I own what I own
Which apparently includes,
A Link that I have for some reason:
PandorasJailofCreativity/membership?view_as=patron
Discord Link that I have for some reason:
4bg8TRm2Gk
Twitter that I have for some reason:
mobile. / pandorajail
Shout out to Zeranion, Rairaku, pyro stick figure 76, WhataGreatNamelol and a special thanks to Sakuya and 13arabba who actually paid for , along with the people on the discord, absolute madlads.
A random idea that popped into my head ever since I pulled Archeron, largely inspired by Chase the Lighting by Lone Valkyrie and Selene by Synopsynthesis, both works relating to Worm on Space Battles, both of which I recommend for anyone to read.
Slight change because I forgot to put a scene that I basically based this entire chapter on. Oof.
Cocoon of Nihility
[DESTINATION]
She was drowning, it was the one thing that she felt locked in this cold metal box.
Her sight had darkened long ago, yet in this unfeeling darkness a vision appeared before her, a dance of two giants in the vast universe, dotted by shining stars, blinking in the unfeeling darkness of the world.
[TRAJECTORY]
Inherently, she could tell that the two giants were beings that were beyond human comprehension. They were something impossibly vast, incomprehensible to the human mind.
They were large, enormous, like giants compared to ants, possessing sinuous bodies that hurtled through space, dancing throughout the stars, passing moons and suns of the vast universe. Stars themselves seem like specs of dust next to the giants.
[AGRE-]
Yet even as the two giants of light danced, she kept drowning.
She sank further and further, into the uncaring embrace of the universe, as the two giants' made of unknowable material became smaller and smaller, and soon they too became as small as the stars that dotted the universe itself.
She fell deeper and deeper, sinking further and further into the darkness of the universe, into the shadow that enveloped life itself.
[ERROR. TRAJE-]
The darkness of the universe seemed to twist, the worlds and stars funneling into a single point, a hole of darkness that consumed even light itself.
[DESTINATION. TRAJECTORY]
Someone, or something attempted to reach out towards her. She didn't know who or what it was, whether or not it was trying to save her, but either way, something attempted to reach out for her drowning self.
And yet… she possessed no strength to take the given chance, whatever strength, whatever will that she had once had had already been beaten out of her by the trio. What vestiges of life that she had was beaten by Sophia, wrung out by Madison.
Everything else was already torn away from her, by the girl who used to be her best friend, her sister in all but blood. By Emma.
But if this was a chance to escape, if this was a chance to be saved then-
A voice resounded in her ear, one that told her to let go, to give up, to lose, to simply… let it all end.
It was a voice that sounded deceptively like her old friend. Like Emma. Whispering to her ear like a snake, tempting her to simply let go.
[DESTINATION. TRAJECTORY]
But she refused to do it. It was close, she could feel it. If she were to give up now then-
Then what? What did she even have in life?
Her father was distant, all but uncaring. There existed no connections between her and others, any possible ties she possessed were crushed and cut by her former friend. There existed nothing that would connect her to the world, no ties at all.
The thing that had kept her alive, that had kept her going all this time, was simply the will of rebellion. A will of defiance. If she gave up now, then why did she even suffer in the first place?
Yet even that burning will had already been worn down. Beaten by Sophia, doused by Madison, crushed under Emma's foot.
And with this, with the occurrence of the locker, in the uncaring and unfeeling expanse of the universe, she could only feel… empty. After all this, was there ever a need to fight back? If they would do something like this, and presumably get away with it scott free, then…
What was… even the point of it all?
Not all embers would grow into wildfire, and the beaten decaying fire of her will had simply gone out, lasting far longer than it should have.
[DESTINATION. TRAJECTORY]
And so she gave up.
She did not muster the strength to take back the offered chance, and simply fell further and further into the shadow of the universe, to where even the stars don't shine. A darkness that swallowed everything, including light itself. As if she was absorbed into a black sun.
Soon, she too was engulfed by the black hole that engulfed the universe itself, embracing the darkness as if it was a cocoon, and she fell into the Shadow of Nihility.
When her eyes opened, she had emerged into a vast expanse of white, something akin to a giant great black sun loomed large over the endless horizon.
Yet as her eyes wandered in the endless empty expanse, she found something, something that remained in what was a desolate world. A singular thing existed in a colorless world of nothingness.
It was then, that she could feel the ground below her, that she could breath, that she was no longer drowning. Her hand pressed onto the solid watery surface below, and she found strength in herself to stand up, shakily as she could.
Her eyes were transfixed by the thing before her, and in the empty expanse, she wobbled towards it, to get closer to it.
