Excuse me Miss, but this is not sweet Charleston!

[Ezrihel]

Today was a calm, and surprisingly cool day, a few fluffy and innocent clouds daintily crawled across the baby blue skies. It was still morning, the early spring dew clinging to the soft vibrant green grass, each dew drop reflecting the world intricately enough that once or twice a level and civil-headed man might even consider that each drop was it's own new clear world. Maybe that world had it's own town of Charleston, it's own practically new United States of America, with a Mississippi river and a Cape of Fear folded inside it's smooth boundaries!

Oh the things for him to think of while he laid back on his white silk sheets, gazing at his beautifully painted ceiling through the thin red veil of his bed's canopy; he could get lost in the simple things like that, the painting on his ceiling. It modeled after the paintings across the ceilings of the Sistine Chapel, especially that of Adam and God and the Banishment of Men. He had always found those two stories of men to be the most interesting, wrong and hilarious, but interesting all the same.

How could he know for certain that he was right in his assertions? Members of his species, Andomedans, had both genetic and spiritual memories, though most Andromedans held a different belief about souls than humans held, even though the reason behind the human soul was the tampering with DNA the Andomedans had done in a series of several experiments.

But whoever are the Andomedans? He mussed in his head. He loved to think over the history he had in several worlds. After all, he had a right to! Humans considered his people to be the Biblical God, an ancient race whose powers had been mistaken for that of divinity several times and by several cultures of people.His race started out just as most modern day atheistic humans believed that they themselves started. They rose from trial and error, evolving and evolving, at times having subspecies; though all but one line would always turn into a genetic dead end for their species.

They continued to evolve, coming from an age of darkness into an age of powerful technology. First they spread civilization across their planet, exploring and making sure to understand everything there was to grasp in their home. Next they reached to the stars, colonizing and bringing technology to different planets and solar systems, and eventually a new galaxy. With their growing advancements they even unlocked the secret to preventing the aging process; with this secret their lives grew longer and longer until they had become immortals, though still able to die in various violent ways such as decapitation and removing both hearts, but that could be remedied by reconnecting the head to the neck or reattaching the heart to a main artery before the tissues started to die.

DNA was decrypted, unlocked and decoded... The genetic mistakes that left their immune systems wide open where corrected; weaknesses in their skeleton that made them vulnerable to breaking were fixed, their bodies augmented to what they consider perfect for their race.

Long, long ago, when the race was still busy colonizing and Terra-forming planets, they came across the humble little planet that his people took the liberty in naming it Earth. At the time, the planet's inhabitants consisted of strange beasts that still walked on four legs and primal, now extinct, primates. Taking a few of these nearly bi-pedal animals, they drew DNA, decrypted and altered it, mixing the smallest bits of their own genetic coding into the primates' codes. It sped up the creature's evolution, the legs becoming longer, pelvis correcting in order to swivel and support upright walking, losing a majority of muscle mass in exchange for a more highly developed brain. The first two modern humans were created in a lab, the male was named Adam, the woman named Eve. They were released into a carefully controlled environment... But first they had to be tested... Could they think on their own? How advanced was their thought process? How fast could they adapt?

They were given one rule. They could not take part in the "tree" of sacred knowledge. They broke that rule and passed the test... They were not a blindly obedient sub-race. From the "tree" they learned much and from the controlled environment they were released into the wilds of the world. Of course, they would be closely watched, their offspring monitored to make certain that they were not just another genetic failure.

The "human" subspecies of the Andromedans were quick to evolve, solving their problems with more and more logical answers. Then one of the greater race fell from his civility. He gave into the temptations of jealousy and hatred. This Andromedan's name was Lucifer, he and his followers challenged the upper council, declared a war that nearly tore the race apart at the seams. After a long battle, the upper council won, and Lucifer and his followers were banished from the empire. They had fallen from their grace, gave into the weakness that many had thought had been bred out of the upper race... Temptations of gluttony, lust, betrayal and wrath... Mind breakers were used to interrogate many of the remaining race members... A necessary precaution taken to ensure that seeds were not lying in wait to strike and launch another war. A war that might have ended the race as a whole.

A great purging took place, the ones that were still followers were exiled, sent away to a place that the humans had started to dub "Hell", the floating ship above the planet had been called a word "heaven"... Strange humans... Making a religion around those that had engineered them, a rather false religion of blind faith... Something the Andromedans didn't believe.

There was the humans that did not follow the path of righteousness, they committed moral wrong-doings... Sleeping about, stealing, killing out of wrath and not out of protection, needlessly taking when their plates were already overflowing with the banquet of the earth. A downward spiral that needed to be corrected before the human subspecies destroyed themselves.

A male and female human were designed, tweaked to be given stronger moral 'programming', created and destined for each other. They were both implanted into human females, born and raised by specially chosen families to ensure that they wouldn't fall into the snare of immorality. After the male, named Noah, had grown and married the female and bore children with her, was given an order; gather two of every animal.

The genetic codes of each gender from every animal was collected and put into storage in a device called an Ark. After his task was complete, the upper race wiped the land clear with a massive flood. The wickedly immoral were erased, and Noah and his descendants carried the codes for a more perfect human, one that knew more clearly the difference between wrong and right. After this huge flood, the Andromedans began to withdraw, content to sit back and watch. Some of their descendants, pure bloods of the race had been scattered through the human populace to keep watch.

He was one of those pure bloods that had been seeded among the masses. Of course, all his parents had called him a miracle, a gift from god, when they had explained to him that he was not their child, they had explained that he had been left on their doorstep by a pair of god's angels. Ezrihel let out a deep sigh at the ignorance of his parents. Of course they, in their overly religious fervor, would think something of that sort. After all, it was natural of humans to want to be subjugated and ruled over by some external and greater force. Though Ezrihel had never understood that construct, he could assume that it was for either comfort in assuming that one had a purpose outside of reproducing before death, a sort of personal relief from responsibilities, or maybe it was so they would believe that you continued living on after the natural death of one's body. While living on past death and being reincarnated was certainly a truth for one of Ezrihel's race, the constructs of Heaven and Hell were not something an Andromedan put stock in. Heaven and Hell were nothing more than the attempts to explain the world and events around the still primitive-minded human subspecies.

