Syncopy

Onesimus merely listened and followed, with his own sense of curiosity intact. Being in this place and watching Skar take a form of something more than he was hours ago, was proof enough for him that they were on to something devastatingly unimaginable. The depths and lengths at which someone had gone to mask this ... thing's past was akin to his own past, which resonated still with him in the moment, but the difference would be timing. Skar's had been made possible, due to centralized locality of this reality -- where as Onesimus hadn't seen this world before, or at least what it was in this present day. Manipulated landscapes, remodeled physical topography, different masters for different times; it piqued the question in the back of his mind: has the land changed, because new Raven's exist and therefore it is so, or is this a new reality all together? Down the stairs and into a long holding chambered area they traveled. The dolls -- as skar had called them -- were just as the shells of the Ravens. Had this place been trying to recreate a past they'd stumbled across? An eternal existence? A laboratory of madness? His barefeet traipsed across the overgrown cobble, watching and listening to Skar speak and then ease the dolls pain. A noble gesture that offered a meager kindness to something that did not truly live -- showing kindness to a rock, Oni thought. The bloodline of the Raven's was one forged in the neutrality of nobility, for all except he. It times of peaked crisis or excitement, like the blood pressure of humans -- Oni morphed into something else entirely. A beast of rage and bare essential reason, with all the reserved strength of a normal Brand member, amplified and turned up to ten. He peered to the sigil that had been marked and a lithe and raised to the back of his neck. "I... I'm not sure." He lied. This place felt like they had been working and studying eternal life, this place stank of his past, and the sigil -- were they studying ... him? Something he'd forgotten all about suddenly hit him like a wave of nostalgia and pain, and he put a hand out to the wall, to prop himself up while the memories assaulted his mind, and unclouded more of the fog of war from his mental landscape.

"You'll cover ... me?" Feyd stared long and hard at the box and the ragtime skeleton with a curious and nervous gaze. He'd been looking around the area, watching phantoms come and go as though this place was the uneven clash of two dimensions, caught in a wink of time, but for how long...? The young man sighed, and bit the bullet since his companion did the crazy part of punching a skeleton the the power ball. He sighed again. What a weird life this has turned out to be -- not at all what he'd expected or sought just two weeks ago. But then again, two weeks ago they were seeking ends meet and barely surviving. Now they took as they wanted, and so far -- none could stop them. Placing his hands on the box, Feyd shot a glance to Quatre and snorted, "If I die -- I'm coming back to haunt you." And with that, he opened the chest and a brilliant, unending light shone from the well of its depths. He hesitated for a long moment and the skeleton prodded, "Reach in. Take your fate." - What is your fate, Feyd? - It was the words of Rakaas echoing in his head that gripped him as he reached in with both hands. The light flashed red and drew the boy in roughly. He yelped. Face and hips against the open chest, Feyd gasped for something -- perhaps air would quench whatever pain or fear had gripped him in such a death hold, but he fought it. He felt the searing of his skin and cried out for only a moment, before snarling. It made him angry. "Oh my. This never happens. Usually. Well ... Often, I mean. Mimics are tricky." Gainz quipped. Feyd rammed a knee into the treasure box, pushing himself away and gripping at whatever had a hold of him. In a test of might, he prevailed out of rage and jerks his arms free, tipping the treasure chest onto it's scrambling face before it turned into nothing more than a box once more. In return, Feyd's jerked back arms revealed only ebony tendrils that snapped from either appendage as long, molten sable and plum whips that had welded themselves to his forearms and etched black serpents across his forearms. With two clenched fists, they retracted into his palms and he collapsed to his knees, staring at his hands that burned and ached. "P...please. Turn it off." Eyes welled with tears and teeth gritting and suddenly, he exhaled. And inhaled deeply, catching all the stuck breath that was in his lungs, as Rakaas turned off his pain receptors. - Well then ... you earned that, I suppose. We will need to be careful that this does not get infected... - Feyd looked to Quatre and spat, "Heh... your turn. Good luck with that."  . persona . feyd  . affiliation . oz . post count . 5

