https://omni.zulenka.com/ Fri, 14 Aug 2026 13:04:19 +0000 MyBB https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7792 Wed, 08 Aug 2018 23:04:28 +0000 Lucas Kellan]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7792
After checking for the 10th time that nobody was going to bust down his room for something important, he locked the door lying on the silky sheets underneath.

He hadn’t even gotten here and he was already seeing the same Empire sanctioned ads every hour on the news channel.

But he realized he could pick up information about the empire’s going ons just by watching the news of Coruscant.

After picking out tidbits of various interesting events in Coruscant, neatly set into piles, he laid down and closed his eyes.

What he’d see would be something out of the ordinary (at least to him anyway)

The dream contained a strange area of sorts, like a slummy area of sorts. He’d seen the best and worst of the Vektan people yet the Helghast wanted to ruin all that.

The man realized he was wearing his director’s clothes in the dream as well.]]>
After checking for the 10th time that nobody was going to bust down his room for something important, he locked the door lying on the silky sheets underneath.

He hadn’t even gotten here and he was already seeing the same Empire sanctioned ads every hour on the news channel.

But he realized he could pick up information about the empire’s going ons just by watching the news of Coruscant.

After picking out tidbits of various interesting events in Coruscant, neatly set into piles, he laid down and closed his eyes.

What he’d see would be something out of the ordinary (at least to him anyway)

The dream contained a strange area of sorts, like a slummy area of sorts. He’d seen the best and worst of the Vektan people yet the Helghast wanted to ruin all that.

The man realized he was wearing his director’s clothes in the dream as well.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7689 Sat, 14 Jul 2018 08:39:06 +0000 Ezrihel]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7689
Purgatory was a fitting name. The gods had forsaken and forgotten this cruel place long ago. Not like the blonde man could have even begun to blame them. Leaderless and destructive humans had eaten up everything in sight, scratching and fighting to race towards a nigh on irreversible chaos. They had paid dearly for it too, or at least those too poor and sorry had. As always the rich and most responsible boarded on ships and fled to the stars.

And now some of those people were trying- perhaps in vain- to fix an issue a thousand years long and far beyond being only systemically deep.

To put it bluntly humans had really fucked it all up.

Ezrihel gave a careless snort of disdain. The Sok’ma-tal would attribute all this to him as well if they had the chance or the breath left in their bodies. He was always to blame, always the reason. He was nothing but a failure, a force of destruction and hatred hellbent on forcing things to fit his scheme and vision for the most wicked of pictures. He had succeeded in a perceptibly infinite amount of endeavors and yet while history obliterated every portrait it created, it always painted him and his mistakes.

And here he was, basically in the middle of hell, rescuing some insignificant scientist that studied plants. He’d already had to smash at least two vicious mutated insects that had wanted to make a meal out of him. All because some pretty woman had inadvertently mentioned that some silly organisation and cause she happened to care about needed help.

She was gorgeous though. Her pretty downturned blue eyes always seemed to beckon to him, pleading with him to fall deep into her. To relax... To trust. Her aura promised it would be okay, promised that she would help, that she comprehended him and his reasons. She promised it would all be okay one day, that things- everything- could be corrected, made to be alright. He felt himself softly shudder, his coat rustled quietly.

She always looked at him like she knew, silver-blue eyes filled with some sort of wretched sympathy and understanding as if she had crawled into his skull and had him all figured out. She couldn’t possibly know. She could never ever understand him or the suffering he had endured at the hands of fate and gods and elders and tradition. No one had ever succeeded, regardless of their tactics or sickly soured flattery that begged for his story and his time with the gaping hungry mouths of young predators. Their soulless, empty bodies whispered a secret language he couldn't decipher but somehow understood.

And their cries were:

"Feed me... feed me..."

They begged him. Screaming and whispering. They wanted him to devour those around them, chew them up into a paste and smear them inside their mouths. To get drunk on the privilege of his attention. They raked their claws across his body, desperate to witness his destruction and bathe in his failures. Yet no matter where he turned they were there, on all sides, lying next to each other. Rows and rows of executioners.

Some were shirtless, robeless and throbbing with anticipation, sweat delicately sneaking its way through their dirty matted body hair. All of them were hooded, some like seventeenth century guillotine henchmen, others had crudely made hoods leering like scarecrows- or sullen ripped ski masks soiled with slobber from their clenching jaws. Some had burlap masks sewn together that looked like they were made of human skin.

Each one held a weapon, large mallets- crudely fashioned axes and large clubs, pipes.

But he wasn’t compelled to retreat, oh no. He was forced to move between them, past their swinging weapons: the clubs, the bats, the slicing tools, the shovels, the large and small axes, big boards with nails, staples and razorblades embedded in them. He was made to take the beatings, to fall down and get up again and again and again and again- driven to make. It. Out- at any cost.

Nila Malik was his poison. She would be his fall, his demise. Those enchanting silver-blue eyes bespoke a thousand sobbed begs of him and convinced him that he could still fly if he just reached far enough, if he could just run fast enough, try harder. She just wanted something, like everyone else. She was another hungry mouth, just not consciously. Like Katrina she’d cling to him, another parasite to feast and suckle from his bodice, another young predator to be adopted under the pretense of helplessness and need.

He sucked a deep breath in, the dusty grit of the desert air coated his purple tongue. The disk of the setting sun was swollen and heavy in the sky as it dipped below the horizon. On Irenya the sun’s light was soft and loving, but here, like everything else, the sun’s light was violent and tinted the world in merciless, angry reds. Shadows of standing rocks, scorched trees and defiant cacti stretched sinisterly across the landscape, ally to the inky ebb of unknown nocturnal threats.

Romance would be his demise.

He was too lenient, too kind. Too considerate. Too content to stand by passively while the squirming mass of maggots digested him from the inside out.

“Oh, beautiful miss Malik,” as he spoke the pagan moon finally emerged from behind the far mountain range, drenching the empty sands in alien silver. “You're so perfect when you lie. You can be my crucifix- hold me up to watch me die.”

She was a killer and a keeper, he had promised himself that already. She was picking him flowers from her soul and mending the wings of a wretched fallen angel, handling the splinters of his broken halo. She would come to know him by the scars he bore and the hate that he swore by. He danced in the fires again, burnt and bleeding. He was a whore, holy, loved by many and yet still so lonely. He was barren, fruitful, bored and rarely useful- an insignificant, shiny and unique sinner seeking manic martyrdom.

Couldn’t she see?]]>
Purgatory was a fitting name. The gods had forsaken and forgotten this cruel place long ago. Not like the blonde man could have even begun to blame them. Leaderless and destructive humans had eaten up everything in sight, scratching and fighting to race towards a nigh on irreversible chaos. They had paid dearly for it too, or at least those too poor and sorry had. As always the rich and most responsible boarded on ships and fled to the stars.

And now some of those people were trying- perhaps in vain- to fix an issue a thousand years long and far beyond being only systemically deep.

To put it bluntly humans had really fucked it all up.

Ezrihel gave a careless snort of disdain. The Sok’ma-tal would attribute all this to him as well if they had the chance or the breath left in their bodies. He was always to blame, always the reason. He was nothing but a failure, a force of destruction and hatred hellbent on forcing things to fit his scheme and vision for the most wicked of pictures. He had succeeded in a perceptibly infinite amount of endeavors and yet while history obliterated every portrait it created, it always painted him and his mistakes.

And here he was, basically in the middle of hell, rescuing some insignificant scientist that studied plants. He’d already had to smash at least two vicious mutated insects that had wanted to make a meal out of him. All because some pretty woman had inadvertently mentioned that some silly organisation and cause she happened to care about needed help.

She was gorgeous though. Her pretty downturned blue eyes always seemed to beckon to him, pleading with him to fall deep into her. To relax... To trust. Her aura promised it would be okay, promised that she would help, that she comprehended him and his reasons. She promised it would all be okay one day, that things- everything- could be corrected, made to be alright. He felt himself softly shudder, his coat rustled quietly.

She always looked at him like she knew, silver-blue eyes filled with some sort of wretched sympathy and understanding as if she had crawled into his skull and had him all figured out. She couldn’t possibly know. She could never ever understand him or the suffering he had endured at the hands of fate and gods and elders and tradition. No one had ever succeeded, regardless of their tactics or sickly soured flattery that begged for his story and his time with the gaping hungry mouths of young predators. Their soulless, empty bodies whispered a secret language he couldn't decipher but somehow understood.

And their cries were:

"Feed me... feed me..."

They begged him. Screaming and whispering. They wanted him to devour those around them, chew them up into a paste and smear them inside their mouths. To get drunk on the privilege of his attention. They raked their claws across his body, desperate to witness his destruction and bathe in his failures. Yet no matter where he turned they were there, on all sides, lying next to each other. Rows and rows of executioners.

Some were shirtless, robeless and throbbing with anticipation, sweat delicately sneaking its way through their dirty matted body hair. All of them were hooded, some like seventeenth century guillotine henchmen, others had crudely made hoods leering like scarecrows- or sullen ripped ski masks soiled with slobber from their clenching jaws. Some had burlap masks sewn together that looked like they were made of human skin.

Each one held a weapon, large mallets- crudely fashioned axes and large clubs, pipes.

But he wasn’t compelled to retreat, oh no. He was forced to move between them, past their swinging weapons: the clubs, the bats, the slicing tools, the shovels, the large and small axes, big boards with nails, staples and razorblades embedded in them. He was made to take the beatings, to fall down and get up again and again and again and again- driven to make. It. Out- at any cost.

Nila Malik was his poison. She would be his fall, his demise. Those enchanting silver-blue eyes bespoke a thousand sobbed begs of him and convinced him that he could still fly if he just reached far enough, if he could just run fast enough, try harder. She just wanted something, like everyone else. She was another hungry mouth, just not consciously. Like Katrina she’d cling to him, another parasite to feast and suckle from his bodice, another young predator to be adopted under the pretense of helplessness and need.

He sucked a deep breath in, the dusty grit of the desert air coated his purple tongue. The disk of the setting sun was swollen and heavy in the sky as it dipped below the horizon. On Irenya the sun’s light was soft and loving, but here, like everything else, the sun’s light was violent and tinted the world in merciless, angry reds. Shadows of standing rocks, scorched trees and defiant cacti stretched sinisterly across the landscape, ally to the inky ebb of unknown nocturnal threats.

Romance would be his demise.

He was too lenient, too kind. Too considerate. Too content to stand by passively while the squirming mass of maggots digested him from the inside out.

“Oh, beautiful miss Malik,” as he spoke the pagan moon finally emerged from behind the far mountain range, drenching the empty sands in alien silver. “You're so perfect when you lie. You can be my crucifix- hold me up to watch me die.”

She was a killer and a keeper, he had promised himself that already. She was picking him flowers from her soul and mending the wings of a wretched fallen angel, handling the splinters of his broken halo. She would come to know him by the scars he bore and the hate that he swore by. He danced in the fires again, burnt and bleeding. He was a whore, holy, loved by many and yet still so lonely. He was barren, fruitful, bored and rarely useful- an insignificant, shiny and unique sinner seeking manic martyrdom.

Couldn’t she see?]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7426 Sat, 02 Jun 2018 07:21:02 +0000 Ash]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7426
To be called an assassin would be too high of a compliment to the secret vampire. She was a mercenary at best. She was a mercenary that was always alone, recommended by word of mouth. With a job, she was less suspicious and could freely roam the country. Her current position was south of the Titan Dessert, where work was plentiful, and secrets were easy to keep.

And yet, someone was able to come across her secret life. She imagined it was some whore she paid to sink her teeth in. Never trust an unfaithful woman... Never.

A shadowy man had slipped into her alley with a job offer, one she couldn't refuse. Mostly because he threatened to send word to a large hunter group about the whereabouts of a delicate looking woman with intimidating fangs... She instantly knew he wasn't bluffing by the calm heartbeat she could hear drumming softly from his chest. So she snatched the coin purse he waved about in front of her so that everything was legit and asked for details of the job. This was usually the opposite, as she liked to know what she was getting into first hand.

The man had a desire to eliminated another, someone by the name of Barsig. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to have pissed off the wrong people. The 'client' assured her that it was most important or he wouldn't have succumbed to blackmail. She hardly believed he'd never stoop that low but said nothing. Safety was her main priority. She could not go back to the cages! She was lucky that all the guy wanted her to do was kill a guy. But she made plans to leave tonight just to make sure that's all they were getting out of her.

The 'Lucky Beaver' was alive with laughter and music heard from a few blocks away. She stepped into the bright lighting of the front entrance, looking the place over with her crimson eyes. She wore her white hair just past her shoulders and half pulled back in a silky black ribbon. Her clothes clung to her small 'delicate' frame, a black sleeveless turtleneck shirt, and dark brown shorts that were shorter than normal. She wore fingerless gloves over fishnet arm warmers, the right longer than the left. Tight leather boots with heels that stop at her knees over black stockings. Around the left bicep she wore a leather strap with a solid metal cross, and around her right thigh, she strapped a dagger. As she walked into the place, her hips naturally swung from side to side, seductively.

Sin had received a brief description of the man she was looking for by the unlikable client. There were a lot of handsome men in the large building. Only a few of good-looking men had their hair pulled back in ponytails.  In addition to that, only two with blondish-brown hair. She eyed the one closer to the age range the blackmailer specified, roughly early to mid-twenties. The singled out male was at a poker table as to oppose the blackjack table or the dice games the other guy was at.

Sin observed this player long enough to notice two things. One, the man in her sights was currently concealing a weapon, fairly well. And two, he was good at playing the other men at the table.

Poker was a game you had to have a lot of skill in to win usually, that or you had to be shit lucky in to survived the card sharks. Barsig had plenty of both, as well as the added pleasure of stacking the game in his favor. He was currently holding a really good hand, a four of a kind. Jacks. However, unfortunately, he was also aware of there being a flush in the hand of the man on the right end of the table. In the process of stacking the deck, he forced another good hand into his opponents. Not his best move, but shit happens.

"You in or you out?" The dealer of the hand was a guy with a cigar in his mouth.

Barsig would wager that he had the full house and probably thought he was sitting on big money. Normally he'd like to prove the smug guy wrong, but he wasn't going to waste his money doing it when he knew there was a winner that could top him. He was about to fold, but before he could say anything, he'd been cut off.

"He's going all-in." Sin said confidently, leaning on the table between Barsig and the other man on his left. She then looked back at him with a grin over her shoulder so he could get a good look at her ass and try to argue with it.

Barsig's eyes consumed the exotic woman who was leaning next to him. Light skin, white hair, red eyes. Shapely hips, sizable chest, and soft kissable lips. He realized what she was saying and knew it was insane but stole a  glance at the guy with the flush. He looked somewhere between cocky and surprised. Barsig let his eyes fall on the dealer as if he would give him any sign whether this was a good idea or not, and then at another guy who was still in... He looked back at his hand and then gave a weak smile.

Might as well!

He looked straight back at the dealer, a thin man with a thin mustache and bushy brows. "You heard the lady. All-in." He confirmed then motioned to his stack for the woman to push it into the pot. She followed his command with a sly smirk. Even if he lost the whole pot at this point he still was able to enjoy the view as she pushed all his money into another man's pockets. At this point, the game seemed so distant to him.

Sin smiled up at the other players before standing up straight and cocking her hip into the air as she leaned onto her target's chair. Male targets were so easy... Flash a little skin, come in close and whisper a few things and they'll follow you all the way to death's doorstep.

The remainder gambling men look at each other nervously then back down at their own hands. The odd man folds by slapping his hand face down, the guy shook his head and hugged his chest. He lost a lot of money tonight, maybe it was time to throw in the towel?