He stretched in a leisurely fashion, letting his slender and graceful fingers slide over the silky sheets. Today was going to be such a long and odious day of managing the negro, native american and poor white slaves. He owned the largest plantation in Charleston, which in turn, needed more slaves of whichever "race" was most available at the time of need. He always thought it was weird how humans decided to divide themselves into "races", as if they were that much different from each other. It seemed that men felt the need to subjugate and be subjugated. Maybe, just maybe that had been how his ancestors had programmed humans to act.

He would roll forward in order to sit, then move to stand, the bright morning light catching his alabaster chest, casting shadow over the smooth planes of his muscles. Walking over to his dark pine wood nightstand, he picked up the red leather strip he used to pull back his hair. With this strip his bound his hair back into a low ponytail, the ends of his ashen blonde hair reaching down to his mid-back. After this, he would snap his fingers, allowing one of his house slaves to go to his wardrobe, choose one of his white pressed suits and lay it across the bed. The slave girl, a West Indies girl mixed with native american and white, had picked a suit that had green accents. Glancing at the suit and thinking about it for a moment, he decided that he didn't want to wear that suit today. "No my dear, that won't do. Put that back up and fetch the red one, won't you?"

"Yes sir." She picked up the suit lying on the bed, returned it to the wardrobe and came back with his red accented white suit. He turned to face her, stretching his arms out to his sides so that she could dress him, as he was currently standing in nothing but his bare skin. He watched her dress him, her lightly colored high yellow hands still clashingly dark against his skin. While looking upon her, his eyes traced their way up her neck and across her face. Oh how she was so exotic to look at, her almond-shaped hazel eyes, her full lips a soft pink, her cheeks dotted with tiny freckles that made him want to take her to the bed and ravage her. She was, after all, one of his most attractive slaves, after all, he considered her the most beautiful of them all, which is why she worked in doors, away from the heat, and dressed him in the mornings. For the average slave, it was the best she could be given outside of freedom. He had given her a personal room inside the house and she had no worries when it came to dealing with his children, there were other people who did that job, as she was his personal slave, she didn't even have to cook meals or clean the house.

Ezrihel liked to think of himself as a kind master to his servants, after all, they didn't work Saturday or Sunday and granted them permissions to visit family that they had been separated from, he didn't even separate families when buying or selling his workers. He let them keep personal gardens and even gave them an hour break during the hottest part of the day. He had become so infatuated with his workers that on some workdays he would walk his estate and simply inquire if they needed anything in their quarters replaced or wanted anything new, or even chat with them about their life and their stories. To him they were still humans, still living sentient beings that needed care not punishment, but as a member of the creating species, he still viewed himself as above them, and they were still his property.

Never had a slave attempted escape, and never had he ever whipped his workers' backs. It was a decision he had made four years ago, when he was still a boy and hadn't the responsibilities of managing a wealthy plantation. He had sat on horseback, made to watch by his grandfather as an old and frail house slave was whipped without mercy for something so minor, oh and how she had bled the same crimson blood as all other humans as she was tied to a post, but it had not been his place to order a cease to it. It was something that he handled later, sneaking out to the slave quarters and offering aide to the old house maid. After that night, he wasn't just another white master to the workers, he was considered a good soul.

He sighed softly with a pleased tone and he gazed upon his helper. Smiling when she looked up to meet his eyes and quickly looked away; as if embarrassed a red blush came to her cheeks. Reaching out his now gloved left hand, he lightly brushed her jawline with his fingers. "It's okay love, I'd never hurt you. You know that there's nothing to be afraid of, not even God should have you be scared to tell me something that was on your heart and tongue."

His fingertips trailed over her high cheek bones as his hand moved to gently cup the side of her face, gently urging her to look at him before placing his right hand on the small of her back and pulling her closer. "Tell me, Santianna, what is it that you think of me, in all your honesty? Do you find me as exotic and irresistible as I find you, do you want to hold me close to yourself as I do with you now, without any fears or regrets?"

She looked back up at him and timidly nodded her head. "What about your wife, sir?"

"... I love her, and want to please her, but she's always been a very cold person. Besides that, she's been in Wilmington for two days, and doesn't return for another fortnight. No one will know of this as long as we don't tell."

"And your children?"

"Making love to you will never dilute my love to them."

"What shall we do now, then?"

"Make love in the sheets until we are sated, then go about the day as normal."

And so it was done as such. He made love to Santianna like he had made love to Lilith on their wedding night, except this was more pleasurably received by his female consort. He couldn't blame his wife for being so chilled to him, she had never really shone much affection to anyone, not even their son and daughter or her parents, always having been emotionally shallow. To have a new passionate and beautiful love as such, it made him feel high like he was a human on opium. After the roll in the sheets, he tidied his bed up, and dressed himself, opened his bedroom doors and stepped out...

Only to be shoved into a vastly different and very open space from his mansion's hallway. In fact, it was so open that it was a void, then a dim grey man handed him a rainbowed orb, telling him that he was not going to be alone in this "omniverse" and that other's would be with him. He ended by saying that he would always be watching over him.

Suddenly the darkness was gone, replaced by a brilliant white, a fountain and various other features slowly fading into existence. Well. I guess I'm in the omniverse.

[Cyburn]

Cyburn was a walking through the Nexus, he had finally learned that he can, in fact, heal himself so his broken hand was now fixed. He didn't quite like that, it made things seem less important. Like, sure. He could now jump off of a cliff and then heal his legs, but that made the whole experience less entertaining for him. There was little in the way of actual risk for him now.

Going through that white void that was the nexus, he had noticed that if he walked off in a direction that did not contain a gate to another world, then he would eventually wind up back at the fountain, which was odd. The world must be a very small sphere of some sort, but that didn't explain the gravity at all. He was still trying to piece together what science, if any, there was in these worlds that he was in.

Then it happened, yet another useless asshole showed up in the Nexus. This one stood there, wearing all white, as though he were about to open a door. He walked towards him to see if he could get any form of idea as to who he was. The first thing that he noticed was that awful stink. The man had certainly had sex, recently. Well, sucks to be him, he'd probably be moping about that. He walked up to him, and he looked him in the eyes. And with the most sincere voice he could muster, "Welcome to hell!" He said, in a very pleasant tone that added to the sincerity.