Their journey wasn't long at all, however when they arrived, Oni's thoughts would question, now beyond the sanity of his travel companion, but the memory and stability as well. The building was in a part of the city that looked to be overshadowed by the money and power that had come to the city. Like any, the poor and the needy were forgotten by the masses of haves and have-mores and those without the tools, means, or privilege to succeed were left to survive. This entire area looked to be abandoned, and the scratches and etches, graffiti and run-down nature of everything around them left little to the imagination of what might have happened here -- or what still did and remained. One's lips instinctively curled, like a dog's might -- when the ominous sense of danger preluded to an unforeseen event. His eyes darted around as they entered the church, feeling the prying eyes of vermin staring in their invasive direction, before scurrying beneath board and beam. Flutter from the rafters caused the youth to flinch, half-expecting something to be in them and watching. In this instant, Oni felt his eyes move to the ceiling and his cerebrum pulsed -- painfully, but a wave of crimson washed over the world around him. It raced along the floors, up the walls, and traced every linear surface within the edifice they stood inside of and highlighted dozens of rats and pigeons in the uppers. He exhaled a sigh of relief and the hiccup of power disseminated and the living things pulsed softly in a heartbeat of scarlet, pinging locations throughout the building. The youth shook a mane of hair from his face and approached the alter, curiously running his fingers upon it and feeling the arcane whispers of power echoing. His eyes narrowed with a puzzled look and he nodded, "I am fresh to this world, but blood is eternal." He had absorbed plenty of blood on the way here, and now with a grace of his hand across a bit of broken glass, the blood dribbled and spiraled in a helix around his palm, circling and slithering around before impacting into the stone and melding through the ruins. A few drops is all that came out, before his flesh sealed itself once more, but the pact was made and the whispers of darkness ebbed. There was nothing fancy that would have made any sort of noise or special show, except the nature of the liquid's reaction. By the last rune filled, the symbols pulsed a faint crimson, and a latch unseated itself beneath them and the entire column lifted into the air, pushing the alter higher than ever before. As it arose, the section toward the pulpit arose, and then another, until they groaned and stopped abruptly, revealing a staircase. Onesimus looked to Skar. "The text read: Enter the Darkness. Welcome the Hollow one. ... I think. The emphasis sounded more like the Hollow One ... being somebody? Maybe Hollow one - like we are hollow? A riddle, perhaps? What .. exactly are you ...? What is this place...?" Onesimus glanced around the room once more curiously.

Feyd's landing allowed a perfect show for the spectacle of the skeleton and the boy with a parasite, brought to you by a reality-check. He stared for a moment and squinted, then leaned his head in as though the depth of his vision was acutely off or something had smudged is sight, only for Rakaas to chime in curiously, but with a seriousness. - No... you're not seeing things. This alternate reality may be more dangerous than we anticipated, simply by not taking it seriously enough because of this ... thing ... - Feyd scratched at his neck lightly before standing with a shrug, "We don't really have much of a choice -- now do we?" "Let's get this started..."  . persona . feyd  . affiliation . oz . post count . 4 @paradigm

A curl upon thin lips was something most devious, and yet left a hint of innocence to be questioned. The thought of Skar not understanding the definition of derelict left the youth-faced abomination a bit on the happier side and he chuckled. Even in the face of chaos and death, humor reared its wondrous head and made balance in the world. Finding the silver lining is what the beast sought in times like these. He walked on, following Skar and his infectious desire to destroy with a sense of loyalty. One wondered silently if the lupine soul in him left him more loyal because of the potential genetic lineage. Canines were loyal, afterall -- were they not? Or perhaps that had changed in this world and time as well... One's unnatural hunger left him watching people curiously -- hungrily. He could feel their pulse shivering within their veins, so close to the surface, he could almost taste it on the air. Such a dark craving was something that he hadn't experienced before this transformation, and wondered if it was because of his change -- this transformation -- or perhaps the being whose life had been consumed to bring him back from a realm of eternal darkness... whatever it was, he felt so lustful with each passerby. One could hear the change of speech in the creature of destruction, and decided that it best to coax out some of the conversation to assist with reprogramming and mental processing, "I honestly cannot tell you if they're 'tasty' or not..." Onesimus said with a faint shrug. The boy's slender frame needed new clothing, or at least something different, because of the looks he was receiving from his grungy clothing. He chewed at his lip in thought, while following Skar. "I don't know if they even exist anymore. Or if they're even still alive in this reality. I can't feel anyone's presence..." Could he really be the last...?

