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 Posted: Thu Mar 28, 2024 12:40 am
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How would one best describe the stain upon creation, one that is loosely hidden behind the veils of the physical existence we call reality? A place with a lone obsidian bastion of silence that stands at the ocean realm's still and lifeless core like a monument to true and climactic disaster. Ogotunam is…Not a name known by many… it is a curse of a word...believed to be of the divine tongue of celestial beings from a time long gone. The angelic offspring of the former sons of a being as equally divine as The Watcher. Vaguely, it translates to the human word meaning “Hollow” but it is a loose conversion lacking and losing a much more dire meaning in its former language. In its purest form it is meant to emphasize something with a more ominous gravity: ”Emptiness” and “Void”.
Ogotunam...with all of its twisted angelic architecture, is a hypocrisy in every brick of its terrifying structure. It is a sacrilegious satire of all that is holy… with countless towers and turrets and enormous winged statues of celestials outstretched to the lifeless obsidian skies as if praying not for the serenity of life....but its end.
Ogotunam's overwhelmingly massive spire at the black city’s center is not actually reachable by normal means... The lifeless city is actually a distortion of the Soul's oceanic core. Visible from a distance..but seemingly never approachable no matter how far one might travel the oceanic wastes of the miasmic purgatory. It is often seen as a sign of one touched by the mark of the unholy tyrant. Unlike the chaotic and vile outskirts of the Ocean’s madness. Only those allowed are truly given access, blessed or cursed by the ruler of this dark kingdom so that they may tread it's accursed labyrinth.
This entire realm is abandoned in every sense of the word. All you will find in these damned halls are echoes of an evil that wished to push all life over the precipice of oblivion. That does not mean, however, that it is unoccupied. Shades of Demons and Angels remaining lifeless within the center bastion’s hallowed and silent halls are still scattered within the stronghold, frozen in a temporal eternity of stillness and in death until they are called upon by one who succeeds the throne and carries the will of ultimate disaster. Until then, their presence provides an uncanny sensation to the stale silence that fills the gothic halls…but this silence that permeates within the interior isn't just devoid of all sound.... there is a madness which exists that invades the mind and brings forth doubt in all living beings who transgress the unholy capital. Even those who are outside the center monument and within the abandoned cityscape are not spared from the haunting sensations that prey on one’s native feelings and thoughts to elicit horror and hopelessness. And to those even further beyond, in the far reaches of Ogotunam beyond the city and far from the center spire, is a phantasmal feeling that draws them towards the focal point of the realm: that colossal black tower-the Ziggurat of demise and destruction.
The center tower leaks a beam of spiritual necrotic light which can be seen in every corner of the unholy twisted hell. The Resting place of the Animus… And the black throne of the tyrant who used "The xenocide engine" to try and unravel reality itself. Those expecting armies of vile monsters and undead horrors to block their ascent to such a place are met with something far more unnerving: Nothing… No life… No resistance. It is a message all on its own. A dread so overwhelming it eats away at your core of belief. Emptiness that in all its blasphemous glory reflects the true endgame of the sadistic necrolord beyond any doubt... the “Oblivion” Galvesar had always sought for all of the Omniarch's Creations.
This is where Shingen would find himself…in a dungeon cell somewhere deep at the base of the unholy monument that was erected at the center of this realm. Amidst his unconscious slumber, visions of his past would reprimand his current ambitions…spitting in the face of the justice he chased…and if he dig deeper into the lucid dream he would find that the dreamscape intended to twist his purpose on itself…expose him as a hypocrite…and then…after all that…his dream would gift him a final image of a tall white haired man reaching out to him amidst the nightmare decorated in twisted armor that looked like a wicked mockery of angelic inspiration.
“Shingen!…Shingen wake up!”
The man would eventually be brought back to reality in a black cell…wearing a BoM anti magic bracelet that had been tinkered with and magnified by the missing technologist. On the other side of the cage was Milo, the small deerling that stood nervously…and yet…also with an odd determination. The little technomancer knew the effects of this place…and wished to avoid anyone succumbing to it. Beside him was a bowl of silver liquid…a unique bowl. It was a ritual artifact that allowed those who drank the liquid memories to view the past through another’s perspective.
