{Query)
(Agreement}
{Frustration}
[Suggestion}
{Negative}
{Anomaly}
{CycLe BrOKen}
{Rage}
{Trajectory}
{Agreement}
High above the clouds, above the sky. A being of unimaginable power, her body a porcelain doll replica. Her beauty able to make others cry out in madness. Her intelligence, her foresight unknowable, twitched.
Causing the world to gasp, its future altered.
Its residents having ought a clue, but the movement of the being known as simurgh.
...
Deep below the ocean's depths, a reptilian monstrosity opens its eyes but for a moment. The single action causing restless waves, higher seas, and thunderous ocean storms.
Its action seemingly meaningless, will have devastating consequences.
...
Under the earth, near the planet's core, a rock filled being, its shell radiating power. Poisonous fumes emanating from its rocky-filled shell rumbled, causing tectonic plates to shift, unexplored lands, rising to the surface. The shift of the earth, seeming to bring with it the chance for new, untouched lands to be brought to life.
But for seemingly an action so small, why then, does the world quiet down, why then does the world shift cautiously in fear.
Why
Why
Why?
It's simple really, it is because the creatures have power that the residents fear, that the... beings despise. They pray, they shuffle in un-noticed terror, and they wait for their death. A death that will not bring them the joy they await in the preconceived notion that is the afterlife.
For there is no such thing. There is no safe place after death, there is no place for 'mortals to be punished, he should know after all. It was him that destroyed those useless places. Thier is only void, the complete erasure from existence.
Why do they wait for death?
Why don't they fight?
His child fights, his child lives a miserable existence, and yet still, he fights.
He fights not to be seen.
He fights to live alone.
He fights, and he fights
So why won't they?
His child even now, looking to the planet where his child found himself stranded, his... his child.. Squinting an eye that is existing but yet not, an eye that sees all, but yet ignores what's best, an eye that is eldritch in origin, squints in frustration.
His child, it seems, is not yet accustomed to this new dimension it found itself in.
He chuckled, it reverberated throughout the void, it was felt, but yet not. He enjoys the mundane, the uselessnes of its existence amused him. He did not understand how such insignificant realms always somehow produced such intriguing joys.
Fairwell my child, fight for your ways, fight for yourself, and above all, fight for Me.
With blink of his nonexistent eye, he was gone. His presence no longer felt, nor seen as he left the mundane existence that was reality 590, or to the beings residing within, Earth-bet.
...
"Amusing" Lung thought aloud as he witnessed what could only be considered pathetic groveling. Before him lay a man, young in age, but still considered an adult, with white snow like hair, dark Choclate like skin and deep red run eyes. Thier red like color reminding lung of blood, dried and crusted, something he somehow saw fitting.
And before him, head lowered, eyes open, knees to the floor, tears, dripping from red-stained eyes, and snot running lose lay a grunt, a useless nobody. Somebody only conscripted for the statistical number he brought with him.
He was brought before him to receive punishment, a punishment well deserved no doubt. For only those who have wronged lung personally were bought before him. Someone who has either smeared his name, destroyed something of his... Personal belongings.
Or betrayed the trust given to them.
For the man kneeling before him, it was the ladder. Destroying a stash of premium Oxy one of his chem makers made, and then proceeding to use it without permission, without his authority?
How dare he?
How dare he mock me so.
How dare he?
His anger overcoming him, almost unconsciously, he smacked the groveling individual in the face, hard.
Causing him to fall to the ground, crying. Sobs, its hollow filled prattle suffocating the room.
Having enough of this he grabbed the man by the hair, lifted him up so his eyes were level with his, and he spoke, his tone chilling, his eyes burning, and specks of flames sprouting from his chest. "You are going to die today, and it is no-one's fault but your own. You knew the rules, you followed them quite diligently i am told, so you knew this was coming. So, there is no need for such a humiliating display of emotion."
Before the groveler could get a word out beside chocked sobbing, his head was burnt to a crisp, body spurting out blood in the process, staining the floor red, causing lung to yell out in anger, practically demanding the servants in the room clean up the mess. Immediately.
