CorviDoggo

Afterimages: The Mirrored World

Wings upon wings.

Eyes upon eyes.

Feathers gathered around him. Red… light? Blood? It swirled like a cloth around him, touched him, made him want to scream. Tohato wanted to scream and kick away everything absorbing him, how… he absorbed the light, how halos of eyes and hands sprouted from him, how he felt like he could throw up feathers from everything happening. He didn’t know what was happening, but everything was happening, every color was passing through his vision, every pain he’s ever felt was jolting through his spine.

He was still falling when he noticed… maybe, a dying dove..? Falling with him, at the same speed. His first instinct was to hold his hand out to it, maybe help it, but— the second he touched the faceless, pale corpse, light flashed again, and three sets of wings shot out from his back, and his feet felt different, and his eyes felt different, and— everything was dark and all he wanted was a bit more light, if only to see.

Suddenly, Tohato saw…. Something reflecting, while he watched every part of him contort. Shards of glass. Ice. Flame. A screech erupted from him, an angry yell contorted into something like a red-tailed hawk’s call, with his strange new wings spread out, with all of his eyes blinking and staring down. Why was everything blurry? Why was everything sharp? What did he… land on?

Before he could think, something came out of his… face…? All of his eyes lining up, all the haunting red light, it exploded out of him and onto the glass approaching his feet, the scene he couldn’t focus on, this whole world he fell into, confused. Red, angry light was all Tohato could register, and all he could figure out. He could feel glass on his feet. He could hear voices. He could tell how all of his body keeps contorting, how his skin is like feathers and wax. He wanted to wake up from this awful dream, and… figure out what the hell is happening.

The Angel has fallen.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

“Snacks? SnAckS???”

Bezaliel chirped happily, to the point many of his soft-looking markings glowed with excitement. He didn’t want to give up his space in the taller, beamed ceilings— it meant flying down and dealing with the ruckus going on. Granted, it was dying down at this point, but it hurt his braincells too much to care. It’s not like they were his pack, anyways! It’s not like he had to deal with the loud noises, like the downy twins and the loud chattering and bickering of his elders and other packs.

There were some people he cared for, in this hodge-podge of morons, however. He decided to hop between the support beams, still not willing to give up his little private space, until he stood above Dr. Gate, Lauden, the guard, and Sabriel. He paused as his tail wrapped around the edge of the giant piece of wood, as he leaned down to try and meet everyone in a closer face-to-face.

“What… uncrustaBLEs? Uncrustable EAT? Can I eaT?”

Maybe he sounded like some dumb parrot, but… it was a genuine question. Bezaliel was an obligate carnivore— maybe there were meat uncrustables, whatever they were..? Last time he checked hazelnuts and strawberries weren’t meat, though.

The Seven

oh my god I love men

Title: Xian Haoran, The Black Jade
Full Name:
-Surname: Xian (仙, Immortal or celestial, can denote “fairy”)
-Given Name: Tao (濤, the sound of the sea)
-Courtesy Name: Haoran (浩然, “vastness, greatness”)

Age/DOB (before the slumber): 25 / November 4th
Height/Weight: 5’10 / 157 lbs
Sex/Gender: male / cis man
Appearance/Physical Description: Xian Haoran is a traveling cultivator, hailing from a cultivation sect in the northern China region. He wears traditional, noble Hanfu instead of cumbersome metal armor, opting for mostly blue and black shades of fabrics, and letting all of his beautiful layers of silk billow in the wind. He has a fairly sharp V-shaped face with undefined, pouty lips and an even, sloped button nose. His eyes are shaped like willow leaves, and the irises glitter a dark blue like the ocean. The eyes themselves look tired, shadowed by his long, downcast lashes and a severe-looking set of brows. Haoran tends to wear his long, dark hair half-up, opting for tying a loose bun with a dark blue ribbon matching his deep-water eyes. Two moles speckle his otherwise jade-pale face, one under his right eye and one on the left side of his chin, under his lip. He always stands with dignity and great posture, a long neck framing his pristine and aloof face.

