Post by Vanessa Bernard on Apr 20, 2011 2:22:48 GMT -5
NAME: // Vanessa Bernard[/color] I'm not even trying to get this sort of character into the RPG proper. It's just further backstory for Abigale and Fritz.
AGE: // 25
GENDER: // Female
PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION: //
The preferable method of dealing with an Agonist is quick and efficient decapitation.
However, if they prove to be the troublesome sort...
Engulfing them in the warm embrace of the Demiurge is only mercy.
Wretched, twisted soul, everything is fine now. You no longer need to hold a grudge against anyone. You don't need to curse anyone anymore. I welcome the you of the time before you took that form to this tranquil slumber...
Before I took this form...
INFORMATION: //"It hurts!!! HURTS!!!"
She was sobbing and babbling random thoughts, awakened and surprised from her slumber by a pain that she had never experienced and could never be compared. For seconds she had shuffled about, her mind still drifting and unable to recognize the danger of the situation; her hands were bound together and clasped against the small of her back, apparently there for quite some time as she started losing feeling. The small fibers were tightly wound around her feeble wrists, digging inward in retaliation to her squirming, silencing her objections with a burning sensation as blood splashed downward.
The wetness was perhaps the worst part, suggesting that she had been struggling and in panic physically while her mind was whisked away in a fantasy of her own designs. What started as a yawn became a growing cry of alarm, one almond colored eye starting to lazily open itself. She would have blamed her current state of awareness for her slogging actions, yet it was a combination of curiosity that motivated her and fear that brought hesitation, amplified hundreds of times as a bright arc of lightning shot toward her now peeping iris. She started to shrink away, her motions interrupted as she was restrained from behind, two strong arms wrapping themselves around her waist and chest as the light continued pouring before her. At first the pain was merely because of her adjustment from darkness to such sudden changes of atmosphere, surprise turning into recoiling suffering as it was jabbed forward, penetrating past her closing eyelid and slashing into her right eye.
Her nerves snapped in response, her entire body jolting backwards in disbelief and agonizing pain, her sobbing now handicapped and at half strength as she quivered and screamed. The metallic edge remained lodged in her ocular socket, covered in the remaining portion of what could no longer be identified as an actual eyeball. She cried at the blinding pain, unable and afraid to physically evade from her assailant, her imagination already betraying her and creating dozens of scenarios should she struggle. No… The pain was currently the least of her worries... And that was a fact that worried and shook her down to the marrow.
Tears fell downward against pale skin, haphazardly turning and darting down her twisted features, reaching her chin and dripping downward toward the floor. Those streams of sapphire and ruby soiled her normally cute appearance, an expression that usually favored an optimistic smile and twinkle in her eyes adopting a wailing despair. Unwillingly, her body started to defend itself against the invasion of metal and hatred, her eyelid closing and slicing in halves as it moved downward, only inviting another scream of absolute torture to infest the chamber. She was hoping... No, praying, to have the pain overwhelm her senses and force her into a state of unconsciousness, not caring that it would reduce her to a state of increased vulnerability. Just... The pain needed to stop.
A hand slowly placed itself against her cheek, ceasing her squealing and lowering it to a barely noticeable sniffle, the thumb starting to wipe away the blood that soaked her face. Startled, her breathing slowed as she dared to open her other eye, hoping it would find a more fortunate sight then its fellow comrade. Her vision hazy, she was forced to rely more on feeling and sound then sight, still on the edge of discomfort from what she assumed was a gesture of mercy and charity.
The fingers finally cleaned away the impurities, hesitating for a second before placing a more formidable grip against her face, stealing away all her hope as she braced herself. The dagger was plunged rather deep into her cavity, several tugs producing no progress except irritating and worsening her injuries, the inflamed tissue producing an unpleasant feeling of soreness and an unsettling sense of disgust. A quick inhale tormented her mind, her prediction coming true as the dagger was withdrawn in a most painful manner, taking several consecutive and rapid pulls as it scraped against a combination of bone and tissue. A rather personal residue shinned on the sharpened and decorated instrument, allowing her captors a few moments of preparation as the remnants of her eye flowed outward with its removal.
