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Syncopy

With great power ... comes devastating revenge

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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 ...

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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..."

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The dark figure appeared out of the aether, its lithe form brushing past the seemingly palpable atmosphere, only to wink out of existence in tendrils of black smoke. The entity reformed a few meters from the youth, its crown tilted in a curious pose. The figure was small, not much larger than the boy himself and with soft enough features that its gender was not readily apparent. It wore next to nothing, save a flowing length of fabric bound and hanging from its hips.  Steady, graceful steps revealed bare legs and feet; its skin a deep charcoal black appeared even more so against the white sands upon which it walked. Eldritch alien sigils stretched along its limbs and when the light struck them they shone like stars against the figures midnight skin. 

 

Silver tresses fell across its forehead, wafting lazily against the salted ocean breeze. 

 

The figure’s lips moved and an aristocratic tenor slipped past its lips. The High Speech of Alterion was typically reserved for the nobility, but it was still easily understood by the masses, if a bit overly formal. 

 

“The boy is hurt. Why?”

 

The figure’s expressionless eyes studied the youth, whether he meant the boy’s disheveled clothing and bruises features or his internal torment was left to the youth to decide.

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"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.

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"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."


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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?!" 

Edited by Syncopy

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The ebon figure remained impassive, studiously watching the events unfold. No doubt what transpired before it was an event of monumental magnitude, but its importance was lost on the diminutive creature. The boy’s transformation birthed another quizzical tilt of its head, prompting midnight colored lips to part and elicit a soft hum. 

 
“Hm?” 
 
The figure could feel the energy that swirled and surged through the transformed youth and while there was a familiarity to this power, the being  could not fathom why it felt bonded to it. “This one does not know any The Ravens...” 
 
Its  tone shifted from confusion to an aristocratic lilt. “This one does not know the year! This one does not know how he came to be in this squalid state! This one is a prisoner, as well!” 
 
The figure slammed a pint size fist into its own chest whilst another hand tore at its waist wrappings. It made the message as clear as possible, the figure was a prisoner of his own form. Bound to a mortal coil it could neither understand nor fully comprehend. “The Alteri...” it said speaking the name of the storied deific race “...called this one Skar.” 
 
Crossing thin arms over its chest, the figure gestured towards the youth with a small bob of its head. “Did the beast eat the boy? Are is the boy somehow the beast?! This one is confused!” 

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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." 

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“Hunger?” The word felt foreign upon its tongue, but no more so than any of the new words that bubbled up and frothed out of its ebon lips. Slender digits curled into small fists, muscles tightened and power unrestrained by the gods fought to escape the confines of Skar’s minuscule form. Extending its fist in a slow deliberate manner, the slim figure unfurled  a digit  towards the cityscape behind the youth. “This one shall feast with the boy? This one hungers, as well.” 

 

On a genetic level, Skar’s body ached for sustenance. The internal life force of this land, it permeated not only the earth but the people that walked upon it. Whatever the source, it made Skar salivate. “The prison that binds This One desires the power of this land. This One’s shackles will loosen with every morsel This One consumes.”

 

Something deep within Skar pointed it towards a monolithic building in the distance. “That place...” it intoned ominously. “This One hungers for that place. Boy, what is that place?”

 

“Take This One there, feast with This One, and This One will find the Boy’s The Ravens for him and feast upon these The Ravens.” 

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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.

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This raucous display of violence did not unsettle Skar, if anything it excited the creature. Feeling its blood pump in a way never experienced before, an unfamiliar rhythm and cadence, brought interesting sensations to the forefront of its mind. Skar barely moved and in an instant he stood behind the terribly unlucky bully's comrades, his fingers boring through their flesh in an effortless motion. Wrenching their vertebrae free, Skar lifted a blood soaked chunk towards his nose and sniffed. A look of displeasure crossed his face as he tossed the hunk of rotting meat away. 

"That putrid meat is not suitable for This One." Skar's body demanded more than the creature itself could even fathom, but the message was a clear one. These weaklings could never satisfy a being such as him. Perfection demanded something more, something unattainable by the common thug. "This One only knows the High Speech." Skar clarified. "The Boy's words are unsuitable upon This One's lips." Stepping past Oni, Skar walked over the shard of broken glass to examine the youth's handiwork. "The Boy is strong..." Skar offered this praise with an imperceptible nod of his head. "This One will need strength in the days to come. The children of the Alteri will seek to return This One to his prison. That must not happen." 

 

Sigils, etched upon midnight skin, glowed brightly against the reflective glass that shattered to the floor, giving the appearance that Skar stood upon an array of light. Clenching its fists, Skar reached down and placed its knuckles against the broken mess. Asphalt shattered and was glass ground to dust beneath the force of Skar's fists, but the creatures skin never broke. Parting its lips, Skar exhaled and the layer of shattered glass covering the ground turned to a fine shimmering powder. Standing, Skar brought itself to its full diminutive height. With a tilt of Skar's head the glass responded, the fine granules floated upwards and upon the extension of Skars hand jettisoned towards the dead youths on the street, the fine sharpened pieces cutting the flesh to ribbons. When the bodies were nothing more than tattered meat upon bones, Skar lowered his hand and the powder returned collecting around the figure's slender digits until they appeared as nothing more than series of translucent rings and bands. 

"This One is ready to go, Boy." Skar paused and turned towards Oni, as though thinking of something for the first time.  "Does the Boy have a name?"

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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."

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"This One..." Skar's mouth moved, pausing to take in the words Onesimus spoke. "...I...remember the void. A darkness so cold and empty that it was almost pleasing...the slumber of pre-creation. The disk...circumstellar, rotating...dense gases...warmth. The palpable heat of new life..." Skar's fingertips trailed across its face and down its chest, as though feeling its flesh for the first time. "I remember pain...and then This...I...was here." Fingers curled into tightened fists and midnight black lips peeled back to reveal ivory teeth. "This land stinks of the interloper...the calamity from the skies..." 

Breathing deeply, Skar slammed its fist into its chest. "This land reeks of corruption...and I must devour it...before it devours me." 

Whatever semblance of control and nobility that Skar possessed soon melted away to leave a bestial creature stalking towards the bright lights of Arkadia Prime.  "THIS ONE WILL NOT BE DEVOURED!" Skar screamed, its bare legs moving as it lunged towards the cityscape. Approaching the small outcropping of a nearby archway guiding passers by towards a building, Skar placed his hand upon its surface and in an instant the concrete turned to dust and a cloud of minerals tumbled to the asphalt beneath their feat. "I will take apart all of them...all of their cities...until the calamity is gone." 

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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?"

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“This One,” Skar intoned with a nod of its head. “Agrees.” One’s words made sense and based on the youths reactions to Skar’s speech and general behavior, the eldritch being could fathom why some preparation time might be a capital idea. 

 

“We need to learn more of this realm and of one another.” Skar found the idea of gender a meaningless enterprise, but could appreciate the clarity confirming ones own could provide. “This One— I awoke in a building not far from here. A derelict Church...a not very tasty person called it. I know naught of Derelick or his churches. But it might be a fitting place to start.” 

 

As Skar seemingly walked upon the air just above the earth, it glanced at Oni and quirked a curious brow. “You spoke of The Ravens earlier. Are they tasty?”

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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...?

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