The rooms dissolved, forcing everyone one direction. Forwards. Forwards and up into darkness.
Darkness, and stairs. A long, spiral set of stairs that lead only upwards. They began to crumble behind, slowly at first, and then steadily, almost as if sentient and aware of each and every footstep.
At the end of the stairs was a wide, circular space. Inside were seven rooms, and exactly seven. Each one was marked with a different glowing colour. Red, gold, green, black, blue, violet and white. They each called for something different.
The Red door promised Destruction. It promised change through power and violence. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world fall into upheaval, and to those who wanted to differ.
The Gold door promised Pride. It promised great authority and tradition. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world controlled, and to those who wanted to be in charge.
The Green door promised Creation. It promised fluidity and adaptability. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world harmonized, and to those who wanted to be inventors.
The Violet door promised Reflection. It promised betrayal and indecision. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world malleable, and to those who wished for indecision.
The White door promised Grief. It promised longing and reminiscence. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world reborn, and to those who wanted a conclusion.
The Black door promised Revenge. It promised the greatest satisfaction of pure vindication. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world wrought, and to those who wanted opportunity.
The Blue door promised Protection. It promised a fierce need for safety and shelter. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world conserved, and to those who wanted to be the hero.
To each person, to each individual, the seven doors called out their different strengths and weaknesses, whatever it could exploit from their emotions, but ultimately made them choose one. The tower itself knew of the threat that invaded it. This was its last chance to preserve itself. It was unable to differentiate those who protected and those who sought to destroy, but it offered the same amount of power to all.
OOC:
gaia_crown[ Part 1 SELECT A DOOR ] WRITE A PROMPT ACCORDING TO THE DOOR YOUR CHARACTER SELECTS. Simply pick which door (from the doors in the prompt above) suits your character the most. Then, read the prompt in the spoiler below corresponding to the door you picked and respond to it IN THIS THREAD. Then, move to PART 2 below.
DESTRUCTION:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you are a creature of destruction in the middle of a war. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and break you in the midst of battle. You become nothing but just a warrior, one of thousands, forgotten, discarded, harboring eternally the feeling of hatred and destruction.
You continue, feeling only the festering of destructionuntil it becomes you, until you are destruction. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People Fear you power, and it is the need to protect that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans run at the sight you and those who approach you aware of your endless cycle of destruction.
The destruction goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and worship.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Destruction still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
PRIDE:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you embrace you as a leader In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and they archive your successes. You are immortalized, a statue, forever remembered, passed down the ages as a legacy.
You continue, feeling only the conquest of prideuntil it becomes you, until you are pride. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People respect your power, and it is the need to rule that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans true of heart seek you and those who defy you continue to live in your Fear of you.
The pride goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and love.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Pride still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
CREATION:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you remember you as an inventor. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and they remember you for what you have created. You are immortalized, a statue, forever remembered, passed down the ages as a memory.
You continue, feeling only the fragments of creationuntil it becomes you, until you are creation. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People seek your power and knowledge, and it is the need to learn that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans true of heart seek you and those who defy you continue to live in your Fear of your potential.
Your reation goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and knowledge.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Creation still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
GRIEF:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where you lament the loss of everyone else around you. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and join them. All you remember is your loss, and your legacy is only your memory of theirs.
You continue, feeling only the sorrow of griefuntil it becomes you, until you are grief. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People remember your presence, and it is the terror of distress and affliction, that calls to you. You make Humans in their moments of desolation call and Fear you, for what you may bring
The grief goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and sorrow.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Grief still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
REFLECTION:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you remember you as a traitor. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and they trap you for what they think is eternity. You are caged, stripped of your freedom, passed down the ages as a legacy of betrayal.
You continue, feeling only the cloak of deceptionuntil it becomes you, until you are reflection. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People respect your power, and it is the need to protect that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans unsure of themselves seek you and those who betray and are betrayed live in Fear of you.
The reflection goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and dishonesty.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Reflection still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
REVENGE:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it consumes your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you betray you. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and they cast you away. You are thrown, just a carcass and husk, into oblivion, forgotten. You rot, just a casket, hollow and empty inside.
You rot, but the feeling of revenge takes hold in whatever shell you had left until it becomes you, until you are revenge. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. You make people Fear you, and it is the revenge that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans never forget what you represent, and you lash out, no longer what you were but a being completely made out of Fear.
The revenge goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient entirely created from Fear, able to change things through your Fear.
In the back of your mind Revenge still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
PROTECTION:
You arrive inside the door and see an altar in front of you. A strange emblem burns on top of the altar instead of fire. It calls you closer, for you to grasp at it. You do, and as you do, it grasps your consciousness.
You see a future where those around you worship you as a hero. In the last moments of your dying breath, you reach out towards them, and they embrace you. You are immortalized, a statue, forever remembered, passed down the ages as a legacy.
You continue, feeling only the warmth of protectionuntil it becomes you, until you are protection. You begin to grow from your husk, becoming a figment of concept at first. People respect your power, and it is the need to protect that drives you, that pushes you further. You make Humans true of heart seek you and those who defy you continue to live in your Fear of you.
The protection goes further, and so does your legacy. You grow in power. You feed on Fear and love.
You become a god. No, not a god. An Ancient. You become an Ancient created by Fear and worship, able to change things through your legacy you have created.
In the back of your mind Protection still whispers but you are something else entirely new now. Those of Halloween and of the Human world recognize you by mere concept. You have transcended.
PROMPT OOC
Please respond to this prompt above however you like! This is purely theoretical, but write a future where your character has "died" and been reborn as an Ancient. That means they will need to create a Fear that makes them reborn. It can be any Fear you want. Fear of light, Fear of dark, Fear of the sky, Fear of hatred or love, whatever it is, you spread this concept and are born from it. Choose a theme you think is relevant to your character! How do you become this god? What do you do with your power? You are free to write it as you wish. You can do this solo or drabble style, of however length. After you do so you walk out of the event and wake up in the appearance of (see below), a temporary "rebirth"
gaia_crown[ Part 2: SELECT YOUR ABILITIES ]
Your character has been reborn after the prompt, or the tower has taken them, made them a god, and then cast them back into the world as they were. They remember everything that they could have had from the prompt and that makes them feel slightly more powerful, or perhaps even reluctant depending on the character. In addition to their usual appearance, they gain the traits below.
Select all situations appropriate to your character. This is what your character is WEARING in addition to their usual wear for the rest of the battle and/or may override certain parts that is up to you. They differ in appearance slightly according to your character's traits. This plus their battle ability is an effect granted by the blessing of the tower. It lasts only while they are inside this tower at this current period of time. - If you have a character with more than 2 abilities applicable please ONLY PICK TWO.
Loyal to Medea: On your head rests a black crown, adorned with red jewels. The black crown has a THORN motive - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that damage to your next attack roll. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Loyal to Death: Around your neck is a chain and instead of a lock, at the center a small clock that has stopped ticking. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that defense to your next defensive roll. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Loyal to Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Loyal to self: (No allegiance whatsoever) Something strange happens. A shadow overtakes you, standing in front of you. It solidifies, looking like your worst nightmare in a world where you survive. You become a weapon, you become a horsemen, you become a mass of insanity and only insanity. The shadow whispers, tells you this is your rightful path and you feel yourself fading. They take your place. - You now rp as the SHADOW, a replacement, a better form of what you were. IF you are a student you can choose to become a weapon (with the Hunter) or you can choose to become a terrifying Insanity beast or a vengeful horsemen accomplice. If you are a horsemen you can choose to become insanity, if you are a Hunter you can choose to see your insanity or student form/ etc. This is basically their worst possible outcome they fear visualized into reality. In their hands is a mirror where their TRUE consciousness lies. The shadow version (that you are now rping) contains only vengeance while the mirror contains their regret. Both parts can communicate with each other, but only the shadow has control. - Select one of the bonuses above depending on what faction you end up as. If it is still a student, you can upgrade one of your charged/Fear attacks to a year higher only once per boss fight/ battle.
Infected with Insanity: Your appearance shifts and you are all grey-black, eyes yellow or blue. A thick smoke shifts from you and it seems you are losing your appearance around the edges. The voices speak of home and you can't help but indulge, easily losing your sense of self. You attack arbitrarily. - Your damage modifier is now -5 instead of -6 all battle.
Infected with a "key" (hand cancer). Your form becomes bound in chains, around your arms and legs (though not together). It feels heavy for you to walk - 1 attack and +1 modifier, so instead of -6 you take - 7
Infected with Merlin's "core": Your form begins to split and corrupt and a terrible gaping hole, cracked, becomes of your chest. You are consumed by madness and anger. You lash our arbitrarily. +2 attack and +2 damage done to you
Locked memories: The lock containing your memories snap as suddenly you recall everything you sealed again. ((OOC: It is optional after this whether or not you want to regain these memories or have them reseal, both are doable))..If you are one of the old sealed creatures ( legacy auction pieces), all you remember is being promised something, but the yearning to belong is strong. - + 5 HP added onto your stat
One of the Seven Kings: Your appearance shifts, and you regain the appearance of your old seven kings version. You also wear a cape, with the colour of your crown. Emblazoned on the cape in thicker gold is the sigil of your alliance. - You begin to lose a little sense of yourself and remember yourself more as a king the more you use this ability. Summon and enchant a former ally of your kingdom (in 7 kings) to you. They also lose their sense of sense the second you use it and also think of themselves as part of the former kingdom, their appearance shifting back to their old selves. Add + 1 to both your attacks. You can summon 5 people max. You cannot enchant someone already enchanted.
