The Weapon of Juin (Saga)
Aug 28, 2012 0:24:26 GMT
Post by Deleted on Aug 28, 2012 0:24:26 GMT
[style=font-family: Century Gothic; font-size: 12px; text-align: justify; padding: 5px; width: 450px]In the Otherworld, time was inconsequential. What felt like years was nothing more than a passing second; what felt like seconds, was centuries in the making. In this realm of fire and brimstone, time was of no influence - only power mattered. The more you killed, the more you were feared. The more control you had, the more you could influence others - the more you could rule.
In this plane, nestled deep inside one of the Otherworld's domains, Kirai ruled over all.
As he stood on the desecrated land that was his dominion, his eyes glanced down across the horizon, where blackened clay met a sky that was as red as the pools of blood at his feet. Surrounding him, as far as the eye could see in all directions, were bodies. Demons, humans, and even angels lay at his feet, their bloodstained corpses littering the barren wasteland as if painting a portrait so macabre even the Devil himself would cringe. Their eyes stared blankly in all directions, searching for a salvation that would never come to them in this realm. Here, there were no saviors - only the misery of a long and painful death at his hands.
Some of them tried to bow down to him, to worship the ground he walked on. Others thought to usurp him, to claim what was rightfully his. Still more tried to run. They all died the same; their blood stained his blade as it stained everything else. He had no need for followers, nor did he need allies or cowards. His own strength was without equal, and therefore more than sufficient. All he needed was more of it, and he found that quite easily in the death of his enemies.
He took a step forward, his boot echoing in the wasteland of hell he'd created, and then another. Walking across the Otherworldly plane he watched over, the landscape never seemed to change. Bodies continued to litter the world; blood continued to pool over the clay that could no longer absorb it. Occasionally, a sword might stick out from the ground, providing what little change to the surrounding scenery that it could before disappearing like the rest.
Still, Kirai was not content. He needed to escape. To leave this realm, to return to the world of the living, and exact his vengeance on mankind for the centuries of hell he'd had to endure.
A distortion in the sky made him look up, his eyebrows uncharacteristically narrowing. His face rarely showed emotion; most of the time, even when his sword was plunged in the heart of his enemy, his face held no resemblance of anger or hate. It was simply...devoid of expression. Now, however, he was most obviously perturbed, as he stared at the distortion with a curiosity that he had not possessed in years. Slowly, the distortion began to grow, floating downwards toward him. By the time it reached halfway to where he was standing, it had progressed to nearly twice his size in width.
Kirai reached to his waist, wrapping around his weapon's saya and checking his blade for freedom. Out of habit, he focused his energy into the palm of his hand, preparing to strike if necessary - a precaution that had proven necessary in his world, given the range of attacks he'd been forced to endure from his enemies. His eyes narrowed as he watched the empty space hover about twenty yards above him and then stop. The edges of the void seemed to vibrate slightly, as if it wasn't supposed to be there and was fighting for its existence.
A beam of red energy darted out of the void, catching him off-guard. He unsheathed his weapon in a blur of motion, striking at the red beam as if to knock it out of the air, but as the tip of his blade arced towards the beam, it swiftly averted its path, sliding over his sword like water. His other hand reached up to grab it in his palm, but by then it was too late; it had expanded in size as it slammed into the palm of his glove.
The moment it touched him, his entire body seemed to be on fire.
Centuries ago, he would have screamed in pain, but now, he only gritted his teeth, biting down as he closed his eyes, pushing waves of energy outwards to no avail, trying to shake off whatever had a firm grab on him. The effort was futile, however; he was as if a puppet suspended on its master's string. And like a puppet, the beam of energy tugged him up into the air, hesitating for only a brief moment before yanking him through the spacial distortion.
The sensations of being ripped through space was not unlike the sensations of the red beam of energy; invisible flames seemed to crawl along his skin like thousands of needles. Even his tolerance for pain was approaching its limit as he let out a small cry of pain. Doing so only made the pain worse, though, as the sensations tightened in his lungs, burning him from the inside out. His body trembled with agony as muscles tightened, trying to fight off this foreign energy. Briefly, as he opened his eyes, he saw hundreds of colors rushing by him in a blur of motion. Continuing to watch them only seemed to make the pain worse, so he simply closed his eyes again.
