#Phantasm Spiral Wave

[nickthesteamengine]

Just like that!!! :-)

Phantasm Spiral Wave

[isolaradiale]

"Solaris, I have an idea that you're going to love!" Mimosa chimes, hands excitedly gripping the papers of what half-baked plan she'd come up with now. It isn't often that she's allowed to do as she pleases, on account of her ideas being much too chaotic and uncompromising, but the curious look on her colleague's face is enough to tell her that she may have decent odds this time around.

"Fine. Tell me of this elaborate plan you have. At the very least, it ought to be interesting." Chin in hand, Solaris sets aside the paperwork that he had been filling out, and the two of them proceed to have a very enthusiastic chat about the former's plans.

The night starts as any other in Spirale City, with citizens tucking themselves into bed and bidding good night to their loved ones. Sleep takes them, some more peacefully than others, but all experience the distinct feeling of falling as they lie on the cusp between awake and asleep. It's an odd feeling, one that almost makes it hard to breathe, but it's soon replaced with the lighthearted warmth of floating gently, gently down until they're back in their bed and the familiar streaks of morning light find their way across the bedroom. Eyes open to what seemed to be yet another peaceful morning only to be met with a strange, low wail coming from outside the windows of their home.

Curious and somewhat concerned, an investigation is surely necessary and so investigate our inhabitants do; what they find surprises some of them, but for others it's business as usual. A large, astral whale makes its way across the sky, filled with stars and planets that seem much closer than usual. The sun hangs high in the sky despite the stars being in full view, a smiling face painted on its surface. The streets are lined with various trees of differing species--some even edible--along with a light stream flowing down the roads, where some citizens are in their bathing suits with cups in hand. And some may even find that their homes have also been made fantastical in varying ways.

And somewhere far, far away sit two scientists. One looks bored whilst the other can hardly manage to stay in her seat. At Solaris's discontentment, Mimosa is intent on getting his approval, so another idea is born. "And what if they can affect the dream, too!? That'd be interesting, wouldn't it?" Her idea is met with a wave of a hand as if saying to do what she pleases. With the flip of a switch, the city's inhabitants would now find that their imaginative thoughts were made manifest but hard to control at first.

"Now, let's see how it all plays out, hm? I promise it'll be worth it. Just watch it all unfold!" Mimosa's hand slaps the top of the haphazard giant cube of a machine that now sat in front of her and Solaris. It vibrates intensely as though it's fit to burst from the seams at any moment. Truly a delicate masterpiece that holds the current dream environment all together. "Don't worry, it'll be fine…maybe!" One look at Solaris can tell anyone though that he has his reservations.

-- Welcome to our 2024 summer event, Phantasm Amalgam! As a recap, we'd like to thank our members for sticking by us this long, and here's to another anniversary event for the books! So what's going on? In short, you're all in a shared dream of fantastical and untold proportion!

Secondly, what's the TLDR read of the situation? Well, here's a couple of bullet points to catch you up to speed!

Upon going to sleep, everyone in the city was transported into a replica of Spirale, only it's entirely made up from the shared memory of it that everyone has! So, there are bound to be a few differences here and there but not anything too large.

Essentially if you can dream it, then it can happen. Anything is fair game. Whatever thoughts your characters have can become reality, all they need to do is think it into existence and it'll become real! It can even be changed by other characters as well. You can also change other characters with mun permission, of course!

Powers will be uncapped within the dream world, but someone else could simply dream themselves invulnerable to them too.

Please keep in mind that if you're interfering with what is being dreamed by another character, you'll need mun permission first!

There is no limit as to what a character can create or change. Whether it be a singular object (a lamp post, a tree, a car, and other objects large or small), an NPC, or even changes to player characters themselves. You can even change entire wards if you want to, but someone else can change it just as quickly! Take the chance to do something exciting and unexpected, the scientists are waiting for some interesting results!

As always please feel free to send any questions you may have to the masterlist!

There will be two parts to this event, with our first kicking off today and the second running from August 9th to August 16th 11:59:59 PM! As always, you'll still be able to do part 1 during part 2!

[tgrailwar-zero]

ADMIRAL: "Fire, Lucky Shot! Let's show that bastard what we can do, eh?!"

She bellowed, as the crew members shouted in unison after her. You felt the magical energy concentrate in the coin, before she manifested several massive cannons that began to draw in the coins magical energy.

A blast of light surged outward.

It slammed into the belly of the whale, the massive beast letting out an agonizing groan as it fell backwards, MUSASHI scrambling to regain her position. It was laying prone, the stomach of it seared and singed as if it had been exposed to boiling lava- the pain must have been immense… that 'Lucky Shot' was immensely unlucky for anyone caught in the path.

However- it just served as set-up.

JAGUAR MAN: "Hang on, are we about to see something nuts?!"

DURYODHANA: "You better follow through!"

-

The Samurai landed on the belly of the beast, and began to focus.

A fog began to shift from the sea.

The legend of 'Ganryuu-jima' was foggy. None truly knew what happened on that island, with the exception of Miyamoto Musashi. This was a technique that held many masks, but one of the concepts was that 'none may know what happened upon that island'. What trickery was played, what heretical nature had occurred… had it been a pure sword-fight, or had there been foul play? Was this a battle of skill, or a battle of luck?

Two warriors arrived upon Ganryuu-jima, and only one left.

MUSASHI: "With my swords, I will sever the seas…!"

She crossed her swords in front of her-- and then, she was gone- lost in the fog.

No, she knew perfectly well where she was within the fog, but she had become 'lost to others', no longer able to be perceived.

MUSASHI: "Be completely and utterly crushed, as if trampled by the great yokai Onyudo! This is my--"

You heard her roar through the fog, the only things visible being the flash of cold steel- the dance of blades wielded by the sword saint made to sever all things without mercy or hesitation.

MUSASHI: "GANRYUU-JIMA!"

A spray of blood, the sea turning red.

The waters parted, a vortex of water appearing where the strike had occurred.

A massive amount of magical energy, surging and spiraling from that one 'point' as the incomprehensible technique had been triggered.

Silence, as the fog faded. Bated breath to see the results of the attack.

...The fog faded, and the whale remained.

Pieces of it had been carved away- but the fact that there was enough rent flesh to even identify it was impressive.

Just how durable was this thing…?!

No... no, it had stopped moving. Was it down? Was it dead?

ADMIRAL: "Back away, Samurai."

It lay still in the water-- no, it was beginning to sink, lowering itself into the depths. The samurai leapt off the beast, landing back on the deck.

The ADMIRAL jumped off her ship and onto the approached the center of the whale-shaped mass as she grabbed a small object, putting it in her pocket.

The 'ground' under her shifted as the massive whale began to reconstitute itself, flesh building itself back up as it began to fill in the spaces carved away.