Her mind wandered as she could feel… nothing. The pain that had engulfed her body was turned to nothingness. The strain that was on the back of her mind was turned to nothingness. There were no stray thoughts that plagued her mind, there were simply… nothing.
She could feel nothing. She existed, and yet there was nothing that she could feel.
Perhaps this is what death feels like, she thought. This feeling of nothingness, her mind wondered if this endless vast emptiness itself was the afterlife.
And yet… and yet.
With nothing left, and nothing else to do, what was there stopping her from finding what it was?
And so she drew closer. Step by step. Inching ever so closer to the one thing that resided in the vast expanse of the empty void. She did not know how much time had passed, but she soon came face-to-face to the singular thing that remained in this world devoid of color.
It was a blade, a sword, protruding from the water-like expanse of the world. The blade was clad by a pristine white sheath, with purple flame-like patterns adorning it beautifully. Even when it remained sheathed, she could tell that it was a perfect blade, and she instinctively could tell that it was dangerous, that it was sharp.
Yet she could also tell that this blade was unlike anything else in the world. Not in a sense of those Tinker machines, not that she had ever seen anything like that other than passing glances or through the screen of a television or her old computer, but purely out of a sense that the blade itself was something out of this world.
Even innately knowing how dangerous the blade was however, she still reached out, caressing the hilt of the blade before she pulled it off of the watery surface, and it easily came off.
The blade was heavy, especially for someone who never truly exercised and as untrained as herself. Yet somehow, for some reason, the blade felt right in her hand. As if it was something familiar. It was as if it was meant for her to wield.
Then she felt something, she felt something watching her.
She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up as she went alert and looked around. Blade in hand at her side, ready to be drawn as she checked her surroundings, finding only the vast expanse of nothingness.
And yet there was nothing else in this place but her, the blade now in her hand, and the giant enveloping darkness that lay beyond the horizon.
So she turned, to look towards the darkness in the center of the void of darkness far away. Staring at the gigantic phenomenon that devoured the color of the world.
And the darkness stares back.
She was left, drowning in a pit of trash and unmentionables. Drowning in the abyss of a shadow.
She dreamt, all while she was drowning, of a land besieged by the Kami themselves. Of warriors wielding forged blades of unfathomable might all for the sake of a lie. Of two planets, circling a great black sun.
She dreamt of rain, of tragedy, of warriors who fought against the Kami, and lost what made them human, as they too, would become Oni.
She dreamt of the Beginning, of Origin. And she dreamt of the End, of Finality.
And then she woke up.
When she opened her eyes once more, it was to an unfamiliar white ceiling, and with the sound of beeping resounding near her ear.
It took her a handful of seconds to realize where she was, a hospital, she guessed from the iv drip attached to her hand, the machine's screen flashing every few seconds, beeping as it did so.
And there was someone here, in the room, with her. A man, shodilly dressed and looking as if he had not rested for days, one that elected a myriad of emotions from her. He was looking at her with eyes as wide as saucers.
"T-Taylor, you-you're awake!" The man, her father said, as he immediately rushed to her bedside as soon as he noticed her opening her eyes.
"-" She opened her mouth, yet no sound came out. The words died in her mouth as she gasped for air, coughing at how dry her throat was.
"You-right, you must be thirsty. Here." He said as he hastily poured a glass of water, and offered it to her. She mustered the strength to grab it, and with her father's help, she eventually managed to drink it.
"Dad…" She managed to call out weakly as she now could speak, and Danny Hebert grabbed her hand as if his life had depended on it.
"Taylor I-I thought that-I thought that I would lose you-" He said between sobs as he cried tears of joy, "I'm sorry little owl. I should have been better. I should have-" and he kept mumbling out apologies, begging for her forgiveness for his failure.
"...Yet she couldn't say anything, knowing that some of the fault lay within herself as well, for being stubborn, and not communicating with him. A small spark of hope was lit inside her as she saw him, as she saw that there was still a flicker of someone that still loved her in the world.
That the father that had cared for still still lived, and the death of her mother hadn't taken him with her.
She could only offer him a weak smile as her eyelids became too heavy for her to keep open, muttering an apology as she started to feel tired once more, the need for sleep calling for her again.
"That's-that's fine little owl. Sleep. Rest. Take all the time you need. Your father will take care of things from here. I'll make things right. I swear."
Then she was lulled into sleep once more, and she dreamed of a land besieged by rain, and a lone woman standing in the middle of countless broken swords.
Her stay at the hospital was not long. Less than a week was all that it took with the greatest healer in the world who could heal even the greatest of ailments with but a single touch. Most of her stay was done to keep track of her current condition and to recuperate from what was done to her.