[Ezrihel]

Ezrihel looked up and over, to his right, noticing a tall, but still about an inch or two shorter than him, greasy looking broad-shouldered man clad in an all white outfit consisting mainly of a large white trench coat. Ezrihel could in fact, smell the man from here, and it was not a pleasant scent of sex mixed with incense and perfume. He smelled of mustard and skunk and mainly toenail funk with a side of stale alcohol. It was the smell of human, and while Ezrihel had never minded the scent of human when they bathed or were outside, he did however mind the smell of an ass that had gone unwashed for what seemed to be several months.

Raking his eyes over the grime covered man, he let out a sigh and put on a polite smile, "Yes, hello there Sir. Do you happen to know where this place is and how I can get out of it? I have fields to run and people to manage."

After a mere fraction of a second before he had begun talking, he would take three steps forward, keeping both of his hands at his sides. His eyes would never leave this man's form, constantly moving in quick slight ways in order to be certain to catch an attack coming. The movements of his eyes, though he could notice them, would not be able to be seen by a normal human at any distance without some sort of highly advanced sight enhancing equipment. Ezrihel would internally keep himself on guard, ready and prepared to respond with evasive maneuvers and force to any sort of attack coming from this man, watching both with his eyes and with his enhanced sensing abilities; externally he was still calm and approachable, nothing would seem off about him at all.

While he looked over this grease monkey of a man, he also withdrew his thoughts into his own head, barricading and guarding himself with extreme caution against anything this strange person could throw at him, even though he seemed human enough. Though, right at this moment, Ezrihel wasn't ready to just accept this man for what he appeared to be, after all, he had just been warped into some other strange universe and had some strange white man tell him strange things before everything was bleached white and a strange white man appeared.

Speaking of strange, the oily man in front of him had his dark hair pulled and twisted into some strange tube like shape, and his facial hair for that matter, he had let it grow into sideburns, but somehow managed to keep them cut down to non-mutton chop level while simultaneously not giving a damn about the muck clinging to his face. How this so far nameless man had not yet gotten any amount of dirt on his white outfit or white trench coat, Ezrihel had not a hot clue.

After having looked over the man for not more than half a second, he had quickly noticed the fairly huge kitchen knife-esque sword attached to the outside of his hip. The sword had a long white cloth wrapped hilt and huge blade that took up about four feet of length, the cutting edge of the blade was the color of polished steel, and quite shiny, though Ezzy knew not where this reflected light came from; the non-cutting edge was stained a dull black finish.

From the distance of about ten feet, which was how far they were standing from each other, Ezrihel could clearly feel that the sword contained much energy, in fact, it contained as much as either of them. This made him curious enough to reach out a tendril of his consciousness toward the sword's energy. As gently as possible, he touched against what he could now tell was a fully blown and open consciousness inside the sword.

Telepathically, he would now proceed to speak to the sword, though he was still physically watching the stranger. This moment of mental speech would take barely a fraction of a second to convey to whatever being resided within the sword. "Hello there? Do you have a name that I may call you by?"

After the very brief moment he spoke with the sword, he'd address the man once again. "Say, stranger, do you happen to have a name? Or should I call you the grease monkey mechanic for the duration of this... Conversation? I am Ezrihel, of Charleston, South Carolina... Where might you hail from, if you do hail from somewhere else other than this dreadful near-blank plane? Oh, and, whatever frightful thing have you done with your hair?"

[Cyburn]

Cyburn looked at the man, people to manage? Poor fool didn't know anything about where he was, probably. Well, more than probably. He smiled and revealed stinking yellow teeth, a result of no toothbrush, "My name is Cyburn, and my hair..." He trailed off, his hand moving to fix it, "Is a pompadour, it's the only hairstyle that fits with sideburns." He stepped forward, holding an arm out so as to show for a handshake.

"If you are from the South, as you say, then we are enemies," he continued to hold his hand out, "But here, we might be enemies with a common cause. We are trapped here, as far as I can tell. I have been trying to get home for about a month now, and unfortunately there is no known way back." He dropped his hand when it became obvious that the man was not going to shake his hand, "Well, I told you one thing already, this is basically hell. Especially when you have a reason to want to go home."

After seeing his confusion when he mentioned that they were enemies, he let out a sigh, "I can see you are confused, so it appears that we are not from the same 'verse." He then proceeded to explain that in his 'verse, the North and the South had gone to war over several issues, the big reasons were that the southern states decided to not follow Congress' laws, and as such were acting more like individual countries rather than states that formed one big country. Another issue was that they were withholding various livestock from the rest of the country, causing starvation. The worst thing that they had withheld from the North was triceratops meat.

He left out the war with the Canadians, this stranger did not need to know about that. He summed it all up and then added something with an air of couldn't care less that there was also an issue of slavery, that every man was created equal, and all that jazz. He slumped back, and he declared that it would be a lot easier if they could just import mammoth meat from Swedenavia, but that was apparently not likely due to the way that the Swedenavians acted with the rest of the world. That last bit was obvious from the tone that it was meant for himself, as he tended to speak to himself a lot.

He looked at the stranger, "Anyways, you know my name, and my hair. So, might I ask what your name is?"

[Ezrihel]

He watched the worn looking mustard monkey raise a hand up and run it over his tubular shaped hair. He had said that it was called a... A... Promprodour? Pompadour? Pandadour? Ezrihel ran the word through his mind a few times, trying to get it right in case he had to say that accursed word again sometime in the near or distant future.

But the word was not enough to distract him from the rotting yellow of Cyburn's teeth. Oh spirits protect him from the man's must be stank breath. In the politest way possible, Ezrihel would begin to step closer to the man, so that there would be less than three feet of distance between them and hold his breath; this action of holding his breath would be unnoticeable by Cy. He would extend his left hand and shake the same hand of Cyburn in a firm handshake, bouncing their hands three times before letting go and taking a step back once more, his hand would return to his side at a normal speed. Denying a handshake would be one of the rudest things that Ezrihel could do, and as that was such a custom or tradition where he was from, he wouldn't be one to offend and possibly start some sort of fight; though after the handshake, his hand would feel sticky enough to warrant him reaching into his right pocket with his right hand and getting his clean red cotton handkerchief out to whip his left hand clean before returning the cloth to his pocket.