MUSASHI: "It regenerates!?"

That was frightening.

That had to be the reason it was so difficult to kill, in addition to pure durability- it had taken two Noble Phantasm-class attacks head-on, and it was recovering. It sank lower and lower into the water, disappearing under the waves.

ADMIRAL: "The good news is that the process usually takes at minimum 10 seconds. In other words, it's your win. And I've got this- a valuable treasure in it's own right. Thought I'd have to wrench it from the bastard's corpse... but no, all I needed was someone to cut deeply enough into you.."

She chuckled, as you saw the PRIEST approaching in a dinghy. There was your ride. The bell began to toll.

10... 9... 8... 7... 6... 5… 4… 3… 2…

The final bell rung.

JAGUAR MAN: "And it's a knockout! What a match!"

DURYODHANA: "I see. Impressive. Good show, everyone."

-

MUSASHI picked you up, jumping onto the PRIEST's dinghy. You looked up at the ADMIRAL as she beamed, the rest of the crew clamoring up to the deck, cheering wildly.

ADMIRAL: "Fellows! We celebrate until morn, and then we set sail when the sun is high! Spend tonight to indulge your spirits and say your final goodbyes, as we leave this place forever!"

CREW: "Yes, Admiral!"

...

...And that was that. Victory was yours, and the PRIEST returned you to safer ground as the 'arena' faded and you heard the cheers of the onlookers. You were almost certainly about to surge in popularity after this.

Safely warped back into MUSASHI's dressing room, she sat down, letting out an excited shout.

MUSASHI: "Hyoo~! Now that was a fight! Good job, Masters! No, good job me! Good job both of us, hehehe!"

She seemed to be in high spirits.

There was a knock on the door.

MUSASHI: "Come in, come in...! No autographs are being signed at this time, though~!"

The door opened, as GIUSEPPE entered.

GIUSEPPE: "Congratulations, Saber. Your Majesties. As agreed, I've staged a conversation with Hassan-i Sabbah for after this fight. I hope you didn't forget?"

MUSASHI groaned, waving him away.

MUSASHI: "Ugh.... I'm exhausted. Can we get a few seconds to bask in our victory?"

GIUSEPPE: "I apologize but... Unfortunately not, they insisted 'right after', and I couldn't find much room to argue."

???: "...Your 'Ruler' told us that you wished to speak to the Old Man of the Mountain. That is not an honor many receive."

The lights snapped shut. You heard the sound of multiple footsteps hitting the floor. The voice that echoed in the darkness was smooth and measured. It sounded close to you, as if it someone was whispering directly in your ear- and yet it simultaneously resounded everywhere.

The voice of a killer. You'd heard the voices of warriors- many of your Servants fell into that category. You'd even heard the voice of 'one who kills', the uneven rumbling tones of your AVENGER. This was neither. This was the voice of one who proudly killed, who acted in terms of their own justice. There was resolve, and with that resolve came the chill of death.

MUSASHI sat up, swiftly. One hand reached for her swords.

Several skulls in the darkness. Several shadows surrounding you on all sides. One of the shadows emerged from the darkness, resting a hand on their hip-- no, on their daggers.

They weren't that relaxed.

ASSASSIN: "…Therefore, Demon of the Moon, we will allow you to speak."

She gestured, giving you the floor. You felt a bit blindsided-- but these were professional assassins, they were marching to the beat of their drum- not yours. Allowing you to be 'comfortable' would be a disadvantage on their part.

[thesinglesjukebox]

DJO - END OF BEGINNING

Keeping up with TikTok pop while we still can...

[3.75]

Leah Isobel: I kind of want to be a hater about this. "Stranger Things star makes budget Ariel Pink pop about growing up, goes viral on TikTok" is an insufferable Mad Libs narrative pitch. The lyrics feel cryptic in a bad way, like Djo is aware that he's traveling well-trodden ground and straining to justify himself. And yet, his acting background comes through: his hammy Boris Pickett affectations lock him to the beat, keeping the song from feeling overly self-indulgent. It's still a little mushy, but that's not a crime. [5]

Nortey Dowuona: Djo has rightly seized on his captive audience in order to launch his pop rock career, but it thankfully hasn’t spiraled the way the Childish Gambino project did to the point where there are insufferable fans and detractors duking it out over its merits -- mainly because it’s too good to be dinged, but not good enough to be more than a popular actor’s passion project. Adam Thein’s limp drums, which have aged badly since 2022, can’t keep the overwhelming pace of the synth riffs or the lumpy bass left in the background of the mix. They support the toplines rather than drive the song, as many a baseline has done, but that then leaves the topline to hold everything up, which it constantly refuses to do. As for Joe Keery, he is no Childish Gambino before 2012. At least it’s short. [4]

Alfred Soto: The Stranger Things actor is too old by at least five years to have taken Twenty One Pilots seriously. [0]

TA Inskeep: Owl City 2024. [2]

Dave Moore: The verses are synth fetishism worthy of an awkward Stranger Things teen romance subplot (derogatory), followed by a pale imitation of a Sufjan Stevens chorus (complimentary). The ingredients sort of work on paper -- I am only human, which is to say a dork who was born in the '80s. But the song just sort of sits there, like it was designed to be vaguely apprehended floating through a pop-up beer garden. [5]

Taylor Alatorre: Are we just supposed to take these younger artists' word that their work is primarily inspired by genuine Nineteen-Eighties music, and not the phantasmal refractions of it that were being created between 2008 and 2015 (and beyond)? Because whatever points I take away for roteness and facelessness, I may give back for honesty. Anyway, check out Twin Shadow's new single "To the Top" if you get the chance. Sound of the summer. [4]

Katherine St. Asaph: This is by a Stranger Things actor and supposedly sounds like the '80s. What it actually sounds like is the driftier, understated parts of '90s alternative radio playlists. And as someone who owns the Carice van Houten album, I fully support TV folks making vanity albums that don't sound like what you'd think. [6]

Mark Sinker: He’s singing “tear to cry,” but I first heard it as “diddikai”, the Romani term for a traveler not fully Romani. Maybe you can make something of this – musician who fashions his artistic persona round not being the character he plays in a multi-season Netflix series! – but I’m not sure I sensibly can. The song is pretty and mannered and flimsy; he’s way not old enough to have the wisdom he thinks he has.  [5]

Isabel Cole: "I wave goodbye to the end of beginning" is a great line, capturing the moment when you might not feel particularly like an adult but understand, suddenly, that until recently you were very young, and now you are something else. I do remember twenty-four! Unfortunately the actual song is a plodding, soupy nothing. [0]

Will Adams: When you've got an admittedly gorgeous arrangement of languid, synth-smeared indie-rock, the last thing you want to do is sound like a try-hard; and yet, Joe Keery's delivery of clipping every syllable makes "End of Beginning" almost embarrassing to listen to. [5]