So now she sat inside their truck, driving through the road with music playing as her father drove her home. They rode in silence, as her father focused on driving, muttering to himself about work and the docks needing to organize and do something, mumblings which she ignored, with her attention entranced by something else.
And that was her reflection, the faint image of herself being reflected by the car's windows, showing the singular streak of colorless white that stood out against her straightened black hair.
A mix of emotions was what she felt upon seeing the reflection. She doesn't remember what or why, but that shade, the singular streak of white that now coloured her straight hair, brought a myriad of emotions. Ranging from rage to pain, to sadness and loss, it was to the point that she had almost thrown up had it not been for her father's more violent reaction grounding her.
Her hair… was it important to her? Someway? She thinks… that she took pride in it? Yes, she must have taken pride in her hair. It reminded her of… someone? It was a link of some sort, to someone important.
But… who was it? It was a… family member? She couldn't quite remember.
Though she remembered what the doctor had said, that it was due to… stress? That It was a result of what had happened to her before, the incident from the locker, having turned a part of her hair into a shade of white. She remembered the rage that emanated from her father at the very mention of it, at the mark that it left on her.
And yet, it wasn't the only thing that she walked away with it.
Her memory was… jumbled, as if it wasn't obvious enough. She couldn't remember things well, and she'll trail off in the middle of conversations as her father tried to reconnect with his estranged daughter, and how it only saddened him more to see her in this state.
And these were things that even the greatest healer could not fix. Or rather would rather not fix. Panacea has been quite vocal on not doing cosmetic changes, which was why the shade of white remained on her head. And brains was something that even the greatest healer could not fix.
But she had fixed everything else, it was why her own reflection didn't wear the glasses that were laid broken in a trash can somewhere.
Though it was strange, she was sure that her eyes were fixed… Panacea had even made sure of it.
So why, she wondered. Was it that she could only see the world outside in varying shades of gray?
Days passed, and yet not much changed. Her relationship with her father, which she had thought would have gone better now that he was more here rather than letting his mind wander as he busied himself with work, had instead gone worse, somehow.
Now there were days when he wouldn't return home. Leaving her alone in a house filled with memories which she was trying to grasp, yet would always slip from her grasp.
So as she saw him leave for work once more, with him assuring her that he was going to make things all better, that he was going to do things right, she was left trapped in a familiar yet unfamiliar place.
It was agonizing, in truth, the first day was spent as she re-familiarize herself in a place that was supposed to be her home, yet felt so foreign.
She had found a picture, of her, of what was her family. An old image, framed with dust and cobwebs as if a show of time. Of her mother, of mom. A woman who elected so many feelings yet she could only remember vague images of.
Perhaps it was their similarity, the black hair that she shared with her, that was the reason as to her own visceral reaction. She held pride on the fact that they shared the same features, that there was something that connected them, that connected her with her mother.
She liked to think that she loved her mother, hazy though they are, all that she could feel for her was love and longing, moments that she had spent with her was all filled with happiness and contentment.
And yet, that too was now lost. Both her mother, and her connection to her, and the memories that she once had, all were lost.
She seems to have lost many things. Oh so many things. It was what she pondered as she wandered her house in a daze, occasionally placing a hand on the furniture that she had spent years with, yet was only vaguely familiar with.
That, it hurts, to be in a place that was supposed to be her home like this. To have years of memories that were no doubt precious be out of her grasp, because of something that someone who was precious to her has done.
It hurts to think that she isnt herself anymore. That she isn't Taylor.
Because the other possibility of who she could be, was perhaps even worse than the girl who she once was.
So she decided to wander.
It was something that she had done, for the past few days, as she was still 'recovering' from the event that had transpired, she was still excused from going back to the 'school' that was Winslow until the end of the week.
So until that fateful day comes, she decides to spend her remaining free time by wandering the city. To see the sights of her home and… refamiliarize herself with it.
Not that there was much that she could remember, even from her own fragmented memory. She had rarely gone out before, with only a handful of places in the city garnering any sort of reactions from herself.
The first was her own home, of course. A place which was once filled with sprawling beautiful emotions now remained subdued, mute. It had been for years now, and it seems that it would still continue on.
Then there were a handful of other places, ones that as she went by garnered feelings that were once lost, as her fragmented memory reminded her of what she had lost. Places like a restaurant that she had once visited with her family, stores that sell beautiful dresses, a cinema of some sort with delightful memories of vague movies which she had also forgotten.
A place like the Barnes' home, where her tormentor lives.
The cemetery, where the beautiful memories come to an end.
It was not raining, and yet she carried with her an umbrella. Something that she had absentmindedly bought with some of the money that her father had left for her.
