In the ancient halls where time stands still, where echoes of forgotten tales reverberate through the air, a symphony of stories yearns to break free from its icy shackles. He walks alone, traversing the timeless museum of memories, his footsteps echoing in the silence as he searches for those he holds dear.
Amidst the frozen fragments of crystalline existence, fragments that shimmer and sparkle with ethereal brilliance, the young man is left to ponder why they remain just beyond his grasp; their radiant allure teases and taunts, like stars in the forgotten tales of old, twinkling with cosmic mockery.
Like a fleeting memory that crumbles to ash at the touch, the revenant wonders how to break free from the cycle of futility. Yet in the end, he persists, each step a testament to his unwavering determination… for in this vast expanse of longing, he is driven ever forward — propelled by an unseen force — relentlessly pursuing a future that continues to elude his grasp.
His unworthy self willingly embraces sacrifice for the sake of those unseen; a solitary figure, standing resolute in the face of desolation as the bitter cold gnashes its teeth and the world continues its relentless march… and in the depths of this enduring saga, amidst the frozen whispers of forgotten tales, he journeys forth… carving his path through the symphony of lost echoes, in search of the elusive reunion that will bring warmth to his desolate existence.
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The surroundings were dim and somber, cast in the shadows of the underworld. A feeble flicker of light — barely piercing the gloom — highlighted his countenance, the smile on his face softening at the sound of cascading waterfalls that descended into the abyss below. Each droplet danced in the air, twinkling like celestial fragments before plunging into the enigmatic chasm, where secrets slumbered. The resonant echoes of tumbling waters reverberated through the labyrinthine passageways, whispering tales of forgotten epochs.
'How long has it been since then…'
He sat upon a piece of fallen debris amidst this subterranean symphony, his mind drifting back to the memories of his bygone days; within his grasp, a blood bead, one of the remaining three he had left. He continued to stare at the ethereal glass-like sheen, turning it over and over in his hand. It was, by all accounts, a strange object, and even after all this time, it never ceased to amaze him. The smooth, almost glass-like surface revealed the dark, crimson liquid inside; a profound vermillion, as though the blood of a thousand individuals was condensed into this single bead. It seemed to pulsate slightly in his hand, almost as if it contained some sort of living creature within its core… and yet, rather than revulsion, an odd allure emanated from its depths — for it was through these diminutive beads that his tether to reason endured.
Shaking his head, he pocketed the mesmerizing bead and shifted his focus to his left hand, a manifestation of metamorphosis that defied the natural order. With a deliberate grace, he extended his otherworldly appendage, each gleaming talon a testament to his newfound essence. It was a perfect fusion of ivory and steel, a monstrous claw that commanded both fear and admiration. The black, sinuous contours of its form rippled with an otherworldly energy, an echo of forgotten powers coursing through its veins. His gaze drifted along the length of the claw, marveling at its intricate… craftsmanship. Serrated edges gleamed like moonlit crescents, the jagged symphony of blades converging into a wicked point. The ivory segments — pristine and lustrous — bore faint, elaborate engravings that seemed to dance and shimmer in the dim light of the underworld.
Nevertheless, he knew that this metamorphosis, this… grotesque fusion of beauty and horror that had befallen his left arm was irreversible, forever bound to him like a mark of fate etched upon his very soul. The absorption of the relics had unleashed a cascade of consequences upon his being; the sheer magnitude of their energies had been more than enough to ravage his immortal form, leaving him forever altered, forever… tainted. Not that he would have done any different…
He heaved a heavy sigh before standing up and making his way towards the edge of the abyss, where darkness loomed like the jaws of an ancient, hungry beast; his mind filled with images of the people and places that had once, and still meant so much to him. He remembered the moments, both good and bad, all cradled within his memory like pieces of a fading dream.
No… in the end, every decision he had made, every sacrifice he had endured, had always been for their sake.
Louis Amamiya, the man who dream and fought for a better future; his never-ending desire for peace and coexistence between Revenants and Humans an undying spark of liberation.
Yakumo Shininome, he who stood tall amidst the horrors, a stalwart pillar of strength and unwavering resolve; his piercing gaze — like twin orbs of molten steel — held a story that spoke of countless battles fought and the weight of countless burdens carried.