During all of this exchanging, he would keep himself guarded not letting his eyes fall from the face of his conversant, keeping his mind shielded from any sort of probing. With his mind being shielded as such, it would be impossible for the sword or Cyburn to get past the barriers and pry into his thoughts or memories. The exception to this would be if the huge black and silver sword strapped to his new acquaintance's waist decided to answer his question, which in that case, the sword would be projecting it's thoughts on to the tendril like probe of consciousness that Ezrihel had reached out to it earlier.

Not only would he shield his mind but he remained physically prepared to evade and in turn counter any sort of attack that this stranger might decide to launch at him. His knees would remain slightly bent, ready to take any sort of leg sweep directed at him; his haunches would be tensed ever so much, persisting in order to allow readiness should he have to jump backwards.

Why would Ezrihel decide to keep himself at ready like this, one might ask? This was some new situation thrust upon him, he was shoved into a new dimension with some stranger new comer who had greeted him by welcoming him to a place that directly clashed with the legitimatized history of his universe and species. On top of all of this, the man was filthy and had rotting teeth, he looked fairly homeless and didn't seem to care in the least about that. Anyone that cared that little about themselves couldn't be trusted in Ezrihel's eyes, for if they cared naught about themselves, then what insane and dangerous things might they be willing to commit, and for the sake of what?

And all these 'fears' would be confirmed with the next few words to leave Cyburn's mouth. Enemies? Just from being from the South? What for? Then he continued on to say that they were enemies, but with a common cause. Ezrihel was still kind of hung up on being called an enemy without a proper reason being given before. Ez had done nothing to this strange man, and he demanded to be seen as innocent without fault until he had indeed done something drastic!

Then the fault of the differing verses was explained to Ezrihel. So, this man WAS from some other dimension or universe, and... Sadly there was no way to get back as of yet. Hmm... His thoughts instantly went to his children, then to Santiana and Lilith. What would they do with the plantation? What would people think? Would they blame Santiana? How would his children grow up correctly without knowing their father? All these thoughts swirled around his head, and would make any normal human sick and consumed with fear, but he was not normal, nor a human. He was the reincarnate of Aza'Zayl, the fallen angel of vanity and war! He had experienced much worse than this in his past life. If anything, this was just a weaker form of exile and punishment.

"I can see you are confused," Cyburn started. Oh boy, how he had summed that one up in a not so correct manner. Ezrihel would safely assume that this man had yet to notice how pale he was, or how the corners of his eyes had a purple coloring instead of the normal human pinkish-red tone, or maybe the purple-blue undertones that made his skin look slightly grey when compared to a human. These thoughts didn't really bother him, and he hadn't shown any indication of his thoughts on his face as he was a reserved person. Of course they were not from the same verse. Only nobility or the rich wore pure white, and this man looked neither noble or rich.

It was now being explained that the North and South had gone to war over several issues, including the seemingly looming growth of the federal government and the ever growing reach of that said government trying to strangle the states, and the withholding of livestock. So, a civil war had developed in at least one alternate universe, Ez of course had his speculations about the possibilities of war over the growing differences that the South and North seemed to have with each other.

"Triceratops meat?" He said, raising his right eyebrow slightly to show his skepticism at the mention of dinosaurs still living and roaming about North America. Dinosaurs had been wiped out in order to make way for humans, or well, at least in his original universe. "We wiped out the dinosaurs sixty-five million years ago in order to make way for homo sapiens, but I guess it makes sense if you're really from some other universe, since humans haven't even rediscovered even the most basic ruins of the ancient cities from the old world. Let alone fossils of dinosaurs."

Then Cyburn added with an air of could-not-care-less something about an issue of slavery and racism, then slumped his form back and said something about mammoth meat from some other strange land. To Ezzy, it was obvious that the man was raving to himself in a quiet tone, so the ranting meant very little to Ezrihel. Cyburn suddenly snapped back to the conversation at hand and remarked that yes, he did know his name and about his hair, then questioned what his name was.

Hadn't he just answered that question? He could have sworn that he had just answered that question. Eh, he would answer and take the opportunity to ask Cyburn a counter inquiry. "As I said before, I am Ezrihel of Charleston, South Carolina. May I ask why you look homeless? Do they not have showers anywhere here, or are humans from your universe naturally more grimy and dirty looking since apparently my people did much less to help along your species?"

[Xehanort]

"Zangetsu doesn't quite look like the kitchen knife look you described yet. He looks as he does in his join form (i cant remember if i brought that over to his roster) Think huge katana if the Buster Sword was a katana.

Zangetsu couldn't help but notice the one armed man watch them from afar, at least that's who the sword assumed was watching him. The woman and short frail man in robes walked off towards the beacon like beams of light just right at what should be the horizon. It seemed as if Cyburn's arrival spooked them, or at the very least left bad tastes in their mouth. Cyburn wasn't much to look at. Zangetsu was glad he only had to look at his backside.

Again he found himself caught in a circumstance deemed strange in his own world. He observed the world back home with his ability to sense spiritual pressures and use them to paint the world he imagined he sensed. Here he could visibly see outside his blade as a human could stand there and stare at his or her hands and count the amount of fingers said human had. It was an experience he was already accustomed to.

He was glade he could only see what was outside the world inside his sword form. Inside he had all five senses, minus the sixth spiritual sense sadly, humans had. Inside it was mildly warm without any noise besides the alerts on his dataverse device. As for smell, it smelled of rain strangely enough, yet nothing existed here accept the black void he sat in patiently for someone to grind cyburn into dust.

Zangetsu yawned and blinked a few times. He was.. tired? This was certainly a first for him. It was also his first time existing in the physical plane of existence so there is that.

And then it seemed as if there was another in his world with him and yet there nothing there. He traced the feeling out to another person here in the nexus "Side-Burn" had met and probably tried using Zangetsu to terrorize said person. It was embarrassing to not have any control over his physical self. He was at the mercy of an ugly fool. He firmly connected to this tendril of consciousness, linking his mind temporarily with this.. new person. It was comforting to say the least but hey, you take what you can get

"I can not give you my name as you have not earned the right to know it as of yet... but don't worry, this... Fool hoisting me about hasn't a clue who I am. To him I am... 'Recluse'.. but do not call me by that disrespectful name.", he thought to the man, telepathically answering his question out of the ear of the dear Canadian hater. At least this new person had the decency to show even Cyburn respect however little that may be. It was amusing to the point of darn right hilarious to see him talk to Cyburn in such a manner, while upholding his sense of self-righteousness.

