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 Posted: Mon Feb 27, 2017 3:40 pm
How long had it been?
Kallichore fussed with her hair, hastily bunching it up and tying it away from her face. The castle was barren, as it had always been, the sound of water dripping, echoing through marble chambers and into the small study in which she sat. Despite the castle’s age and state of disrepair, it never had a musty smell - wind whistled through small cracks and holes in the white stone that made up the place, providing fresh air and a kind of music unique to each room.
Before her were several books, all bound in leather and ancient in script. She could read none of it, despite many months of attempting. She found no correlation between the script of her moon and any known living or dead languages on Earth. The strange, circular language seemed to have many inconsistencies, much like English, without a smaller alphabet. From what Kallichore could surmise, over 100 different characters exist in the Kallichoran language.
And she had no cypher.
Entire novels were completely unreadable to her. Visions of her past-self, Sibyl, reading from these books would appear to the present-day girl every so often, and sometimes Sibyl would even read aloud. Her long green hair fell in gorgeous ringlets, the crown of her head topped in alien flowers and other flora, a book cradled in her arms. Whenever she spoke, Kallichore understood her in English, but knew this must’ve been magic at work - she highly doubted Sibyl, or anyone else on her moon, spoke or knew English at all. Perhaps an English analog hadn’t even been invented yet.
No matter, she was a literature graduate, not a linguistics expert.
It seemed a fruitless endeavor to mull over indecipherable texts, but Kallichore had an intuition about it. Perhaps the answers she had been so desperate to find were hidden in the pages of these texts. ...or perhaps still, it was nothing but a collection of fairy tales or children’s books, or elaborate cooking recipes.
Kallichore sighed and stood, stretching her arms and back after sitting for so long, mulling over these ancient pages. Her fuku buckles made light music upon her movement and she stepped out of the small, cramped study into one of the larger, main rooms of the castle. Time passed different here. The enormity of Jupiter hung high in the sky, and when the clouds cleared, engulfed one’s vision. The moon was infinitesimally small compared to larger Galilean cousins like Europa and Ganymede. It must have been a constant reminder to the people of the past; they were orbiting a titan of sorts, with huge swath of cousins exponentially larger.
Did the people of the moon find themselves distraught by this? Kallichore often wondered if the relative size of the moon was ever a problem for its inhabitants - was there enough food? Water? Enough land to raise crops and animals? There must not have been much of an economic crisis, since Sibyl never mentioned anything about it. If one were to judge solely on Sibyl’s demeanor, the moon seemed quite… peaceful.
But then again, Kallichore mused, she did not control what visions or memories she saw. She did not control when they came and what they contained. Some were entirely useless when it came to the war - visions of Sibyl visiting small villages, caring for groups of children, cleaning the castle… These did not help unlock the secrets needed to defeat Chaos and restore peace to Earth. But they were, for the most part, interesting and entertaining glimpses into the lives of the common folk. Sibyl seemed to carry herself as if she were no better than a farmer or trade-worker. Kallichore admired that about her.
Even in the face of imminent destruction, she still protected the children in her care to the bitter end, instructing them to watch her, placing herself between them and the clawing death ripping apart the moon. She led them in song, the last they’d ever sing.
Kallichore felt her heart constrict.
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Posted: Tue Feb 28, 2017 12:44 pm
One thing the present-day senshi had come to realize, was that Sibyl was not a warrior in any sense of the word. She had a motherly quality about her, and was likely not much older than Christa herself was at that time. Sibyl seemed quite content, blessed perhaps, to fulfill even the most minor of duties on the moon. The green-haired woman seemed pleased to sweep the castle, seemed happy to care for children that were not her own, seemed elated to ferry books to and from various rooms. Minor duties, custodial duties.
None of this was helpful at all.
Chaos did not seem to be a part of life in the past. People on the moon toiled but seemed quite happy with their lot. Their senshi worked alongside them, leading them in religious services, cared for the children while the parents worked the land, taught language and history. She was certainly a servant to the moon and its people, but Kallichore sensed Sibyl was not a warrior.
Not once did Christa ever see a vision of Sibyl wearing the same regalia that Kallichore wore now. She was always seen in the same plain white, long and flowing dress. Barefoot, hair cascading every which way. The hem of her dress was stained from dirt but Sibyl never seemed to mind. How odd, thought Christa, but perhaps it simply didn’t matter much to Sibyl.
Every day spent on the moon, Kallichore attempted to learn more. More history, more customs, more religion, more insight. While the past may not have contained the Chaos against which the senshi fought today, there could still exist a kernel of knowledge that could be utilized to help swing the way in Order’s favor.
She’d toiled for years over this prospect, this goal. Nephthys was kind enough to take her in while Kallichore had let most other priorities in her life suffer. The war seemed all-consuming, all-encompassing, and a problem for which Kallichore could not find a solution. Even the past, she’d come to realize, did not contain as much knowledge as she’d hoped. No, more realistically, it contained vast amount of knowledge. Christa simply could not translate it.
It seemed to her that the more aggressively Order fought against Chaos, the stronger Chaos became. A parasite, feeding on the emotionality of senshi and knights who wanted nothing more than to bring peace back to the universe, if they even thought that far. The goal among Order was fractured at best, singular to each individual. What Kallichore might have wanted for the war may not even be shared by Nepthys.
During one of her excursions to the moon after moving in with Genevieve, Christa had seen Sibyl, the calm and serene woman, walking down into the basement of the castle. The hem of her dress whispered softly against cool stone, bare feet gliding down the staircase. Christa had seen her walking down there many times and knew there was a pool in the basement. It was from this pool that Kallichore’s own liquid balm had come from. The magics regenerated the liquid every dawn.
It was peculiar, this time, because Sibyl was accompanied by a few people Kallichore recognized as “elders” - people native to the moon who were older, wiser, relished for their knowledge. They too were barefoot and dressed very simply in plain robes, speaking softly to one another. Without a cypher and only grasping at straws, Christa decided to follow them down into the depths of the castle.
Sibyl and the elders walked gently, quietly, almost reverently down the staircase with their present-day equivalent hot on their heels. Kallichore had seen the room at the bottom of the stairs many times, but had not seen elders in it, nor had she witnessed this strange behavior previously. Her heels clicked so loudly against the stone, it felt near sacrilegious to make such noise during what felt like a very important religious ceremony. Truthfully, they could have been talking about the weather, for all Kallichore knew. Their voices were hushed. Christa, walking down the stairs at an angle, foot over food, drew as close as she could to overhear them.
It was Sibyl who spoke first. She seemed in the middle of a conversation. “...with great honor to serve the guiding moon for those fortunate enough to seek its knowledge.”
“The group is small, but prepared. Five this time, and it seems we have no dissenters.” said the female elder.
The male responded, “Dissent is such a foul word. If they follow our instructions for cleansing then they have shown trust and worthiness, that is all.”
Sibyl’s voice was warm, like a mother speaking to her child. “Five will have the knowledge and answers they seek, that is all. Thank you for the opportunity to open the gate for these individuals. With a small group such as this, I will only require one attendant.”
By the time the trio had reached the bottom of the long and winding stone staircase, the vision had dissipated as so much smoke. Kallichore was left confused. What were they speaking about? She did not remember any previous references to attendants or groups of people. She’d only ever seen Sibyl in this basement room, sitting on a tripod at the edge of a pool, giving counsel to a single individual.
But now, she realized, the vision of Sibyl did not entirely dissipate as the elders had. A faint outline of her could be seen… walking right through a solid wall.
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Posted: Sun Mar 05, 2017 6:01 pm
She knew her moon was more liable to play tricks on visitors. She also thought she knew every last nook and cranny when it came to the castle itself. Spending just over two years combing the place for answers, or even clues, had lead Kallichore to most every spot available in the castle and on its tiny moon. Standing at the base of the stairs, the senshi was left staring at the wall where the image of Sibyl disappeared.
Could it be… a hidden room? Or just a simple hallucination? Kallichore wasn't sure that spending so much time on her moon left her mind unscathed.
