a blur as the memories of how they reached that place. The stairs seemed so much longer than they looked—was it the urgency, or reality?—and as they ran toward that blinding light, toward salvation, they saw a support arch above collapsing falling toward them, going to crush them, there was no time, no time, so upward they ran, and just as their footing gave way, a hand pierced through the light, offering safety, and they reached, grasped, and—
—eyes shooting open, heart pounding, they found themselves in a bed, as if waking from a scattered dream like a far-off memory.
Or, perhaps, a far-off memory that was like a scattered dream.
As their eyes focused on their surroundings, they quickly identified the room as their cabin on the train. They were laid atop the bedding, as if brought in while unconscious. On the table beside their bunk was a glass of water, with small chunks of ice still chilling the glass; it was clear they had melted quite a bit already, so quite some time had passed.
The bed was comfortable, of course, even for a twin-sized lower bunk, but they found themselves entirely refreshed. They weren't tired, or sore, or aching anywhere; between the collapsing hall and the present, it was clear they had both been healed and naturally replenished by rest. Of course, that itself may very well have been enhanced by the train's magic. Whatever the case, they were fully rested—and a bit restless.
Out of the corner of their eye, toward the window—beyond which was a pitch black, as one would expect of a starless night—they might have noted the ever-soft, pulsing glow of their æthecite charm piece resting on the window sill. But from the opposite side of the room was a much more noticeable disturbance.
There was loud, energetic chatter coming from beyond the door, somewhere past their room. Likely from the dining car or farther. Wherever they were, they sounded jubilant, ecstatic—victorious. Without a doubt, the group was celebrating, and even if one wasn't inclined to such loud gatherings, they would feel an urge to join them, if for no other reason than to make a headcount.
The energy was contagious, really.
The light from their charm pulsed again. It was gentle and slow, just one brief glimmer, a second of dim, another brief glimmer, and then a much longer period of dim.
They would surely want to go outside, of course. The cheer, the zest, it was overwhelming!
Another double-pulse.
But that could wait! Everyone was outside, surely they should go check, would need to check!
The patterned glow was practically rhythmic...
"Wake up."
Something at the back of their minds told them it was time to choose.
But there was no choice, of course! Go! Celebrate!
The stone lit twice again...
The door was right there! The joy was clearly ever so inviting!
Beat-beat.
[[ IMPORTANT NOTE:Earthlings only! Only Earthlings experience this. Canons are out of the picture until otherwise mentioned.
And yes, each of you are alone, individual, isolated, etc. Also, no items!
NOTE 2: Basically just need to know which you go toward--the door or the stone. The moment you approach one, something happens. ]]
Posted: Mon Jul 25, 2016 11:21 pm
{Bobbi .:. ????}
Somehow she found the energy to run up the stairs, staggering a little as her left knee protested the exercise. Her muscles burned, as did her lungs, gasping for air that seemed too thin. The stairs seemed to be endless, but she was exhausted. The light was drawing nearer, but slowly, so slowly, and the castle continued to crumble around her. She happened to glance up just in time to notice one of the supporting arches crumbling, and put on a burst of speed. She had no idea where she found the energy to speed up, especially going up stairs, but she didn't have long to wonder.
The stairs gave out before her, and on instinct she gathered herself to jump. She saw—someone—reaching out a hand to her, and she stretched to meet them. She couldn't hear anything over the sounds of crashing, crumbling stone, and whoever it was was shadowed by the light behind them. But her hand closed in theirs, warm and firm and safe, and she—
Woke.
She sat bolt-upright, her heart pounding in her throat, gasping for breath, sweat beading on her forehead and trickling down her neck. She stared around, trying to gain her bearings, only to see her room on the train. She sagged back against the pillows, allowing her breath to slow, and her mind to catch up with reality. Or what she hoped was reality; so many illusions in this castle. What was to stop one of the illusions being one of peace and safety?
Slowly her heart rate slowed, and her breathing steadied, and her sweat dried. She took stock of herself, checking for injuries she hadn't noticed she'd gotten, bruises, broken bones, anything. She was uninjured, no blemishes except the ones that were supposed to be there. She ran her thumb over the scar on her right palm, and out of the corner of her eye noticed a pulse of light. She turned her head to see her æthicite charm sitting on the windowsill, pulsing in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat. She stared at it a moment, watching the pulses as her own heart continued to slow, until the beating of her heart matched the pulsing of the crystal.
Slowly, Bobbi got to her feet, waiting for a wince, a twinge, an ache that wasn't going to happen. She was fine; someone had healed her, and she was at full strength. Even her mana pool was full, to her surprise. She must have been unconscious for a long time, judging by her recovery, and the melted ice in the glass by her bed.
As she stood, a burst of laughter from outside her door was heard, and she turned. One hand reached to the bedside table to steady herself, as her knees had gone weak with relief. Everyone was safe! They had to be; no one would be laughing if anyone had been lost. She took a moment to steady herself as she began to cry.
"Oh thank god," she breathed, wiping her tears away with the back of her wrist. She settled her glasses back on her face, grinning from ear to ear, and turned back towards the æthicite. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she realized it was time to make a choice. A whisper to her subconscious, nothing more. But she suddenly felt like she had to choose between the charm, and her friends. But that was silly; she was going to be with her friends, of course! She'd just grab the charm and put it back on her necklace where it belonged, then she'd go to meet her friends and join in what sounded like a victory celebration. And apologize for sleeping through part of it!
Besides, why couldn't she investigate that pulsing the charm was doing while also being with the people she loved? She was perfectly capable of multi-tasking, after all. She also knew quite well that after the initial greeting and hugging and crying (because of course she'd cry), she would most likely return to her usual wallflower self. That would give her plenty of time to investigate it, while also being with her friends and knowing they were alright, and having proof right there in front of her that they were alright. It was the logical course of action, so far as she was concerned. Two birds, one stone, pun only partially intended. It just made sense to her to do both. So, she made up her mind.
The corsair pressed on, he had no other choice. Despite fatigue, despite not having any magic he kept running. He scaled the steps two at a time as the world fell apart around him. All he could do was hold on and press forward. The stairs continued upward, closer and closer towards the light, not ending despite the corsair’s frantic pace. The light shining from the exit making it hard to see the end of the stairs and the doorway beyond. A thick layer of saliva coated his throat, which made breathing even harder than it already was. His breathing became short as he reached the end. Suddenly one of the central archways collapsed, threatening to cut off his escape. He could see a hand reaching out to him, waiting for him to grab on. Just as his footing gave way with the floor beneath him collapsing, James desperately pushed off of the ground, trying to propel himself towards the hand, towards safety…
The Lunar Gunner’s eyes opened as he sat bolt up right, legs not even raising a bit as he sat up. His heart was racing, as if he had just woken himself up from a nightmare. He leaned forward, his forehead resting in the palm of his right hand as he worked on regulating his heart beat, not even paying attention to his surroundings as his eyes had closed once again. When no further chaos erupted for a few moments James opened his eyes and allowed them to see and focus on his surroundings. He was on a twin-sized bed, his cabin in the Sleeping Car on the train. He had been laid on top of the covers, as if he had been unconscious. Which he didn’t doubt, he had been exhausted, on the verge of collapse. Now though he felt fine, well rested, invigorated even. The condensation on the walls of the glass of ice water, which he guessed had been placed there when he was brought in, was proof he had been out for awhile.
