A starting gun to trigger the activation during proper usage. And the sounds of someone crying when channeled through the hands instead? Something that triggered the activation of emotional essence in order to simply abort the operation.
Otis clicked his tongue. He needed more samples before he could make sense of it. Wingram Academy was rife with them, but how many could he truly be certain possessed an Ethos with such curious restrictions as Davil’s? Was it only a matter of learning one’s Ethos before one learned of their prime essence? How unique was Wund’s scion?
How had it changed, from a gale to a deluge!
The Strigidae’s eyes widened, willing the light to fill his eyes to such clarity that not a single detail could be missed. The nature of Ethos was to accomplish what was incomprehensible for mere magic to, and Davil’s peculiarity finally revealed itself. It was the willingness to risk his very organs for an ascent to the stars. It was strength enough to break free from the shackles of gravity itself. It was human audacity, reaching for the Sun as their wings burned to slag.
It was useful.
Davil plummeted, approaching the earth at a faster and faster rate. He reached terminal velocity, the wind pulling back the flesh of his face as his limbs flailed without purpose. There was no sign of Otis weaving any magic, no sign of Otis pulling out any cushioning from the aether. There was nothing but impact.
Such a swift impact that he must have died without feeling a thing, and now, he was falling still, falling into an abyss of junk-stars and invented constellations. Falling, tumbling, rotating, and then…hm? He could feel himself slowing down, as if instead of falling, he was rising? As if the gravity that chained him had changed its mind, and was now trying to pull him the opposite way?
And then, as he continued to slow, continued to rotate, an asteroid that had lost its way, Davil could see it. A door in front of him, like so many other doors. Opening up, revealing light and life, laughter and the smell of breakfast. Paradise for the hungry and then…
He rolled out from the front door of the cafeteria, tumbling right into the most curious scene enacted between a true knight, an eccentric king, a shadow-witch, and a masked servant.
Otis stepped after, the traces of his Ethos disappearing as the door to the Cafeteria that he had spied the day before returned to its normal state. He looked at what was before him, considered the situation, recalled the principles of work and reward, and finally said, in the flattest voice possible, “Ciara, I can tell you have eaten, but would you care for coffee? Because Davil wants coffee with you, and he may not survive tomorrow.”
So why put off one’s regrets, really?
“And the rest of you are free to join as well. Especially you, Iraleth.”
It was Maki who blurted that out, her face flushed red with either embarrassment or fury as Asahi revealed just how deep everything went with his power, the price that was paid for a supernatural recovery. It was all sorts of fucked up in that moment, to find out after the fact that her most intimate secrets were plucked out of her head just like that.
But she didn’t chase after him either, not when Daisuke looked like he really needed some form of support himself. The Awakened students were splintering, that much was true. Rin was never going to involve herself with these sorts of group dynamics problems, while Shun had disappeared off into the woods. Asahi revealed himself to be some sort of mental voyeur at the last moment, while Ayana was completely batshit. Even her step-sister, who had been willing to go out swinging for the blue-haired girl, looked more and more apprehensive now, and as a result, so did the others who had gone up in Ayana’s defense.
“It’s…just a lot to process.” Not to mention they weren’t exactly of the same blood either. The fashionista clenched her fists. Did she have it in her to believe such words? Did she trust this ‘Oros’, who claimed to be an Ayana she had never met before? The words caught in her throat and she choked them down, taking a step back. Then another.
It was too sudden a transformation. It looked as if there was nothing that she recognized, as if she were looking at a parody, a caricature.
“I don’t know.”
Ayane looked down at the ground, ashamed. And, in the void that her presence, her tacit rejection left, another stepped in to fill it. Perhaps in the class, only he would take her invitation. Only he would care little for who someone was, who someone is. Only he had that pure drive to know.
Shark-teeth flashing in the moonlight, wide pupils glinting in the firelight, Hiroshi stretched out his arms and took Ayana’s hands in his own. They were cold to the touch, callused on the tips. “I accept. Now, do me the favour, Oros. Tell me what you believe the Truth to be, and we can spend the first watch that way.”
…
Words.
That was all it was.
Just a handful of words.
Kogen could endure. He could endure everything. He could endure pain and humiliation, knowing that so long as he lived, he could avenge himself. He could nurse his grudges in quiet, could hold his hatred deep. It was like sealing a demon. It hurt, but it was good. Because a wise hawk hid its talons until the time was right. Because no one took notice of a fool until it was too late. Because he was divine, bearing judgement but beyond emotion.