"What a sad display" a female voice said, its tone filled with a mad like tinge.
Looking behind him he sees his new recruit, someone who, while useful, by no means has the right to walk into his office unannounced. "Bakuda, it is not the time for your chatter" he said, his tone displaying his annoyance.
"Yea, yea, but i just wanted to know when the plan was to be given the green light, i really want to try out my new bombs, their explosions are sure to be ... enticing." bakuda replied, her cheeks turning red in a diluted sense of arousal. Her legs rubbing together almost dramatically.
Pathetic, lung thought to himself. He, of course knew that what bakuda was doing was nothing but an act, it still severely annoyed him. What was she planning on gaining out of this haphazard attempt at seducing him?
His ire? Perhaps.
His attraction? He doubts.
Shrugging haphazardly, he answered "When the time is right, or when we have no choice. The amount of destruction the plan would cause to the city will surely bring the Prt on our asses, so be patient woman." Growling in frustration, he walked away from the desk he was sitting on, and proceeded to roughly push past her, and walked through the corridors of his base.
Quickly so as the catch up to lung, bakuda shuffled her way forwards, so she was practically stuck to his side. "Sounds like you don't think the plan will work, you scared pussy?"
Breathing in to calm his roused anger, he ignored her pathetic attempts to rile him up, closing his eyes so as to not have to deal with her petite and quite frankly, whorish looks. "Careful now, you are nothing if not expendable, so watch how you talk to me" he said through clenched teeth, fists practically burning with his rising anger.
Shoving the door to the outside world, he ignored Bakudas gawkish response, her pathetic retorts, and her sharp mouth that will surely be getting her killed one day.
Ordering the non-powered individuals to clear his path, for he is going on a walk around campus. Something that bakuda did not seem to grasp.
When he said clear the area, he meant for everyone to clear the area, even her.
Just because she is a parahuman does not exclude her from his authority, just as he was about to point out as such.
He realized, that while he himself is not that fast of a walker, he somehow managed to find himself, alongside the whore that is bakuda, near one of his brothels.
A brothel that is of the higher tiering, evident by the newer, more cleaned up streets, working and eligible signs, and most of all, the clean lavender like smell. Something that most of the underlings were not used to, only using the std infested brothels that were made to appear legal like, but in actuality were nothing but sex slave rings.
Shaking his head, he continued forth, not really caring for the sounds of moaning coming from within.
But just before he was about to return.
Just before he was about to berate bakuda for her pathetic whining.
The sounds of moaning faded, and the echoes of a quiet sobbing filled the streets. It's eerie, hollow filled cry like tone, somehow making bakuda shiver, and lung to tense.
He knew sobing, he heard and witnessed the amount of pain and despair that can fill a cry, that can fill a person's sob. That can cause them to want nothing but to die, he heard screams that were filled with torment, he knew torture. He knew pain, a fedora wearing woman comes to minds.
He knew fear.
A cruel vicious smile, hands gloved and bars, their Metalica rusted scent filled his senses, screams of the dying, screams of the tortured filled his ears, the yangban personnel held him down, their medical equipment rusted and filled with who knows what.
A tortuous-like device was the last thing he saw before he was filled with pain, with agony.
Looking around his surroundings, not even bothering to check on bakuda, who at this very moment was nothing but an annoyance, his senses were primed, his mental barriers failing, his well-trained mind falling, trapping him within a prison of his own making.
Noo
I will not fail
I will not fall victim to the whims of trauma
He shouted, he screamed and then he was back.
The view before him came alight, the sun shined again, the world came into view, and he was no longer trapped, he was no longer beaten.
Anger rose then, so much anger, so much humiliation filled him.
Flames grew, scales were formed, smoke filled his breath, and fire burned his vision.
But unaware to lung, he had SEEN something that did not want to be seen, something that was in a constant state of despair, something that only wanted to be left alone, to be unwitnessed, unseen, and unknown.
Over the huffs of lungs anger, over bakudas frantic shouts, over the moans of the whores within the brothel. There were sobs, there was pain, there was despair.