One of the Seven "Queens" (that were chosen from end of the legacy event part 1) - Your appearance shifts and you turn a dark, shadowy back, losing all semblance of colour as markings of the Queen you were overcome your form. You begin to hear voices all promising of home. - You can enchant anyone and corrupt them. You cannot enchant someone already enchanted. Whenever you miss, attack again. You can only do this once per battle for anyone who enchant as well. You can do this to 5 people max. Anyone you enchant you "corrupt" so that they take on a similar appearance to you, darker grey with glowing markings.
gaia_crown[ Part 3 SELECT A BOSS BATTLE ]
Next, you will pick one of these three threads below for the BOSS BATTLE. It is up to you which one you pick, but you cannot pick another boss battle until the first boss has successfully been defeated. Once the boss's HP reaches 0, you can hop to another boss ICly by simply moving there. A character can only fight one boss at a time. AT the end of a boss battle, an event will happen if that boss is defeated, depending which one it is. All characters who were there will gain a certain bonus from being there, so choose carefully which boss - Feel free to read the threads first to see what each are like, before having your character pick one.
- In addition to bosses, the battlefield itself is immense, and you may get swept into a [ BATTLE PRP ] with non bosses! Go ahead and create a battle PRP thread if you wish to battle certain characters, only AFTER you've posted in any one of the orps at least even just one arrival post. You can be in a boss fight AND several prps at the same time. You can quote someone in a boss fight and branch it off into a battle PRP. You can finish it whenever convenient, even fill it in/conclude it after the event! - Battle PRPS can start now and finish whenever but if you go over 600 words, you get +2 rp points for it! You can get +6 rp points total for doing this. Battle PRPs follow our regular battle system BUT you can add all the bonus effects you gained above.
exclaimTHE NEXT UPDATE/ THE FINALE WILL BE JUNE 15th at 11:59 PM PSTexclaim
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 4:38 am
The winding staircase, with its spiraling, unsteady path upwards, reminded Mengyao vaguely of another time, another place. He decided it was best not to dwell on those memories, however, and took his first step, making his way slowly higher and higher. Beneath his feet and behind him the stairs were crumbling, as though at any moment it could disappear entirely and he would fall into the void; but Mengyao was not afraid, and he did not rush.
When he finally reached the top, it was with a look of cool, muted interest, his eyes moving around from door to door. He knew, of course, immediately what these doors meant, what they represented, and it made his pulse quicken, made his chest flutter with anticipation and something strange; a peculiar sort of longing.
He did not need to think twice about where he stood and where he was going.
It was through the Golden Door of Pride that Mengyao stepped through with his head held high, his shoulders back, every picture of the regal king he had once been in his alternate life. He glanced at the altar in front of him and saw the sigil burning, and the desire to reach out and grasp it nearly overtook him.
It did overtake him.
He was swept away in a new life, a new time, a new place. He was dying, but he was not afraid of dying. Dying was merely the transition between one phase and the next, and it was not dying that made his stomach twist, his heart beat rapidly in his chest, late at night when no one was around. It was something else, something stronger.
It wormed its way into him, small at first, but eventually it grew larger and larger until it had spread throughout his body, sliding through his veins and occupying every inch of him, whether physical or mental. He was consumed by it, this fear, this terrible anxiety that one day he would be nothing more than dust, that his bones would rot away and disintegrate and there would be nothing left.
I fear oblivion.
But it made him stronger, this fear; once it had overtaken him he could feel it as though it were a tangible thing (maybe it was), and he drove those who would not understand away from him. He was not an idle being; some had mistaken his standoffishness as disinterest, but this was not entirely true; he merely disliked getting involved when he could observe the situation from a distance, and now he could be right in the thick of it.
He decided he liked this; he liked being right in the thick of it.
Power was an intoxicating thing.
When he awoke, it was to a new life, one that stemmed from this fear; yet he was not afraid anymore. In fact, he felt stronger than he had ever felt before, the feelings coursing through him like fire. He blinked, and his eyes came back a bright, burning gold, both of them this time, instead of only his left. The whispers flitted through his mind, some louder than others, some quieter, some rougher, some gentler.
For several moments Mengyao forgot who he was, but then it came back to him.
I am Mengyao Miao.
I am the Gold King of Edric.
I am the True King. All others are merely imitations.
The cape was an added bonus. He liked the way it felt on his shoulders, heavy with pride and confidence, and the way it billowed out dramatically and regally behind him with every movement, with every step that he took.
Gold had always been his best color, after all.
Quote:
Golden Door of Pride / Ancient of Oblivion
Quote:
Infected with Insanity: Your appearance shifts and you are all grey-black, eyes yellow or blue. A thick smoke shifts from you and it seems you are losing your appearance around the edges. The voices speak of home and you can't help but indulge, easily losing your sense of self. You attack arbitrarily. - Your damage modifier is now -5 instead of -6 all battle.
Quote:
One of the Seven Kings: Your appearance shifts, and you regain the appearance of your old seven kings version. You also wear a cape, with the colour of your crown. Emblazoned on the cape in thicker gold is the sigil of your alliance. - You begin to lose a little sense of yourself and remember yourself more as a king the more you use this ability. Summon and enchant a former ally of your kingdom (in 7 kings) to you. They also lose their sense of sense the second you use it and also think of themselves as part of the former kingdom, their appearance shifting back to their old selves. Add + 1 to both your attacks. You can summon 5 people max. You cannot enchant someone already enchanted.
kuropeco
Dramatic Marshmallow
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Yayoi
Super Sex Symbol
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Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 5:03 am
[Zascha - Revenge - Loyal to Deus - Ancient of Sorrow]
The Hunter had fought long and hard. And now everything around him was crumbling to pieces. The walls of the tower began to fall and soon even the stairs behind him began to disappear.
There was only one way to go now and that was up and forward.
But to what? What awaited him there....more misery? More pain? More bugs to fight? All he could see was darkness. No light from any source. He was going in blind. At least it wasn't quite so literal as that one corridor.
When he reached the top of the stairs, or what he could assume was the top he was faced with yet another room. And another set of choices from what he could tell. Seven doors, each a different color. This was all too familiar now. He would have to make a choice but with no other information to go on as to what each door held that was be a hard one....
Or so he thought.
Strangely his attention was quickly caught by the black door. It was like a moth to a flame. Metal to a magnet. He wasn't even sure if he was controlling his own feet when we moved. Was he even walking? Or perhaps he was sliding across the floor. The pull was so strong Zascha couldn't get away. The black door looming in front of him now, no others in his site. He stepped through.
Inside there was an altar. Though with how dark it was here inside this door Zascha was unsure how he was even seeing it. Whispers lingered just on the edge of his hearing. The words they spoke were hard to make out. But they fueled him to move forward, to approach the shrine. And as he did the emblem called to him. He reached out a tentative hand, lingering there in the air for a second before he finally grasped it.
It changed and twisted around him arm. Climbing up the length until it reached his skin and slowly it began to consume him. He couldn't pull away, couldn't move, couldn't scream. All of it happened so fast.
---
The world twists and turns and soon Zascha is lying on his back, gasping for air. His body wracked with pain. Just on the edge of his sight are figures. Slowly they began to take on familiar shapes. His youngest sister steps forward and he reaches for her. "Help...."
Next is Harlow. A look of disappointment on her face. Zascha cringes at the sight of it. "....please..."
They both soon disappear, leaving him there to die. To rot where he lay. And slowly he could feel his life begin to fade away. Slipping through his fingers like sand. Horrible horrible sand. Why sand. His body went limp, Zascha stared off into the distance, his head turned slightly until finally all light from his eyes was gone. Zascha was gone.
"All I ever wanted was to save people so they didn't have to suffer like I did...."
A heart beat. No, not a heart. The heart in this body was dead. The thumping noise was power slowly surging into the husk of what Zascha once was.
"I wanted to find her, to save her....Merina...."
Another pulse. His body began to convulse before eyes snapped open. But they weren't the same green eyes that Zascha once bore. They were black. Two voids of nothingness. His skin pale and ashen. Zascha gasped as his body began to lift off the ground. The power flowing into him, welling inside. He was no longer a Hunter, no longer Human. He was a being of pure FEAR.
While he had little understand of what FEAR entirely was, it seemed to him as something of pure power. He could feel it flowing through his body, made him feel almost invincible. Like a god...no. It was something more. Something way beyond the level of a god.
But the FEAR he felt, the power he felt, it wasn't of rage, hatred, love. It was of sorrow. He had tried his best in life to protect those he cared about and they abandoned him. How dare the world not appreciate his efforts. To shield them from the horrors of what he had had to face. There was no point in him trying to do that anymore. He would show them the truth. He would fill their lives with the sorrow that he lived with each and every day. What he held at arms length from everyone.