So what was he doing now, so publicly?
He was enacting his r-
"God fucking damn it Ko-kun! Come out of that thing and listen!"
Masato’s head bled, the flesh sliced open by the edges of the demonic helmet. Kogen felt nothing, not even the pulsation of the built-up blood, the tremoring and spasming of a body, the others now, trying their best to pull him off. Daisuke. Fujita. Maki. Sasuke. Tsubaki. What the fuck was this? Why did they care so much? It was Akito! They all had the right to hate Akito! That fucking sniveling gopher for those upperclassmen. That fucking fraud, holding himself as a top dog when he didn’t even rank in the top 10. That traitor, that rat!
Ah.
That was it.
Rats with rats. Traitors with traitors.
“You.” His voice sounded too weak. He grit his teeth. Tried again. There it was. A steely tone, possessed with a wholly neutral flatness. “Masato. Who matters more? Me or him?”
“You.” was the response he got in return.
Stillness.
Words. Just words. Yet he couldn’t unhear them. He couldn’t be deaf to them. He couldn’t ignore them. He couldn’t forget them. He couldn’t. His body could heal, but his mind remembers. Remembered betrayal, that black stake driven into his guts. Remembered isolation, the gouging of his organs out his back like meaty wings. And the fury, that latent inferno, seized him then!
“If you cared, then why did you leave…”
A normal student, no matter how much they trained, could not hope to compete with a demon. He hurled them aside with impunity, then slammed Akito down into the ground. Half-conscious, the delinquent boy coughed, heaving for air even as he found himself unable to breathe for an entirely different reason. He raised his bleary eyes up and saw…
“…WITH HIM?!”
…Kogen’s boot, stomping down.
A crater in the earth.
But no splatter of bone and blood.
The demon looked up, a glowing light peeking out from its visor. It seared into Masato’s vision, the malformed rage of the boy whom he had wronged, twisted into a shell that could never be removed.
“What good are your words, if you never follow through?”
And with that, Kogen left, disappearing into the woods.
@Vertigo@baraquiel Gray eyes, ringed with exhaustion, stared back at him. Their corners were red, rubbed raw, but by now, she had ran out of tears. Duncan wasn’t particularly sensitive, but he could feel that emptiness be directed towards him, even as he avoided her gaze.
And when he looked up once more, when he found what he truly wanted to say, he saw Yukiko there still, placing a small hand on Yuki’s forehead. Smoothing out his hair just a bit. Feeling the cool flesh. Running a finger along the yellow hairband he wore. There was a tenderness, a sorrow, a reverence.
Her lips parted, words bubbling up. Soft-spoken as ever. Perhaps the first time, even that Duncan had spoken with her.
“I watched every video too.”
In that small town out in the middle of nowhere. A girl smothered by another’s fame. A boy struggling against obscurity and mundanity.
Asahi entered. Yukiko retreated, settling back. Three was a crowd. It was no longer a space for sharing such emotions. Only an understanding of what must be done. What she must do.
She spoke to Asahi, but her gaze was set on Duncan. Exhausted. Hollow. But not dead.
“Hiroshi told me he wouldn’t last more than a day.” Because even if they could heal his flesh, they could not make him eat or drink, could not understand what’s wrong with his brain. “But…at the very least, I don’t think he’d want that burden on us.”
Diving deep into the quagmire, that trench so deep even shadows did not reach.
It had been a wire at first, but he had plunged deeper still, shaving it away to pierce further and further, beneath those blanketing layers. Wire. Thread. Spider silk. Reaching for a sign of life, for a sign of mind. The pressure crushed his mind, drowning out thoughts, suffocating him in response. But there was no light at the end, nothing to fuel the hope that he was getting anywhere.
He could give up. He was spending too much. Dimly, he could feel his true body still, burning away the scant fuel in the forge as he reached further and further down.
But he did not give up. Distantly, he could feel the others with him. They could pull him up, if he could no longer surface. They did not look at him as a monster, even though they did not know the full truth either. It was fine. He delved deeper.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Until he reached a…
Disorientation. Pain. Your voice, yowling in agony half real and half just for the reaction. A tall youth, his hair showing the dark roots of a poor dye job, winced as he approached. Offered a hand to pull you up. Winter in Kuroshio, white all around, as if someone had sliced the landscape away until all that remained was the snowfield. Your breath went up in puffs as you shouted at the other one further off, one hand holding up a phone, the other hand a cigarette. Freakishly tall as well. A real pair of basketball legends, with the whole night-and-day contrast going on. You’re stuck in-between, just an average person now, but you’re happy despite it. They’re out here with you, after all. You’ve always wanted to have a team working on your videos, even if they were just feeling generous with Christmas spirit, with the uncommon weather.