" I can tell you this much: This pitiful excuse of a human carrying me and I were brought here just as you were....Feel free to relieve me of this idiot before he gets me broken.", he added, his spiritual form crossing one leg over the other. It was worth asking. Best not waste a perfectly good opportunity to leave Cyburn in the dust behind him until he gained the power he needed to put him in his place himself.

[Cyburn]

He looked at the man, and he laughed. "That's because I was homeless, for three years now." Ezhiral looked at him blankly, and in a very incredulous way asked him, "But why are you homeless?" His voice rose in the middle of the sentence, as though he truly didn't understand the fundamental concept of why someone would be homeless. Cyburn stopped smiling, "Because..." he couldn't bring himself to remember them, but he had to. Their ghosts had been haunting him for long enough, "Because of the damned Canadians, and what they did to my family."

Ezrihal looked at him, "You of all people had a family? Oh, I would have never had assumed that someone with such a... A description, of your's would have managed to find someone that would willingly mate with you and bare your... Offspring." Cyburn nodded, "I was a different person then, for that was a different time. A different life." His head was low, and he spoke with a voice that had seen too much, "They came in, riding upon flesh eating moose, and they broke into my home. They fed them to the moose, the bastards."

"... Fleash eating moose? Wow, My people really must not have given a damn about homo sapiens. Tell me, actually. how are the stories in your christian holy book written?"

Cyburn looked at him blankly, "What's a Christian?"

[Ezrihel]

As he stood facing this ape of a man, he felt the sword's conscious energy grip onto the tendril he had reached out with but a mere few moments ago. He heard it's reply clearly across the landscape of his mind, as if it were anywhere and everywhere at once. It wasn't that the sword was in his head, per say. It was all more around the fact that this was how telepathic communication sounded to Ezrihel. He heard and felt it when someone spoke to him, the feeling of the latched on sword that of wet wool being drug across skin. It wasn't painful or really all that annoying, but it was a slithering slick feeling inside of his head, and as always, it took a brief split second to become accustomed to the entirety of the motion.

Oh, he wasn't worthy of knowing this audacious sword's name? Why, how dare this consciousness assert itself to deny him of something so simple of a name and then claim that he was the one that was unworthy? Pfft. The nerve and lack of manners of some swords! Then again, it wasn't every day that Ezrihel met talking, sentient swords, maybe this sword was something powerful and grand, though, the evidence of this notion was slowly slipping away into the realm of fairy tales due to it being strapped to the left hip of this raggedy hobo man, who did nothing but exude an aura of pathetic crazed lunatic. Glancing down at the sword then back to Cyburn's face, this action would take but the smallest sliver of a second.

Then the sword went on to explain that Cyburn was a fool who hadn't a clue as to who or what this impudent sword actually was, and that he had taken the liberty of calling the sword by the name of "Recluse". Ew, what a dreadfully unpleasant sound of a name. Reminds me of spiders, and I absolutely detest those eight-legged spawn born of the evilest and bleakest wombs. How they just sit there, in their webs, relaxing and enjoying themselves like there wasn't something important or pressing to do! Of course there was always something that needed to be done in life, it's a rush of events that bleed together and push along past you. If you don't keep up, life leaves you in the dust. Fuck you, spiders.

The sword then replied by telling Ezrihel that both itself and Cyburn had been brought to the omniverse much in the very same fashion as he had just been dragged in. It then went on to suggest that he take it and get it away from the idiotic jubbling man. While... That did tempt some deeper part of him that thirsted for domination and the subjugation of all of the lower life forms, he forcefully pushed the thought away. Some later time he would cave to his darker temptations.

Then projecting his thoughts to the sword once again, "In this lifetime, no I may not have earned that right, but as an entire entity, I believe I have. Regardless of this, I still must use some sort of vocalization to identify you. While right now in the conversation between us it is simple and easy to avoid the use of names, it might not be so easy in the future. I will grant you access to my former memories, and if that does not earn your respect, then you must give me something to call you by. Something more palatable and pleasing than recluse." He almost spat the word. "By the way, what sort of person declares that to be a name fit for a weapon of grace and destruction?"

If the nameless one decided to prob into what was now unguarded thoughts of the past, he would get the distinct feeling of rushing anger and greed, wanton desire to see bloodshed. The memories were distorted by the soul-veil, a slight visual warping of the memories that caused them to be slightly fish-lens'd around the edges.

"Look upon the land, Aza'Zayl! Look upon the destruction you have wrought upon the pure lands and creatures. LOOK AT WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!" He stood, pushed down, forced to bow by chains not even he could break, before a council of a few greatly powerful. They sat upon their metallic thrones, shaking their heads in disapproval and spitting on him in disgust. Down, down he looked onto Terra's green lands. A twisted smile curled over his lips, taunting them to do something with his soft chuckles that quickly grew into cawing cackles.

He calmed to soft giggles. "I see nothing wrong. All you want is pure control. You want pets, servants, slaves... Hehheh... Heh, you're just unhappy that I've disrupted your little game."

"Thousands of years of evolution and research. It's hardly justifiable-" A female council member had started to state in an even tone before being rudely interrupted by the guilty man as he erupted into side tearing laughter; it reverberated off the strong walls of the council chamber.

"Justifiable! You want to talk about justice, to me?" He paused to let out a short roar of laughter. "You made them with our blood, MY blood, then you expect us to bow to your whim and not fall in love with the daughters of men, made in the image of us to be us by us! Then when I see the children, those that you love more than US, struggling like pitiful animals in the dirt, you expect me to just let them live in squande-"

"Aza'Zayl! Enough!" Boomed the Metatron. "You taught men to make swords and knives and shields and breastplates; and made known to them the metals of the earth and the art of working them; and bracelets and ornaments; and the use of antimony and the beautifying of the eyelids; and all kinds of costly stones and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray and became corrupt in all their ways. You alone have managed to corrupt every corner of Terra. What say you?"

"Heh, what say me, old one? Ancient one? Maybe you have lost your sense along all these years. Maybe you're letting that deadly wrath get to your heart. Did you too forget that even we are not above what you like to call 'sin'? Maybe I wanted them to experience and learn what they could from Terra, from us, from each other."

"What right have you, lonesome defector, to decide what is best for these creatures?" Asked the Metatron.