In his peripheral vision he saw his æthecite on the window sill. He hadn’t realized until that point that it was gone from around his neck. He looked at it briefly, curious as to why it was giving off a softly pulsing glow. However, he didn’t have any time to think or dwell on it as from the other side of the doorway that were energetic chatter, enthusiastic, rejoicing, victorious. They were celebrating and without a second thought the corsair rose to his feet, their infections exuberant energy rubbing off on him without difficulty. He wanted to go join them, make sure everyone was alright. He assumed they were otherwise he doubted they would be celebrating. However, he had to see it for himself.
However… the strange pulsing of the charm at the window sill felt important. Significant, since as far as he could tell it had never done that before. Was it only his charm doing it? Was everyone else’s as well? The only way to find out was to go celebrate with them and find out. There was no harm in grabbing it before heading out the door though. It wasn’t like he was going to miss the opportunity to be with them given the racket they were all making.
He didn’t feel right leaving the room without it so he walked towards the stone, his hand reaching out to grasp it.
Posted: Tue Aug 02, 2016 1:57 pm
[Dani :~: ???] Dani continued her trek up the stairs as quick as she could muster. Her pace seemed to move quicker when the support arch was heading for her. She pushed through the pain and ran, reaching for the hand that was outstretched to her.
Dani then suddenly shot up, awake in a bed back on the train. She was breathing heavily and wiped her face off as if there was sweat on it before she inspected herself. She saw that her injuries were long gone and she did not feel that exhaustion that was before. What caught her attention though, was the glass of water. With minor curiosity, she tried to move the water noticing that her magic was back for the most part.
She finally got out of bed and looked around the room. She saw her charm, sitting on the window still and her heart in her chest leap a little bit. On the other hand she heard the calls from the other side of the room. Part of her wanted to run off instantly to see if everything was alright but before she made a step she saw the pulse of the charm pulsing in a rhythm. Almost calling to her.
She finally decided that she would wait on seeing her friends and grab whatever was necessary from the room. She reached out towards the pulsing charm, missing the feel of the charm on her body.
This wasn’t right, and she knew it right from the get go in some way. It started wiht Kyla waking from a dream that fell too quickly from the forefront of her memory. As someone who liked to chronicle her dreams- the lack of residual impression enough to warrant proper penmanship was unsettling. More disappointing, but unsettling given the setting and circumstances.
Had she fell unconscious back there-? Didn’t Merlin’s potion work to keep her awake? Wait- what were they doing again?
What happened? When did they bring her in?? Was everyone alright?? Swinging her legs over to the side and sitting up- realizing she was still in her battle attire despite how it should react to her rested and secure location- she steps to the door. Kyla glanced to the water- had someone brought that in? she’d have to thank whoever it was-apologize for being a bother. But where was everyone? Judging by the glass they hadn’t left her long ago- how long was she out? She felt much better- had her fever finally passed?
A flicker out of the corner of her eye- made her look at the starless night outside the window. Her charm, somehow separated form her- was sitting there pulsating. How odd?
Just then she felt and hear the sounds of rejoicing and partying outside her door. But- wait, something wasn’t adding up. If she was better- surely she would have been back at the castle right? Unless someone used more magic on her ot make her recover faster- but… Merlin made it clear that potion was the final delay before real physical consuiquences kicked in. So she recovered the entire time here? Why were they still on the train? The journey wasn’t that long getting to.. To…
The charm was pulsing and Kyla felt her gaze go back to it, fix on it. Why would they take that off her?
Either way- despite her strange feeling to join them, maybe to ask all those questions that were bubbling in her mind- Kyla dind’t feel right leaving this token behind. It didn’t feel right- But everyone else- No.
Did someone say something?
The artist looked around as if she felt, or hear another voice. She walked towards the charm- she wouldn’t leave it behind. This thing she shared with everyone else. It was more than a charm, it was a link, it bonded her in some way, making up for whatever insecurities she felt about her heartfelt bonds with her comrads-
She couldn’t leave without it, without them.
The artist walked to it, finger stretching out for it like a person seeking a lucky charm, a security blanket- before facing whatever lay outside her cloistered sleep. She closed the distance between herself and the charm, and her fingers closed around it.
Posted: Sun Aug 07, 2016 6:18 pm
[ Joe : ??? ]
Joe bounded up the flight of stairs as quickly as he could, sometimes skipping steps as he went. Nothing mattered except getting to the top.
This was made somewhat more difficult when the floor began to fall out from underneath him. 'Oh son of a...' he thought, desperately trying to keep his footing and dash forward, reaching for the hand that had burst out of the light.
Then he woke up. Again. He leaped out of the bed like it was on fire, almost crashing into the top bed in the process.
Landing on the ground, he wasted no time doing a quick spot check, muttering to himself as he went. "OK, powers are working. Legs are working. Arms are good. Vision is normal..."
He was back on the train. At least, he was pretty sure this was the train. And his injuries were healed. So, that was it then? They had "won"?
Joe's ears perked up to the voices on the other side of the door. They sounded like they were celebrating something. He figured he might as well see what the noise was about.
Before he did though, he looked over the room to see if he had missed anything. It was then that he noticed his æthecite charm sitting on the window sill. 'What is that doing there?'
He figured he might as well grab it before he left. If there was one thing this entire mess of a night had taught him, it was that you could never be too careful when it came to magic.
Done with musing, Joe began to walk towards the charm.
Their choices made, they began to walk toward the gemstone, its light pulsing in a constant rhythm.
“Wake up.”
They heard it again in their minds, and realized it sounded at precisely the same beat. Two beats. Two syllables.
But their friends! Outside! They should turn around—!
That pull was less powerful; louder, like a thought ringing more clearly than before, but more intrusive. Had it been so forceful before? No, they chose to grab their charm, their connection.
The double-flash seemed brighter as they took a second step.
“Wake up.”
No! Outside! Leave the stone! LEAVE IT—!
The thought wracked their minds like a headache. No, they were not leaving the stone, they were not giving that up. Why would they do that? They stepped forward.
“Wake up.”
ACCEPT THAT YOUR FIGHT IS OVER! LET GO!