Her vision unfortunately steadied itself in concert with that event, her stomach no longer able to tolerate these gruesome acts. Her wrists burned more as she leaned forward and vomited. Random and nonsensical noises followed, her confusion and anxiety starting to get the best of her, ending unfavorably as blood started dripping from her pressed lips.
She whimpered softly, not bothering to gaze back upwards and probably encounter another stabbing to her one remaining and working eye, wanting to somehow ease her nerves or release herself from this pain. That stinging continued to trouble her, no longer prevalent in her arms but transferring to and content in residing in that horrendous wound. She felt somewhat lighter, her waist released from its prison as her blond hair was grabbed, the bundle pulled backward so she could return to this sadistic operation.
A sudden squeak erupted as she felt her eyelid being manipulated, closing over that gaping and hollow sight and following with less intense agony. She could feel something pierce her skin, entering in only to erupt again several centimeters away, these actions repeated several more times and leaving a continual but dull presence of something. Those actions were retracted soon enough, allowing her to see the faint outline of a pin tainted in scarlet, a few feet of string flowing behind in its wake.
(They're... They're sewing my eye shut...!)
"Please... Please don't..." It was rather obvious that the ritual was only halfway finished and she didn't believe she could last through another ordeal of that magnitude. Her cries of contrition didn't remain unanswered however, a hushed sigh following and at the moment at least, she seemed to be spared of being further harassed. She wanted to cry out for her parents, wishing they would arrive and save her from this terrible excision. She was only deluding herself however, falling deeper into depression and once more starting to tear up.
In the distance she could see the dagger moving slightly, once more returning for another inhuman excavation, her remaining eye already starting to feel the pain that she so easily remembered and understood. This time however, she didn't bother resisting or making things more difficult, believing that without possibility of rescue that the most optimal choice was to submit herself and let it pass as quickly as possible. That pointed tip lined up with its target, a certain reluctance impeding those movements and for once she started to become angry at the thought that they were drawing this out merely for their own satisfaction.
“I... I wish mom and dad were here…”
Those arms that contained her shivering a little before wrapping themselves around her shoulders, rocking her gently and in an almost sympathetic sentiment.
"We are honey..."
(..... Dad...? It can't be…)
She refused to believe it, completely horrified though by how familiar that voice was. Her lips curled downward into a frown, her hands clenching themselves and opening her wounds even further as she produced a growling sound. "Liar! How dare you... How dare you!" She lashed outward, her energy returning as she started kicking and screaming, spouting strings of random insults and threats at the thought of people impersonating her parents.
Rocking back and forth her expression turned into a flush of aggression, adrenaline kicking in as she lashed forward, hoping she could somehow reach that dagger and turn it upon her captors. "Take it back now!!" All the pain no longer registered, the dampness of the ropes lessening the friction and burning, the only real danger remaining would be popping the stitches that sealed her left eye closed. Her remaining eye narrowed, her snarling growing into an animalistic tone, only to suddenly be taken away as she gazed toward a woman that looked to be in her thirties, sporting a heavy heart as she gazed between the blade and her daughter, her listless eyes widening as she realized that she could be perfectly seen now.
"Mom...."
That name brought devastation to the figure hunched before her, the dagger dropping from her grasp and clattering to the floor as her mother attempted to cover herself with her hands, shielding herself from that accusing gaze and guilt that followed. Her father started shaking his head, reaching down and picking up the knife, wrapping her mother's fingers around the handle despite her protests. They took several seconds to regroup, silently conversing and occasionally gazing back toward their mutilated daughter.
"Why are you doing this...? Why? Why? Why? Why?" She was on the verge of breaking down completely. Each question was another aching sob.
"Honey..." Her father kneeled before her, placing his hands against her shoulder, trying to avoid direct contact. Her mother joined in avoiding that confrontation, busying herself by cleaning the edges and curves of the glowing blade. "Sometimes... Adults... Well, people do bad things. They do bad things because of what they've experienced or encountered... This is for the best. You won't understand for now, but hopefully later you'll realize why... There's some things that we should never see..." He placed a finger underneath her chin, trying to summon a smile to at least comfort her.
"We love you honey... This is how much we love you...."