Tears flowed down his cheeks, two constant rivers to represent how hollow he felt. He cried.
They would all see.
---
And then it was gone. He was falling now, Zascha hit the ground hard. Laying there for a moment before rolling onto his side. Real tears lined those green eyes as he tried to pull himself up off the floor. It was so hard. But eventually he made it to his feet.
He felt exhausted. As if all the life and energy in him had been drained away in one quick second. Stumbling to the door he slumped against it's frame, glancing back at the altar.
That power though....
Quote:
The Black door promised Revenge. It promised the greatest satisfaction of pure vindication. It whispered to those who wanted to see the world wrought, and to those who wanted opportunity.
Quote:
Loyal to Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 6:12 am
He and Arland didn't have much time to lo get once they were both out of the strange darkness. Almost as soon as they were reunited and had their minds clear, or as clear as they were getting, things changed again. They found themselves pushed up a staircase. Up and up and up until they were left in another strange room and faced with more doors.
"Arland... how ... you promised yd always have my back. How can you let them do this" He had tried one last time to plead with his friend , gave him one last chance to prove everything he said had not been a lie.
"Sorry. You're not Inoke. I don't know when you lost yourself but the man I made those promises to is gone." He stared up at Arland as he listened.
Lies. All of it. He felt the anger he'd spent so long trying to keep at bay start to burn again as if his veins were full of acid rather than the blood that was pouring from him.
He had almost done it. he'd been so close. Just a little more time and he'd have been able to change everything. But they hadn't understood. They'd gotten in his way when he'd only wanted them to understand that he was doing this for them, for all of them.
Instead they'd tricked him, they'd made him think they had come to help him, Arland had used him and in the end they'd put a spear through him. He'd called put to them, trying to get them to understand but they had just turned their backs on him. He was left i the desert to rot.
But he hasn't rotted. Not at all.
He has burned in the sun and as he had burned something else inside him began to burn. A fire he hadn't known existed started to burn out there in the desert. It had taken time, how much he didn't know, but slowly he had returned. His skin was burned black, split when he moved to show the boiling green fire underneath. The evidence of the betrayal that had befallen him. He had become what he had once feared. The creature in the volcano that had taken his family. He had become the embodiment of the pain, the rage, the burning hatred those he had once loved has left him with. Now his family had deserted him and left him to become a monster.
Not a monster, no.
More than a monster. He had become Revenge. He has burned in the desert until nothing was left but the desire. Never again would he suffer the pan of loving others. Now he would be a reminder, a message, that those who loved you, those who you promised always to love, were never to be betrayed. He would take it all, every betrayal, and would fuel him and make him stronger.
The Fear had awoken in him something deadly and he would never be afraid again.
-------------------------------------------------
When he awoke it was not to find himself there but to find the monster that he had become. His skin a writhing mass of black broken by green fissures, his smile gone replaced by a broken grin. He could see all of it from where he was trapped watching the creature take over his life.
No. The creatures life now. He had given in, given up. Broken himself into two so that things would be done. The creature was the part of himself that had no weakness, no fear of failing. The monster had no regret as he had it all. This new self would make Deus into what it was meant to be without him.
The pathetic Hunters who skruried around the island could not stop these Horsemen. They were too afraid. They would not embrace Fear, make it part of themselves, give in. He had though. He had let the monster take shape inside him and had grabbed all that power that waited there.
He was a Hunter transcended.
Quote:
Loyal to self: (No allegiance whatsoever) Something strange happens. A shadow overtakes you, standing in front of you. It solidifies, looking like your worst nightmare in a world where you survive. You become a weapon, you become a horsemen, you become a mass of insanity and only insanity. The shadow whispers, tells you this is your rightful path and you feel yourself fading. They take your place. - You now rp as the SHADOW, a replacement, a better form of what you were. IF you are a student you can choose to become a weapon (with the Hunter) or you can choose to become a terrifying Insanity beast or a vengeful horsemen accomplice. If you are a horsemen you can choose to become insanity, if you are a Hunter you can choose to see your insanity or student form/ etc. This is basically their worst possible outcome they fear visualized into reality. In their hands is a mirror where their TRUE consciousness lies. The shadow version (that you are now rping) contains only vengeance while the mirror contains their regret. Both parts can communicate with each other, but only the shadow has control. - Select one of the bonuses above depending on what faction you end up as. If it is still a student, you can upgrade one of your charged/Fear attacks to a year higher only once per boss fight/ battle.
Bonus
Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Grymoire
Dapper Lunatic
Offline
Baneful Crew
Dramatic Hunter
Offline
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 6:16 am
[Rep - Destruction - Loyal to Deus Ex - Ancient of Blood]
It was very easy to get lost in the labyrinthine tower, the rooms migrated wherever they wished and darkness swept around, enveloping the unsuspecting without warning. Of course, like any mission he'd ever ******** been on, they had no map, no sense of direction and were operating solely on the order to find and kill Medea, wherever the ******** Medea might be. Rep did his best to stay close to Harrison as they made their way down the seemingly endless staircase, but when the tower decided this wasn't acceptable even his best efforts weren't good enough, the corridors veered and split and he found even the stairs he'd been walking on fading away behind him to nothing but air. Letting out an exasperated sigh, he didn't panic straight away, after all they had headsets and the separation might only be temporary. Even if it wasn't there was still no doubt in him that he could find Harrison again no matter the distance, he'd done it before and he'd do it again as many times as it took. All that remained was to move forward.
Rep found himself on a huge circular area suspended in space. It wasn't a room - because rooms had ******** walls - and it wasn't a cavern either because there was no hope that there were walls anywhere out there. It was just a platform, an unnatural illogical point in space. And for whatever reason, it made him angry. He was ******** sick of being forced into these situations, ******** places where nothing made sense, where up was down and down was up, where the laws of space and time were merely ******** optional benefits rather than rules. On the platform there were doors, each a different - familiar - colour. He passed each of them by and each called out to him with its own promises. He paused by the blue, because it sung to some deep rooted part of him but passed by even that, he didn't want the world to persist, he didn't want it to stay the same, he wanted it to ******** change to destroy these ******** horsemen and end the loss and separation.
The red door reached out and what it offered tugged at Rep's very nature, and stirred the sleeping dragon of his instincts. Change, it promised, violence it offered him and the most important thing, the only ******** important concept in a world of pain and uncertainty. It offered him power and he could never, never ever say no.
He went in.
The altar called out to him, told him to reach out and without hesitation he did so, power came to those who did not falter, who sought it unflinchingly. It took him and with a gasp of surprise and satisfaction he let it.
-----
There was so many of them, endless ******** pawns in an endless war. But he wasn't afraid, he'd never been afraid. He was a ******** mistake, a thing that should never have been in the world and yet he'd spat in their face, he'd survived and he'd thrived. The cowering, weak child had forged himself into a warrior, into as much a weapon as the enormous axe which cut a swathe of destruction through the hordes which clamored for his life.
They were outnumbered, but what did that ******** matter? They were always outnumbered, ******** he'd been outnumbered from the day he was born, one person against a world which would hate him, people who would tell him that he should be dead, that the world was better without him. And he didn't give a s**t, the world could suffer his presence just as these bastards suffered his blade and he would fight them until he could fight no longer.
Another swing of Tracey and there was a crunch as the hook embedded itself in one of the creature's limbs, he twisted and said limb crunched and faced a direction no limb should ever face. It's owner was tossed hard into a massing group of assailants with a screech of agony and satisfaction swelled up in Rep like a tide
He was bleeding heavily, there were no more bandages and even Harrison couldn't keep the shadowy fangs and claws at bay much longer. His shield was fading, swirling the drain and yet still he fought because there was just so much ******** hatred, so much rage. He wouldn't die this way, he couldn't die this way.
But he and his body never had ******** seen eye to eye. He was running on empty, running on nothing but vitriol and fury, every swing of the massive axe surrendering more of his essence until the shield went out, until both of them found themselves overwhelmed. Tracey vanished - no longer able to sustain himself - with a hiss of irritation and claws dragged across his flesh with a new agony. But Rep was far away, even unarmed he leapt at the creatures bare handed, determined to take them down with him.
He fought until he hit the ground, until the world started to fade to black and even there in a pool of his rapidly spreading lifeblood he hated everything about the world that had led him to this point. He hadn't been able to protect Harrison, he hadn't been able to do his job. No one would remember him because no one ******** remembered anything he did, they'd say he deserved this death, that he was better off gone. They wouldn't give a s**t that he'd laid down his life for their ******** cause. He hated them almost as much as he hated his own weakness. He wouldn't die, he wouldn't leave, he would persist, they could try and ******** stop him from coming back to finish what he'd started.
Even as his body died he remained, adamant and enduring in his rage, in the sense he'd been cheated and the desire to rend the world asunder, to make them suffer the way he'd suffered his entire life and to wreak upon them what they'd earned for taking his only solace, his only comfort away from him. The weaknesses which had been such an intrinsic part of his feeble human form burned away leaving nothing behind but the shape of anger so great it refused to die, and over time that shell began to restore itself, forging itself into a weapon the way it had always strove to do in life. Everything was about function, everything was about harm and hurt, about destroying those who'd stand against him. He grew, polished and forged like a pearl, a grain of of anger and rage that the world sought to remove, but he'd spent too long enduring when all others would see him destroyed.