They stopped in their tracks, their chests aching, their minds reeling from the invading voice—it was a voice, wasn’t it? Demanding of them, insisting upon them. The fight, over? They had won a battle, sure, but no, their fight was not done. Sure, that dark abomination was defeated, but it was only one manifestation of something greater…
… had they defeated it? How? It was exceptionally strange that they could not remember how that battle ended.
Their will intensified. They reached forward, the stone pulsing brilliantly in contrast to the black window, and their hand clasped around it. Their fight was not over.
They lifted the stone, and something within made them lift it up, staring at it against the endless night beyond the window. There, in the distance of its reflection, they perceived the mirrored flicker of the stone’s light, pulsing in darkness.
One powerful, intrusive thought resounded from within, over and over:
I’m going to die.
But they did not accept that end. They chose to fight, no matter what their guts told them.
{ DE } “Wake up.”
The memory of that moment replayed in their mind, a choice, and as it did, something clicked in their perceptions. The darkness beyond the window was not night—it was purely black. The cacophony outside their room stopped. All noise came to silence. And so they saw that the second flickering light was no reflection at all, but a genuine light in the depths of pitch darkness.
The world around them cracked, shattering under the weight of their unveiled perceptions—
—and they were back in the crumbling castle, tremors shaking the foundations, stone crashing down around them. Now, though, they were staring down into the dark stairwell leading into the lower levels, the impenetrable blackness appearing just as dark as the window through which they had peered. And there, just as before, was that flicking light in the distance, far below, beyond the writhing, living shadows.
The stone was still in their hand now, pulsing brighter, faster, but keeping the same two-beat pattern.
“Wake up.”
There was that voice—that familiar voice of acceptance, of love, of family. The voice they’d thought forever lost.
TOO WEAK! SAVE YOURSELF! ABANDON THE LOST!
The ominous impulse was echoing from everywhere now, both within and without. But they were not weak. They were never weak. Tired, weary from battle, dazed and confused, perhaps. Maybe even without mana. But they didn’t know where the others were—and somehow, they’d felt an ache to look, a heavy concern to search for them.
They stared into the depths as the charm in their hands gave them warmth. The roof began to crash down, but time slowed, another memory roaring to life within them.
“CHOOSE YOUR FATE. You know what you have to do—”
“Kill me.”
But they refused that choice. They insisted on saving the young man, and they would not abandon him.
{ STA } “Wake up.”
They had made a choice to save him, even as a troubled, deranged, broken foe. They had chosen to help, even if it risked their lives. Now, as they stood on that precipice, something seethed at their essence, and they realized the truth—they had been betrayed by their fears. The darkness in their own hearts, natural as it was, had been enhanced, twisted by the lingering darkness that surrounded them even now; it had seized their self-preservation instincts, turning them against their exhausted minds.
They had been made to betray that choice, but they were not entirely lost—even in the moment, they had ached to take the risk, to find others. They had fought. And now, truth revealed, the choice was obvious—because they had already made it.
Thus they descended into darkness, trusting the light to guide them, and so their perceptions once more came undone.
*
It seemed an eternity, but then it seemed an instant—once again, they were back in that endless darkness, surrounded on all sides by the golden eyes of Shadows. However, the Heartless seemed startled, panicky, twitching more energetically than before. The door of light was still shining behind them, inviting them, pleading with them—it had been their only hope, their only chance of escape.
But now, looking the other direction, they would understand that the light had been blinding. For in the distance, as far as it had always been, was still that shimmering speck of light. Had it been there before, when they’d first awakened? Even if it had, the door had been so radiant…
RUN! FLEE! ESCAPE THE DARKNESS! IT CONSUMES!
The voice was roaring, but now they could recognize its source—everything was coming undone, and they knew the abomination was furious at them. Why had it wanted them to leave this place so badly? The Heartless seemed to try ushering them toward the door, pushing at their legs, feinting attacks but never committing.
Yes, in that moment they had run, they had fled this place without a second thought—an endless abyss for a door to light, to safety—but the aethecite shards in their hand shone brightly now, pulsing, beating—
“Wake up.”
—and there, the remembered voice that called out in time with the rhythm. Now, though, they could hear the voice was… behind them. Coming from the door itself, yet in time with the stone. And despite the Shadows and the Darkness urging them toward that false hope, a warmth held their backs, refused to let them backtrack—a warmth they instinctively understood was tied, in some way, to the voice they had been hearing every time they were pulled into the dark.
Time slowed, and a memory rushed to the fore of their thoughts.
“You have fought hard, travelers. Some on the field, some here, with our people, some just surviving to arrive here today. You have earned that æthecite gemstone. But now that you know the truth, know that you have no obligation to us. No more battles. No more fighting for survival. You may live your lives here, or wherever, peacefully, and should the time come, we will do what we can to restore your world for you.”
“If you so wish, you are free to go.”
But this they denied. They would fight, not simply for Earth, but for all worlds, for all people. They would not abandon the cause. They would not run.
{ TI } “Wake up.”
The sorcerer had offered them peace, had told them they could retire, but no, they made a choice to fight, to stand, to ensure the survival of the light. And that meant here. Now.
Out of some unconscious drive, they lifted the stone, allowing its light to shine around them—and without warning, a thin stream of light erupted from the gem, focused straight down into the darkness upon which they stood…
… and where it struck, black ash burned away, revealing the smallest glimmer of colored light beneath. The colored light of a mosaic.
The mosaic of a Station.
Lies. Deception. This winding labyrinth of confusion and panic had been layers and layers of illusion—all of it engineered such that the would have abandoned not simply the light, but their own hearts. Now, all truths were laid bare: everything had been a cheap trick of perception, illusions feeding off their own bodies’ needs, the self-centered darkness that all humans had driven wild by the power of the abomination’s corruption. Their righteous indignation fueled the stone, and the beam burned brighter, pulsed with greater radiance, and no more was it just a pulse of light but a beat of sound, a heartbeat, their own heartbeat struggling to persist through the flooding darkness. The shadows burned, the Heartless turned to ash, everything grew brighter, more radiant, they would not be denied, they would not be betrayed, they had chosen, they had chosen, they had chosen, and they would be swayed no more—
Within seconds, the light of their stone, resonating with the light within their own heart, destroyed the remaining invasive force, closed the false door, and they were left standing upon their own cleansed Station of Awakening. The could feel their summons gasp, saved from the drowning corruption; though they remained silent, the warmth of their wakened presence stayed with them. And yet…
… the beam still burned. The stone still pulsed. They were not done.
Eh, this'll do, I guess. And no, don't post yet.
@Dawn: Everything from "It seemed an eternity, but then it seemed an instant" applies to you. Yes, you made the "correct" choice in round 2, so the only illusion that needs unraveling is the first stage.