...This girl is not Vanessa, but just one of many tributes...
---
Is it so hard to believe that without suffering we wouldn't have compassion? To know that the presence of malice will inevitably bring charity?
That was “their” belief.
They thought that in rejecting that infallible truth, humanity lost the dignity and glory that once flowed through and around us. The refusal to accept negative emotion as the precursor to happiness and pleasure was a reality too harsh and lacking in mercy for us, so we hid. But if we had full understanding, we would willfully tear ourselves asunder. The mind is an enigmatic and amazing construct and naturally managed to create a defense mechanism to ensure continuity, even if it meant utilizing deception and figments of our own imaginations against us. The great prophet of their religion said that the soul is the true essence of humanity and embodies everything that defines and confines us, but it is incredibly fragile and dissipates instantly when exposed to the hostile environment of the outside world. Following the most natural course, we erected barriers and isolated ourselves to retain our sanity, hiding within our own personal prisons like cowards.
We are merely walls of flesh built upon a foundation of bones. We willed into reality what is commonly referred to as the body, a tangible form that would seal away our true grandeur with illusions of mediocrity. To satisfy our curiosity and retain some sense of sanity, we would require a passage of information between the realms of the material world and the spiritual. Although primal and inefficient, we managed to balance safety with personal growth by using our senses as channels to the foreign wilderness outside our protective sanctuaries. With sight, touch, taste, smell, and hearing, we managed to control the flood of information and depression that ran rampant, transforming entropy and madness into logic and accommodation. At least, or so “they” say.
Some of them consider this disgrace punishment for wronging or challenging a higher and unknown authority, resulting in being stripped of our pride and being exposed to the darkness of the mortal realm. Others consider it the extent of our paranoia and untrusting natures, to sacrifice freedom to preserve our own existence, no matter how worthless. The eldest and wisest believe that it serves as a distortion of our perception, to hide for all eternity unspeakable terror that lingers just beyond our senses. All agree on what will determine future and salvation...
To pass the limitations of blood and escape the frailty of the skin, we need to perceive without sensations. See without eyes. Hear without ears. Taste without the mouth. Smell without the nose. Feel without touch. Live without life. To do that they intended to suffer and relinquish... No matter the cost.
In the psychology which is founded on psychoanalysis we have accustomed ourselves to take as our starting-point the unconscious mental processes, the peculiarities of which we have become acquainted through analysis. These we consider to be the older, primary processes, the residues of a phase in development in which they were the only kind of mental processes. Likewise, there also exists the “Todestrieb”, the death drive acknowledged in modern psychology that assumes the existence of a desire to repeat the perfect, complete state of “death” that is experienced before and after the interval referred to as “life”.
In other words, both refer to the zero point, 「 」.
Perhaps the Foundation of this Thaumaturgical Theory was set up by a Mage skilled with attributes of the mind who intended to seek Akasha through it. It would make sense, considering the experiment’s ultimate result’s neurotic and cult-like nature. However, whatever the case, this Thaumaturgical Theory did not possess any generic spells or Magecraft; no member of the cult was even fairly acquainted with Thaumaturgy‘s existence, though they acknowledged those with latent Psychic power. What they had involved themselves with was merely a Paradigm for conducting Thaumaturgical change that possessed a single engrained Ritual, though the Mage who created it died long ago, never having attained his goal, though certain members of his Clan, particularly a man by the name of Friedrich Wilhelm, found the experiment he was conducting interesting and thus not only continued it, but jumpstarted it. Due to the lack of spells, a scrutinizing Magus would have considered the System an empty shell that could only technically be called complete.
They referred to it as “the Tradition.” Though originally established as a Foundation for Magecraft, in the end it resembled nothing more than a religion, a collection of ideas to govern its followers and guide the faithful. Superficially, it held beliefs with resemblance to Gnosticism. All the members for general purposes were considered equals with few exceptions and once an individual had joined, they were under a contractual agreement to remain loyal and willing, no matter the cause. Highly organized despite decent numbers across the globe, their ideals had remained practically invisible. Mentioning or revealing anything that pertained to the core set of principals and activities resulted in expulsion and death and was considered the worst crime a member could commit. The main beliefs that composed their ideology are as follows:
- Abandoning what you seek will ultimately reward you.
