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Found 5 results

  1. Still curled into a fetal position and shaking like a leaf, the young boy was too scared to mutter a whimper and too worried about the rush of pain that would befall him -- dare his body relax. Like a bound spring, he whimpered. Eyes clenched tightly, afraid to see the blood that he lay in, but he knew the warmth that surrounded him was his own. Teeth gritted until the root ends sent shocks of pain through his skull, and still he held fast. Fingers were white at the knuckles, interlaced with one another as his gaunt arms wrapped about his knees and cradled his head and face to the best of his ability. They were gone. He could hear them laughing and mocking as they walked casually away, as if nothing had happened. Their footsteps fell into puddles and the delicate splash upon the concrete marked one of the few sounds in the empty street. It was late. A shop keeper stood in the doorway, without saying a word during the beating, and certainly not after it had passed; just merely to stand there and wait to see if the authorities needed to be rung due to dead, homeless child in the streets. Arms across his chest and narrow eyes shifted to the three walking down the street, as his lips adjusted and waggled his thick mustache. Green eyes slowly flicked open. The pain was seering at first, as the dim light from the alleyway streets flooded into the pupil and the synapse reeled to life, trying to discover exactly what it was that he was seeing. Bloodsoaked visuals, blurred by the hot liquid left a crimson painted image of a man staring back at him, but far enough away not to strike immediate fear, and in the same token -- made him feel so hopeless and worthless, that he wasn't even worth a question, a grunt, or a Samaritan's aid. Instead, the man saw the boy was living and shrugged a sighing shoulder, almost as if he was disappointed and the door closed behind his back. Alone. Moments ago, he'd been jumped by some kids that attended the local private school. There wasn't a reason for the action. They were just bored and feeling powerful in their youthly design and he was the prime candidate... but who was he? A nobody. A nothing. An anomaly. A quark in the system of design that was built into Arkadia Prime, but for what purpose and reason was yet to be determined. The city clearly had a plan for him, but whatever that was -- the cards had yet to be shown. Slowly the tension released, and the boy cradled a rib with a lithe hand and grimaced in an effort to sit up. The rags that once covered his form were more torn now than before, and soaked with whatever he prayed to be water from the rains and blood of his own, but the stench of pride and hubris clung to his clothing. He winced again. This time it was mental, over physical -- treated like a dog -- pissed on -- beat senseless -- was he worth so little? Was their no purpose to his existence? "Well ... hello, Cross ..." The whispers came. "Or ... should I call you Vortian?" He sighed, rubbing his head slowly. The shadows themselves spoke to him, as they had for nearly a year now, and yet -- he never once responded. Not until now. He had always been afraid -- a coward -- a loser -- a lesser being than the rest, on the simple truth that he was someone else's trash, thrown away without use or care, and discarded without any remorse. "... I ... I'm not ... Cross. I don't even know who that is..." Words; even they hurt. His jaw ached with a throbbing pain and metallic fleshy taste. In time, he stood. Energy found it's way to his feet, and the body traveled toward the water's edge -- western Ark. He'd always been afraid to respond to the darkness ... ... because he was afraid even the darkness would reject him ...