Slitted eyes opened beneath his helm of steel and blackness, heavy with horns and he rose, all spines, razor wings and talons, a twisted inhuman amalgam of nightmares and battle, the product of a life spent dreaming up ways to hurt and maim, to control with pain and torture. He rose from the battlefield which would soon encompass all the world, threw back his thousand toothed maw and roared his challenge into the wretched air. He knew they would cower, everything cowered when it was looking down absolute and perfect destruction. He was what would usher out the universe at the end of days, leaving only death to tend the splintered void. There was nothing but him when wars were waged, nothing but him when blood pumped onto the soil without reprieve. He was shrapnel in a beating heart, corruption unchecked in dying flesh. Black and red, blood and bone, steel and oil. He fought because that was all that he was and all fled before him, united in terror of what they had forged.
He once was human and what a pedigree that was to have, creatures who destroyed everything they touched, who murdered schemed and fought, a toxic virus and blight upon the world. He hailed from a long line of bastards and here he was, King b*****d. Emperor of Destruction, more than he had been, exactly what he deserved to be, heinous, twisted and magnificent.
Memories remained of the ones who made him what he was and he repaid them as only he could, their arrows glanced from a hide rendered impermeable with power, and what else could they hope for against a god? They had come once to destroy his world and now he came to return the favour. All there was was satisfaction as he devoured one and then another, careening through their world and rampaging through Halloween like the judgment they deserved. There was nothing his fangs could not chew, nothing his talons could not destroy, he ran rampant and they were obliterated. Some cried out for mercy but never having been shown it he did not know it by name.
They fell and so too did their world, rent into wisps of nothing, chewed up and spat out.
But Destruction knew no bias, only hurt and rage and he did not - couldn't not stop. He turned his gaze upon the humans, upon their pathetic world riddled with corruption, with children whose mothers turned tricks for a living, of men who hurt women and children, of brothers killing sisters, of hate and loathing and fear. He did not stop, he had no reason to ever cease, a perpetual motion machine of murder.
And like the others, they too fell before him. The only gospel of the god of Destruction was the commandment that everything would end.
---
He gasped again and it felt like it had been an eternity since his last breath, he leaned on the crimson door frame and tried to regain his composure, his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. His thoughts danced with ruthless images, of battlefields which spanned the horizon.
He had no idea what had just happened.
Quote:
Loyal to Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
[Zar - Reflection - Loyal to Self - Ancient of Shifting]
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 6:29 am
The horrible rooms he occupied began to dissolve, leaving only a set of stairs in their wake. Jason looked up into the impending darkness, the tight knot of fright ever present in his heart. He was reluctant to ascend the stairs, but knew there was no other path to take. He was here now, he may as well go forward.
He took a few steps upward, moving higher as the light around him faded. It was then he looked backwards, startle to see the steps breaking behind him. The moon trainee quickened his space, running up the rest of the stairs so he wouldn't end up falling into god knows what below.
When Jason reached the circular space, he was surprised at the sight of the seven doors. He was familiar with the concept, having seen them a few times before. Each of them called out to him, but the pull of the gold door was much stronger then the rest. He wanted to be in control. Control of his fears, control of his mind, and more importantly control of his fate and others. He opened the door and stepped through it, both intrigued and frightened by the sight in front of him. The emblem of pride was seated atop a altar, calling out to him to grasp it. By now he was well versed in knowing that touching things would end up in bad things happening, but he couldn't resist the desire to be in control of whatever happened to him instead of being ruled by others. With a strong hand, he grabbed onto the emblem, and it ensnared him in it's own grasp.
-------
His chest was on fire, the pain burning through the rest of his body. All engulfing, it took everything he had and even more just to keep conscious. The hand that rested over the wound that had pierced his heart was covered in his blood, and he knew he would not last much longer.
His gaze was blocked by a shadow. A black haired demon leaned over him, the fallen angel's face twisted in pain at the sight of his dying friend. He could also see another person there, Solia, her beautiful eyes marred with her ever falling tears. He couldn't bare the sight of them in so much pain, yet he could do nothing to ease their suffering.
The blood still flowed from his wound, staining the hunter coat he wore, The intricate patterns that defined him as the moon division lead changing to a deep red. A rattling gasp shook his body, coughing up blood as he declared his love for Solia one last time. Dimly he was aware of other hunters there, all weeping for the imminent loss of their leader.
Slowly, his eyes began to close, the ever frightening darkness encroaching further, the voices of his friends begging him to stay, stay with them...
Jason did, in a way. Though his mortal form was gone he was still conscious somehow. His soul lived on, watching the efforts everyone went to remember him. They had built a statue in his likeness. And while everyone else faded with time, his statue remained, telling everyone of his great deeds.
It was small at first, but he could feel pride swelling up in him at the sight of everyone marveling his statue, this pride giving him new strength and new life. Light emanated from his being, and with this light he knew what he wanted to do.
Eliminate the darkness.
His brightness shone, growing ever stronger. Jason was no longer dead, the light encompassing him, changing his form into something greater. With bare hands he directed the light to shine on all things made of FEAR, making them grovel in his presence. And with this same light he encouraged humans to join his side, showing them the way to destroying their fears by destroying the darkness itself.
---------------------
"...What...the...."
Jason had no idea what the hell had just happened. But whatever it did...it made him stronger.
Holding out his weapon, he admired the gold that lined the spikes on the hilt, small lines of it decorating the steel edge of it as well.
Well, since he had more strength now...he may as well go use it.
Quote:
Jason Kenneth - Gold door of pride - Loyal to Deus Ex - Ancient of Light
The area around her began to change, the pools of water disappearing and morphing into something else; a set of stairs that led skyward. Pokerus could feel herself return to normal, probably due to the fact the water was no longer there to effect her. With relief she stretched her limbs and sprinted up to the stairs, eagerness lending her speed.
A familiar sight greeted her. The seven doors of the legacies surrounded her, each of them trying to pull her towards them. A few of them held her attention, especially the blue door with it's call of safely and the need for her to be a hero. But she turned away from it and walked towards the White door instead. Her memories of the white kingdom were still there, even stronger then the ones from wonderland. Perhaps she thought if she walked through this door, she would be back on the space ship Feirg, with commander Wilson and everyone else, their ship flying away to unknown adventures instead of this pain in the a** place.
Inside, the symbol of grief called to her even more, and without hesitation the dragon took hold of the emblem.
------
Instead of the memories she sought, the longing for that place, all she felt was pain.
Poke grimaced, unable to move as her body lay broken and bleeding on the ground. Rain was pouring down, washing away all traces of the battle around her. There were bodies everywhere, all having tried to do what was right and fight the forces of evil but to no avail. Because what was truly evil or good at this point? She had no idea, and as a result she had been destroyed.
Her eyes closed, teeth gritting against the pain. Jack dam she was so tired of this. The battles she had so craved had all turned to disaster, leaving everyone she had known or cared for dead.
As her last moments of life dwindled away she reached out with her mind, calling for her friends and allies. She wanted to see them again. Leave this place and forget all the sorrow she had experienced. And the harder the tried, the more she could see them. The faces of all the ones who had gone before her. Yes, she could go to them now, and stop this pointless fight.
But as she passed, the sorrow in her core did not go away. If not it strengthened, the thoughts and memories of her friends lives and deaths haunting her so much it fueled a new fire within her. They didn't deserve their fates.
The rain began to pour even harder, as well as the tears that flowered freely from her body. She couldn't take this grief anymore, but it still grew even more, and from this sorrow she began to change. Her physical core had dissipated but something still remained, and this thing grew and grew, taking shape that was reminiscent of her previous dragon form. It grew even larger, taking control of the weather around her. The rain became a raging storm that swept everything away in it's path. Because she wanted to wash it all away, the grief she felt, and the ones who had caused this grief. She would flood the world and create it anew
-------
It was hard to describe how she felt as she found herself exiting the room. Her hands were clenched hard, claws painfully digging into her palms. Her head swung with a newfound source of power she did not understand, but she was ready to use anyway.
Suddenly she heard a audible crack in the air. Looking down, she saw the blue lock on her belt had started cracking, before it shattered completely. Her mind was filled with the memories she had sealed up, recalling how she had felt she had grown stronger...yes, this was a good feeling.
She was going to use this feeling, as well as this newfound strength, to take a few creeple down a peg or two.
Quote:
Pokerus - White door of grief - Locked memories - Ancient of Rain
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 7:55 am
Kenta ran up the stairs, hearing and feeling them crumble behind him. There was darkness all around, but then there was always darkness. At the top, or at least the end of the stairs, Kenta found himself looking at a large cavern with several doors. Each called to him: a different feeling and desire coming from each. But two doors called loudest to his ears: Destruction, to destroy and cause a difference or Protection; to become a hero, to conserve and protect the world. Two sides of the same coin, but each was an aspect of him.
