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Entry tags:
- !event,
- #innocence,
- archduke j: visionary,
- barnaby brooks jr: lover,
- estinien wyrmblood: firebrand,
- eustace: firebrand,
- father paul hill: martyr,
- kaeya alberich: lover,
- kim dokja: martyr,
- kim kitsuragi: martyr,
- liem talbott: champion,
- majorita: firebrand,
- makoto ("m"): firebrand,
- meteion: innocent,
- ryunosuke naruhodo: champion,
- tartaglia (childe): firebrand,
- yuya sakaki: lover
EVENT #5: SOVEREIGN CITIZENS (VENERA)
Sovereign Citizens
VENERA
In contrast the Aion's last visit, they now arrive in Venera on a completely average day... or so it seems. Unlike Godsblood, Venera has been given no warning as to what's about to befall it; the Kenoma are simply authorized to arrive and begin their bloody work without fanfare. Even their entourage of Achamite soldier don't stick out that much; in the time since the plague left, the city has refilled with occupying forces. Notably, the Hylician ones seem to be keeping out of the way, almost as if they've heard some things and would rather not be involved too closely in what's to come.As opposed to the ghost town it was during the plague, Venera is now reasonably active, with most attending to their usual business. Shops are open, and its people are withdrawn but superficially friendly when meeting strangers. Initially, the targets of the Kenoma hit list will have no way of knowing what's coming for them, but after the first couple attacks word will begin to spread. Those that have recently been engaging in seditious behavior will become harder to find, leaving their usual homes and workplaces to stay elsewhere, and making other attempts to escape the Regent's attention.
Once those alerts have been raised, the Kenoma will have to engage in more detective work to find their targets, questioning other Venerans and seeking out fugitives in the homes of their family and friends. In the meantime, some of those who believe they are in danger may become desperately enough to seek out the Pleroma directly, imploring them for aid. Unfortunately, seeking out one sect may just as easily draw the attention of the other. Most uninvolved Venerans will be too terrified to intervene one way or another, reluctant to aid in the persecution of their neighbors but fearful of consequences. If your Aion travels openly, it will take some effort to pin them down long enough to hold a conversation.
SEEDS OF DESPAIR
Several days into the culling of Venera, the Aions will have witnessed the city gradually withdraw into itself. The streets become vacant as more and more people decide it isn't worth the risk to be seen outside, abandoning work and play alike to hide out in their homes, refusing to answer their doors to all except the most desperate pleading. Those that can't avoid their daily obligations are quiet and morose, trying their best to remain unseen and unremarked upon.
If your character has been observed as a Kenoma, either now or in their previous visits to the city, the citizens will look upon them as if they are the messengers of death. If you are seen as a Pleroma, they will resist your gaze, as if fearing your presence alone might leave them marked. In rarer cases, you will see those with stronger spirits, with glares of hatred or determination. They are powerless now, but seeds have been sewn, and whether they are the seeds of despair or of action are yet unclear.
By the time the Kenoma's hit list has been fully addressed, several have been killed and several more have been rushed from their homes to flee the city entirely. There have been holes left in the tapestry of the community they were once part of. One way or another, their absence will be felt keenly by those they left behind.
If your character has been observed as a Kenoma, either now or in their previous visits to the city, the citizens will look upon them as if they are the messengers of death. If you are seen as a Pleroma, they will resist your gaze, as if fearing your presence alone might leave them marked. In rarer cases, you will see those with stronger spirits, with glares of hatred or determination. They are powerless now, but seeds have been sewn, and whether they are the seeds of despair or of action are yet unclear.
By the time the Kenoma's hit list has been fully addressed, several have been killed and several more have been rushed from their homes to flee the city entirely. There have been holes left in the tapestry of the community they were once part of. One way or another, their absence will be felt keenly by those they left behind.
QUESTIONS
What is the best way for Aions to travel to Venera?
Estinien has plans to get an early start for the Pleroma by teleporting to the Lover's shrine and flying somewhere closer to set up a portal from the ocean caves near the Godsblood Lodestone to a spot of farmland closer to Venera. Paul will be setting up a portal directly from Achamoth to one of the Achamite outposts in Venera.
How much force can the Kenoma use while interrogating Venerans?
While they are generally not permitted to kill Venerans who haven't tried to physically fight them, they will be permitted to apply both physical and mental pressure upon those that refuse to provide them with information regarding the whereabouts of their targets. This duress should be proportional to the resistance the Veneran is offering. The Regent is not inviting them to terrorize Venera on a level to a level they cannot reasonably blaim themselves for.
Estinien has plans to get an early start for the Pleroma by teleporting to the Lover's shrine and flying somewhere closer to set up a portal from the ocean caves near the Godsblood Lodestone to a spot of farmland closer to Venera. Paul will be setting up a portal directly from Achamoth to one of the Achamite outposts in Venera.
How much force can the Kenoma use while interrogating Venerans?
While they are generally not permitted to kill Venerans who haven't tried to physically fight them, they will be permitted to apply both physical and mental pressure upon those that refuse to provide them with information regarding the whereabouts of their targets. This duress should be proportional to the resistance the Veneran is offering. The Regent is not inviting them to terrorize Venera on a level to a level they cannot reasonably blaim themselves for.
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It was a mistake, surely, to let Estinien get so close. Yet, the greater mistake was Estinien allowing himself the indulgence.
He leaps at the precise moment he realizes what is happening, but the earth falls quickly enough that his lower extremities don't make it clear in time. His tail and wings, so constricted by the tight space, are buried along with his lower half. He is strong, especially transformed as he is, but the earth is heavy - it's only when he's straining against it that the impacts Gen made against his chest and leg really start to process.