"What right have any of you to control their quality of life? Why must you control who I take in my marriage bed, who I beget children with? Do you forget what is it that happened with my first wife? Cast out, by YOU, for not wanting to submit to the hand of a man! You all are not gods here in this city."

"No, Aza'Zayl, we are not gods among our own people, but we do not tamper where we should not tread. From the wicked communion of us and the daughters of men, you beget another species of huge proportions. What says the daughters you take want to be taken by you, what say you to prove that you are not a deceiver?"

"Haha, hahaha... No. You see, Metatron, I take who I want into my bed. I beget offspring with whomever I wish whenever my loins do command that it should be done. Every woman comes around, after all, I am a god to them. I TAUGHT THEM WHEN YOU WOULDN'T. If they wish to lay each other's blood upon the ground with the knowledge I put onto them, then that is their 'sin', not my shortcoming. YOU GAVE THEM FREE WILL. YOU DID IT. It's all of your faults. All your faults."

The image would shift, blurring before refocusing on some new point;

All that he could see was darkness. Silky beautiful darkness that embraced him, kissing his skin with it's silent touch as it sang to him. How long had passed since he had been drug kicking and screaming from the council chamber. He couldn't help but play back the bittersweet sentencing. Gabriel, GABRIEL! Oh that wicked man. He had stepped forward and proclaimed that he had saw much blood being shed upon the earth and all lawlessness being wrought upon the earth; the souls of men made their suit, saying, "Bring our cause before the Most High; thou seest what Aza'Zayl hath done, who hath taught all unrighteousness on earth and revealed the eternal secrets which were in heaven, which men were striving to learn."

Pfft, haha ha. He heh. Oh that was a good one. Man had bit the hand that fed it, and he knew what would become of those humans on Terra once the council were done. Floods? Maybe they would summon forth fire and brimstone this time. He honestly couldn't care how they ended, but it brought him great pleasure to think over the screams and righteous pain of those innocent that too would be punished when caught by crossfire. After all, it was the human's fault for being pathetic and weak. It was their fault for not learning. They were too eager to just take take take, too quick to turn and judge their neighbors and covet what wasn't their's to covet. Such basic instructions they had been given by their creators, and not even that could they follow.

He pressed his lips together, forming a tight line as he lost himself in thought, convincing himself that he was not the wrong one in any of this. Some one would convince the council. Lucipher would help him out surely! Surely he was just left here to suffer, being bound hand and foot and forced into a dark hole so that he would no longer see light for the rest of his eternity. Within his soul he felt a bitter creature rearing his head, and he thought that maybe if he surrendered to that feeling of hatred and malice and anger, maybe the pain would go away. He sank into himself more and more, surrendering to the bitterness more with every passing breath. This anger that clawed its way up to the forefront of his mind made him feel powerful, it made him feel in control. He wanted to punish the people who wronged him.

Make the weak submit.

Make them suffer for my pain.

Refocus. Readjust. A slew of memories would be shown to this consciousness. A rise to power, the civil war, the death and blood, the gore that always followed, staining a red and purple path behind him, the beheading of Gabriel and Raphael by his own hand. He was powerful. He was a god! It had taken nearly an army to bring him down to his knees before he was killed by the silent head of the council. Oh how they had torn apart Terra with such reckless resolve.

The time it took to show these memories to the sword would be next to nothing. Revealing them put Ezrihel at no risk of mental invasion, nor did it physically restrict him and prevent reaction to anything that Cyburn might do.

Cyburn explained that he was indeed homeless, and had been homeless for three years prior to their current meeting. The look that Ezrihel flashed him was something between incredulity and doubt, which might have carried over as a blank dead panned expression of 'oh really now, that's how the question will be answered' after noting Cyburn's laugh and smile. With a skeptical and some what peeved tone he ventured to say, "Yes, but why are you homeless?"

Being homeless was not something that Ezrihel had ever really understood. Maybe that was because even when exiled, he had somewhere to sleep, maybe it was because he was never dirty for long, always finding some way to keep himself clean and presentable. It really wasn't in his ability to grasp that someone couldn't care about themselves to such an extent. He heard him start, and the words that came from his throat caused Ez's lips to curl into a smile that he tried to hide but failed and gave a hearty chuckle. Canadians. Canadians. The Britain owned country above the United States of America that consisted of pansy ass revolutionary French and slur speaking Brits.

Really. Really? The damned country of Canada had caused him homelessness? What through some strange financial debacle?

Wait.

Cyburn had a family at one point? This greasy sewer ape with tube hair and clipped facial hair had a family, wife and children, at some point in time? Ooooh boy! This was an amusing day to witness! Clearing his throat, "You of all people had a family? Oh, I would have never had assumed that someone with such a... A description, of your's would have managed to find someone that would willingly mate with you and bare your... Offspring."

The man suddenly got glum, speaking with a heavy toned voice, the voice of a man that had truly seen much to many things for his time on the Earth. He had been a different man, presumably more nicely dressed and more neatly groomed. Then he said the next best thing ever. Flesh eating moose. Wait, moose. Moose. Moose, not meese? Why was it that goose became geese but moose did not become meese? Was this under the same reason that multiple box were referred to as boxes but many Ox as Oxen, not Oxes? What the hell had humans done to their languages? This was nothing close to the neat formality of the Andromedan language.

"... Flesh eating moose? Wow, My people really must not have given a damn about homo sapiens. Tell me, actually. how are the stories in your christian holy book written?"

His question was met with another question. This man had no clue about who Jesus Christ was. Ezrihel scrambled for a brief moment to assemble a way to explain it to him.

"You know, followers of Jesus Christ. The New Testament. Jesus wondered about Rome and they crucified him upon a cross for speaking heresy. He's in the Holy Bible, the crusades were fought between the Followers of Christ and the Devout of Allah. ..." He trailed off, somewhat shocked that someone hadn't heard of the holy books of Judaism, Christianity or Islam before. This shock was apparent on his face as he blinked a few times.

After a short second he took a sharp breath, sighed, and asked, "So, how did you manage to get that sword on your hip? You don't really come across as a very talented person, hence my doubt at you having actually forged that sword yourself. Does it have a name?"

After the man's response he would follow up with, "I can tell that the sword is a sentient being, hence my curiosity about it."