If he'd come here sooner after his death, than he would have gone with out hesitation to the red door, the door that promised destruction. He hated how his family (or what they told him was his pack and family) had reacted to his undeath. Despised those who looked down upon him and his almost fellow zombies. Anger at being abandoned. But not now. Loran had calmed him down and helped him get over some of the anger. He had one family member, so he wasn't truly alone anymore. And if he had no pack, he'd come around to seeing, then that meant he could make one. He was still angry, but it didn't consume him. Now he paused and considers his options. What did he want to do? Really want to do? To help others, to be a part of the pack, to have friends, to not be lonely. For that, he nodded to himself, he would need to protect others not harm them.
He opened the blue door and stepped through...
---------
Beyond lay an alter with something hovering above it. It called to him, that strange emblem that burned like fire. His skeletal hand reached out and grasped it and felt it grab a hold of him in return.
He saw himself, much older and surrounded by a new pack. Eclectic and full of many different types of people, but they ran along side him, fought by his side, laughed with him. He saw himself and his pack get hunted, attacked and hurt, but the humans that wielded strange weapons that made him angry. To keep them safe his future self turned around and fought to allow his pack time to escape. The last crying farewells and hugs from his new family before they fled and he faced the hunters. The glorious fight, the painful death... but none escaped his teeth and claws; they all died. But the wounds and damage they had dealt finished him off as well. One life for many; that was the way it should be. The pack remembered: forever was his name on their mind, forever was his selfless deed told. Time passed and people called upon him like a guardian spirit, they still remembered his name and deeds when even the name of his pack members had vanished into time.
Time took from him his memories and who he was, it left only the sense of protection, the need to protect behind. From this, the words that people whispered, words asking for help, asking to be protected from those who would chase and hurt them, from hunters, he grew. He gave help to those of kind and pure hearts; he hunted the hunters for them. And for those of cruel hearts, for those who hunted and hurt for pleasure he chased mercilessly, growing stronger from their fear just as he drew strength from the pure love of those he protected.
Protect. Protect those who would be hunted by evil. Kill those who would hunt for cruelty. Feed upon the fear of being hunted. He was the God of the Hunt... no.. He was an Ancient. One who hunted those who would hunt wrongly. He would protect both those pure or kind who were hunted and he would protect the Hunt itself. He would destroy those who tried to defile it's hallowed nature.
Kenta was reborn: an Ancient; One Who Hunts.
Gone were the lazy shorts and vet he wore; now he wore a leather skirt of sorts, pagan in nature. Vines wrapped his skeletal sides, twinning about the bones. His hair was longer and held leaves within it. About his neck lay a collar that stood in stark contrast to the paganistic look he now bore. A collar with a small clock attached to it. The clock's hands stood still; it no longer ticked and cut time into pieces.
He was the One Who Hunts, the one who would protect people from being hunted and hunt those who defiled his sacred hunt. He could feel others about him; ancients and legacies themselves now. A grand hunt was about to begin.. he would protect people from being consumed by the cruel and destructive powers he felt nearby!
(800 words)
Quote:
Blue Door: Protection. (He's undead so I feel like he'd be loyal to Death..) Loyal to Death: Around your neck is a chain and instead of a lock, at the center a small clock that has stopped ticking. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that defense to your next defensive roll. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
robot kitten
Tipsy Pirate
Offline
Molten Tigrex Crew
Shameless Hunter
Offline
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 8:18 am
( post grab for
Aymet - Black Door - One of the Seven Kings - Loyal to ??????? - ANCIENT OF CHAOS
Mahir - White Door - Infected with Insanity - Loyal to Self - ANCIENT OF PLAGUE)
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 9:21 am
(( Post grab for:
Sal: Green Door / Loyal to Self
Helmut: Blue Door / Loyal to ???
Ripley: White Door / Loyal to Deus Ex / ??? ))
[ Amrita - Revenge - Loyal to Self - Infected with Merlin's "Core" - Ancient of Pain ]
She wandered through the darkness, lost and confused. How had she gotten here? How long had she been there? She could no longer remember, and doubted she ever would. The sudden emergence of stairs caused her to stumble, and with no other choice, she began to climb. And climb. And climb. Light began to shine through the darkness, a total of six -
No, Seven, she realized, belatedly, as one area seemed to radiate with darkness, a void in space that was both there and hidden. She knew exactly what this meant.
"...Oh no..." She whispered to herself, feeling her heart grow heavy as her feet lead her to the void in the room; the darkness that haunted her, hunted her, and was her. The promise it whispered was one she yearned for, and the satisfaction it promised was something that she craved. No other door would suffice; none of them even caught her attention as the dark radiated towards her, reaching out with invisible hands to embrace her like an old friend.
The Altar loomed before her, inciting both fear and awe, It burned in her mind as it burned the back of her hand, where the matching symbol lay, and the ghoul cast a glance down at her appendage, rubbing the back of borrowed skin as if it would ease the sting. The room slipped away from her without her knowing, and when she looked back up, she realized she was not alone.
There were others there, their forms familiar but shaded in shadow. The burning sensation in her hand had spread, and she realized that it was no longer the mark that caused pain; it was the pair of shadows that were holding her arms tightly, forcing her to half-stand, despite the weak, static feeling radiating from both of her legs. The tang of copper filled her mouth, but she grit her teeth, holding in the urge to spit; her pride was on the line.
"You did well." A pair of blue, glowing eyes narrow at her from the shadows as a similarly glowing, torn cheshire smile forms just under it. She had never wanted to tear that smile off his face before, and now it was the only thing she could think of, even as her body continued to alert her to her plethora of wounds. How wonderful would it feel, to sink her claws into that flesh? She pushed forward in an attempt to find out, but the two dutiful shadows at her sides held on tight, pulling her back and keeping the grinning shadow safe. She cast glares to the shadows that held her - one form misshapen and awkward while the other one was tall with multiple tails - and had a moment to imagine their own gruesome demise at her claws.
They deserved nothing less.
"Cute." The Cheshire Shadow chuckled, amused enough to draw her attention back to it. "-Yet another aspect of you that I no longer have a use for." The words hit hard, gripping her throat with a cold, clammy grasp. Every muscle in her body tensed, lighting with the physical pain she could bare easily, for it was nothing compared to what she felt. Betrayal in every sense of the word; the ones she trusted the most, held her back. The one she loved, and served faithfully, cast her aside. Around them stood shadows, their forms as countless as they were unique; every person she had ever helped, or trained, or listened to. Those she considered friends, and even passing acquaintances - all of them stood there, a large mass of silent shapes, none speaking to her defense.
Her allies, all willingly given to him, now too happy to turn against her. All content to watch as everything she held dear came crashing down around her, their true feelings known.
"She is yours now." The glowing blue eyes shifted in the darkness, catching and holding one of the observing shadows. The light bob of eyes told her that he was nodding to someone, and, fearfully, she turned her head to try and determine which faceless horror he was going to bring forth next, as if they could hurt her more than she already was. What stepped forward was a fairly basic shape; no obvious extra appendages, and nothing immediately identifying...but despite this, she felt the cold grip tighten in her chest. The shadow stopped in front of her, and pulled something free from a pocket.
"I'll take good care of her." The quiet, twisted voice promised, the feminine voice full of sugar as the shadow moved with a flash; something pierced her chest, right through her heart with incredible precision. A gurgling gasp tore from her throat as the cold metal weapon hit home, breaking her FEAR shield right down to her core ---
.
The world carries on without her, eager to forget about the small, weighted story of one false Patchwork.
But she is still there, a husk of herself, hating and cursing those who wronged her.
.
From the wreckage came a spark of life. It was small, but bright...and it grew. Oh, did it ever grow; it consumed, it burned, it spread. Those who felt it, feared it, and those who feared it, only fanned the flames. Finally something rose from it, twisted and sharp, threatening anyone who came near it. The flames vanished as the thorns took over, knotting and growing until it took a more humanoid shape: a shadow of a creature with a cracked and broken chest, surrounded by thorns that were meant to protect it as much as it was meant to keep others away.
One of the clawed hands grasps a mirror, its reflective surface turned down and hidden from view.
Quote:
Infected with Merlin's "core": Your form begins to split and corrupt and a terrible gaping hole, cracked, becomes of your chest. You are consumed by madness and anger. You lash our arbitrarily. +2 attack and +2 damage done to you
Enoh Love Crew
Offline
nessy
Cuddly Hunter
Offline
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 9:23 am
[ Cami -- White Door / Loyal to Deus / Ancient of Isolation ]
For Cami moving up the stairs was a bit like a dance. She was torn between watching the steps behind her crumble and fade without stopping, without much slowing, without falling. Bobbing, weaving, she wove her way up that staircase in a way that, when she reached the top, made her all but exhausted. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd been able to simply lay down and sleep, let oblivion take her and all of her fears, concerns, let them drop her into nothing but the only darkness she didn't fear.
Standing atop the steps, facing the seven doors, it was impossible to do anything but sink to her knees. Just for a moment she rested at the top of the stairs, hearing the last one crumble behind her so that going back was an impossibility. Keenly she missed Otto, missed Maebe, missed Jasper, missed Hanna, missed Mimsy. Any one of them would have been so much better suited to this task. Any task. Despair rose around the redhead, held her close against its bosom so that she could hear the absence of a heart inside its chest.