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Posted: Tue Apr 02, 2024 6:29 pm
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Shingen MaedaShingen had nearly managed to get himself up to one knee when he spotted the door. Just through to the other side of the threshold, he could see a glimpse of Aella and Mephitis. Then, just as he spotted the short and unmistakably horned humanoid, previously aligned with the BoM, a slight glint of light grabbed his attention. A stone tablet closed in on his head and while he normally would have simply caught it encased in mana, that strength had left him. It struck him right between the eyes and on his forehead. Suddenly, all was black.
Post Theme
A mist greeted him, as he felt his body sink, further and further, falling. An ominous glow barely lit his path downward, emanating from the mist as it gave way to him. There were flashes of light around him, as if caught up in a storm cloud. As the flashes came closer, he was greeted with visions of his past. Memories came to the forefront and were relived as if he was in that moment in time. It was stranger still as he could simultaneously see the memory through the eyes of his falling body as a screen in the mist and yet feel every emotion, every sensation of that point in time.
One came of his youthful days on a strike team, bursting through doors and firing on men on the other side, some of who were simply caught up spending time with their families, having dinner or watching television. There was collateral damage, some of the family members being caught up in the attack. Shingen could feel the adrenaline, his echoing doubts of survival and his overwhelming desire to live through it all, no matter who stood in his way. Then, in a twisted turn, he could see himself but only this time, through the eyes of a child who watched his father being dispatched by the dark gunman. The sickening dread, fear and confusion only giving way to bone rattling sorrow.
A second flash recalled a room full of men in a poker room. All were quietly and perfectly still as they made their plays until there was an explosion and blue boxes of mana began to grip the players, caving in on them and crushing them. One caught up looked on in horror, watching Shingen walk over to him and raise his hand. He could feel his body begin to disassemble, a relatively quick process as he was made into a pill sized sphere but infinitely excruciating through the perspective of the victim. Shingen closed his eyes at the horrors that were on display but the memories came just the same.
Two faces faded in from the black. Friends sharing beers at a bar near closing time. There was laughter between them until Shingen appeared at the door. Letting himself in, he locked the door behind him, meeting their fading smiles with a murderous gaze. One of them stood, knowingly calling him by name and pleaded with him over not having a choice, claiming he did what he did because of his family being held hostage. The second man bolted for the back door and tripped, his feet having been incased in blue mana boxes. The one pleading became increasingly panicked until he froze in shock, holding his stomach. Shingen walked over to him and looked into his eyes who began to cry crimson before he exploded in a flash of red and blue. The second man cowered in fear on the floor as the bloodied Shingen approached, meeting the same fate as the first man.
Shaking his head, Shingen could feel the bile in his stomach turn and look for an escape but was met with a restraining calm that kept his focus ahead. Deep, red eyes then came into view, a dangerous beauty, like a viper. There was a sweet scent as she came closer to him, filling him with pleasure and an undying devotion. A kiss of poison was laid on his lips, a kiss he gave in betrayal of himself and those with him. At first, an ecstatic thrill at the motion but after the high had died and not before having divulged sensitive and confidential information was he met with a filthy guilt. A guilt branded on him by experiencing the satisfaction in the woman’s total domination of Shingen, her helplessly traitorous and pleasurably guilty thrall.
There was an inner quivering which would have normally been followed by traumatic tears but in such a place did not grant any relief, even that found in the procession of grief. The memories began to flood in now, as if sensing his attempt to escape from them all. A youthful blonde tapped him on the shoulder in a school hallway as he put away his books and retrieved new ones. Her smile: bashful yet expectant. She asked him to meet her where they always met after school. Yet, as that moment approached, she was leaving a store in town after running an errand and caught a motion in a nearby alleyway. A man was being handled and threatened. Pressed into the wall, he shook his head at the questions that flew at him from the other man before he was beaten brutally. A feeling of disbelief and horror filled her, thus him, upon catching a view of a furious Shingen.
The mists continued to pass on by him, his floating by a slow fall that seemed to lead deeper and deeper into darkness, a physical and literal despair marked by the taste of hypocrisy and betrayal. As his body convulsed in pain, a scene of a quaint log cabin surrounded by fields of barley came into view. A small abode of a singular room and yet accentuated by comforts made for two. A single, hazy window let a ray of light on a single desk that held a letter. It’s words of painful realization and total repulsion burned into Shingen, forever plunging the home into isolation.