@Everyone Else: If you're feeling bad, guilty, frustrated, whatever about the choices, I'm sorry, but that was the point. sweatdrop The darkness was specifically twisting and overpowering your perceptions, trying to strip away your light step by step. Each step, as alluded to above, directly correlates to a choice made; as writers, the choices may have been "duh" choices, but in-character they had weight.
Choosing to fight rather than run at the Cornerstone Choosing to save others at a risk to yourself with Louis And, put simply, refusing to give up.
Each step, as you'll note, was more difficult to manipulate; literally no one stayed at the first, quite a few people were torn on the second, and finally, at the third layer, the abomination couldn't properly gloss over the stone or what it represents, for reasons to be revealed soon.
Posted: Mon Aug 08, 2016 2:16 am
{ Meanwhile… }
[ Joseph : ? ? ? ]
For a time, it was like every sense was overwhelmed by disoriented static. Even his mind was scattered, fraying, a storm of ideas and thoughts from so many different directions, reacting to every random stimulus.
But soon—
“Wake up.”
—there was a total silence.
All stimuli vanished. All senses, once overwhelmed, were peaking, honing in on… on… something. So much anger, so much rage… Darkness wants you to loose it upon the world. The first conscious emotion of which he was aware was frustration, a familiar anger bubbling to the surface heated by an aggravation he couldn’t remember. It boiled through him, as it had been for so long now. It gnawed at his restraints, at his will to remain in control. Yet light would not have you ignore it for that alone. After all, anger properly channeled… Still, he didn’t feel so… threatened as before. So on edge, so ready to snap. He felt driven. Urged forward. The anger burning away at the confusion around him and thrusting him out of the chaos— … leads to change. —so that suddenly, everything crashed together, and he found himself gasping as if breaking the surface of water too deep to fathom.
Everything took time to orient properly. The world around him was little more than a blur, slowly coming into sharper, clearer resolution over the course of what felt like minutes. At first, all he really saw was white, with gradations of gray and silver. His back was against something solid. The air felt unnerving, but there was no sound. He tasted something… metallic?
Then, suddenly, there was gold, and what sounded like murmuring from beneath water. Something squeezing his arm. A smell of… lilacs?
And finally, with more detail…
“Joe! Joe, oh my god please be okay!”
Noelle was sitting over him, her expression distraught, her voice panicked. There was a tiny smear of blood along her lower chin, but it wasn’t a wound so much as something she’d likely wiped off without realizing it. And that’s when he realized the taste in his mouth was, in fact, blood—his own. He twisted and spit it out before sitting up to catch his bearings.
He was in the middle of a hallway in Disney Castle—specifically, directly in front of the massive doors leading into the throne room. Normally, a significantly smaller opening was used near the base, but at the moment the gigantic doors were thrown completely open, the left one tilted with a lost hinge near the top. Around him were the unconscious—he presumed—bodies of his allies and friends. What wounds they might have had were nowhere to be seen—likely from Noelle’s healing. Turning back to her, he remembered with distinct, infuriating clarity what was going on.
Louis.
They’d defeated the Darkness, taken the unconscious man back to the castle to be looked after—and imprisoned if necessary—and gone to sleep. Hours later, the castle was crawling with Heartless—and they’d learned he had made his way into the Hall of the Cornerstone, doing who knows what with the dark powers still under his control. They’d rushed in to put a stop to him…
… and something had struck back. That part was blurry—only the condescending laughter that preceded the assault remained etched in the monk’s memory.
“How are you feeling? Need more?” she asked, referring to her magic.
It took a moment for him to process she was referring to her magic, his mind racing to try and figure out what had hit them so hard. "No...No I think I'm good."
He shook his head, trying to clear his head from the 'wrong focus' of what had attacked them. They had something a touch more important to focus on, after all. Well, he did. "I've got to stop Louis. Is everyone else okay? Do you know?"
She sighed, nervously looking back to the others. “I think I’ve managed to stabilize most everyone, though you’re the first person to come to. Mathy and Kyle, though… they’re still in there.”
Looking back into the massive room, all that could be seen were shadows—large swaths of moving black smoke and matter obscuring any view. The rest of the hall around them was clear of such darkness, merely the lights of the torches illuminating the white and silver area. Noelle’s look of concern intensified.
“I don’t know how they’re doing. Charms are blocked,” she explained. “But I have to stay here and look after them, at least until another healer wakes up. Can… can you…?” Will you fight? Joe stared at the shadows, his fists clenched tightly. "Yeah. Take care of everyone, alright?" He paused for a moment, his weapon(s) appearing in his hands, and then he moved forward. With every step, the veil of shadows seemed to pull away, allowing him entrance into the Throne Room, allowing him to finally see—
—Kyle, struggling to maintain his position as hordes of pureblood Heartless surrounded him, even more streaming in from the Hall below. By the time Joe ran the length of the hall, there had been roars, flames, and metallic whirs as the dragoon ripped and burnt away the enemies surrounding him. But for everyone one destroyed, two or three took its place. But in the blur, he’d spotted Joe.
“Joe!” he said, looking energized by the man’s appearance, a rough grin crossing his features. He was covered in scrapes and gashes, but seemed unfazed as foreign shadows danced around him on the white and silver floor. A Darkball rushed him from behind, ramming his shoulders and knocking him forward off his feet; he barely caught himself in a roll, swiping at anything around him. “Mathy’s still down there! Go—!”
A wave of Shadows crashed down on him, and he was briefly out of sight—until they burst aflame, disappearing in gold-and-black dust. Kyle was left gasping for breath, but otherwise stubbornly holding his position. “I got this,” he insisted. One leg shook, but he stomped it, powering through the pain. “Go!”
The horde was circling. Watching the dragoon, ignoring the monk. Their beady, unblinking eyes watching his strength falter. Will you help? Joe stared at the horde. At Kyle's condition. He was conflicted. Mathy might've been in trouble. Kyle definitely was. Louis was also still doing stuff. What was he going to do?
He had stopped, watching Kyle, but then slowly started forward. Then, in a blast of wind, he was zigzagging forward, a cyclone of heavy, wet air surrounding him. He pushed away and struck at the horde as he passed through, small blasts of healing wind hitting Kyle with every zig and every zag, healing the dragoon while giving him some breathing room.
And once he was past, he sent one final heal to the dragoon, carrying on it the words "Now you've got it, ya prideful b*****d. I'll be back once I take care of Mathy and Louis." And then he continued forward as fast as he could.
Kyle simply watched him go, grinning, an odd glint in his eyes before he went back to fighting what was left.
And so Joe ran down the stairs under the throne, passing into the lower levels. Despite being in the small corridor with no lights, everything was still clearly visible, the world still brightly lit. And up ahead, at the base of the stairs into the Hall of the Cornerstone—to his anxiety—was Matthew, lying face down on the ground, shadows swirling on the ground around him. Joe increased his pace, jumping the stairs three at a time before landing beside the blue mage and kneeling down to check on him.