The man with a full house looked his cards over trying to imagine what the guy had to be so confident about this decision. He was on the verge of folding himself, that is until he noticed he was holding one of the only cards that could beat him. The man that Barsig wanted to fold didn't, he was apparently ready to risk it all, pushing his winnings in and slapping his cards down on the table with the faces of the cards positioned up.

Barsig was afraid that would happen, but part of him had wished his bluff would have worked so he could have stolen that pot. With a heavy sigh the wanted man tossed his four of a kind down on the table. He ran his hand through his bangs and shook his head. He lowered it like he couldn't believe he'd lost, then turned to the woman with his best wounded look, trying for her sympathy.

Sin smiled gently at him. "Well, at least you still have the girl?" She suggested innocently.

"Mm.." Barsig smiled at that. "I think I can live with that." He claimed,  leaning back in the chair. "Would I be able totake the girl home with me, too?"

"You think the Mrs. will be ok with that?" Sin baited him, knowing full well he had no wedding ring on.

Barsig grinned. "Don't have a wife, but if I did I doubt she'd object to someone as beautiful as you." The man said as smoothly as he could.

Sin turned her body to present full interest in him and lean against the table. The men watched, not understanding how the man that almost cleaned them out could be smiling after a loss like that. "I guess I can't argue then." She said playfully, then presented her hand to him. "I'm Sin. Need me to be your vice tonight?"

Barsig smirked at that, clever. He took her hand gently, and without looking away from her eyes he kisses her naked fingers softly. "Barsig." He introduces himself politely. "Tonight's lucky sinner." He flirted openly with a playful smile.

Sin grinned back at him, amused by his cleverness. "Don't make me wait for too long." She warned him gently before leaving, swinging her hips a little more purposely as she walked away towards the entrance.

"You heard her boys, can't stay much longer. Great game by the way." Barsig spoke quickly, standing up and collecting his things. "We'll have to do this again some other night." He taunted before trotting behind the woman with an eager smile.]]>
To be called an assassin would be too high of a compliment to the secret vampire. She was a mercenary at best. She was a mercenary that was always alone, recommended by word of mouth. With a job, she was less suspicious and could freely roam the country. Her current position was south of the Titan Dessert, where work was plentiful, and secrets were easy to keep.

And yet, someone was able to come across her secret life. She imagined it was some whore she paid to sink her teeth in. Never trust an unfaithful woman... Never.

A shadowy man had slipped into her alley with a job offer, one she couldn't refuse. Mostly because he threatened to send word to a large hunter group about the whereabouts of a delicate looking woman with intimidating fangs... She instantly knew he wasn't bluffing by the calm heartbeat she could hear drumming softly from his chest. So she snatched the coin purse he waved about in front of her so that everything was legit and asked for details of the job. This was usually the opposite, as she liked to know what she was getting into first hand.

The man had a desire to eliminated another, someone by the name of Barsig. Whoever this guy was, he seemed to have pissed off the wrong people. The 'client' assured her that it was most important or he wouldn't have succumbed to blackmail. She hardly believed he'd never stoop that low but said nothing. Safety was her main priority. She could not go back to the cages! She was lucky that all the guy wanted her to do was kill a guy. But she made plans to leave tonight just to make sure that's all they were getting out of her.

The 'Lucky Beaver' was alive with laughter and music heard from a few blocks away. She stepped into the bright lighting of the front entrance, looking the place over with her crimson eyes. She wore her white hair just past her shoulders and half pulled back in a silky black ribbon. Her clothes clung to her small 'delicate' frame, a black sleeveless turtleneck shirt, and dark brown shorts that were shorter than normal. She wore fingerless gloves over fishnet arm warmers, the right longer than the left. Tight leather boots with heels that stop at her knees over black stockings. Around the left bicep she wore a leather strap with a solid metal cross, and around her right thigh, she strapped a dagger. As she walked into the place, her hips naturally swung from side to side, seductively.

Sin had received a brief description of the man she was looking for by the unlikable client. There were a lot of handsome men in the large building. Only a few of good-looking men had their hair pulled back in ponytails.  In addition to that, only two with blondish-brown hair. She eyed the one closer to the age range the blackmailer specified, roughly early to mid-twenties. The singled out male was at a poker table as to oppose the blackjack table or the dice games the other guy was at.

Sin observed this player long enough to notice two things. One, the man in her sights was currently concealing a weapon, fairly well. And two, he was good at playing the other men at the table.

Poker was a game you had to have a lot of skill in to win usually, that or you had to be shit lucky in to survived the card sharks. Barsig had plenty of both, as well as the added pleasure of stacking the game in his favor. He was currently holding a really good hand, a four of a kind. Jacks. However, unfortunately, he was also aware of there being a flush in the hand of the man on the right end of the table. In the process of stacking the deck, he forced another good hand into his opponents. Not his best move, but shit happens.

"You in or you out?" The dealer of the hand was a guy with a cigar in his mouth.

Barsig would wager that he had the full house and probably thought he was sitting on big money. Normally he'd like to prove the smug guy wrong, but he wasn't going to waste his money doing it when he knew there was a winner that could top him. He was about to fold, but before he could say anything, he'd been cut off.

"He's going all-in." Sin said confidently, leaning on the table between Barsig and the other man on his left. She then looked back at him with a grin over her shoulder so he could get a good look at her ass and try to argue with it.

Barsig's eyes consumed the exotic woman who was leaning next to him. Light skin, white hair, red eyes. Shapely hips, sizable chest, and soft kissable lips. He realized what she was saying and knew it was insane but stole a  glance at the guy with the flush. He looked somewhere between cocky and surprised. Barsig let his eyes fall on the dealer as if he would give him any sign whether this was a good idea or not, and then at another guy who was still in... He looked back at his hand and then gave a weak smile.

Might as well!

He looked straight back at the dealer, a thin man with a thin mustache and bushy brows. "You heard the lady. All-in." He confirmed then motioned to his stack for the woman to push it into the pot. She followed his command with a sly smirk. Even if he lost the whole pot at this point he still was able to enjoy the view as she pushed all his money into another man's pockets. At this point, the game seemed so distant to him.

Sin smiled up at the other players before standing up straight and cocking her hip into the air as she leaned onto her target's chair. Male targets were so easy... Flash a little skin, come in close and whisper a few things and they'll follow you all the way to death's doorstep.

The remainder gambling men look at each other nervously then back down at their own hands. The odd man folds by slapping his hand face down, the guy shook his head and hugged his chest. He lost a lot of money tonight, maybe it was time to throw in the towel?

The man with a full house looked his cards over trying to imagine what the guy had to be so confident about this decision. He was on the verge of folding himself, that is until he noticed he was holding one of the only cards that could beat him. The man that Barsig wanted to fold didn't, he was apparently ready to risk it all, pushing his winnings in and slapping his cards down on the table with the faces of the cards positioned up.

Barsig was afraid that would happen, but part of him had wished his bluff would have worked so he could have stolen that pot. With a heavy sigh the wanted man tossed his four of a kind down on the table. He ran his hand through his bangs and shook his head. He lowered it like he couldn't believe he'd lost, then turned to the woman with his best wounded look, trying for her sympathy.

Sin smiled gently at him. "Well, at least you still have the girl?" She suggested innocently.

"Mm.." Barsig smiled at that. "I think I can live with that." He claimed,  leaning back in the chair. "Would I be able totake the girl home with me, too?"

"You think the Mrs. will be ok with that?" Sin baited him, knowing full well he had no wedding ring on.

Barsig grinned. "Don't have a wife, but if I did I doubt she'd object to someone as beautiful as you." The man said as smoothly as he could.

Sin turned her body to present full interest in him and lean against the table. The men watched, not understanding how the man that almost cleaned them out could be smiling after a loss like that. "I guess I can't argue then." She said playfully, then presented her hand to him. "I'm Sin. Need me to be your vice tonight?"

Barsig smirked at that, clever. He took her hand gently, and without looking away from her eyes he kisses her naked fingers softly. "Barsig." He introduces himself politely. "Tonight's lucky sinner." He flirted openly with a playful smile.

Sin grinned back at him, amused by his cleverness. "Don't make me wait for too long." She warned him gently before leaving, swinging her hips a little more purposely as she walked away towards the entrance.

"You heard her boys, can't stay much longer. Great game by the way." Barsig spoke quickly, standing up and collecting his things. "We'll have to do this again some other night." He taunted before trotting behind the woman with an eager smile.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7430 Thu, 31 May 2018 19:33:20 +0000 Lucas Kellan]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7430

A sprawling landscape of colors laid out Vekta City in Lucas's dream. Vekta City was a truly remarkable place if Lucas ever had time to view Vekta City in its full wonder.

He looked up at the VSA (Vektan Security Agency) building, remembering every bit and piece of the Shadow Marshall training academy. The training was mostly classified but graduation consisted of a hologram where one of the academy's top directors stared down each willing recruit and said a deep yet hearty Congrats to each and every new Shadow Marshal.

Lucas remembered each word as each Shadow Marshall played a quiet role in the background while the other parts of the Vektan armies played bigger parts on the battlefield.]]>

A sprawling landscape of colors laid out Vekta City in Lucas's dream. Vekta City was a truly remarkable place if Lucas ever had time to view Vekta City in its full wonder.

He looked up at the VSA (Vektan Security Agency) building, remembering every bit and piece of the Shadow Marshall training academy. The training was mostly classified but graduation consisted of a hologram where one of the academy's top directors stared down each willing recruit and said a deep yet hearty Congrats to each and every new Shadow Marshal.

Lucas remembered each word as each Shadow Marshall played a quiet role in the background while the other parts of the Vektan armies played bigger parts on the battlefield.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7416 Fri, 25 May 2018 20:28:25 +0000 Touko Fukawa]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7416 Quote:general set of unrelated flashbacks and thoughts, which i'll be putting here when... i want to write whichever one of the two isn't using the body right now, to be perfectly honest.


Ah, it isn't like she kills for any sort of reason!

But it's just expected of her, isn't it?

Because when you look at it, really, isn't love supposed to hurt?

When she wakes up covered in bruises, when she has her hair pulled out by the roots, when her heart gets torn to shreds by words, isn't that love, too? After all, didn't the adults always whisper that to her? "He's just being mean because he likes you." "It's for attention."

So, when those feelings burst forth into bloom inside her chest- her desires to hurt, maim, destroy- those moments where her heart was consumed with nothing more than the burning need to stab, keep stabbing, watch them struggle, choke on the blood draining down their throat, bloom in scarlet colors dripping and splattering across the walls-

Wasn't that, in a way, love?]]> Quote:general set of unrelated flashbacks and thoughts, which i'll be putting here when... i want to write whichever one of the two isn't using the body right now, to be perfectly honest.


Ah, it isn't like she kills for any sort of reason!

But it's just expected of her, isn't it?

Because when you look at it, really, isn't love supposed to hurt?

When she wakes up covered in bruises, when she has her hair pulled out by the roots, when her heart gets torn to shreds by words, isn't that love, too? After all, didn't the adults always whisper that to her? "He's just being mean because he likes you." "It's for attention."

So, when those feelings burst forth into bloom inside her chest- her desires to hurt, maim, destroy- those moments where her heart was consumed with nothing more than the burning need to stab, keep stabbing, watch them struggle, choke on the blood draining down their throat, bloom in scarlet colors dripping and splattering across the walls-

Wasn't that, in a way, love?]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3191 Tue, 08 May 2018 12:07:04 +0000 Erik Vrell]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3191
“Elder Magnus, Lady Ingrid, I'm sorry, I wasn't prepared for your arrival.” The matron said as she self-consciously checked over her unkempt robes. 

A couple entered the room, dropping the room into silence, only broken by the chewing of the oblivious children, unaware of exactly who had just walked into the room. The man was heavily built, his muscles visible even through his royal blue robes, and at least six foot tall. His scarred, menacing face was set into a hard expression, his long, blonde beard doing nothing to alleviate his intimidating aura. Erik wondered why Grandma Siv called him ‘elder’ when she was clearly older than him. The woman he was with was much gentler in appearance. She had a thin, willowy look to her, but also carried an air of elegance. Her light blue eyes and long, brown hair reminded Erik of himself and, choking back a sob at the thought, his mother. 

“I was told that a new child was rescued just a few days ago, another blessed with the gift.” The man’s voice was just as harsh as his appearance, rough like he had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. 

“It's true.” Grandma Siv said with a hesitant nod. “Three being born in a lifetime, let alone within five years. What do you make of it, elder?”

The man was silent for a moment.

“I don't know. I'll have to discuss this the other elders, this is more than a simple gift from Father Gal’skap. That aside, may I see the child?” 

“Of course.” Grandma Siv said with another nod. The old woman scanned the meal hall for someone, before her gaze fell on Erik. For a moment the boy thought he was going to be scolded for eavesdropping, but to his surprise, Grandma Siv led the couple over to where he was eating. 

“Erik, this is Elder Magnus and Lady Ingrid.” The matron said gently. 

“Hello.” Erik said quietly, unsure of what was happening.

“Hello, Erik.” Magnus said, trying unsuccessfully to appear a little less terrifying. “Siv tells me that you have a special talent. Could you show me?”

A sinking feeling stabbed into the pit of Erik’s stomach. The last time he had used his ‘talent’ he was almost burned alive. The boy looked down and shook his head.

“I don't have anything like that.” He whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the hall. “You don't need to burn me.” 

Magnus shot a confused look at Grandma Siv, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“The village we rescued him from tried to burn him at the stake for showing his gift.” She said, eliciting a choked sob from the young Erik. Magnus’s face twisted into a mask of disgust.

“Backwards, heathenous animals.” He spat under his breath, once again failing to avoid intimidating the boy. Erik wiped away tears and looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He found himself face to face with the woman Grandma Siv called Ingrid. She looked at him gently and beamed a warm smile at him.

“It's ok,” She whispered reassuringly. “You're safe here. Can you show us what you can do, please?” Her words seemed to out Erik’s soul at ease, calming the boiling storm of emotions in his stomach. Drying the last of his tears, Erik nodded and focused on the spoon he had been eating with. The boy felt something move inside him, something he had only felt a few times before, like a muscle in his mind, and the spoon lifted itself off the table. The feeling of using the mental muscle again was surprisingly pleasant, like stretching after sitting down for a long time, and Erik found himself unconsciously lifting the chair he was sitting. Alarmed, Erik placed himself and the spoon back onto the ground, hoping that they wouldn't think he was unnatural, just like his village.

“That's what I can do.” He said quietly, unsure of whether he should be making or avoiding eye contact, choosing to switch between the two every couple of seconds. The Elder and his wife exchanged glances for a moment, before sharing a silent nod. Magnus gently placed a heavy hand on Erik’s shoulder.

“I know you're still hurt about the last few days, but how would you like to come live with us, and another two children just like you?” The elder said, doing a little better to assure Erik he was safe.

“Like me?” Erik parroted. There were more kids like him? That meant that he'd be safe there…He didn't have any family to go back to anyway, other than the one who had tried, and succeeded, to get rid of him. “Yes, I would like that.” 

The couple smiled widely at the young psychic. “Fantastic. From this day forward, your name shall be Erik Vrell. Come on, then. We have a long way to go to get home.”

Erik Vrell. The boy liked the sound of that. Ingrid beamed down at him as she took his hand and lead him out of the orphanage. 

“You're going to love living with us.” She said quietly. In contrast to her loud, rough husband, Erik noted that everything she did seemed gentle and reserved. “This is the first day of the happiest time of your life.”]]>
“Elder Magnus, Lady Ingrid, I'm sorry, I wasn't prepared for your arrival.” The matron said as she self-consciously checked over her unkempt robes. 