There was a certain calm about the young man as he listened to the conversation and drew in specific phrases and comments. Things he wanted to ask Quatre about, but realized in the moment -- now and who knew how much longer -- that he wouldn't be able to. They would never have another private conversation. Each was their own pair, in the moment and nothing was slated to change that. By the phrasing that Zirimis used, the youth could only feel that this relationship was going to be an extensive, and exhausting adventure. - What are you pondering? - Rakaas questioned as Feyd turned into the direction of the tomb with a youthful, yet athletic agility. Springing from the ground, Feyd raced along the trunk of the tree before catapulting himself through the air with an acrobats finesse before bounding -- tree, after tree, after tree. 'Nothing, really.' - I can feel the tensing of your mind. Churning, even. - 'Close connection to just us.' Feyd's mind whispered and the whisper alone was the command. * What is the purpose of this? * Rakaas questioned. ' Zirimis said, independently and in conjunction ... care to explain? ' * Ah... that. Perhaps, he ... misspoke. * ' ... I can feel the tensing of your mind, Rakaas. The last time you tried to tell me a lie, that was the same feeling. The idea is not to strength our bond ... it's to strengthen our bodies, to be an optimal host. Hm? ' Feyd's breathless actions drew him closer to the mark, like a plum hued streak. Whatever these parasites were, the general enhancement was a nice feature. He felt far more confidence in himself with the parasite than without. He used to be so quiet... so withdrawn from society and people. So untrusting and crass. * ... inevitably, we will operate as one. With or without you. How is that for an explanation? You are better to us, stronger. As you are to yourself. What we offer, is the abilities to surpass mortality and the pathetic life of human existence. Rise beyond. They are petty. Weak. Feeble, little savages. Consider yourself the next step in evolution... * "I don't think trading is an option, Quatre." Feyd snickered, taking a deep-seated bound before landing through a series of leaves and canopies to land on a branch. His hand placed between his knees to keep balance and crouched to his heels, Feyd stared into a crag that was a part of the original Skar, but still a ways off. Circling the area was a large airship, scanning the area anomalies. "What are we expecting, Zirimis?" Feyd's mind questioned. The communication of the four was a weird burden to conceptualize; sentient parasites, telepathically communicating to their hosts and possessing open channels to all parties involved... Feyd wondered who else was listening in and might be hearing their mental chatter...

"...he did say about a mile..." Feyd mumbled frustratedly, rolling his eyes. They could be clearly seen like marbles spiraling the mask eyelets with perfect precision. They'd been trapped with whatever the hell these things were for over a week now, and the nuisance and conversational piece was still coming together. The past week and some change had been the same thing that Quatre had been doing just before landing near Feyd -- practicing mobility. Feyd stood slowly, dusting himself off with the awkward feeling that his limbs were his and in the same instance, they weren't at all. The motions felt a bit irregular and he questioned it rather boldly, "Rakaas. What's wrong with you? You feel ... sluggish." - This is because of you and whatever that ... vision ... was. - "Vision? I thought you said it was a nightmare. I didn't feel like i was sleeping..." - You weren't. We are still becoming one, and therefore -- you're synapse are still awakening. Whatever your brain is trying to figure out, let it be. It will come with time. - "... what do you mean, 'figuring out'?" - Your psyche is trying to access parts of me ... is the best ... or only way I can put it. You're reaching for power that you have not yet obtained or have any sort of ability to control. That -- vision... that you saw, that may be something to come... or an illusion. Either way, Mastery of Us ... is a feat only few have ever achieved. And it took years. Not days. Stop prying, before you get yourself hurt. - "...whatever." Feyd shrugged and rolled a shoulder, nodding to Quatre again. "I don't know what he's going on about -- these two are annoying." And then Feyd reached up and slapped himself across the face. His mask stayed securely in place and his head almost avoided the feeling of what was to come, but still he laughed and shook his head, "Yeah - yeah... let's go visit this tomb... what's in it for you two anyways? Why are you taking us there?" The day was young. The warmth of light dying to break through the canopy of green overhead and yet the hissing sound of an airship could be heard somewhere in the vicinity, yet unseen at their current vantage. . persona . feyd . affiliation . oz . post count . 2