The man was breathing, but barely. Scratches ranged all over his back and arms, and his breathing was ragged. As Joe checked on him, Matthew propped his head up enough to talk.
“Feckin’…” he grumbled, his voice sounding even more strained through the mask. “Scans aren’t working. Still not him. Still stupid.”
Behind him, standing in front of the Cornerstone, arms outstretched as if to embrace its light, stood Louis, his back to them. The stone beyond him was swirling with unanticipated energy, causing distortions in the room as its power tried to fight back against whatever was going on. As a result—perhaps—Louis’ own shadow was pitch black along the tile, pulsing, slithering, lashing this way and that with tendrils of darkness in the flat plane of the floor. Will you remember… "Mathy..."
Joe stood, staring at Louis' back. He even raised an arm to throw one of his staff pieces...before stopping. What if he missed? What if Louis dodged? Would he damage the Cornerstone? How did Louis even get into the chamber? How was he doing this?
And what did Mathy mean by scans not working...?
"Louis! Enough!" That rage was starting to bubble stronger in him. "You god-complexed little s**t, ENOUGH!"
There was an eerie chuckle that quickly escalated into high pitched laughter, shaking Louis’ shoulders with each breath. The shadows writhed and waved, as if laughing as well.
“Enough? No, never enough! The Light must fall!” he shouted, never even looking back. The shadows alone continued to move. “Our rage must be quenched. No more blinding, no more martyrdom. Only our storm!” … who the true enemy is? Frustrated, Joe yelled. "WHY?!"
Joe couldn’t see the Louis’ expression, but he could feel the younger man’s furious sneer through the black umbra of his stance. “Betrayer’s heavy cost! We ripped, we tore!” he shouted, his voice echoing some memory within Joe from before as his hands curled into fists; the darkness in the room seemed to vibrate with anger. “Ill fates, false hopes, ne’ermore shall light grant strength!”
The Cornerstone hummed with terrifying intensity, but for all its turbulence it seemed impotent, unable to oppose the growing wave of darkness spreading from Louis’ shadow.
“So fall the final shards! Damn fractures! Stains!” he roared, and the room itself seemed to break—no, existence itself was trembling. Only Joe seemed untouched by the wavering reality, though his chest burned, wracked with aching pain. Louis’ voice was growing into a horrible crescendo, caught in harmony with deeper whispers from beyond some unseen veil, the shadows spreading, reaching, looking to take in everything.
The only shadows Joe had seen since he’d awoken.
The shadows that moved as if alive of their own accord.
“At last, the Light shall fade! We come! Fall! FALL!”
At this point, Joe shook his head. Louis was lost. There...couldn't be anything left of him. If there was...it was a sad fate. Perhaps he was judging too much but...For Mathy's sake, for the Cornerstone's sake...for his own...he readied his weapon.
Piercing, golden eyes all looked up at Joe from the shadows, not from Heartless but from the shadow itself.
And then threw the jagged ends into the shadow at the sight of the golden eyes. Honestly mostly out of reflex. The floor could take a bit of damage...he hoped, but the eyes made him think of heartless, and he was not going to be struck by surprise without an attack of his own first.
Suddenly, the shadows reeled, as if attempting to dodge, but due to their sheer growth the hit struck near an edge. A terrifying screech filled the hall, and much of Joe’s senses seemed to contort, as if misinterpreting their inputs, or as if there were some sort of glitch.
When things returned to normal a split second later, the rage emanating from Louis was suddenly amplified, but his voice was more… reverted. “You wish to stop me?! Come at me! Strike me down with all that rage you carry!” he shouted, tensions notably heightened. “You’ve no friends to save you. You’ve been forsaken, damned—and the light you hold so dear is powerless beneath our fury! What can you possibly do to me?!”
Joe shook his head, clutching it for a moment. The hell was that? And why did Louis want to be 'struck down' so bad? And...he was getting more frustrated. But the shadow had tried to retreat from the attack. And Louis hadn't moved. At all.
Joe recalled his weapons and stepped forward. One step. Two. Three.
"Shut up. You talk too much."
And he aimed for the shadow, as centered as he could. It was a blur of his hands, trying to strike as fast as possible—and he struck true, causing such a mind-wrenching screech of pain that Joe could barely see straight. The world seemed to break down into nothing—
“Wake up.”
—and Joe soon realized, as the floor gave out from underneath him, that the world was literally breaking down into nothing. Within seconds, he was surrounded by black oblivion and falling, headfirst—a feeling he would instantly recognize.
Sure enough, moments later, he was approaching a brilliantly lit station; his descent slowed, his body turned of its own accord, and his feet gently touched down on mosaic glass.
It was familiar, yet not. This was absolutely his own heart, he was sure, but it looked different. The mosaic had changed. His heart had changed.
He had changed.
Before he had a chance to react, three clouds of mist appeared in front of him and began to circle around him, one by one. Round they went, faster they revolved, before eventually it was a blur of magic fog that rushed in front of him, coalescing, manifesting—
—and forming a hovering entity that was something entirely unique: a Merman. The top half was entirely human…ish: a muscular man with long, slightly iridescent hair that shifted through the many different hues of green, depending on light, as well as a muscular, well-toned body that, rather than being light pink due to flowing blood, was tinted a very pale blue-white; the bottom half, however, was brilliantly colored, with iridescent scales that seemed to shift from being mostly dark blue to including hues of green and purple.
And above all, his eyes were glowing solid white. No pupils or irises—simply beacons of light staring out at Joe, a warm smile crossing his features. Joe instantly understood (more through feeling than deduction) that this being was his summon—Sylph, but new, shifted, adapted—but he also understood that the consciousness that currently controlled the body wasn’t her—or, well, him now.
“How are you feeling?”
The voice was mostly familiar, but once again less through memory and more through feeling—for the most part, it was certainly Merman’s voice. But there was a higher tenor there, something more androgynous in the undertone, a second layer.
Sure, he was staring at Merman...but he didn't seem quite all there. His eyes had a bit of a glossy look to them as if he wasn't paying attention.
"Tired. Confused... A little nervous." A lot was happening in such a short amount of time; he was honestly having trouble following some of it. He at least noticed the mosaic of himself had changed. He seemed to be wearing furs in it now... he assumed. It was big, after all, and all he could vaguely tell was it might have been an animal if not just the fur. But it was something that was with him, it seemed. Like this new merman in front of him.
He opened his mouth to say more, but closed it after a bit more. He was just too tired. Too confused. Too... well maybe not too nervous but the nerves were still there.
The being simply nodded, his warm smile softening in sympathy. “Such is understandable; you have been through so much more than one should ever go through,” the voice spoke, lowering in solemnity. Tension filled the air “And there were times you came so close… so close to falling. Your heart was so strained… You broke, Joseph. Under the weight of your world, your heart gave out. What you have just experienced was your heart striving to make sense of the dark infestation that was trying to corrupt what pieces remained.”