She knew, deep down, that the purchase was out of some kind of habit, just like how even though she had never cared for them, she carried a small make up kit with her on her outings. It was something that she had never used, never cared for, she had never made something like this as a habit in the first place.
And yet it remained, for she still carried it even as she traveled quite a ways from her home.
Why was it that she carried them? Both this crimson umbrella and this make up kit that she would never use? She knew of it, of course, vaguely, memories ever hazy and always out of her reach.
And yet, there was a single thing, one singular thing, that she knew for sure after the events that had led to her transformation.
That this, all of her problems with her memories, the hazy fog that enshrouded her mind, would all be lifted if she simply.
Draw.
Her.
Blade.
…
Perhaps she should find her way home. She would not like to waste three more hours again in making her way back.
She took a breath, and breathed out. The fading cool air of winter being her only companion on her journey.
It was almost time for her to return to school again, the fateful day was already upon her, it seems, and in the days between them she had only seen her father a handful of times.
… perhaps she should have felt something more than mere disappointment, at that. Perhaps she should have been angry, furious even, at his false promise of making things better, and yet had only left her alone.
And yet… she was fine with it.
If before it would have caused her to toar in rage, to wail at her own father's betrayal, all that was left in her now was… acceptance. It was as if she was fine, with being alone, that it was better if she was alone.
She knew that she was used to being alone, she had been alone for years, most likely since her own mother's passing.
And yet it feels as if she's been alone for longer.
And yet it feels as if she's never been alone at all. Because there was always someone with her. Something is always watching her.
All of this had begun ever since she was put in the locker. The problem with her memories, the habits that she had never had before emerging, she knew the reason why it had all happened, and yet she does not.
One might think that this sudden transformation might have been an awakening of some sort, a Trigger event that all Parahumans would go through. The worst day of their life that would grant them superhuman abilities beyond their wildest dreams.
And yet, she knew that whatever she had, that it was different.
Her body was stronger, legs faster, her sights sharper than ever before, all beyond the healing that the greatest healer had given her.
Should she wished it, sparks would emit from her fingertips, lightning itself was at her command, no matter how she had thought of how diminished her control over it was.
No, she was not a parahuman, of that she was sure. Forgetful though she may be now, she knew of this to a fact.
Which begets the question, then, what exactly was she?
It was another question that plagued her mind as she stared into the mirror, and saw a stranger in the reflection.
What was she, if not a parahuman? What was she, if not a human? What was she, if not an Oni?
Who was she, if not the cowardly girl who only survived? Who was she, if not the cowardly girl who only existed?
Who was she, without Emma to lead and guide her to be a better person? Who was she, without ▇▇▇▇▇ to lead her to a better tomorrow?
She didn't know. She doesn't know. Maybe she wouldn't even want to know.
Because her blade only had one purpose. And the reason to draw it - past, present, or future - will always remain singular.
And that reason scared her.
She knew, deep down, that should she draw her blade, that the haze that clouded her head would clear. That the fragmented memories that she now ha would no longer be hazy, that she would be able to be normal again.
And yet… should she draw the beautiful yet deadly blade that was ever at her reach… that would always respond to her command… that would let her remember everything…
Would she still be, Taylor Hebert?
The seasons pass, just as rain falls, and as her return to Winslow came ever closer, the time that she spent on the house became less and less.
The same could be said for her dad, her father, who had become far more detached than ever before, telling her white lies that her situation will be better, that all would be well.
Yet deep down, she knew that it wouldn't. That it couldn't.
She knew that the life that she led, the Path that was forced upon her, would ensure that such a thing would never happen to her.
Yet she carried on, with this accursed existence. With dark clouds hanging high above the city of Brockton Bay, she continued to walk, umbrella in hand, and a pouch hanging by her side.
It wasn't raining, though the clouds hung across the sky, yet the city was weeping.
She walked, under the guise of moonlight, without a goal, merely strolling through the city that was dying, slowly and surely, bleeding every single day through the chaos that occurred through daily occurrences.
Her walk had no purpose but to waste time, for her to exist in the duality of her existence, a contradictory existence.
The sound of shattering glass resounded across the silent night, and the sound of feet shuffling on the ground. Words being thrown around, shouts ran aloud.
Gunshots rang throughout the street.
Her left hand twitched, reaching out to something that was only she could reach out for, and yet she stopped. The consequences of unsheathing it, of even holding it in her hand hung above her head.
Figures emerged from what she assumed was a store that they had broken into, a handful of men whose heads were all shaved clean, and accompanying them was a man who bare no clothes on his upper body, barring the tiger mask that he wore to conceal his identity.