Once, perhaps, Camille might have heard the call of the blue door. When she had first stepped into the desert she would have gladly been the hero, the savior, the one to spare all that she loved from even the smallest amount of harm. Yet as she knelt, the questions of the tower streaming through her mind in a single thread of awful consciousness, protection was not something she was capable of.
After all, what did she have to protect? What did she have to save? Was there really anything or was it all a lie? What if it was true? What if it wasn't. Cami wished that they were here with her because they could all answer her, straightforward. Maebe had said they were friends. Hoped they were more than friends which was true, in its own way. Otto hadn't been able to answer for she hadn't found him yet and it was that which was tearing at her soul. Dread was the emotion tied to Mimsy's answer for she feared that the woman she considered a sister considered her nothing at all.
Now as she lifted her head it was to the white door that she looked, hardly noticing that any of the others existed. Longing pierced her soul and, standing, she reached for the door to walk through it. Touched the symbol above the altar as if it were the spindle to her Sleeping Beauty and losing everything in the transaction.
--------------
This was no deep sleep, no blank peacefulness. This was agonizing pain as she was trapped inside what seemed to be a sphere of glass, pounding against the walls of it to be let out, to be let in. Colors flowed around the orb and each of them represented a person. Glowing orange as Otto, one of his favorite colors. A rich pink, sweet and sinister for Maebe. Mimsy was the pure red of heart's blood and it almost seemed as if she would slice at the glass but turned away at the last moment. Hanna was a color that was at once muted and pulsing, a blue that reminded Cami of the sky. Of her own eyes. Jasper, perhaps unsurprisingly, was a flash of brilliant gold lightning.
Feelings, sensations, not people covered the glass with their colors and their voices, moving and flowing together but never with Cami. Desperately she touched the glass where the colors showed but they either ignored the touch completely or flowed away from it. She was, all at once, a part of them but separate. Other. Alone.
It felt like centuries passed in this fashion as more colors were added, mixes of the colors, more and more people. More and more separate. Not even Kidana's voice was allowed inside the sphere, only a thin line of palest lavender along the top of the sphere, trying to slip inside, the most valiant of efforts. Reaching up her fingers touched it, the purple concentrated and pooled there, and tears slipped down the woman's cheeks.
Closing her eyes she curled up. Gave up. Cocooned inside of her body her soul was consumed by grief, changed by grief, made eternal. Some poet had once written that there was beauty in grief. An elegance to sorrow that made each movement a dance, each sigh a song, and it was these traits that the woman now embodied. Isolation had been her torment, her truest fear, and now she called it all to her in the reforging.
Living proof of the words that had rung through her mind in the Corridor of Madness, Camille was now the fragile thing behind glass where it must stay, protected against itself and the ravages of the world, for all time. Beneath the glow of the irony of the sigil of sun is her vibrant hair, her glowing brown skin, making her look as if she were in perfect health. Something you want to reach through to touch, to hold, to make your own for the briefest of times.
Yet the glass shielding her head is more than it seems for it somehow covers her entire being beneath the umbrella of pure Isolation. Her hair, her skin, the only color as grief has coated her in the purest of white. Where once Camille had been a creature of life, of light, warmth incarnate she now is simply the promise of it all. You will never have it, her soul cries out, because you can never hold it.
Every time someone cries in pain, in fear, of being alone she grows just that much stronger. Every time someone is alone in the woods, on a dark street at night, every time their heart beats a little faster because they are alone with no one to save them, she breathes in. When someone is abandoned, left to feel like there is no one in the world that will hold them against the pain, her heart beats.
Everything about her, as she appears, speaks 'touch me at your peril' for she is past peril, past care, and it will only hurt to touch her. As so many others have hurt her with their touch, with their lack of touch. Camille has become the goddess of her own worst nightmare. She has become the thing which she has been horrified of, has been trying to push away, for so long. Oddly, it is fitting. What better to live and breathe than the thing that you knew would destroy you in the end? That you had been told your whole life would be your destruction.
The cycle is vicious and it spits her out to begin it all anew. Crowned in isolation she is beautiful and terrible, every move a dance, every sigh a song. Terrible, wonderful, grieving forever for what she thinks she has lost and has not yet held tightly enough to. Or perhaps...too tightly?
Slowly her cornflower eyes open and compliment the perfect paleness of her new being. Looking down at the bow she smiled and stroked the gold edges of it. Cami felt hollow inside, empty for the first time in a long time, and it was alright. Everything would be alright.
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 10:23 am
Noemi, Green, Loyal to Deus - Ancient of Disease.
The dream room disappeared, leaving Noemi in a state just between her last dream and the new forward push of the tower. It was leading her up, so as the haze of killing Milo in her dream faded, and a new fear of being led somewhere she didn't know take over, Noemi clenched her weapon with an almost pole breaking grip. It was a good thing Melusine was durable...
The stairs should've been a lonely trip, they were stairs after all. But each step Noemi took, she felt like she was with someone else, like the building was a person and it was leading her where it wanted to go.
It wasn't far from the truth as she entered a new room. 7 doors all glimmered to life in front of her, all beckoning her with something different.
Power of course, all of them offered power. But there was more. A connection. She wanted a power with a connection, something she could understand. Something she wanted to learn. Learn, adapt..knowledge.
As if her thoughts materialized, reaching out, the green door beckoned her with a soft light. It welcomed her. It wanted her. She would admit, she too wanted it. She wanted to fit, to know. She was hungry for such things. To know, to understand..to wish to grow into something more.
Her choice clear, she stepping to that warm green light.
---
It felt like the room hummed, whispered. Noemi would think if strong power had a sound, humming would be it. Like the purr of a car or a roar of a ship. Things that ran with more power in the world all had a hum. And in the center of the room, the hum came the strongest from the Altar. A large emblem like thing floated in the center, where she could imagine fire belonged instead.
It offered what she wanted. To grow, to know. To exceed what she was now and become something more, something better. Knowledge was her power, and nothing ventured, nothing learned, was no way to grow. Small hands reached out, clasping the emblem and she flew.
To a different time, to a different place.
Goggles sat on her head, pushed up as she looked at the creation. her final creation. Thousands of hours spent on it, to save a couple of lives at a time. It would be worth it, it was worth it. She wasn't old, but she was sick...wasn't that what drove her to seek? Sickness, to find a cure. She had it now, for those who would come later. It was not for herself. And that was okay, she was never one to think of herself like that. Never one to selfishly hope to save herself when she could save so many others.
She introduced it to the world, and they reveled. They worshipped. The one who had cured their sickness, the angel who had descended. She didn't think of the praise, but she thought of the wonder of those who looked at her. She thought of the lives she had saved, and how when she did pass, she would be the one they remembered the most. The one who had saved them. She would die remembering what she had caused. Wonder, fear....A lasting memory on the hearts of everyone.
When she passed, she didn't feel it as passing. it was a new path, a new take on knowledge. A new power to harnass.
Her creation though was a double sword, and as she transitioned into a new life, with a new amount of power, she became something different. Something she had not expected. With a cure for sickness, came hope. But the need for cure also came the fear of sickness in itself.
She would wander in this new form. She watched her cure spread, saving lives. Nature though was never a good constant though, and though she saved lives, she spread the fear of getting ill further and further. She came up with new cures, came up with new ways to prevent it. But humans were fickle and they feared what they didn't know. Each illness got worse and worser, and as it did so, Noemi's power grew and grew. It reached out further then she could ever imagine. It was almost as great as the fear of death. For when people feared being ill, they feared an inevitable death.
She was the Fear of Disease.
She stared at her hands, at the trident with a more ornate design. A power inside her that she still didn't understand but would learn. It wasn't hard to remember who she was, a nervous bumbling mist huntress.
But here, in this place....She was more. She had adapted to more. She closed her eyes, stilling the fear of herself. She would do this. She could do this.
Quote:
Loyal to Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Harrison - Blue Door / loyal to deus - one of the seven kings (Ancient of Duty)
Harrison climbed with a rising sense of deja vu. Another him had climbed stairs, looking for the ones he valued the most, the ones he'd rip heaven and hell apart to find. Somehow, this time he didn't feel like it was Rep and Jordan waiting at the top.
Whackyass haunted house s**t. Floaty stairs and expanses of nothing. He wasn't in Kansas, that was for damn sure.
If anybody offered him any deals, they could go stick it in their a**.
He just wanted to find the horse b***h, stick her full of swords, and leave. But she had to be ******** meddling in the ******** forces of ancient s**t again. S-Class. s**t.
And there it was, right there at the top. Seven colors. Seven Kingdoms. He marched over to blue like he was holding out a punchcard. Doors. The last door he'd gone through had landed him in a coma. There wasn't another way out. Just the doors.
"Okay," he told it, "I'm here. You got me alone, so." He set his shoulders. "Do what you got to, I guess," he growled. Mostly he hoped everything would be okay. And believed, in spite of whatever other ******** went on- memories, reality, alternate universes, that if it all went bad, he had faith that somebody would come get him. He walked through the blue door.
There was nothing special about the battle. Nothing they didn't normally do. It wasn't a cause more worth fighting for, and he hadn't been the only guy that had died.