As the final vestiges of light disappeared, Shingen longed to disappear along with it. Embracing what he thought to be the conclusion of his journey and burial: death. And yet, as everything in sight had faded, a single last vision of a tall white haired man reaching, came to him. Shingen was then returned to consciousness but every fiber of his being still thrummed with the pain of his experience, echoing. He could feel hot tears streaming down his face as he shuddered and quivered quietly and yet his face was entirely dry. He could hear his name being called out but assuming it was another face come to haunt him, he remained shut up with his back to the deer, attempting to shut everything out.
Location: Ogotunam Spire Outfit: Tattered Suit |
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Posted: Sat Apr 06, 2024 11:18 pm
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 “Shingen…Shingen Maeda you need to get up,” Milo called out, his jaw taut with tension as he quickly came to the conclusion that the Maeda exorcist had already been plagued by the ominous ‘calling’ that this spire had. “Shingen, look at me! I would hope that you joined the Bureau for a greater purpose than to curl up and die here in a cell. I had joined because I thought I could contribute to a safer world…I am not strong like you, I can’t fight or or or,” he stuttered trying to find motivational words, “ or think on my toes. My anxiety and indecision would get me killed…but I knew I could do something…but we need to talk…talk about the same thing Mr.Zen talked to me about…Shingen I believe the BoM is corrupt. Shingen!” Milo called out again with urgency.
The little deerling wasn’t good with words…he wasn’t even sure if what he was saying had any kind of impact at all. The only thing he did have, however, was his affiliation with the Bureau…something he could relate to the sorcerer with and perhaps get some information or…if everything somehow went in his favor…convince this man that there is indeed a possibility that they have been working for the wrong people. It was Immensely unlikely for him to be entirely convinced that the group he had however many years with is run by some evil mastermind who makes gods and goddesses look like mere mortals…but this moment could at least set the foundation for something that could perhaps turn Shingen into an ally.
Milo’s features pinched with uncertainty. Waiting for Shingen to say…to do…anything. He probably spent too much time unconscious in this realm, but there wasn’t anywhere else to hold them with everything happening so unpredictably. |
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Posted: Wed Apr 10, 2024 4:11 pm
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Shingen Maeda
As the deerling spoke, Shingen didn’t move. He kept his eyes tightly shut until he could feel himself fade from his nightmare and into the room he was now lying in. When the creature was done speaking, Shingen opened his eyes. He figured it was the deer he had seen in the room just moments before blacking out. Had he been knocked out by the devil or maybe Zenith? Either way, he had been captured and placed in a cell. He couldn’t say the same wouldn’t have happened to Zen. Shingen brought his wrist up to his eyes, feeling something holding him fast. A BoM magical restraint had been clasped onto him so Shingen knew what would happen if he would try and exert his mana.
Sitting up, he crossed his legs in a meditative stance but still gave the deer his back. He stopped for a second, wincing. His whole body hurt and felt like it was made of lead. He still had his watch on but it read “No Signal” on it’s face. “I know. Shingen replied in a resentful tone. He could loosely recall the report of a technical operator going AWOL but nothing had followed and Shingen had assumed they had found the man and arrested him. This deerling, although young and unorthodox, seemed to know enough about the inner BoM to be the same person in question. What he said was likely more true than he thought, Shingen being an example of this inside corruption. Even though it was something he was trying to reverse, his bonds were not so easily undone.
“Better a corporation of men than the devil.” He said dryly. A weak retort marked by the bitterness of his defeat and his current situation. Although he was convinced his journey into darkness was a nightmare and nothing more, it had brought everything to the forefront, far from the compartments he had ever so neatly stowed it all. The last few things he had seen was the King of Hell himself take interest in their fight, or rather, whatever creature had possessed Zen. After a pause to look about the floor and wall in front of him, Shingen spoke again. “Where’s Zenith?” He asked, remembering the sound of his ribs cracking and the sorry state he was last in.