Personality: long ago, before Xian Haoran’s slumber, he was a studious and diligent soul with a steel-trap memory that harbored an extraordinary knowledge ironed into him from his sect. He was born in the Xian Sect of northern China, not a day in his life truly spent in the secular world and not a minute of training time wasted. Advanced magic was taught to Haoran from a young age, and the elegant arts of the sword engrained into his body. All of this culminated into a strong, gentle, and infinitely patient young man— diligent in his teachings, never skipping or snuffing a single lesson, never raising his voice, able to wait and meditate and simply learn and teach to perfection. The Black Jade never repeated himself, always able to wait, to observe, and to flow with what others presented him.
Ever since he woke up, he’s been hollowed out. While still diligent, still possessing precious knowledge, he… struggles to feel anything but rage and pain. He can’t sit in peace and think of the world without thinking about why everything should die for the suffering he faced. He can’t train and hone his skills unless he pictures blood staining his blade and bones cracking under his fists. His gratefulness, his gentleness, it’s all been replaced with ever-flowing turmoil deep in his chest, and resentment in all forms bubble and boil. There’s no such thing as perfect moments anymore. There’s no reason to sit and ponder and train, unless it is to get revenge on a world that shred the fabric of his being into nothing but rags.
He is… hollow. And it hurts him. And he can’t wait to stop it.

Focus Core: water-based magic, my brain hurts too much to think of details rn pls have mercy on my soul

Virtue Key: a Chinese “jian,” in other words a two-edged sword, forged by Aleksei long ago based off of Haoran’s description of “good swords.” This sword was forged in some otherworldly manner— its blade extremely sharp and opalescent, as if a giant fiery opal was polished and honed into a lethal edge. it has an off-putting translucency to it, the hilt contrasting the glittering and ethereal blade with a simple but flowing hilt and a pommel with its name engraved in mandarin characters— “微光,” meaning “twilight.” It has the ability to use its stored magical energy to move on its own accord, and channel energy from Haoran to be controlled with just his mind. In the last days before his entombment, Haoran tied a dark blue sword tassel to the pommel, for “good luck.” The irony.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

“I will. Don’t worry.”

Sorrel couldn’t stop himself from smiling that dumb, toothy grin as he clutched the bloody little piece of cloth. He… definitely wanted to see this man again. He didn’t know why, it just… made him happy. He decided to simply stuff the rag into one of his pockets and walk on, back into the sewers, back to the rootpaths, and into Ground Zero, to be his… normal, lonely self.

He sighed softly as he chewed on a piece of fruit jerky he made two days ago, now in his small but resourceful house in his beautiful jungle, in the utopia he built— his proof of concept. His reason for shredding humanity’s governments to nothing, bit by bit.

A slug-cat creature waddled up to his feet, and Sorrel reached down to pet it, still thinking about Cricket. Maybe Cricket would also enjoy Slugcat. Maybe, next time they meet… he could make a proper meal for the man.

𖤐 Hell's Renegades 𖤐

The chatting and babbling was absolutely deafening to Bezaliel’s ears, almost making it want to tuck the wings on its head away and hide. First, it spread its wings again, its teeth bared in a low hiss, almost like a spacer or a warning. Unlike everyone else there, Bezaliel had some of its own space to deal with, higher up—

The Angel, with a single flap of its wings, launched itself upwards, this time. It landed on a support beam with enough space to act like a perch for the giant creature, peering down at the babbling dumbasses with the five orange eyes on its head. It turned towards that couch with three people congregating on it. Leaning down to speak. “Wheeen… fOOD? When fisH?”

Mmm. If only these people knew how to understand Kaleidos… or, at least, that time traveler language the bird was fairly fluent in. English was still quite hard for the Angel, and speaking in English frustrated it. Instead of entertaining angry thoughts about English or angry thoughts about all of the people in this poor excuse of a pack, Bezaliel started to preen itself. It’s not like it was going back to sleep— and the importance of keeping its feathers healthy overshadowed its want to dose off, anyways.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Oh.

Oh my god.