How one arrives at the end of days seems rather inconsequential— when staring death and chaos in the face with bloodshot eyes and rampant fear, coursing through garden hose veins and daring the feeble form to stroke out in awe of the raw pressure of malignancy, oozing from the depths of an unknown hell. You stare into the abyss. The breath caught in your chest. Choked in your throat and trapped in confusion. In? Out? Out? Out. Gasp. Eyes seem to be locked and frozen upon the heated gate that ensnares the soul. You cannot look away. It's drawing you in and panic begins to set in. Your mind is blank. Feel the worry ebb. Your muscles tense, but they're unable to move. You can't control them. You try to turn. You try to run. You try to scream. You are drawn. You want to know what else is happening. You want to know more. You see bodies -- ghastly apparitions passing all around you, through you. Some look like you. A fear that snaps you back into reality. Did you forget to breath? Out. In? The blur of insanity seems all around you. A gasp. A cough. You faint? You. Are. Dead. "AHhh!" The whelp screamed, hurling himself to one side and sliding across the ground on a palm and foot. They were in the forest still, just to the west of the Skar, when the young man had bolted to his feet and cried out in terror. Panic had set into his breathing and his eyes were wide, peering through the rusted, gold huen mask that encased his emotions, but the dripping sweat from his chin that pooled on the ground a foot and some change belong him, spoke a different tale. The world around them fell silent once more, as nature continued to run its course as it always had. - Well, well... I'm glad I didn't pick something pathetically weak. What emotional turmoil you have within you, Feyd. Another nightmare...? - His muscles tensed at the voice within his own head. It was unnatural, but all-too familiar now, as it had been for nearly the past week. Something he'd never forget or understand, but where weakness once was -- now dormant power had been brooding. Wild. Free. Tenacious. Feyd coughed and exhaled, gasping for oxygen that had been frozen in his chest for nearly a half minute before collapsing to his hands and knees and focusing on his breathing. With deep amethyst rings swollen in the bottom of his irises, Feyd's dark gaze lifted to his companion. They'd been on the road for some time together now, but not more than a year. Survival relied on partnership; this was something they'd come to learn at a young age, but both came from different walks of life prior to finding one another. Having been found by the parasite -- now they were inseparable. . persona . feyd . affiliation . oz . post count . 1 @paradigm

A pact with a member of the Brand was not something loosely spoken or given away. Be it centuries multiplied that he was locked away, Onesimus' still knew the blood-bond and words spoken would ring truest to Skar -- or they would leave physical wounds upon his flesh for the deceit left behind. Those of the liars tongue are always tainted; it always shows through, like a smoker's cough and the stench that lingers on clothing -- stale and bitter regret. What a pair these two would make. Only an hour or more had passed since they'd first met and their distinct abilities seemed to chime and feed from one another in a destructive harmony. The world around the youth discengrated with his anguish, and a rage that had consumed him would be taken out upon the masses. Oni only stood there, watching the chaos ensue with a faint curl upon pallid thin lips and lithe arms crossed his chest. They would have been crushed, were their anything to fall. Everything seemed to melt away into a gasp of wind and finely materialized debris with Skar's motions. Their screams would echo as the ground gave way to the tunnels of the underworld and the crunch of bone and limb heaped into a pile far below the surface they once stood upon. The hefty scent of blood began to waft and Oni's eyes closed to the aroma, as if it were a perfectly crafted steak -- grilled to perfection. He salivated and chuckled softly. "Oh... we will. We need a plan though. Uncalculated chaos will only bring authority upon us. I'm not sure who -- but I assume this world has some sort of protectors." Oni scoffed. "What's the plan?"

