09-04-2016, 03:19 PM
Nealaphh walked slowly down the black-metal vein, extending its awareness as far as possible into the pitch darkness that surrounded it on all sides. The tubes that it moved through had branched several times now, but he just hope that as long as he moved against the current, it would deliver him to the proper destination. He had noted that the depth of the pale slime did not seem to change at all, which meant that, despite there being a moving current, there was no downhill slope to this network of metallic bowels. This indicated that a force other than gravity was moving the thick solutions. A pump of some kind, perhaps. Ideally this would be where the weirdlings would congregate, but he didn’t know for sure.
It had been some time since he’d encountered any of the hybrid beasts, which struck the Enigma as odd. According to Groota and his demon henchmen, these hallways were supposed to have been choked with them. It was possible that this was a relative assessment, based on how much inteference they caused, but as far as Nealaphh could tell, their presence here was mostly non-intrusive. There was no obvious damage to the abyssal environment, nor interference with whatever function this network served. Ultimately, however, it didn’t matter; Nealaphh would cooperate with the demon city. It was his best hopes of returning to the Omniverse proper.
It wasn’t as if he regretted having banished himself; having this sort of alone time to get back in touch with his lost humanity was soothing to his troubled spirit. Still, there were probably alternatives he could have taken. It had been an irrational decision, in a moment of extreme confusion. Ultimately, he would have to forgive himself for the transgression, but it was possible that the other members of the Institute would not be so quick to do so. Indeed, it was entirely possible that, by the time he escaped the Underverse, the Institute would no longer exist as he had left it. Getting even a few of the members to be present for the slaying of Volvagia had been like herding drunken cats. The likelihood that they would be able to function in his absence was laughable.
Would that be such a bad thing, though? Nealaphh had been thinking about his motives in the Omniverse for quite some time, now. He could feel his humanity returning with each step, bringing with it a bitter sense of penitent dismay over its infinite atrocities. Its dreams of deposing Omni and taking over the Omniverse in his stead now seemed so very quaint, and childish. In all those eons that he had been convinced that he was the pinnacle of mental existence, had he actually been at his cognitive nadir? The teachings of The Master dictated that to give up the shackles of mental mortality was to reach true enlightenment, but it had been at the cost of almost everything he loved…no, more than that. It had robbed him of his ability to love altogether.
What had caused him to accept that faustian bargain in the first place? He long remembered having been whisked off to the Nameless City against his will, but now that he forced himself to think back on that time in the hospital, is struck him that he had potentially been lying to himself. Something about it just hadn’t felt right…there was no guarantee that he wasn’t going to awaken from his comatose state. There was a very real chance he may have been able to resume life with his wife and daughter again. What could have caused him to go so quickly from being devastated over effectively losing them, to his total willingness to devote so much energy to ridding himself of his emotional attachments altogether?
There had to be some sort of latent anger, some sort of resentment that caused him to view his family as expendable. Or, at least anger to the point where he was willing to secretly lash out against them. Nealaphh tried to think back through his human memories, which were still hazy and indistinct. It was hard to pinpoint the source of the anger when he didn’t even specifically know what the emotion was about.
Nealaphh paused and rested his back against the clammy side of the tube he was currently traversing. With a slow grinding sound, he slid down the side of the hallway and rested his forearms on his knees, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the grime. This form…he had long thought that it had been Omni that chose it for him, but Nealaphh was beginning to suspect it was a reflection of his own subconscious neurosis. A third eye, present, yet displaced. Though, now he had none to speak of. It was a simple, blank, black face that could not breathe, nor smile, nor frown, nor scream. He could feel anger welling up inside of him, and the metal walls around him began to rumble and shake, as his mind pulled haphazardly on the space in his vicinity. It was beginning to feel like he had brought this all upon himself. Not just his current circumstances, but becoming Nealaphh in the first place, his very body, his loss of his humanity. A long string of self-destructive mentality, deftly wrapped in a false sense of superiority, occluding his realization that he had made a grave error.
This was true insanity. No meaningless ranting or schizophrenic delusions. A self-indulgent thread of deception that had cost him everything he cared about, likely set in motion long before he would have had the wherewithal to realize what such behavior might lead to. A nearby lamp flickered and exploded as his mental rage lashed out at anything fragile. Damn it all. Damn the Institute. But most importantly, damn Nealaphh. He refused the mantle of Enigma. He didn’t want to be the pinnacle of mental perfection. He just wanted to see his baby again.
But he couldn’t even remember her name.
As if to mock him, it was only at this point that another Weirdling decided to show up. Nealaphh turned his head to look at the creature, like a cross between a wolf and a lawnmower. A large, circular saw whirled loudly where its mouth belonged, its emaciated upper skull mounted with a pair of gleaming red cameras. Immediately, now that his anger had a concrete target to focus on, the monstrosity was plucked out of the white sludge and unceremoniously crushed like a wad of waste paper, it’s own mechanical weapon nearly grinding it in half. Nealaphh felt a mix of emotions at the sudden, pointless death.
Part of him wanted to be disgusted at the wanton violence, another part didn’t even remotely care. Questions and more neuroses exploded across his consciousness like sickly fireworks, and further fueled by impotent rage, flung the now-seeping wreck of the weirdling dog far behind him. He couldn’t afford to get hung up on this kind of navel-gazing at the moment, lest he be doomed to wander these black halls for eternity. At some point, healing had to begin, and if that meant that he had to put a few dozen mutants out of their biological misery, then so be it.
With that, Nealaphh once again stood up from his place of rest, the ichor sloughing off of him in thick sheets. The sooner he could be done with this, the better. Perhaps, again, it would be decision he would come to regret. Hopefully this time he would at least have the wisdom not to try and intentionally forget the mistake.