Location: Ogotunam Spire
Outfit: Tattered Suit
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Posted: Thu Apr 11, 2024 2:53 pm
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He knew?...He knew? What did that even mean?! There was no possibility someone like him could know about just how deep the poison ran inside the Bureau and act so… apathetic. Milo’s inhuman pupils dilated and the hairs across his caramel coat began to flare as his heart rate spiked. Was this anger? Fear? Milo was already shaken enough by two words that he wasn’t even sure if he could correctly identify the raw emotion that attempted to will action into his very veins. The thought scared him a little; Zenith shouldn’t have trusted him with this task-he was not cut out for it. The Intel Department had a social stigma attached to it. It harbored a lifestyle that, at the time, felt ideal. He hardly had to talk to anyone…had zero conflict. All he had to do was sit in front of a slew of computers, document, and report. To think he was ready for something like this at all was…laughable now. Milo swallowed, the air solid like a rock as it barely managed not to get caught in his throat.
“Better a corporation of men than the devil.”
Milo’s jaw dropped a little as his black beady eyes sank into the exorcist's back. D-d-did he really mean that? Had he misjudged the man entirely!? The small deerling couldn’t help as a chill of unease crept into the chinks of his already fragile confidence. The small boy’s paper thin composure wilted under the possible implications of the man before him.
The deer bit down hard, his jaw muscles engorged with tension as he tried to fight this feeling of flight…tried to fight the feral need to escape when something bothered him too much. He couldn’t leave. Not yet…he had to prove to not only Zenith…but to himself that he was more than just a computer nerd. He could amount to more, contribute more!
“Where’s Zenith?”
Determination ignited in the core of the small deerling, not enough to steel himself and burn out the anxiety that gnawed at every fiber of his being, but enough to keep him grounded firmly. “He is occupied right now,” Milo barely coughed up, shattering his inaction with vague words to ensure Zenith’s business was kept secret-for now at least. “It’s just you and me right now…but…but I don’t believe you would be ok if you knew! Lisabett Eizcroft, the Director…she…she is not who she says she is, and she moves us like pawns for h-...her machinations while she preaches that it’s for the sake of all arcane society. It’s not…Shingen,” Milo paused, his eyes looking down at the ritual bowl, “She…it…it wants Zenith, Mephitis, and Aella…and it doesn’t care how to get them…I am going to slide this inside…please…at least try to understand…”
There was a small gap in the bars at the base of the cell, large enough to slide trays under…and Milo scooched the ritual bowl through, filled with a liquid with the consistency and color of liquid mercury. The ornate bowl had elven notes around the edges…but in all actuality this magic wasn’t originally elven at all. In fact, this ritual was granted to them by angels who wanted to pass truths of the past that they could not witness in hopes to guide them against one of the evils of their past.
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Posted: Sat Apr 13, 2024 7:07 am
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Posted: Fri Apr 19, 2024 2:28 am
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As the shiny silver liquid washed down his throat with an abhorrent metallic taste, Shingen would feel his surroundings melt away like fresh paint. Even the ground beneath him fell further from him despite feeling some form of invisible grounding beneath him-it was disorienting and bizarre. And soon, a gust of frigid air smashed into him, the chill nipping at his skin as his abstract surroundings dissolved away to reveal a scene in the middle of some mysterious tundra.
The sky was blackened by a veil of encroaching eldritch horrors coming in like an onset of a storm. Similarly, the ground was being flattened by a quaking stampede of feral abominations stitched together into gruesome abstractions that mocked the mortal form. Each force pushed on the territory of an iconic castle far in the distance: the dragon capital of the late Tiamat. These misshapen creatures were birthed from a massive and ominous green portal as if it were the womb of true feral madness. This nightmarish army, however, was not even the worst of the approaching siege Shingen saw in the vision-far from it. The hordes that escaped from whatever twisted hive that was behind the ethereal gateway parted, like a stream of water does an unmoving stone, around a singular titan so large that the top of it pierced the cloud line of the boreal valley it traversed. It had a trunk of rigid flesh and long human-like arms that made its colossal form even more uncanny. Beneath its waistline blossomed an unreal amount of massive tentacles writhing and making the earth tremble as it slowly used them to lumber forward…and facing this overwhelming force was a single sentinel.