In the meantime, Silco is free to make his appearance... and Estinien realizes fully that things are about to take a turn for the worst.
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Much as he doesn't relish the thought of abandoning Kaeya while he's on the brink of death, better to risk a single dissipation rather than multiple. And there's something distinctly unpleasant about the thought of a teacher abandoning his students when they might benefit from help the most. So down Kaeya goes, laid out as gently as Eustace can manage before he's turning on his heel and sprinting back towards the storehouse.
What he sees as soon as he runs back is—worse. Makoto trapped in some sort of....bubble? enclosure? shield? Gen on the ground, body streaked with blood and dirt. The no-longer-prisoner Ryunosuke some feet away, staring at Makoto. The only thing that sparks the smallest flicker of grim satisfaction is Estinien half-buried in the ground, momentarily trapped despite how much he struggles and strains. (Somewhere in there, Silco's shadowy appearance makes an impression, but as little more than an afterthought.)
Hard to know exactly the cause of whatever's trapping Makoto, but if he had to take a guess it's most likely coming from the shortstack some feet away. First things first, then. Get rid of any interference before refocusing on the main event.
He pulls out his gun and fires a shot at Ryunosuke. Not a bullet but a bolt of lightning, intended to disable rather than destroy.
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And just like that, before he can even reach a decision, his concentration is shattered. The bubble shimmers and fades away uselessly as Eustace's bolt sends a jolt of pain through Ryunosuke's entire body; he yowls, maybe even more out of surprise than pain, because he honestly has no idea what what the heck even hit him; the shock knocks him away about a foot or two, where he lands unsteadily on his feet, looking frantically all around in wild-eyed confusion, tail lashing about.
Looking in the direction the hit came from, he spots Eustace with his gun, which explains things, he supposes. No clue what kind of gun shoots LIGHTNING instead of bullets, but whatever, that's honestly kind of a relief in some ways....
He's trying to reorient himself, counting the Kenoma present-- Gen, M, Eustace-- His eyes land on Silco briefly. Who the HECK is that guy and when did he get here!?!
That makes four of them, at least three of whom are now converging on Estinien, who's stuck half-buried in the ground. Ryunosuke has no idea what the old guy just did to Gen but he's not about to wait around and find out. Sometimes, he just has to let his stupid impulses carry him forward, and deal with the consequences later.
He springs forward and tries to put himself between Estinien and the two Kenoma (Gen and Silco), casting another one of those shimmering gold bubbles around himself this time.
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And the Shimmer burns through his body like a wildfire.
Both the crackle of lighting from Eustace's gun and the shimmer of Ryunosuke's protective bubble dissipating go entirely unnoticed. For a moment all Gen can think about is the sensation of something acrid surging through his veins, leaving an unbearable heat simmering in its wake; his voice escapes his throat in a guttural snarl as he doubles over, hand clawing at his chest heedless of the way he exacerbates his injuries in a hapless attempt to quell the strange pressure building in his lungs. His heart feels like it's hammering against his ribcage hard enough to explode. It hurts, he can taste the iron tang of blood and the sour rise of bile at the back of his throat, and his field of vision is clouding an electric hue at the edges. But -- ...
It can't take Ryunosuke more than a few scant moments to locate himself between Estinien and Gen. But just that amount of time is enough. That shimmering bubble forms itself around him again, and Gen promptly raises his head to glare at him -- the dark of his pupils replaced by an inhuman glow, lines of incandescent purple etched across his temple -- then, without hesitation, aims a two-handed swing of the mace straight at Ryunosuke. The heavy metal head smashes against that barrier with a force that humans shouldn't naturally be capable of, more than hard enough to send the entire thing careening off to the side, Ryunosuke and all.
But Gen barely pays it any mind. Ryunosuke was simply an obstacle on the way to his goal, which he stares at with a vicious laser focus: Estinien. This person, an enemy, who hurt him, who deserves to be hurt back as much as possible.
And it's truly unfortunate for Estinien that with Gen's focus sharpened to a razor's edge, an ability granted to him which had been lying dormant thus far finally stirs awake. Not to grant Gen any further strength but to simply cause Estinien as much suffering as possible -- a reflex born of pure spite, hell-bent on forcing Estinien to endure the same pain he does. There's no warning, no visual indication of what's going on. Estinien will only have the chance to look up and see Gen lunging his way with renewed speed and ferocity -- then an explosion of pain slams into him like a cannonball.
Most of it is persistent and caustic, like a heated blade searing through nerves. Gen might be able to temporarily ignore the sensation of his myriad injuries thanks to the Shimmer's effects, but Estinien gets no such reprieve. On top of that, more pain -- a tightness around the lungs, like fingers clasped around the lungs. A sick feeling boiling in the pit of the stomach, pulse beating at a deafening roar, the burn of the Shimmer driving muscles and organs to their limits. A sickening cocktail of sensation thrust upon Estinien at the same moment that Gen snarls, aiming a vicious swing of his mace aimed right at Estinien's skull.
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He's stuck. He can't shift his body, his lower limbs and wings pinned down, pressed down by the weight of the earth. Ahead of him, his enemy, bearing down on him, raising his weapon to bludgeon, to kill. The scenes blend together - in one instant, Gen is on top of him, a petrified arm raised above his head, swinging it down as Estinien is powerless to stop him. In the next, Gen approaches, veins and muscles bulging, mace swinging to crush his skull in perfect synchronicity.
He's hurting now, and he doesn't know why. His body aches, as if threatening to fall apart, eroded by forces he doesn't understand. He's dying, he thinks.