A murder of crows the pair were, if such a small number could be considered as such. There was something about the act of killing together that set the tone for a wild and disastrous relationship ahead -- but it was something reckless, like a terrible rebound that Oni sought. Like a gosling, fresh from the egg unto the corporeal essence that bound all of humanity and the avatar alike, Oni had imprinted on this figure. For some reason beyond his vast understanding, the fates chose the young ... creature that deemed itself Skar and spoke in the third and extentially so ... Their fates would be forever bound together. "My apologies, Skar. I haven't spoken to anyone ... really, spoken ... in centuries, I believe. The growth and advancement of technology and civilization is far beyond what it was when I was placed in this tomb. Only the gods know how long I have been locked away -- to be certain. The last time I saw things with my own two eyes and spoke to a person in the flesh -- pyramids were being built around the great tear in this realm. Interestingly enough, ... I believe this may be why I was brought to you..." Oni took a few casual steps into the blood mess that the young creature had just performed to admire the handiwork with a faint smile upon a now-boyishly cute face. "In the tongue back then the word 'Nadab' is what they called the massive gorge that a crystal tore into the face of this realm -- it fell from the heaven's or so they say ... Nadab directly translates to skär - or a Scar. The Scar." He gestured. "If I'm on the west coast and the world hasn't changed ever-so much in landmass as it had before, this event should be due east of us by a few hundred miles..." Palms flexed to be parallel to the ground he stood on, and the blood separated from all around him from the powder and bone, clothing and bits of flesh and dripped from the sinew to be taken into a globular mass that morphed and shifted in shape with the life force of several before being absorbed into the hand that controlled it. A craft for later use. Bloodmancy. "As for me, my friend -- I have had several names. I feel like I have lived a great many lives, but I am uncertain how this is so or what has happened. My name is Onesimus. Depending on which personality surface, Oni usually will suffice... I cannot guarantee you will always get the civilized me, ... but I will not let these ... Alteri imprison you." "I promise."

The pair began to move rather lackadaisical, more because Onesimus had never seen this world before -- or this time period, for that matter. So many neon signs, flashing lights, and trivial attention-seeking creations to capture the mind left him a little baffled, by how finely tuned they were and worked. He caught himself standing before a shop with creations inside and something of an innate knowledge told him what it could be. He stared long for a moment, allowing his eyes to wander the innards through the glass at the custom tuned and fully-built motorcycle with twin wheels in the back and something that resembled a turbine on the side. It looked fun, but fruitless; he was faster. "Your circular speech is cryptic, at best -- my friend." Oni said with a shrug. The toys may wait for another day when his stomach wasn't gnawing on his spine. No sooner had he turned than the group of boys that had found the host prior to his evolution, showed up around the corner again. Unfortunately for them (and him), Oni didn't remember who they were. The elder boy approached and shoved Oni into the glass. "You again, you little fuck... you .. how are you walking?" The youth looked down and then back up, "I assume it because I have legs, you twit. Be on your way, before you find yourself extinguished." "Hear this boys ... the little fuckstain has a voice now. And it's bitchy. Clearly, we didn't beat you hard enough the first time..." Oni's brows tweaked. A short flashback of the boy's face and a savage attack from him. "Ahh... I see. Perpetual bully. Spoiled brat. Unchecked daddy issues. How often does he beat you and show you no love, pathetic mortal...?" The shock and anger, frustration, guilt, rage, and sadness peeled across the young man's face all at once. He was furious, to say the least that such disrespect came from a low life. Two of the boys stifled a laugh and the other two stood there shocked, while their ring leader's tea kettle boiled, and frothed, and he struck Oni in the face. Fun. The moment his fist impacted the young man's face, the skin liquefied and pooled around the bony mass, and the boy yelped in shock. Oni reached out and snatched the boy by his clothes and then a massive wolf's head molded from his own and the young man's fist was cleanly inside of his jaws up to his elbow. Teeth immediately sunk through the bully's flesh and his eyes widened until his pupils were pinholes and mouth formed a speechless circle. His body shook in shock, and the other boys screamed and froze. Blood seeped from his jaws, pouring down his chin and oozing before the arm came clean off. Then with a quick spin, Oni spun and hurled the boy through the window he'd just been admiring through -- separating the youth in twain before sputtering. "A far better meal than I had planned..." Something about the blood, caused a plum sheen to ripple across the fur of the youth and a hunger ... newly found ... awoke.