A couple entered the room, dropping the room into silence, only broken by the chewing of the oblivious children, unaware of exactly who had just walked into the room. The man was heavily built, his muscles visible even through his royal blue robes, and at least six foot tall. His scarred, menacing face was set into a hard expression, his long, blonde beard doing nothing to alleviate his intimidating aura. Erik wondered why Grandma Siv called him ‘elder’ when she was clearly older than him. The woman he was with was much gentler in appearance. She had a thin, willowy look to her, but also carried an air of elegance. Her light blue eyes and long, brown hair reminded Erik of himself and, choking back a sob at the thought, his mother. 

“I was told that a new child was rescued just a few days ago, another blessed with the gift.” The man’s voice was just as harsh as his appearance, rough like he had swallowed a mouthful of gravel. 

“It's true.” Grandma Siv said with a hesitant nod. “Three being born in a lifetime, let alone within five years. What do you make of it, elder?”

The man was silent for a moment.

“I don't know. I'll have to discuss this the other elders, this is more than a simple gift from Father Gal’skap. That aside, may I see the child?” 

“Of course.” Grandma Siv said with another nod. The old woman scanned the meal hall for someone, before her gaze fell on Erik. For a moment the boy thought he was going to be scolded for eavesdropping, but to his surprise, Grandma Siv led the couple over to where he was eating. 

“Erik, this is Elder Magnus and Lady Ingrid.” The matron said gently. 

“Hello.” Erik said quietly, unsure of what was happening.

“Hello, Erik.” Magnus said, trying unsuccessfully to appear a little less terrifying. “Siv tells me that you have a special talent. Could you show me?”

A sinking feeling stabbed into the pit of Erik’s stomach. The last time he had used his ‘talent’ he was almost burned alive. The boy looked down and shook his head.

“I don't have anything like that.” He whispered, barely audible over the chatter of the hall. “You don't need to burn me.” 

Magnus shot a confused look at Grandma Siv, raising a questioning eyebrow.

“The village we rescued him from tried to burn him at the stake for showing his gift.” She said, eliciting a choked sob from the young Erik. Magnus’s face twisted into a mask of disgust.

“Backwards, heathenous animals.” He spat under his breath, once again failing to avoid intimidating the boy. Erik wiped away tears and looked up as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He found himself face to face with the woman Grandma Siv called Ingrid. She looked at him gently and beamed a warm smile at him.

“It's ok,” She whispered reassuringly. “You're safe here. Can you show us what you can do, please?” Her words seemed to out Erik’s soul at ease, calming the boiling storm of emotions in his stomach. Drying the last of his tears, Erik nodded and focused on the spoon he had been eating with. The boy felt something move inside him, something he had only felt a few times before, like a muscle in his mind, and the spoon lifted itself off the table. The feeling of using the mental muscle again was surprisingly pleasant, like stretching after sitting down for a long time, and Erik found himself unconsciously lifting the chair he was sitting. Alarmed, Erik placed himself and the spoon back onto the ground, hoping that they wouldn't think he was unnatural, just like his village.

“That's what I can do.” He said quietly, unsure of whether he should be making or avoiding eye contact, choosing to switch between the two every couple of seconds. The Elder and his wife exchanged glances for a moment, before sharing a silent nod. Magnus gently placed a heavy hand on Erik’s shoulder.

“I know you're still hurt about the last few days, but how would you like to come live with us, and another two children just like you?” The elder said, doing a little better to assure Erik he was safe.

“Like me?” Erik parroted. There were more kids like him? That meant that he'd be safe there…He didn't have any family to go back to anyway, other than the one who had tried, and succeeded, to get rid of him. “Yes, I would like that.” 

The couple smiled widely at the young psychic. “Fantastic. From this day forward, your name shall be Erik Vrell. Come on, then. We have a long way to go to get home.”

Erik Vrell. The boy liked the sound of that. Ingrid beamed down at him as she took his hand and lead him out of the orphanage. 

“You're going to love living with us.” She said quietly. In contrast to her loud, rough husband, Erik noted that everything she did seemed gentle and reserved. “This is the first day of the happiest time of your life.”]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2080 Mon, 07 May 2018 13:59:44 +0000 China]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=2080 Quote:This dream takes place following the events of THIS post.
Afrátos opened his eyes and found that the branch he had fallen asleep on had bloomed hundreds of large, comfortable flowers of innumerable varieties, upon which he now lay as if they were a huge, fluffy bed. In the morning sunlight there was no trace of the previous night’s fog, and—peering over the edge of the flower-bed—the golem could see all the way down to the lush, green forest floor, far below, where numerous small and plump foods waddled or hopped along, looking very fatty and meaty and tender. To his right, the forest carried on and on and on, whilst to his left were beautiful, open fields as far as the eye could see, with those ugly human buildings little more than a speck on the horizon… though even they seemed cheerier and friendlier from here, somehow.

Maybe it was because the large wall that had surrounded them seemed to have vanished whilst he slept, or that they were painted in much brighter, cheerier colours now? He couldn’t imagine why the yum-yums would completely renovate their entire town whilst he napped, but he wasn’t about to question it. Two-legs were weird, and it was too nice a day to waste ruminating on their many oddities. The sky was light blue and cloudless, and the sun shone down upon him brightly.

“Good morning, China!” boomed the sun happily, in its deep and manly voice, and Afrátos noticed that it had a mouth and eyes a lot like his, though in its case those teeth and eyes were yellow; the exact same shade as its face.

“No-no, Sun. Name-name not China any-no more. Me called-called 'Afrátos' now. New master give-give nice new-fresh name when take me as pet-pet.” the Ceramic Beast informed the clueless celestial body, not even pausing to wonder why it was that a giant ball of fire in the sky was speaking to him. Normally, he would have been petrified, but everything was just so nice today that he couldn’t imagine anything bad happening.

“Oh no, China! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” the sun wailed sadly, suddenly looking terribly upset, “Don’t you remember what happened last night? Take a look at yourself and that might bring things back to you!”

Doing as he was instructed, Afrátos peered down at his body, then gasped in horror as the previous night’s memories suddenly filled his head to bursting. He had one missing hand, and everything beneath his waist was gone as well. Dane. That was what had happened… that Fast Person… no, that Fast Thing, had attacked him, breaking him to pieces like it was nothing, his fleshy, food-like face betraying not a hint of emotion the entire time. It was so terrible. So scary!

“I’m sorry you have to remember that, China, but it’s very important that you do...” the sun’s voice broke as it spoke, so heavy was it with emotion as it looked down upon the Ceramic Beast, curled up in a little ball and shivering with fright, “you have to understand that you can’t rely on masters.”

“What? No-no. Master much friendly-nice. Master try help-help!” unfurling the grotesque remnant of his once pristine, porcelain form, Afrátos looked up at the sun once again.

“Yes. She tried to help, China. But she failed. Your first master hated you and cast you out, then your second master proved to be weaker than her friend… after the first one, you realised that you couldn’t rely on other people, and spent the next two-hundred-odd years alone, managing to eke out a living in a world dominated by humanity… then, after coming here to the Omniverse, you let down your guard. You allowed this new girl to command your loyalty… only for her to fail you as well. There’s nothing wrong with having allies, but you must never rely on them. Can you understand that, China?”

The golem shook his head and spoke petulantly, “Not-not China!”

“There, there, China. I know he can be a bit rude about it, but Sun means well… it really would be for your own good to stop placing your trust in others. If you want to survive in a big, wide world like the Omniverse, you must learn to take care of yourself.” the Ceramic Beast heard a second voice now, this one sounding croaky and old, as a wooden, branch-like hand patted him on his shoulder reassuringly. Afrátos looked across the length of the arm back to the tree’s trunk, where he saw another visage a lot like his own, though its teeth were blunted and square, rather than being real fangs like Afrátos’ and the sun’s. Just as with the sun, though, the tree’s eyes and teeth were the exact same hue as the bark around them, so were rather difficult to make out. Ordinarily, a tree with teeth would have been very frightening indeed… but for some reason he had the strangest feeling that he could trust this one.

“Me can’t!” he whimpered sadly, “Tried take-take care self back-back in other place before flashy-bright light! It not-never work so me have go hide-hide in forest away-far from foods to keep-stay safe!”

“Ah! Now, don’t you worry your pretty, little head about that, China!” boomed the sun, suddenly grinning again, now sounding awfully jovial, “Don’t you remember Omni’s introduction?”

“Ommy?” the Beast cocked his head to one side curiously. The tree sighed.

“Omni is the white person who brought you here, China. The white person in the black place. Do you remember that?”

“Oh! Yes-yes! Me remember Omni much-lots now-now, yes!” the golem straightened up suddenly, nodding enthusiastically and feeling extremely pleased with himself, glad to show his magnificent mind’s awe-inspiring recollective properties to these two wise and venerable beings.

“That’s wonderful, China.” the tree said sagely, “Now, can you remember what Omni said to you?”

“Said…? Uh. No-no, me-me not think-remember him say-say anything.” Afrátos shook his head, shoulders slumping as he realised that he had forgotten something after all.

“Don’t be sad, China!” the sun laughed, “It’s no big deal! In fact, we have our good friend Moo- Omni right here! So you can have it all explained to you again right now!”

Suddenly, from beyond the horizon, arose a pockmarked white sphere with features very similar to the other two—with its teeth being the same, blunt shape was those of the tree—though this one didn’t appear to have any eyes at all… of course, as with Afrátos’ own face, that could easily have just meant that its eyes were closed for the time being. It did resemble the food-shaped light’s face quite strongly, though, and that was enough to convince Afrátos, “Omni! It you!”

“Yes, China, it is I, M- Omni!” Afrátos didn’t remember Omni sounding female, but this soft, high-pitched, musical voice definitely belonged to a woman, “I have come here to tell you all sorts of useful things that you didn’t know before even though Om- I mean, I already told you them once…! And maybe some other stuff too, I guess. First, as you are a Prime, China, you can use Omnilium to summon things! But… you probably don’t need to. Based on what happened last night, little dude, I’d say that your subconscious mind is surely much more efficient than your conscious one. Like, radically more efficient. I really can't overstate the difference here. Anyway, it seems to me that you’ll probably just keep generating new abilities as you amass Omnilium, so-”

“You’re losing him, Omni. Use simpler words.” croaked the tree, patting the head of the extremely confused golem, “And you just try to listen as carefully as you can, alright China?”

“Oh, yes-yes, Tree, me listen-hear. Promise.” the Ceramic Beast shuffled about awkwardly, feeling strangely embarrassed to be looking foolish in front of these people.

“Ahem. Right. Sorry.” apologised Omni, “As I was saying, China, this place is called the Omniverse. Can you say ‘Omniverse’, Cina? And can you actually remember it this time?”

“Omniverse.” Afrátos nodded several times for emphasis, “Yes, me-me remember!”

“That’s excellent, China. Now, while you are in the Omniverse, you will be able to get stronger—even though you couldn't back in your original world—because you are a Prime. That makes you very special. So if you suddenly find yourself able to to something new, like last night when you found out you could fly, don’t panic. All that means is that you are getting stronger. It is a good thing. Understand?”

Again, the nodding, “Yes-yes! Weird-strange thing happening is good-good! Mean I get-get more scary!”

“Oh yes,” the tree rubbed the top of Afrátos’ head as it congratulated him, “now you’re starting to understand it, China.”

“You sure are! Good job, China!” agreed the sun.

“Next thing!” Omni piped up, “In order to get stronger, you have to keep me entertained, China! Do you know what that means? No hiding in a little forest like you did back on your world! And no avoiding combat either! While you’re here, be braver, alright? You don’t need to worry about dying, because I, Omni, will bring you back to life in the Nex- uh, in the ‘white place’, if you do, alright...? Did you get any of that?”

“Omni bring-get me alive again after-after die-death if me not-not scaredy coward?”

“Yes!” Omni positively squealed with joy, and from somewhere—though Afrátos couldn’t quite pinpoint the location for some odd reason—applause resounded. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter and a few more flowers bloomed as he watched, whilst birds trilled cheerfully, “So now you don’t need to be so pathe- cautious. You can feel free to take more risks that you wisely would have avoided in your old life, now that I, Omni, am here to bring you back after you die. It's very important that you keep that in mind… so, to start us off... you should really go get something to eat.”

At that exact moment, the golem’s stomach grumbled loudly and a spasm of pain emanated from it. He groaned, clutching his gut and ‘thinking’ to himself, “Ow-ow, hungry not-not feel nice-good, must quick-fast find something eat.”

He moved to begin climbing down the tree to where he had seen all those plump, delicious foods just shortly before—forgetting in his hunger that he could fly—but was interrupted before he could by the deep voice of the sun, “Just one last thing before you go, China!”

“Yes-yes, Sun?” he slowed down a lot and peered back over his shoulder, but did still keep making his way gradually across the branch towards the tree trunk.

“You’ve got to remember not to let your past slow you down!” the celestial body cheered.

“He’s right, you know, China.” droned the tree.

“Oh, definitely.” piped in Omni cheerily.

“You may have gotten attached to your second master, but she still failed you in the end, little one…! If you want to ever be able to get strong enough to stay safe- No. If you want to get strong enough to hunt all the yummy food you could ever eat... the only way is for you to keep moving forwards! Clinging to your past will only hold you back, China!”

“Oh!? How-how move forward, then-then?” the Ceramic Beast answered, the promise of lots of food for the rest of his life arresting his attention utterly, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s very simple, China.” the tree told him croakily, “All you must do is abandon your ties to that fairy… admit to yourself that she failed you… realise that you owe her nothing and that even if the opportunity were to arise again in the future, serving her would only prevent you from getting stronger. She would keep you from reaching your full potential… so you must not ever become her pet again.”

“Oh-oh… okay… yes… me-me do that for sake of get much-many foods… yes-yes.” the golem nodded hesitantly. He felt strange doing so. He didn’t like it. Being around his new master was nice… but if not being around her would make him scarier and get him lots of food… what choice did he have? If he were to start acting all sentimental then he’d be no better off than those two-legs with their silly, pointless conversations and their waiting-to-eat even with lots of lovely food lying everywhere… no, he was much smarter than the stupid foods… he wouldn’t let any pointless rules and restrictions get in the way of his feasting… even if avoiding rules meant avoiding master too, that would be a price he would just have to pay.

“That’s excellent, China,” Omni said in her pretty, singsong way, “now we have just one last thing to ask, before you go off to hunt… to begin your long life of plentiful food...”

“What is your name!?” all three spoke in perfect synchronicity, raising their voices as they did, so that their question seemed to shake the entire forest, or perhaps even the whole world, the words shattering the area’s tranquillity like roaring thunder. The golem winced and squeaked with fright, whilst countless birds squawked and took to the skies and innumerable four-legs squealed and fled on the forest floor.

“N-name i-is...” the Ceramic Beast thought hard about this for what seemed to be an age, the pain in his gut growing all the while, rushing him with its insistence on feeding. He knew what the three of them wanted him to say, of course, and he knew that what they wanted was the best outcome for himself as well… but he also knew that the second master wouldn’t want him to abandon the name she had given him… at last, he made his decision, “me-me name… is-is… China.”

“Ahh...” the speakers sighed contentedly in chorus, and smiled at him. At their grateful expressions, an unexpected feeling of satisfaction seemed to well up within him from nowhere, all of a sudden, and he was filled with certainty that he had made the right choice.

“Well done, China! Very well done!” the sun boomed, its light growing swiftly to fill the entire sky, then the entire world, as Omni, the tree, and everything else around the golem vanished. Even with his hands wrapped over his face and his eyes jammed shut, he could still see that light. Somehow, it managed to make even the smells and sounds of the forest disappear from around him, “And now, it is time for you to wake up, little one!”