- The soul is innocent; the flesh is guilty.
- Suffering brings happiness; happiness brings suffering.
- Salvation is through embracing pain and sacrifice.
- Damnation is given to those without the bravery and conviction to follow their duties.
- A sacrifice must be offered every century on a regular basis. Times of struggle and chaos require more depending on the severity of the crisis.
Several reasons explain why such a disturbing group remained in existence without being exposed and identified, even by opposed Magi who might have noticed that the beliefs of its members were sustaining a Thaumaturgical Theory. All the rules and truths were considered the ultimate authority and to members would always have more value and control over their actions than laws of the government or norms of society. Any audiences or gatherings were spontaneous in nature and concealed in appearance, but in general were frowned upon. Meetings were usually only formed in reaction to a large predicament or the completion and success of all ceremonies on a sacrifice.
The idea and symbolism of martyrs and living buddhas are a central theme in most religions and ideologies; the Tradition was no exception and exaggerated the importance of these individuals. The entire religion simply couldn’t function or survive without its inception. Living up to the concept’s legendary sadism and lack of boundaries, martyrs were forced to endure countless emotional and physical hardships, sometimes long enough to consume an entire individual's lifetime. Typically, those chosen as martyrs possessed something beyond the normal and usual; sometimes they could predict future events through fortune, others managed to perform miracles, and others that were simply considered the zenith of virtue. Otherwise, those that were branded criminals and either enemies and traitors of the faith were usually contained and forced through the ceremonies.
Regardless of what destiny decided, martyrs were usually isolated from society for years to decades, removed from the infectious sin and temptations that mortality mockingly and proudly displays. This portion of the practice extinguishes the mentality and emotional capacity of the individual, denying them of freedom and other luxuries to encourage thoughts of emptiness and suicide. Once they had abandoned hope and humbled themselves with their 'enlightened emptiness', five different ceremonies were administered, both testing the limitations of survival for the victim and opening the passage between ignorance and truth. The success of martyrs was dependent upon whether they finished the entire ordeal and managed to ascend both spiritually and mentally. Failed martyrs were considered disgraceful and were discarded both physically and mentally, usually followed with extermination of immediate family to prevent further incidents.
Martyrs and those that watched the ceremonies equated progress and purpose with the amount of suffering and anguish that bombards the soul and rids one of imperfection. Once started it couldn’t be delayed or interrupted, even if continuing would compromise the welfare and life of the martyr. The reasoning for inflicting the maximum amount of pain on the nearly departed was the belief that destroying one's own regrets that tether themselves to the mortal coil and having only the darkness and void as company strengthens the soul enough to complete its journey for salvation or remedy the troubles that plague the world. Completion of all five rituals was to hypothetically plunge the individual into an existence without darkness and without silence, knowing everything and nothing as if having the perception of a God. Or perhaps the goal was even to become a God…
After losing the will to continue from years of sheltered and lonely confinement, martyrs had only their earthly perception to overcome to complete the entire ceremony. To rid themselves of sensation, five different rituals were established, each pertaining to a specific sense and using a rather barbaric method to remove them. The rituals had no order or importance in execution, the only stipulation having been that they must be conducted within a span of five years. Originally, rituals had to be administered by older members of the Tradition to be considered valid and meaningful and it was especially forbidden for family members to carry it out themselves; even being in the vicinity through the duration of all five was considered heresy... that is, until Fritz came along and arranged to have the rituals performed much more often. Below are the five rituals, formatted in the following way: Sense: Ritual Name: Purpose: Details
Sight: Signum Of Os - Purification -: Destruction of the eyes. Method was usually gouging the eyes with a dagger or other sharp instrument and sewing the eyelids shut.
Smell: Signum Of Nidor - Rebirth -: Destruction of the nose. Method was usually applying blunt force repeatedly until the entire structure has collapsed into itself.
Sound: Signum Of Sanus - Redemption -: Destruction of the ears. Method was usually drilling into the ear canals to collapse the middle portion of the ear.