“However…,” he continued, his expression lightening. “Though your heart gave out, it never gave in. You never gave in. You saw through their lies and struck at the true enemy, not its helpless puppet. You did not give way to anger, but instead let it fuel you. I am so proud of you. I know how hard you have struggled…”
“So much anger, so much rage… Darkness wants you to loose it upon the world,” he spoke, his eyes drifting downward to the ground, as if in contemplation. Joe could feel exactly what the being spoke of, knew that it was analyzing his very core. And yet, the being looked up, brilliant eyes imploring him through expression. “Yet light would not have you ignore it for that alone. After all, anger properly channeled leads to change.”
“And the world must change.” The being stared into Joe’s eyes, and they shone with unhindered intensity. “Joseph was chosen, and now he must become who he was always meant to be at heart—if he is willing to continue the terrible struggle that wracks our world.”
His eyes seemed to focus now. He...felt like he was getting answers. Mostly to stuff he hadn't been fully questioning, not consciously, but he was getting answers. And then asked a very important question.
"...It hasn't been that long, though it's felt like so long. But...I've come this far. I can't give up now. After all...I can help. And if I can, I should. After all, it's just...the right thing to do." He nodded. "And I wanna do it."
Merman smiled and nodded, before floating off to the side to reveal that—somehow, despite its lithe frame—he had been blocking a pedestal from view. Above it hovered twin axes; their handles were made largely of gray and red coral, with the axe heads made of large, sharpened mother-of-pearl, glowing with refracted colors in the light of the station. Immediately he understood what the entity had meant. He was given a call—and he was answering it.
Stepping forward, he heard that same voice in his mind as before, and immediately he recognized it as something tied to the voice possessing Merman—it wasn't the same as that second tone, it was even more genderless, but it was almost certainly related.
Your will, given form, will grant you strength... can you wield it?
He reached up and grabbed the two axes. They felt powerful, easy to swing and easier to throw due to their magic weightlessness, and utterly perfect for him. He felt attuned, like they were extensions of his controlled rage. The voice returned.
The power of the berserker. Righteous fury. Axes to rend foes asunder.
Can you bear this burden?
He tightened his grip, letting loose his tension and taking a deep breath. “Yes.”
The world before him began to glow with white light, shining, brilliant, blinding—
The possessor-entity spoke. “At last.”
—and then he was off.
[[ Note: Still no posts! Two others are going to post, then I'll wrap things up. ]]
Since the attack, her life felt entirely out of sync.
Memories mingled and broke, fused and rewound. Events of the recent future mixed with memories of the distant past. Her 5th birthday seemed like it was yesterday, but even there she was doing combat with strange, dark manifestations. And she just kept jumping, from scene to scene, like a film reel of her life ripped to shreds and shoddily clipped back together totally out of order; the links of her chain were misplaced, unevenly jumbled in one place and sparsely united in the next.
However, through it all, there seemed to be a gentle presence in the background, with one hand softly in her own. It was silent and inactive—it was more like Noelle was holding their hand than vice versa—but it gave her mind and heart the resilience to remain at least aware of her own being. She kept telling herself, this wasn't right. Don't let any of it cement. Don't let it heal this way. It kept her sane.
And then, briefly, it was as if the hand squeezed, and Noelle immediately felt a sense of urgency. Apprehension. Fear. Instinctively, she reached out, as if to quell someone's nightmare, but the presence remained anxious. Deep within her own being, she felt more than heard something.
“Wake up.”
The hand squeezed tighter, but as it did so, Noelle's own identity began to ache. The cacophonous memories began to twist and swirl in tense chaos, their bindings fraying and snapping. Her essence pulsed with wracking discomfort, and the hand gripped her in its own terror while Noelle held on, watching, remembering, feeling through the storm of unchained memories that seemed to rip and tear at her mind until finally—
—she was falling through darkness, and the reassuring hand was gone.
As it slipped away and her body fell—for now she was back in physical form, it seemed—everything that constructed her identity rushed into order like a cascading reaction that left her gasping for breath. For the briefest of moments, she was undone, and then just as swiftly she was whole, reborn anew. She felt strong, she felt resilient, she felt... herself. For the first time in what felt like years.
It took a slowing of her descent to snap her out of her reverie, and when she finally looked down she was instantly struck by nostalgia. Seconds later, her body carefully flipped, and she was standing upon her personal Station of Awakening. The pillar was brilliantly glowing a variety of colors (largely greens, of course), reassuring her and giving her a feeling of comfort. However, standing directly in front was a towering man, easily almost six and a half feet tall and built with more muscle than any man she'd ever seen in person. He had tanned skin, long brown hair down to his shoulders, and a roughly managed beard. He was garbed in sleeveless breastplate tightly molded to his muscular form and a leather... skirt? She believed it was called a pteruges, something Greek. His wrists had leather bracers and his sandals were made of thick leather that went up to just under his calf. However, most prominently, and most distractingly, his eyes were glowing solid white, like soft beacons that weren't blinding but were at least somewhat hard to look at.
Noelle, though, couldn't help but stare in confusion. She made a face and tilted her head as the realization of who this was dawned on her. This was Titan, she knew that, but his form was of someone else, someone she'd never met in person but very easily recognized.
"Oh my god, you're The Rock. The ******** Rock."
The towering man, apparently Dwayne Johnson in his costume from Hercules, looked down at himself briefly before looking back up, giving a light smirk and shrugging in nonchalance.
“So your memories have made me, yes,” he said, and in that moment Noelle instantly realized that this was, in fact, not Titan—at least, not entirely. There was his familiar voice there, to be certain, but there was another, softer, with significantly less... bass. “I drew upon them, and thus I stand. How are you feeling?”
Noelle took a moment to respond, appearing to make an attempt at gathering her wits, "Oh, uh, I'm . . . fine? Sorry, give me a minute, I'm talking to Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson because apparently that's how this memory stuff works and I'm not sure if I should be thrilled or feel like there's no fixing me . . . Uh, anyway, much better, I feel much better. The past—I don't know how long it was, just drowning in broken memories—was hell. But I'm . . . better now. I don't know how. But I suppose that comes with the territory."
The Rock. I'm imprinting The Rock onto Titan and he's not even mad. Incredible.
Dwayne continued to give a light smile. “Your friend will likely not remember anything about this moment. When your memories were broken, your heart was severely damaged—and consequently, he was left mostly comatose, his identity as broken as your own. For now, he slumbers, healing.”
The smile faded. “But I am glad you are well. You... you are needed. There is much going on, too much, but...”
He hesitated.
“Noelle was chosen, and now she must become who she was always meant to be at heart—if she is willing to continue the terrible struggle that wracks our world.”