Why they picked him, he didn't know. For Vietnam, they had a black wall. For the Marine Corps, they had that flag-raising thing. Deus must have saved a hundred shitty towns from a hundred shitty monsters, and all they got for it was a stick in the ground, alongside a bunch of other sticks.
They hadn't known him.
It was just the one shitty town.
Maybe he'd stood out on account of the scars, or because some of the civilian ******** he'd been holed up with made it. He hadn't meant to sacrifice his life or some s**t. He was just doing his job. But they'd put a bunch of words at the bottom of the likeness and after a while, after the guys who had actually been there were dead, and their kids were dead, and their kids, the story stuck around. The older it got, the more it changed.
And he changed around it.
Small, at first. Found himself aware. Drawn to events- some nice. Some not so nice. Sustaining himself on them. Eventually able to change them, and by then it was all cyclical. Lonely, because who do you talk to when you've been around that long. But he kept going, stood by as others lived and died, and whatever he was wasn't always heroism, because causes and loyalties weren't always to good things and good people. After a while, he couldn't remember if his had been good or not.
He was more impressive looking than he had been in life, tall and dark and lean. He had armor, but didn't always wear it. He was sturdy. Even on the deck of a boat, or during a storm, or in a battle, he remained a calm and consistent point. Worn, but untiring. Sometimes they could see him, and they too, persisted. Managed against the odds. Or died. They did both for the same reasons. He showed up for the smaller things that concerned him. Hospital rooms. Cemeteries, where a man visits his wife every Sunday. In the court rooms, one attorney defends a murderer. Another accuses an innocent man. Neither is motivated by greed. A woman turns down an affair. A man opens her door to a stranger every night. There is no consistency in age, gender, wealth, reason. They are all his.
Watching.
Waiting.
Enduring. When he came back to himself (or a version of himself), a striped blue jacket was draped over his shoulders, and B0nez's wiring, skull, and handles had turned a wicked gold.
He turned B0nez over in his hand. His human hand. It seemed like eternity since he had a pair. The emotions, the complications, the realization that he needed to piss. s**t as simple as the feeling of his feet on the ground.
Ancients.
Now he knew what it was like to have a gaze a million years long, to watch lives grow and fall apart. How little they mattered. Like contemplating a single egg in a tin of caviar. He was surprised to discover that a chill went up his spine.
But the frame of Duty was familiar. He set his shoulders. Human again- or part-human, he had business to attend to.
Quote:
One of the Seven Kings: Your appearance shifts, and you regain the appearance of your old seven kings version. You also wear a cape, with the colour of your crown. Emblazoned on the cape in thicker gold is the sigil of your alliance. - You begin to lose a little sense of yourself and remember yourself more as a king the more you use this ability. Summon and enchant a former ally of your kingdom (in 7 kings) to you. They also lose their sense of sense the second you use it and also think of themselves as part of the former kingdom, their appearance shifting back to their old selves. Add + 1 to both your attacks. You can summon 5 people max. You cannot enchant someone already enchanted.
Quote:
Loyal to Deus Ex: Your weapon now has gold metallic trim around it, replacing parts of it, giving a more ornate design. - Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that to your HP to heal yourself. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
barth - green / loyal to death (ancient of dream) OR red / loyal to medea (ancient of erosion)
pickles - purple /loyal to self - locked memories (ancient of fools)
Posted: Fri Jun 13, 2014 10:57 am
[ Mimsy Morris / Path of Destruction / Loyal to Death / Ancient of Dark Matter ]
Working with controlled specimens could present an observer with many unforeseen variables, which oftentimes needed to be accounted for. This was especially true when those test subjects were human, as human nature was a particularly tricky beast to predict and make manageable, lending towards its tendency to be frustrating and resilient. Occasionally, methods needed to be deployed to retain control of the living creatures, and a guiding hand or a brief reminder of the experiment's instructions was all that they needed to remember that they were rats of many varying sizes - not the scientist, no matter how clever they thought they were.
Had Mimsy been a little less curious and slightly more aware, she might have realized at a more astute level that this was precisely what was occurring at this instant. The rooms were disappearing behind them, and the only place to go was up, into a seemingly endless ascent into darkness.
"Look." Her hushed voice was accompanied by a squeeze to Robert's hand, and she used her other to point up the spiral ahead of them. "The Tower is thinking of us. A thematic compromise, altered from the human understanding of paradigms. Here we climb up, for you, towards the darkness, for me!"
Pleased to have noticed this, she stretched up to kiss the corner of his lips, and nearly tripped over the next stair when she failed to watch where she was walking. She tugged on his arm to steady herself, and lingered more closely once her balance had been fully regained. Couldn't hurt, and she knew that neither of them minded.
"I wonder if the mass of the disappearing steps is conserved to create more for us to climb. Perhaps it is reminiscent of a Shepard tone," she mused, and slowly began going through the illusion of the infinitely ascending tones in her mind, one for each step. It was not the most appropriate soundtrack for the moment, but it made her laugh; she was soon so caught up in it that she felt somewhat disappointed when the stairs finally stopped, depositing them into a large, circular room.
Intending to continue her commentary, she glanced up towards Robert...who was not by her side. Nor was his hand in hers, when she checked, and there was no sign of him in the emptiness behind her when she began to search for him in a panic. Why had the Tower separated them? Why did she need to be alone for it to properly trust her?
If this was anything like the last rooms, thought the boastfully brilliant test subject, she would simply need to make a selection to progress, at which point she would be rewarded with Robert's return.
"Ah. An operant conditioning chamber." She tilted her head and folded her arms, careful to remain somewhat equidistant from each of the seven selections until she came to a suitable conclusion. "I suppose that my behavior thus far has been fairly indicative of receptive conditioning. I would like to state that I am opposed to your desire to use me in this capacity, when I might have aided you more successfully on a higher level, but I understand that we can be surprised by the rare specimen that we underestimate on statistically unlikely occasions."
And she understood why there was no response to her, even if she found this to be incredibly foolish on their behalf.
"The question now, presumably, is whether or not I will receive the correct reward upon my completion of this particular chamber. We are currently at an even ratio of 'yes' to 'no' in that regard, and I would rather not waste time with more of the 'no', which you inevitably understand." As she spoke, she continued to glance from door to door, eyes lingering longer and longer on the door that glowed red. "So, if I do this for you, I will expect my reward. You will give me...I...I want..."
Her eyes narrowed and her arms slowly unfolded to fall at her sides, but the rest of her remained entirely still as she listened. The sound was undeniable, as soon as she allowed it long enough to form the pattern of thump-thump, thump-thump that was easily indicative of its source. All of the smug condescension and sense of superiority was forgotten as her lips parted for a gasp of awe, and she couldn't tear her eyes away from the steady red glow as she walked slowly towards it, pulse racing faster and faster as it began to draw close.
"Of course," she whispered, hoarse and breathless, hands awash with red as her fingers brushed the door's surface. The only thing lacking was the warmth of the blood that should have accompanied that heartbeat, but she didn't mind this time. "I already made this choice. Of course. I have not forgotten, but I do appreciate the reminder. It is such a marvelous sound."
Her eyelids fluttered closed, and she sighed as her mouth twisted into an uneven smile. Red was good. From the red tome came words of destruction that urged her hand towards change and upheaval, over and over again. From the red queen came the guidance to destroy the cage to reach the heart within it. And from the red door came validation that she had done everything right, and a promise that she could tear the remaining world to shreds to rebuild it as she saw fit.
-♥-
Past the door was something akin to an altar, which was no less than what the heart deserved. Atop it was a symbol that had become familiar, even if she did not yet understand it - the face of a mentor that had so much more to teach her.
She greeted the emblem on the altar with a curtsy by tugging up the hem of her coat, and waited a moment in silence before she felt comfortable initiating a conversation. If it had nothing to say to her, she had no problem speaking for both of them.
"Greetings." A nervous laugh interjected, and she cleared her throat to move on. "I cannot begin to quantify or express my gratitude for all that you have done for me in a manner that would accurately be representative of even one iota of this information, but I can say this much: I owe my life to you. There is a significant possibility that this is literal, though I am primarily speaking about the current state of my existence, rather than the balance between my life or my death. I hope that I am not incorrect in assuming that you already know what I have done while following your counsel, because...oh, what I have done."
Another laugh, much less anxious, pulled her from her thoughts long enough to allow her to take note of the fact that she was much closer to the altar than she had been just a few seconds ago, and that she must have subconsciously felt the need to reach towards it. Embarrassed by her actions, she bowed her head and continued.
"I have tried to remain aware of the fact that this is a relationship, and that you are more than words on a page or a voice in my mind. Have the words that I have provided for you been enough? Has the blood? I discovered that the pages of the tome are quite thirsty for it, when granted a source, but I did not want to risk losing your information in favor of pages upon pages of blood-soaked parchment. You are much more important to me than that. Have I proven as much? Is there more that I can do to--"
Despite her intentions to respect the natural order of scholarly meetings, something within her knew well enough to reach for what called to her. When she did, and finally made contact with what sat upon the altar, it did not grasp the pale hand that she extended - it bypassed useless flesh and bone to securely clasp itself around her more valuable mind.