As a spectator to this nightmare, Shingen was able to navigate and float freely around the battle scene…and in the sky, a black figure darted in and out of existence…cutting down the ghastly avians with fatal strikes that forcefully drained their black viscous blood before he appeared down on the ground to cleave away the masses there as well. It was none other than the golem he had encountered not long ago…but the actual golem..not…whatever he was now. Zen had the stone-like horn on his brow in this vision, flakes of obsidian peppered on his cheeks. At times, the sword saint would carve a large arcane slash into existence that ejected itself through larger numbers of the oncoming force…but it was immensely evident that he was doing very little at holding back the tides of a war that was on the brink of beginning. If the exorcist glanced back toward the citadel of the dragons, he would begin to see another large force take to the skies despite it being so far away. Shingen knew very well about this incident, however, it was documented by the BoM. The Bureau dispatched a team to neutralize the attack of a demon by the name of Mazareen on the dragon capital…and it was successful. The report was as cut and dry as that, but now he was putting eyes on the exact events that unfolded during that day.
At this moment a loud shrill wail bellowed across the entire tundra, flakes of frost leaping from the ground due to the sheer magnitude of the sound waves as the large beast roared…and from its depthless maw came a massive concentrated blast of mana that shot in a straight line where Zenith had teleported into. The blast hummed deeply with volatile energy…and from the blast dropped a singular black spec; Zenith had been hit. The form’s fall gradually picked up speed until it hit the snowy terrain with a hard crash that left a web of fractured earth beneath him…and moments later…a woman rode to the site of the fallen warrior…her white hair and two curled demonic horns across her brow indicated exactly who she was in this echoed memory: Mazareen, the current master of the sword saint mercenary group…and Zenith’s creator. “Oh son of mine, you should know better than to trifle with mommy… now, be a good pile of dirt and blood…and die-like all obsolete tools should.” She said with a wicked chuckle. Her mount was a green horse with large bat wings…and the face of an octopus…and beside her was another swordsman known in the criminal database as Henryk…an elf that was the strongest sword saint after the leader.
Zenith’s earth flesh had been seared, simmering with heated veins of red as if he were molten rock. He was barely recognizable now, mortal blood drooling from the cracks of his charred false flesh. He tried to move…tried to lift the bloodthirsty blade that he tightly held…but he couldn’t. “Henryk…” the woman said calmly, “remove this pathetic smudge from my site…” The elf stepped forward…as the hordes trampled around them toward their destination, creating a discordant rumble around them…and he raised his blade above the scorched body of the golem…
But the blade never met its mark.
At that very moment there was a cacophonous boom, as if something had broken the sound barrier, which was immediately followed by an immense gale of wind that tore through the ranks of the eldritch army. Carried on the tempest where condensed blades of air…so swift that even Shingen’s eyes would have trouble tracking them…and suddenly the entire army was cut into pieces- all of them. The edged hurricane even decorated the gigantic titan with deep wounds…toppling it over as one of its long arms had been completely dissected off… the black pungent ichor that ran through all these creatures veins rained from the sky, their blood steaming with heat as it pelted the frosted battleground… and all the while Mazareen was speechless…and horrified. She could feel a familiar energy polluting the tundra. “Leviathan…” she whispered in disbelief.
“Mazareen…” came a mysterious magically distorted voice…and from the haze of snowy debris that had been upturned by the stampede before all the ground forces were cut down, came several individuals in BoM attire. Each of the men and women were highly decorated…but none of them had faces that were recognizable…in fact, they had no faces at all. In the place of recognizable features were contours of where the eyes and mouth should be…but weren’t… It was unsettling really, and at the forefront of this team were two people. One of them was quite familiar: The Devil…and the other had cast a spell over his face to blur it entirely…but the uniform he wore indicated his rank…a rank that Shingen had never seen in person, “we are terminating your attack on the capital…but you’ll be released…under certain conditions…” came the unrecognizable voice of the Bureau leader…meanwhile the Devil looked…pissed…and not entirely at the demon in front of him. The blonde haired man, wearing a black button up and white pants, turned to the Chief Executive with frustration, “let’s get one thing straight, if you have the fu**ing audacity to try and manipulate me again, I will hang you up by the sinews of your baby boy muscles and pluck your nerves like a god da** harp to compose something out of your screams and whimpers. It’ll happen to you…it’ll happen to your loved ones…your associates…all of them-I don’t care what fancy magic rights prayer group you’re affiliated with…so don’t fu**ing test me…again…” The Devil's words were practically spat in the face of the distorted man…who didn’t even flinch…which made the devil scoff in frustration before stepping in between the BoM…and Mazareen.