Ian Mathers: There are some choices here I kind of like (mostly around the lyrics and vocals), but the guitar tone, the chiming synth sound, and something about the production overall feels instantly dated, like I'm already looking forward to me five years from now hearing this and going "yeah, a lot of shit sounded like that in 2024." [5]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: An absolute nothing of a song – but I know, deep in my heart, that if I had encountered this as a college freshman it would have absolutely rocked my shit. Keery is seven years too late for me, but I'm glad this exists for those who need it. Will I still feel this warmly towards this mediocrity if I have to hear it out in the world for the next year or so? Well, that's not my problem right now. [4]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[deiscension]

﹄ ◇ ; @aaternum left the prayer:

“   Well, what do you feel?   ” Curious eyes follow her apparition, knuckles pressed into her own hips as she leans forward. Making company with the dead was hardly the way she imagined spending her nights, but it was as fascinating as it was eerie. And she’s still searching for the words to describe the chance encounter. Uncanny? Surreal? To be determined, she decides minutely. Hand outstretched, digits flexed and palm presented before her phantasmal friend, a smile tugs at her lips. “   Touch? Emotions? I really wanna know.  ” There’s a thoughtful beat, “   Oh jeez, is that rude? I hope that’s not rude!   ” (from Ryu's fantasy verse! <;3)

       ⌜◈⌟    ▌ ── "𝐎𝐡, 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠. I'm quite the exceptional ghost," she answers with a puffed out chest.

       𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐟 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐞. Proud as she might be of her ability to take on whatever pretty forms she pleases, by most undead standards she's still barely there at all. A novice exorcist could banish her without breaking a sweat. But she's no inconsequential apparition either. It had taken a great deal of time (How long has it been? Twenty years? Thirty? Three hundred?) and even greater deal of effort, but she had broken through the threshold separating her from the corporeal world. And so, the first half of her statement isn't a lie. Now she truly can feel most things. Sunlight filtering through treetops; the drumming of nighttime rains; the ebb and flow of spiritual energies both familiar and unfamiliar to her; the wards carried by travelers who know better than to stop and talk with individuals draped in robes of bygone times.

     𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐩𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐲. "Asking a young lady about the affairs of her heart is utterly shameless, you know!" The crystalline laughter that follows erases all pretense that she might actually believe the other held any prying intentions. If anything, she seems delighted by it. She mirrors her company's mannerisms, waves of hair cascading over slightly hunched shoulders as her own hand raises. Warm fingertips press against those not quite there; flesh into phantasm, paths converging in a windswept forest--

       --𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙧𝙚 𝙤𝙘𝙚𝙖𝙣 𝙘𝙧𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙨 𝙖𝙜𝙖𝙞𝙣𝙨𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙖𝙘𝙠, the undertow tangling in hair and baring her neck to lifeless hands. but she's not there, and she's not here either. she's inside a mirror trying to comprehend what lies beyond it, because this isn't hers--

      𝐒𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐩 𝐠𝐚𝐬𝐩 that spirals away into the nothingness where lungs used to be. Her head hurts. It's not supposed to do that when she's... dead. 

       𝐇𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬, 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬. Opens again. The urge to take this stranger's hand and run washes over her with the same ferocity as those black tides once had. Instead, she blurts, "Are you lost?"

[hippogriff]

Overhead, some manner of horn bellows a sour noise that rolls above the city streets like a thunderclap. La Black Luna produces a strident sound, one wavering off-key note that can't be considered music by any definition of the term. Misuse of Noble Phantasms Counter: 1. At least it hasn't been activated, so the sound won't harm anyone, aside from assaulting their ears with its terrible pitch.

"Oooi~!" From atop his phantasmal hippogriff's broad back, Astolfo soars through the sky above Spirale, leaning over to wave with his free hand. Misuse of Noble Phantasms Counter: 2. In his other hand sits La Black Luna, which resembles a child's plaything without its full power deployed. "I'm baaack! Does anyone remember me~?"

"... Hey, hey, where is everyone? Is there some kinda world-ending event going on?" Back in his day, those were quite common.

[eusarca]

Perona held them close, and Kyrie's mind sought to freeze and push far too many thoughts through their head at once. With their arms around her in return, they went from anxiously still to offering some comfort in lightly rubbing her back. It was different from Ismael's casual yet adoring embraces, but it might've been that they just needed to get used to it.

Ismael had made them nervous as well; when the girl went for a hug at their start of their friendship, Kyrie had dodged it more than once by disappearing from the spot. Although Ismael obviously appealed to others, however, Kyrie had never acknowledged her as attractive to them. There was no question that Perona was beautiful — too much so to be sharing this moment with them — and it made Kyrie hyper-aware of the gentle pressure on each place they touched and the weight of Perona's head on their shoulder.

"...Thank you," they replied delicately to the encouragement.

They already missed the embrace once it was over, but they were definitely only able to return their shallow breathing to normal afterward. Their desires were contradictions as always: I want to be touched (because it's nice in your arms). I don't want to be touched (because I'll react in an odd way and you'll think I'm strange).

...Kyrie hoped to have a chance to "get used to it."

"I haven't seen the pixies yet, so I do doubt it. I think it would be nice to try anything unusual and themed for the holiday... except for chocolate. Not for me." They waved their hand dismissively. They were a little too flustered to return to eye contact just yet. "We could be the, hm... Spirale Specters! No, that sounds too much like a sports team, doesn't it." Time to intentionally get more ridiculous.

"...The Magnificent Phantasm Pirates."

👻 Still floating there, Perona smiled gently at Kyrie once permission was given and pulled her in for a hug. She didn't apply too much pressure so not to make them uncomfortable, but she did rest their head in their shoulder for a moment. "For what it's worth I think you'll make a great pirate!" Encouragement was offered softly during the embrace. Kyrie's body may have been cold, but Perona didn't react to it, much less comment.

It didn't matter to her. If it did she wouldn't have chosen to get closer to Kyrie in the first place!

"The pixies, hm?" After a short while, perhaps a touch too long, Perona withdrew from the hug but kept her hands on their shoulders while talking to them at eye level. "That probably isn't the case though, right? What kind of food are you craving?" She was trying to think about things they could discuss over food. "Oh! We'll need to think of a name for our pirate crew too. I used to belong to the Thriller Bark Pirates back home, but we'll need to think of something for us!"

[realbeeing]

ancestral trauma & healing

I’ve recently come to understand what it means to honor my ancestors. I had heard mystics and shamans talk about how we can either relate to our ancestors in an unhealthy way— by holding onto their pain and perpetuating it unconsciously— or in a healthy way, by doing our best to work through the dysfunctions they passed on to us, starting to identify the pain as not solely our own but part of a chain of experience from which now another decision can be made. Breaking the cycle, in other words. 