  2. The looming facility, with coiled spires like the pillars of a cathedral, with a steeple of offices and the shattered glass entryway into the building. Smoke still billowed from the entrance, like the baleful, waiting breath of a dragon looming within. What could possibly drive a man to enter this, where many have been crushed and driven out? A job was a job, perhaps. There was no visible evidence from this place, at the base of the great staircase leading up to this institute, of the assailant's movements. The night didn't make things any better, too. The lamplight, and the spotlights posited by the police force that formed the perimeter cast grand shadows over the building. The frightening visage of this palace of science didn't wane with inspection, as the knowledge of the warrior within marked each inch of its exterior with the interior damage leaking out. Approaching our hero is the police lieutenant, who supplies him with a map of the building, and info on the tactics Yago's employed so far against their forces. Remote control explosives, a battle rifle that uses conventional ammunition, and magic that asks a question that current protocol can't answer. "I'll level with you. Whatever goes on in there, we can't send anymore in, we can just keep him from coming out, got it? No shame in turning back if things get hairy, but don't expect us to be the ones to get you out. I dunno whatever reason's leading you through here, but..." He sighs, clapping them on the back. "...I'll just have faith that your reasons are good, and you're not going in here without a clue." @Aleksei
  3. The patient had been in that room forever. Since she'd been hired as nurse, she's been tending to him. He wasn't comatose, but he didn't ever leave. The doctors insist he isn't well, that he has to remain in his room, but he wasn't to be solely bedridden. His room was furnished, and he had dark wooden bookshelf. Books on law, magi-tech, history, and the many sciences filled it to the ceiling of the room. The light switch was inside the patient's room, and he had no curfew. His meals were timed, of course, and she was permitted to speak with him. However, the fact that he is a patient is classified. Inside the hospital, above the ghastly burn ward, yet under the psych ward, is a floor only accessible by stairway. An intense magical charm keeps passerby from remembering the floor after going above or below it. Each day, they wonder about the floor that wasn't there before, and then do not do so at all, only to return to work the next morning, think about the new floor, and then forget it just before getting down to business. Through the door, sealed akin to a vault, secured with a code phrase, is the ward Yago resides. Chapter 0: The Recusant's Departure ___ _______________________________ ___ Today, after nine years, it was time for him to deliver the news to her - that he had become well, and was now to depart from hospital, and the two would likely never meet again. He enjoyed their vague talks, of those ambiguous subjects. It was like a girl her age to dance around the truth in speech only, but the two of them never jested of their friendship. Becoming twenty-eight a week ago, they'd already celebrated that birthday. Yet on this ninth anniversary of his arrival, shredded to ribbons, eye wide open as they tried to plug him up, keep him from becoming mush on the floor...His left arm still felt in a liquid state, and he wondered how much of his fingertips was artificial as no doubt not all of it could be scooped off the floor. The click of her heels was audible now, and in five, six, seven, eight steps...the doorknob turned, and the wards identified her as his trusted aide. He opened his eyes, pretending to have been nodding off, rather than be lucidly anticipating her arrival that morning. "Got enough sleep?" She began, clicking her pen, smiling sincerely at him. "More than enough. Went to bed early last night. Lots to do today." Yago said, gingerly rising, revealing that he'd been dressed to go, in a suit and tie, rather than the pajamas she's become accustomed to him wearing. After a pen stroke going astray and a gasp, he laughed under his breath, adjusting his jacket, which remained unbuttoned. "Then I...I assume you're going today? What's the change?" Her doting look came on, and she motioned a finger at the scar round his throat. It looked healed, but still the stark incision that remained on his neck. It was one of many wounds still in rings around his extremities, even his torso. She never asked how he'd been so roughed up, but she was going to ask how they've healed enough that he can move as much as he can. "This body's finally become accustomed to staying alive, is the best way I can find to put it." He said, taking some books off the shelf. "I just don't see how you've made the jump, is all." She pressed, placing her back against the shelf, crossing her arms, the clipboard always be her side now on the desk by the door. His face had a shocked expression, one she'd never seen before. "Well, now, what's with that look?" His eyes dart from her arms to the board. "I thought that was attached to you!" The two broke into laughter afterwards, but she was the first to stop, bittersweet about the announcement. Though, she didn't imagine he'd dodge a question. That searing look she gave elected a strange amount of obligation from Yago. He scratched his head, and sighed. "Gloria...I hope someday you won't have to know. My existence alone is a secret you've kept. I don't want to make you keep another." He placed his hands on her shoulders. The look in his eyes reminded her of her father, when he had to explain that her ankle would get in the way of being a gymnast. That earnest look plead with her not to be hurt by the truth he had to tell her. And now here he was, giving her that same look. The sincerity she'd known before allowed her to nod, however saddened. Yago released his hands from Gloria's shoulders, and stepped back, only for her to pull him back into a farewell embrace. ___ _______________________________ ___ "And so, that body is finally yours. I didn't think..." Aftman trailed off, as Yago drew closer, and then past him. It was a foolish statement to make in front of him... What'd possessed him to doubt the boss? Of course he could command that body to his will! Just as he'd commanded his greatest potential from him. Aftman folded his hands, as his leader took his seat in the driver's place. The engine hummed under their seats, as their third associate, late as usual, sat in shotgun. Driving off from the hospital, the third associate opened the briefcase. "Ah, so it's come. Go ahead and keep it away. We won't need it, not for our first task." Yago chuckled, shutting the case himself.