What seemed like an eternity of pain, however, was over in mere moments as the spacial void opened up again, the red beam tugging him through it with pinpoint precision. His eyes snapped open to the feel of a slight breeze against his cheek, seeing a mass of solid ground rushing at his face with great speed. Knowing there wasn't enough time to stop, he ignored the pain in his joints as he braced his body for impact. Kirai's body slammed into the ground with a force that could be heard for miles. Shards of the planet shot up and out in all directions, forming a ring of jagged stone and earth around the landing site that seemed to spread out at least fifty feet in all directions. Even the planet itself seemed to tremble in protest as it fought to stop him from penetrating its surface.
In the center of the chaos, Kirai sat crouching, one knee firmly on the ground, leaning forward on his free hand as his other remained on the saya at his hip. At the edges of his vision, he could see small trails of smoke trailing off of his body, as if his entire body was just recently on fire. His joints ached with the transition to this new place, and his mood was angered enough to want to know who - or what - had ripped him from his plane of existence.
A voice echoed in his head, as if answering his silent question. "I have raised you from the dead. You might imagine I am contacting you to give you orders, that I have a plan for you. I am not and I do not. All I want of you, you will do of your own accord, so I will not give you orders. Do whatever it is you want. You owe me nothing."
Kirai took in a deep breath, feeling the rush of air enter his lungs as he stood up, floating upwards as he rose from the destruction he himself caused. His eyes scanned the world around him, figments of memory taunting the back of his mind as he struggled to figure out why it looked familiar to him. The realization of seeing his ancient homeland made him smile wickledly. He was in the mortal realm - his mortal realm, Eden. Fate was being kind to him, after all.
He pulled his sword free, the echo of metal gliding along wood ringing in the air as "Mourning" gleamed in the open sunlight. To his left, he saw a crowd of people beginning to form just outside a scattering of low-rise buildings. His smile grew wider. "Wonderful."
Black flames began to emerge from cracks in the ground underneath him, reaching towards the sky for only a moment before they began streaking towards the townsfolk.
In this plane, nestled deep inside one of the Otherworld's domains, Kirai ruled over all.
As he stood on the desecrated land that was his dominion, his eyes glanced down across the horizon, where blackened clay met a sky that was as red as the pools of blood at his feet. Surrounding him, as far as the eye could see in all directions, were bodies. Demons, humans, and even angels lay at his feet, their bloodstained corpses littering the barren wasteland as if painting a portrait so macabre even the Devil himself would cringe. Their eyes stared blankly in all directions, searching for a salvation that would never come to them in this realm. Here, there were no saviors - only the misery of a long and painful death at his hands.
Some of them tried to bow down to him, to worship the ground he walked on. Others thought to usurp him, to claim what was rightfully his. Still more tried to run. They all died the same; their blood stained his blade as it stained everything else. He had no need for followers, nor did he need allies or cowards. His own strength was without equal, and therefore more than sufficient. All he needed was more of it, and he found that quite easily in the death of his enemies.
He took a step forward, his boot echoing in the wasteland of hell he'd created, and then another. Walking across the Otherworldly plane he watched over, the landscape never seemed to change. Bodies continued to litter the world; blood continued to pool over the clay that could no longer absorb it. Occasionally, a sword might stick out from the ground, providing what little change to the surrounding scenery that it could before disappearing like the rest.
Still, Kirai was not content. He needed to escape. To leave this realm, to return to the world of the living, and exact his vengeance on mankind for the centuries of hell he'd had to endure.
A distortion in the sky made him look up, his eyebrows uncharacteristically narrowing. His face rarely showed emotion; most of the time, even when his sword was plunged in the heart of his enemy, his face held no resemblance of anger or hate. It was simply...devoid of expression. Now, however, he was most obviously perturbed, as he stared at the distortion with a curiosity that he had not possessed in years. Slowly, the distortion began to grow, floating downwards toward him. By the time it reached halfway to where he was standing, it had progressed to nearly twice his size in width.