Noelle's expression turned a bit more somber as Dwayne (<******** Dwayne man what the ********>) continued and she started to understand what he meant. Her memories, the composition of her being, had been dismantled; forcefully ripped apart and reassembled. But to what end? This being seemed to know the answer to that question. Perhaps to many others as well. Answers to questions she didn't even have. But first he needed her answer.
"I'm ready."
He nodded, smiling with a calm serenity as he stepped aside, and Noelle realized that—somehow, yet not surprisingly—the entity's towering form had been hiding a large pedestal, lit somewhat more brightly than the rest of the station. Hovering above it were two ornate, crystalline sai, slowly revolving around one another in midair. And she knew then, of course, what was going on.
This wasn't just a typical dive. It was a repeat of her original Dive into the Heart, the first step into a new life, a new world, and somehow, for some reason... she had changed.
But as she said. She was ready.
Stepping forward with a mixture of curiosity, reverence, and determination, she heard that same voice in her mind as before, and immediately she recognized it as something tied to the voice possessing Titan—it wasn't the same as that second tone, it was more androgynous, but it was almost certainly related.
Your will, given form, will grant you strength... can you wield it?
She reached up and grabbed the two sai. They felt weightless, perfectly designed for her hands, her fighting style—for her. They were at once both new and familiar, and infinitely... comfortable. The voice returned.
The power of the witch. Strength of will. Sai for protection and retribution.
Can you bear this burden?
She smiled, more confident now than she'd felt in days, or maybe ever.
“Just ******** me up.”
The world before he began to glow with white light, shining, brilliant, blinding—
The possessor-entity spoke: “It’s finally time.”
—and then she was off.
Posted: Mon Aug 08, 2016 2:32 pm
{ Meanwhile… }
[ Nicholas : ? ? ? ]
He was worn out, body and soul, and when he fell, it was as if he was slipping from consciousness into sleep. The sleep, however, never came.
He was falling, head first, and his descent felt… guided. It was a feeling he was only somewhat familiar with. Somewhere else, in a different time, a different place, maybe… or a vicarious experience, perhaps. He looked left and right, seeing only darkness. Below, however, in the direction of his fall, he saw light. At first, it was simply a white speck, but it quickly grew into something multicolored, and before long he could tell it was a mosaic pillar.
This was a Dive into the Heart. He recognized it, of course, from the games, but it felt as familiar as a long-forgotten dream, too—and then he realized it came from his scattered memories.
Something painful flashed through his mind too fast to comprehend, causing him to cringe in pain more mental and emotional than physical.
“Wake up.”
Within seconds, he found his body gently slowing down and flipping, allowing his feet to touch down on the surface without serious impact. As Nicholas stepped down onto the platform, the Earthling fell to his knees with a hand to his head, a wave of emotions were swirling through his mind. Don't panic, remain calm, don't <********> panic! he mentally screamed as his head continued pounding.
Looking down at the floor, he saw himself for only a moment. He had recognized his face on the mosaic, so he knew the station to be his own. But it was significantly different from the stage he had been on just moments before, changed here and there, showing Nicholas in… well, a new light.
Before he could bother reacting, or even fully analyze his situation, a sudden presence rushed through him from behind, and chills ran down his entire body one moment—followed by a reassuring warmth; he was, respectively, terrified and calmed. His muscles released any sort of tension as the presence rushed forward out of him in a form of spiraling, translucent light. It turned to face him, becoming only mostly-opaque light, with eyes somehow whiter and brighter than the rest of its form. Though ghostly and radiant, the entity was not hard to gaze at, or even lock eyes with.
“It is good that you are finally here, Nicholas,” the voice spoke, completely androgynous. “Though perhaps your heart still needs some time to breathe.”
Gazing up at the ...entity? before him, Nicholas listened to it greet him before raising a brow. What was this thing? He paused for a few moments, trying to fully relax before responding.
"No, no. I'm...okay. I have an idea of where we are and what...who...you are. But why are we here?"
The entity did not respond immediately; though it had no facial features to speak of, Nicholas got the impression it was raising an eyebrow at his response.
“We are here because you are healing. You have an idea of what I am?” it responded; its voice remained mostly neutral, but there was the slightest tinge of both curiosity and amusement to its voice.
"Well, you're not Chaos, cause I...well, we whooped his butt. You're not trying to murder me horribly or do...anything, really. You say I'm 'healing', so based on the position of the stars in the sky and my horoscope for today, I'll go ahead and guess you're some sort of projection of...well, the Light? Or whatever name you prefer, I guess? I could be wrong, but to be fair, I've been dealing with a lot of deity type shenanigans and I'm not that great at following along with whatever narrative is going on."
There was an ethereal ring, like wind chimes gently being pressed together by the softest breeze. Nicholas could tell it was laughter. “Yes. No. Perhaps,” it replied, and he could see it shrug. He got the distinct feeling it wasn’t evading an answer so much as lacking one. “I know the forces more intimately than some. And I know you. I’ve known you for a long time, Nicholas. Though your choice with them last night forced me out, your choices now have shown perhaps you are ready after all.”
"Ready for what, pray tell? No offense, but I'm kind of not looking into making deals with entities far beyond my understanding or control. Not that I don't trust you or anything but...no, actually, I'm really wary to trust you. Side note, a name you'd prefer to be called? I'd rather have a name to a ...well, maybe not a face, but, you get my drift."
“A name implies an identity. I lack such,” it said, nonchalant. However, its eyes focused on him more intently shortly thereafter, with the sense of an eyebrow being raised yet again. “And deals are not my domain; such implies a give and take. Much has already been taken from you. I am only here to return something which was denied you for some time now.”
There was a hesitation in the air, its beacon-eyes seeming to fall on the mosaic ground as if in somber thought before returning to Nicholas’ gaze. “A gift. A burden. A chance.”
"Gifts are good. Burdens, less so, depending on context. Chance? And what was I denied?"
Intensity slowly but distinctly filled the air. “Your heart’s power.”
"My heart's...power? Like what, one of the weapons the other Earthlings have? Magic? The power of positivity?"
“Yes, yes, and you’re using humor to lighten and disarm a situation for which you personally feel underequipped to handle despite all evidence proving the contrary because of your understandable issues with self-worth, as you are wont to do.”
Another pause. “As I said. I know you.”
Nicholas paused for a long moment, giving the entity a small frown despite his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Y'know, when you call it out like that in the open, it kind of loses its charm. Either way, how will I go about getting my 'heart's power'? I'm here at the pedestal, aren't I? Fancy ritual time, I'm guessing?"
“You have regained your memories in full, but remembering is not the same as experiencing,” it said, the sullen tone seeming to ignore his playfulness entirely. “You must recognize the weight of the burden before you accept it. I am sorry.”