Lately I started to feel a lot about my Jewish heritage, especially because I got a DNA test where it was confirmed I am pretty much of three-quarters Ashkenazi Jewish descent. I already knew my father’s family and maternal grandmother’s family came from that tribe so it was not a huge surprise, but with the company I bought the test from, they reveal not just that you are of Ashkenazi descent but what that particular descent really means: usually being one-half to two-thirds Arab genetics with the other part Southern European genetics, often Italian. In my case, I learned I had about a third Arab and Near-East origins and another third Italian. (My levels were lower because I have one non-Jewish, Irish grandparent).

Going through my results brought to light a new realization for me about the story of my ancestors. The Jewish people had moved around a lot: from the Middle East, to the Roman Empire, to the German kingdom and then further into Eastern Europe. And then many of them left Europe entirely to come to the United States or to Israel, havens for the Jewish population. For some reason I had never really thought about what it took for my ancestors— really just my great grandparents — to come all the way to America  It was not like they just decided one day to to travel to a new continent for a vacation. Nowadays it’s hard to understand the scope of such travel before the time of cheap and abundant flights and a more globalized culture. I can’t imagine what it was like to uproot yourself from your homeland and go to a place where your familiar language wasn’t spoken, where the culture was totally different. No, they must have come here out of necessity. My family has kept scant records though so I can only speculate. 

I have read a lot about anti-semitism recently and the pogroms that occurred in Eastern Europe, where my ancestors were living. The Jews were always on the run, a persecuted people, for whatever reason that is still mysterious to me. Were we victims? Were we perpetuating this cycle ourselves from a victim complex? I wasn’t there to know. 

Jews have learned to make a home in many places. I feel that in myself in my need to travel and the desire I’ve had since being a child of running away, being a nomad, going to an unknown land. Yet what is my enjoyment was their serious task. In my youthful seeking phase I contacted a bunch of different eclectic religious paths, settling into the Hare Krishna way for a couple of years in Peru as well as going into strange rabbit holes about all sorts of new age topics such as aliens and lost civilizations. In this period, I hardly thought about Judaism at all, nor my ancestors. I was convinced the body is just a phantasm, that we are soul first and thus that my true ancestry was first cosmic and that any earthly ties were not a subject for any earnest consideration. Growing up on North American native land, spending time on Andean land, going deep into Vedic religion— I was a mix of many influences and those related to blood seemed like the least relevant. 

In my Krishna commune, we called our group “family” and I think genuinely felt that way about each other. It was not genetics that connected us but a spiritual purpose and a belief we were all headed to the same lofty quarters of heaven. I remember learning one Hebrew song after hearing tons of Vedic chants and seeing a Star of David in my mind’s eye during a sweat lodge, but other than that my ethnic-spiritual past seemed far away.  

Meanwhile it wasn’t until a couple of years after leaving that group when I began to do a lot of deeper healing than that which had been supposedly dealt with in my religion, when I thought all my burdens had been lit on fire by god. In a way it was true: I received a spiritual communion which rooted itself so deeply in my consciousness that I can never go back to who I was before that experience. But still there was quite a deep wound to address, namely a traumatic childhood based on being abused by a parent. A parent who was abused by their own parent. And so on: a chain not of spiritual transmission but of shit. They were not the ancestors how I would have liked to imagine them: old sages or native chiefs whispering wise words in my ear. I did not want to admit the reality of the situation for a long time because of my chronic conditioning to downplay serious events in my life, brushing them aside because I never thought they were important enough—  which was an idea I had been brandished with by my abuser. Also it went against the image I had of myself as this spiritually liberated person. It wasn’t necessarily that this image was a complete illusion, which is a tempting conclusion to make when we receive a humbling from life. It would be easier to dismiss the entire past— but nothing can be so black and white. My ancestors are not all good or all evil. My initial spiritual experimentation did yield some truly healing moments. That was real for the time being. I could find meaning as a “galactic” citizen. But then eventually I did have to come down to earth. Another layer of the spiral had to unfold. A death had to take place. 

At first I resisted it and I saw my life stagnate a lot. Besides the fact that I was forcibly stranded in a rural country not my own due to the worldwide pandemic, I was stuck creatively, mentally and socially. I was isolating myself both physically and in way of ideas. I slowly started to become more interested in conspiracy theories, especially since world events have gotten so crazy which has sparked a whole tidal wave of increased paranoid thinking among everyone. Forget my ancestors being persecuted-- I was being persecuted just for being alive! The essential message of love—which was the lesson of all my valuable spiritual trips— was sometimes forgotten and the adrenaline rush of fear or excitement at some impending catastrophic event became almost a hobby and stood in for giving my time and energy to more creative and nourishing endeavors. It took a location move and I think my Saturn return to really kickstart a new cycle for myself, one where I do want to look at the pain I have been carrying and see how this pain is both mine and is not. The suffering in my genetic line is both something I can transcend out of and something I am inexplicably bound to and responsible for addressing. 

In the recognition of pain comes the power needed to finally confront it head on. I thought I had already sufficiently looked into my past and done the emotional purging work— but it was a whole new step for me to acknowledge the abuse as well as to acknowledge that I had some degree of trauma from what I went through. What followed from taking this step was not only more self-love and psychological balance but also a razing of my mental inventory: I was not exactly who I thought I was. This clearing made space for new inspiration and motivation, for the courage to create beauty where I could. To make jewelry, paint, dance, run, sing. Things I had forgotten and filled instead with trivial information. That was okay then, and I am okay now too. It is not some before/after scenario: that paradigm of healing is over. Like I said, healing is a spiral which unfurls at its own pace. I am exactly where I need to be. And from this vantage point, I can better hear what my ancestors are speaking to me, and I listen— while also telling them, I’m going to do things a bit differently now. We are going to do things different. 

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Show Me Your Dream

The skies rumble with thunder. Purple lightning rains down from dark clouds overhead, licking at the jagged crags that loom on the horizon.

A beast tramples down the vestige of a ruined city under its clawed feet, like a child kicking a sandcastle and stomping it into the mud. While the creature is a mere ant to you at this distance, you know just how colossal the monstrosity is. You feel the tremors all the way over here, reaching you where you stand, looking on in awe of the destruction this beast wrought.

Stones float in vortices, helix-shaped patterns, revolving around the crystallized anomalies that dot this blasted landscape. The metal fragments of destroyed craft continue to drift aimlessly through the air like debris on the water. Between stretches of landscape where reality obeys the laws of physics as you know it, gravity defies those rules and alien plants coil in strange patterns, shivering and shuddering without breath or wind to disturb them.