A moment of furious rage passed with the weird, oddity of the thing before him. Whether this creature was more like him or less like him, one thing was for certain -- is that in coming too, this grand awakening -- he'd somehow found someone just as lost and clueless as he. Oni would get no answers from the thing, talking in circles, however he felt a tingling sensation in the back of his mind -- a new tickling in the back of his cerebrum that hadn't ever been there before. Oni knew this to be certain, because he'd spent centuries inside of his own head. Since the dawn of man and his purest conception, Oni had been locked up without fair trial. He'd been locked up so long, Oni was unsure of what anything was anymore. His mind fragmented and splintered with severed paths of confusion, curiosity, child-like nature unforgotten and unable to be tamed. A brilliant mind, with a child's temper, and a knack for absolute anarchy. It would seem like a blink. Had the weird creature took a moment to close his eyes, the next instant would have been something of a blur and Oni stood next to the figure -- not as a massive lupine now, but as the young boy he once was. Ebony chunks of hair seemed to spike in all directions from his scalp, much like the sable fur of the monster that once was, and eyes of galaxies, long forgotten swirled in tandem: amethyst and argent. The colors of Raven. This body. This morphological vassal was interesting and entertaining. He felt like liquid; yet composed Where have my brethren gone and why have thou forsaken me? Did they? Perhaps for my own good? A safety precaution? . "You. Skar, you say. I'm hungry. I haven't eaten in centuries... maybe a millenia. I don't even know. I lost mental count, and ... I'm just hungry. ... for everything." He paused for a moment, nodding to the creature and shrugged, "The boy before was me -- locked up in this tomb of a carcass. But ... something about that creature ... and my own blood?" "First, we feast. Then, we find the key to your lock. Then, ... perhaps we find the Ravens. Perhaps ... I ... I don't even know, anymore."

"Epoch -- His power is overwhelming. He must be contained." "I understand your advisement, Kalenis -- but not only is he our brother, but he is of the Brand." "My Lord -- of the highest order, King of Kings..." "Stop. You as my mentor, we have always been equals, brother." "Then you understand the graveness in which I speak to you as your subject. Loyal adviser. Companion. Friend. Blood." "... yes." "Onesimus is one-of-a-kind. He is an acted gift from us all. A cluster-birth. This is not something anyone could have anticipated. Not something anyone could have ever expected. Realities, we've seen. The Nothingness, we call home. The very existence of our Resonance within the cloth of crystallyss, designed specifically for us, by Ino Yosouya himself... deemed impossible, as an existence and yet here our avatars stand, as deities over all." "My heart aches..." "As does mine, brother. As does mine. But Oni is an anomaly, even among us. We each have our traits that are enhanced beyond our wildest dreams and each has their paramount, but ... insanity ... chaos ... a second life ... no one could ever possibly come to the conclusion that in our world, with our cognitive birth -- that we could breed twins within a single Resonance strand. His existence is literally like the DNA of humans, except it is the very life we breathed into him that helixes two souls. Beyond an impossibility, yet fathomed." "What would you have me do, Kale!? I will not see him dead. I cannot." "This must be the way." "Then you all will fight against your King." "Epoch ... you know that isn't possible. There isn't a Raven among us, who would -- let alone could, stand against you..." "Then what I say -- is so. Find another way." Guise was panicking now. Screaming and morphing from not just a man, but animals, beasts, things -- inanimate objects. His mind blank with terror, blank with fury, blank with fear -- now all but losing the ability to shift as a polymorph might. The matte black bird seemed to grow and flex along the child's back. An ink-stain upon the flesh of the child looked similarly to that of the Silver and Black, the one he thought was harassing him with whispers from the unknown. One's eyes faded white to red. Blood ran down his back, and began to slick what looked like black spots all over his body... The Brand coiled and slithered, consuming the figure. The more the polymorph struggled, the less his existence was to be. "W-What are you doing?! S-TOP THIS A-A-AT ONCE!" He screeched, trying to phase back into the man once more, who looked so calm -- so pristine -- so confident in his actions less than an hour ago. Ultimately, there was nothing special about him, except the properties that he was made of -- whatever sort of alien entity that may have been... ...but when he tried to create the once-face of crime in Arkadia Prime, the figure was missing his opposite arm and leg entirely and nearly a quarter of his torso. The entity could not form what could not be, and whatever he was -- the construct of life that he had come to be -- was now nothing more than a rippling fluid upon the back of what was no longer a child. Guise no longer remained. What was once thought to be a tattoo, now took the blood of the host and a powerful sacrifice to be reborn into the present-day. In the enlightenment of the situation, the boy no longer remained either. It was in this moment of clarity, that the beast which emerged from the shell wasn't bound within the tattoo on the back of a boy at all, but entombed within a prison of innocence for what should have been an eternity. Surely the fates saw a sacrifice and blood as the prime catalyst for a key. Surely they had witnesses the fall of the great tribe's numbers and with it the power of the seals and locks that controlled the boy. Perhaps not -- but they certainly would come to understand the gravity of their choices. Fingers splayed now in the sand, thrice as long as they once were and taloned. Sinew was covered with a fine ebony fur that did not reflect the light of any surrounding ambiance and hugged the frame of muscle and bone with a taut, majestic finish. Hunched over, he was easily the height of an average man, and bent knees came to gaunt, slender ribs. His tail flicked side to side, more as a sign of agitation than anything else and a curled maw produced a gang of razor sharp teeth. He was a sight to behold, and yet not at all. Enough intimidation to lock a grown man to the ground and piss himself standing there. The creature's jaws flexed slowly. The feeling of joints, muscles, bone -- all so foreign. It had been ... a thousand lifetimes, since he'd seen flesh. His mental presence, however was beyond compare; it expanded across the breath of the beach, in moments of his enlightenment and emotions mounted rather hastily. "You." It spoke. Jaws yawned and rolled once more, tasting the gravel and grit of his voice with a loll of his tongue; this unfamiliar language was translated immediately do a spoken tongue, a language forgotten would not serve him well in this world. Fingers curled and retracted with a fist full of sand, only to sneer at the pain within his digits and then remember the attack, the blood, the feeling. "What year is this? Where am I? Where are the Ravens?" So many questions he had. So curious. So confused. The past was a blur and so-so-so long ago, that it stumped him into an anger... "Why was I imprisoned?!"