Sorrel’s cheeks blushed so fucking hard. He felt like he was bright red all over. He felt like a deer in headlights, looking up at Cricket’s sweet eyes, feeling how such large hands can be so gentle on his face. He rested his hand on the larger, paler hand that held his chin. His odd eyes sparkled again, and a few silent moments passed before Sorrel realized he and his shitty body inconvenienced a complete stranger, soiled one of his towels, and… probably made it a bit more awkward..?

All he could do in response for maybe a solid minute was babble incoherently, until he stopped, with a really dumb smile and some smudged up dry blood on his upper lip, and quickly stated “I uh— we can exchange numbers! I—“

The feathered man fumbled out his phone, his face still red and his hands shaking a bit. “Here—“

Sorrel read his phone number to the taller man and jotted down his number. He… he didn’t know why, but he still wanted to be with this man some time later. Maybe when his body was a little kinder to him.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Do you want my number?

That did it. That made Sorrel blush a sweet, bright red like strawberries. His mismatched eyes even glittered a bit, until he felt something warm trickle from his nose and mouth.

Oops.

Sorrel straight up freaked out. He literally squeaked as he noticed his bleeding and quickly started to rub it away with his sleeve, until he realized that wasn’t working and he pulled the collar of his sweater up and pressed it over his nose and mouth. “I-I’m so sorry for that—“ he stammered, “I’m so fucking sorry, oh my god—“ suffice to say, he was. Embarrassed by his reaction. Very much embarrassed. Why was he like this? Why did he have to be like this?? Which god cursed him into just being like that??

His feathers crowning his head puffed up as he started to cough into his sweater. “Ohh my god I’m so fucking sorry,” Sorrel kept stammering apologies as his body essentially laughed at him for daring to get excited at Cricket’s number exchange offer.

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

Sorrel sighed softly, and decided to just shove his hands into the pockets of his oversized pants. “It’s just some idealistic thoughts, y’know… sometimes it feels like the whole world needs a reboot or somethin’. It’s not like I can do much, though, I’m just some living in it.”

That was exactly why Gamma-Burn had to exist. That was why his extremism kept going, why toppling the corrupt over and giving it to the people to rebuild was so important. He already knew the flaws of volunteer work— the most power-hungry people would be the ones raising their hands first. It frankly disgusted Sorrel, thinking about every cockroach he had to stomp out for the betterment of society.

Of course, he also couldn’t mention that in a conversation with a total stranger. There were a lot of people who agreed with Gamma-Burn, but a there were also a lot of people who decidedly did not. Sorrel didn’t want to sour his interaction with this cute, giant stranger… wait, did he just think Cricket was cute?! He just knew this guy for a few minutes! It… was true, though— the man had a nice face, and a nice smile.

Sorrel could see that blasted bell sign pop up as they both rounded a corner. He really was going there, huh? God, why did he do this to himself? Why was he so stupid?? What would he even get there? He had no stomach for their food, and no stomach for food in general. He already felt nauseous before even walking up to the stupid fast food place.

The Seven

Pouncing on this like a dumb baby tiger

𓆣 ☢ Middle Man ☢ 𓆣

How. How did that little interaction not end in absolute disaster? Should he… keep going?

Sorrel gave an awkward smile back, one that bared all of his teeth. They were extremely sharp, pointy— of course, due to his angelic ancestry. “That’s very noble of you,” Sorrel chirped, before holding back his tongue. No shit! This dude was entirely fine risking his life to stop fires n’ save lives. He’s… probably had to deal with a few of the radioactive fires Sorrel accidentally started while donning the Gamma-Burn mask. That… felt awkward, yet again. He just clasped his hands behind his back to stop himself from awkwardly stimming and messing with his hair. Of course, he still messed with the hair string on his wrist and enjoyed the little snap feeling it did against his skin.

Now, the cogs in Sorrel’s head started turning, and his voice escaped him before he could filter anything. “I wonder… if there were more unpaid positions in places like the DNCC or the police, or just the United States government in general, would it be less corrupt, more caring about the people..?”

Shut UP. Sorrel! Shut the fuck up! “I mean… shit, if you had a normal person running the treasury maybe they’d give a bit more of a shit over inflation, haha.” Atrocious save. Sorrel wanted to simply transcend through realities and hide in a little pocket dimension. Sorrel wanted to evaporate right then and there.