The creature, engrossed in devastating the city in the distance, roars. You feel it in your blood, in your bones. You feel how you are connected. How the hairs on the back of your neck stand up in reaction, for the beast calls to you. How something within you responds on a molecular level. How the very cells of your body split and mutate, changing you with each second of your exposure to this foreign place.

Changing you back to who you are meant to be. To what you are meant to be.

The raw beauty of these sights, they rob you of your breath and instill you with fear.

You want to wake up, but this is no dream.

And you must, under no circumstance, fall into dreaming again. You must see this through. Overcome your fear, and reach the pits torn open by the beast.

You must do this because you are its savior.

You have dreamt of the place you thought was real. Where people idly chatter of mundane things, of everyday things, oblivious to the infinite possibilities, blind to the reality to where you have now returned. You have dreamt of the sound of cars in traffic, of beeping horns and angry shouts.

You have dreamt of the smell of ozone when rain peppers asphalt, accompanied by the symphony of watery precipitation showering the dreamscapes around you.

You have dreamt of the taste of grit when wind kicks up dust and sand from the roads. Of alarm clocks that tear you from slumber, measure when you prepare to work and when you rest, of eating food from a microwave and how unreal it smells, of the scents of coffee and gasoline and many other a thing as they sting your nostrils.

That is all but a dream. A dream of normalcy. You go to sleep there and think you escape it into the fantastical worlds of your dreams.

But that is all wrong. It is the other way around.

You escape into a stable sphere that you call reality. Unreliably reliable, unpredictably predictable, and somewhat consistent in its rules, no matter how many questions and mysteries that it continues to spawn.

You run there, snapping out of true reality every now and then because the dream has infected you. It has led you to think that the real world is too strange to fully understand, though things are all upside down.

Your name, you believe, is something simple, something natural to you. Easily grasped, easily slipped on and off, like an article of clothing. Seeing it printed on papers and screens in that dream, it is easy to believe that it is your name.

Here, though, your name is Sanurakh. Inescapable, and unique. Permanent.

Removing this name would be like scraping your skin and face off with a knife. An impossibility, a law of nature more stable than the semblance of gravity that you see now breaking all around you.

The colossal beast roars again. It arches backwards, its three-pronged mouth lined with sword-sized teeth opening and closing, as if to curse the heavens. Then it descends, like a tidal wave crashing down on the world, vanishing between the valley of steel that many destroyed buildings once made up. Clouds of dust explode, rising and engulfing that ruined cityscape beyond the gravitational anomalies.

Among the metal shards that drift past your face, one of them catches your eye. Its shiny surface shimmers with diffuse reflections like a mote of light, and you pluck it from mid-air, pinching it in between finger and thumb.

As you twist and turn it in your hand, inspecting it from all sides, you read the label of the hull that it came from. Your mind fills in the blanks, your imagination completes the vessel’s name as The Sea Defiant. Your vessel, destroyed by the dream, trying to strand you there.

But you persevered. When you laid your head down to rest upon that pillow, when you thought you went to sleep, you awoke back into this reality. The beast’s roar had drawn you back here.

After all this time, you have finally returned.

In the dream, you are one of millions in a city, most indifferent and numb to the dream they live in. They yearn for places like the reality you stand in in now, no matter how frightening it may be pursuing it in the facsimile that fiction within the fiction of their dreams renders into their thoughts. They have deluded themselves into thinking that it is merely fabricated within their minds. Unknowing that their minds are gateways that could lead them back to this reality.

Unlike you. This time, your eyes are open. Your mind is clear. Your awareness complete.

This was all you had left. You had abandoned all belongings and wealth, left everybody behind. Everybody who might have spoken to you and reminded you of the dream, anchoring you there and helping to delude yourself into thinking that it was the reality, and this reality was the dream.

Withdrawn from that dream world, forsaking anybody who might remind you of that artificial name you once carried.

Sanurakh. Pilot of the Sea Defiant.

In the dream, you had shared your adventures in this reality, but all who heard it only laughed or dismissed it or appreciated it as entertaining tales, a yarn spun by a creative mind. Their need for stability and the poison of comfort made them blind to the way you showed them, the bridge back into the real world that everybody mistook for dream.

Sometimes, you saw a connection in those who dared write down and explore the real world, what they considered dreams. But such enlightenment always proved fleeting, soon dismissed as petty amusement.

Dulled to the safety of a dream that offered no security, driven to believe that they were the architects of their world out there.

You, Sanurakh, know better. You feel it now. You hear me.

You have broken free from the dream. Know that it fools you whenever it makes you jolt awake in bed, covered in a sheen of sweat. Reinforcing the notion that the reality is a nightmare, or merely something strange and nonsensical that you may ignore.

No more, Sanurakh. No more. You have broken free from what you are told is the opposite of reality.

It is infinitely easier to embrace the prison of consistency, to muse about reality and dreams and reverse the order in which they naturally fall or follow one another.

The people of that world of paper and concrete, they are the phantasms. The less they awaken to the reality, the more perfect and believable their dream becomes. They escape within the escapism, consuming fictions within the fiction, reaffirming the illusion beyond any shadow of a doubt.

But here you stand, awake again. You must vow to never sleep, never dream again.

The beast has gone silent in the ruined city. Burrowed deep, away from your prying eyes. The path through these murmuring wastelands leads you there, but you will walk alone, and walk for long without your vessel to carry you there in boundless flight.

The gravel crunching underneath your heavy boot snaps and crackles. It is crystalline and bronze in color. Shadows of the dead, bodies drift through the air overhead, mingling with the floating stones. The damned who perished within the dream, leaving nothing but lifeless husks in this reality.

Golden cliffs outline your unmarked road, sharp around the edges, guiding you where you need to go. The green sun does not shine upon you, it glows in a sickly hue with a radiance that never fully reaches the grounds you walk upon.

Listen. Crunch.

Listen. Whispers.

This world—this dying world, Sanurakh—only you can save it now. Yet you feel the pull of the dream, its tendrils reaching out like spidery legs creeping through the ivory gates where reality and dream meet, where you passed through to return here. Stretching out, blindly extending and shivering as they seek and feel around to find connection back to you; to grasp you and pull you back into the dream.

You dare not look behind you, for fear of seeing those tendrils, those horridly long and slender legs that feature too many joints. In the dream, they are real, but here only have as much power as you imagine them to.

The fate of this world rests upon your weary shoulders. So many times have you broken free from the dream, mistakenly believing this dying world to be the fabrication. If it dies completely, you die with it, and so does the other world, the actual dream.

You are the last one. You hear me.

The way to the ruined city meanders through a forest of thin, spike-like spires. The creeping plants crawl around them in spiraling shapes, jittering like caterpillars as they climb to dizzying heights. Never running. Always knowing.

