07-07-2017, 09:21 AM
The noises that were coming from the adjacent room of bacta tanks indicated that God Enel was doing relatively well after their last bout in the Colosseum.
Good. That was good. Tearen had been very concerned that he may have accidentally killed the lightning Prime at the very end of that sordid match, mostly out of a moment of panic and emotional disparity. But, safety begat clarity, and as soon as he was satisfied that his own corpus was in functional order, the elder Prime allowed himself to be bathed and monitored by the Syntech nurses. Certainly, he could have easily mended himself and seen to his own vitals, but these employees had a job to do, and to presume them as useless would only injure their fragile sanity. At least...fragile by Tearen's standards.
Once he had adorned himself with a freshly summoned suit, the rejuvenated elder Prime flicked his glasses on to his face and exited into the lobby area. Various contestants came and went, and this hackles shivered slightly as he caught a fleeting glimpse of Victor Hendy's form vanishing into a teleporter. That was okay. Patience would bear fruit, and he would only act at cusp. His attention was drawn into the middle of the room, where a small crowd of secondaries was huddled around a ragged and, to be quite honest, slightly smelly heap. Seriously, did most Primes just eschew bathing from their daily lives? Tearen dismissed the fascination with a slight jarring of his head, and advanced towards Gildarts.
Dust looked up at the encroaching Shadow with glinting, protective eyes. Tearen met the shifter's gaze with his own, stolid viridian hues.
"Yeah?" the shirtless man growled. Tearen narrowed his gaze.
"I will ask you politely, once, to please move so I can heal Gildarts." the Shadow said in a low tone. Dust quirked his head to the side for a moment, but conceded some breathing room to the eldritch human as he bent low and placed a hand on Gildarts' forehead. The manipulation of time would expedite the healing of Gildarts' flesh, but that was just the surface function that Tearen could keep automated while he did his real work. So, taking a deep breath, Tearen dove into the strongest Prime's mind through the flat of his palm.
Darkness, was the first thing that greeted him. Not uncommon for someone who was asleep, but this was more than just the absence of light. It was tangible, sticky, and cloying. Though he had no literal form, Tearen felt mired knee-deep in black muck that hungered for him.
"So nice of you to stop by. Maybe now we can really get to know one another..." Malefactor cooed, trying to poke and prod at Tearen's mental fortitude. The parasite would find no purchase; as much as she was a figment in Gildarts' mind, she had no capacity to rebuke his psychic intrusion, and more importantly, was incapable of contaminating Tearen himself. Whether or not the Malefactor knew this was unknown.
Tearen pressed through the stifling murk, and emerged in the ruins of a quaint little hamlet. There sat Gildarts, surrounded by corpses and destruction, staring at his hands. Fires burned, indistinct and displaced all around him, and the whispers of the dead clawed at his breaking mind. The pain and guilt were immense, pressing down like a suffocating weight, and everywhere in the seams and cracks of the scene, black ooze quivered and bounced with jovial sadism.
The look in Gildarts' eyes was blank and grey. His face was emotionless and staunch; he was skilled in displaying this affectation to the world. Inside his mind, however, he could not hide from his horror. The Malefactor was pervasive in every nook and cranny of his mind...had she been here too long? Was it too late? Tearen had to try.
"Poor, poor Gildarts. The strongest Prime, a weakling before his own power."
The scene of destruction looped over and over. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. This was where Gildarts' thoughts dwelt. This was his default reality. It was no wonder that the parasite had found such easy purchase in his mind. Invasive as she was, her ubiquitous presence betrayed her nature; a predator who feasted on the darkness of man. Shame. Guilt. Sadness. Anger. An ebony panacea to these all, and more, was the Malefactor. Too late was the cost made plain. Tearen had to go deeper.
He advanced towards the wizard's mental construct of himself, and intruded upon that mind as well. A tangle of black webbing surrounded them. Flashes of color and indistinct memories danced and loomed at the fringes of the cobweb horizon. The most recent memories were the brightest; an explosion of gold. A dead Archer. Power. Overwhelming power. Simultaneously never enough and too much. Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me-
A face. A young face. Follow the thread. Yes, there it was. Molly. A joy. Guu. Molly and Guu. Tearen could use these two to his advantage. It was here that the black tendrils could not reach.
"Don't you understand?! He needs me! You know what can happen if he doesn't have control!"