And shoddily walking out of the alleyways, out of the dark hidden depths of the void, walked a white humanoid, its thin severely malnourished form was witnessed by all.
Arms, scantily placed over its face, blood staining its arms, it cried, it sobbed, it wished.
But it could not continue for pain enveloped its form, agony. Stares, witnesses to its ugly form, to its malnourished body.
Screams followed, angry yells, furious roars, and then almost unexpectedly. It rushed forward, to the dismay of the buildings behind it, to the dismay of the citizens, who were quickly CONSUMED. To the dismay of lung. To the dismay of bakuda. TO THE DISMAY OF ALL.
The last thing lung was able to comprehend before he was no longer sane enough to think, was that he would not fall, he would not be beaten, he would not be a prisoner.
A white clawed hand filled his vision, smacking him across the face, its claws tearing a nice long gash across the majority of his now Dragonoid snout. Filling him with pain, that was quickly muted by his regeneration, powered by his anger, his humiliation.
Turning so his back was facing the white skinned man, he brought forth his burning tail, slapping the white man through the air. Quickly turning back around, lung charged forth, his dragon-like legs pushing him forward, their muscles tensing and regenerating as he pushed himself to unknown levels.
That was how much rage was within lung, how much humiliation filled him. He reached the white man within seconds, flying through the air he may be. Jumping so as to get within reach, he clawed at the body that was still flying through the air, bringing with it his burning flames.
But just before his flames reached the white man, the malnourished figure was gone, making his flames hit nothing but air, claw swiping wide. He crashed, buildings were downed, dirt was flung, and people were killed.
Getting up, body regenerating as he did so, he looked around, searching for the white malnourished man. He found him quite quickly if he was honest with himself. He was nothing but ablur, bodies of bystanding civilians dropping like flies, their heads separated from their torsos, finding their resting place within the white man's stomach.
Eyes burning bright with the burning embers of rage, how dare this fool ignore me, how dare he, lung thought ragefully. Feeling anger pooling within his metaphysical veins he inhaled, deeply, bringing with it a release of flames, their temperatures not calculable.
The color of hell fire, bright burning white cores filling the flames with an aura of the rage he felt. He released a breath, causing the flames to be released, destroying the area where he resided.
The flames trajectory? headed towards the blurred white man of course.
The white man, seeming to notice the flames headed his way, stopped in place, just barely managing to dodge the hurtling flames, and with a quick turn he was running straight towards lung. The man's hollow white filled eyes; piercing lungs imagined soul.
Just for a second, lung hesitated, feeling a sort of dread, a dread he felt before, something he only felt once.
Something...
Hesitating was a mistake, for that single second of hesitation gave the white man all the time in the world to reach lungs position, almost nonchalantly CONSUMING bakuda before his very eyes, and then proceeding to slash at his, now, regenerating scales.
The amount of time it takes for an individual to process a death, and subsequently trauma, is varied. It can be seconds, it can be years, it can be days, but in this moment, this very second, lung felt a sense of loss.
While he was not that close to bakuda, she was the only person to actually question him, to make him feel like a person of lower stature. For while he did not like her sassy attitude and her crude and gawkish behavior, he enjoyed her brashness, he enjoyed her frank way of speaking.
It made him feel alive, it made him feel RAGE.
He enjoyed it.
There was almost never an ounce of groveling when bakuda herself would be punished for her misuse of ABB resources. She would be proudful of her work, of her success, but also, her stubbornness.
She always, no matter the situation, found herself thinking she was the one on top, that she was the one that was superior.
And lung, for some pathetic sentimental reason, admired her for that.
This rage, however, was not pleasant.
This Humiliation was not admired.
This was nothing short of Painful.
The white man, holding him down, tearing his flesh, his skin, his scales. Hurting him, CONSUMING his flesh.
He watched ragefully, as the man CONSUMED his scales, his flesh, his body.
Flames, nothing but an annoyance as the man pummeled him, twisted him, scarring him. The malnourished man's sharp bloody claws, digging themselves into his mishappen body, causing him to bleed. Him, lung, to bleed.