“Wake u-?”]]> Quote:This dream takes place following the events of THIS post.
Afrátos opened his eyes and found that the branch he had fallen asleep on had bloomed hundreds of large, comfortable flowers of innumerable varieties, upon which he now lay as if they were a huge, fluffy bed. In the morning sunlight there was no trace of the previous night’s fog, and—peering over the edge of the flower-bed—the golem could see all the way down to the lush, green forest floor, far below, where numerous small and plump foods waddled or hopped along, looking very fatty and meaty and tender. To his right, the forest carried on and on and on, whilst to his left were beautiful, open fields as far as the eye could see, with those ugly human buildings little more than a speck on the horizon… though even they seemed cheerier and friendlier from here, somehow.

Maybe it was because the large wall that had surrounded them seemed to have vanished whilst he slept, or that they were painted in much brighter, cheerier colours now? He couldn’t imagine why the yum-yums would completely renovate their entire town whilst he napped, but he wasn’t about to question it. Two-legs were weird, and it was too nice a day to waste ruminating on their many oddities. The sky was light blue and cloudless, and the sun shone down upon him brightly.

“Good morning, China!” boomed the sun happily, in its deep and manly voice, and Afrátos noticed that it had a mouth and eyes a lot like his, though in its case those teeth and eyes were yellow; the exact same shade as its face.

“No-no, Sun. Name-name not China any-no more. Me called-called 'Afrátos' now. New master give-give nice new-fresh name when take me as pet-pet.” the Ceramic Beast informed the clueless celestial body, not even pausing to wonder why it was that a giant ball of fire in the sky was speaking to him. Normally, he would have been petrified, but everything was just so nice today that he couldn’t imagine anything bad happening.

“Oh no, China! Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten!” the sun wailed sadly, suddenly looking terribly upset, “Don’t you remember what happened last night? Take a look at yourself and that might bring things back to you!”

Doing as he was instructed, Afrátos peered down at his body, then gasped in horror as the previous night’s memories suddenly filled his head to bursting. He had one missing hand, and everything beneath his waist was gone as well. Dane. That was what had happened… that Fast Person… no, that Fast Thing, had attacked him, breaking him to pieces like it was nothing, his fleshy, food-like face betraying not a hint of emotion the entire time. It was so terrible. So scary!

“I’m sorry you have to remember that, China, but it’s very important that you do...” the sun’s voice broke as it spoke, so heavy was it with emotion as it looked down upon the Ceramic Beast, curled up in a little ball and shivering with fright, “you have to understand that you can’t rely on masters.”

“What? No-no. Master much friendly-nice. Master try help-help!” unfurling the grotesque remnant of his once pristine, porcelain form, Afrátos looked up at the sun once again.

“Yes. She tried to help, China. But she failed. Your first master hated you and cast you out, then your second master proved to be weaker than her friend… after the first one, you realised that you couldn’t rely on other people, and spent the next two-hundred-odd years alone, managing to eke out a living in a world dominated by humanity… then, after coming here to the Omniverse, you let down your guard. You allowed this new girl to command your loyalty… only for her to fail you as well. There’s nothing wrong with having allies, but you must never rely on them. Can you understand that, China?”

The golem shook his head and spoke petulantly, “Not-not China!”

“There, there, China. I know he can be a bit rude about it, but Sun means well… it really would be for your own good to stop placing your trust in others. If you want to survive in a big, wide world like the Omniverse, you must learn to take care of yourself.” the Ceramic Beast heard a second voice now, this one sounding croaky and old, as a wooden, branch-like hand patted him on his shoulder reassuringly. Afrátos looked across the length of the arm back to the tree’s trunk, where he saw another visage a lot like his own, though its teeth were blunted and square, rather than being real fangs like Afrátos’ and the sun’s. Just as with the sun, though, the tree’s eyes and teeth were the exact same hue as the bark around them, so were rather difficult to make out. Ordinarily, a tree with teeth would have been very frightening indeed… but for some reason he had the strangest feeling that he could trust this one.

“Me can’t!” he whimpered sadly, “Tried take-take care self back-back in other place before flashy-bright light! It not-never work so me have go hide-hide in forest away-far from foods to keep-stay safe!”

“Ah! Now, don’t you worry your pretty, little head about that, China!” boomed the sun, suddenly grinning again, now sounding awfully jovial, “Don’t you remember Omni’s introduction?”

“Ommy?” the Beast cocked his head to one side curiously. The tree sighed.

“Omni is the white person who brought you here, China. The white person in the black place. Do you remember that?”

“Oh! Yes-yes! Me remember Omni much-lots now-now, yes!” the golem straightened up suddenly, nodding enthusiastically and feeling extremely pleased with himself, glad to show his magnificent mind’s awe-inspiring recollective properties to these two wise and venerable beings.

“That’s wonderful, China.” the tree said sagely, “Now, can you remember what Omni said to you?”

“Said…? Uh. No-no, me-me not think-remember him say-say anything.” Afrátos shook his head, shoulders slumping as he realised that he had forgotten something after all.

“Don’t be sad, China!” the sun laughed, “It’s no big deal! In fact, we have our good friend Moo- Omni right here! So you can have it all explained to you again right now!”

Suddenly, from beyond the horizon, arose a pockmarked white sphere with features very similar to the other two—with its teeth being the same, blunt shape was those of the tree—though this one didn’t appear to have any eyes at all… of course, as with Afrátos’ own face, that could easily have just meant that its eyes were closed for the time being. It did resemble the food-shaped light’s face quite strongly, though, and that was enough to convince Afrátos, “Omni! It you!”

“Yes, China, it is I, M- Omni!” Afrátos didn’t remember Omni sounding female, but this soft, high-pitched, musical voice definitely belonged to a woman, “I have come here to tell you all sorts of useful things that you didn’t know before even though Om- I mean, I already told you them once…! And maybe some other stuff too, I guess. First, as you are a Prime, China, you can use Omnilium to summon things! But… you probably don’t need to. Based on what happened last night, little dude, I’d say that your subconscious mind is surely much more efficient than your conscious one. Like, radically more efficient. I really can't overstate the difference here. Anyway, it seems to me that you’ll probably just keep generating new abilities as you amass Omnilium, so-”

“You’re losing him, Omni. Use simpler words.” croaked the tree, patting the head of the extremely confused golem, “And you just try to listen as carefully as you can, alright China?”

“Oh, yes-yes, Tree, me listen-hear. Promise.” the Ceramic Beast shuffled about awkwardly, feeling strangely embarrassed to be looking foolish in front of these people.

“Ahem. Right. Sorry.” apologised Omni, “As I was saying, China, this place is called the Omniverse. Can you say ‘Omniverse’, Cina? And can you actually remember it this time?”

“Omniverse.” Afrátos nodded several times for emphasis, “Yes, me-me remember!”

“That’s excellent, China. Now, while you are in the Omniverse, you will be able to get stronger—even though you couldn't back in your original world—because you are a Prime. That makes you very special. So if you suddenly find yourself able to to something new, like last night when you found out you could fly, don’t panic. All that means is that you are getting stronger. It is a good thing. Understand?”

Again, the nodding, “Yes-yes! Weird-strange thing happening is good-good! Mean I get-get more scary!”

“Oh yes,” the tree rubbed the top of Afrátos’ head as it congratulated him, “now you’re starting to understand it, China.”

“You sure are! Good job, China!” agreed the sun.

“Next thing!” Omni piped up, “In order to get stronger, you have to keep me entertained, China! Do you know what that means? No hiding in a little forest like you did back on your world! And no avoiding combat either! While you’re here, be braver, alright? You don’t need to worry about dying, because I, Omni, will bring you back to life in the Nex- uh, in the ‘white place’, if you do, alright...? Did you get any of that?”

“Omni bring-get me alive again after-after die-death if me not-not scaredy coward?”

“Yes!” Omni positively squealed with joy, and from somewhere—though Afrátos couldn’t quite pinpoint the location for some odd reason—applause resounded. The sun seemed to shine a little brighter and a few more flowers bloomed as he watched, whilst birds trilled cheerfully, “So now you don’t need to be so pathe- cautious. You can feel free to take more risks that you wisely would have avoided in your old life, now that I, Omni, am here to bring you back after you die. It's very important that you keep that in mind… so, to start us off... you should really go get something to eat.”

At that exact moment, the golem’s stomach grumbled loudly and a spasm of pain emanated from it. He groaned, clutching his gut and ‘thinking’ to himself, “Ow-ow, hungry not-not feel nice-good, must quick-fast find something eat.”

He moved to begin climbing down the tree to where he had seen all those plump, delicious foods just shortly before—forgetting in his hunger that he could fly—but was interrupted before he could by the deep voice of the sun, “Just one last thing before you go, China!”

“Yes-yes, Sun?” he slowed down a lot and peered back over his shoulder, but did still keep making his way gradually across the branch towards the tree trunk.

“You’ve got to remember not to let your past slow you down!” the celestial body cheered.

“He’s right, you know, China.” droned the tree.

“Oh, definitely.” piped in Omni cheerily.

“You may have gotten attached to your second master, but she still failed you in the end, little one…! If you want to ever be able to get strong enough to stay safe- No. If you want to get strong enough to hunt all the yummy food you could ever eat... the only way is for you to keep moving forwards! Clinging to your past will only hold you back, China!”

“Oh!? How-how move forward, then-then?” the Ceramic Beast answered, the promise of lots of food for the rest of his life arresting his attention utterly, stopping him in his tracks.

“It’s very simple, China.” the tree told him croakily, “All you must do is abandon your ties to that fairy… admit to yourself that she failed you… realise that you owe her nothing and that even if the opportunity were to arise again in the future, serving her would only prevent you from getting stronger. She would keep you from reaching your full potential… so you must not ever become her pet again.”

“Oh-oh… okay… yes… me-me do that for sake of get much-many foods… yes-yes.” the golem nodded hesitantly. He felt strange doing so. He didn’t like it. Being around his new master was nice… but if not being around her would make him scarier and get him lots of food… what choice did he have? If he were to start acting all sentimental then he’d be no better off than those two-legs with their silly, pointless conversations and their waiting-to-eat even with lots of lovely food lying everywhere… no, he was much smarter than the stupid foods… he wouldn’t let any pointless rules and restrictions get in the way of his feasting… even if avoiding rules meant avoiding master too, that would be a price he would just have to pay.

“That’s excellent, China,” Omni said in her pretty, singsong way, “now we have just one last thing to ask, before you go off to hunt… to begin your long life of plentiful food...”

“What is your name!?” all three spoke in perfect synchronicity, raising their voices as they did, so that their question seemed to shake the entire forest, or perhaps even the whole world, the words shattering the area’s tranquillity like roaring thunder. The golem winced and squeaked with fright, whilst countless birds squawked and took to the skies and innumerable four-legs squealed and fled on the forest floor.

“N-name i-is...” the Ceramic Beast thought hard about this for what seemed to be an age, the pain in his gut growing all the while, rushing him with its insistence on feeding. He knew what the three of them wanted him to say, of course, and he knew that what they wanted was the best outcome for himself as well… but he also knew that the second master wouldn’t want him to abandon the name she had given him… at last, he made his decision, “me-me name… is-is… China.”

“Ahh...” the speakers sighed contentedly in chorus, and smiled at him. At their grateful expressions, an unexpected feeling of satisfaction seemed to well up within him from nowhere, all of a sudden, and he was filled with certainty that he had made the right choice.

“Well done, China! Very well done!” the sun boomed, its light growing swiftly to fill the entire sky, then the entire world, as Omni, the tree, and everything else around the golem vanished. Even with his hands wrapped over his face and his eyes jammed shut, he could still see that light. Somehow, it managed to make even the smells and sounds of the forest disappear from around him, “And now, it is time for you to wake up, little one!”

“Wake u-?”]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7277 Fri, 27 Apr 2018 09:08:51 +0000 Marcus Wright]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7277
The dripping sound of water coming from rusty pipes made the half man half machine wince in anticipation of what was to happen next.

“Save us… “called a unknown voice of folks…

Marcus blinked, almost reaching for what appeared to be The group he knew the most.

The Avengers.

However they looked odd to him, they were staring at him and every time he tried to talk to them, they attacked him. Eventually the dream Avengers faded away, leaving a creepy red eyed grin and 6 terminators staring back at him.

“Join us”

Marcus screamed “NO!”

Skynet was Alive in his dreams.]]>
The dripping sound of water coming from rusty pipes made the half man half machine wince in anticipation of what was to happen next.

“Save us… “called a unknown voice of folks…

Marcus blinked, almost reaching for what appeared to be The group he knew the most.

The Avengers.

However they looked odd to him, they were staring at him and every time he tried to talk to them, they attacked him. Eventually the dream Avengers faded away, leaving a creepy red eyed grin and 6 terminators staring back at him.

“Join us”

Marcus screamed “NO!”

Skynet was Alive in his dreams.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3891 Mon, 09 Apr 2018 06:05:09 +0000 Orihime Inoue]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3891
After death tore into her flesh, it gently swept her off her feet and carried her away. With the girl cradled against The Angel of Death's bust, it whispered, "Can you protect my people from the ground?" while rocking her softly. "No," her mind responded without sound, "I can't protect anyone".

Without warning, Orihime was sitting in a single-person rowboat, floating inside a sizeable pond. She found herself unable to move, with her arms sitting neatly on her lap, and her gaze never leaving the shore. There was a thick, coarse rope tied to a steak several feet past the shoreline, and fastened to the rowboat.

Erie silence encompassed the scenery around her that slowly nibbled away at her sanity. This place was unrecognizable, other than the glittering snow atop the overcast waters. It made her think of her place in the frosty pines, of the troll village, and it made her think of home.

Everything stayed the same in this pace, including the dreamy snow, except one thing. With every heavy blink of her eyes, she saw someone waiting on the waterfront. Orihime would see her brother, and he would just smile the warmest and loving smile with outstretched arms. Had she not already known her brother was dead, and not in this world, she would have rushed to him.

Orihime would see her friends, Sasuke and Victor on the beach. They were both masked, head to toe in blood that dripped from their body, and pooled at their feet. Both of their expressions were horrified, and they mouthed her name before disappearing. Seeing her friends in distress kept Orihime locked up and away from the shoreline.

The girl believed that her presence in this world was of no use to anyone. Sure she was able to help that spirit find some sort of rest, but what good was helping the dead if she can't seem to help the living. Aware of time passing by, the minutes went on with every falling snowflake, and Orihime stayed sitting on that boat.]]>
After death tore into her flesh, it gently swept her off her feet and carried her away. With the girl cradled against The Angel of Death's bust, it whispered, "Can you protect my people from the ground?" while rocking her softly. "No," her mind responded without sound, "I can't protect anyone".

Without warning, Orihime was sitting in a single-person rowboat, floating inside a sizeable pond. She found herself unable to move, with her arms sitting neatly on her lap, and her gaze never leaving the shore. There was a thick, coarse rope tied to a steak several feet past the shoreline, and fastened to the rowboat.

Erie silence encompassed the scenery around her that slowly nibbled away at her sanity. This place was unrecognizable, other than the glittering snow atop the overcast waters. It made her think of her place in the frosty pines, of the troll village, and it made her think of home.

Everything stayed the same in this pace, including the dreamy snow, except one thing. With every heavy blink of her eyes, she saw someone waiting on the waterfront. Orihime would see her brother, and he would just smile the warmest and loving smile with outstretched arms. Had she not already known her brother was dead, and not in this world, she would have rushed to him.