You reach out to touch the falling flakes, wondering if it would last.
But it would not. It was an inch thick and your footsteps alone revealed the black dirt beneath. It stopped you for a moment, seized you by the throat. The crushing crystallization of the thought that this present wouldn’t last, that it would slip by no matter how much you hold onto it.
So what?
You turn towards the skies, hold out your hands, and say to your friends, “Hey, after we graduate, lets go to Hokkaido! See some real snow, know what I mean?”
…the core. A bubble of a memory, the last vestiges.
Melting away like that rare snow day, two years ago.
Morning broke upon the Lakeside, the fog evaporating in the sunlight.
Yuki had passed away.
@AThousandCurses The chirping of distant birds roused Shun from her fitful rest. She rolled her shoulders, felt the aching of an unorthodox sleeping posture. It had been a result of the shelter she had found the night before, a tree hollow that hid her well enough away from the outside world. Perhaps it would serve as a permanent shelter, if only there were so many grubby insects and worms inside it as well. They lacked the strength to pierce her flesh, but it had taken some time before she could ignore them and drift off into a fitful rest.
She was hungry and thirsty too. Her head was light, a bit too light, and her core, she sensed, was running close to empty. She could eat a horse whole at this point. Live, if she had to.
Her bearings were lost. There was no going back to the lake. The foliage, the unrecognizable vegetation, surrounded her in all directions. The mountain, ever-skypiercing, was the only landmark that she could use to navigate.
But she was free.
She was responsible only for herself.
No Oros, no Kogen, no Asahi, no Masato, no Duncan, no Rin, no expectations, no demands, no others to watch out for or worry about. She could just be herself, could make every decision for just herself!
Basic intent, Zeroth, is that Esfir is trying to hide somewhere away from aerial view that's close to ten feet of the Tatzelwurm. She's basically using it as a bait for the Harpy; if it takes it, she'll shoot out a Frost Arc to hopefully slow/stun it before she runs in to stab it too. If the wait is too long though (maybe around half an hour), then she'll eventually just return and bring the Tatzelwurm back to camp instead.
The description had been correct, the Jackalope horn was as sharp as metal! It pierced with so little resistance that Esfir had overshot, shoving the length of her spear so far in that the serpentine creature practically gagged upon it. Its death-reflexes kicked in moments later, jaw clamping down upon the foreign object stuck inside its mouth, and Esfir leapt back in kind, dropping her spear as it writhed and flailed away the last moments of its life. It was fortunate that [Murderous Intent] had functioned. Fortunate still that she had seen it coming in time, that the lashings didn’t break despite having been freshly tied upon it.
Slowly, she wriggled her Jackalope Spear out from the creature’s mouth, inspecting the status of the tip itself. It still looked sharp. Still looked like it could pierce flesh without an issue. She’d have to check how secure the tip was later, but right now? She wiped it clean best as she could against the leaves of a nearby bush, before turning away from the dead beast and scampering off into the denser surrounding foliage.
And then, once she was immediately out of sight of that humanoid bat, Esfir dropped down into a crouch, calmed her breathing, and positioned her hands outwards, towards the beast she had left there. If the Harpy was an opportunist, if it had no understanding of what may be ‘suspicious’ then perhaps it would descend, would take a bite or two.
Knowing only of the spear, and not of the storm.
Two for one.
Wouldn’t that be a wonderful thing?
Ingestion - After consuming a required amount of biomass from a particular Creature, 1 of that Creature's Skills can be copied at its lowest Rank.
Frost Arc - Rank I - An expanding spray of icy cold, over 10 feet in one direction and 5 feet wide at its furthest edge. The cold is more intense the closer the target is to the origin, reaching its lowest temperature within a span of about 2 feet. It constantly expends Magic Power the longer the cone is maintained.
Murderous Intent - Rank I - Focus hatred and the desire to kill through the subtle senses. A creature that is weaker than you must exert its willpower or be Intimidated (Intimidated creatures suffer reduced speed). A creature that is already Intimidated, Shocked, or Unaware may instead become Fearful and be unable to act for 5 seconds. Creatures that are stronger than you can only be Intimidated by this Skill if they are already Shocked or Unaware, but their willpower threshold is higher.