Rage flowed, its power growing every second, until lung could not hold himself back. He roared to the heavens, shaking the earth, trembling the sky.
For he knew light, he knew wrath.
The white man was flung backwards, flames so brilliantly white, erupted from lungs body, their scorching heat, melting the earth, the very air around him. He stood, his legs regenerating, his body reshaping itself, fixing the wrongs that were done to it. The damage, done to it.
The damage was done however, because no matter how much his power tried to fix the claw marks on his snout, on his FACE. They would not be undone. It was like they were etched to his skin, his soul. It was like they were meant to be there.
Focusing his effort elsewhere, he looked forth, witnessing the white malnourished man's form. White skin bloody, but not hurt, limbs scorched, but not scarred, face hollow, but not scared.
Shaking in his place, in quiet rage filled agony, he burst forth, his speed nothing but a blur, flames leaving a white heat scorched trail behind him.
Soon, he was upon the man that had scarred him, that had nearly killed him. The man that brought up memories that were better left forgotten, the man that killed bakuda.
And with a swipe that nearly split reality, he clawed at the man, dragon filled flames erupting from his dragon-like claws upon contact with the white man's face. Sending the man flying through the air once again.
Almost humorously however, lung realized that, while the man could not fly, he could however, cry. The sound that escaped the white man's lips, almost deafening even his ears. Causing glass to shatter, bones to somehow break, killing the few who were still alive.
Their bodies dropping uselessly to the floor.
He was confused?
Why had the white man done that? Why had he killed useless by standers?
Why?
His question would remain unanswered however, as before her could even think up an answer himself, the white man spun himself in the air, seemingly on instinct. Flipping through the air as the white man was, he somehow managed to bring his arms over his head, even though the speed he was flying at would have made that gesture impossible.
And with a resounding bang, dust and debris flying through the air, the white man crash landed.
Rushing forward, lung ran, he chased, and he flew, until he was at the crash site. His limbs burning from overuse, but he continued on. His wrath was still in full force.
When he arrived, there was only carnage, as blood filled the streets, limbs were littered everywhere, headless bodies were laying lifelessly around, their clothes-stained red.
And in the middle of the carnage was the white man, seeming to be unharmed from his, rather, catastrophic fall.
Buildings lay downed, their structures not able to support the level of force applied to their shells. The roads where the white man crashed into, lay broken, their once smoothened pavement, no longer as pristine as it no doubt once was.
Focusing his attention on the white man, his enemy, his TARGET, he roared, shot out scorching flames, and with a precision that lung did not know he possessed, he hit almost all of his shots.
Even while the white man dodged, even while he smacked lung around, even while the white man tore of his limbs, he still shot flames as precises as ever, he still did not miss, he still...
The world went dark, the world went silent, the world was gone, the sound of his heart no longer audible. He was terrified, he was shaken, he was... Afraid.
A few seconds later, or was it minutes? He awakened to find himself in the air, flying at speeds that were no doubt imperceptible to non-powered individuals. He lost consciousness for but a second, and that was all it took for the white man to fling him into the air, his body split in half. His limbs, nothing but stubs.
His mind filled with pain, and the sky filled with dark specks of black. Clearly indicating his lack of coherency.
And the next thing he knew was the sound of the sound barrier being broken, the white flash of a malnourished form flying higher than he ever could, and the numbness in his blackened heart that was realization.
With a flourish, the white man did a flip in midair, bringing his fist down, right onto lungs dragon like face, pummeling him down to the earth and lung knew no more.
...
StOp IT
No
BeGoNe
PaIn
LosS
AlONe
ThAT Is AlL I WiSH FoR
PleSe
LeAvE Me ALoNe
CrYIng aA EmPTy sOb, I slaSh, i tEar, i cONsumE, FOr it iS All i KnOw
LeAvE Me ALoNEe!
LeAvE Me ALoNeE!
LeAvE Me ALoNeeE!
LeAvE Me ALoNeEEe!