Henryk, the woman’s second in command, knew that doing anything would likely result in ending up like the entire army that was disposed of so easily. Even his leader’s colossal summon was falling slowly…fading from existence as it died. It was…insane; so this was the power of a god.
“M-my lord I don’t know what I have done wro-…”
“Shut up, listen here,” the devil’s heterochromatic eyes flashed into a glowing red. The air around them became thin…and the woman seized up, “I speak this into every bit of you…your bones…your mind…every cell of your annoying existence.” Disbelief and fear mingled wildly behind the woman's eyes as if their were windows to her soul. Why was this happening!? She was actively sewing disaster! Wasn't the Devil a chaotic being!? She had heard that the Leviathan was nowhere near as evil as he should be, but this...this was unwarranted right!? so why???? WHY!?
This punishment was…gruesome. As a ruler of a race beyond humanity, he had the power of not only death and the torment of those deemed evil in their passing…but also the power to bend and control those beneath him. “You will never lay a finger on Aella…not you…not your men…not your disgusting little lap dogs you control…doing so will kill you…gruesomely…horrifically.”
“Please…don’t…” the woman whispered and then screamed as the devil wrote a law into her infernal existence. And then…he took it further. “And I will take away your demonic nature…and turn you into what you hate the most….” He said cruelly and snapped his fingers.
“No! No please don’t!” But it was too late…the demonic horns had already begun to dissolve…her body writhed and twisted as her form cracked and snapped…until she finally became…human. The painful transformation that had her flailing on her mount lasted almost thirty seconds before she slumped forward and slipped off the eldritch steed unconscious. Henryk swiftly caught her limp form in the wake of her punishment. “Now, get the fu** out of my sight….” The devil said bitterly…and Henryk's eyes narrowed…before he vanished, swiftly retreating with inhuman speed.
“Your job is done here, Leviathan…leave the rest to us…” came the distorted drawl of the chief executive…the Devil scoffed…looked at Zen’s crippled form… as if he was thinking for a moment…before creating a portal and leaving. Suddenly, the BoM leader conjured a staff…with a black lantern at its end…the light within the lantern began to ignite and suddenly a spectral plasma was torn from Zen’s throat and absorbed into the small fire that turned into a deep black afterward. Left behind…in the small crater and half buried in frost…was Zen’s lifeless golem form after his soul had been ripped away from him. “Pathetic divine spawn…” the warped voice hissed…just before the surroundings began to melt away again…revealing a new scene as if there had been something hidden behind the dream Shingen had endured.
Now he was in a limitless world, constantly in motion. The surroundings constantly oscillated with infinite hues of black, red, and gray…and In this uncanny void a portal was created…and the mysterious Chief Executive walked into this world of abstraction and tipped his staff forward…and from the black flame…which cackled with newfound life…came a spectral form…expelled from it’s prison beyond death until it formed a phantom of the golem; Zenith’s soul.
“W-Where am I!? Where is Ae-”
“Thank you…for delivering the boy…” came a deep all encompassing voice that caused the constant motion of this chromatic world to twist and coil faster with each inflection of each syllable uttered. The voice echoed over the entirety of this world…and suddenly…a face quite familiar to Shingen dissolved into existence…a female. The Director of the BoM was a dark skinned woman, with an eyepatch over one eye and a tattoo under the other. She wore a deep navy beret with her uniform…Nadia Einzcroft. She had only made public appearances a few times, and the master exorcist had never met her in person…but it was odd…she never had that deep…inhuman voice. The Executive Chief bowed…and walked backwards…back into the portal.
Zenith’s eyes narrowed on the woman…confused, “You’re…you’re the Bureau’s leader? W-why, why are you doing this?”
“Oh, my dear brother,” came the deep echo that shook even the core of the dream’s spectator…so deep…more divine than anything he had ever experienced. As it spoke Shingen could feel the radiation of pure dense mana… no man…no master…no god was capable of this kind of aura, “This…ironically…is just a golem I use to act in the real world…” The woman’s lips moved…but suddenly her eyes became hollow…empty…like a robot shutting down…and from beside her a new form appeared…a man in a suit…with his whole face bandaged by a wrap that had a drawn eye on the front. The man’s hand wrapped around the empty shell of the woman until his hand cradled her chin. “Far more convincing than a flesh golem…but equal in purpose…we have lots to talk about brother-namely your lack of progress...but worry not, we have plenty of time….”