Mia Karnstein, the young woman whose eyes held a flicker of sorrow, a testament to the loss she had endured… and yet, within their depths, a glimmer of determination shone brightly; an unwavering flame that refused to be extinguished.
Jack Rutherford, stern and resolute, his presence commanded attention and respect; a hint of tenderness hidden beneath his stoic exterior, reserved solely for those he hold dear.
Eva Roux, the Crimson Diva, the Voice of Tranquility, she who brought solace to the tumultuous hearts with a voice that resonated like a seraph's hymn; the melody that flowed from her lips wove a tapestry of tranquility, harmonizing with the whispers of the wind and casting a spell of calm upon those frenzied souls.
Karen Amamiya, Aurora Valentino, Emily Su, Nicola Karnstein, Oliver Collins, Coco Martinez, Rin Murasame, Davis Morgan, and many, many more — each a vital thread woven into the fabric of their shared journey; a tapestry of souls bound by a common purpose and an indomitable will. Their well-being, their happiness, their very existence, had been the driving force behind his every action. And in that regard, he had succeeded… or at least, that's what he'd like to believe.
With a heavy heart and a hint of weariness in his step, he finally tore his gaze away from the abyss and turned his attention towards the weapons leaning against the weathered wall. The dim light of the tunnel bathed them in a soft glow that accentuated their lethal elegance, and they beckoned him forward like long-lost companions; their polished surfaces glimmered with stoic resilience. A lock of black hair — untamed and rebellious — brushed against his forehead as he approached the arsenal, a stark contrast to the vibrant crimson hue that burned within his right eye. Like a smoldering ember amidst a dying flame, that eye bore witness to the inferno that continued to rage within his very soul, its fiery intensity flickering against the backdrop of his weary countenance. One could see a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within the scarlet orb, a tempest of passion and pain, of longing… and loss. It held the weight of a thousand broken dreams, with the remnants of a shattered world reflected in its depths.
Unlike its crimson counterpart, however, his left eye shone with an azure luminescence — a black pool of darkness encasing the ethereal blue iris. Its cerulean depths held a certain captivating allure, reminiscent of both the forgotten skies and the world beyond; it was an eye that whispered of mysteries untold, a gateway to a future yet undiscovered. The contrasting colors of his eyes painted a portrait of duality, a dichotomy between the flames of his past and the boundless possibilities that lay ahead.
Regardless, standing before the array of weapons, he couldn't help but allow his gaze to settle upon one in particular — an exquisite halberd adorned with intricate engravings, its blade gleaming with a seductive enchantment. He felt himself drawn to the weapon, taking a few steps closer as his eyes ran along its length and elegant curves; its presence brought a profound sense of comfort, inevitably reminding him of its owner.
"Io…"
His heart ached as memories of the time he spent with his attendant flooded his consciousness, each one serving as a poignant reminder of what he had lost when he chose this path.
With a mixture of trepidation and melancholy, he extended his hand towards the halberd, a jolt of sadness reverberated through his entire being as his fingers grazed its cool, metal surface. He could almost feel her presence beside him, her meek and reserved demeanor giving way to unyielding strength whenever their journey demanded it. In those moments of chaos and uncertainty, she had emerged — brazen and fearless — her uncanny coolness guiding him through his darkest of trials.
As his hand closed around the halberd's sturdy grip, a shiver traveled up his arm; it resonated with the ache in his heart, its weight a tangible reminder of the bond he shared with the kind-hearted woman. The polished blade caught the glimmering light, casting a bittersweet glow upon his face, where the weariness of countless battles etched a few lines of sorrow. With a heavy sigh, he met his own gaze on the halberd's polished surface. His eyes, haunted by memories and unspoken desires, searched for solace within the depths of his own reflection… and as he stared into the melancholic orbs, he couldn't help but remember the moments of vulnerability he had shared with his dear attendant, their tender exchanges, and the silent understanding that passed between them. In those intimate conversations, she had bared her soul, revealing her fears, her uncertainties and desires, even going as far as offering him comfort in the face of adversity.