That was… a gang member, wasn't it? From one of the handful of groups that plagued the city. She remembers not who he was nor which gang he was aligned with but…
"What? Who's this?" The man said with a gruff voice, his voice distorted through the mask that he wore. "Some chink walking alone at night?" He asked as he noticed her, putting her at the attention of him and his men.
Yet she remained silent, her mind wandering through the depths of her fragmented memories to remember who exactly it was that stood before her.
"Hey! He's talking to you, you bitch!" One of the men shouted at her as he walked close, hand reaching out to grab her.
Yet though her mind wandered, though she was not completely there, her body still was. The hand that reached towards her was swatted away easily with the twirl of the red umbrella in her hand, and with a light push, the man feel helpless to the ground.
"What the-you bitch!" The others did not take the action lightly however, as some soon rushed towards her, while other hung back as they armed themselves with their ranged weaponry.
But there was no need for her to be wary, what reason was there, when she was faced with a band of those who would barely count as warriors with sharpened blades, when she had fought against Kami, and won.
She deftly avoided the swing of their chosen weapon, a metal pipe of some sort, tripping them as she swept their feet with a swipe of her red umbrella, took a step to the right to avoid the attack of another shaven man, as she positioned her umbrella right for the third's stomach, halting his advance and taking the breath out of his momentum.
Twirling the umbrella again, she deflected the second man's strike, and using its momentum to make him fall, and did the same with the third one left with a swipe that threw him back.
She angled her head, tilting it slightly as she turned towards one of the men that stayed afar, to see a gun with a smoking barrel in his hand as he stared at her in disbelief.
She walked forward, and he shot again. She took a step to the left, and he shot again. The others followed suit, yet their shots never hit her even at the leisurely pace at which she walked through the daze.
"Stop! It ain't gonna work at all!" The masked man shouted as the barrage of bullets ended at his command, the men who held their firearms turning towards the wolf masked man as they quaked in fear.
"So you're a parahuman huh? Some kind of combat Thinker or Brute I'm guessing. No wonder you're wearing a hood. Should have guessed it from the start." The masked man spoke as he stepped in front of his men, those who were shaking in fear reinvigorated as their leader took the stage.
"But messing with the Empire is the wrong move. And I'll have to teach you a lesson!" The masked man roared as he raised a hand and swiped it down, sending a blade of distorted air slicing towards her.
Empire? Was that...
She stopped trying to peruse her faded memories as she faced the danger before her, and she found the flying blade of wind to be… slow.
A step was all that it took for the attack to miss, yet the man was prepared, having seen her deftly avoid the attacks of his men, the wolf masked man prepared several more coming her way, blades of wind flying through the air.
And yet she dodged them all. Another step at a different direction, a short leap, a spin, she was ever closing against the man who held the power of wind.
That unnerved her opponent, the ease which she weaved through his attacks, and he sent more and more attacks that sliced through the road below, slicing the asphalt and rendering them broken, reckless strikes that struck the buildings around them.
Yet she avoided them all, she needed not even to bring her blade upfront as she soon was close enough to strike.
The man hastily prepared one of his own, his hands clad in biting winds that could rend stone flew over head to meet her own. It was a strike that would, most certainly, win the confrontation. After all, no matter how well crafter it was, the umbrella in her hand was still a simple umbrella, a tool that was meant to weather the rain, not to be used as a tool to strike against the winds that could rend flesh.
Thus, to end this squabble, she needed something more.
For the briefest of moments as their strikes were to meet, arcs of purple lightning danced across the red umbrella, reaching out far towards the heavens as they empowered the weapon of her choice.
Wind meets lighting. A righteous belief met divine justice.
Yet what the alien winds fought was the lighting of the Almighty Thunder, taken for her own with the destruction of Howl. And its control over the domain of winds and gales was far below the powers that Everbreath could do with ease.
Wind meets lighting. A thunderous applause was left.
And thunder reigned supreme.
"Empire... Empire..." She mumbled under her breath, the red umbrella that she carried nowhere in sight as the sound of sirens filled the night, drowning the sound of her own footsteps.
she stopped, briefly, as she raised her head up and look towards the night sky.
"Oh." She said aloud after a second had passed. "Those guys."
The sound of the creaking door must have alerted him of her return, as she heard someone from across the room. "Oh, Taylor you're back. Your walk was longer than usual. It's already night out." Her father, who was home for once, called out as she returned home, the hood of her jacket set down as she glanced towards him.
She thought of the walk that she had taken, what had occurred, the time she spent outside the house, and thought of a way to explain the situation.
"Ah, sorry dad…. I got lost."
And she answered truthfully.