Such was the logic of a placebo. Control never came from without, it came from within. All this raw strength, and Gildarts had never learned that. Always focusing on amassing his power, but never fully mastering it. Impractical for most; deadly in his case. Tearen shook his head. The scene shifted, he was being taken into a dream. A bordello. A room of red and marble.
Lithe young bodies draped themselves across chaise couches, covered in shawls of fleeting silk. There sat Gildarts, pampered and doted upon by practically naked nubiles. Tearen remained unfazed. These things were normal for a human, but the eldritch man could not help but notice how...old...Gildarts looked next to all this supple flesh. He thought he recognized one of the fawning women. A curtain of crimson hair. What had her name been? No matter. Focus. Figure this out.
Gildarts on his throne, yet his expression remained the same. Vacant. Stolid. Unflinching. Uncompromising. Safe. Safe in his detachment. And there was his constant companion, Malefactor, spilling across his lap in the form of a sultry maiden constructed of black pigment. She traced a flirtatious hand along the wizard's weathered jaw. This was her first mistake.
Tearen advanced towards the ostentatious seat, and the Malefactor looked up at him peevishly.
"Can't go much deeper than this, lover."
Tearen dove into the Malefactor.
Shrieking. Shrieking. Violation. Unheard of. Error. Error. Etc. Tearen didn't care. He plunged into the core of her being, this rogue mind, one amongst this crowded skull. Again, the blackened morass sought to consume him, but he would not allow it. Vexed and hateful it tried to churn him out of its presence, but the elder Prime would not relent. What was this, a tyrannosaurus rex? Survival.
Survival, yes. That was the key. The Malefactor was a survivor, and only the strongest could ensure this black perpetuation. How foolish then, Malefactor. You found your strongest Prime, and you serve to degrade and break him down. Brute strength, perhaps, but a survivor requires clarity. They cannot be distracted and you distract. They cannot be restless and yet you harry.
Furthermore...this...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind.
SHUT UP!!
SHUUUT UPP!!
...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind. What purpose does it serve? Honestly, such amateur gestures. Why do you even do this? Where did you come from?
I DON'T KNOW!
You don't?
...I don't.
...
Tearen sat down with the Malefactor. Here in this black void sat a lonely soul, reaching out for purpose and finding only that it could guarantee its own perpetuation. There there, little monster, it's going to be okay. Let's work this out...
Good. That was good. Tearen had been very concerned that he may have accidentally killed the lightning Prime at the very end of that sordid match, mostly out of a moment of panic and emotional disparity. But, safety begat clarity, and as soon as he was satisfied that his own corpus was in functional order, the elder Prime allowed himself to be bathed and monitored by the Syntech nurses. Certainly, he could have easily mended himself and seen to his own vitals, but these employees had a job to do, and to presume them as useless would only injure their fragile sanity. At least...fragile by Tearen's standards.
Once he had adorned himself with a freshly summoned suit, the rejuvenated elder Prime flicked his glasses on to his face and exited into the lobby area. Various contestants came and went, and this hackles shivered slightly as he caught a fleeting glimpse of Victor Hendy's form vanishing into a teleporter. That was okay. Patience would bear fruit, and he would only act at cusp. His attention was drawn into the middle of the room, where a small crowd of secondaries was huddled around a ragged and, to be quite honest, slightly smelly heap. Seriously, did most Primes just eschew bathing from their daily lives? Tearen dismissed the fascination with a slight jarring of his head, and advanced towards Gildarts.
Dust looked up at the encroaching Shadow with glinting, protective eyes. Tearen met the shifter's gaze with his own, stolid viridian hues.
"Yeah?" the shirtless man growled. Tearen narrowed his gaze.
"I will ask you politely, once, to please move so I can heal Gildarts." the Shadow said in a low tone. Dust quirked his head to the side for a moment, but conceded some breathing room to the eldritch human as he bent low and placed a hand on Gildarts' forehead. The manipulation of time would expedite the healing of Gildarts' flesh, but that was just the surface function that Tearen could keep automated while he did his real work. So, taking a deep breath, Tearen dove into the strongest Prime's mind through the flat of his palm.
Darkness, was the first thing that greeted him. Not uncommon for someone who was asleep, but this was more than just the absence of light. It was tangible, sticky, and cloying. Though he had no literal form, Tearen felt mired knee-deep in black muck that hungered for him.
"So nice of you to stop by. Maybe now we can really get to know one another..." Malefactor cooed, trying to poke and prod at Tearen's mental fortitude. The parasite would find no purchase; as much as she was a figment in Gildarts' mind, she had no capacity to rebuke his psychic intrusion, and more importantly, was incapable of contaminating Tearen himself. Whether or not the Malefactor knew this was unknown.