Orihime would see her friends, Sasuke and Victor on the beach. They were both masked, head to toe in blood that dripped from their body, and pooled at their feet. Both of their expressions were horrified, and they mouthed her name before disappearing. Seeing her friends in distress kept Orihime locked up and away from the shoreline.

The girl believed that her presence in this world was of no use to anyone. Sure she was able to help that spirit find some sort of rest, but what good was helping the dead if she can't seem to help the living. Aware of time passing by, the minutes went on with every falling snowflake, and Orihime stayed sitting on that boat.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4547 Wed, 04 Apr 2018 06:37:35 +0000 Luci]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4547
Luci screams, a long blood-curdling moan of despair. Her wail echos back mockingly.

Down in the darkest and deadest parts of Luci’s subconscious, where nobody can hear her, she screams until her throat is raw and cracking. The fearless gangster sniffles. She is crouched tightly in the fetal position, naked and cold. And dying.

Cautiously, with a shaking hand, Luci presses against her abdomen. She winces, and draws the hand back immediately. Although she cannot see in the darkness, she can feel the warm sticky wetness, and smell the metallic tang of her own blood. How long will it take, in this timeless abyss at the bottom of the Astral Realm, to die? How long before her last drop finally falls?

Ignoring the jolt of pain in her abdomen, Luci reaches her hand up above her head. She hits a rough stone ceiling almost instantly, and a wave of claustrophobia shakes her to the core, causing her to retch.

“Oh fuck,” she gasps pitifully, clutching her throbbing stomach.

‘Oh fuck,’ echoes back the waiting dark.

Luci sits against the rough stone wall until her head stops swimming, hugging her knees. She thinks. After some time, Luci tries to whistle, but cannot bring her cracked lips together, and her mouth is as dry as a desert.

She lets out a guttural bark of frustration, and listens carefully for the response.

‘Ah!’ confirms the void, the voice echoing into nothingness.

Luci sits in the dark for a long time, her eyes narrowed, burying down her primal nihilistic instincts begging her to end it all.

“Go,” Luci whispers finally.

‘Go,’ the void mocks softly.

Luci falls forward on her hands and knees, her abdomen sending a jolt of pain throughout her body. She sticks a hand out in front of her, tracing the rough stone walls of her pison. The stone is sharp enough to leave tiny cuts and scrapes on her hands, but the wounds heal instantly, leaving nothing but a sting. Eventually her hand finds only open space, and her fears are confirmed; it’s a tunnel, less than two feet high, maybe two feet wide.

Luci begins to crawl.

The tunnel curves steeply upwards. Still Luci crawls.

The stone is sharp, cutting into Luci’s legs and arms, the wounds healing as she goes. Still she crawls, dragging her protesting body inexorably up.

Her abdomen throbs, the pain at times overwhelming her and forcing her to stop. So Luci stops. Then she crawls again.

The crushing, suffocating darkness threatens strip her sanity down to is last screaming exposed nerve. Still, Luci crawls.

Above it all, drowning out all of her bodies other protests, is the thirst.

The maddening thirst that only those a second from death have known. A fire that starts in the chest and radiates outwards, vowing to burn it’s host to cinders as it explodes.

This verse may stretch her time, but Luci has entered the Astral Realm as she left Coruscant; on the brink of death, willing to give anything for one last sip of life giving water.

***

The years pass in darkness and pain, and still Luci crawls.

***

There is a new pain, familiar yet unfamiliar.

The creature in the tunnel cringes, rubbing its eyes. It burns, but the creature not flinch away. It remembers the pain.

It is light.

Like dim moonlight, filtered through a scanner darkly, but it burns the creature’s sensitive eyes like an Imperial flashbang.

The creature crawls on its arms, dragging it’s legs behind it with a trail of blood leaking from it’s abdomen.

The tunnel stops slanting upwards, straightening out. At the very end, the pale silvery light swirls, casting strange shadows on the walls.

For so long the creature has known only darkness, only pain, and above it all the burning thirst.

It crawls towards the light.

It’s eyes sting as it gets closer, but the creature only drags itself steadily further. As it gets closer, its sees the swirling light is coming from a pool in the floor of the tunnel.

The thirst burns.

The creature leans its head over the brim of the pool to drink, but then it catches sight of it's reflection.

A pale, scared girl with haunted eyes.

***

Luci pulls back from the brim of the pool. Her thirst screams at her, throbbing in every fiber, but she does not succumb.

She leans over the edge of the pool, and begins to cry.

She thinks of blood in the streets Tier Five, and a red tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the artificial sunsets of Coruscant, and an orange tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the laughter of the Deathblades, and a yellow tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the forests of the Knife Ears, and a green tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the determination of the Hufflepunks, and a blue tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of everyone she loves, and a violet tear drop falls into the pool.

And she thinks of everything that she’s lost, and she does not lose hope, and a gold tear drop falls into the pool.

After several ragged, agonizing breathes, the colors start to swirl. Slowly at first, then gaining speed, the teardrops whip around each other in a psychedelic frenzy. They meld, blend, and start to stretch.

A bubble of shimmering OM rises slowly from the pool and hovers over Luci. Inside it is a spraycan, rotating in it’s prismatic prism. Luci reaches out a trembling hand and pops the bubble, and the spraycan falls to the ground with a rattle.

Luci does not retrieve the can, but continues staring into the pool for a very long time.
She thinks of the Astral Realm, of the beauty of dreams from all the Omniverse woven into one glimmering tapestry, and a shining silver tear drop falls into the pool.

Luci watches it sink like a stone into the pool. She waits.

After a moment, a brightly glowing silver key floats up to the surface of the pool, and Luci snatches it.

She grabs her trusty magic spraycan, shaking it, making the little metal ball inside clink against the can, trying not to rush herself. With an aerosol hiss Luci paints the shaky outline of a door in light blue spray paint, with a blue handle and keyhole, above the pool.

Panting, Luci pushes the glowing silver key into the painted keyhole, and the outline of the door starts to glow a very bright blue.

Luci spends a moment sobbing tears of relief, and then she turns the handle and crawls out the door into a bright blue sky.

***

Luci is falling. The wind whips her hair, the sun warms her skin, the clouds tickle her face. She cannot see the ground below her, and still she falls, leaving a trail of blood on her wake.

Luci is very weak now.

She cannot keep her eyes open.

***]]>
Luci screams, a long blood-curdling moan of despair. Her wail echos back mockingly.

Down in the darkest and deadest parts of Luci’s subconscious, where nobody can hear her, she screams until her throat is raw and cracking. The fearless gangster sniffles. She is crouched tightly in the fetal position, naked and cold. And dying.

Cautiously, with a shaking hand, Luci presses against her abdomen. She winces, and draws the hand back immediately. Although she cannot see in the darkness, she can feel the warm sticky wetness, and smell the metallic tang of her own blood. How long will it take, in this timeless abyss at the bottom of the Astral Realm, to die? How long before her last drop finally falls?

Ignoring the jolt of pain in her abdomen, Luci reaches her hand up above her head. She hits a rough stone ceiling almost instantly, and a wave of claustrophobia shakes her to the core, causing her to retch.

“Oh fuck,” she gasps pitifully, clutching her throbbing stomach.

‘Oh fuck,’ echoes back the waiting dark.

Luci sits against the rough stone wall until her head stops swimming, hugging her knees. She thinks. After some time, Luci tries to whistle, but cannot bring her cracked lips together, and her mouth is as dry as a desert.

She lets out a guttural bark of frustration, and listens carefully for the response.

‘Ah!’ confirms the void, the voice echoing into nothingness.

Luci sits in the dark for a long time, her eyes narrowed, burying down her primal nihilistic instincts begging her to end it all.

“Go,” Luci whispers finally.

‘Go,’ the void mocks softly.

Luci falls forward on her hands and knees, her abdomen sending a jolt of pain throughout her body. She sticks a hand out in front of her, tracing the rough stone walls of her pison. The stone is sharp enough to leave tiny cuts and scrapes on her hands, but the wounds heal instantly, leaving nothing but a sting. Eventually her hand finds only open space, and her fears are confirmed; it’s a tunnel, less than two feet high, maybe two feet wide.

Luci begins to crawl.

The tunnel curves steeply upwards. Still Luci crawls.

The stone is sharp, cutting into Luci’s legs and arms, the wounds healing as she goes. Still she crawls, dragging her protesting body inexorably up.

Her abdomen throbs, the pain at times overwhelming her and forcing her to stop. So Luci stops. Then she crawls again.

The crushing, suffocating darkness threatens strip her sanity down to is last screaming exposed nerve. Still, Luci crawls.

Above it all, drowning out all of her bodies other protests, is the thirst.

The maddening thirst that only those a second from death have known. A fire that starts in the chest and radiates outwards, vowing to burn it’s host to cinders as it explodes.

This verse may stretch her time, but Luci has entered the Astral Realm as she left Coruscant; on the brink of death, willing to give anything for one last sip of life giving water.

***

The years pass in darkness and pain, and still Luci crawls.

***

There is a new pain, familiar yet unfamiliar.

The creature in the tunnel cringes, rubbing its eyes. It burns, but the creature not flinch away. It remembers the pain.

It is light.

Like dim moonlight, filtered through a scanner darkly, but it burns the creature’s sensitive eyes like an Imperial flashbang.

The creature crawls on its arms, dragging it’s legs behind it with a trail of blood leaking from it’s abdomen.

The tunnel stops slanting upwards, straightening out. At the very end, the pale silvery light swirls, casting strange shadows on the walls.

For so long the creature has known only darkness, only pain, and above it all the burning thirst.

It crawls towards the light.

It’s eyes sting as it gets closer, but the creature only drags itself steadily further. As it gets closer, its sees the swirling light is coming from a pool in the floor of the tunnel.

The thirst burns.

The creature leans its head over the brim of the pool to drink, but then it catches sight of it's reflection.

A pale, scared girl with haunted eyes.

***

Luci pulls back from the brim of the pool. Her thirst screams at her, throbbing in every fiber, but she does not succumb.

She leans over the edge of the pool, and begins to cry.

She thinks of blood in the streets Tier Five, and a red tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the artificial sunsets of Coruscant, and an orange tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the laughter of the Deathblades, and a yellow tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the forests of the Knife Ears, and a green tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of the determination of the Hufflepunks, and a blue tear drop falls into the pool.

She thinks of everyone she loves, and a violet tear drop falls into the pool.

And she thinks of everything that she’s lost, and she does not lose hope, and a gold tear drop falls into the pool.

After several ragged, agonizing breathes, the colors start to swirl. Slowly at first, then gaining speed, the teardrops whip around each other in a psychedelic frenzy. They meld, blend, and start to stretch.

A bubble of shimmering OM rises slowly from the pool and hovers over Luci. Inside it is a spraycan, rotating in it’s prismatic prism. Luci reaches out a trembling hand and pops the bubble, and the spraycan falls to the ground with a rattle.

Luci does not retrieve the can, but continues staring into the pool for a very long time.
She thinks of the Astral Realm, of the beauty of dreams from all the Omniverse woven into one glimmering tapestry, and a shining silver tear drop falls into the pool.

Luci watches it sink like a stone into the pool. She waits.

After a moment, a brightly glowing silver key floats up to the surface of the pool, and Luci snatches it.

She grabs her trusty magic spraycan, shaking it, making the little metal ball inside clink against the can, trying not to rush herself. With an aerosol hiss Luci paints the shaky outline of a door in light blue spray paint, with a blue handle and keyhole, above the pool.

Panting, Luci pushes the glowing silver key into the painted keyhole, and the outline of the door starts to glow a very bright blue.

Luci spends a moment sobbing tears of relief, and then she turns the handle and crawls out the door into a bright blue sky.

***

Luci is falling. The wind whips her hair, the sun warms her skin, the clouds tickle her face. She cannot see the ground below her, and still she falls, leaving a trail of blood on her wake.

Luci is very weak now.

She cannot keep her eyes open.

***]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3808 Thu, 15 Mar 2018 00:44:32 +0000 Viola]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=3808 Quote:The 'Viola flashback thread'.

Age: 231 years.
The castle air was cold, still. Moonlight beamed down upon the high balcony and into the open room, bleeding with the fires from below as they dispersed through the gaps in the stone ledge. No clouds sat in the sky, yet few stars were visible that night. Light shone from the raging inferno below, polluting that air in tandem with long grey puffs of smoke, leaving but a small crack above the river untouched, never able to taint the silvery celestial orb.

A shout echoed through the tiled floor, muffled, yet the violent intentions were clear even if the words were not. Two floors down. Perhaps only one. Viola remained tense, observing attentively with every sense she had available. Her feet felt the small tremors through the ground, each gradually increasing in size and volume. Thin wisps of burnt wood - or even flesh - met her fine nostrils with every little breath. She could almost taste it. 

Mismatched eyes stared down the barred oaken door. Waiting. Keeping a frail arm cast out to the side to protect her charge and prevent the girl from doing anything rash, she could sense magic swelling behind her, thick and viscous. In fear or anger, the strength of the princess fizzled to the surface. She was barely an adept. Nothing against a trained mage. She was destined to rule. Viola was tasked with protecting her, masquerading as a friend or distant relative. After all, who would expect a little girl to be the real powerhouse of the duo? Her two guards were just for show.

Rachael was fierce. The reality of the situation was not lost on her near-adult mind. Servants. Soldiers. Bakers. Tailors. Blacksmiths. Innocents. The old lady who had given her flowers by the side of the road. The dirty boy who had swept dust and autumn leaves off the pavement to clear her path. The couple who worked at the large tavern she'd waved to on the way to the castle. The maid who had shown her around the castle. All dead. She scowled, then shivered, her teary eyes glossing over two corpses by the side of the room - near a broken lever.

One traitor, and one victim.

More screams ricocheted through the halls, followed by another splintering crack and a stampede of stomps. One door, five soldiers, two royal guards, and Viola. That was all that stood between her and her demise.

"Hold your position." Crystal clear. Viola's gentle voice flowed over the cacophony that sprung from the approaching chaos; its unique - yet constant - pitch distinguished it from the other dissonance, letting her order reach the soldier's ears. Both the royal guards nodded, accepting of her authority; each brandished a halberd. The pointed tips were held high, positioned to skewer the heart of an unlucky foe. The other soldiers, all of which were positioned by the door and protected only with their more decorative lightweight arming swords, spared a glance at each other. A small chorus of 'ayes' followed, out of sync but not lacking enthusiasm. One last stand.

With a crack and fizzle, four cerulean blades hissed into existence, swirling by Viola's side. She gritted her teeth, aggressively pointing all four floating swords at the door. Not today.

Thud.

Rachael jumped, almost letting out a small squeak. Waves rippled through her long golden hair.

Thud.

Viola stepped back, calmly reaching out to the side and curling her small fingers around the princess's sweaty palm. Tugging gently, she tilted her head to the side, making eye contact with the taller girl. "Breathe," she assured, "stay with me."

Thud-creeeeak.

The wood buckled under the strain, splinters exploded into the small hall, mixing with the faint smoke and casting patchy shadows over the floor. Two soldiers stepped forward, struggling and grunting to share the burden with the thick oak bar.

Crack.

The central panel ruptured, a thick metal-tipped log was thrust through the gap and quickly pulled back a moment later, only to slam back into the thick door slightly lower down. Phantasmal orange waves shook through the air, focused through the hole. An explosion of magical energy spawned from battering ram.

Mages.

Enchantments never lasted long, so one had to be close by.

Reaching out with her mind, Viola scanned the mana residue, taking it in. Absorbing it. Reading it. Tasting it with her mind's eye. She knew that signature...

Kra-kow.