-♥-
This was nothing new, no matter how intricately she had spun her web of delusion to soothe herself into believing that she was part of something different. Something special. This might have been qualified as progress, but it was nothing but a step in the same direction that science had already walked in for a long, long time, not a sidestep of note into her own branching spawn of an era.
Since the origins of science in any form, it had from time to time been held by the wrong hands. It had been used for the purpose of destruction, completely ignoring the very foundations of science and all of the information gained by those who labored tirelessly within it, for the sake of proving superiority. From the day that the very first weapon was used, the first gun was fired, the first explosive was detonated against an enemy in the midst of war, necessity expanded at a rapid pace for finding faster, more conclusive solutions for the problems plaguing those who had always known that they were better than all of the rest.
When firepower was no longer effective enough, science lent itself to the creation of the atomic bomb. When an even more catastrophic weapon was required, warfare became a playing field of airborne pestilence. Where disease and decay fell short, an unfilled gap of demand opened its wide, beckoning maw, begging to be fed.
And though it was unlike Mimsy to act upon command, she did enjoy the sound of a plea.
This project would not have been her first choice of an undertaking, nor second, nor third, and she might never have considered it at all if she was younger, a reserved, reflective girl freshly birthed from twenty years of education and research. She'd found a new mentor, a new mind to admire, but the passage of time caused the distance between them to grow rather than shrink, and it truly felt as if she would never approach an equal level of brilliance. This must have been a result of his ability to more rapidly gain intellect and information, she surmised, and it did not take much longer for her to conclude that the answer to this was to change her directives. It would not mean admitting failure - it would simply prove that she was useful, worthy of sharing in his wealth of knowledge. It would mean adapting into something better, something that could provide her with the path to equal excellence that she had difficulty finding on her own. It would not mean saying 'I can't', only 'I will', once there was nothing but the veritable expanse of scientific achievements ahead of them.
It was a basic concept at its core, bringing the physics of the cosmos down to earth. This was the sort of work that she thrived in, and it only took three sleepless nights for the first prototype to be structurally completed. All of the math was correct, checked in triplicate, and the results of this would truly be magnificent, according to her calculations.
When that first test prototype was deployed, it plunged a third of a continent into inescapable darkness. The incredible density of a matter that had once been unsustainable on this planet crushed everything it touched, turning humans into nothing more than fragile little ants beneath her boot. It reminded her of what ALICE once showed her, except the finger she'd pressed against the window had caused substantially more than a smudge: the planet she would look down upon from the space station had now been permanently changed by her touch.
Accusations were flung between countries, and she continued to contribute to this scientific marvel of human destruction, passing unnoticed to those who never thought to search in the shadows.
Armies crumbled when faced with a foe that they couldn't understand. Panic and paranoia swept from nation to nation, conspiracies springing up to spark wildfires of their own destruction. Humans truly could be their own worst enemy, and it was wildly entertaining to her to watch them all assert beliefs and solutions that were wrong. She watched, and laughed, and waited for his guidance.
When the second was deployed, it was no more impressive than the first. It still created chaos, still spread destruction across thousands of square miles of land and sea, but it was not what she expected. While other scientists toiled to find the antidote to the anomalies that fell from her hands, she worked to improve them. She strove to make them something more. They would never catch up to her, and she relished in the feeling of her vast superiority.
The enjoyment went a little too far, perhaps; the surge of adrenaline in the wake of her successes was satisfying beyond words, and she wanted more, always more. The screams and chaos exceeded the response she had to basic praises, and knowing that she had the power to answer their pleas for assistance, knowing that she knew how to undo what she had done, was absolutely intoxicating. The more they begged, the harder she worked to break them further. Listening so intently to them meant ignoring the pleas from the family that she had once carefully created in her quest for happiness and fulfillment, but it was worth the rifts that formed between them. She didn't need a home when she could dismantle an entire portion of the planet on a whim. All she needed was a lab, and a place with a beautiful view of all that she had demolished to make way for something more extraordinary.
It took a month and three days to find her answer. The modifications were enough to create a cataclysm that would shake the world to its core, and it was exactly what she wanted. She was proud, excited, thrilled to share this achievement with the one that she admired, and as she turned to search for him, she found that he was already waiting for her. After taking a deep breath, eyes alight with the hopeful anticipation of his praise, she gave him a wide, enthusiastic smile.
And he smiled right back at her without saying one word, but it was not the smile she had been hoping for.
The laws of physics had dictated her life in many ways for many years, and it was simple physics that ultimately ended it. Energy. Force. Velocity. An array of grey matter were expelled from her skull, bathed in pools of red, scattering formulas and systematic processes in the only way that guaranteed they could never be put back together again.
-♥-
No one remembered her name.
It was not recorded in textbooks, or written in a plaque, or preserved in a museum. It was not mentioned in the pitying tone used for the scientists of the Manhattan Project. It was not spat from mouths with disgust for her actions. Even if the world had heard of her, no one cared about the past anymore. They all looked with wide-eyed terror towards the future, and it was all her fault.
She hated them for it. She wanted to snap all of their bones with her bare hands until all they could think about was her. She wanted to claw their stupid eyes out so they could only know what she wanted them to know. She wanted to carve her name in their flesh deep enough to strike the bone, so they would remember her with every inch of their pathetic human forms.
It was infuriating to know that they only thought of her darkness, no matter how much sense it made. They only knew her as the monster, unleashed in the belly of the beast that was their world, created to consume it from within.
If that was what they wanted to remember her as, then that was what she could be. Bitter thoughts curdled into putrid perspectives of humans who had carelessly forgotten what was important about her, rotting through her desire to learn and to know, leaving only a drive to destroy the worthless existence of a planet that did not deserve her prowess.
They would learn, and every one of their final thoughts would be of her.
When she emerged into their world, she was the first and only one of her kind, spawned from the shadowy mass of her doing. It was a morning in March that once might have had meaning to her, but time was of little importance to her now - all she felt was something missing, and she firmly believed that destroying them one by one would fill that inexplicable void. She lifted a heavy hand and waved to those who were fortunate enough to greet her, then smiled, but none of them smiled back. They dropped to their knees, scattered to hide, came back with weapons that could never pierce the matter surrounding her, reminder after wretched reminder that humanity did not deserve to survive.
But she did. And she would, eternally bound to the most dense, dark matter in the universe, sustained by the fear that they all so willingly provided.
-♥-
The Heart in her hand was not human, and she was not a god. In silence, Mimsy withdrew her hand, offering only a tentative stare to the symbol on the altar. The tips of her fingers tingled, but she still felt approximately human in shape and form.
"I see," she murmured, head moving slowly up and down in a lethargic nod. It was no use asking it if this was a future that was inevitable, and she doubted that it would answer questions about missing pieces that she knew were important. And if it wouldn't tell her, then she would have to answer them herself, because they certainly weren't going away on their own.
"I see." She rubbed her palms on her coat as she repeated her words, wiping away something that wasn't really there. "I offer my gratitude to you once more. For everything."
This was not the sort of conditioning chamber that she had expected to encounter, but she held onto a sliver of hope that she might still be rewarded when she left through that door. The Tower was unpredictable, and had been altering itself to best suit its functions since their arrival, but it helped to believe that the answer to her troubles would be waiting there for her.
Maybe the Heart could grant her this last favor.
-♥-
Quote:
Loyal to Death: Around your neck is a chain and instead of a lock, at the center a small clock that has stopped ticking. -Every time you MISS add +1 to your counter. When it hits +5, add that defense to your next defensive roll. It cannot be stacked with any other ability.
Aeron - white door - Loyal to Self - Ancient of Grieving
Aeron didn't move quickly up the stairs, his weapon drawn in a way that would protect him should anyone else attack. It had been a ride, a wild ride through the tower and he felt himself tired of it's antics.
As he hit the top and was greeted by doors, he didn't bother waiting for their call. The white door sang to him in a way that made him come to it automatically. It was a familiar feeling.
--
The altar glowed a white light, washing him in a feeling of grief that he knew deep into his soul. He didn't need to be told the task at hand, reaching his hand out to touch the emblem.
When he was dropped back into his body, he was dropped into his past, rather then his future. Back when he was a young death guardian, following his priestess with a puppy like manner. To please her, to make her safe. To protect her as she was the one who mattered the most to him.
But it wasn't like that for her, and she didn't think of him as important but disposable. Why shouldn't she? She wanted freedom of being a priestess with temporary guards. Aeron had lasted long because he was skillful, and smart. But she had ways of breaking him.
It was long before he learned, instead of love, he was treated like a dog. A servant with a short leash. He had given everything and lost it all to the whim of the priestess before him. He had become dependant on her orders, her absolutes. He knew nothing else.
And then she had been killed on the Island home, burned by the hunters and he had lost all he was and who she was. And he grieved. He didn't die, but he died inside. All knew of his fierce loyalty to her, so it wasn't a surprise that he would grieve. It was an ideal that grew and grew, spread. It was the fear of having loss and the emotions that came with it.
He transcended from a death guardian into a ancient, burned with the markings of grief. When he stepped down from the spire, he knew, in his heart, that he would remain this way after.