Without much to lose, Kallichore stepped forward and reached out to the wall, seeking to press her hand against its cold and stony surface. Just as the image of Sibyl had done before, Kallichore’s hand disappeared behind the stone facade, not once meeting solid matter. There was no rippling effect when her limb passed through, no stereotypical indication of a false door or illusion. How this projection, this false wall, was being created, the senshi did not know. She chose then to follow what path may lay behind it.
Beyond the veil lay a long and winding corridor not unlike the one Kallichore had just entered from, but this corridor had very little in the way of light. Small stones inlaid in the floor shone very faintly, a dim blue light casting a shadow upon the walls as Kallichore walked. Her heels made a vile amount of noise, she thought, in such a quiet hallway. Before her, she caught fading glimpses of Sibyl’s long dress - Sibyl was just ahead, murmuring to herself.
The corridor seemed to stretch on ad infinitum, winding back and forth in on itself. Or was it? Kallichore thought to bring chalk next time, for she swore she had been here before. The stones across the ground looked to be in a familiar pattern. The senshi frowned. Either she was hallucinating again, or her moon was playing tricks on her. Perhaps both. All the while, she heard the warm murmurs of the woman with green hair, her linen dress whispering against the stone.
“Once one undergoes the cleansing process for seven days, I will watch over them.”
“They will experience only that which our mother moon can provide.”
“Answers to their deepest questions…”
Kallichore’s ears perked during the last phrase she could overhear. It seemed as though Sibyl’s vision was purposefully a few yards ahead of the present-day senshi, teasing with snippets of of conversation long since gone. The senshi shot ahead as quickly as she could, rounding the corner of the corridor and nearly slipping on the smooth stone. It felt as though she was running forever, always catching a glimpse of Sibyl, corridor folding in on itself over and over. Her lungs felt ablaze with fire and desperation. Her years of research, digging, prodding… was it just around the corner?
“I just…” cried she, legs turning to jelly with what felt like hours of breakneck running. “I just need to know!”
She rounded a corner and nearly fell as she skidded to a halt so as not to run straight into the wall of the room she suddenly found herself in. Large, circular like the other oracle room she was familiar with. Indeed, in this room lay a large and deep pool, soft light from the stones in the floor casting dancing shapes against the ceiling. Kallichore’s labored breathing was, for the moment, she only thing she could hear. Heartbeat thudded rhythmically in her ears.
Atop another tripod sat Sibyl, elegant and yet so simple, with long green hair pooling about her. Alien flowers made a nest in a loose bun behind her head. Beside her lay five individuals Kallichore had never seen before during her many visits to the moon. Some word clothing she did not recognize, one with finery and gold that seemed utterly out of place. They were writhing in pain, crying out, grasping at monsters only they could see. Blood and vomit had faked one woman’s face and she shrieked about her dying child. One man was tearing the hair on his head, horrified.
Sibyl, it seemed, had done this to them, and was perhaps admiring her handiwork.
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Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 12:59 pm
Kallichore was horrified, watching Sibyl gaze lazily over the bodies of the suffering before her. She seemed eerily calm, perhaps even proud, sitting atop a tripod to watch over them. The senshi found herself unable to move, eyes fixated on the writhing forms on the ground, ears locked in rapt attention to the shrieks and cries. One woman rolled near the tripod and Sibyl bent over, smoothing the woman’s hair before returning to her vigil.
What the hell was this?!
Their cries reminded Christa of the sounds coming from war hospitals in the movies - cries that indicated extreme pain and fear. Whatever was happening to these people, Sibyl was oddly calm about it. She knew it was nothing more than a vision, but the scene before her felt and sounded as real as anything she experienced back in Destiny City. Rising to her knees, Kallichore inched forward carefully, quietly, as if the vision of Sibyl would become alerted to her presence and increase the torture. Within what felt like hours, Kallichore was kneeling at the edge of the pool across from which Sibyl sat.
It seemed as though, at the senshi’s approach, the writhing forms calmed. No longer did they shriek in horror, nor did they claw at their bodies and faces. Instead, one woman, who likely vomited earlier, rolled over to her side and was weeping. Tears streamed down her face leaving trails in her makeup and she smiled. She was happy, but why?
The sudden creak of the tripod gave Kallichore a start and brown eyes darted to the tall and slender form of Sibyl, who knelt by the woman and began to wipe her face with a damp cloth. “There, there… I will watch over you. Take in what the moon has to show you. Find your answer.” she whispered, fussing with the woman’s hair to keep it from her face. Sibyl then moved onto the next - a man who lay on his back, whose hands shook and breath was ragged. He seemed in awe of something only he could experience. Sibyl even lifted her orange eyes to watch the space above the man’s head and, curiously… smiled.
“Are they guiding you, my friend?” she asked, wiping the sweat from the man’s brow.
She was caring for them.
Despite the fact that, logically, Sibyl was but a memory, Kallichore moved out of the phantom’s way when she crossed over to the other side of the pool to tend to the people there. She whispered sweet things in their ears they may not even hear and pulled their hair from their faces. She wiped the sweat and tears from their cheeks. She turned them over when one might choke on their own bile. She was caring for them, tending to them, like a mother would her children. The senshi was stunned, mouth agape in confusion and almost…
….reverence.
Returning to her post on the tripod, Sibyl seemed overjoyed to share the room with these people. She spoke of privilege. She spoke of guidance and honor. She folded her hands across her dirtied linen dress, unmoved by the blood and sweat and filth that clung to the hem. She was barefoot, just as Kallichore had always seen her. The woman closed her eyes with a contented smile, and waited.
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Posted: Mon Mar 13, 2017 3:38 pm
The present-day senshi had almost fallen asleep. After listening to these tortured souls subjected to vivid torment only they could see, Kallichore found them oddly at peace. Happy. This state of euphoria seemed to continue for a great deal of time. She thought to check her senshi cellphone for the time, but didn’t think to take a look earlier - she had no starting point. If she had to guess, Kallichore would assume she’d been witness to this vision for a few hours at the very least.
At last they began to rouse, some in awe, some in relief. One woman clung to another and wept in happiness. Despite her disheveled state, her shoulders shook with her sobbing. Sibyl knelt by her side, whispering words of comfort. The woman said, “I saw my daughter. She told me she is in a better place now… she is happy and warm and comfortable… there is no pain… oh, my daughter--!”
These people were not from the moon, but from other places. No two of them dressed alike, but all expressed a gratitude to Sibyl and to the pool around which they sat. Sibyl brushed off their thanks with humility, stating she was simply doing the moon’s good work. The vision of Sibyl ended as she rose to help these people onto their feet and to the bathhouse to clean themselves up.
Kallichore made to stand, wondering if she could round that corridor again and find her way back when she felt a small breeze rustling her collar. Turning, she saw Sibyl again, with a new group of people around the pool. She sat upon the tripod with an old book in her hand, one Kallichore recognized as one of the books she’d been mulling over these last few months. Sibyl hummed a disjointed tune, watching and waiting as these people walked through their own mind in a world only they could see.
It was then that the senshi had an incredible sense of familiarity with that book… she’d read it before, she was sure of it, but couldn’t make out the words. Boots clicked against cool stone as she approached the vision of Sibyl, leaned over to read.
To open the Gate, one must be Guided
Drink from the pool and the Moon will Walk with you
Answer for you
Dream for you
Beneath the Castle a great Pool sleeps
From its Waters, your Soul finds Peace
Kallichore stepped back, perplexed. Though she could not read the alien script upon the pages, she knew the words instinctively. Hand on her chest, she felt her heartbeat quicken as she stood behind the vision of Sibyl. In rapid succession, time seemed to change - different sets of individuals, all foreign to her eyes, passed through the chamber. It was as if each vision was sped up enormously. Sibyl hardly aged at all, but her dress and hairstyle changed every time Kallichore blinked. She’s done this before. She’s done this countless times…
She reached out to touch Sibyl’s shoulder, but her hand found nothing but air, the memory crumbling like so much ash in the wind. The last thing Kallichore could hear was the musical nature of Sibyl’s joyful laughter that faded away slowly.
And there she was, alone in the chamber.