Another thunderous strike, smashing the door off its hinges and tearing the bar clamps from the wall. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as the shattered hardwood tipped, arcing down to the floor. Before it could land, one of the allied swordsmen roared, sprinting into the breach. Steel pierced the throat of an unexpecting foe, then tore out to the side spraying a vivid brushing of blood, like an artist attacking a canvass. Slightly more prepared, the next opponent parried a strike with a loud clang and kicked out. The allied troop stepped to the side, then swivelled his blade to stab down, cleaving into a flap of flesh in the enemy's shin.

... Only for an axehead to snap through his neck. 

Shouting, two allied soldiers filled the gap their friend left, slashing in a wild frenzy. The action brought them some space while the frontal enemies dragged their wounded man back. For a moment, the forces stared at each other. 

Rachael squeezed Viola's hand tightly. Her mouth opened, letting out a faint cry before she looked down at her friend. Her eyes hardened with fleeting resolve. Without a moment's thought, Viola's swords shot past the friendly soldiers, weaving overhead and piercing through the front of the enemy ranks. Bodies fell to the ground, slowly piling up as the razor-sharp aether-blades spun, turning the hall into a blender and making the enemies look like paper mache. Yet, more filled their place within seconds, crossbow bolts fired from further back to support. Two more allies fell from the first volley, with one of the bolts almost reaching Rachael. With a silent grunt, Viola had torn the steel-tipped spike from the air with her magic, casting it over the balcony.

During her dip in focus, two heavily armoured beasts ploughed past their comrades, hulking in stature. Each armed with a steel shield, the punched into Viola's blades, shattering with a mere bash to the handles. Her swords bounced off them as if the blades were made of rubber. Left out of the combat for precious seconds, the last of the allied garrison fell, trampled, beaten, smashed down into the quaking cracked ground with unnatural force.

Wordlessly, Viola turned around and ran, dragging Rachael with her to the balcony.

Valiantly, the royal guard fought back, slowly retreating to join their liege before holding their position by a set of two steps, using the raised position and narrower entrance to their advantage. 

A blue runic circle appeared beneath one of the monstrous men, instantly exploding with small fragments of rock and disintegrating the floor beneath him. He fell, unfortunately standing just on top of the overhang. There was no surviving that fall.

Meanwhile, the halberdiers thrust at the other, using the focused explosion of magic to catch him off guard. The armour was thick, but one point stabbed through the beast's shoulder, finding a small gap in the steel sheets. He grunted, then stumbled to the side to join his ally down below after a small wave of magic shoved him to the side.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Men flooded into the tower summit.

Whoever the aggressors were, they weren't sparing any expense. Near fanatic in determination. All to assassinate an heir to the throne, Viola assumed.

"Lend me your magic." Viola didn't leave any more warning, or ask for confirmation, although Rachael didn't resist. Gushing like a waterfall, her mana flowed straight through Viola's veins, willingly fueling her with everything the princess could muster. Power welled at the stronger mage's fingertips, distracting her from the clashing of steel, and then the tearing of flesh, as she weaved her spell.

Both guards fell from numerous wounds, unable to hold back the tide, leaving both girls exposed and vulnerable to the enemy force. Coughing and sputtering out clumps of blood, a barely-conscious guard scrambled and clawed, desperately obstructing their murderers as best as he could.

It was too little. Too weak. They never stood a chance.

Swords and axes swung forward, closing in, millimetres from Viola's unmoving flesh-]]> Quote:The 'Viola flashback thread'.

Age: 231 years.
The castle air was cold, still. Moonlight beamed down upon the high balcony and into the open room, bleeding with the fires from below as they dispersed through the gaps in the stone ledge. No clouds sat in the sky, yet few stars were visible that night. Light shone from the raging inferno below, polluting that air in tandem with long grey puffs of smoke, leaving but a small crack above the river untouched, never able to taint the silvery celestial orb.

A shout echoed through the tiled floor, muffled, yet the violent intentions were clear even if the words were not. Two floors down. Perhaps only one. Viola remained tense, observing attentively with every sense she had available. Her feet felt the small tremors through the ground, each gradually increasing in size and volume. Thin wisps of burnt wood - or even flesh - met her fine nostrils with every little breath. She could almost taste it. 

Mismatched eyes stared down the barred oaken door. Waiting. Keeping a frail arm cast out to the side to protect her charge and prevent the girl from doing anything rash, she could sense magic swelling behind her, thick and viscous. In fear or anger, the strength of the princess fizzled to the surface. She was barely an adept. Nothing against a trained mage. She was destined to rule. Viola was tasked with protecting her, masquerading as a friend or distant relative. After all, who would expect a little girl to be the real powerhouse of the duo? Her two guards were just for show.

Rachael was fierce. The reality of the situation was not lost on her near-adult mind. Servants. Soldiers. Bakers. Tailors. Blacksmiths. Innocents. The old lady who had given her flowers by the side of the road. The dirty boy who had swept dust and autumn leaves off the pavement to clear her path. The couple who worked at the large tavern she'd waved to on the way to the castle. The maid who had shown her around the castle. All dead. She scowled, then shivered, her teary eyes glossing over two corpses by the side of the room - near a broken lever.

One traitor, and one victim.

More screams ricocheted through the halls, followed by another splintering crack and a stampede of stomps. One door, five soldiers, two royal guards, and Viola. That was all that stood between her and her demise.

"Hold your position." Crystal clear. Viola's gentle voice flowed over the cacophony that sprung from the approaching chaos; its unique - yet constant - pitch distinguished it from the other dissonance, letting her order reach the soldier's ears. Both the royal guards nodded, accepting of her authority; each brandished a halberd. The pointed tips were held high, positioned to skewer the heart of an unlucky foe. The other soldiers, all of which were positioned by the door and protected only with their more decorative lightweight arming swords, spared a glance at each other. A small chorus of 'ayes' followed, out of sync but not lacking enthusiasm. One last stand.

With a crack and fizzle, four cerulean blades hissed into existence, swirling by Viola's side. She gritted her teeth, aggressively pointing all four floating swords at the door. Not today.

Thud.

Rachael jumped, almost letting out a small squeak. Waves rippled through her long golden hair.

Thud.

Viola stepped back, calmly reaching out to the side and curling her small fingers around the princess's sweaty palm. Tugging gently, she tilted her head to the side, making eye contact with the taller girl. "Breathe," she assured, "stay with me."

Thud-creeeeak.

The wood buckled under the strain, splinters exploded into the small hall, mixing with the faint smoke and casting patchy shadows over the floor. Two soldiers stepped forward, struggling and grunting to share the burden with the thick oak bar.

Crack.

The central panel ruptured, a thick metal-tipped log was thrust through the gap and quickly pulled back a moment later, only to slam back into the thick door slightly lower down. Phantasmal orange waves shook through the air, focused through the hole. An explosion of magical energy spawned from battering ram.

Mages.

Enchantments never lasted long, so one had to be close by.

Reaching out with her mind, Viola scanned the mana residue, taking it in. Absorbing it. Reading it. Tasting it with her mind's eye. She knew that signature...

Kra-kow.

Another thunderous strike, smashing the door off its hinges and tearing the bar clamps from the wall. Time seemed to flow in slow-motion as the shattered hardwood tipped, arcing down to the floor. Before it could land, one of the allied swordsmen roared, sprinting into the breach. Steel pierced the throat of an unexpecting foe, then tore out to the side spraying a vivid brushing of blood, like an artist attacking a canvass. Slightly more prepared, the next opponent parried a strike with a loud clang and kicked out. The allied troop stepped to the side, then swivelled his blade to stab down, cleaving into a flap of flesh in the enemy's shin.

... Only for an axehead to snap through his neck. 

Shouting, two allied soldiers filled the gap their friend left, slashing in a wild frenzy. The action brought them some space while the frontal enemies dragged their wounded man back. For a moment, the forces stared at each other. 

Rachael squeezed Viola's hand tightly. Her mouth opened, letting out a faint cry before she looked down at her friend. Her eyes hardened with fleeting resolve. Without a moment's thought, Viola's swords shot past the friendly soldiers, weaving overhead and piercing through the front of the enemy ranks. Bodies fell to the ground, slowly piling up as the razor-sharp aether-blades spun, turning the hall into a blender and making the enemies look like paper mache. Yet, more filled their place within seconds, crossbow bolts fired from further back to support. Two more allies fell from the first volley, with one of the bolts almost reaching Rachael. With a silent grunt, Viola had torn the steel-tipped spike from the air with her magic, casting it over the balcony.

During her dip in focus, two heavily armoured beasts ploughed past their comrades, hulking in stature. Each armed with a steel shield, the punched into Viola's blades, shattering with a mere bash to the handles. Her swords bounced off them as if the blades were made of rubber. Left out of the combat for precious seconds, the last of the allied garrison fell, trampled, beaten, smashed down into the quaking cracked ground with unnatural force.

Wordlessly, Viola turned around and ran, dragging Rachael with her to the balcony.

Valiantly, the royal guard fought back, slowly retreating to join their liege before holding their position by a set of two steps, using the raised position and narrower entrance to their advantage. 

A blue runic circle appeared beneath one of the monstrous men, instantly exploding with small fragments of rock and disintegrating the floor beneath him. He fell, unfortunately standing just on top of the overhang. There was no surviving that fall.

Meanwhile, the halberdiers thrust at the other, using the focused explosion of magic to catch him off guard. The armour was thick, but one point stabbed through the beast's shoulder, finding a small gap in the steel sheets. He grunted, then stumbled to the side to join his ally down below after a small wave of magic shoved him to the side.

Ten. Fifteen. Twenty. Twenty-five. Men flooded into the tower summit.

Whoever the aggressors were, they weren't sparing any expense. Near fanatic in determination. All to assassinate an heir to the throne, Viola assumed.

"Lend me your magic." Viola didn't leave any more warning, or ask for confirmation, although Rachael didn't resist. Gushing like a waterfall, her mana flowed straight through Viola's veins, willingly fueling her with everything the princess could muster. Power welled at the stronger mage's fingertips, distracting her from the clashing of steel, and then the tearing of flesh, as she weaved her spell.

Both guards fell from numerous wounds, unable to hold back the tide, leaving both girls exposed and vulnerable to the enemy force. Coughing and sputtering out clumps of blood, a barely-conscious guard scrambled and clawed, desperately obstructing their murderers as best as he could.

It was too little. Too weak. They never stood a chance.

Swords and axes swung forward, closing in, millimetres from Viola's unmoving flesh-]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4144 Tue, 13 Mar 2018 15:55:40 +0000 James Knight]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=4144 After he had fallen asleep on his journey, and began to dream, Warren was having anything but a pleasant dream. The dream he was currently in involving an event that he hadn't experienced. In this case, a mob of  Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xXs were pounding Warren. 

"Hecate-Sama!"  Several of them were punching him in the ribs, or kicking him in the gonads in the dream. Of course this was symbolism of how his efforts outside of the Astral verse had dashed Warren's dreams like a piece of pottery. Some of the even poured lemon juice in his eyes, or broke his legs. 

"Is."  One of them tied up Warren, to a railroad track that appeared. 

"Ours," stated another, who was in the caboose of a train that had just materialized in the dream. 

The dream was one that was making Warren panicked. This couldn't be real, and yet he was feeling it. Warren tried to slap himself, but could not because of his broken arms, and being tied down. Really this could not be real. 

If this was real, he was doomed. ]]> After he had fallen asleep on his journey, and began to dream, Warren was having anything but a pleasant dream. The dream he was currently in involving an event that he hadn't experienced. In this case, a mob of  Xx_Yandere_Lo♥er_xXs were pounding Warren. 

"Hecate-Sama!"  Several of them were punching him in the ribs, or kicking him in the gonads in the dream. Of course this was symbolism of how his efforts outside of the Astral verse had dashed Warren's dreams like a piece of pottery. Some of the even poured lemon juice in his eyes, or broke his legs. 

"Is."  One of them tied up Warren, to a railroad track that appeared. 

"Ours," stated another, who was in the caboose of a train that had just materialized in the dream. 

The dream was one that was making Warren panicked. This couldn't be real, and yet he was feeling it. Warren tried to slap himself, but could not because of his broken arms, and being tied down. Really this could not be real. 

If this was real, he was doomed. ]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7249 Fri, 16 Feb 2018 01:02:41 +0000 Summer]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7249 Everything. He brought the wrath of the heavens down upon her and yet, after all that, she still stood, her lips still moving in a wordless chant, magic still swirling at her fingertips. And there he was, master of the weather, forced to the ground, knees digging into the dirt as he struggled to stand.

The chilling rain of his storm pelted against him, water washing into his numerous wounds, stinging him. Roaring winds rushed past him, flinging up dirt and mud, bending the long grass surrounding them, but somehow leaving both of them untouched. An unseasonable frost, somehow surviving the pouring range, had long since stopped creeping along the ground all around them. Little light penetrated through the thick, dark clouds in the sky. Most of their fight had been illuminated by the glow of her spells, the numerous flashes of lightning not only in the clouds, but also arcing to the ground. By now the storm that brought those frequent flashes was beginning to die, and now the battlefield was as dark as a bright winter’s night.

And just like his storm was beginning to fade, so too it felt like he was. There was nothing left the spirit of the weather could do. No matter how he willed his body, he just couldn’t rise up. Was it simply exhaustion? Could he simply not lift his limbs anymore? No. It didn’t feel like that. He’d fought until he couldn’t move anymore; until he started consuming his very body to cast his spells. Though his chest heaved with deep breaths, and his muscles screamed in their overexertion, he could still tell that this wasn’t like that. It was as though he simply couldn’t work up the willpower to move.

But that shouldn’t have been possible. He was the master of the weather, the terror of man! He infiltrated villages like a light breeze, joking, laughing, making friends. He was the master of faking emotion. The master of becoming emotion. There was no one out there with the master over their feelings that he had. If he wanted to be cheerful, he would become it! If he wanted to rage, then he would succumb to it! Even his willpower was bottomless! There was nothing that should have been able to force him to stop fighting save for death itself. Let alone something that made him lose his nerves like this.

And yet here he was, unable, unwilling to keep fighting this enemy. She hadn’t even completely crushed him; he still had energy, he could change the weather once more. And even past that, he could start eating up his body! He still had fuel, he could still fight until the bitter end. But it felt like he just couldn’t. He couldn’t work up the will to raise another fist at the black-cloaked enemy in front of him. And he knew exactly why.

This entire fight, he had no control over his emotions, that control he was so dearly proud of. He’d raged until that rage had been replaced by cheer he shouldn’t have had. Cheer morphed into sadness. Sadness into anxiety. Anxiety into apathy. All of that and back again. Every spell the mage in front of him cast had simply... tore his mental state asunder, forcing him to feel things he didn’t want to feel. Forcing him to even think things he didn’t want to think! She’d whispered her spells directly into his mind, and he knew of only one thing that could do such a thing. The impossible magics. Telepathy.

She had used the magic that no one had used before on him, that he’d rarely even seen people attempt. She deftly wielded spells that would have killed a lesser magician, throwing his emotions into a turmoil, planting terrible ideas in his mind. Hell, somehow she’d even managed to look into his mind, learn how he thought, see what he was going to do, all while somehow avoiding the paralysis that came with it. With those magics, she learned what he was feeling, and how to manipulate those feelings to her own goals, forcing him to play right into her hands.

There was nothing the spirit of the storms could have done. Every action he tried worked against him. Whenever he attacked, it was because she had guided him to do so, knowing exactly how to counter it. When he defended, it was because she knew where his openings were, and how to work against it. She read every single storm he summoned as though she were him. Even though he was the one directing the winds to his whims, she knew how they would blow. When the fog rolled in, she knew exactly where he was anyway. Hell, if the hail he’d summoned hadn’t been so indiscriminate, he was certain she’d have found a way to work against it.