"The ocean, you say ... have you lost your nerve, Cross? Ruining my operations along the coast..." The voice of the shadows grew white-hot with anger and seethed. Had whatever it was, whomever it was been a tangible essence in the moment, froth would be flung from an incisored-maw, gnashing in some sort of hysteric rage at the audacity of the young man and his feeble demeanor. It was disgusting. Pathetic. Cowardice, above all else that drew rage into the darkness incarnate. "Have you lost your fucking gall -- your wit -- your charm, your MAJEsty?" It spat. Sick with fury and dementia, clearly. Before the youth could speak again, another figure of the night approached and the boy immediately jumped to his feet. Whatever wounds the creature may have seen before, had vanished with the love of the ocean. Bruises mended, scars healed -- for the most part, and all that remained was a crimson smudge within the right sclera, which looked like a fame mounting an ambery-scarlet marble. They flashed curiously, but cautiously. Mistaking the talking darkness for the embodiment of it, Oni questioned the creature with a sense of confusion, "W-what do you want with me? Why are you so hostile...?" The sentence did not belong to the silver and ebony, but was asked of it all the same. The rags that had been on his torso were sopping wet and the weight of the material was too much for the thinly stretched tethers. His quick action left him shirtless, as it nearly discenegrated around his gaunt frame and dropped from his hips to the ground without stopping. Scars and marks sprawled across his body, but the most interesting piece of all was a matte black symbol that the creature could not see... ...but the darkness could. "How dare you turn your back to me..." It spat. It was no where. And then it was everywhere. In moments, ir snapped across the ground like a shade python, cast from a tall building. However with no light, this shadow acted upon its own accord and hit the young man so hard in the back that it knocked him forward to his hands and knees. The shadow was no longer two dimensional, but a man standing there in an ivory suit with what looked to be his fist punched into the child's back -- laughing manically. His hair looked to be chin-length and a shade of carnation, wild-eyes untamed with potential energy, and yet the morphological entity known as Guise -- The Syndicate Boss of Arkadia Prime ... was now stuck ... caught red-handed. "Cross -- you a...re ... mine... ha... hahah .. ah ..ahhh ... w-wh-WHAAAT?! AhHHHHH!" The young man's body convulsed. The spasms started at his abdomen and then began to spread throughout his limbs. Fingers gripped the sand until they were white knuckles and blood had begun to ooze from between his fingertips. Head twitching violently, ivory eyes flicked up to Silver and Black with a blank, and yet agonizing expression etched into his brows. Managing to prop himself up on an arm and two knees, Oni threw back a hand to try and reach the man's wrist that was protruding from his mid-spine. He couldn't reach, but the act alone slung blood from his palm across his back. And then something ... awoke.

