Hey all! This is SubZeroChimera speaking! This old fic I did some time ago is a oneshot, separate from my other fics. Hey, someone has to flood with Omega Zero stories, and as one of his greatest fans, guess who has taken the job upon themselves? ...By the way, I'd recommend listening to "World of Nothing" from Super Paper Mario while reading this, or something equally eerie. Oh, btw, I'm including some of area M-1 in the description. Anyways, enough prattling! Have at you!
...also, what is it with me and writing things that I forget to upload later? Derp.
Centuries.
How many of them had passed since he had last seen the surface of the world above? Omega had lost count.
Deep, deep underground in an abandoned lab, lay a dormant god. Half awake and half asleep in hibernation, the immeasurably old reploid lay in wait for a day he knew would arrive. The walls of his lair were coated in strange energy crystals that grew in hazardous rows of spines, eerily alight with data that floated through the air. Energy radiated poisonously through the atmosphere for as far as the eye could see, orbs disappearing into the darkness of the caverns. Mechaniloids of various designs scurried throughout the area. Their patrols brought them past treacherous pools of acidic liquid and devastated trees, their mangled branches and stumps dissipating into hexagonal plates which lifted into the sky and floated forlornly, as if gravity itself had abandoned them to their torture.
All of this was beyond the sight, or even care, of the restless deity, who himself waited within a room containing the decrepit remains of a hibernation machine and the large, rusted fragments of a once-grand suit of giant armour. History was rife in that bleak place, the dark and jagged corners secretively promising tales of old that would curdle the blood of anyone foolish enough to search their meaning.
But time could be as much a friend as a foe, mused the Devil Reploid. History, it seemed, had forgotten him there in that unearthly realm, all too willing to hide the most gruesome aspects of itself in the bowels of the earth.
Hidden and dead, however, were two entirely different things. Although he had been defeated a long time ago, he had managed to survive at the cost of being imprisoned in his own tomb. There was little left to do for now but run through combat simulations and memories over, and over, and over again. But nothing lasts forever. Some day in the future, whether far off or not, Omega knew his day would come.
Perhaps someone would be searching for clues about ancient history.
Perhaps someone else would be searching for a weapon.
Perhaps, even, the walls confining him would just collapse.
Whatever the cause, he knew, he just knew that one day, he would walk free once more. The God of Destruction could be patient if he had to be.
But patience was not what set him apart. It wasn't what made him who he was... no... patience was not what made him the terrifying demon whose name once sent children screaming at the mere mention of it. Nor was it the awesome powers that chilled the very soul of those who dared patronize the thought of facing him in battle. Not even his insatiable bloodlust or mindless howls of primal pleasure were what caused him to be so feared.
His stain on history was not the product of any of his actions. It was caused by his very existence.
Humans make their own gods, and he was no exception. The twisted, warped, yet brilliant mind that had borne his design had made him perfect for his role as a bringer of death and strife. His powers knew no bounds, he was stronger than any other, his attacks able to devastate the battle field. And yet, there was one aspect of him that shone above all others. That was the maverick virus, a horrible program wedged deeply into his core programming despite how hard many scientists had tried to wipe it from the face of the Earth. A program that would twist and warp the mind of anything electronic, reploid or mechaniloid, able to turn the most peaceful of beings into a vicious, bloodthirsty, heartless monster. Weil himself had only delayed the inevitable by sealing him in a lumbering suit of white armour. But the armour was gone. Without that armour, simply moving among the people would let the virus run rampant, causing wars to spread unchecked, plagues of hatred and distrust creating rifts among people of every shape and type. That was on top of his limitless energy and undying determination. Not even death could stop him. His very presence shattered the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead, cyberspace. Even if he was slain, so long as a part of his body remained, he could return from the afterlife to wreak havoc once more.
No, death did not stop him. But being sealed away did.
Even so, every second that ticked away was a second closer to his release. A second closer to when he would be freed from his tomb to ravage the lands once more, to spread the virus and to destroy everything in his path. It didn't matter how long it took. It would come. No matter how many hours. No matter how many days. Weeks. Months. Years.
Centuries.
He could wait. And so he did, because nothing lasts forever...