All this because of the impossible magics she wielded. Telepathy. There was no doubt in his mind. The mage in front of him was the undisputed master of emotional magics, to a degree none could ever hope to close in on. Merlin. The terror of mankind that not even the weather could become. Unstoppable, unassailable, unreadable. He couldn’t help but be in awe of her sheer power. It may not have been pure, physical strength, the sort of thing that could move any obstacle in her way. Nor was it a natural, raging strength, the kind that would bend even mighty trees to her whim. But it was still strength nonetheless. Anything that could feel, anything that could think, would be forced to bow to her. And there was nothing they could do about it.

The spirit of storms smiled at Merlin, humbled. It had been far too long since he’d been in a fight like this. He couldn’t say that he liked it. Not at all. But nevertheless, it was strangely exhilarating. He had never been humbled like this before, and he doubted he would be in the future, either. A true, once-in-a-lifetime experience, even for someone ageless like him. Here he was, nature’s wrath given physical form, shoved into the dirt by possibly the greatest magician to ever exist. He wasn’t a medium, he couldn’t tell what the future would hold, for him or for her, but he could still tell true power when he saw it. And that right there, a pure, unmatched strength packed into a frame no larger than 5’2” and 105 lbs, and hidden behind a dark cloak, was true power. He almost felt honored to have been bested by such a girl. If only it weren’t for the fact that he was probably about to die. That tended to put a damper on things....

“Well, it’s done...” The spirit of weather panted, doing his best to raise his voice above the raging winds, his chest heaving with deep breaths. There wasn’t a single ounce of fight left within him. For a brief moment, he let those winds touch him, blasting his grey hair back and out of his eyes, just so he could look at his opponent properly. “You’ve bested the weather itself. What next?” His green/grey eyes scoured her face, trying to get a read on her expression. She remained just as serious and unamused as ever. He sort of expected that. There weren’t all that many people who would be cheerful after such a battle. It was a bittersweet victory for her. She couldn’t save the village he had just razed, after all.

Without a single word, she raised a hand towards him, and just like that he could feel magic stirring in the air. This was it. This was where he was going to die. He didn’t show a single sign of fear on his face, simply kneeling there stoically, though he could still feel it stirring in his heart. One thousand years of terror and destruction, all wrought in the name of the weather itself, for he was the weather itself. And now it was all about to come to an end, all from a girl who could have been no older than twenty. A true prodigy. Well, at least if he was dying, it was at the hands of someone cute....


It took longer than he thought for her to put the spell together. The spell that would tear him apart. For who knew how long, he simply stared at the soft palm of the one who would end him, invisible magics rending apart the air in front of her hand, slowly stirring and gathering. He could feel the strength of that attack growing. It was one hell of a spell she was putting together. Was she going for maximum torment or something? Trying to let the fear set in? He couldn’t tell. The only expression Merlin wore on her face was neutral. This was the expression of someone putting a feral animal out of their misery. He would feel insulted, if only he hadn’t been so impressed.

Finally, her spell hit. No flash, no flare, just like the rest of them. Suddenly he simply felt his body trying to pull itself apart. Agony ripped through him, his very being straining, threatening to become completely undone, as though everything down his consciousness itself was trying to tear itself asunder. Every muscle, every molecule, every atom felt like it was trying to escape him. There was no part of his being that didn’t want to be somewhere else. So that was how she wanted to end him, complete annihilation!

Even in spite of all his amazing willpower, a scream escaped the spirit of the weather. He couldn’t help it, the pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Everything was trying to escape him. Everything. Everything. Everything! His arms, his fingers, his body, his brain, his thoughts, his memories, his existence, his life, his death! Everything! Things he didn’t even know could hurt were in agony. Happiness hurt! Pain itself hurt! All the agony he felt, he felt twice over!

And suddenly everything snapped apart. His consciousness rebounded into him, and his head snapped back as though slapped by an elastic tether. The spirit fell backward, mud splashing as he sank into it, and he found himself blankly staring into the grey sky above, rain pattering against his face. Something felt... off....

Mixed emotions surged through his chest.

He breathed in slowly, tranquility seeping through him.

A tumultuous storm enveloped him.

Was this what the light of a perfect summer day felt like?

Anyone who stood in his way would be crushed.

Calm. Dangerous. Something to be enjoyed but not chanced.

Simultaneously, two people sat up from the ground, frozen mud staining their backs. They looked absolutely identical in every respect, and yet something seemed vaguely different about them. As if on a cue, the two seemed to notice each other out of their peripheries, and they turned. Two heads recoiled simultaneously, one with a baffled, angry look on its face, the other peering curiously. For a few seconds, they simply stared, each closely studying the other. In concert, they turned, heads swiveling at the same pace as they brought their attention to Merlin.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

“What did you do?”

Two voices spoke simultaneously, one polite and one enraged. Though one tensed up, ready to spring, neither of them moved from where they sat on the cold, rain-soaked ground. Whatever spell the young magician had cast to make them stay in place still seemed to be working, in spite of whatever new thing she had wrought upon them. She pulled her hood and cloak closer to her, the fabric hanging limply around her small frame, completely unaffected by the raging storm. She stared at the two with deep green eyes, trying to hide from the rain pouring down over the moor.

“I know not what consequences would arise from killing the weather.” Merlin’s voice was soft and monotonous. Even though it was so quiet, he could still hear her clearly over the pouring rain, the raging winds, the distant cracks of thunder. Those were the first words he had heard her speak. She hadn’t made one little noise before she jumped him, and at most, he’d heard a few grunts of pain during the hail he’d summoned. She was truly a ‘quiet’ one. “Thus, I simply tore you apart. You should not be able to wreak havoc anymore.”

“What do you mean ‘Tore me apart!?’”

“What do you mean ‘Tore me apart?’”

The same sentence spoken twice simultaneously, but in two different intonations. Calm and furious. The small girl looming over their kneeling forms shifted slightly on her feet, her face as placid as ever. If she was at all intimidated by the fury in one of their voices, she didn’t show it.

“Exactly what it implies. Storm and Clear Sky. Arashi and Kaisei...” she spoke the names awkwardly, clearly not knowing the language, but obviously gleaning what she could from their minds. “You are two now. Do with that what you will.”

With that said, Merlin’s business was done. She spun away from the two without fanfare, pulling her hood over her face as she turned into the rain. Her dark cloak wrapped around her tightly, guided by her magic, and she strode away nonchalantly, walking into the roaring winds as though they were nothing, sure-footed even as icy mud splashed and slid away beneath her boots.

“Wait!” One of them demanding, throwing himself forward just as the spell sapping them of all motivation ended. His hand clamped onto the back of her cloak with an iron grip, and the magician was forced to stop in her tracks, though still, she did not turn to face them. Even with their overwhelming strength threatening to sneak up from behind, she seemed thoroughly unconcerned. “Why are you letting me live!?” Though they were the words of one half, he was speaking for both of them. “Either kill me or bind me to your will! That’s how it’s supposed to go when you defeat a monster like me! Not whatever mockery this is! Give me something honorable at least!”

Merlin stood silently for a few seconds, eerily still amidst the raging winds. She didn’t give the slightest hint of a response until.... “I already told you, I know not what would arise from slaying the weather itself. Thus I shall not chance it.” Her tone was just as monotonous as ever, in spite of the human monstrosity clinging to her outfit. “Additionally, you offer me nothing I don’t already have. Thus, I shall not bind you.”
The spirit’s grip faltered, his heart shattering. Both of their jaws fell open, and just like that, Merlin effortlessly wrested herself free from his grip and continued into the storm, unperturbed.

What?

There was nothing he could offer her? Him? Nothing? The powerful, indomitable spirit of the weather itself couldn’t offer anything to some two-bit human mage that she didn’t already have? One half clenched his teeth, falling to his hands and knees, staring in rage at the flooding ground beneath him. Nothing!? The air seemed to stir around him for a moment, the unmistakable feeling of electrical brilliance building in the up as he rose to face the magician.

“Don’t!” The other half called out, springing to his feet far too late. Lightning flashed once more, and blackness consumed the two of them.]]> Everything. He brought the wrath of the heavens down upon her and yet, after all that, she still stood, her lips still moving in a wordless chant, magic still swirling at her fingertips. And there he was, master of the weather, forced to the ground, knees digging into the dirt as he struggled to stand.

The chilling rain of his storm pelted against him, water washing into his numerous wounds, stinging him. Roaring winds rushed past him, flinging up dirt and mud, bending the long grass surrounding them, but somehow leaving both of them untouched. An unseasonable frost, somehow surviving the pouring range, had long since stopped creeping along the ground all around them. Little light penetrated through the thick, dark clouds in the sky. Most of their fight had been illuminated by the glow of her spells, the numerous flashes of lightning not only in the clouds, but also arcing to the ground. By now the storm that brought those frequent flashes was beginning to die, and now the battlefield was as dark as a bright winter’s night.

And just like his storm was beginning to fade, so too it felt like he was. There was nothing left the spirit of the weather could do. No matter how he willed his body, he just couldn’t rise up. Was it simply exhaustion? Could he simply not lift his limbs anymore? No. It didn’t feel like that. He’d fought until he couldn’t move anymore; until he started consuming his very body to cast his spells. Though his chest heaved with deep breaths, and his muscles screamed in their overexertion, he could still tell that this wasn’t like that. It was as though he simply couldn’t work up the willpower to move.

But that shouldn’t have been possible. He was the master of the weather, the terror of man! He infiltrated villages like a light breeze, joking, laughing, making friends. He was the master of faking emotion. The master of becoming emotion. There was no one out there with the master over their feelings that he had. If he wanted to be cheerful, he would become it! If he wanted to rage, then he would succumb to it! Even his willpower was bottomless! There was nothing that should have been able to force him to stop fighting save for death itself. Let alone something that made him lose his nerves like this.

And yet here he was, unable, unwilling to keep fighting this enemy. She hadn’t even completely crushed him; he still had energy, he could change the weather once more. And even past that, he could start eating up his body! He still had fuel, he could still fight until the bitter end. But it felt like he just couldn’t. He couldn’t work up the will to raise another fist at the black-cloaked enemy in front of him. And he knew exactly why.

This entire fight, he had no control over his emotions, that control he was so dearly proud of. He’d raged until that rage had been replaced by cheer he shouldn’t have had. Cheer morphed into sadness. Sadness into anxiety. Anxiety into apathy. All of that and back again. Every spell the mage in front of him cast had simply... tore his mental state asunder, forcing him to feel things he didn’t want to feel. Forcing him to even think things he didn’t want to think! She’d whispered her spells directly into his mind, and he knew of only one thing that could do such a thing. The impossible magics. Telepathy.

She had used the magic that no one had used before on him, that he’d rarely even seen people attempt. She deftly wielded spells that would have killed a lesser magician, throwing his emotions into a turmoil, planting terrible ideas in his mind. Hell, somehow she’d even managed to look into his mind, learn how he thought, see what he was going to do, all while somehow avoiding the paralysis that came with it. With those magics, she learned what he was feeling, and how to manipulate those feelings to her own goals, forcing him to play right into her hands.

There was nothing the spirit of the storms could have done. Every action he tried worked against him. Whenever he attacked, it was because she had guided him to do so, knowing exactly how to counter it. When he defended, it was because she knew where his openings were, and how to work against it. She read every single storm he summoned as though she were him. Even though he was the one directing the winds to his whims, she knew how they would blow. When the fog rolled in, she knew exactly where he was anyway. Hell, if the hail he’d summoned hadn’t been so indiscriminate, he was certain she’d have found a way to work against it.

All this because of the impossible magics she wielded. Telepathy. There was no doubt in his mind. The mage in front of him was the undisputed master of emotional magics, to a degree none could ever hope to close in on. Merlin. The terror of mankind that not even the weather could become. Unstoppable, unassailable, unreadable. He couldn’t help but be in awe of her sheer power. It may not have been pure, physical strength, the sort of thing that could move any obstacle in her way. Nor was it a natural, raging strength, the kind that would bend even mighty trees to her whim. But it was still strength nonetheless. Anything that could feel, anything that could think, would be forced to bow to her. And there was nothing they could do about it.

The spirit of storms smiled at Merlin, humbled. It had been far too long since he’d been in a fight like this. He couldn’t say that he liked it. Not at all. But nevertheless, it was strangely exhilarating. He had never been humbled like this before, and he doubted he would be in the future, either. A true, once-in-a-lifetime experience, even for someone ageless like him. Here he was, nature’s wrath given physical form, shoved into the dirt by possibly the greatest magician to ever exist. He wasn’t a medium, he couldn’t tell what the future would hold, for him or for her, but he could still tell true power when he saw it. And that right there, a pure, unmatched strength packed into a frame no larger than 5’2” and 105 lbs, and hidden behind a dark cloak, was true power. He almost felt honored to have been bested by such a girl. If only it weren’t for the fact that he was probably about to die. That tended to put a damper on things....

“Well, it’s done...” The spirit of weather panted, doing his best to raise his voice above the raging winds, his chest heaving with deep breaths. There wasn’t a single ounce of fight left within him. For a brief moment, he let those winds touch him, blasting his grey hair back and out of his eyes, just so he could look at his opponent properly. “You’ve bested the weather itself. What next?” His green/grey eyes scoured her face, trying to get a read on her expression. She remained just as serious and unamused as ever. He sort of expected that. There weren’t all that many people who would be cheerful after such a battle. It was a bittersweet victory for her. She couldn’t save the village he had just razed, after all.

Without a single word, she raised a hand towards him, and just like that he could feel magic stirring in the air. This was it. This was where he was going to die. He didn’t show a single sign of fear on his face, simply kneeling there stoically, though he could still feel it stirring in his heart. One thousand years of terror and destruction, all wrought in the name of the weather itself, for he was the weather itself. And now it was all about to come to an end, all from a girl who could have been no older than twenty. A true prodigy. Well, at least if he was dying, it was at the hands of someone cute....


It took longer than he thought for her to put the spell together. The spell that would tear him apart. For who knew how long, he simply stared at the soft palm of the one who would end him, invisible magics rending apart the air in front of her hand, slowly stirring and gathering. He could feel the strength of that attack growing. It was one hell of a spell she was putting together. Was she going for maximum torment or something? Trying to let the fear set in? He couldn’t tell. The only expression Merlin wore on her face was neutral. This was the expression of someone putting a feral animal out of their misery. He would feel insulted, if only he hadn’t been so impressed.

Finally, her spell hit. No flash, no flare, just like the rest of them. Suddenly he simply felt his body trying to pull itself apart. Agony ripped through him, his very being straining, threatening to become completely undone, as though everything down his consciousness itself was trying to tear itself asunder. Every muscle, every molecule, every atom felt like it was trying to escape him. There was no part of his being that didn’t want to be somewhere else. So that was how she wanted to end him, complete annihilation!

Even in spite of all his amazing willpower, a scream escaped the spirit of the weather. He couldn’t help it, the pain was like nothing he had ever experienced before. Everything was trying to escape him. Everything. Everything. Everything! His arms, his fingers, his body, his brain, his thoughts, his memories, his existence, his life, his death! Everything! Things he didn’t even know could hurt were in agony. Happiness hurt! Pain itself hurt! All the agony he felt, he felt twice over!

And suddenly everything snapped apart. His consciousness rebounded into him, and his head snapped back as though slapped by an elastic tether. The spirit fell backward, mud splashing as he sank into it, and he found himself blankly staring into the grey sky above, rain pattering against his face. Something felt... off....

Mixed emotions surged through his chest.

He breathed in slowly, tranquility seeping through him.