“I have no Guide, but…” came a whisper. “...my Soul seeks Peace…”
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Posted: Wed Mar 15, 2017 5:15 pm
The pool itself was roughly four feet in diameter, lined with carved stone blocks with intricate patterns etched into them with crude tools. These swirling lines and shapes were reminiscent of the tattoos Kallichore saw on people’s faces in memories of the villages outside. The etchings contrasted with the smooth, untouched stonework of the floor in the room itself. Darkness was but a pinprick in the center of the pool, indicating the water flowed from deep, deep underground to reach this point. Aside from the vibrations the senshi made when walking, the water remained calm and still. No fragrance wafted from it.
The memories flooded her brain when she looked at the pool - memories of watching over those who felt they were dying, those looking for salvation in gods, those desperate to understand their place in life. Oh how they writhed and wailed and suffered through the trials the universe sought fit to bestow upon them. Succeed and be rewarded. To fail is torture. Those who failed would be plagued by visions even after waking up…
...that is where the rumors were born.
Kallichore realized she’d knelt next to the pool, knowing full well that to drink of its water could mean absolute jeopardy. Her brain could be whisked away to a hellscape from which there was no rescue. Sibyl was gone, in a way. She could not watch over and guide herself. Christa risked choking on her own vomit or drowning if she fell into the pool while in the throes of agony. ...Did the risk outweigh the reward?
This is what she’d been searching for. She spent years trying to uncover this answer, trying to coax it from history, from the people around her, from the people against her. No one held a satisfactory answer. This water promised that answer.
Her eyes narrowed, knowing this was reckless, this was stupid. To voluntarily divest herself of consciousness and control could be unintentional suicide. Nephthys would be left without someone to protect and train her. Zach would be without a sibling in this war, someone to teach him. The people closest to her would never know to where she had disappeared.
Her soul ached for answers, and so… she leaned over and took a drink.
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Posted: Sat Mar 18, 2017 4:19 pm
Cool to the touch, clean of taste, the water was not unlike the simple, bottled versions readily available on Earth. For many long moments, Kallichore did not feel a thing. She felt no different than if she had taken a drink of tap water at home after a long run outside. It quenched any thirst she may have suffered from, but no ill effects befell her. Her stomach was not in pain, she did not feel sick as the others before her had. There was no urge to vomit, no tears. Odd.
The senshi moved to stand and, in turning to use her hand against the stone floor as leverage, turned to look to her left. She saw, standing there as plain as day, was her brother, Themisto.
He seemed to be speaking, but Kallichore could not hear him. His voice seemed muffled, muted, at a great distance despite him standing a scant few feet from his sibling. Kallichore noted his eyes seemed clear, his hair rustling in a wind she did not feel. Perplexed by his presence, Kallichore attempted to stand, but felt the entire room had shifted extremely suddenly. The walls became the ceiling and her body felt to be thousands of pounds heavier. With a yelp, she reached out to Themisto, whose face curled in a sinister smile.
O̡͈̯͍ͮͫ̐ḥ̝͎̫̠̪̺̲̆̉͂́ ̡̙̉̊̓̀̀n̤̬͕̤̭͔͔̄͌ͭ̽̒ͯ́ͅò̟̪̠̞̣̘̱͑̍͒ͧ͂ͪ̀͞ͅ ̭̼̂̓̎ͮ͂n̷͇͚̥̙̞̾̎͜o̷̽ͭ̋͑̚̚̚͡͏͉̠̪̣̻̞͓̝,̶̧̭̪͇͎̰͊ͣͤ͗͌͐̏̓́ ̸̟̭̦̞͚̻̞̦ͪ̍̓d̴̢̬̹͔͙̜̻̘ͦ̊͝ͅaͥ͐͛͊͏̝̳̩̠̤͠͞r̭͎͉̼̖͈̀ͤ̃̓̑́̒͠l̵̪̎̉̂̾̉͂͋̍i̷̜̽͌ͣͮ͋̒̈̌n͙̖̖͍͕̗̽͑̅͆ͮ͛͆́g̠̪̊̈́,̵̩̝̹̫̼̹̯̫͛ͮ̀̓͐͌ͅ ͐̎ͫͩ͏̤̼͖̭̪̩̖̦w̧̼͍͒ͮ̍e̦̞̰̗̩̣̪͖͓ͯͣ̔͗͗͌ͨ͒̄̀ ̂ͩ͏̙̙̜̥aͤ̎̆̏͊͏̮̮̹̻̩̙̝̫r̹̗̮̘̞̮͙̪̓̋̕͝ḛ̸̶̻̪̠͉͓ͩ̅̈́ ̵̯̘̩̯̜̠̫̾̉̓͛̐ͣͮ̚ͅf̫̝̾̚̕͢ä̵̭̞̮͕̮̌̅ͪ̅ͧ̚̕r̞̬͚̝̟͍͕͐͑ͨ ̷̣̩͉͙̣̫̣̂̎f̸͈̮̯̳̯̀ͬͤ͂͌r̟ͩ́ͯ̂ͤ͊ͭ͘o͆̇̒ͫ҉̫̟̳͝m̢͚͇̭͕̱͍̃̃͑ͩ ̆͆͋͌ͣ҉̪̲͉̲͓̩͉͟f͆̐ͫͩ҉̬͔͇͜i͕͚̺̐̈̌̅͂ͪ͜͝n̰͈͈ͮͦͧi̛̝̰̙̝̟̰͓͗ͦ̈́ͦ̏s̛̩̭̰̽̃ͣ͑͛͜͞h̸̸̦̩̞ͬ̍̾̚e̢̐̋ͬ̆̂͏̭͇̺̪̠͓̭d̳͎̬̲̳̲̐ͬ͒ͅͅ ̵͉̲̙͓̲̮̘ͯ͐̋̒̽ͥ̎̍͟h͉̫͓̞̼̟̙̰͂̔̍̅̊̏͛e͆͒ͬͯ́̚̚͏̟͈r̡͑̈́͛̊ͬ͏̨̼̻̜̞̯̦̼̗e̗͔̱̪̼͖͚̞͚͗ͮ͗̒ͦͣ̂̆̌̀͠.̯̮̳̬̝̻̖̬̜̽̾̉ͯ̒͛ͨͮͮ̀͟
The room blackened with a deafening roar and Kallichore felt sheer panic rise in her gut, threatening to spill the bile in her stomach. Her eyes could not adjust fast enough before she could feel more than see not-Themisto's face mere centimeters from her own. She could hear and feel his breathing and it smelled putrid, as if the boy was rotting from the inside. Kallichore's own breathing quickened and she tried to move away from the creature that posed as her brother, but her limbs would not respond. It was as though her body was paralyzed and all she could do was watch and listen.
Not-Themisto chuckled then, a thick and gurgling sound from deep within an elongated diaphragm. It pulled away from Kallichore's prone form, the room around them brightening just enough for her to make out the silhouette of the creature posing as her brother. Its head was too high in the air on a neck too long for a human being.