Taste: Signum Of Sapor - Atonement -: Destruction of the mouth. Method was usually forcibly tearing out the tongue followed by the consumption of chemicals, after which point the mouth was sewn shut.
Touch: Signum Of Tactus - Realization-: Destruction of the skin. Method was usually covering the skin in a flammable liquid and burning, followed by bandaging the entire body.
Martyrs were also classified based on the stage they either currently occupied or perished at.
Failure: Lost
First Ritual: Chosen
Second Ritual: Blessed
Third Ritual: Enlightened
Fourth Ritual: Reborn
Fifth Ritual: Savior
However, no martyr had endured all five rituals and survived long enough to somehow communicate the experience, either dying from a combination of shock and physical damage or committing suicide in one way or another. Thus, the level of Savior was never achieved. That is, until the very end.
---
"It wasn't... It wasn't suppose to be this way..."
The congregation had finally gathered together, at last reanimating the community after a dedicated oath of silence, leaving a season of patience and suffering to usher in a revival of faith and renewal of prosperity. Leaving their properties in droves they proudly walked forward, wearing nothing but the finest of clothing in celebration of the eventual arrival of their salvation. Adorned in a uniform brilliant white, they appeared to be cloudy drifts of snow resting against the horizon, traveling only upon the command of the winds and destiny itself.
Rather, the day hadn't fully emerged yet, the darkness starting to diminish as autumn colors splashed in the distance, parting small clusters of clouds as it prepared to flood into the empty canvass of the skies. Chatter and gossip had its whimsical freedom, flowing throughout the air and riding the passing currents as if to deliver their sentiments to places beyond their capacity and imagination. Laughter was hearty and abundant, occasionally interrupting the otherwise normal and civilized exchanges of greetings and thoughts. Filing forward they appeared to be entering a relatively large church, the very building projecting an intimidating and awe inspiring sensation that was indescribable.
Children ceased socializing and assumed an awkward silence, several of the older patrons bursting randomly into tears as if possessed by something that they couldn't fathom. They worshipped and welcomed the invisible, that which cannot be discerned, eager to be embraced in its jubilation and infinite mercy. The chamber doors were finally unlocked, the hulking portal opened only through the combined effort of several large men, the day once more emerging and flowing from the horizon...
....A sanguine wave that brought a horrid stench and threatened the sanity of its intruders gushed forth from the crumbling sanctuary without conclusion. Currents of blood followed its brethren, the defiled liquid splashing against the stained golden borders of the doorway before continuing outward, infecting the otherwise beautiful earth with its sullen invasion. Its greeting wasn't finished however, the ears not spared of this mortifying assault and instead provoked with a disturbing silence, quiet enough to identify the increase of one's own heartbeat as creativity preyed upon the insecurities and weaknesses of the cognitive mind. Droplets of scarlet rained downward from the ceiling, caressing the structure that protected the ideals of man before returning to the slowly receding pool of crimson.
A quick inspection provided an interpretation of the event but failed to put the madness into definition, as if a protective mechanism had triggered to prevent stumbling blindly into danger or plummet into endless insanity. The staggering amount of entrails and remains started a gruesome version of erosion, seeping into the tiniest seams and corrupting the holy paradise with the remnants of the slain. The darkness that encompassed the chamber was perhaps the greatest benefit, masking the carnage and gore with a facade of ebony that provided a safeguard, yet also continued to urge the mind to understand and witness everything in its morbid glory. Upon closer observation it appeared that the darkness had contrast somehow…
...the black candles that emitted a flame of similar tint casting both light and shadow without difference. The amount was impossible to determine save the participants in the preparation for the ritual, each wick and holder decorated in an extravagant and unique touch that somehow managed to blend in harmony. Together they were arranged in a formation of two circles, the smaller one containing an archaic symbol in its epicenter and housing a single candle on a towering stand, the crimson wax looming over its otherwise generic companions. The crowds scrambled in and scurried toward the available seats, creating a frenzy of enlightenment and anticipation for the coming of their savior.