By the light of the moon, the young boy passed silently down the streets. He hadn't heard anything from the darkness again which only dashed his hopes against the rocks of despair. He dare not sigh though, for fear the very exhalation would bring forth another random and mysterious beating from complete strangers. One arm cradled the other which hung a little more slack at his side and showed signs of dislocation, winking from beneath the tattered rags now and then that clung effortlessly to his gaunt frame. He was close now. Pain had all-but left his face. He'd grown accustomed to the abuse of the world, allowing only the darkest thoughts to remain ever-so deep within his soul -- to have that kind of power and authority over other people ... And just like that, the thoughts were washed away at the sight of the ocean pier. Constantly drawn to water, the young boy moved down a ramp and the faintest twinge of a smile crept to the corners of his lips as his toes curled into the sand. Arkadia Prime was a clean, beautiful, and technologically crafted masterpiece, unlike any others upon Valucre's vast expanse. Buildings so vast and tall, that their tops couldn't be seen beyond the reef of clouds. Air traffic just below the clouds illuminated the sky with a myriad of colorful vessels of transportation and commerce, selling and trucking things across the heavens and outsourced to other nations. But the beach... The beach was serene. It was a place nearly forgotten within the Ark, because so much more was going on. People rarely stopped to just relax. Always busy. Always going. So when a little boy stepped onto the beach alone in the middle of the evening -- there wasn't a soul in sight to see. There never was. Or so he thought. So there wasn't an sort of angst to hide the water moving beyond its natural boundaries of tide and lapping waves to greet the young man. Water elementals and spirits were rare enough, but for the ocean itself to emerge almost like an outstretched appendage to take the boy, would have been considered impossible or unimaginable. He nodded softly and began to weep, taking to his knees once more. The mixture of blood and water was soon diluted enough that only water remained as it spiraled his form. In doing so, abrasions began to lace themselves back together, bruises that were swollen and flush, seemed to dissipate all together and the bloodshot stare within his sclera had vanished once more. His head dunked into the water, as his right arm twisted about unnaturally and snapped the joint back into the socket like an elastic band. His open-mouth scream was muffled into gurgling blurbs, but immediately relaxed after it was set. He laid there, face down in the water allowing it to sooth him once more. It seemed to be a weekly thing, since the first time that someone had "taken out the trash." That's how he had discovered this mysterious ability in the first place -- his relationship with the ocean. He'd been beaten nearly to death by thugs who thought that he'd seen a crime. Wrong place, wrong time. He'd only just rounded the corner when they found him and assumed the worse. It was his nap in the ocean that they thought would cure their witness issue and instead, it was the exact opposite. They left, and he live. Now, he knew that even if the pain was agonizing -- he wasn't ever more than a mile from the shore. The young boy now sat cross-legged on the beach, drawing with a finger in the sand, whilst surrounded by a pool of water that looked more like the reverse of throwing out a life preserver into the water -- the water was thinly tethered to more water and a sand canal, and bubbled around the youth, like a protective parent. "So ... you say you're not Cross ..." The darkness whispered once more. "... but your affinity to water, I have heard of. If not Cross, baby -- what is your name?" The darkness spoke. To him. Again. Butterflies ebbed in his stomach and he cleared his throat, testing it out once more since the assault, "The ocean sometimes calls me One. Sometimes Oni..."