As he had before, he tries to shift his head to the side. The mace clangs across the horns that protect the side of Estinien's head, chipping off bits of keratin as it does. His neck is jarred, protected from having his skull cracked but not the force of the vibrations it sends through him, confusing his thoughts further. He feels like he's slipping all over again, off that blinding white precipice, losing control of his body and mind as panic and agony consumes him.
Unnoticed, Kaeya's shard drops from his hand.
No.
Despite the fear, the sickness, the way his mind threatens to spiral beyond return: he grasps for the mace that has struck him, wrapping his claws around its shaft and pulling with all his strength. No. No more. The increasingly turbulent emotions within him rise, tearing through his throat and out his mouth, another draconic scream of anguish and hatred ripping through everyone who stand near. As if those psychic wounds have been made manifest, it radiates outward in a storm of etheric and sonic power, striking at bodies and minds alike.
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Ire boils up in his stomach, burning like bile in his throat. From the outside, those soft clinking sounds resume with renewed ferocity as the demon starts to desperately break free of his prison, slashing at its resolute golden surface with the talons of his wings, his blade, his hands, anything he can manage.
Really, with his fury centered squarely on Ryu, he doesn’t pay attention to the play-by-play of what happens next until there’s a startling flash of light that lances from one end of the storehouse to the other directly beneath him, and then the barrier disappears. Makoto has it in his head for a split-second to divebomb Ryu instead and let him know exactly what he had thought about that whole thing, but his better judgment grapples his petty vindictiveness into submission. His eyes scan the scene below him. He had seemingly been freed by Eustace’s return; the erune had shot his weapon at Ryu, who had taken a moment to recover from its blast before interjecting himself between Gen, who had gotten out of the hole in the ground before half-collapsing it around Estinien, and who was now joined by… Silco, Makoto believes he remembers his name to be.
Things have gotten much more complicated, but he can’t say he’s grudging of additional help.
His attention is drawn with morbid fascination at sudden movement from Gen — he had missed the exact moment that Silco had touched him with Shimmer, but now he pays witness to its shocking effects. The other young man smacks Ryu’s bubble aside with his club like a golf ball, bearing down on Estinien with murderous intent. After the sickening crunch of steel slamming into the crest of horns adorning the dragoon’s head, the moment that Makoto’s been waiting for all this time finally comes: there’s a flicker of movement of the aura encircling Kaeya’s shard, and it’s dropped to the ground, loosed from the man’s resilient claws.
The demon doesn’t think. He folds in his wings, and he dives.
He’s actually… never done a maneuver like this before. He realizes this when he’s less than a few feet from the ground, ticking up closer to terminal velocity and suddenly unsure of how to stop from dashing himself across the ground. His wings flare out somewhat (either by instinct or luck, who’s to say), catching enough of a billow of air to keep him from doing just that. He does hit the ground rather hard, but not before he scoops up the shard in both hands, momentum causing him to tumble a few feet away with it cradled to his chest.
He doesn’t have any time to feel victory or relief. Estinien roars again, and for the first time, Makoto is right next to it to suffer the brunt of its effects. He cries out in pain as the sound presses in on both sides of his head, a mental assault like a vice closing in on either temple. At the same time he faces the overwhelming mental pressure from the roar, he becomes painfully aware of his physical exhaustion and the lacerations that encircle his body like an embrace. In the moment, it’s almost too much — but at least he has the impulse to curl in his arms towards his chest, wrapping his wings around himself to attempt to shield from the invisible attack.
Desperation to get away drives him to move next, even doing so through the lingering shock and pain. His wings part to give him vision, and one of the first things he sees between them is Silco, standing a distance away. He draws one last Doorway and teleports to his side, gasping aloud as he reappears on the ground next to him a half-second later. Enervation seeps bone-deep into his limbs, his wings feeling as heavy as lead — the angelic after-image they cast from the Innocent’s curse seeming to glow brighter, to grow more defined, as if reveling in the opportunity to scour from him what little energy he has left and give it away to those closest to him.
It’s all he can do to pull himself up to one knee, reaching a shaking hand out to Silco. He will drop Kaeya’s shard into his, if he allows himself to.
“Get him — out of here.”
His voice is a half-gasp, half-growl. His goodwill is all but expired at this point; as far as he’s concerned, he no longer owes Kaeya a debt of gratitude, having more than paid it back in pain and blood.
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It's so chaotic, that he almost doesn't get the opportunity to properly appreciate that tell-tale transformation Gen took on, the surge of power, making him twist in pain, his body bulging from the high adrenaline that was once Singed's carefully crafted formula -- and now Silco's own power. Even in all of the chaos, he has to stop, and appreciate it, only a scant few meters away, having made careful steps to ensure he wasn't picked out in all of this.
Silco was, after all, very good at slithering away.
Gen smacked the bubbled little man away -- not sure who that was -- and went after Estinien. He couldn't help the sharp, delighted grin that spread across his face. Better than he'd even expected. If he'd had the foresight, he would have placed a portal to Achamoth right here, and let one of them throw Estinien into the portal, to wither before the Regent's grasp, but alas, he'd not had that ability to guess that they would find themselves in such a predicament. Instead, the dragonic man roared -- and Silco had to clutch his ears, stumbling back a few more steps, clutching at the side of his head, to try and grip his head enough to distract himself from that horrid sound.
But someone was moving through it -- or during it -- and Makoto surprised him, when he appeared next to him, his hand opened to reveal Kaeya's -- shard.
His mouth opened, slightly, before he nodded, and reached out, to grasp his hand, and take his shard.
He smiled, when he did so, noting the man's exhaustion, the way his voice was almost a gasp, and he nodded toward the fight. "I'll take that, and let me give you a little..." a tip of his head, now, almost playful. "Pick-me-up, hm?"
When his hand left Makoto's, Kaeya's shard grasped in his palm, he let his fingers drag on his palm, a final burst of that Shimmer-power to infuse into him. He pulled away, and stood, ran a hand through his hair, one hand clutched Kaeya's shard tight, like if he didn't, he would lose it, or let go. "Now, why don't you give Gen a little bit of backup, before he's the next one to get ripped apart?"
He took a few more steps away, in the direction he thinks he saw Eustace drag Kaeya's body away, carefully trying to slip his way out of the fray, leaving Gen and Makoto to wreak havoc with shimmer in their veins.
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Like everything has been amplified, he can feel Estinien's hatred and his anger over the way that the scene is unfolding — not only has Makoto entered the fray, but soon enough, Gen and Eustace have arrived too. He vaguely remembers getting whisked away in Eustace's arms before that, too, become too much to handle, and then he can't recall much more after that. The farther away he is from his shard, the more disconnected he feels, as if his nerves are fraying at the edges, as if what makes him whole and complete is falling apart at the seams.
It hurts so much.
It's all he can really focus on up until he realizes that he's been left behind somewhere a few ways away from the storehouse. Eustace must have gone back inside, it's the only thing that makes sense right now, and so what he does next is a direct result of that: he struggles to bring himself to a stand. He attempts to do so a few times, each one more agonizing than the last, but when it seems like it isn't going to work, he does the next best thing which is dragging himself in a slow crawl.
He doesn't get very far, not with what little strength he last left, and when he hears Estinien's roar again, he can't help the new wave that overtakes him completely. The disorientation and misery are much worse this time around, overcoming him to the point where it just feels like that's all he is left with now. His saving grace comes when he finds the energy to finally look up. He sees someone he didn't expect to be anywhere near here at all.
Almost immediately, he is overcome with a plethora of emotions that he can't quite process at this very moment. The strongest one, and perhaps the most sincere, is that of relief when he realizes it's Silco who now holds his shard. This is the same man who stayed with him when everyone else left him behind, so it's no surprise that he's so grateful for this small reprieve. Maybe it's sad to think about how he feels the safest around a man he can barely trust, but he doesn't even really care at this point. Since it's Silco, he...
Everything goes black soon after that, leaving that thought unfinished.
no subject
Or perhaps he would have entreated him for it.
Either way, the shard passes from his hand and into the scarred man’s, but before Makoto’s arm can fall and he slowly resumes his inexorable slouch towards unconsciousness, a jolt of something indescribable passes from Silco’s fingertips and into the palm of Makoto’s hand, passing through the thin barrier of skin where the symbol of the Firebrand was carved into pale scar tissue. He gasps again, but this time it’s less to drag air into his starving lungs but instead out of shock, out of pain. “What —” It feels like lightning lancing from his hand up to his shoulder, through his chest, radiating through every nerve and capillary with the slow, voracious, searing sensation of a chemical burn. His breathing grows fast and ragged, its edges textured with a low growl as his shoulders bow. For a moment all he can think of is that moment when Dextera grabbed his arm and scorched the surface of his soul — he had thought in that moment that he might die, and he thinks the same for a split second now, his defenses overwhelmed by what was now inside of him, flowing through his veins, and which he couldn’t escape.
But it was only for that second. Because in the next, something else begins to flow in, chasing after and nipping at the heels of confusion and pain.
Power.
It’s something Makoto’s never had, not with his sleight build and unadorned human body — it’s something that he had only wielded metaphorically in hell, weaving verbal tapestries with a silvered tongue to entreat others to do what he couldn’t for him. The only strength he had ever had had been given to him or stolen, just like the wings that he wore now, which he had torn from the body of a man he had strung along just so he could take them for himself. So when Shimmer burns through his veins like purple fire, visible beneath thin and pale skin, and brings with it strength and energy that allow him to get to his feet once more, he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels like he’s been given a tempest with no further instructions but to control it with his very hands.
He doesn’t know how well he will be able to do that, but — he’s eager to try. His eyes still burn pale, but the sclera around them are now a bright purple to match the spiderweb of pulsing veins beneath his skin, a network which extends to backlight the diamond weave of the scales along the backs of his wings and cross through their leathery membranes. Not even Shimmer can make much of a hulk out of this scrap of a boy, but his thin limbs thread with rangy muscle he’d never come by naturally, the deep gouges in his torso temporarily forgotten even as they continue to ooze neon blood. The growling sound grows louder, then tearing away into a snarl — and then worse. He starts laughing, the sound both exhilarated and trimmed in mania.
At some point he’d dropped his dagger — perhaps when he had scooped up Kaeya’s shard instead — but it didn’t matter. Call it the effects of Shimmer or his own perceived ineffectiveness on his psyche, but his hands now curl with sharp claws, his lips peeling back from teeth sharpened into a feral grin. In the thrill of the moment, he doesn’t care what sort of negative repercussions he might face with the Shimmer rioting through his body, what further damage he might receive charging into the lion’s den. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care — it’s worth it, just so he can feel like this...!
With one last laugh, his wings power him off of the ground and forward, intent on launching himself back into the fray.
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As if answering his pain, his desperation, something else awakens within him. A familiar, haunting presence sets its gaze upon its lost ward, and on wings of serenity and judgment, it answers his cries.
The light bursts forth, his body swathed in a chorus of phantom wings. He can feel himself fading, his fear and hatred dissolving in its soothing touch, his perception of the situation blurring until he no longer feels as if he's observing it through the same mind. Though a flame still burns within him, he is awash in whiteness, a hollowed light that he realizes now is the rightful way of things. He is someone else, someone who knows and understands the meaning of true peace.
Why had he been so afraid, in this embrace?