Priests wandered amongst the rows of pews, requesting charity and offerings to accompany the traditional ritual and demonstrate both humility and appreciation. Without hesitation practically all complied, astonishing even the clergy as heaps of trinkets and shimmering gold were placed near the location for the ceremony. With the material contributions satisfied all that remained was the summoning, the ritual requiring complete faith from its followers without opposition or doubt. Lowering themselves to their knees they relinquished all claims of pride and avarice, purifying their own souls by abandoning everything that tethered them to sin and prevented them from ascension. A chant was started and with each passing verse it increased in volume and devotion, the black flames convulsing and shriveling to practically nothing, exploding seconds later...
...and creating the most disgusting of sights. Tendrils of darkness extended from the epicenter, randomly choosing a direction and rushing forth upon instruction. Observation provided little answer and only managed to generate more questions, the strands that infiltrated and infested everything within the walls appearing to be manifestations of actual darkness... Or perhaps void itself. Nothingness was impossible to contemplate and envision, yet despite existence still continuing the very spectacle within the confines of the church couldn't be properly explained without using that feeling.
Outside a cold gale ripped across the landscape, its bellowing warning those of its approach as it increased in volume. That chilling feeling and howling noise passed through, enveloping everything in its path but oddly not entering the sanctuary. Those horrible whirlwinds became a cautious breeze, foolishly wandering through several holes in the glass pane windows and dying almost instantaneously. They left a lasting impression however, disturbing the delicate network of darkness strewn across the rafters and walls and producing a metallic ringing. Hanging in both a majestic and creepy display, the shadowy tendrils awakened from that disturbance, producing a wailing as if it were a chorus of banshees, all the while dripping and bleeding down a combined sanguine ichors. It was enough to force anyone to waver in disbelief...
...as the crowd shrank away in response to the growing intensity of the light, releasing shrieks of delight and disbelief in concert. Pure emotion overwhelmed the audience present, inspiring passion and devotion that seemed beyond reasonable, sparking an intoxicating euphoria that bewildered the mind and brought temperament to the blood. Rows rejoiced in what could only be considered a miracle, leaping from their pews as they cheered and encouraged the coming of their savior. The black light continued spreading outward, embracing the congregation and only escalating those shouts of happiness. Tears became abundant, raining downward from the peoples’ cheeks as they awaited the completion of the ritual.
A single individual in the front had become too enthusiastic and couldn't remain humble, running forward and toward the shadows that radiated outward. His voyage only managed to increase the frenzy and the closer he was, the closer he felt he would discover something of legendary proportions. He ceased in his advance, not willing to move any nearer in fear of becoming blinded by the intense brightness and managed to notice something taking shape within its shell of illumination. Appearing almost human, it reached out with an appendage, the outline becoming more defined as it moved away from the light. It was a caress from the divine, the cosmic reaching out and bringing with revelations as it lurched outward...
...and had accelerated in a forceful arc. The tentacle penetrated the man's face, slamming violently against his forehead and causing a rush of blood to splash outward. Without ceasing it continued lifting him upward, all the while drilling deeper into his cranium, nearing the ceiling and erupting through his neck before anchoring against the rafters. He was merely an example of the fate that threatened to end all of them, the occupants hanging throughout the room and swaying away from the black tentacles.
A woman still in prayer and unaware of the impending doom was skewered through the chest, the attack forceful enough to create a gaping hole in her chest cavity as she dangled helplessly, her eyes still closed and hands clasped together. Another managed to react and attempted escape, crawling on all fours as she tried to leap across the pew toward the exit, impaled through her spinal cord with the tendrils of darkness scraping against her ocular socket. Another man attempted to protect his family, resisting despite his actions being futile as he shielded his wife and children. For his bravery he was skewered in multiple areas, his family soon following and hanging from the strands of ichors, the wife suspended through her neck and still holding her children against her body.
Mutilated and mangled, nothing remained of the congregation but hundreds of corpses, killed and then proudly displayed in all their grisly glory.
"It wasn’t… It wasn't supposed to be this way..."
--
~Prayer~
“Mommy… It hurts…”
Her innocent and frightened voice echoed throughout the chapel, carrying with an unknown amount of sorrow that would even cause angels to weep openly. Seconds passed as she remained in her mother’s embrace, a huddled assortment of miseries and imperfections that was safe guarded from the world with a maternal grace. She trembled as seconds elapsed into minutes, time continuing onward and becoming more painful with each coming second, wishing desperately for a response to her inquiry.