Ẏ̮͍̠̣̬̀̃̆̒͜͡ͅͅǒ̀͜ͅű̟͍̩̠͍̳̺̥͑͛ͭ̆̇ͬ̓̂ ̡̱̺̙͉̟̻̠͎ͤ̎́̚a̞̝̠̮͍͌̐̆ͪͯͯ̍ṙ̬͚̙̣̙̱͎̻̋ͨ̏̍̕e̱̳̘̦̊ͨ̌̽ͪ͘ͅ ̨̤̻͖̠̑̃w̫͉̬̻̹̤̫͖ͫ̓̍̇̀͑͊ͮ̍͘a͔̳͇̖̩ͬ̾̽͑̿͝s̶̛͚̫̮̱͔͈͖̉ͥͬͩt͈͈̱̣̣̮ͧ̔̔̊̊ͤ̎́i̜̞͇͉͆̽̀͡n̂͌ͣ͏͍̤͎̞gͪ͟͏҉̙̣͔̣͉̗̗̹ ̪̺̜͍͌̿͑̊y͎̫̞͍̖͈͙͕̔͂́̚o̴̧̢̦͖̩̫̭̫̪͍ͥ͗ͯu̧̡̫̠̱̯͕̞̻͛ͯ̀r̹̯ͪ͛̽̿́̚͡͡ ͙͉̩̳͒ͫͤ̕͢ṯ̵̛̰͖͇̻̜̦ͮi̘͉̠̟̺̝͋́͊͑̾̎͘͢͝m͙͇͙̪͈̉ͪͣẻ͖͚̬͂ͬ̓ͭ̏͝,̶̻̯͕̠ͪ̇̅̆ͫ͑͐ͤ͞ͅ ͮ̈́̾̕҉̜̖̖s̗͋ͥ̀ͥͤė̡̮̟͖͒̋ͣ̂͆͡ǹ̸̸̡͉̘̤̗̈́͋͐̉ͣͩs̬̮̻̼̯͂͒̈́́͠ͅh̸̶̛͖̻̦͍͚͍̞̹̓̎̿ͥ͛͒i̊̋͏͓̗.̥̯̥̤̓ͭ͢͞͞ ̞͖̬̤̗͈͚̣ͬͥ́͢͜T̷͔̝̘̖̻̣͔̜ͥͪͪ́͢ͅh̛̦̬ͯ̀i̴̶̙̥̩̱̠̠̹̘ͮ̀͟s̤̖͙̳̥͖̬̻ͪͯ̔̈́̕ ̲̦͔̮̼̬̋ͬ̿͡ͅp̷̢͔͓̳̯̱ͫ̋͒͑̚ļ̴̱̺̠̲̥̹̪̺ͣ̃͐̈́ͨ͆̌̚͠ä̦͙́̔͢n̼̙͓̐ͤ̓̔͑ͦ̏̽ͬ͢e̡̘̟͓͍̹͎̗̖̍ͫ͗͑̊ͨṯ̡͚̻͈̣̝̎̎̿͒̀͛͢ ̺͇̫̲̩̞̤̄͊̒̄ͬ͌ͤ͂ͅi̵̽̈́̒̀̽ͯ҉͚̫̹̫͙̥s̶̮̲̥̘̘͎͊̂̅̌ͫ̿̅̿ ͈̱͉̮̱̂͛̕m̥͇̙̙̮͉̦ͣ̓ͩ͛̔͢͢i͖͕̭̞͉͉͈̬̹͒ͤ̒ͨ̎ͧ͘͡n͑͆̈̓͏͍̜̜͓̤͞ͅe̠̙̥̯̩̤̣̩̲̽̔ͨ̑̐ͦ̕.̗̙̫͎͚̼͐̏ͭͨ̏̂̐̕ ̵̻ͯ͒ͩ̀͘͝T̳̥͚̫ͣ̈̌̕ͅh̢̡̪̘̹̳̺͚̉̊ͯ̂ͤ͑ͭi̟͖̺̗̘ͣͬ͟͝s̭̈́͆ͤͦͭͦ̾̀ ͖̺̈̎ͣͮ̓͊̉ͩ̕̕͘u̬̙̭ͥͬ̑̀n̶̨͇̭̱̈͑͒̏͑͊̉i̵̵͖͈̘̼͒͜ṿ̱̰̣̟͎̔̐ͯ̒̃̊ę̗̞ͨͦ̉̐ͯȓ̨̽̇͡͏̲̖̘̲̲ṡ̯͎͕͖̑e̡̩͖͙͈̣̖̣̎͊ͥ͒̅ͣ̊͞,͕̰͔̖ͯ͑ͭ͑͑ ̝̤͇̮̻̳͔̹͆͗̉͗͜t͔͙̟̹̗̫͎͕ͪͤͣͮ̐̉̃̀ͣ͟h̨͙̫̻̩̐̆̐ͥ̎̌̕e̹̭̥͙̾ͦ̚ ̶̲̮̠͖͙̎̀t͈͖̞͙ͣ͐̔͐́h͓̫̣͚̥̙͉ͮ̉̏ͮ̏̒̄̀ḭ̸̤͇̭̜͓͔̋͐ͤ̔̈͂̑͞n̵̼̟͓̻̝͈̟͈̬͋͗̌̀g̷͆͗͏̫̥ ̛̀ͩ͛ͥ͗̂҉̘̜̘̻̩̜̹̙͙͟y̴̧̛͍͎̙̝̯̗̾̏͒ͅo̖̣̱͇̖̬̭̰͕̊ͬ̿ͧ͘u͉͔̰ͨ̅͊̿͗ͦͫ̾͠ ̦̟͍̫̬ͩs̨̛͚͔̞͖͖̱̜̖̅ͪ̑͠o̲̬͕̩̩͌̔̒̔ͫ ͥ̃͑̋͏̞̙d̊ͪ̄̍͊ͦ̐҉̨͚͍͙͔̥͈̘e̡̫̠͇̹͉̙̖͇ͣ̈̉̀̈́̈́ͧ̊s̺̭̹̙͙̙̪̣̻̐͊ͬ̀p̹ͯ͆͝e̍̓ͩ͗͆͏̜̞̦͍̬r̬̼̙͖̂͋͑̂̏ȧ̙̩̮̳͆ͬ͆͟͞t̡̬̠͚͉̘̥͈͔ͬ͛̍ͧ̎̎è̴̛̤̞̰̰̖ͮ̍̾̃͛͂́̚l̰̼̅̓̈́͋̾͂͞y̶̬̙̹̋ͭͤ̍ ͂͆̊̽ͣͮͣ́͏̱̝̳̖ͅw̢̭̰ͣ̎ͧ̈́͡͠i̦͖ͥͨs̡̟͔̯͙̣̳̾̄̀ͬ͒̃͛́h̷̹̭̥ͣ̈́͋ ͙͖͉͉͙̙̹͆̐ͦ͑̈̍ͯ͝t̡̡̒̈̏ͦ͏͈̮̤̩͎̫̬ọ̴̬ͨ̚ ̡͙̩̞͖́͑͐́ͯ̚͘͟p̶̹̙̼̹̼̠ͯͦ͑ͧ̋̿̽̌͢ͅr̸̡̘̮̮͕̦͓ͯ́̔̏̋͋͡o̭̗̣͎ͥ̍͐͋̂̀̀t͈͔̣̔͛̇̓̏̈́̅ͤ̚͜e̷̦̱͚͓̤ͧͫ̑̅c̺̩̖͔̝̩̾̎̀͢͠t̜̯̭̻̺̩̣͇̾̈̀̉̿͆̇ͥ̀ͅ,̵͈̟͇̯͇͔͔̞̲͐ͬ͐͊̋̍̕͡ ̪͔͎̜̹̰̹͐̍̀i̬̼͖̠̘̝̰͙̰ͫ̿̅̓ͮͥ͜͟s͔͓̞̐̔̀͡͡ͅ ̝͍̪͔̝̘͚͗̆͐͛ͯ̚m̵ͦͪ̽̚҉̟̥̼̱̼i̸̪̱̘͖̼̎̽n̶̵̢̥̠̬̞̤̝̤ͨ̉̒̋̀e̻̰͎̝͍͕ͣͮ͐͘ͅ.͕̗͇͖ͨ͑ͤ̐͑̋ ͥ̃̃̍͊͛҉̘̜͠Eͭ̿͊͏̶̖̮͉̲̰̳͔͍̥͘v̰̘̝̰̫̹͊́ͩ̈́ͪ̋ͭ̃̎͢͢ͅe̢̤̩͎̮̊ͪ͜r̨͕̺͍͓̓̚y̟̬͖̥̾́̾ͯ͂̽͒ͬ ̸̛̟͚̦̙͒̊̔̓͟l̶͖̗̟͕̮̟̊̓̌̾̃́ą̵̲̬͔̫͓͛͗ͩ̍̓̆͘s̮̫͓̣̈́́ͤ̔ͧ͂̉̚͝t̸̷̻̥̰ͭ̀ͧ̚ ̛̳͓͆͐̉̓ͫ̃͢͡s̐̆ͩͬ̇͊ͣ̈͏͇̥̝oͭͧ̏ͮ͛ͭͯ̚҉̷̧̥̭̰̰͓̹̩̞ů͏̗͇̼̼ľ͙̺͖͚̹̞̻̮́̕ ̳̝̂̅́͞b͌̔̇ͨ͆ͮ͏̜̮̼̤̟̗͉̰o͎̘̭̖̝͚̾͒r̛͓̪̳͚̻͇̣̿̀̄̾ͩͥ͛͢ñ̻͉̽̊ͤͪ͆̍ͣ̚ ̴̻̭̮̼̝̗̳̐̅͆͋ͤ̉ͭ̅ͫo̠̖̒̈͘n͔͓̞̭̜͓̘̞̝ͨ̀̆̓ͭ̈́͜ ̼̖̙̗̉ͫ̈̅ͨͫ͗t̶̻̟̆ͪ̓ͯͣ͒h̡͍͆͝i̙̝͗ͨ͘s̠̐̐ ̳͕̜̼͕ͤͯ̒̈͒͒͂ͥ̑f̸̮̙̪̰̬ͮ̈́͜͢i̷̧̘͔̱̱͙̥̯̇́̓́ḻ̷̱̪̦̖͕ͪ͝t̍̏͐ͣ̉͆ͪͭ́͏̜̫͓̩h̡͇͎̤̯̳̩̳̓̉̽̈̇̆̀͂ͅy̧͔̼̙̪̫ͧͫ̈̽ ̡̛̤̾̎͗̌̾͠r͕̠͗ͩͩ̀̄̏̾o̐ͬ͛͌̌̋҉̟͎c̢̩̪̰̞̮̫ͨ̑̄̓k̡͈̪̙̱̈̏̌̽̋͂͊̚̕͢ ̸̗̙̣̉͜ȉ̴̛̮̻̜̥͕̳͈͖͋͌̅͑̊͞ṣ̳̞̮̳̌ͨͣ ̸̴̱͈̤̪̎͆ͧ̂ͩ̈́͌͂͘ḇ̶̠̣̹̬͍ͩ̾̽͋͗̾̀ͦ͟͡u̡̮͈ͤ̐̑̓t̶̢͎̯̻̗͔̳͈ͩ͒̍ͣ̽ͨ͢ ̷̭̮̰̾͑̊ͮ͢a̍̏̋̔ͧ̎͑ͥ̚͞͏̠͎̙̺̮͢ ͕̩͂̑ḑ̷̺̂͐ͩ͋̊͐ͨ͢r̐̒͊̽̎̽͏̜͔õ̴̟͚͕͔̯͉̞̾́͘p̅ͣ̆̓҉̷̯̼̥̬̱͞ ̼͇̗̫̱̹͛͛̑i͂͟͏̻͙n̸̮̭̞̰ͬ̅͢ ̰͔̙̈͑̆̌̆̂͛ͭ̇͢͢͞t̝̫͉͇̫ͣ͆ͨ̂͡h̵͎̺͆̆̇é̛̖͇̽̉ͣ͌̆ͦ̀̚͞ ̦̥͎̖̿͌̄͝ö͑͑͏̨͇̰̥͈̹͉̙̫c̶̣̜̼̥͉̉̓̚ē̶̺̱̩̙ͭa̲̦͓̟͖͔͕͔̿ͫ̉n̵̮̖͈̼̍ͥͯ̎͛̔̒ͫ͛͡͡ͅ,̢͇͖̜͉̬̼̹̀͢͜ ̴̨̣̳͍̼̯̥̟͉̝̀̊͘b̰͚͎̼̘͔̮̭̏̿̇ͧ̀͊͊̆u̬̦ͪ̊̒̂͗́͝ͅt̨̻͎͉͋ͨͫͬ ̴̸̡̟̬̘͔̃̅̑̓̓̓ͧo̧͓̫̘̻̤̣̞͕̓͗̒̎ͩḩ̠̘̳͖͙͍̳̼́ͣͭͥͧ͋̿ ̴̨͓̖̪̳̳̩̞̓̌ͤͫͨ͜s͓̥̓ͥͩ̓̈́́o̶̶̥̥̗̲̰̙͕ͦ̔ͥ̒̉̀̅̀ ̷͚̪͂̔ͥd͉̞ͭ͑̅̀̅̽ͭ̐̚͝͡e̘̥̫̽ͨ̽ͤ̔̌͋l̵̴ͪ͋̂҉̮̮̜̝iͮ̈́̉ͩ̍͋̿ͨ͏̘̜̰̩̼͍͎c̢̈́̄̍̐̃ͭ҉̭͓̣̣̩͚ͅͅi̫͇̤ͫ̎ö̻͚̥̳͉́͂́ũ̡͔̘̤͕ͣ͐̿͐ͥ͡ͅš̢͉̪͇͔̝̉ͧ̊ͭͪͫ̓͠.̛̗̰ͯͥͦ̓ ̺̯̙̖͑̈̓Y̞̤̪ͨͥ̄̅ͦͪ͊͝ô̖̠̼͈̬̗̓͗ͧͣ̋͒̇͑̕u̷̸̬̖̱̠̘͗ͬ͋̍̇̍͞ ͩ̀̍͏͈͔̦̼̳͎a̘̻̯̣̱͓̠̹ͫ̈́͑r̳̭͙̉̃ͧ̐͗̕͜eͦ̎͋ͦͥ̈́̓̋̚҉̧̡̳͎̰ ͉͈͎͖̫̙̼̯͍̅͌n̷̜̐ͤͭ̈́ͦ̿o̱̝͉̮͎̗̒̄̑̿́̎ͩͅt͕̠̺̣̫̲͉̲̀̓ͅh̤̤̞̳̠̠͓̯̚͠͝ͅî̥̲͍̤̭̬̜͈̈́̆̚͟ṅ͙͓̝͚̰̜̯͇͂͒͟g̙̗̫̳͎͖͎ͪ̃ͮ̇͊ͬ̔.͙͓͇͓̬̭̰̲̯̅ͩͩ͒ͪ̚ ͍͉̞̺͚̊ͦ͆͆Y̛̛͈͖̗͉͍̳̹̬̏̅͒̓̔̋̌ͥ̚̕ͅo͙̊̈́̂ͤu͙̼͎̝͋͒r͈͔̰̮̣̤͂̇͐̏̃̋ ̢͈̰͖̦̻̱͍͐̇̾͂͗ͪ͛f̤̮̰̄͊a̝͔̙͍̼̤͂̅̐͂̓͡m̢̜̥̿̋̀͢i̶̘͔ͭͥļ̗̥͆͑̑͛̋̾ͫ̍y͓͇̫̱͔̻̙͉̺͌ͦ̈ͮ̐ͥ̅ͤ̀͘͘ ̶̖͙̞̙͚ͣ̽̌̎̕i̡͇͓͗͂̊͐̋͛͌ͫs̢̗̖͛̿ͭ́̽̋̽̈͜ ̨̰̙̪̙̝̪̮̱̔̌̄͌̀͘ͅṇ̫͔̜̩̼̮ͥ̒oͪ̌ͭ҉̷̡̮̰͇t̛ͯ̊ͮ̒̕҉̥͈̣͕̰͚͎h̴̷̠̗͆ͥî̶̖̬͎̪̣̗̈̈́͌̈́͝n̛̫̎̈́ͬ͘g̡̣͇̪̽ͦ̍̎.̇ͨ҉̗̪͍͟͞ ̵͓̗̫̝̙̺̓ͅY̜̬̤̙͍̝̠̮̭ͫͩ̇͘o͚̱̯͇̝̬̯͗ͫͯu̶̞̮̝͉̺̫͔̯ͩ͋ͭͪ̊̓͛ͬͪ͢r͐͏̰̫̰ ͉̘̯̳̙͚ͨ̇̀ͭ͂̎͒̓e̲̹͈͎̓̊̓ͮ̎͋̉͆͑f̧͖͉̯̫̬̂̔͟͝ͅf̘͕̤͍̩̮̥ͯͣ͐̿̿ͥ̀͠o̟̣͆ͭͦ̽͊́͛̀́̚͠r̸̻̞͍̣̥͕̺̗ͮ̉̈́̽͊ͧṭ̴̛̱ͥͪ͝s̸̢̙̯͈͕̠̙ͬ͛͞ ̛̫͎̗̜͎̼̯̥̅̀͂͒ͅá̢̪͖̃ͩͨͮ̑͒̾͡rͪ͏̣ę̴̖̑̎ͭ̃̂̃̚͞ ̢͈̋́͑̄̊N͔̮̟͕̔͂͗ͯͫ̑̔͊O̴̙̳̼̤̩̝͚̐̃̎ͮ̍ͮ͊́T͕͚̜̙̗̭͛H̛̦͓͖̥̣̪̋͑̔̚̚Ȉ̟̪̝̎̐͋͊̚̚N̡̼̗̳̱͍̫̍̇ͮ̇̀ͣͬ̎G̢̤̈́̋ͅ.͎͖̩̔͆͟͡
She struggled to decipher the grating, grinding speech of this monster. Hundreds of voices erupted from a single throat, many screaming and shrieking in an ear-splitting cacophony. She had to find her voice. Had to. Her limbs would not move, despite her heart-wrenching efforts, body thick and heavy. The being gurgled and laughed, head swaying sickly to and fro as if too hefty for such a long neck to support.