Tearen pressed through the stifling murk, and emerged in the ruins of a quaint little hamlet. There sat Gildarts, surrounded by corpses and destruction, staring at his hands. Fires burned, indistinct and displaced all around him, and the whispers of the dead clawed at his breaking mind. The pain and guilt were immense, pressing down like a suffocating weight, and everywhere in the seams and cracks of the scene, black ooze quivered and bounced with jovial sadism.
The look in Gildarts' eyes was blank and grey. His face was emotionless and staunch; he was skilled in displaying this affectation to the world. Inside his mind, however, he could not hide from his horror. The Malefactor was pervasive in every nook and cranny of his mind...had she been here too long? Was it too late? Tearen had to try.
"Poor, poor Gildarts. The strongest Prime, a weakling before his own power."
The scene of destruction looped over and over. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. Flash of white. The screams. The dead. This was where Gildarts' thoughts dwelt. This was his default reality. It was no wonder that the parasite had found such easy purchase in his mind. Invasive as she was, her ubiquitous presence betrayed her nature; a predator who feasted on the darkness of man. Shame. Guilt. Sadness. Anger. An ebony panacea to these all, and more, was the Malefactor. Too late was the cost made plain. Tearen had to go deeper.
He advanced towards the wizard's mental construct of himself, and intruded upon that mind as well. A tangle of black webbing surrounded them. Flashes of color and indistinct memories danced and loomed at the fringes of the cobweb horizon. The most recent memories were the brightest; an explosion of gold. A dead Archer. Power. Overwhelming power. Simultaneously never enough and too much. Leave me alone! Leave me alone! Leave me-
A face. A young face. Follow the thread. Yes, there it was. Molly. A joy. Guu. Molly and Guu. Tearen could use these two to his advantage. It was here that the black tendrils could not reach.
"Don't you understand?! He needs me! You know what can happen if he doesn't have control!"
Such was the logic of a placebo. Control never came from without, it came from within. All this raw strength, and Gildarts had never learned that. Always focusing on amassing his power, but never fully mastering it. Impractical for most; deadly in his case. Tearen shook his head. The scene shifted, he was being taken into a dream. A bordello. A room of red and marble.
Lithe young bodies draped themselves across chaise couches, covered in shawls of fleeting silk. There sat Gildarts, pampered and doted upon by practically naked nubiles. Tearen remained unfazed. These things were normal for a human, but the eldritch man could not help but notice how...old...Gildarts looked next to all this supple flesh. He thought he recognized one of the fawning women. A curtain of crimson hair. What had her name been? No matter. Focus. Figure this out.
Gildarts on his throne, yet his expression remained the same. Vacant. Stolid. Unflinching. Uncompromising. Safe. Safe in his detachment. And there was his constant companion, Malefactor, spilling across his lap in the form of a sultry maiden constructed of black pigment. She traced a flirtatious hand along the wizard's weathered jaw. This was her first mistake.
Tearen advanced towards the ostentatious seat, and the Malefactor looked up at him peevishly.
"Can't go much deeper than this, lover."
Tearen dove into the Malefactor.
Shrieking. Shrieking. Violation. Unheard of. Error. Error. Etc. Tearen didn't care. He plunged into the core of her being, this rogue mind, one amongst this crowded skull. Again, the blackened morass sought to consume him, but he would not allow it. Vexed and hateful it tried to churn him out of its presence, but the elder Prime would not relent. What was this, a tyrannosaurus rex? Survival.
Survival, yes. That was the key. The Malefactor was a survivor, and only the strongest could ensure this black perpetuation. How foolish then, Malefactor. You found your strongest Prime, and you serve to degrade and break him down. Brute strength, perhaps, but a survivor requires clarity. They cannot be distracted and you distract. They cannot be restless and yet you harry.
Furthermore...this...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind.
SHUT UP!!
SHUUUT UPP!!
...figmentation you have implanted in the wizard's mind. What purpose does it serve? Honestly, such amateur gestures. Why do you even do this? Where did you come from?
I DON'T KNOW!
You don't?
...I don't.
...
Tearen sat down with the Malefactor. Here in this black void sat a lonely soul, reaching out for purpose and finding only that it could guarantee its own perpetuation. There there, little monster, it's going to be okay. Let's work this out...
Quote:Will let Sam resolve this how she wants.
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