A ringed halo of fire ignited behind him as his colours fade, his skin as untouched porcelain and scales as shining pearls, his hair drifting weightlessly around him. His body breaks free of the earth that contained it, reborn in this cocoon of feathers and light. Before him, he sees the darkness, a rotting infection within its servants and staining the earth like blood. It's an aberration that must needs be cleansed, if the world is to ever return to peace.
He reaches into his shard, now glowing brightly, and pulls forth a spear of pure Pleroma, adorned with feathered wings. Leveling it against his foes, he speaks in a voice that is not his, a blending between that of Estinien Wyrmblood and an unseen woman's.
"Children of darkness, no longer shall you tread blood and filth upon sacred ground. Witness the strength of the Monad and repent!"
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That draconic scream is bad enough, blowing out his eardrums in a repeat performance of his last clash with Estinien, the shockwaves enough to make his bones quiver as he falls back a step. The blinding flash of light that comes hot on its heels is even worse. Gen is forced to flinch back for a moment, coughing and gasping for air as he forces his diaphragm to cooperate with him once more, eyes narrowed as he looks up at the chilling sight of Estinien wreathed in light.
It's what most would consider an awe-inspiring spectacle. Just the brandishing of that spear, accompanied by words spoken in that eerie two-toned voice, should be enough to make most people cower. Something deep in his chest does quiver with anxiety, the Kenoma's influence wanting to shy away from the reach of that light.
-- but also, Gen doesn't care.
The last words have barely fallen from Estinien's lips before he snarls and gives a wide swipe of the arm. Having had his mace flung aside admist the chaos, he's only left with one real option: to try and drag Estinien into the earth once more. Deep in his veins, his body shrieks and protests this reckless use of magic, but he doesn't care about that, either. He's only wearing a wolfish grin as he commands the ground directly to Estinien's side to surge upwards like a tidal wave, aimed at crashing into Estinien with its full weight and dragging him back down to crawl in the dirt.
And while he certainly isn't thinking of cooperating with anyone -- his field of vision narrowed to a very small point, focused solely on Estinien -- maybe that distraction will occupy Estinien enough to leave him vulnerable to a second avenue of attack.
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The canniness of self-preservation would have pleaded with him to turn around and flee, but there’s little of that left in Makoto in the state that he’s in. At the core of this dire engine, the ravenous need for revenge burns on eternal, and it pushes him forward in blind rage. It doesn’t matter what it is, it doesn’t matter who it is — he wants to find anything related to that thing and tear it to bloody pieces with his own hands. Even with the long, dreadful spear drawn and leveled at them and the condemning words hanging in the air with their backdrop of softly-beating wings, he forces himself forward and into the air again, a feral snarl tearing away from the back of his throat.
Seeing red and heavily tunnel visioned, he’s not really paying attention to Gen in this moment (or anything else, for that matter), but that doesn’t mean he’s completely oblivious. He feels the earth shudder beneath his feet before he lifts back off into the air, an instinct to track movement drawing his attention to the swell of ground that crests and crashes like a wave towards Estinien’s luminescent form. Though presently not able to assess the situation with the rationality he might normally, a sort of predatory animal instinct causes him to split off from where this attack is occurring; he circles around so that when Estinien has to contend with the surge of manipulated earth, Makoto will lunge at whatever blind spot might have been opened up (or not, as he will attack either way), all scything claws, grasping talons, and gnashing teeth, all careless of what target they might hit so long as it bled.
no subject
He'd tried to go invisible, but... the ability didn't seem to work. He tried again, and again, but each time, he could see his hand before him, like it was still present and visible. He grimaced, but kept moving, looking over his shoulder occasionally, to catch glimpses of the action, and make sure he wasn't going to be done in by an errant attack, or done in if Estinien hit the ground like he had before.
Light -- light that bright, that he saw when he looked over his shoulder -- was the first sign that something was wrong. Silco's feet stumbled, caught off guard by the halo, the wings, and his hands shook, a reaction to the vile, white presence that he remembered. He remembered that light, the attempt to soothe him and his lips peeled back from his teeth, fury and disgust, his nose curled, and he about barked out to the two shimmer-laden teens to attack, but they were already on the attack, launching themselves at that... thing.
The...Mondad. He filed that away for later. Perhaps the Regent would know, he doubted he would find word of it in the Library, but he would look all the same, later. For now, he needed out of here, before that thing sought him out again, and a phantom pain throbbed through his hand that he'd lost the last time he'd been in Venera.
Out, he needed out. His head wheeled back and forth, and he looked for an exit, Kaeya's shard still clutched in his hand, and he squeezed it, his head wheeling around, his hair already askew again from being startled by the...Creature. He started walking -- Running -- faster, to get out of here. He needed to get away from that thing. He couldn't stab it, not in this state, not with the thing holding it being Estinien, in all his draconic power. Silco had already burned his invisibility, and with Makoto and Gen hopped on Shimmer, it was the only thing he could offer in the event.
His feet moved faster, heading for the first exit he could find.
cw emeto mention in the last paragraph
Ryunosuke misses a lot of it. He's really starting to wish that he could make these forcefields in some shape other than spherical, because all these high pressure field tests are indicating that the roundness of them may be as much a detriment as an advantage. The bubbles are sturdy, but they leave him vulnerable to being swatted about; useful for knocking away opponents trapped inside, not so useful for standing his ground the way he wants to.
Case and point, Gen's strike sends him flying uncontrollably off to one side, away from the guy he's trying to protect. The bubble smacks against the storehouse wall, bounces off it, and pops on the rebound. Jarred, Ryunosuke falls to the floor in a disoriented heap, struggling to get his wits back about him.