Blood flowed openly from a wound winding against her stomach, the assault not fatal enough to trigger instant death but able to ensure a casualty if left untended. Tears started filling her eyes as she tapped against her mother’s shoulder, noticing that the caress was no longer a warm gesture of protection and genuine adoration, replaced with a cold and uncompassionate sentiment of ineptitude and abandonment. This couldn’t be right… This couldn’t be virtuous… Snuggling tighter against the cadaver, she attempted to cry herself to sleep and return to her beloved family, regardless of the costs.
“Does God’s love… Does it always hurt…?”
The pain unfortunately wasn’t overwhelming enough to lead her into unconsciousness and, coupled with the growing scent of putrid flesh and unsightly blights of slaughter, coaxed her out of her sheltered sanctuary. Her strawberry blonde locks were caked with a sanguine coating, hiding eyes swollen with melancholy and a quivering lip that was given no reprieve. The fine clothing that was exclusively worn to worship was shredded and disfigured into something rotten and shameful, an eyesore and insult that was only trumped with the massacre that surrounded her. Limping forward, she tried to avert her vision and obscure the carnage, but it was an effort made in vain as she was entrenched in desecration and tragedy.
Nearing the door she leaned against its impressive frame, panting as her injuries continued to amplify themselves, taking one last look at her fellow neighbors and friends. Whether out of curiosity or a childish grudge she gazed toward the remnants of the summoned, alien entity, watching in disgust as the sphere of dark tentacles continued slowly crawling amongst itself, supporting itself and hanging from the rich architecture as it swung merrily with the passing gales. Despite the treachery it inflicted and the irreversible pain it caused, she couldn’t harbor feelings of hatred against a surely cosmic entity and with a heavy sigh and empty heart; she acknowledged the miracle that could have occurred.
“I still believe… Believe that this is a house of Go-”
Her sentence was interrupted rather violently, her fragile form suddenly collapsing as she felt her legs give out, her forehead banging against the framed portal and drawing out a trickle of scarlet. Moaning in agony she watched helplessly as the shimmering light diminished, the brilliant flames aging into dying embers before being reduced completely to an extinguished wisp of the departed. She was being dragged backwards into the darkness slowly, her stomach completely surrounded by black appendages, the tentacles compressing hard enough to be a halo of daggers. Being dragged in the filth, she was initially unaware of the present dangers, merely trying to survive and avoid drowning in the entrails and ruins of her brethren. Blood flooded her complexion and smeared itself against her crying expression, the sudden burst causing an unwanted reaction as the tentacles tightened themselves against her.
She started struggling valiantly, attempting to reclaim freedom and escape the clutches of her oppressor, flailing madly in an attempt to break free. Slithering through the grime and squalid leftovers were a pair of tentacles, flanking her on both sides and only visible through the trails of parting waves. They hesitated in their orders, awaiting the decision of their captive, which was nothing short of a panicked tantrum. Without delay one slashed downward, slicing against the junction where her shoulder and arm connected, carrying enough force to fracture bone and tissue but not make a clean and ideal amputation.
She could only scream…
The tentacles continued digging deeper into her being, relying solely upon brute force and friction to saw through the remaining structure intact, slicing through the rest of the bone before severing the remaining vessels and arteries of her limb. The other chain followed in this gruesome ritual of restraint, falling downward as if an exiled angel before cleaving off her right leg. Her cries of protest only increased from this treatment, her wails becoming incoherent and frantic; a product only the truly insane and desperate could replicate.
“God’s love!!! God’s love!!! God will save u-”
Her last statement was silenced quickly and with precision, her thoughts and pleading wishes being drowned as blood gushed upwards, splashing against her throat before leaking through several facial orifices. The tendrils that had dismembered her previously continued their pernicious deed without an instance of mercy or reluctance, arcing upwards before slamming down violently into her back. Drilling deeply into her frail form they pierced both lungs, causing her entire being to be submerged in crimson and a taste that could only be described as vile and horrible without comparison. They continued their graceful dance, using the momentum to rise once more, for a moment almost mocking the wings of seraphs as they swayed and erupted from her shoulders. A final movement and she was completely lifeless, the tentacles tearing through her hips and crushing her spinal cord from both sides, flanking and compacting the bone to release a euphoria of fluids and shrapnel.