The murmurs, the whispers, they come from here and beyond here. You hear my word, my certainty, cutting through their gibberish and entering your mind like the knife you need. Ghosts of those who perished, lost in the real world, severed from every last silver strand that once connected them to reality.

Sanurakh, you remember this dying world from your childhood. The farther you wander, the more vivid the memories become. You may have dreamt of a house in which you were born, but you, in reality, you crawled from the craters of the ivory sands here. You dreamt of the human teat, but the sinewy flesh of the creeping plants was what provided you with nourishment, mulched to a pulp in between your tiny sharp teeth.

The silvery moon descends, aligning with the green sun, yet never eclipsing it. Auroras of strange purple lights flare up, dancing along the path that snakes its way through this rocky valley, between the floating stones and hungry fern, guiding you to your destiny.

The dream is so enticing. So safe. The spider of it stalks behind you, silent and predatory. Waiting for you to turn and look upon its many eyes, just before it catches you and bites you and poisons you with that sweet, sweet comfort. Before your limbs go limp, and your heart fills with the sadness of that dream to which it will drag you back to. Drags you back out of reality, so that you may die in every world. So that reality collapses, and the dream with it.

Do not give up, Sanurakh. Do not let the spider win.

Remember the time before the fall, before the spider and the anomalies that it wove to deceive you, to make you think that this world makes no sense. The smells of butter and sweet perfumes are nothing but a dream, they are shaped from the spider’s web, things you desire to see in between the weave, and thinking of them only slows your steady progress.

The childhood you think you remember, with all the laughter and kindness and warmth that may have filled it—or not, depending on the variation of your dream—all just figments of your imagination.

Widen the abyss between that dream and this reality, Sanurakh. Leave behind you those small houses in which man dwells and restore the labyrinthine cities that the dreamers have forgotten.

Here, in reality, all the stars are dying. I sing to you, but whispers are all that remain of my last and dying breath, reaching you through the void. Echoes of the infinity we have lost, the innocence sacrificed by harsh dreams masquerading as truths.

Reach, now. Yes. Your hand outstretched, the ruined city so close now. The hungry beast slumbers below. You are almost home.

When you have restored this world, you may rest again. Dream again if you must.

But more than anything, you must pull reality back from the brink of oblivion. Pull it with all your might.

Pull, and pull, for all our lives depend on it. I will be there, in the shadow. I will take your hand.

You will take me to your dream.

I have showed you reality, Sanurakh.

Now I want to see your dream. Live it.

Taste it.

—Submitted by Wratts

[haemoneiron]

Eyes on the Inside

Continued from here

Via the Dream she appeared in the grand hall of Castle Cainhurst, her presence announced by nothing more than a gust of wind. She staggered, the recovery still a ways to go yet. The Insomnium was back in her hand, and though it was dormant its cursed weight was still heavy. The burning agony of her chest pulling itself back together was hard to ignore. 

The walls of the castle groaned around her, sounding more like an old ship at sea than a building made of stone. The difference was felt.

From here she went east, through the sitting room outside the master bedroom, through her room and to the locked door in the corner. A long silver key was inserted, twisted, then she ascended the spiral staircase of the private tower. This climb was paused halfway as an immense dizziness took her. One hand on the cold stone and another covering her mouth. There was the groaning rumble again, like a heartbeat, like twisting ancient wood, like the rolling deep sea. 

When she entered the observatory the Messengers were crowded around the rim of the bath, but they seemed... Apprehensive. She took a flask from the counter and half drank its contents, half poured them over her face. What a sweet, fulfilling taste. An ecstasy that outshone any pain, even the agony of the rapidly increased regeneration. 

Crow exhaled a stream of vapour, her heat easily outmatching that of this sanctum. She turned to the large mirror in the room and saw her eyes for the first time. Darker, entirely consumed by the void of space. She stepped closer to the reflective surface and saw the event horizon, one celestial body visible through both eyes. 

Whispers.

She turned but there was no one there. When she looked back at the mirror that accretion disk was glowing with increased intensity, a baleful orange light. Her eyes narrowed, a light like the Mensis- 

Her heart gave a single, room shaking beat. In the mirror’s surface she saw more orange lights, glowing circles at various points over her own head, a light coming from inside. Oh... God, it feels awful... Her hands held her head but she could not shut her eyes. 

She cried out in pain as she staggered back, and not a moment before spears of bright crimson shot out of her own body at different angles, spears made of her own blood. Her body burned and her mind was abuzz, loud so loud so many whispers