He looks up to the terrifying sight of both shimmered Makoto and Gen bearing down on Estinien, who's still trapped and immobile, and for a split second he is absolutely convinced that he's about to watch this man die again. And it'll be his fault, for getting captured and necessitating Estinien come out here in the first place, and for being unable to help him by contributing to this fight in a single useful way.
He needs to stop them. He needs to save Estinien. There's no way in hell he'll be able to get there in time but he doesn't care, the feasibility doesn't factor into his decision for a second. He's still got to try. He starts to get up, tries to spring forward, his right hand outstretched--
Suddenly, several things happen at once. Blinding light bursts forth from the Dragoon, yes, but Ryunosuke's hand begins to glow as well, albeit with less intensity; his mark is obscured beneath a fingerless glove, but that isn't enough to contain the light, not entirely. He barely notices it, though, because it's arrival is accompanied something far more distracting: a chorus of horribly familiar voices, all screaming in unison at him from inside his own head.
He lets out a cry and falls mid-launch, stumbling to the ground once more as nausea begins to wash over him in waves. The voices are cacophonous; they howl at him, berating him for breaking his promise, crying out in disapproval of all the shortcomings he was already beating himself up over: Estinien's soul is once more being threatened by the Kenoma, and he's failing in his duty to protect him. So... Since he can't seem protect Estinien, it will.
Wait--! he tries to think at it, terrified of what that even means-- but another disorienting burst of nausea hits him. He's huddled on the ground on his elbows and knees, shuddering, clawed hands clapped over his ears in a useless gesture, because the screams are coming from inside the house. There's an immensely uncomfortable pressure around his left shoulder blade for some reason, but that seems secondary to the way his stomach is doing flips. For a moment, he's convinced he's going to be violently sick--
Well. Something does appear to come out of him, but. It's not vomit. Instead, a luminous, feathery wing bursts out the back of his shirt, stretching up and spreading wide above him.
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An outcome preordained... Yet, will you surrender?
With that, the entity flies into motion, exemplifying both its host's skill and grace, along with a an ethereality that seems to transcend the limitations of the physical realm. In an instant, its holy lance cleaves Gen's summoned earth in two, as if parting waters; serenity itself seems to be cut into the fabric of the world surrounding it, diverting the Kenoma's attempt at violence outward.
Just as quickly, it is forced to attend to Makoto, who comes raging towards it, claws outstretched. The lance of light pierces the Kenoma's chest, with all the force and pain of a true weapon's strike, but without the physical damage. Instead, it is the spirit affected: the Kenoma. The Kenoma screeches and squirms beneath the entity's light, hiding away somewhere out of reach.
Then, it's eyes settle on Silco, the one cowardly fleeing from the consequences of his actions. With one smooth motion, the lance is airborne, piercing between the man's shoulder blades as he flees. The weapon lingers there for a moment, the Kenoma within him crying out, only to dissolve and reappear in its summoner's hand.
Again, it levels its weapon at Gen, as if in challenge:
"Oh trembling hearts, hide not shadow..."
It lunges forward, cleanly bisecting his spiritual body.
"Be cleansed and find absolution!"
moseys back on in, sorry guys
By the time the ringing subsides and his vision finally clears, the scene before him is even more of a mess than before. The bright light from before still remains, despite the still upright walls of the storehouse blocking out the sun. Worse is the multitude of wings shimmering in the air, their translucent shapes causing him to flinch involuntarily as he remembers the last time he'd ended up in proximity to too many feathers all clustered together.
Though Ryunosuke writhes in pain not too far away, his attenion is focused entirely on—not Estinien, but the entity that must surely be inhibiting his body now, one Eustace would have liked to avoid for quite a few months more. He's always been quick but the entity is quicker, and he's still mid-motion trying to pick his gun back up again when it strikes first the earth, and then Makoto and Silco in quick succession.
Fuck. Not this (shit) again.
His heart drops into the pit of his stomach when it turns its attentions towards Gen - Gen, who he had promised to watch over and protect - and it's then that he throws his own personal safety back out the window and points his gun, now back in his hand, towards the glowing figure now impaling Gen with its spear. Shooting the thing hadn't worked last time but it's not like he has any better option now. The barrel of his gun sparks and crackles, lightning once again erupting forth in a clean trajectory towards its target, only this time much more powerful and violent in scope.
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Or maybe he just senses it's better not to watch what it's about to do to all the Kenoma. It's all beyond his ability to help, anyway.
Surrender!? He repeats inside his head, his mental voice questioning and alarmed. What are are you talking about? Surrender what?
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In the face of failure... will you abandon your cause?
In the meantime, it raises its lance once more, rushing at Eustace with great speed. It's form blurs, becoming nothing but a streak of light, only reforming several feet past where Eustace stands. He will notice at a delay that the lance has cut through him as well, a smoky steam of the Kenoma's power dissipating into the air behind him like blood.
It turns to face the Kenoma again, rising on its wings.
"Since time immemorial, the cycle has continued... Allowed choice, you choose destruction..."
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It's the only coherent thought Gen can muster past the euphoric haze and bloodlust that the Shimmer has cast through his mind. For one moment he's frozen where he stands, watching the tidal wave of earth he'd summoned be cast aside with absolute ease, like it barely merits any thought. Estinien -- no, not Estinien, that thing -- strikes down M and Silco with all the ease of a man swatting away insects.
Then it's on him.