Now, holding onto her halberd, he couldn't escape the pang of loss that pierced his heart; the weight of the weapon in his hands served as a reminder of her absence, of the moments they had shared and the paths they had walked together.
Shaking his head, he slowly released his grip on the halberd, feeling the cool metal slip from his fingers — the weapon seemed to sigh in resignation as it settled back into its place among the array of arms. A stinger-type blood veil began to materialize over his vest as he walked deeper into the tunnel, its manifestation an ethereal dance of shadows and whispers. The garment of his attire seemed to ripple as the black long coat — adorned with an inner lining of fiery red — started to cascade down his frame like a waterfall of black, swaying gently as if stirred by unseen currents. With each passing moment, the blood veil grew even more tangible, its presence becoming palpable; the contours of the fabric clung to his form, a second skin that merged seamlessly with his existence. Several silver and golden ornaments lined its surface, their intricate designs catching the faint glimmers of the dim underground light, adding an aura of elegance to the enigmatic garment. From the depths of the blood veil, a slender tail unfurled with a sense of purpose, its blade-like tip glistening with an otherworldly sheen. The serpentine appendage coiled and flexed with sinuous grace, a living extension of his will, ready to strike with the lethal precision and the swiftness of a viper.
With his blood veil fully manifested, he turned his attention to the other two weapons leaning against the tunnel wall, their forms outlined by the flickering shadows. He reached out with his gloved hand, fingers curling around the hilt of a weapon that had long since accompanied him on his journey; Blazing Claw, the fiery blade — honed to a razor's edge — shimmered with a crimson glint as if harboring a deep hunger for the clash of steel. It was the very same blade he had used to deliver the final strike against the Virgin Born, its searing heat echoing with the memories of both triumph and sacrifice. The familiar weight of the weapon settled into his palm as he held it over the black and red vest that clung to his torso, the subtle golden accents adding an air of regality to the ensemble. In one fluid motion, he sheathed the crimson blade, its entire form sliding into its rightful place on his waist without the aid of a scabbard; the absence of such protective covering only added to the raw intensity and danger emanating from the weapon.
As soon as he secured his primary blade, he shifted his gaze to the bayonet resting against the weathered wall; its slender form beckoned to him with a silent whisper, eagerly awaiting the call of duty. Each step he took towards the rifle resonated with a faint, muted sound, the black leather pants he wore — held in place by a sideways belt — creaked in response to his motion. The air began to crackle with static energy as he drew closer to the weapon; arcs of electricity danced along the surface of its form, casting a pulsating glow that illuminated the tunnel with an ethereal blue light. His gloved hand closed around the sleek handle of the rifle, a weapon that had been his steadfast companion throughout countless battles. The cool touch of the metal sent a tingle through his fingertips, a sensation akin to a gentle current of electricity prickling his skin. With a deft twist of his wrist, he slung the firearm over his back, the bayonet's golden form aligning perfectly with the contours of his body — the ornaments on his coat brushed against the frame of the rifle.
Turning around, he began to walk back towards the edge of the abyss, his hand grabbing onto the weapon that he had just left moments prior; a purifier mask, one reminiscent of a hound, started to form as he twirled the halberd around. It covered the lower part of his face, the cold metal pressing against his cheeks and nose. Several small tubes — sharp and unyielding — extended from the side of the mask like the fangs of a predator, piercing through the fabric of his white dress and sinking into his back. The pain that accompanied the intrusion was all but ignored; the sensation relegated to the recesses of his consciousness. He could almost taste the metallic tang of his own blood as it began to flow freely through the tubes, a forlorn smile making its way onto his lips as he savored the bittersweet irony.
A surge of energy coursed through his veins, fueled by the amalgamation of his newfound power, his attire — the pulsating blood veil — and the weapons that adorned his body. The very air seemed to quiver with anticipation, electrified by his presence. His eyes blazed with an otherworldly radiance, their luminosity casting a soft glow upon his surroundings, twin orbs of intense determination that pierced through the gloom of the underground. Summoning all his strength, he crouched low, muscles coiled like a tightly wounded spring; the ground beneath his boots trembled and cracked in anticipation, quivering beneath the weight of his explosive power.
And then, with a sudden burst of strength, he launched himself into the air…
The distant echoes of his surroundings faded into the background as he ascended higher, defying gravity with a grace that bordered on the supernatural. His body moved with an agility and precision that belied his human form, as if he were an extension of the very air itself. The blade-like appendage of his blood veil extended from his coattail, its gleaming tip plunging into the wall as he continued to maneuver through the vertical expanse.
And so, the revenant soared through the abyss, his eyes ablaze, his body a vessel of power and purpose; the world unfolded before him — a tapestry of endless possibilities — as he looked into the unknown with an unyielding resolve.
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The evening breeze, laced with a putrid stench that hung heavily in the air, gnawed at their ragged clothing; the fabric barely providing any respite from the biting chill that seeped into their emaciated bodies. Huddled together in their meager fur cloaks — threadbare and patched with scraps — they sought solace amidst the oppressive darkness of the sewer where they had taken refuge as outcasts, victims of a wretched and corrupted society. His fellow comrade, her frail frame trembling with each shiver, drew his gaze, evoking a pang of empathy within his heart.
"It won't be long now," he uttered, his voice tinged with weariness; the harsh reality of their destitute existence hanging in the unspoken words. "The next shift should be here soon. Maybe in an hour or two?"
"Sure hope so…" A nod, feeble and laden with desperation; her chattering teeth betraying the harshness of their circumstances — her voice a brittle whisper. "I really can't stand this cold for much longer."
Just as he was about to respond, a sharp metallic clang shattered the grim silence — reverberating through the dank tunnels like a cruel reminder of their plight. His heart quickened, racing alongside the surge of adrenaline coursing through his malnourished veins.
"W-what was that?" The woman whispered, her eyes darting around as her trembling grew even worse.
With unsteady hands, he unsheathed his rusty sword — the worn leather grip serving as a testament to the hardships they endured. His companion mirrored his actions, her blade emerging from its tattered scabbard — both weapons bearing the marks of countless desperate battles fought in the shadows. Eyes darting in search of the unseen threat, they advanced cautiously towards the source of the jarring sound; their worn-out boots sinking into the muck and filth that adorned the sewer floor. A flicker of movement, fleeting and elusive, seized their attention, followed by a thud that resonated with hollow significance. He could feel his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade as his nerves grew taut, taking a deep breath in preparation of facing the unknown adversaries lurking within the labyrinthine darkness.
And yet, turning the corner, they were greeted not by hostile foes but by a solitary cat — an apparition of feline innocence amidst their desolate surroundings. Its paw playfully batting at a discarded can; its gaze meeting theirs with a clarity untarnished by the harsh realities that consumed their lives. A mixture of relief and frustration welled within his heart; his sword finding refuge in its sheath once more as he shook his head in defeat.
"Damn it all," he all but muttered, his voice a raspy echo of resignation; the weight of their burdens pressing down upon his shoulders like an oppressive yoke. "It was just a cat — a bloody cat!"
"It… it could be worse." The woman let out a soft chuckle amidst her nervousness. "A-at least it's not another hunting group from the K.G.C.C." She remarked, a glimmer of humor flickering in her tired eyes. "Who knows what those… those bastards would do if they found us here?"
"True enough," he couldn't help but crack a wry smile in response, the tension in his muscles easing ever so slightly. "Though, sometimes I think a meeting with those patrols might be a kinder fate compared to the monstrosities we sometimes face in the depths." He spoke out loud, his voice tinged with a bitterness that only those who had tasted the greatest despair could understand. "Well, it's not like there's anything we can do about it…"
"I guess…" His companion nodded in agreement, her gaze drifting towards the faint glimmer of light that filtered through a crack in the sewer ceiling. "I-I think it'll be better for us if we head back to our post." The sigh that escaped her lips hung in the air like a wisp of resignation, her words going off into the suffocating darkness, blending with the distant echoes of dripping water and the muffled sounds of their desolate hideaway. "We've been away for too long, and it's best to avoid drawing unnecessary attention."
"Hmm… you go on ahead." He responded, his voice carrying a certain weariness that settled deep within his bones, a weariness born from the unrelenting cycle of persecution and survival they had been forced into. "I think I'll stay for a bit longer."
"Are you sure?" She regarded him with a mix of concern and understanding, her eyes reflecting the flickering light of the distant world above. "You know that it's dangerous to linger outside the camp for too long, right?"
"Yeah, I know," he replied, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips, his gaze turning to the faint glow that beckoned to him like a distant promise of freedom. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. I just need a moment to clear my head, that's all…"
"If you say so…" She hesitated, her footsteps tentative as she took a step backward, her voice laden with unspoken worry and resignation.
Nevertheless, with one last glance, she turned away, her figure blending into the shadows of the tunnel, her footsteps growing fainter with each passing moment. He leaned against the moss-covered wall, feeling the cool dampness seep through the fabric of his worn clothing. Thoughts of their perilous journey danced in his mind, intertwining with the distant memories of a life they once knew — a life filled with mirth, affection, and dreams. Unfortunately, their world had transformed into a twisted dystopia, where shadows lurked at every corner and survival was a constant battle against insurmountable odds.
'What a cruel joke…'
A hollow laugh escaped his lips, devoid of any true mirth; the bitter taste of disillusionment lingered on his tongue. His eyes drifted back to the cat that was now walking towards him, its sleek black fur glistening in the dim light; its tail swishing lazily back and forth like a pendulum marking the passage of time. He chuckled softly to himself, the sound carrying a semblance of warmth amidst the desolation, feeling his tension melt away like wax before a flame. With gentle care, he reached down, his fingertips brushing against the velvety softness of the animal's fur, and began scratching it behind its ears.
"Now what am I to do with you, hmm?" He murmured, his voice a mere whisper in the hushed stillness. The vibration of his words reverberated through the empty space, intertwining with the faint rustling of distant footsteps. "How did you get all the way out here, anyway?" Amusement laced his words, a fleeting respite from the bleakness that surrounded them. "Trying to find a 'haven' of your own, huh?"
The cat responded with a melodious meow, its plaintive cry harmonizing with the desolate symphony of their broken world. A tender chuckle escaped his lips, a fragile sound like the delicate tinkling of glass, as he shook his head in fond disbelief at the whimsy of fate.
"I guess you did, you little rascal," he said fondly, his voice carrying a tinge of warmth amidst the cold. With gentle hands, he picked up the small animal, cradling it in his arms, its soft weight a comforting presence against his chest. "Now, why don't you-"
His world was torn asunder when an unexpected attack struck him from behind, piercing his throat with ruthless precision. Agony engulfed him instantly, and he emitted a choked gurgle — a sound of sheer anguish that tore through the heavy silence. His grip on the cat tightened reflexively, his fingers trembling with a mix of fear and protectiveness as his body betrayed him, succumbing to gravity's pull. He stumbled forward, his legs struggling to maintain their balance, the world spinning in a disorienting blur of colors and shadows. Hot blood flowed from the gaping wound in his throat, a crimson river staining his clothes and hands, its metallic scent filling his nostrils as if mocking the fragility of life.
Everything happened in an instant… the serenity shattered like fragile glass, the symphony disrupted by a dissonant chord.
In that moment, suspended between the realms of life and death, a desperate gasp clawed its way past his lips, his throat grasping at the elusive breaths that continued to escape him. With one last surge of energy, he mustered the strength to turn his gaze upon his assailants — several figures standing in the far distance, their malevolence shrouded behind the veil of shadows, their identities concealed beneath the masks of anonymity. And yet, even as he sought to retaliate, to draw upon the weapon at his side with one trembling arm, the weight of his own mortality bore down upon him with crushing force, rendering his limbs sluggish and unresponsive — a futile resistance against the implacable march of destiny.
Struggling to focus his faltering sight, he caught a fleeting glimpse of glinting steel — a spectral flash that danced upon the precipice of consciousness. Time seemed to slow as the projectile, shot with cruel intent, found its final destination and plunged deep into his eye. Darkness descended, a curtain falling upon the stage of his consciousness, plunging him into an abyss devoid of light or thought, where oblivion held him captive in its unyielding grip.