Empty Skill Slot
Swaddling Pelts - Equip, Clothes - Old animal skins used to keep an Orc baby warm as they sleep. Once the Runt is old enough to start hunting, these are usually just enough to cover the parts that need the most covering.
Sharp Rock - Equip, Weapon/Tool, Material Component - A rock with a slightly sharp edge. Useful as a primitive knife or chisel. Can be thrown.
Jackalope Spear - 2H Weapon - A decent, if primitive spear. Not suitable as a throwing weapon due to its weight, but made of tough, sturdy materials. Jackalope horn is surprisingly sharp, almost as much so as metal.
Stomach-Bag - Small bag, improved from an Elwet's stomach.
“At least you know to protect yourself then,” Suna sang. With only one other taking her generous offer, she slotted in the coins one by one, before posing in preparation as the machine read the money. The moment it pinged to the correct amount of money, the girl pressed the button as fast as she could, before repeating those presses even more in a clear effort to mess with the programming.
Alas, her index finger wasn’t nearly as fast as the electric signals shooting through the vending machine’s circuitry, and only one can plopped out, which she tossed over to Homura. The one that she got for herself was the same, and she cracked it open, downing it with all the gusto of someone enjoying the first can out of a six-pack. The subtle sweetness and warmth spread down her stomach in a way that was always most comforting, like a heat pack against a sore back.
Kaeru was really feeling herself tonight though, wasn’t she? “You’re gonna get wrinkles like that, Kaeru,” the blue-eyed girl replied. “You can think of ‘em as the types to hunt Miseria for personal gain though. Can’t get the Miseria big and juicy without feeding them, right? So…”
She stuck out her tongue and tilted her head back, shaking out the last drops of the soup. Satisfied with its emptiness, Suna placed it between her two hands and clasped them together, crushing it flat, then returned her gaze to Homura.
“…you can see how that goes, right? If us Magical Girls are hunters, then those Dark Magical Girls are farmers.” She threw the crushed can upwards, a three-pointer that clattered against the rim of the recycling bin and then bounced off to roll against the stained pavement inside. Suna let out a little giggle as she slid between her two companions to pick it up and toss it in where it belonged. “But you can form your own opinion on em, Homura. I’m more curious about, y’know, where you came from? Kaeru’s born here, and I moved here for work, but what about you?”
Each breakfast cost a single silver coin, apart from the Twiggy's Special which appeared to demand a two silver tithe instead. Sides also consisted of various hot pastries, freshly baked and ready to consume with fervor, costing two copper per.
SMH, a gathering of the most promising youth around the world, a literal academy for raising heroes, and they can't even offer free food for the kiddos. Funding's going nowhere except Raja's pockets, I see.
“That was a fair bit more dangerous,” Otis spoke, squatting beside his test subject once more. There was scientific evidence that one’s legs were stronger than one’s arms three-fold, so perhaps to compensate, Davil had unconsciously sent triple the usable amount to his arms instead. And, perhaps sensing self-destruction at hand, his prime essence recalled its current bits, bringing everything back before the wind itself could be entirely released. “The imagery you’ve utilized to envision your Ethos may not be well-suited for such purposes, but in this case, at least, it’s possible to do so.”
And if it was possible, then it could be practiced.
The Strigidae’s Adapa expanded once more, showing large chunks of prime essence breaking off, the clear indication of an outwards, rather than upwards, propulsion, only to slingshot back into his core. It was a self-explanatory graphic. Otis offered a waterskin to Davil, one filled with a cold-brew tea, just for him to clear out his throat and wash out any curious tastes in his mouth. “Tell me more about what you’ve just felt, and what you were thinking. As far as the recording goes, I can see that it’s possible once you gain a more granular control over your Prime Essence, but if there is a ‘psychological’ limitation that’s placing itself upon you, that’s something I can only learn from recording your thoughts.”
Which could be done with magic too, but he wasn’t planning on lobotomizing Davil this early on. They took a break just long enough for Davil to finish speaking, before Otis pulled him up to his feet again. Now, what was the process again? Ten seconds for take off, ten seconds for landing, and five seconds to gain control, leaving five seconds for controlled flight.
He’d have liked to experiment with the charging of the Ethos while performing regular movements, to test if it was another ‘limit’ of the Ethos, but for now?