He barely gets the chance to jerk back, reflexively trying to protect himself, before that spear rips through him from one shoulder to the opposite hip. The pain is staggering; the impact of being thrown aside by that blow and slamming into a wall only makes it worse. Even with the Shimmer's effects dulling the pain that pings through his nerves, Gen's left struggling on the ground for a long moment, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath in retching coughs. Vaguely, he notes that the spear doesn't seem to have left him any physical injuries, and it's only a strange sensation of something feeling wrong that lingers at the back of his mind. But it's hard to focus on that thought when, out of the periphery of his field of vision he can just barely register Eustace getting struck down as casually as the rest of them and --
fuck. That's not right. It's just not fair.
Even more than the Shimmer, it's genuine rage and indignity that drive him to stagger back to his feet, ignoring the way blood strings viscous from his lips, rendered a nauseating neon violet with Shimmer. And though his gaze briefly fixes on the entity, the Shimmer-induced glow of his eyes made all the brighter with genuine loathing, that's not where he lets his focus linger. Gen instead looks to the wall just behind whatever it is that's possessed Estinien's body, then grasps at the air with both hands. The furious growl that escapes his lips is quickly drowned out by the groan of bricks being unbalanced, that wall behind the entity slowly tipping forth as a result of the ground beneath it being wiped out by Gen's magic. Aiming to crush Estinien flat.
Every last nerve in Gen's body shrieks, punishing him for overusing his magic like this. But he doesn't care. Can't bring himself to care. Even as his consciousness starts to flicker at the edges, all Gen can think about is doing whatever he can to cause Estinien and that entity possessing him as much damage as possible.
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The radiant spear hits him straight in the chest, running him through, and he can’t help but recall how the dragoon had once done the same with a far more mundane lance, as well as the sickening vertigo of shock’s onset and the slow, steadily-crescendoing cascade of pain that had accompanied it. This time it’s all the same pain, but it’s more, because where the weapon doesn’t pierce his physical body, it does seem to directly target the Kenoma that has sunk in to suffuse his entire body — it reveals to him an entirely new way to feel pain, to feel the horrible shearing of something that had done everything it could to completely integrate into him attempt to tear itself away, regardless of the psychic damage it inflicted as it did so. Like the ebbing low tide, like a wave of vermin shrinking away from a pool of light, much of the Kenoma retreats from its foothold in Makoto’s body and hides away in his shard. His thoughts dilate and warp. It’s almost like it’s not enough that the spear had struck him right through the metaphysical essence of his being, but it feels like it’s pierced through his thoughts as well; the salient points of the events leading up to this altercation now burn so bright in his mind’s eye that it’s difficult to focus on them, everything connected to them through these last few days now growing confused and blurry. It’s like this exact moment of impact has punctured a hole in his memory with a white-hot blade, and everything around the epicenter of that damage warps and grows indistinct from proximity to the heat.
At first he can’t move, he can’t breathe, his lungs entirely arrested by the impaling blade of light. He lifts his hands, shaking, to claw at the weapon, but it’s all in vain as he can’t seem to find any purchase. His wings suddenly limp, his legs kick in a pathetically feeble attempt to get free. Then the spear slides free, and he falls to a collapsed heap on the floor.
The flame inside of him is beginning to gutter out. The enmity generated from the pain of his wounds and the lingering effects of Shimmer in his blood bolster him, but they cannot create something that doesn’t exist; Makoto’s rapidly running out of stamina, and what little he has remaining to him is slowly being stolen from the ghostly wings sprouting from his back, distributed to anyone close enough to receive it. He’s angry, he’s furious; a gutteral choking sound scrapes free from the back of his throat as he forces himself to his feet regardless, damaged in body and mind and spirit but still too galled by indignation and humiliation at his own perceived failure to make any sort of lasting mark on this thing. It blots out whatever self-preservation instincts that might have ruled in a more clear-minded moment.
Content to use the last of what little energy he has left to him, he launches himself into the air one last time: this time, far above the figures closer to the floor of the storehouse, dodging away from the section of brick wall that Gen had attempted to pull down over their opponent. This time, Makoto takes a page out of his book, scanning his surroundings long enough to locate his target: one of the metal beams protruding nakedly across the rafters. When he reaches it, he grabs hold of the steel with not only his arms but the talons of his wings, hacking and slashing and twisting and wrenching at it; the sound of groaning metal and splintering wood join the sound of crumbling mortar in the air. Imbued with Shimmer and his own pain and fury feeding back to reinforce his body, he’s able to damage both ends of a length of metal enough that the twisting of his torso can tear it free, turning for just a moment over the plane of one narrow shoulder so he can reorient and direct the length of torn metal, sharp end first, down from the rafters and tumbling in towards Estinien’s Innocence-possessed form right after the falling wall of bricks.
And it’s not alone — Makoto maintains his hold on the make-shift weapon, doing everything he can to keep its course true; vindictive until the end, he would like nothing more than to stab the creature with a lance of his own.
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Of course, that too does nothing. The form blurs as it approaches with startling speed—and then vanishes? At least, he no longer sees it before him, Eustace blinking in confusion for the space of a second before agonizing pain sears through his core and sends him collapsing forward again, gun tumbling out as his hands slam against the ground, debris and jagged rock cutting into the flesh of his palms.
Once again he's left gasping for breath, tears of pain blurring the edges of his vision as he tries to wrest back control of his various senses all going haywire. (Dimly, he can sense that there's something wrong, that there's an upset of the usual balance of the emotions and Kenoma presence inside him, but there's so little time to worry about that now.) He's been through worse before, or at least just as bad. If he can't pull himself together now, for both himself and his teammates, then what the fuck good is he?