A whisper came to her then as Themisto's jaw unhinged, vomiting forth the heads of people she knew. She recognized them as they tumbled from Themisto's maw, slick with saliva and bile. Ares, Europa, Nephthys, Ganymede, Chibimoon, Polaris... All whose heads were severed and bloody, eyes bulging with pressure. They laughed and laughed fiendishly, rising to float mere inches from the ground.
Kallichore started to panic, clenching her teeth and pulling at her body to move. Once she found she was able to simply lift her face from the ground, the head of Ares shot forward to intercept her. Opening her lips, lips the senshi knew were adept at deceit and betrayal, Ares presented a fine assortment of glimmering starseeds. "...all mine... all mine..." came a chant, very clear and concise despite the souls filling the mouth.
Europa's laughter was sharp. Her head too possessed many starseeds, jaw working to grind them into so much dust. "...all mine... all mine..."
Nephthys cried and wailed, blood oozing from her ears and nose, "ALL MINE, ALL MINE!"
Themisto stepped forward, geta-bound feet crushing the starseeds the heads of Ganymede, Chibimoon and Polaris were vomiting before him. Its wet and chunky laughter filled her ears, tears streaming down her face. Was this Hell? Crunch, crunch, crunch as the souls were shattered and blew away in the wind Kallichore did not seem to feel. She could lift her face but could not move away from the creature approaching her. She wanted desperately to vomit. Closing her eyes, she could still hear his breathing in her ears, feel the humidity of his pungent breath.
i have him he is mine you cannot leave here you have damned yourself but it is all the same nothing you can do nothing the senshi can do all souls are mine, all mine, all mine, all mineĨ̑̈́̋̋͌ͦ͏̙̪̪͔̼̥̩͚͜ͅ ͉͖̮͕͙̾͒ͪͩ̍̎ͥͬ͟͠ͅa̷͇̞̠͕͓͙͎ͭ̿̃͛͂ͯͭm͎̻̹̲ͭ͆̓̔̋ͭͪ̑ͅ ̸͕̭̇͌͘C̴̼̺͓͈̫̱ͮ̓͂ͦ͗̐h̷̛̭̗̰ͦ̈́̇̌̋̉ͪͬa̵̧͖̻̞̔̾o̽̅ͮͩ̂̚҉̯͔͕̮̭̞͈s̥͈̙̣͚̺̬͍̩͒̉͆͆͝͠,̢̪̣͚̯̰̫̱̜̮͂ ̨̿̃ͭ̽͊̓҉̫̫̝̙̳I̢͇̦̙̟ͮͣͫͩͮ͒ͣ͆͠ ̴̜̹͉̺͎̩͐͑͢a̘͉͛̿̓m̧̟͙͇͕͕͗͗̀̊ͦ̓ͯ̔ ̤͙͔̦̮̮ͪ̒ͬ̔̾͝d̠̰͔ͫ̏̓ͯ͒̓͜ͅe̸̘̤͇͊͂̔̚͘ç͕͙͙̤͍̰̤̭̪̅͒ͦͣ͌̚̕e̢͓̬̝͎ͣ͋̌ͦͩ͐i̵͎̫͐̒̈́ͤͥ̒̈́͢ͅt̯̟̗̐́̐̒́͋͜͜ ̸͓̳̼̯̹̹̈ͨ͗ä̡̻̲̞̣̬̘̹̠́͋̿ͦ̈͊͘n̦͈̳͚̮͑ͫͦͮd͕̙͓̰̜̞̥̜̍ͪ͑ͩ͜͞ ͊͐͌̈́́͌̈̀҉̺͈̥̜̜̞ͅh̴ͪ͋ͩ͑͊̉͋̄ͪ͏̮̼̞̼ͅa̓͛̏ͬ̋͊̇͒͏̰͎̬̥̤̗̣̟t̛̼̱̞̮̋ͥ͛r̴̭̩̯̂͆̓̂̓̇̎̋͘͠e̮̝̺̭̟ͦͥ͐ͤ͒ͭ͆̌d̤͓̖͎̝͖̹͆̈́̕͞͡ ̴͕̗̤͍͙̩̭ͤ̋̈̓ͅạ̷̵͍̰̥̯̅ͫͩ͗̓̚nͫ̍̌̏̌̊̍͏̧͏̥̪̖̼̞̮d͎̘͎̜̺͖̹̃ͣ̌̑̅͒̐ͦ͢͡͠ ̡̟̦̜͕͐̀͞t͇͔ͪͯ͑̂͞ǫ̼̻̟̣̥̹̽ͮ̑ͅr̵̸̡̗̺͈̝̥̪̤͌̾ͦ̅̚t̲̗̩̗̼̝͉͓͎̃̌ͥ̔͡ư̻̘͕ͬ̍̀͌͌̈ṟ̨̲̰̟̳͈̑̔̓̚ͅeͨ̃̊͛҉͔̥̼̩͟͡ ̘̟̮͂͒͗̋͐͛͒̚͟i͋̌̑̀ͩ̑ͩ҉̧̩͔̞͝n̴̪͕͎ͫ̈́̿̑̀ͧc̃ͨ̒̏͑̒͏͎͕͠ǎ̼̰̞͉̣ͭ͂͐̇ͧr̮͌̈ͪͨ͝n͙͉̉̅a̶̰̥̦̮̦͛̈́͒̍ͥ̽̕t̨̲͒ͧ͊ͭ͂ͮ̊e̢̹͉̟̰̣̹͈̿͒ͣ̈́̇͛̈́̈́͟͡.