[Xehanort]

Cyburn disgusted Cyburn with each passing moment. The man's hate seemed shallow, fortified only by the excuses he gave. Family? Where is this family the greasy man talked of? They were nowhere to be seen. They were not at his side, and they never would be. This was the first mentioning of his family since the man first drew zangetsu from the ground. The man only seemed to want to kill anything that passed them. To be frank zangetsu didn't really help either. He thirsted for battle and it seemed this canadian hater did to. It all seemed... fake, false, counterfeit to the talking sword. He assume it was to hide some underlying secret of some sort. Hell, the family part may as well be a lie.

As for not knowing what Christians were, zangetsu didn't know what to say. So what the blade was only about a week old at the most. He still knew what Christianity was. zangetsu was a spiritual being after all. However this didn't compare to the flesh eating moose. Oh no, this man was delusional and insane. Mentally unstable men and women did not deserve to wield zangetsu. He had thought long and hard about it when pondering the nature of his existence shortly after birth. He had concluded that mentally unstable or challenged souls would break and become weak. By that point they only could only be used as a vessel for possession. The body would then be nothing more than Hollow food.

Back to his private conversation with Ezrihel, the man of high esteem pushed his belief that he was worthy to knowing zangetsu's name. That was the funny thing about living beings. Names did not have as significance in life as they did in death. After death, the name of a power being such as zangetsu was nothing to toss around lightly. zanpakuto were simple creatures, with more symbolic characteristics than actual ones. To know his name was to know zangetsu on a close, nearly intimate level. Besides... the sword knew nearly nothing of this man besides his name and an aura of dominance that seemed to radiate from him during his interactions with Cyburn. It was something almost.. inhuman. zangetsu toyed with the idea of this man being more than human. It would be something new to the sword.

Everything in the world in which zangetsu came from could be considered to be based on the human spirit. One could damage, twist, purify, and fuse the human souls together to form various creatures that often set themselves apart from humans. In a way they were right to do so, but in a way they were so very wrong. One could argue that zangetsu was less than human, being composed of raw spiritual power and raw combative instinct. It wasn't until coming to this... place that he began to feel and think anything other than combat. Must be the spiritual and mental physics of the world.

However he realized that the zangetsu back home and the zangetsu here were largely two different beings when compared. It was amusing and frustrating at the same time.

But that frustration melted away from this man's attempt at flattery. Destruction was something zangetsu was known for. No.. correction: would be known for. Grace was not. He believed he would be the total opposite, brutality. zangetsu would find a suitable wielder and, through blood and sweat, trial and tribulation, his wielder would become a force to be feared and respected. zangetsu would be the instrument of his wrath an revenge. It would be so sweet.

However zangetsu was forced to pull the strings himself without the Old Man here to do it. It was an interesting change of pace, but the sword felt it too much work.

zangetsu wasn't really connected to the person he was telepathically communicating with. It was Ezrihal who initiated it, who brought zangetsu's tendril of thought into his own mind though subtly. zangetsu witnessed memories.. or dreams.. or whatever the hell they were, and zangetsu believed this Ezrihal was intending him to see this, whether he was aware of it himself or not. zangetsu felt his pain, felt his hurt, felt his ebbing anger and raged locked away so long ago. The sword chuckled and smiled internally. The man revealed he was more than human, a part of race responsible for the coming about of humans in his world. It was interesting to say the least. In body the man was more than human, but in soul... well the human soul was probably shaped in his race's image. The human soul was probably a reflection of his race's. Interesting. It would be possible for this man to wield zangetsu with much efficiency.

"Whether you wanted me to see visions of your past or not, I have witnessed and examined your thoughts. I can give you the opportunity to grow stronger, possibly the strength needed to right the so many wrongs in your life. There are no guarantees though. We are of different worlds in a sandbox we do not yet understand.", zangetsu spoke into the man's mind. zangetsu believed he would accept the sword's offer. He certainly at least hoped so. Cyburn seemed... too flat and predictable, almost comedic for zangetsu. He did not believe the Canadian hater had the proper bearing to wield zangetsu. Ezrihal was a different story.

"Names are intimate things after death, Ezrihal. To know my name is to KNOW me. You have given me a taste of your own life and emotion, I can give you the chance to learn it........ until then i can scream out my name to you but you will hear nothing. Do you understand?", zangetsu explained with a half yawn. All this inaction was making zangetsu so very tired from boredom.

"But know that can never happen as long as Cyburn carries me. The choice is yours."

[Cyburn]

Cyburn gave what Ezhiral said some thought. Apparently, the Roman empire was something that had happened a long time ago in that 'verse. He smiled a little and said, "Rome? You mean that little country that's barely got a hold of of the Italian Peninsula? I'd hardly call that an empire. I mean, sure, they're getting closer and closer to the Greeks and their city states, but they're also trying to fight those Europeans and their kings and whatnot in the main part of Europe."

He gave some pause to the idea of Islam and Judaism, he knew what those two were, and he added. "Islam? Now that I've heard of, though that's mostly worshiped in the Persian Empire, which is an actual empire. Though they did just recently get beaten by those Spartans a few years back." He was quick to add to that this as well, "Judaism is followed in a few lands, I know that the Egyptians recently had a mass exodus of Jewish slaves leaving that place that were led by a man named "Moses." He seemed like a real angry fellow when I spoke to him, had a bit of a high horse when it came to his god."

He looked at the man and thought of a few more things to say, such as "It appears that my world and yours are two very different worlds. Let me guess, the Huns and the Vikings were gone a long time ago? It was a past thing? It's happening now in mine, the Vikings are raiding all across Europe and the Huns are attacking from the East. I was actually in contact with the leader of the Vikings before I left my 'verse, he was going to supply me with an army to aid me in destroying Canada."

He pondered over the question of where he got the sword, and then he stopped pondering. "I found the damn thing, and it's not on my hip. It's on my sword. We sort of hate each other. Pulled him out of the ground, and you're right. I don't have the skill to forge weapons. And, yeah. He's definitely alive. Otherwise he wouldn't be so annoying."

[Xehanort]

Cyburn was careless. The buckle securing Zangetsu's massive blade had become loose, causing the Zanpakuto to fall from the back of the unsuspecting Canadian terrorist. The giant brown table of a scabbard fell, but it never would hit the ground, but in the hands of a camouflaged Canadian soldier who had lay in wait. The soldier quickly belted the blade to his back before giving the terrorist a prominent middle finger and making his escape unknowing to the great Cyburn.