All of a sudden, the ever changing chromatic world halted…everything froze…and a horrible chill would run up Shingen’s spine. As the dream froze…only one being moved. “And who…are you?” the man in the suit turned, the drawn eye slowly facing in Shingen’s direction. A crushing gravity would force shingen down…forcing him to look at the ground..away from this thing that was more terrifying than the gods. And…when it seemed most grim…a breath of real air became the bridge to thrust the man right back into reality…right back into the dismal obsidian prison cell…but Milo was no longer there. This time, sitting on a stool on the other side…was Zenith. “Welcome back…Shingen…” came the swordsman's familiar deep baritone.
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Posted: Fri Apr 19, 2024 7:58 pm
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Shingen Maeda
The liquid that poured from the bowl tasted just like it looked but before he had a moment to think about pulling it away from him, everything around him retreated. Like some sort of psychedelic, the substance had ejected him from his world and once again, he found himself travelling. Only this time, he was greeted with a true ground, surrounded by what he could only describe as aberrations of creation. At first, Shingen felt that he might have actually been poisoned and was now inhabiting his final resting place of torment, surrounded by creatures of darkness. They loomed over him, approaching by air and ground. With them, a titan of unspeakable stature and chimeric anatomy.
Their attention, however, was not set on him but on a structure in the far distance, a castle of draconic origin. While Shingen had never been there in person, he knew what snowy fields he stood in now. The castle was unmistakable in it’s appearance, something he’d seen in files and reports over the years. Turning back to the marching army, there was a sound that eventually made it’s way over the grumbling of the titan’s footsteps. A small black figure, darting to and fro, felling ranks of the assembled forces. Shingen could barely make him out until he zoomed near, taking a pause. It was Zenith himself, fighting alone.
Shingen could still not understand what was happening until he made out the horn on his head. This was a memory, or at least a vision of that day. He didn’t know he was so directly involved with the entire incident. The golem fought and effectively dispatched droves of soldiers with every swing of his infamous blade but to no clear avail. Shingen turned to gaze upon the castle again just in time to spot a rising opposition in that direction. The rival army was raising their resistance and there would soon be a clash on the field. A strange hum came from the tall one and a sudden burst of energy fired from it’s mouth. Although seemingly random, it managed to catch Zenith in his path. As the golem skipped across the white tundra, Shingen thought to follow him, and with the idea came the action.
With supernatural ease, Shingen was alongside him, as if transported by thought alone. The man was visibly broken, leaking at the seams. Then, a voice came from beside them, a female demon on a horse. How they liked to meddle. Mazareen the demoness spoke of Zenith like family although Shingen knew better than that. She must have been the one to bring him out of the mud and breathe purpose into him, although it seemed Zenith had gained his own independence long enough to fight against her. Her right hand man, an elf, it would seem, came at her call. Commanded to take the life of the defeated golem, he did not hesitate.
Something new had arrived and it made a mess of the place. An aura of a thousand air blades leveled the battlefield and cleaved into the titan, toppling it onto it’s allies. All Shingen could do was shield his face from all the snow and dust that shot out from where they stood. Then, once the dust had settled, a few figures emerged. One of them being the First Fallen. As shocking as it always was to see him in person, more startling were the ones who flanked him at each side, wearing BoM colors. More puzzled than ever, Shingen could not see their faces. One hid it well behind a magical veil while the others might have been imitations or simply detracted by the vision’s host.
While Shingen could not begin to image how the BoM had managed to manipulate and control the Devil, it was even further from him to surmise the reason why. As Aella’s name was brought up, it had become laughingly clear Shingen had stumbled onto something much larger. He couldn’t help but think back on that day in the museum and the night at the club and the way he had dismissed the girl. All those nights spent pretending to sleep just feet away from her only to paint her as a wayward soul. It had been under his nose the entire time.