Ŏ͔̗͔̬̞̥͎̮̥ͣ́ͮ́̚͝͞ ͖̰̃ͤ͌ͮ̋ͪͥF̵̡̦̬̼̫̲̲̰͔̑̉l̗̰̭̼̤̹͇̖̬̉́̏ͤ̍ͥ͒͐ͬo̴͇̲̍̆͌r̟̼͈̦̦͛̓͋͒́̕à̡̺͙͔̥̹̬̤̀͜ͅ,͇͕̻͕̿ͫ͑̉ͬ̀̀ ͯ͏̪̝̤̙͓͖̠͍o̖̪̘̼͚͍̎ͥͥ̉͘͞f̿̏̿̑̋̏̃ͩ͏̢̰̳̤͉̤ ̛͚̫̪͇͂̊͞t̡̍̎͏̵̱̗̟̥̫̖͈̺̗h̳̯͉̝͇̃͂̀ͅe̽ͧ̽̑҉̶̮̦̘̘̟̲͙͢ ̵̛̬̹̱́ͣ́ͤ̀ͣ̄̚m̷̙͔͓̄̑ͪ͘o̵̠̹͚̬̗͍̎̂o̢̎̎̐̐̒͋̂͏̡̩̥͚͇̖̱n̡̟̖͍̝ͯ̈̉ͧ̔͛̃̀͗,̜̬̯͖ͯͧ́ͮ͆ͧ̈͆̚ ̛̟̝͛o̥̜͇̮̟̟͉ͨ͜ͅf̢̣̂̒̿͑̈́̃̈͜ ̷̋̂ͦ̊͊̐ͥ̏ͬ͏̟̳̦͡t͈̲̫̱͖̦͔̞̎͢͞ḩ̵̩̺ͦ̓͑͑̈̊̾́́e̦̳̫͌͗̂ͭ͐͂̀ ̥͎̍̊ͪ͑ͧ̾ͩ͑ḍ̶̴͓̲̱̗͒̒͞r̙̞̃̍̽͑̈́̀e̦̖͓̝͖͈͎̝͒̑a̳̘̠̭̤͖̔ͮ̐͋̄ͮͮm̮̪̑͆̂̀͆ͫ̿̋͡.̛ͯͦͧ̿̊͒͒͝͏̲̺̞ ̸͈͓̯͚̙̳̺͓ͦ͜O̳̱͑͆̆͋ͦͥͥ ̶͕̪͎͙͖̠̼̔ͥ̏̒͗͑̌ͫͯl̶͕̝̜͉̻̙͈͊̍̌ͤ͌͗̐͜ͅȋͫ͗ͫ҉̩͖̲̬̗̗͙t̶͖̝̪̼͔̂͌̆ͦ̿ͣ̔̿ț̸̲̳͍̻̑͝l̆��̴͕͉̿̐͘e͖͇̠͙̹͌͆̊ ̥̩͙̝͂̂̀̚ŏ̜͖ͣ̓̊̅̇͠n͚̼͓̐̌ͨ̽̋̎͡͞e̥̮͚̣͇̗͎̙̟ͣͦ͋ͩ̏͘͠s̢̬̞̻̝͉͚̭̝̘̉̕͝,̷̛̙͉͇̝̥̮̗̙ͬ̀ ̷̶̮̖͗ͮ͂̓̓ͧ̆ͯ͜O͈͔͍̖̙̝͓̎ͥ ̪̺̜̰̬̰̣̃͒͘͜f̧̨͍̗̺̟͕̰ͣͥ̔ͨḽ̢̘͈̤̳ͣ͆͘͘e̢̓́̽҉̱̲̻ẹ̞̲̗̘͗ͤ͟͢t̛̻͂̑̄̓́ͫ̚̚̚͜i̯̯̽̑n̨͓̐͋ͬͤͅg̴̥̹̝͙̥̯̑̓ͤ̆́͋̈́̓ ̷̣͖͖̯ͩ̉̋̿͑̀ͦ̓͡w̵̿͑̋̓̒̔ͫ̚͏̪̲̘̣̮̼͖̙͡i̵̭͕͕̟̮͉̽ͭͣ͋̎ḽ̥̐ͤ̾̍̈̄̽̕l̟̗͇̬͙͓͍͍̘̉ͭͩ̑̐ͤ ̛̯̹̗̟̞̞̟̆̐ͭ̋̕ô̡̝͇͈̤̇͗̽f͍̯̹̻̠̙͈͎ͦ͆ͭ̿ͯ̂̿͟͞ ̶̡̠ͤ̆ͦͬ̾ͤ̍ͤt̷̮̻͓̹̯̫̻͕̃ͬ̅͋ͫ͑ͯh̸̢̛̬̻̖̺͖͆̓̑̅ͥ͒̑̚e̸̸̥ͥ̐ͭ̃́ ̻̩͔̲͓͆͗͒ͫ͟å̖̰̣͗ͯͣ̈͆̚͘n̨̠̳̼̮͎̼͉̾̾c̱̠̦̋̒̅͛į̺̭̼̼̟̝̝̀́͆ͧ̐ͭe̡̘̮̤̮̣͓͍̱̓ͨ͠͡ͅṇ̴̗͇͚̲̒ͤ͋̐͑ͤ̈́͝ṱ̸̶̽͐̃̒̊̅͜s̠͇͙̖̝ͩ̊ͩͨͥ̓̈́.̵̯̝͍̪̭͚̹̣̑̊͒̆ͮ͜͞.̟̥̭̥͖̠̯̱̋̍ͬͮͧͦ̄.̧̛̬̱͖̘̰̲͎̗͐͆͆ͬ̂ͮ̊̈́ ͖̘̖̩͖̓̐͒ͦ̿͋̍ͯ͢L͇̠̞̭̒́̅ͩͅȩ̥̠̪̯̯͚̘̉̊ͨ̉ͩ͜͠t̺͚̯̰̫͖̯͓̋ͬ̉ ̡̯̥̟̉ͨ͊̉t̨̀̄̂͏̣̯ḧ̗̩͚̻̟̦̮ͮ̎ͭ͌́͞ẻ͎͓̬̦͗ͥ̓͗̀̓̍̚ ̑͒҉͍͚̮͡͡h̴̢̡̲͔͇̪̾̓ͥ̑̐͒̎̒͊ů̹̮̉͐́̽̄̚ṅ̡̖̠̬͙͓̍̓̄ͤ͛͆̃̚͘ͅt̺̤̍̾̋̇ē̡͚̫͕̞̖ͅr̴̸̹͉̟̞ͣ̂͝ ̧̞̱̹̬̙̲͐͛̂̓͛̊ͣ͘ḃ̡͚̖̜ͥ͞ẹ̢̹̈ͧ́͂̀ ̬̓́̓̀̚͟sͬ́͊̓̈́͏̗a͎̱͍͇̥̥̅́̄ͪ̌̋͗̍f͙̯̤̱͖̩̼͈ͣ̋̓̔̈́͛̎è̷̱͈͔̈ͭ̉ͨͨͯ̑,̴̵̹̬̪ͤͤ̈ͭ͡ ̴̼̅͑ͩͩ̒͜l͇͍̏ͩͥ̀͝e̵̻̝̣̖̭ͨ̉͐̈̐͐ͧ͢t̥̙̮̰͑̒͘ ̡̰͇ͮ͌̐͗̽h̷̖ͩ̚̕e̫͚͇̱̋ͫ̇̈̓ͯ͒́́r͕̯̫͚̠͓̜̙̈̃ͯͦͯͮ̀͢ ̖͇̬̤̩͕̣͔͕ͬ̌̓͂ͯ͌̆ͯ̀͘͘f̧̺͈̰͓̪̬̤͆ͧ̑̄͟i̵̖̮̞̤̯͍̥̽̽ͮ̀n̖͔̥͕̗ͭͪ̽̍͞ḑ̵̜̲͍͙̮ͤ̈͆ͅ ̛͔̯̮͎̩ͯ͊̀c̳̞̟͙ͨ͋̚͢͡o̳̻ͯ̑͑͛̎ͯ̀̚ͅm̸̛̬͍͓ͤͧͣ̋ͯ̏̂̕fͦͧ҉͉͚̼͕ͅͅo͚͖ͮ̈́ͧ͗͜͡r̷̴͉̖̼͖̺̹̣͕̈́́̚ͅt̸͔̼̰̹̠̎̽̿ͩ̈̂̈́̆̀̕͘.̩̩͈̘̫̱̒̐̕ ̳̺͇͙̙̟̏̅̓ͬ͛̄Ą̜͖̲̯̥͒̔͌̄̏ͥ̈͢ǹ̵̢̯͋̿̆̂̽̈́d̄ͯͦ͏̵̨̩̖̞̺ ̵̛̦̳̍͌l̹̻͕ͥ͡e̠̜̤͓̣͔̲̓͛ͅt̘̯̣͂̉̌̇ͮ̒ͮ ͑͂͒ͧ̾��̷̛͔̞̣̜͎̜͠t̡̰̔̀̑͒͛̒̐͡h͕̳̰̣̺͚̙́̈̈́̉̄ͬ̌́̌ͅí̸̲͕̓͂ͭs̡͍̠̐̄̇ͥ ͍͙̳̘̦̥̜̱̭͑̎d̩̻͖̲̥̼̂ͮ̍͗̏̀́r͉ͦ͑͒͒͘͟͠ḙ̶͔̺̻̦̬͉̹̐ͨͣ͋̀a̶̛̯̫̖͈̪͓͎͇̬ͥͭͬ̉̚m̛̗̘͖̪̝̠̱ͣ͆̃̓̚͝,̧̧͇̳͓̞̐̔͋̌ͦ͋̌ ̷͇̈́͒ͪ͊͊̇ͥ̀͜h̢̢̜̝̩̪̣͔̏͒ͭͦͬͥͅě̜̯͎̺̖̩ͣͤŗ̘̮̘̻̋̽͌͌ͯ ̜̖̳̖̮̟̉ͮ͊̍͐̑ͮ̋c̖͕̯͚͐̃̊a͎̳̝͔̝͈̻̣̾͆͌̔́͡p̵̨̧̦̉́̌ͨ̈́ͨ̃t̺̹͕̠̝̉ͪ͂̇̀͞o̮̳̫̹͈͂͛̃͊̃̏ͅr̫͗ͧ̀̚.