And without further warning or preparation, Nicholas was thrust back through his memories to the moments that started it all: the fall of Earth. It was as if he was experiencing it for the first time—he had no idea what came next, he simply played through the actions the same as before: from the second when nothing was wrong, through all the chaos and horror, until finally he was thrust back into his Dive. As he fell, slowly slipping down, his memories of the past week also rushed through his mind in ten-fold time. He was reminded both of the weight of the burden, and the cost of carrying it as one of the Earthlings.
Thus, before he knew it, he was once again standing across from the specter, blinking through the memories under its gaze.
Nicholas stared at the specter, his face looking pale and gaunt. "...That was rude. If I had the capacity to vomit right now...well, yeah. I don't want to talk about this anymore."
“What lies before you cares not for manners, because what stands against you cares not at all,” it said, all humor and curiosity gone from its tone, leaving only the seriousness of life or death. “Tainted though you may have been, you stood with those who would consume all things. You know of what they are capable. You want to know how to receive your heart’s power? Be willing to die for those ripped away from you, from Earth, from all worlds.”
“And then,” it spoke, and though Nicholas could feel the weight in the air, he knew the entity was not angry, per se, or at least not toward him. “be willing to live to make sure that you and others like you save them.”
"...Well, s**t. That was deep and everything. I'm...not sure if I'm ready for this. You know what I've done, and I want to forget the things I've done or accept them, move on, whatever but it's hard to accept that. Not out of selfishness, but to believe I was capable of such raw destruction...I don't know if I can be trusted with power like that again. And even if I felt I was ready, would the others? Would the Earthlings, people who I've fought, sealed, broke limbs...would they even want me around?"
“Whether you are wanted or not is not relevant. Your world and its people were consumed. These worlds and these people are suffering and may soon face the same fate,” it spoke, terse, solemn. “You survived because you carried the potential to do great good. That potential, that purpose, is the burden. Stop asking about insignificant desires, about irrelevant excuses. There is no evasion—only the choice. The gift. The burden. The chance. You must decide how you proceed in these dark times.”
Something hummed in the air, and the specter grew more opaque, its eyes more brilliant.
“Nicholas was chosen, and now he must become who he was always meant to be at heart—if he is willing to continue the terrible struggle that wracks our world.”
"Two for two on the whole 'deep motivational quit yer bitchin' speech' thing, there. Alright, I guess I can't be moping around like this. I'll have my mental breakdown later, let's do this."
His words triggered something in the specter, its form pulsing in vibrant white.
And suddenly, the face of his greatest loss from Earth flashed in front of his mind’s eye. Vivid. Pained. Gone.
“Within your own heart, your own sanctum, you still act thus. Do you truly face the burden of their hearts so irreverently? Do you exist beneath The Act?” the spirit asked, its tone grave, questioning, on edge.
Nicholas blinked, tears pouring down his face. He didn't remember starting to cry, but waited quietly for what seemed to be an eternity before responding. "...Fine. I'm ready. Act is gone." he responded in a quiet, yet monotone voice. His face was settled, a wall of no emotion guarding his features.
The spirit did not respond immediately, though it bowed its head, as if giving Nicholas a moment now that the point was made. With that moment passing, it moved to the side, revealing behind it a large, lit pedestal; hovering above that pedestal were three items: a grey choker with a simple white gem in the front center, and two large, hexagonal bucklers, roughly 2-and-a-half feet in diameter, each with black, metallic threading covering the front that revealed two smaller circular speakers within each.
Your will, given form, will grant you strength... can you wield it?
This voice came from within his mind, and though it sounded especially similar to the spirit’s, it was also somehow different, unique—absolutely related, but somehow not the same. Still, Nicholas stepped forward and reached out, taking one of the shields in his hands to give it a better look. In doing so, the voice spoke again.
The power of the bard. Shrewd versatility. Speakers to shift the tune of battle.
Can you bear this burden?
Nicholas examined the shield for a long moment, eyeing every side carefully before sliding it onto his left arm and feeling the weight. He smirked, as if satisfied with how it felt, before looking at the spectre once again.
"I can and will bear this burden..."
The world before him began to glow with white light, shining, brilliant, blinding—
[ Ajora ; Evil McBadFace ??? : Station of Awakening ]
Ajora watched. Because, frankly, that’s all he could really do.
Held upside down by a large tendril, he looked upon the ruins of the station with a disgruntled gaze. The massive, rocky platform was covered by a thick blanket of black, viscous fog that seemed to cling to everything it touched. The fighters’ bodies were strewn about, lying in unnatural positions, having simply… fallen. The sight of their limp forms gave the battlefield a morbid atmosphere, thick with the essence of loss, of corruption.
Occasionally, he would notice small tendrils rise near the bodies to prod at them, twisting them one way or turning them the other, before seeping into their still chests.
“We cannot sense you, half-made man—why not?”
He turned his gaze down—or, technically, up—into the massive, piercing face of darkness that pressed against reality’s fabric. The tainted collective was staring at him, through him, using the tendril to constantly drain away at his magic, all while attempting to feel his essence, his being, his heart. However, they could not. He was absent from their mystic senses, and they were certainly frustrated.
It had been like this for, what, ten? Fifteen minutes? After the eruption, he was snatched up before he could react, left hanging—literally—as the horror dealt with the bodies of the fallen.
“Didn’t you hear? This isn’t actually me. This is just a memory-specter I placed inside Louis yesterday,” he responded, tone nonchalant, though the blood rushing to his head was beginning to cause a headache.
“T’is false. Such weaves would be crushed, but not you,”they spoke, though briefly they seemed to turn their gaze away, toward the corpses. He raised a brow.
“Well, I did make it with the Trident, after all—”
“Again, this is no sprite. We feel, yet not…”
The face looked at the defeated warriors more intently now, its eyes narrowed; he could feel a chilling vibration in the air, as if the shadows themselves were growling below the range of human hearing. “What’s wrong? Unhappy with your corpse party? I could find some balloons, I suppose.”
The voices chuckled (cackled? snickered? giggled? There were so many…), the face settling into a sneer. “No corpses, these, but hosts of inverse light,” they whispered, eager yet frustrated. “They slip now, deeper into our embrace.”
Ajora’s eyes jolted open in surprise, an expression of unhindered shock clear upon his face. “You… what?”
“Enough! Your secret, failure, cease the games!”
He let out a single laugh of disbelief. “They’re alive?!”
The horror’s only response was to slam him down into the station, which shut him up.
“No matter! You will be wrought to nothing!”they shouted, and the tendrils began to squeeze, crushing his ribs, pressing the breath out of him—
—until the pressure lessened just so and the growling intensified, their gaze back to the unconscious forms, eyes dancing from form to form.
And so he started laughing again—loudly—and the Darkness barely noticed, seemingly consumed with whatever was going on with the sleeping guardians.