Once free from the awful, smelly company of Cyburn's, the Zanpakuto turned his yellow eyes on this new victim. The man wore an outfit similar to that of Cyburn. From head to toe this new man was covered in white fatigues and camouflage. It would be hard for one to spot him if it wasn't for the massive sword on his back and the giant crimson maple leaf on the front of his blouse.

"He he he he... with this new secret weapon the Canadian Army could never again be opposed!", the white clad soldier said, slowing his sprint to walk now that he was far from the site of his epic snatching.
...
Zangetsu could see nothing promising in this man. If anything, Cyburn was more preferable than this imbecile. No wonder why his former "Wielder" was able pose a challenge to these guys. It was pathetic. The only one worth his time so far had been pulled from his grasp.

Zangetsu seemed to be drawing the company of idiots.

Inside the sword he stood and walked to where the void became solid. Like a wall it stopped Zangetsu from travelling any farther. The blade frowned and placed the palm of his ghostly hand to the wall. He knew what he had to do.

Ever since he was torn from his home he had been unattached to any soul. He was less than a human soul yet he could function. Perhaps he could... attach himself to the soul of another, and become one with them if only temporary. A wild grin stretched from ear to ear appeared. He cackled violently and pushed into the wall, fusing his soul with the poor soldier. He clearly wasn't ready for what he had planned for him.
--
The soldier found his way to the Fountain of Infinity, the "Birthplace" of all primes. Suddenly... he felt different. He felt stronger faster but different. Uncontrollably the soldier's hand reached up to grasp the sword he had snatched from the dumb ass. For something with some obvious weight.. it seemed weightless. He had to use it. On something; on anything! The growing hunger, thirst for blood crawled up from his core, gripping hold of his instincts. No.. overflowing it.

In the soldier's mind there was no more room for reason and logic. His instincts were pulled from the depths of his mind to the front, burying it deep. His body hunched, his body tensing as his eyes scanned the area for prey, anyone to sheath his sword in.

"Stop right there!"

The Canadian soldier stopped in his place, licking his lips as the Imperial Scout Trooper behind him stepped from his bike and raised his small but potent blaster pistol. The Trooper was sent to bring in any who came in from the gates or seemed to. Sensors told him that what was in front of him was indeed a prime.. yet wasn't. The Scout's equipment was factory fresh. It couldn't lie to him. This strange anomaly had to be brought in. He slowly stepped forward, the muscle of his blaster against the back of the Canadian. For a moment the Scout was distracted as he reached down to retrieve his cuffs.

This mistake was fatal.

The Canadian abruptly turned and swung Zangetsu into the Scout, embedding him halfway into the chest of the scout. Blood oozed directly onto the blade before dripping to the pristine ground of the Nexus. Electric yellow eyes stared through the wide black visor of the Imperial scout.
__________
"W-Where am I?"

The Canadian looked around. He was.... home. Canada in all her glory! He wore what he did before only... the sword.. the sword was missing! The soldier twisted his body, desperately looking for it. In doing so he failed to see where he was standing.

The Canadian slipped and busted his ass on the icy floor. He grunted and re-evaluated his position. He... he was in the middle of a hockey rink, and he wasn't alone. Everywhere he looked people he knew well were here, skating in a sporadic circle around him while each carrying a mug of steaming hot coffee. The Canadian recovered, getting his bearings on the ice, but nearly busted his ass again.

Once on his feet a white, robed figure grasping his new sword, unsheathed and held at the mysterious man's side. However the eeriest part was the man's skin and eyes: Pale skin with bright menacing eyes.

"H-hey! That's my sword!", The Canadian said, springing to his feet, pointing at the ghostly figure. This.. thing had some nerve to steal something he had just got done stealing. Never mind the people he knew.. this matter had to be settled first.

The ghostly figure simply laughed and licked his lips. "You talkin' about this? You are a fool", the figure growled, dropping the blade point first into the ice.

Rather than stick into the surface like expected, the blade faded through it, leaving the surface unscathed. The Canadian took a step back, somewhat frightened by the act.

"Let's play a game. You have until this world crumbles around you to find your... sword. You do not want to lose", the being giggled and skated around the ice rink on his own pair of skates. He skated around the Canadian, who stared blankly at the ice. He saw it fall through the ice... it had to be in there!
-----
If Jackson Pollock painted a panting with only the color red, it would describe the Canadian. The sick grin still plastered over his face, the scout's body had been dumped into the fountain, staining the clear water with crimson.

The Canadian let out a blood curdling howl and lean down at the edge of the stone fountain's edge, gripping tighter and tighter until his fingernails threatened to tear off. Gravity could only do so much alone so he dove his skull to the edge of the fountain with a sickening crack.

He sobbed and giggled, lifting his head back towards its starting position. His own blood dripped from the large gash in his forehead from the headbutt. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't feel the snapping of his fingers' bones as he gripped the fountain with a force his hands could not sustain. He couldn't feel the crack in his skull. No pain, nothing.... only instinct... the sword's instinct inhabited the man's mind.
---------
The Canadian cried out in desperation as the figures of various people of his past faded away, leaving only the ghost, the Canadian, and his bloody hands to the task at hand. The test had been a failure on the man's part. His mind was closed only to what he saw... a metaphorical sword falling through metaphorical ice. It was all a dream but this man was convinced it was real. The pressure to succeed was pressing him.

The Canadian failed to do more than leave bloody scratch marks in the ice. The soldier sat there weeping cradling his mangled and broken hands as Zangetsu skated lightly around him. He frowned and shook his head. His expectations weren't particularly high for this specimen but he could have done more, thought of something else.

"Hmmm seems you broke before you could fail.... too bad..", Zangetsu left the man to his broken sobs. The test might as well be over. Physically and spiritually the man was broken. He shrugged and severed his connection to the man, returning to the void of his blade.
---------
The electric yellow eyes faded leaving empty brown ones in its wake. The man fell headfirst unconscious into the fountain. The broken, blood-stained man would drown in the Fountain of Infinity... how poetic.

Zangetsu was laying flat on the gore covered ground. Internally he was tired, drained from the connection he had with the meaningless fool.

What a day...
(exit thread)