  4. -Lilium-

    The Spinster.

    ‘Need favors returned soon. Found another friend of yours, more to follow on that. David will be fixed very soon now. First favor, Arachnid’s Eye in Arcadia Prime info incoming. Time for you to return home.’ smiley face; kissy face. ‘You’re ride is on the way. See you soon.’ Messages, one after another, beep through her comm line. Nearer the end a heavy sigh exudes from the once thinly pressed line bisecting her nose from her chin. Maybe it was cruelty on that loony woman’s part or possibly a hint that it was time to finally live again. Either way, any idea of Alterion being home had died with...him. Although Keanu knew she would eventually have to repay the odd woman for the help she’d lent, having to revisit that place had not been part of her original agenda on making such an accord. The necessity of making a quick exit from Alterion was tremendous at the time. Back then, she sorely needed to believe in her ability to start a new life; to begin fresh again. And of course, things did not go as expected. Instead she was plagued by waking dreams in daylight and horrific nightmares during slumber. All barely subdued by the inoculation Dr. Concordia had given her when Keanu had explained her predicament. Perhaps it had more to do with not having the strength to forget. Which inevitably led to too much time passing between injections. Needless to say those fickle and fragile emotions eventually took their toll. And instead of reverting back to the productive member of society she used to be, she became a recluse. Hiding in her childhood home, reinforcing and fortifying the reflective domes to further deter wanderers from stumbling onto her property. Keeping silent, keeping gone. Unfortunately, she finds Concordia’s enactment of her ethics to be acceptable. A favor is a favor, and she had racked up too many to not make due on returning them. So she packs her bags. Without knowing the current conditions of Arkadia Prime, she has to wonder what it's like now. Would there be new life and connection there? Arguably, only if one let oneself fall under the spell of such idealistic philosophy. Keanu does not. Rather, she endures herself the freedom to complete the request, with the assertion that she will return home until the next is requested of her. Once she had donned the appropriate vestiges and places what she believes will be useful into an old sack with straps, she throws it on over her shoulders. It is a few moments hesitation before she starts out the door, automatically grabbing and able from the basket near it as she steps out. When she got the message the sun had been alive and bright in the sky, but now she meets with darkness. She locks everything up securely. Home, dome, and perimeter before trekking into the landscape of tall bare trees. Watching, waiting. While she sits nestled against one of the thicker tree trunks she remembers the apple. Keanu brings it to her face, not to bite it but to just lightly allow the smooth cool skin to rest against her lips, satiated by the feel and the aroma of the ripe fruit. For a moment her eyes close, her mind drifting into a memory… That is suddenly interrupted by the whir of an airship engine. Without suppression she stands and walks towards the lights coming down from overhead into the clearing shed been dropped off in all that time ago. And with a quick toss the apple is discarded and forgotten. There are no questions asked, or words spoken when she climbs into the open hatch of the small vessel. Rather than converse with the pilot, Keanu takes her seat and shuts her eyes and keeps them that way all the hours it takes to get to Arkadia Prime. When they reach their final destination, it takes little preparation for her to get ready to exit. That is until the pilot pops into the cabin. “Here, take this.” a small rectangular box is shoved hurriedly in her direction with a quick explanation to follow, “Open it, and put it on. It’ll keep you safe, for the most part.” Keanu does as told. All the while staring at the woman shrouded in funeral colors. “Do I….know you?” She cannot shake the kindred sentience she feels at the woman’s proximity. The same aura as her own, but so minute it is hard to tell if it is coming from the woman or herself. “Just make sure to put the necklace on, and keep it on if you don’t want to be found. Alright?” All annoyance and no class. “Right, thanks.” “Don’t thank me… And you probably shouldn’t thank her either. Watch yourself.” And with that the woman turns back to the cockpit, shutting and latching the door. Solidifying the fact that the ride-and their conversion-are over. The hiss and pop of the hatch catches her attention, and she exits through it. And with that first step, she is back on Alterion. @Reign