͓͖̯̮͉̻̂ͣ̇͑͌̾̐͆͌͟ ̡̰͕̺̹͌͗̈͑̾̓͑̆́̀T̜͔̤̝͛̔̐ͯ̍h̡͛ͣ͏̙̞̖̦̙͔͚i͍̟̟͎͂̽ͮ̓ͯ̍̉͠ͅs̗̳͐̅̉ͣ̈́̌͂̾͝ ̶̶̛͎̻̀͊u̵̯̘͙͉̮̦̹̞̤̽͐̍ͫ̒̆̊ń͍͉̣͚̄͆ͩ͒͑͛̅i̸̪̱̲͕̟ͧͤͩ͡v̉̓̀ͤ̍҉̭̼̼͇͚̟͖e͊̀͟҉̜̦͟ṛ̢̭͎̗̽ͧ̀̂͐͛s͎͔ͦ̎̈̋ͣ̀ě̞̘͉́ ̭̙͎̀̈ͨ͂́͌͋̕ĩ͈͙̜̰̻͈̙͍͐ͤ̌ͥŝ͊͘҉̝̟͈͙ ̩͈̽̎m̵̛͔̜̈͆ͮ͊̔̋̃̀i̎͒ͭͮ҉͖͍̥̤n̷̊̎ͬ͛̓́̚҉̢̹̘̩̬ͅe̵͙̼̘̯̜͍̪͊̔͌͌͠.͖͈͋̂̑͛ͫ̃ͮ̕͟ ͙͖̼͈̬̙̬̣͆ͅỴ͇̟̪͉̼͔̺̂͌̇ͩ̏̚͜o̢̩͙͓͇̔̎̔͘̕ŭ̌͂̀͂̿ͭ͛҉̛̥͚͇͎͕̲̞̮ ̨̲̳̠̬̭̺̊͑̓̍ͅc͚̹͓̲̀̉̔a̭͎̠̭͎͓̜̪͚ͬ͐̚͘͜͞ṅͫ̈̍͏̢̺͔͓̟̭̹̥̟n̵̠̦̤̗͍̞͕̒͌̌̉ͥͭ̍́oͧ̔͐ͬ͒̓͏͉͔̙̦̣̤̗t̷̗ͭͦ͊ͥ̄̋̎̒ ̜̪̤̞̙̊ͯ̂͜ṧ̴̘̱͙̒͐͑̒́͝e̡̝̝̦̟ͯͩ̈ͫ͆́a̵̛͔̼̺̣̟͙̠ͧ͒ͪͭ̈́̿͆ḽ͇̹͓̩̣̦̥́̚ ̢̜̻͎͖̏̽ͮ͐ͬ̾ͪ͟͞m̶̴̫̘͍̠̞̊ͦ̋̉e̶̼̗̼̮̮͇̔ͯ̿ ͎͂̌ͧ̎̎̒̕ͅa̴̫̻̦̜͎̦̱̱̾͒ͧ͑͗̓ͬ́w̄͋̒͏̖̭̹̣ä̲̘̼͙́͆̾̈́͡ÿ̙́͐̈̄̕.̓̀̈́҉͙̭̟͔͔̕ ̷̮̜̣̃ͯ̾ͭͩͭ̋I͊ͯ̄̊͋̌̋ͤ͏̳̹ ̞̲̟̬̫̣͈̦ͭ͂ͫ̚͜ä̹̠̪̤̣́͒ͫ̎̿ͨͤͮm̴̜̹̘̙̭̟̫̤̮̈́́̓͗̀ͮ́̓̐ ̡͙̼̤̩̩͚̟̩̄̊ͯͩ̀̇ͪ͠ī͇̩̕m͖͓͕̙͚̩̩̬̆̉͑͆ͤ̋̍͌͂̕m̵̢̥̠͓̞̳̱̏̍́̊ͭ̍ͧ͟ȯ̮̮̝̙̮̰̺̱̊͠͡r̷̛̊ͤ̅ͧ̈́ͤ͐҉̱͍͕͎̫͔̮t̨̰̐̉ͨ̆̓̽ͦa̦͎̠̮͊̿͠l̷̴̞̯̥̱̰͕̭̙̱̏́̒ͣͮ͊̎̒͝ ̱̻͔͚͚̘̽̓ͥį̭̦̲̗͙̰̻̓̊ͩͨ͌͘ñ͍͙ͫͤ͛ͭ̍̽ ̶̨̙̙̜͆̊ͭ̂̆̃ͮ̚t͈͍̫̦̱̰̗̎͂́h̗̦̰͖͍͕̭̓̇ͥ̈ͬͫ̚ḛ͉̻̜̥͉̮ͥͪ͆̃ͩ̅̓̽ͅ ͎̯̝͍͖ͣ̒̾̿͗h̙̳͓ͫ̉ͅë́ͫ̾̄ͥ̽͏҉̫̮͚̜̗aͥ́̓̎͒̐͏̲r̢̝̺͈͛ͩ͛ͨ̔ẗ̡̗̰́̎̀͡s̨͍̥̙̖̼̫̩̊ͅ ̛̳̹̼̹ͥͮ̂͊o͇̮͔ͮ̽͂̒̅̋̏́͠f̭̣̪̳̠̪̦̬̿̿ͤ͑ͮ͌̽̓̃ ̸̫̻̠͙̫ͧ͂̑̽̅̀ͧ̆m̸̙̘̰̘̖̖͍̏ͥa̸̻͙̩ͦ̾ͧ́ͤ͡n͔̟̘̟̦̻̲͈ͨ̎ͫ̍ ̩͈̖̠͎̺͍͊͌̈́̈ͪ͆ͦȧ̧̬̳͎̲̜͚̫̑́̒̄̉̎ͩ̑͜n̴̡͙̳̤̲̿͑ͪͪ͌ͤ̍ͭ̀d̷̮͚̞͖̫̤̼̳̈ͮ̀ ͩ̿ͣ̋͠҉̧̬͕͍̤̯̲̭͍s̻̫̰͊̍͛ͫ̽̚e̷̛̜̥̞̣̭͉ͮͧ̾ͬ̂n̨̢̡̞ͦ̌ͩ̑̚ͅs̴̅ͣ̈́̇͜҉̼̭͉̬̠͇̦̤͇h͈͉͉͉̪̥̠̦̒̏͌̈̃ḭ̡̳̰̺̲͎̥̌́͜ ̼͇̙̣͔̖̹̳ͬ̕ȧ͙͈̜͂̈́̎̌́̃͡ḻ̸̩̙͉͓̻͕ͤ́͋̃̊́͘i̛̞͔ͣ̈́̈̅ḱ̶̩̝̙̻̅̀e̷̡̲͇̲̙͊̋͋̄͆.̯̖͎̼̯̬̙̃͂ͣ͌ͤ ͋͌͌͂͛ͭ͏҉̭̞̫̰̞͞I̝̻̔̚ ̠͈͉̺͚͌̍̊ͭͯ̕͜͢a̷̭͉̩͐̂͋͑̒͌̿̚ͅm̰̪̠͇̯̭͗̋̒ ̨̪̞̤̼̼͉͉̀̏̇̇ͦͮ͒ͤe̵̹̲͌n̡̜͇̗̻͔̝͒͂͒̅́̕d̬̹͈̞͎̭̺͖͐ͪͯͧ̑ͪ͡ͅl̵̛̞͕̬̱̜̒ȩ̣̭͍̍̆͑ͮͮ̑͘s̷̭̫̹̩̫͎̞̖ͭ̒͞͞s̢̪̗̖̣͔͚͊ͬͫ̐n̬̭̭̥͇͒ͧ͘͘͞e͚̻̣̭̪͎̳̖̋̈́͌͊̈́͌ͬ̂̈͞͞s͍̖̖͚̜̥͓̱̆̀ś̰̜̣̙͐͗͂͘,̠̤̘͓̓̆̂̿̽́͟ ̬̖͖̽̔͆͗̊ͬ͋ͭ̈́͟Î̷̤̮̖̘͔͂̆ͪ͆͝ ̢̗̬̀̅ą̯̙͍̻̼̤͊ͮ͛͛͊͝ͅm̦̰͚̺ͭͦ̓͂̀͡ ̵̹͚̱͈͈̍͗̋̕d̷̡͉̼̥̟͎͒̋ͅḁ̢͍̿ͩͤ̋͊ͩ̚͘r̨͕̼̬̱̓ͪͣ͢k͓̩̟̈́̑̂͆̒̈n̷̴̨͓͚̠̺͈̞ͭ̋̃̃͂ͦͪͅe̼̰͔̊ͯ͗̽s̴͖̘̻̩͚̺ͮ̌͑͞s̄ͭ̄͐̄̽ͩ͏̲̱̱̦͓͡,̧͇͇͈͍̌̾̉ͬ̆͂̐́̚ͅ ̴̧̲͍̣̯̤̑̽̌̚͟I̛̳͔͍̰̯̒̎͑̍ͨ͗̋̒̚ ̠̝̮͔̺̘͖̟̋ͭ͋͒ͪ̾a̸̴͔͎̤ͫͧͭ̓̈̊͑͌m̍ͩ͗ͯ̋͏̝͖̜̻ ̓͑̇͊̍̿͏̴̵̙̙̣̭ęͧ̄ͬ̽ͨ͗ͫ͟҉̲̲͎̣̘t̨̼͍̬̜ͫͭͦ̓ẽ͓͙̞̋͜͠r̢̗̫͎̟̘̳ͮͩ̐̿ͬ̈́̄̔n̢̢̦̮̗̲̂ͦ̎́à͎͇̝̭̻͉̲͊͑l̴̢̜̯̎̒ͨ̂̋ͦ̃̚.̾ͪ̀ͩ̑҉͏̜̤
The laughter was ear-splitting. Kallichore felt a scream welling up in her throat but she bit it down. Themisto's face was touching her own, a thick, slimy tongue tracing shapes upon her cheek, lapping up her tears. Keep crying, for all the good it will do you. Weakling.