The sound of an entire wall dislodging from its foundation drags him back to his feet, his head swinging around to try and frantically survey the chaos still spiraling around him. There's the brick wall tumbling down. Gen swaying on his feet, looking on the brink of collapse. Ryunosuke huddled on the ground, his body a mix of mismatched appendages. Thoma, still somehow all in one piece despite the destruction unfolding around him. Makoto, up in the air with a metal beam clutched between his hands. Eustace makes his choice. He sprints towards Gen, grabbing one wrist with his free hand to try and drag the boy towards the nearest exit, whether it be an actual door or an opening left behind by a destroyed wall.
"We need to go!"
He can only pray Makoto distracts the being long enough for him to get Gen to safety.
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What? No-- No, of course I won't! he practically shouts in reply at the being. He doesn't even know which 'cause' it's referring to. Protecting Estinien? Fighting the Regent? Proving to this entity that peace CAN be achieved without it using its freaky powers trap everyone in an endless hollow delusion? Take your pick, the answer is the same for all of them.
He rises shakily to his feet, his heart pounding against his chest, still clutching his head in his one non-glowing hand. His mismatched wing and tail both flare out to help him balance, as he gets a good look at the chaos all around him.
I don't want to surrender! But I don't know what to DO! What CAN I do!? Against ANY of this!?!
He's almost telling the thing off as much as he is pleading with it to understand. He is literally trying his best here, with the extremely limited options available to him. He wants to be able to protect people from the Kenoma and the Regent so badly that his damn body changed in reaction to that newfound resolve, but how can he compete with the raw power on display here? He feels like a tiny mouse trapped in a room full of rampaging elephants--
Something else occurs to him just then: Thoma's still in here, completely unable to defend himself from any of the crossfire that's happening around him. Still fighting against the symptoms ravaging his body, he does an incredibly stupid and haphazard blind somersault across the storehouse, casting up another bubble mid-dive so that he can roll closer to where the other Pleroma is, scoot over, and huddle close enough that he can recast over both of them. It's sloppy, and he definitely makes himself feel even more nauseous from doing it, but he can't leave Thoma twisting in the wind like that. He probably doesn't have many more of these damn forcefields left in him though, especially with his concentration as rattled as it is...
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He wanted out. He'd done what he could, short of getting himself dissipated, trying to stab a knife in the thing, he would have to rely on Makoto and Gen's shimmered forms, to do the work. He wished he could slip away, invisible, but that wasn't possible right now. He wouldn't be able. He heaved, and turned slightly, to make that last couple meters to the door when --
He felt it. A raw, painful sensation between his shoulder blades, white hot and angry, like it would sear him from the inside out. He didn't imagine, the way his entire body, centered around his chest burned, and he stumbled, his feet skidded on the ground, skidded against the storehouse floor -- and he fell, face first, onto the ground.
He skidded, for just a moment, his body still, for a moment.
He felt it, something was wrong, and he felt anger seethe and writhe through his veins. If there was a way, an ability to do so, he would spin, and throw his knife at the thing, but it was too fast, too strong -- he turned, to look over his shoulder, to see in quick succession, a spear of light pierce one after another, after another of the rest of them.
And he couldn't see that familiar dark haze that he'd associated with his connection to the Kenoma, that familiar darkness, he couldn't touch it anymore. He couldn't feel it.
Silco very nearly out loud swore, but something sharp in his fingers stopped him -- Kaeya's shard -- the rest of them were strong, and juiced on shimmer. That spear, it hadn't killed him, and as he scrambled to his feet, he found no blood. He didn't look back, when he slipped through the door, to get out of there. He couldn't afford to do so, his feet scuffed and stumbled, as he tried to make his way out, and find a place to regroup.
But that white-hot flame, of that thing, whatever it was, associated with the Innocent. It made his head pound, and he seethed with anger, mad because it still existed, mad because it was had taken the man over, and mad that yet again he could feel the effects of its touch.
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The voice speaks in Ryunosuke's mind once more, as the screaming voices begin to fade. Eustace and Silco are allowed to retreat, though it is yet to be seen whether Gen will go along with them. For Silco's part, he may notice Kaeya's shard grow briefly hot, as if absorbing the aftermath of the strike to its holder's body.
The building falls around them, as Ryunosuke focuses his attention of protecting the remaining captive. The entity drifts upward, riding the shifts in the air, its wings outstretched. It breeze past the falling stone as if dancing. Its back is turned as Makoto approaching.
The wings of light he's been wearing, summoned by the pain of others, come to life. With a solid beat, they bring him to a halt, their feathers wrapping around him in a form of ethereal bondage. Turning to him slowly, the entity's pure white gaze meets his. It spins in the air, arriving behind his bound form, wrapping him in its arms as if in an intimate embrace. The metal beam dissolves into light.
"Still you hate," it whispers in his ear. "You, who soiled sacred ground. I will burn out your infection. I will make you anew."
The spear of light, which has been floating nearby, soars through the entity's own back and straight into Makoto, binding them together. The Kenoma within him screams again, and Makoto will feel its presence leave him entirely. Unmoored from his sect, he is helpless.
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-- then he feels fingers latched around his wrist. Yanking him forth.
Gen almost stumbles that first step. But somehow he manages to stagger forth, finding momentum even on wobbly legs as Eustace pulls him away from that fight. Even if he can't hear whatever it is that Eustace is saying, his words rendered into so much static past the constant buzz of tinnitus, he can tell Eustace is trying to get him away from this chaos and -- ...
maybe that's fine. Maybe that's permissible. Past the heavy curtain of exhaustion starting to shroud his thoughts -- both the Shimmer's effects and the adrenaline rush of combat starting to fade, leaving bloodloss to start weighing heavily down on him -- Gen can't fight the secret, shameful urge to live just a little longer.
Even as that entity's glow grows ever stronger behind him, casting a blinding light across their surroundings, he doesn't look back as he's pulled away from the carnage.
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