Content with the atrocity, the tendrils pulled the corpse without opposition or resistance, returning the disturbing prize to the congregation of black links. As she neared her final destination the sphere started rising, using the supports of the beams and upper ceiling to suspend itself higher above all the other occupants and creations that graced this world. She too ascended with its morbid splendor, battered and deformed beyond recognition, she was a blasphemous cherub to a kingdom that worshiped pain and nothingness.
An opening, barely more then a slit that cleaved the cruel object vertically, formed as she approached its presence. It was a mouth, a jubilant mouth, just like that of a human, but with long rows of knives instead of teeth. She was offered but several moments of time before she was devoured, engulfed by the carnivorous, amorphous, alien thing. At first it appeared appeased of the sacrifice and content to remain stationary, yet it gradually started to pulsate and shamble. Convulsing and shaking enough to threaten the foundation and last integrity of the church it ripped asunder, it created a vertical space beneath its belly before expelling a liquid both mysterious and foul. It contained traces of human remains but seemed to evoke a greater sense of humanity, as if the essences of dreams and thoughts were consumed and recklessly disposed of.
The alien body of the great black sphere quivered as the very atmosphere around it lurched in an attempt to crush it. Gaia had noticed the distortion. A shimmer like a mirage appeared around the black entity, a gravitational distortion brought into existence by the planet itself, meant to crush anything outside its natural order. But it was too late. Among the many sacrifices that it had devoured that grey morning had been Magi of a count no less than nineteen. The being had far more than enough Prana to throw off Gaia’s ability to negate it. With a blast of wind that expanded throughout the church, the mirage dispersed. Down its front center, the black being began to split in two. Various symmetrical cuts sliced into either side as the being opened itself up like a pair of wings. Out of its crevices poured out a waterfall of stale blood.
Obscured by the red waterfall appeared to be the outline of a figure, attached to the center of the shadowy, spreading wings in a fashion both enigmatic and profane. The figure’s arms held horizontally, the imagery a somewhat disturbing reinterpretation of more religious theology. With the scarlet rain practically finished, a woman of the palest complexion was left in its wake, oblivious to the massacre that surrounded and encompassed her. Countless eyes opened throughout the black body that had been morphed into “wings”, the irises glazed with crimson fire, the shape like a cat's, watchful and intent, and the black slits of each pupil opened into a pit, a window into nothing. From its top to its bottom, the being was studded with these glaring red eyes, the sight of which would make any beholder fall prostrate in awe. Within those eyes were billions of lifetimes, containing innumerable stories and perhaps infinite emotions, all being swept together into a naked singularity of absolute nothingness.
Nothingness…
No doubt, that being was a True Demon.
Touching the ground, the blood flooding the room started swarming toward the girl, traveling upwards as it clung against her flesh in great amounts. Enveloping everything but her head, the blood, so deep and thick as to be black, started to transform, conjuring up the form of clothing as blood became sleeves and sinew a collar. In a surprisingly organized method the shadowy, black wings mimicked the precedent, compacting and becoming denser as they joined with their one and only “master” before disappearing entirely into her figure. Her eyes opened both for the first time and perhaps the millionth time, both iris’ lacking distinct coloration and blending in, discernable only by trace tints of red.
“What now?” she wondered to herself. Her soft, breathy voice was devoid of emotion or warmth. Inside her head, a voice clearly not her own answered back. Her long hair flowed in neat streams of black behind her. She had smooth, pale skin that was somewhat cold and vaguely reminiscent of porcelain in appearance. This, combined with the rest of her appearance, made her appear almost frighteningly like a doll. A walking corpse. Those eyes, like she was already dead, dead eyes, dead inside, lifeless.
She began to whistle “In the Hall of the Mountain King” and walked out of the Church. That was all.
SPECIAL ABILITIES: //
FACE CLAIM: // Kotonoha AND Ozoi from School Days and the Nijiura Maid troupe respectively.
MISC. INFORMATION: //
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