It was time for true progress.
It had been some time since he’d encountered any of the hybrid beasts, which struck the Enigma as odd. According to Groota and his demon henchmen, these hallways were supposed to have been choked with them. It was possible that this was a relative assessment, based on how much inteference they caused, but as far as Nealaphh could tell, their presence here was mostly non-intrusive. There was no obvious damage to the abyssal environment, nor interference with whatever function this network served. Ultimately, however, it didn’t matter; Nealaphh would cooperate with the demon city. It was his best hopes of returning to the Omniverse proper.
It wasn’t as if he regretted having banished himself; having this sort of alone time to get back in touch with his lost humanity was soothing to his troubled spirit. Still, there were probably alternatives he could have taken. It had been an irrational decision, in a moment of extreme confusion. Ultimately, he would have to forgive himself for the transgression, but it was possible that the other members of the Institute would not be so quick to do so. Indeed, it was entirely possible that, by the time he escaped the Underverse, the Institute would no longer exist as he had left it. Getting even a few of the members to be present for the slaying of Volvagia had been like herding drunken cats. The likelihood that they would be able to function in his absence was laughable.
Would that be such a bad thing, though? Nealaphh had been thinking about his motives in the Omniverse for quite some time, now. He could feel his humanity returning with each step, bringing with it a bitter sense of penitent dismay over its infinite atrocities. Its dreams of deposing Omni and taking over the Omniverse in his stead now seemed so very quaint, and childish. In all those eons that he had been convinced that he was the pinnacle of mental existence, had he actually been at his cognitive nadir? The teachings of The Master dictated that to give up the shackles of mental mortality was to reach true enlightenment, but it had been at the cost of almost everything he loved…no, more than that. It had robbed him of his ability to love altogether.
What had caused him to accept that faustian bargain in the first place? He long remembered having been whisked off to the Nameless City against his will, but now that he forced himself to think back on that time in the hospital, is struck him that he had potentially been lying to himself. Something about it just hadn’t felt right…there was no guarantee that he wasn’t going to awaken from his comatose state. There was a very real chance he may have been able to resume life with his wife and daughter again. What could have caused him to go so quickly from being devastated over effectively losing them, to his total willingness to devote so much energy to ridding himself of his emotional attachments altogether?
There had to be some sort of latent anger, some sort of resentment that caused him to view his family as expendable. Or, at least anger to the point where he was willing to secretly lash out against them. Nealaphh tried to think back through his human memories, which were still hazy and indistinct. It was hard to pinpoint the source of the anger when he didn’t even specifically know what the emotion was about.
Nealaphh paused and rested his back against the clammy side of the tube he was currently traversing. With a slow grinding sound, he slid down the side of the hallway and rested his forearms on his knees, trying to catch a glimpse of his reflection in the grime. This form…he had long thought that it had been Omni that chose it for him, but Nealaphh was beginning to suspect it was a reflection of his own subconscious neurosis. A third eye, present, yet displaced. Though, now he had none to speak of. It was a simple, blank, black face that could not breathe, nor smile, nor frown, nor scream. He could feel anger welling up inside of him, and the metal walls around him began to rumble and shake, as his mind pulled haphazardly on the space in his vicinity. It was beginning to feel like he had brought this all upon himself. Not just his current circumstances, but becoming Nealaphh in the first place, his very body, his loss of his humanity. A long string of self-destructive mentality, deftly wrapped in a false sense of superiority, occluding his realization that he had made a grave error.
This was true insanity. No meaningless ranting or schizophrenic delusions. A self-indulgent thread of deception that had cost him everything he cared about, likely set in motion long before he would have had the wherewithal to realize what such behavior might lead to. A nearby lamp flickered and exploded as his mental rage lashed out at anything fragile. Damn it all. Damn the Institute. But most importantly, damn Nealaphh. He refused the mantle of Enigma. He didn’t want to be the pinnacle of mental perfection. He just wanted to see his baby again.
But he couldn’t even remember her name.
As if to mock him, it was only at this point that another Weirdling decided to show up. Nealaphh turned his head to look at the creature, like a cross between a wolf and a lawnmower. A large, circular saw whirled loudly where its mouth belonged, its emaciated upper skull mounted with a pair of gleaming red cameras. Immediately, now that his anger had a concrete target to focus on, the monstrosity was plucked out of the white sludge and unceremoniously crushed like a wad of waste paper, it’s own mechanical weapon nearly grinding it in half. Nealaphh felt a mix of emotions at the sudden, pointless death.
Part of him wanted to be disgusted at the wanton violence, another part didn’t even remotely care. Questions and more neuroses exploded across his consciousness like sickly fireworks, and further fueled by impotent rage, flung the now-seeping wreck of the weirdling dog far behind him. He couldn’t afford to get hung up on this kind of navel-gazing at the moment, lest he be doomed to wander these black halls for eternity. At some point, healing had to begin, and if that meant that he had to put a few dozen mutants out of their biological misery, then so be it.
With that, Nealaphh once again stood up from his place of rest, the ichor sloughing off of him in thick sheets. The sooner he could be done with this, the better. Perhaps, again, it would be decision he would come to regret. Hopefully this time he would at least have the wisdom not to try and intentionally forget the mistake.
It was time for true progress.
And, we dream of home I dream of life out of here Their dreams are small My dreams don't know fear I got my heart full of hope I will change everything No matter what I'm told How impossible it seems We did it before And we'll do it again We're indestructible Even when we're tired And we've been here before Just you and I
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued