Standing by the poisoned pool, I fixed my gaze upon its tranquil waters, the ripples reflecting the eerie stillness that enveloped the hall. As I awaited news from my fellow assassins, the poison in the fountain seemed to mirror the lingering tension after the fight.
A soft sigh escaped me as I slowly lowered myself to sit on the stone edge of the pool, finally allowing myself to relax for a bit. My eyes remained fixed on the calming waters, finding solace in their gentle ripples.
Seated there, I gazed into its depths with an emptiness that mirrored the tranquil surface. The waters, deceptively calm, held a spectral luminescence that illuminated the faces embedded in the walls around me. The fragrance in the air, sweet yet insidious, betrayed the poison's deadly embrace that awaited those who sought the god's gift.
The pool, a silent witness to countless sacrifices, seemed to pulsate with an enigmatic energy. Shadows played upon its surface, casting a dance of darkness and ethereal radiance. As I observed, detached from any semblance of emotion, the pool seemed to whisper stories of seekers who had surrendered their lives to accept God's gift.
Around me, the air shimmered with an eerie aura, and ghostly reflections flickered from time to time, mirroring the faces that adorned the walls.
...It was beautiful....so beautiful...
And yet, as I sat in contemplation, the emptiness within me mirrored the quiet, lifeless waters, untouched by the tales of those who had gone before.
And yet, I remained unmoved, even as the small ripples in the water morphed into a surreal tapestry, weaving illusions of a different life—a life free of death, a life that could have been. The visions were like mirages, tantalizingly vivid, distorting reality with a psychedelic touch.
In this distorted realm, I felt the intoxicating scent of luxurious blooms wafting through the air, the warmth of love enveloping me like a soft embrace. I seemingly heard the laughter of a little sister, her voice echoing with the purity of untarnished joy. The scenes played out like vivid dreams, each sensation heightened and surreal.
Yet, my heart remained cold, and my mind, shaped by the teachings of the House of Black and White, resisted succumbing to the illusory temptations. The distorted visions beckoned, but I sat in stoic detachment, understanding that these ephemeral scenes were but tricks played by the lingering poison in the air, beckoning me to come even closer...
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...𝘁𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝗽...
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"Not today..." I muttered, forcing myself to rise, breaking free from the illusory grip that sought to ensnare my senses. I embraced once more the harrowing pain pulsing from my burned hands, casting away the deceptive warmth the visions had woven.
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Using my scorched hands to dry my mouth I stood once more—an icon of death, forged unyielding, unbroken...
But as I turned, ready to face the empty hall with the dignity expected of me, a sarcastic notion flitted across my mind—
'Perhaps another sip wouldn't have been such a terrible idea...' I thought as I faced the six remaining assassins operating in the heart of Braavos. Their eyes revealed a spectrum of emotions as they looked at me—some sparked with curiosity, others tinged with amusement, and a few clouded by a sense of disappointment...
An unexpected twinge of discomfort crept in my chest, a sensation I thought had long abandoned me. It seems I was to ensnared by the pool, leaving me momentarily oblivious to their presence...
Pressing forward, I disregarded the faint warmth that dared to grace my cheeks. No room lingered for idle contemplation; action was needed right now.
Meeting their eyes with unyielding resolve, I strode purposefully, prepared for the next directive in our unending pursuit of the Many-Faced God's will...
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(Third person pov:)
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Seven figures stood in the Hall of Faces, each distinct in their characteristics yet united by an underlying air of subtle coldness, an unspoken readiness for lethal efficiency.
A beggar, with tattered rags clinging to his frame, exuded an aura of destitution that masked a cunning intellect. His piercing gaze bore into the surroundings, revealing a hidden awareness beyond the guise of poverty.
A worker, hands calloused from labor, carried a silent strength that hinted at years of physical toil. His expression remained stoic, betraying little emotion as he observed the hall's shadows with an uncanny intensity.
An extremely old man, leaning on a gnarled staff, displayed the weariness of countless years. His eyes, though aged, retained a sharpness that hinted at a lifetime of accumulated wisdom and experience.
A young boy, seemingly innocent, cast curious glances that belied a potential for resilience. His gaze flickered between the solemn faces on the walls and the living, absorbing the peculiar atmosphere.
A scarred man, marked by battles long past, wore his history on his face. Despite the physical remnants of conflict, his demeanor exuded a controlled, lethal composure, revealing the discipline of a seasoned warrior.
And a noble-looking figure, standing with regal poise, possessed an air of authority. His refined presence, though contrasting with the grim surroundings, concealed an underlying readiness to execute the will of the Many-Faced God, and his slightly erratic eyes were the only indication of the remaining adrenaline in his body.
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An uncanny silence enveloped the Hall of Faces as the diverse assembly of Faceless Men stood in solemn contemplation. Their collective gaze moved with eerie precision, shifting between the lifeless bodies sprawled on the cold stone floor and the seemingly young girl standing at the edge of the poisoned pool.
The old man moved with measured steps while the others stood their ground, his presence commanding attention as he approached the blessed pool.
Silent anger flickered in his eyes at the sight of the pyromancer's face adorning the stone spires, an addition that hadn't been there before.
Undeterred, he continued toward the girl standing near the pool, fixing her with cold eyes. "The Noble already told us what happened," he stated with calm authority. As he spoke, he retrieved a few bandages from the folds of his robes, his movements methodical.
With a small, enigmatic smile on his weathered face, he began gently bandaging the girl's blackened hands.
"But I would like to hear your version as well..."
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A.N :
"
And the vow says 'If I felt like a failure, which is completely different than just failing in anything since that'll be way harsher.
People sometimes suicide when they feel like a failure, It's a depressing feeling no one wants to have.
It's okay to fail in something, we humans fail in this all the time but we learn from our mistakes and improve never to make the same mistake again.
We don't feel that bad about failing because it's normal, we are an imperfect species and Yasuo has yet to break his limits and become perfect if that's ever possible so he knows he will make mistakes.
He prefers not to and will work extremely
hard and be just as cautious as not to fail
but he won't really feel bad if he failed in
something nor will the vow activate and
harvest his life."
-HxH (My researching Journey (read it it's the best hxh SI fic))
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Anyway, I've been having some extremely productive days lately and I allowed myself to train and learn almost non-stop. While this lasts, the chapters may be fewer and shorter.