A tumultuous storm enveloped him.

Was this what the light of a perfect summer day felt like?

Anyone who stood in his way would be crushed.

Calm. Dangerous. Something to be enjoyed but not chanced.

Simultaneously, two people sat up from the ground, frozen mud staining their backs. They looked absolutely identical in every respect, and yet something seemed vaguely different about them. As if on a cue, the two seemed to notice each other out of their peripheries, and they turned. Two heads recoiled simultaneously, one with a baffled, angry look on its face, the other peering curiously. For a few seconds, they simply stared, each closely studying the other. In concert, they turned, heads swiveling at the same pace as they brought their attention to Merlin.

“What the fuck did you do!?”

“What did you do?”

Two voices spoke simultaneously, one polite and one enraged. Though one tensed up, ready to spring, neither of them moved from where they sat on the cold, rain-soaked ground. Whatever spell the young magician had cast to make them stay in place still seemed to be working, in spite of whatever new thing she had wrought upon them. She pulled her hood and cloak closer to her, the fabric hanging limply around her small frame, completely unaffected by the raging storm. She stared at the two with deep green eyes, trying to hide from the rain pouring down over the moor.

“I know not what consequences would arise from killing the weather.” Merlin’s voice was soft and monotonous. Even though it was so quiet, he could still hear her clearly over the pouring rain, the raging winds, the distant cracks of thunder. Those were the first words he had heard her speak. She hadn’t made one little noise before she jumped him, and at most, he’d heard a few grunts of pain during the hail he’d summoned. She was truly a ‘quiet’ one. “Thus, I simply tore you apart. You should not be able to wreak havoc anymore.”

“What do you mean ‘Tore me apart!?’”

“What do you mean ‘Tore me apart?’”

The same sentence spoken twice simultaneously, but in two different intonations. Calm and furious. The small girl looming over their kneeling forms shifted slightly on her feet, her face as placid as ever. If she was at all intimidated by the fury in one of their voices, she didn’t show it.

“Exactly what it implies. Storm and Clear Sky. Arashi and Kaisei...” she spoke the names awkwardly, clearly not knowing the language, but obviously gleaning what she could from their minds. “You are two now. Do with that what you will.”

With that said, Merlin’s business was done. She spun away from the two without fanfare, pulling her hood over her face as she turned into the rain. Her dark cloak wrapped around her tightly, guided by her magic, and she strode away nonchalantly, walking into the roaring winds as though they were nothing, sure-footed even as icy mud splashed and slid away beneath her boots.

“Wait!” One of them demanding, throwing himself forward just as the spell sapping them of all motivation ended. His hand clamped onto the back of her cloak with an iron grip, and the magician was forced to stop in her tracks, though still, she did not turn to face them. Even with their overwhelming strength threatening to sneak up from behind, she seemed thoroughly unconcerned. “Why are you letting me live!?” Though they were the words of one half, he was speaking for both of them. “Either kill me or bind me to your will! That’s how it’s supposed to go when you defeat a monster like me! Not whatever mockery this is! Give me something honorable at least!”

Merlin stood silently for a few seconds, eerily still amidst the raging winds. She didn’t give the slightest hint of a response until.... “I already told you, I know not what would arise from slaying the weather itself. Thus I shall not chance it.” Her tone was just as monotonous as ever, in spite of the human monstrosity clinging to her outfit. “Additionally, you offer me nothing I don’t already have. Thus, I shall not bind you.”
The spirit’s grip faltered, his heart shattering. Both of their jaws fell open, and just like that, Merlin effortlessly wrested herself free from his grip and continued into the storm, unperturbed.

What?

There was nothing he could offer her? Him? Nothing? The powerful, indomitable spirit of the weather itself couldn’t offer anything to some two-bit human mage that she didn’t already have? One half clenched his teeth, falling to his hands and knees, staring in rage at the flooding ground beneath him. Nothing!? The air seemed to stir around him for a moment, the unmistakable feeling of electrical brilliance building in the up as he rose to face the magician.

“Don’t!” The other half called out, springing to his feet far too late. Lightning flashed once more, and blackness consumed the two of them.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7212 Mon, 29 Jan 2018 01:30:28 +0000 Kuzuru]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7212
Instead of the forest he found a desolate wasteland. His boulder was still present, but there was no life in sight. What few trees still stood were nothing more than shriveled husks of their former selves. Dust-covered skeletons littered the cracked clay earth. A harsh gust of wind slapped the demon’s face. He scowled and hopped down from his perch. He sniffed the air and frowned. There was no blood here. The death that surrounded him was the worst kind. It was a lethargic and bland wasting that occured over the course of centuries. Yes he was an avatar of slaughter and he courted the lovely lady death, but this lack of action sickened him. Kuzuru spit onto an animal skull.

“What a boring dream,” he mused and continued to walk through the badlands.

Every step that Kuzuru took sent slight tremors through the clay underfoot. Spiderweb cracks propagated out from his footprints, mulching the clay into piles of red gravel. Spires of twisted stone breached through the earth and climbed towards the sky. These spires morphed into hellish facsimiles of skyscrapers. These towering leviathans were made from the same red clay and looked as if they were made by giant cavemen. A single curved sprouted from Kuzuru’s forearm which he dragged against the stone structures. This horrendous scraping noise echoed throughout the barren city.

“Anyone out there?” he called, raising his voice as loud as it could go.]]>
Instead of the forest he found a desolate wasteland. His boulder was still present, but there was no life in sight. What few trees still stood were nothing more than shriveled husks of their former selves. Dust-covered skeletons littered the cracked clay earth. A harsh gust of wind slapped the demon’s face. He scowled and hopped down from his perch. He sniffed the air and frowned. There was no blood here. The death that surrounded him was the worst kind. It was a lethargic and bland wasting that occured over the course of centuries. Yes he was an avatar of slaughter and he courted the lovely lady death, but this lack of action sickened him. Kuzuru spit onto an animal skull.

“What a boring dream,” he mused and continued to walk through the badlands.

Every step that Kuzuru took sent slight tremors through the clay underfoot. Spiderweb cracks propagated out from his footprints, mulching the clay into piles of red gravel. Spires of twisted stone breached through the earth and climbed towards the sky. These spires morphed into hellish facsimiles of skyscrapers. These towering leviathans were made from the same red clay and looked as if they were made by giant cavemen. A single curved sprouted from Kuzuru’s forearm which he dragged against the stone structures. This horrendous scraping noise echoed throughout the barren city.

“Anyone out there?” he called, raising his voice as loud as it could go.]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7153 Sat, 06 Jan 2018 08:00:57 +0000 Sister Evangeline]]> https://omni.zulenka.com/showthread.php?tid=7153
“My lady, the oil and soap you requested have arrived.” A masculine voice called from behind the door.

“Have the alchemists do as I instructed.” Evangeline called back. She wasn’t exactly in a position to answer, with only a white towel covering her still drying body as she stood, eyeing her discarded garments. “Grind the soap into a powder and then add it to the oil in a one to eight ratio by volume. Stir until it periodically until if forms a gel.”

The amount she required was impossible to make it all on her own, and even to feudal alchemists it was not a difficult task, just labour intensive. Which meant she was left with time, time to dwell on the revelations of the day. With a huff she walked over to the bed and collapsed backward onto it’s soft upholstery, all the while the image of the creature rose to the surface of her mind, Omni. Promises of eternal life providing it was entertained, and anything she wanted.

What you want most.

The words resonated. What Evangeline wanted most was a way back to the comfort of her sisters, or so she believed. Perhaps there was something within her that didn’t want to return. She considered the arduous nature of life in the 41st millenium, her mind always on guard for corrupting influences and her body always ready for war. It was an idea that she was able to quickly dismiss. Though the landscape was alien, the monsters were very familiar, and she felt no more at ease here than in the Imperium. The only difference was that she was alone. Perhaps she did want an escape from the Imperium, but it would not be to a place such as the Moor.

The thing she wanted most was definitely to return home. More than anything. It had been in the background as she pushed forward, like a little child calling out to her father. Something she had to ignore and drag with her as she pushed forward. Now in the quiet of an opulent room, as far as feudal standards go, she could entertain it. Indeed she had been for quite some time now. She wanted it, more than anything. So either the creature was lying to her or a path home was off the table.

Something simpler then. She cast her eyes back to the shield robes she’d left in a heap in the corner, festering in the rotten muck of the swamp. She knew it must be cast upon the fire yet she had not yet done so, and she knew the reason. It was not something like an attachment to the holy garment of her order. Her reason was vanity and comfort. Being born of nobility Evangeline had a taste for the finer things. High thread counts were the standard growing up, and she considered the clothing of the community leader on par with sackcloth. It was a line of thought that began many self-flagellation rituals, though her time in the Hospitalia only served to strengthen those notions. In practice, the cleaner and more well made her equipment and dressings were, the better the outcomes for the patient. Nonetheless, her instinctive vanity was a trait she felt was inappropriate for a sister of the Adepta Sororitas.

“Do not think of such things.” A voice, feminine but abrasive, said in front of her.

The room had morphed into a small chapple. The walls and floor were made from white marble and the altars and pews made from Ivory. Each had an opulent golden trim. Coloured light filtered in through the stained glass windows, it was all slightly formless however, as though it was always a fuzzy mess until her eyes set upon that particular place, only to turn into liquid the moment she lifted them. Evangeline herself was 3 feet talk, hunched over at the altar and praying when she heard the voice.

“Your narcissism is an affront to the God Emperor. Cleanse such deviant thoughts from your mind lest I cleanse your presence from me with the flame.”

The woman was dressed in golden power armour with wings poking out either side of her shoulders. Again, much like the room the specifics were formless, save her face which was like a mirror.

“And here you are, moments after listening to the words of a formless creature to now follow the abominations instruction. Whatever gifts it offers are heretical, it’s powers obscene.”

“I know that!” the child protested apologetically, with tears in her eyes, streaming down her face “But I am alone, and face the ruinous powers.” She pleaded with the angelic figure “What would you have me do? Use the muskets of these men to defeat the great evil?”

The angelic figure was silent. She wanted to say ‘Have faith that the Emperor will save you.’ but the lack of warmth she felt from the astronomican gave her pause.

“I was fighting agents of Tzeentch.” The angel said with with the same tenor as before. “I cannot assume that this isn’t some ruse by one of their magicians, to turn me from the emperor’s light."

The child wiped her eyes clear and stood up. “On the off chance it isn’t, don’t I also have a responsibility to the innocents of this world?” She asked with a slightly sheepish, shaking voice.

“This power cannot be trusted. I cannot risk being tainted by it.” The angel became dismissive.

“I already am.” The child straightened up “My tooth was healed. And apparently I’m reborn when killed. This power is already woven into my being.”

“If that’s the case then I should end it now. Put this rebirth to the test.” The angel’s infection was hesitant.

“If not me then who will protect the villagers? No one else understands the threat the rot poses.” The child said with a determined voice.

The cathedral shattered in a moment and everything regained its focus. Evangeline's mind was no longer split into to two, now only she remained, the hospitalia dressed in Sororitas armour. Her thoughts became lucid and she recognised that she was dreaming, but the dream had suddenly taken a different turn.]]>
“My lady, the oil and soap you requested have arrived.” A masculine voice called from behind the door.

“Have the alchemists do as I instructed.” Evangeline called back. She wasn’t exactly in a position to answer, with only a white towel covering her still drying body as she stood, eyeing her discarded garments. “Grind the soap into a powder and then add it to the oil in a one to eight ratio by volume. Stir until it periodically until if forms a gel.”

The amount she required was impossible to make it all on her own, and even to feudal alchemists it was not a difficult task, just labour intensive. Which meant she was left with time, time to dwell on the revelations of the day. With a huff she walked over to the bed and collapsed backward onto it’s soft upholstery, all the while the image of the creature rose to the surface of her mind, Omni. Promises of eternal life providing it was entertained, and anything she wanted.

What you want most.

The words resonated. What Evangeline wanted most was a way back to the comfort of her sisters, or so she believed. Perhaps there was something within her that didn’t want to return. She considered the arduous nature of life in the 41st millenium, her mind always on guard for corrupting influences and her body always ready for war. It was an idea that she was able to quickly dismiss. Though the landscape was alien, the monsters were very familiar, and she felt no more at ease here than in the Imperium. The only difference was that she was alone. Perhaps she did want an escape from the Imperium, but it would not be to a place such as the Moor.

The thing she wanted most was definitely to return home. More than anything. It had been in the background as she pushed forward, like a little child calling out to her father. Something she had to ignore and drag with her as she pushed forward. Now in the quiet of an opulent room, as far as feudal standards go, she could entertain it. Indeed she had been for quite some time now. She wanted it, more than anything. So either the creature was lying to her or a path home was off the table.

Something simpler then. She cast her eyes back to the shield robes she’d left in a heap in the corner, festering in the rotten muck of the swamp. She knew it must be cast upon the fire yet she had not yet done so, and she knew the reason. It was not something like an attachment to the holy garment of her order. Her reason was vanity and comfort. Being born of nobility Evangeline had a taste for the finer things. High thread counts were the standard growing up, and she considered the clothing of the community leader on par with sackcloth. It was a line of thought that began many self-flagellation rituals, though her time in the Hospitalia only served to strengthen those notions. In practice, the cleaner and more well made her equipment and dressings were, the better the outcomes for the patient. Nonetheless, her instinctive vanity was a trait she felt was inappropriate for a sister of the Adepta Sororitas.

“Do not think of such things.” A voice, feminine but abrasive, said in front of her.

The room had morphed into a small chapple. The walls and floor were made from white marble and the altars and pews made from Ivory. Each had an opulent golden trim. Coloured light filtered in through the stained glass windows, it was all slightly formless however, as though it was always a fuzzy mess until her eyes set upon that particular place, only to turn into liquid the moment she lifted them. Evangeline herself was 3 feet talk, hunched over at the altar and praying when she heard the voice.

“Your narcissism is an affront to the God Emperor. Cleanse such deviant thoughts from your mind lest I cleanse your presence from me with the flame.”

The woman was dressed in golden power armour with wings poking out either side of her shoulders. Again, much like the room the specifics were formless, save her face which was like a mirror.

“And here you are, moments after listening to the words of a formless creature to now follow the abominations instruction. Whatever gifts it offers are heretical, it’s powers obscene.”

“I know that!” the child protested apologetically, with tears in her eyes, streaming down her face “But I am alone, and face the ruinous powers.” She pleaded with the angelic figure “What would you have me do? Use the muskets of these men to defeat the great evil?”

The angelic figure was silent. She wanted to say ‘Have faith that the Emperor will save you.’ but the lack of warmth she felt from the astronomican gave her pause.

“I was fighting agents of Tzeentch.” The angel said with with the same tenor as before. “I cannot assume that this isn’t some ruse by one of their magicians, to turn me from the emperor’s light."

The child wiped her eyes clear and stood up. “On the off chance it isn’t, don’t I also have a responsibility to the innocents of this world?” She asked with a slightly sheepish, shaking voice.

“This power cannot be trusted. I cannot risk being tainted by it.” The angel became dismissive.

“I already am.” The child straightened up “My tooth was healed. And apparently I’m reborn when killed. This power is already woven into my being.”

“If that’s the case then I should end it now. Put this rebirth to the test.” The angel’s infection was hesitant.

“If not me then who will protect the villagers? No one else understands the threat the rot poses.” The child said with a determined voice.

The cathedral shattered in a moment and everything regained its focus. Evangeline's mind was no longer split into to two, now only she remained, the hospitalia dressed in Sororitas armour. Her thoughts became lucid and she recognised that she was dreaming, but the dream had suddenly taken a different turn.]]>