The severed heads started a chorus. So stupid, so dull. Ignorant senshi! Ignorant senshi! Ignorant senshi!
crunch crunch crunch crunch
Adrenaline surged through her body and Kallichore screamed, lunging for the creature who dared to pose as her beloved brother, seeking to tear it limb from limb. Her own voice filled her ears even as the heads wailed in unison, skin stretching to impossible shapes and eyes bulging straight from their sockets. The room swirled and spun as Kallichore found her gloved hands around the stretched neck of her brother. With tears in her eyes, she could not clearly see his twisted visage but felt the thick, tar-like vomit seeping through her hair and into her eyes.
T͍͔̞͔ͩ̈hḙ̞͉̮r̢̗̫̻̗̰ͥ̃̑͌ͣͬe͆̀̈͆̓̑҉͔̜ͅ ̠̯̯͚͔̗̔͗í̬͌ͣͤs̎͛͋̏̉͏̼̻̞ ͨͤ͒ͯͩ҉̻̹̮n̘͔̝̹ͩ͋͐͆o͌t̯̺̘͍̋h͚̰̬̲̆̎̾ͯͯͅi͔̱͍̿̕n̵̰̯̱̞͎͂͆̆̿ͩ̚ͅģ̗̍͋̌̿̓͂̊ ̣̹͇ͨ͛͆̓̾̂ͅȳ͚̝̯͋ó̸͋̓͆̿̍͐ȕ̶͎̪͔̯̪͙̅̋̓ͪͅ c̣̳̞͍̘ͯ͐̾̆̌ȧ̬̠̬͈̹̥̲n̺͇̻̮͖̓̔̍͌̀ͪ́ ̙ͧͬͤ̅d̲̞͚̬̗̣̜ͣ̇ô̩͍̲̫̗͈̜̋̆̏ͮ,̴̺̘̺̩̰̬̩̋̄̅ͩͮ̅ ̸̙͚̦̜̘ͬ͋͊̈͒ͅi̹͎̠̯̫̩̎g̺̩̻n̪͂̏ͅo̭̞̥͓̞̻ͫ̄ͅrͬ̉̾̏a̰̯͉̘͂n̸̠̝̭͌ͮ͊̊̆̏ͦẗ͕̰̖̲͢ ͔̭̪̌ͧ̃͐̓̎̇f͍͔̼̙̈́͌̊́o̖͙͈͈͉̥͑̍̔͜o͍ͭͬ̑l̠̹̗̃͛̌.̧̻̣̪̠̞̹ͬͅ
The senshi squeezed with all her might, pouring her anger and hatred and fear into her hands. "YOU WILL NOT BREAK ME."
And the world went black.
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Posted: Sat Mar 18, 2017 7:01 pm
The sound of rushing water reached her ears when consciousness finally returned.
A sharp, crisp smell roused her to open her eyes. Ozone? Night air?
Her vision was blurred, hazy, as if waking from a long slumber. Kallichore groaned and reached out to feel her surroundings and was shocked to find...
...there was nothing.
With a start, Kallichore found she was not laying on anything. There was no floor, there were no walls. Just the endless, vast, engulfing expanse of space itself.
A gasp escaped her lips before she could stop it, instinctively pushing herself up to stand and survey her surroundings. There was something solid, or at least, the assumption of solid ground, for she felt earth beneath her gloved hands as gravity let go its hold on her body. Themisto was gone, the wailing heads had disappeared as well. Brown eyes gazed in stunned awe of the sheer expanse of the cosmos that lay before her.
No planets to orient herself.
Stars glittering in an ancient dance all around, the prismatic dust of glorious nebulae created a breathtaking backdrop.
Her skin pricked, prompting her to turn - float?- and gaze upon a form most holy. A woman, whose serenity must have rendered her divine, drifted nearby. Her violet gaze was locked upon a great machine, or what Kallichore perceived to be so. The goddess' hair was of stardust and starlight, pale in color and luminescent, tied in two buns on either side of her head. Long, trailing tails like comets swam in the ocean of space behind her. Pearls and lace and softness adorned the long, elegant dress that clothed her.
Starlight, Birth, Creation
Kallichore must have floated closer to this divine being, as her view of the machine grew more specific, more detailed. Thousands of gears turns and clicked within a huge, shallow square box. It was gilded, perhaps made of gold and silver, ornate and gorgeous design work tracing its way across all sides. Each gear moved in time with those around them, each gear having a specific designation. The closer Kallichore drifted, the more she was able to discern the symbol adorning each and every gear. Love radiated from this divine woman, her pale hands held close to her chest, as if a mother watching over her children.
The symbols... she recognized them.
This one is Europa... this is Ganymede... Nephthys... Pasiphae, Birhan Isat, Serpentarius, Tsui, Eos, Maia, Polaris, Themisto... The symbols of Jupiter, Mercury, Saturn, Venus...
Mine. Kallichore.
She lifted her eyes, seeking to ask the infinite questions racing through her mind. But would these be ignorant pleas of a mortal to the mother of the universe itself? That simply must be who she was - she radiated with a motherly, beautiful presence that Kallichore found herself weeping in gratitude. Gratitude that the goddess would appear to someone as lowly and fearful and ignorant as herself. One desperately seeking answers to her place in the universe, the answer to the war, the answer as to why things are.
The machine clicked and whirred quietly, much softer than a creation this size seemed to belie. Each gear, some light and some dark, worked in tandem with all others. It was a glorious thing to behold, the cosmic engine.
Gazing upon the machine for hours (hours? could time truly be measured in such a place), Kallichore finally decided what one question she would pose to Cosmos Incarnate. As she gained the breath to put her inquiry to words, Sibyl appeared next to this goddess. She too wore that motherly expression, as if the engine over which they watched was childlike and precious. The pale goddess leaned down into the machine and, with tender care, lifted one of the lighter gears. The senshi did not recognize the symbol that adorned the piece but watched in rapt attention as it was turned over in the goddess' hands carefully. Once removed, the cogs around the missing piece ceased to move. This continued in sequence until the entire engine froze.
Before their eyes, the gear darkened.
Kallichore gasped, understanding. Chaos. It is changing to Chaos....
The senshi found it incredibly perplexing. Neither the pale one nor Sibyl seemed disappointed or shocked by this change. No, they wore the same loving expression as the pale one gently returned the gear to its rightful place. As if in thanks, the engine hummed to life again, gears moving in happy unison with each other. The machine was alive with movement.
Tears prickled her face and Kallichore reached up to touch them gingerly. It all made sense. Everything made so much sense now.
...this was my answer.
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Posted: Sat Mar 18, 2017 8:30 pm
She anticipated a rough landing, a gasping, gaping breath of air into lungs deprived of a delicious, full breath. She anticipated waking up with half of her body floating in the pool, to her face caked in dried bile and tears. Her hair would be a tangled mess, her body would ache and smell and be sore and painful.
Instead, her eyes fluttered open just the same as after a full night's sleep. The cold, stony floor greeted her cheek and her body shook from the adrenaline finally letting go its grip on her heart. It almost felt unreal and, gingerly, Kallichore reached out to trace her hands over the floor - to feel its solidity, its reality. Fear gripped her and she rolled over quickly, eyes darting to and fro...
...no, she was alone. No ghost of Themisto greeted her.
Using her forearms to prop herself up, the senshi surveyed her surroundings. It was the same chamber she remembered, her senshi phone laying a few feet from her prone form. Sitting up fully, she reached for it, finding the timer had still been running. Six hours... I was out for... six hours? It felt like just a few moments...
Her breathing steadied over time - when had it gotten so quick? Her mind was busy, furiously piecing together what was and what wasn't reality. The Themisto she saw, heard, smelled was not real. The heads were but horrific illusions, the goddess...
...the goddess was real. The answer was real.
A hand over her chest, Kallichore smiled and quietly wept. She wept in infinite gratitude, her mind racing with blessing upon blessing that only beloved moon and cosmic divinity could provide. That utter satisfaction, the quieting of a restless soul, that which she so deeply and desperately desired more than anything else. The senshi gathered her legs and pulled her knees to her chest, letting the tears and anxiety and reverence drip quietly from her eyes and her soul. Her satisfied soul.
Ares could never take this away from her. The Negaverse could never take this away from her. Her forehead felt warm, a delicate pulsing she attributed to the pressure from crying. It was a comfort, a strange and alien comfort.
This precious, precious enlightenment.
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