“Third test should be easy enough. Show me the process of your regular flying habits, Davil. Once again, prioritize maximizing your initial burst of speed to ascend as fast as possible. Don’t worry about the landing. We'll use up your remaining time here.”
//Night 1 | Location: Nameless Forest - Lakeside @Vertigo It wasn't as if the walls were that thick. They had done what they could, substituting plaster with mud, but that didn't do much to block out the noise. And anyways, Duncan's senses were sharpened to a point beyond even his best basketball games. He could hear them all outside still.
He could hear the faint beat of Yuki's own heart still, the shallow breathing. When they had healed him, Yuki's complexion had gotten better, but that had been all. Something was lost. Perhaps Asahi simply couldn't fix certain wounds. Perhaps if he tried, it wouldn't be Yuki anymore.
Duncan sat there. He could hear the fighting now, the threats. Asahi's declarations, the psychic threads that he commanded. Masato, shouting, a desperation that only increased. Ayana, having lost all sense of self to whatever possessed her. And the other, normal students, struck by a dawning realization that the power that had saved them on that first day would be a catalyst that ripped them apart as well.
Footsteps at the entrance.
Yukiko.
Gray eyes blinked, adjusting to the darkness. A petite form, backlit by firelight. She looked weary, more shrunken than she usually did, as she sat down beside the unresponsive youth, hugging her knees to her chest. She had been the one who had thought to pull Yuki to the others during the nighttime ambush. If she hadn't, perhaps he'd have turned out the same as Yuudai. Had exhausted herself, carrying him along when the group all decided to run away, leaving their Awakened friends to handle those hulking monstrosities.
And now, perhaps all that effort was worthless too.
Strange, that an oppressive silence could settle, even when it was so loud outside.
It was the thing that Yuki was always good at breaking. @AThousandCurses She ran.
Of course she ran.
Her whole power set, the extra ability that she had unlocked, only had to do with running faster. So fast that her scooter was pointless. So fast that she left the others behind within a minute. It had taken so little time to reach the opposite end of the lake. It would take even less time to get back, if she really needed to.
But would she? Why should she?
Yuudai was dead. Yuki was near-death. Ayana was off her rocker, and could've died. It would be better to run, to keep running, to leave it all behind. That's what freedom was. That's what she always desired, wasn't it? People didn't interest her. She could talk with them, could laugh with them, but conversations died around her, and she would turn back to her own interest once more. That had suited her fine for all her life. Why would it change? Moonlight reflected off the lake, human drama doing little to diminish natural splendor. No one came after her. No one was fast enough to follow her. Back on Earth, there were hardly any who could keep up with her boundless energy. Here on the Otherside, there were even less, yet she found herself chained to them.
Did she have to be?
What, really, made her stay with her classmates, when she could take care of herself so much better alone? @Yankee@Cu Chulainn[@baraquiel@Nakushita Asahi tried to play it cool, but it was hard for anyone who remained to really settle down. His claims were wild, their implications leaning more towards villainy than anything else. Ayane turned, peering into her step-sister's eyes. She didn't want to trust Asahi, not when the pink-haired youth had displayed such disinterest in taking anyone seriously while he spewed out some deeply unserious stuff too, but the question had to be posed still. "Ayana, are you still in there?"
Did the answer truly matter? It wouldn't solve the divide anyways. Sasuke's gaze settled upon Asahi. They had known each other since they were children, and even though his expression didn't change, Asahi could understand that look regardless. Softness must subdue hardness. Tranquility must overcome ferocity. Otherwise, one risked losing all control. Where, in all this, had they lost that control?
Masato's hand wrapped around Kogen's wrist, and yet that glowing armor was cold to the touch and it did not give. The student council president knew though. Knew that any of them, any of the Awakened, possessed strength enough that if they put their mind to it, it wouldn't be strangulation. It would be a decapitation with the blunt force generated by one's grip strength.
Kogen had not lost control. He was perfectly rational, holding back still the superhuman power that he had. Holding it back because he didn't intend on killing someone though? Or holding back because he wanted to prolong it. To drag it out. To watch Akito's struggling weaken over successive seconds, watch his face turn red, then purple, sweat and tears and snot expelled from the vice-like grip that held and held and held.
Hiroshi remained an observer, that amoral curiosity driving him to watch all this with wide eyes and the shadow of a smile.
And Juro found Hana, the two of them sharing quiet words.
Kronshi
Sky Blue
Majoraa
High Moon
Emberdawn2
VirgoDrago
CitrusArms
Soldat Elf
Estylwen