  5. Bull's got a new Hammer. Oh it's an awesome thing, he'd assure you. Not more then a sparse few days of having it in his possession and you couldn't count how many things he has smitten with it. Worse still, how many times he's threatened to SMITE someone with it, sometimes in a Norse accent for no apparent reason. Where it came from? Who knows, but ever since that time he was thrown through a dimensional rift and landed in Asgard---Meeting the great Thor himself. He's wanted one. That was a ways ago. Since returning to these realms, he hasn't quite recovered the entirety of his power (MP-Bull), and wouldn't fair nearly as well as he did against the Thunder god were he had to face that trial now. He will return to glory by walking the path set before him. Just as he found his NEW self during his imprisonment within the Pillar Realms, he will do so again, and this little project of completing his hammer for Maximum Whack-a-Fool Goodness was just the thing he needed. It took him a day to get here, he chose not to jump but rather trecked it out. Many climbs. Many elevations. A few falls, a couple of scuffles and he was staring at a vast, brilliant door which serves as the entrance to MINES OF SERN. So the information was legit, and it would be in this place that a sect of Mutant-Dark Elves, practitioners of Dark Magic, and perverted sciences. They had developed a new "Strain" of Mythril that was essential to his weapons progression. Only thing that stood in his way was that legend had it, that these "Elves" were tools. Bad businessmen and even WORSE as traders. Proteus Aspired for not having to use violence but sometimes, you have to shit what it was. Still, Wasn't anything wrong with giving things the old college try. The titan approached the door which had a large body of water at his rear. This caught Proteus' attention, briefly. It smelled--Odd. With his attention back at the door. As he was instructed by his source, he'd call out. "I am KING Proteus Rauz, i've come seeking to barter or purchase Mythril from you!...May I be granted Entrance!" There was a silence. Birds could be heard. Bugs of the sort as well. Quiet enough to hear a Rat Piss on cotton almost. Then before him, at the doors top. An eye opened and from it's center a beam of light which constructed a construct. The construct was a tall individual, lithe, every bit of 6'4" in height, a male, but his features were slightly twisted. Around his eyes were blackened as were the tips of his pointed ears. Slender fingers had claws at their tips. "We've heard of you King.....All the more reason why we will MOST CERTAINLY NOT be allowing you here. BRUTE!" Bull kissed his teeth some, and drew a heavy breath and at it's release interjected, "Times have changed...I, have changed. I assure you I am not here with ill intent.." And Bull was cut off "And we do not care! Now remove your FILTH from our domain, lest you be dealt with!! You've NOTHING of interest to us!" Insults. Proteus' arms crossed and his index finger tapped bicep furiously. He was struggling to keep his composure in the face of a total tool. He firmly rhetorted. "2-Million Gold. For a kings share of your new Mythril.".......He brandished a large travel bag, indeed filled with the quantified equal of 2 million gold in the form of massive bricks. There was that silence again. Those birds. Those bugs.. That cotton pissing rat again. The construct seemed to had been mulling it over. See Elves were alot like common man. They were creatures of habit, they could be swayed. They were businessmen and at the end of the day money talked. But the problem?...Again, they were like common man. They believed themselves to be cunning. They were trifling. Greedy. Uncaring. Beneath the water, a monster had been given incentive. It's massive tentacles spreading and churning beneath the water, which would have rippled and surged as it approached, and out of the water one of these LARGE appendages shot out of the water at pace and COILED around the Titans' waist, who was honestly--surprised! All that the king could see was the constructs twisted grin, "WE WILL TAKE YOUR GOLD, AND YOUR LIFE!....."
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