As the demon king came to put an end to one of his subordinates campaigns, he stripped her of what appeared to be her infernal nature. A promotion, as Shingen saw it, although she remained as unredeemable as the day she chose rebellion. He found it hard to sympathize with her as she was carried away by her swordsman. The corporate types then turned to Zenith, extracting something from him before leaving him behind. Then, like a light switch, everything melted away once again. This time, there was nothing anchoring him. Nothing that oriented him in this infinite space. Looking to his own hands, he could not only see them as they were but also through them, in them and somehow out of them, all at once.
A portal then opened, granting Shingen a focal point. Out of it emerged the one who held the staff. Then, as if willed by the beholder, the face of Nadia Einzcroft came through the distorted visage. This is what that deer was talking about. Shingen thought, looking on. But as time crawled on, Zenith’s captor revealed himself. A puppeteer pulling the strings on those pulling the strings. Shingen studied the marking of the eye on it’s bandaged face when he suddenly felt every fiber of his being seize up. Like before, he knew this creature was outside of his understanding but as he stood now, Shingen felt every bit as naked as if he had been stripped and held under a magnifying glass. The being turned to him in acknowledgement, and with the bone-chilling realization he had been found came an overwhelming force of gravity, sending him down faster than he could think. Fighting to see, fighting to breathe, he could hardly tell where he was headed until the sounds of his own heavy breathing registered in his own ears.
Face down on the floor, palms flat down, Shingen could hear a familiar voice. As he took a few moments to catch his breath, he lifted himself only enough to fall back onto his rear, his head hanging low and his arm resting on a raised knee. His hair had found it’s way out of it’s tie and now made a curtain around his face, hiding him. ”What the-” Shingen started as he continued to gain control over his heartrate. ”What the hell is going on here?” He finally said before raising his head enough for an eye to catch a glimpse of the man on the stool.
Location: Ogotunam Spire
Outfit: Tattered Suit
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Posted: Sun Apr 21, 2024 7:56 pm
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Posted: Wed Apr 24, 2024 5:42 pm
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Shingen Maeda
The information that Zenith was letting Shingen in on was damning if true. Although much of the work he had done was put forth with good intentions, he could not speak for the larger picture. If there was an infernal force at the upper echelons, it would be entirely plausible, especially with the use of compartmentalization and security clearance. Shingen turned his head away from Zenith as he asked him what he knew. He was very much the golem’s prisoner now and he very well could have employed more painful methods of interrogation but the way he had held back his blade seemed to be the same reason Shingen had: he needed him alive in order to get information.
Shingen had been trained to resist till death but there was an underlying truth to everything Zenith was saying that Shingen could feel inside. The fact Aella and Mephitis were together and that Zenith watched over them still was testament to their importance. Although he hadn’t been sent after them, Shingen had made his own assumptions of their connection not only to the battle at the dragon capital and after finding them, eventually, the mana stones. Is it possible that they knew I’d come across them and try to bring them in? Shingen tried to unravel it all in his head.
After a moment of silence, Zenith pleaded with him, stating the safety of the three. Shingen lowered his head as he looked down at the cell floor. ”My mission was Mephitis, back then...” He started. “...that day at the museum, he wasn’t even there. And still, I was drawn there. I hadn’t been ordered to respond, I just happened to be there. And when Astarot’s curse broke out, I did everything I could to mop it up.” Shingen huffed a muted chuckle in all his weariness. ”There I met a silly girl intent on jumping head first after her boyfriend. I should have known from that moment on that there was nothing ordinary about you all.” At first it seemed like he was deflecting but it’s the closest thing he’s had to a sincere one on one conversation with him for a while if ever, now that everything was on the table.
Turning his gaze back to Zenith, Shingen could barely see him through veiled eyes. He threw his head back to clear his face of his hair, making it fan out onto his back before slowly bringing his face to meet Zenith’s. “I’ve fought to defend the public, mana enabled or otherwise. I still stand by that, even now. And I am not the only one.” Shingen’s mind flashed to the fallen fighters he’d come across in his time and those that still fought on for their own personal reasons. “If all this is true, then the heads of the Bureau have betrayed us all and they can’t be left standing.” There was still so much more he wanted to know but he knew that if he didn’t come clean with Zenith, he might not get any answers himself. ”As far as the executives, I’m not sure. I used to receive orders from a board of officers. Now, I only answer to one person, a councilman. One of forty-three.”
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