Kirai reached to his waist, wrapping around his weapon's saya and checking his blade for freedom. Out of habit, he focused his energy into the palm of his hand, preparing to strike if necessary - a precaution that had proven necessary in his world, given the range of attacks he'd been forced to endure from his enemies. His eyes narrowed as he watched the empty space hover about twenty yards above him and then stop. The edges of the void seemed to vibrate slightly, as if it wasn't supposed to be there and was fighting for its existence.
A beam of red energy darted out of the void, catching him off-guard. He unsheathed his weapon in a blur of motion, striking at the red beam as if to knock it out of the air, but as the tip of his blade arced towards the beam, it swiftly averted its path, sliding over his sword like water. His other hand reached up to grab it in his palm, but by then it was too late; it had expanded in size as it slammed into the palm of his glove.
The moment it touched him, his entire body seemed to be on fire.
Centuries ago, he would have screamed in pain, but now, he only gritted his teeth, biting down as he closed his eyes, pushing waves of energy outwards to no avail, trying to shake off whatever had a firm grab on him. The effort was futile, however; he was as if a puppet suspended on its master's string. And like a puppet, the beam of energy tugged him up into the air, hesitating for only a brief moment before yanking him through the spacial distortion.
The sensations of being ripped through space was not unlike the sensations of the red beam of energy; invisible flames seemed to crawl along his skin like thousands of needles. Even his tolerance for pain was approaching its limit as he let out a small cry of pain. Doing so only made the pain worse, though, as the sensations tightened in his lungs, burning him from the inside out. His body trembled with agony as muscles tightened, trying to fight off this foreign energy. Briefly, as he opened his eyes, he saw hundreds of colors rushing by him in a blur of motion. Continuing to watch them only seemed to make the pain worse, so he simply closed his eyes again.
What seemed like an eternity of pain, however, was over in mere moments as the spacial void opened up again, the red beam tugging him through it with pinpoint precision. His eyes snapped open to the feel of a slight breeze against his cheek, seeing a mass of solid ground rushing at his face with great speed. Knowing there wasn't enough time to stop, he ignored the pain in his joints as he braced his body for impact. Kirai's body slammed into the ground with a force that could be heard for miles. Shards of the planet shot up and out in all directions, forming a ring of jagged stone and earth around the landing site that seemed to spread out at least fifty feet in all directions. Even the planet itself seemed to tremble in protest as it fought to stop him from penetrating its surface.
In the center of the chaos, Kirai sat crouching, one knee firmly on the ground, leaning forward on his free hand as his other remained on the saya at his hip. At the edges of his vision, he could see small trails of smoke trailing off of his body, as if his entire body was just recently on fire. His joints ached with the transition to this new place, and his mood was angered enough to want to know who - or what - had ripped him from his plane of existence.
A voice echoed in his head, as if answering his silent question. "I have raised you from the dead. You might imagine I am contacting you to give you orders, that I have a plan for you. I am not and I do not. All I want of you, you will do of your own accord, so I will not give you orders. Do whatever it is you want. You owe me nothing."
Kirai took in a deep breath, feeling the rush of air enter his lungs as he stood up, floating upwards as he rose from the destruction he himself caused. His eyes scanned the world around him, figments of memory taunting the back of his mind as he struggled to figure out why it looked familiar to him. The realization of seeing his ancient homeland made him smile wickledly. He was in the mortal realm - his mortal realm, Eden. Fate was being kind to him, after all.
He pulled his sword free, the echo of metal gliding along wood ringing in the air as "Mourning" gleamed in the open sunlight. To his left, he saw a crowd of people beginning to form just outside a scattering of low-rise buildings. His smile grew wider. "Wonderful."
Black flames began to emerge from cracks in the ground underneath him, reaching towards the sky for only a moment before they began streaking towards the townsfolk.