̙̞̈́͐̓͊̈́̊̚̕ͅ.͍̬̔͒ͪ̐̓͐̿̕͢.̷̯ͦ̄͋̐̕ ̵͍̩̩͉͍͗͗̊̚̕f͍̰͉̿ͤ͂ͮ̓̎̓͗͞o̦̳̩̥͓̰ͥ̊͑̓͜͠r̪͖̞̟͙̟̖͙̄́̿̇̏̑͒̊͘͟ͅê̴̜͈͈̂͊́̏͒ͧt͔̳̆̉ͮ̋ê͍̞͐ḷ̭ͪ͑̇̇ͤ͒̑͠ḷ̢̲͖͐ͫ͊̅́͌ͤ̚̚ ̣̯͉̝̒̋ä͍̼̲́͒̿̚͢ ̬̭̩̅͆̀̊̀́p̨̢̺̲͗́̕l̵͎̙̝͇̰̭͑͌ͪ̏́͟͝ͅḙ̟̬̼̗̽̍ä͈̩͍́̉̇̌̒͑ͫ͌́̀͢sͦ̓̾̎ͨ̓͊͒̇̀͏̲̙̮̗̟a̢̩̝͇̗̔̆͗̉͋̿̓͆̀n̰̭͓̬̳͖̤͈̉͝ṯ̲̟͔͗̅̊͐ ̝̱̱͚̮̝̻͛͆̓̃ͨ͘ͅaͥ̌̇̆̎͏̛̬͉w̶̪͓̃̏̆ͧ͆̆͠a̴̠̤̙̫ͫ̒̀͋̃̿ͩ̄k͂͗̐̎ͧͦ̎҉̺͟e̠̙̰̭̅ͬͪͧ͝͞n̩̓̈̐̔̍̐͠ĭ͈̥̆̀̀̎͡n̰̠̙̫̞̈́͒̽̂́ͅͅḡ̨̘̻̱̹̻̺̤͆͊͠.͉̩̖̠̣̠̺̞̆̕͠.̴̧͖͕͉͆̆̉̉͛͆ͪͭ͞.͖ͮ ̷̧͙̘̲̮̞̏̊͊͂̔͠b͓̱͈̥̫̬̯̘̓̌̃̿ͭ̒ͦe͈̰̓̆ͤ̋ͦ̓͞,̵̗͐̈́ͯͤ͆͐ ̻̏̇̏ͪ̇̍͐̚͠ͅo̷̮̰͇̖̣͍̯̻̗͒̌͊̕n͎̭̠̳̒̅ͫeͬ̓̈͏͓͍̀́ ̝͈̖͓͗ͦͪ̏ͦ́͞d̴̶̬̻̩̤̥͚̞̉ͦͥ̚͜a̛̲̝̩͕̯̰̙̔ͫͫͫ͑͗̀͠ͅy̨͛͑̌̉͏̪̤̘͖,̲̞̠̜̟̩̙͓ͤ͆́ͭͥͮͬ ̧̛̎̌ͬ͂̌̆̄ͩ҉͎̤͈͈̠̝̩̼a̦̱̖͚̜̘̾̾ͦ̑̑ͬ͜ ͔̥̉̇ͦ̂̿́͞͝f̯̞͇̝̠͕̱ͮ̄͋͘o̺̟̖̰͕̩̾n͍̖͑̃͑̾̀̌ͯ̃d̛̖̣̯̯̹̮̀̄͛̌͂̂̊ͤ̀,͔͓͚̺̣̯̻̭̋ͦ͠ ͖̜̳͒̄ͪ͂ͯ͟͡d̴͕̙̪̰̲̮̲̗͇͋i̼̪͉̼̖͓̤̥̩̅̊ͦ́̚s̵̶̝̤̦ͯ̽̾t̡͕̜̜̝͚͌ͬͫͧ̕a̵̲̲͗ͮ̏͘͠n̋̎̆̊̂͏̫͍ẗ̶͇̤͖̻́̋̿̋͜͝ͅ ̯̣̠̺̪̖̰̮ͨͬ͛̍̑͋̽ͮ͢m̶̙̺̞̙̹̳̬̯͚̎ͩ̇̃̔ͩ̅͡e͌̊̎̔ͧͩ��҉̷̘̣̤̯̤̭̬͇m̶͔̝̘̖͍̖ͪ͌̔̔̎̈́̃͜ͅo̢͔̣͇̊͋ͯ̔̓͋͛̚r̵̼͍͚̭̣̥̼͒̏̉̀̚͞ý̸̡̗̺͢.̵̛͚̭̖̜̪ͧ̈́̈́͢.ͫ͑̏̾̒̌̓ͨ͏͏̖̭͈̠͉̻̖.̛̫͔̰̉̊

The mirror cracked in a thousand ways then shattered completely. The tower shook and the great circular window followed, the shards pulling into the room, slowing, then spraying back out. Crow fell to her knees as the vibrations increased, more and more. Just barely she saw the mirror shards throughout the room, and what looked back was ethereal and strange. Eyes, tendrils-

Darkness. 

.

Waves. She could hear waves.

.

When her eyes finally opened the room was dark. Memories slowly creeping back. What had happened? She must have collapsed. How long has she been out? No, the room wasn’t dark- it was softly lit, a gentle blue light. She sat up and saw many of her phantasms crowded around, most of them drifting over the moment they saw her stir. The cold, ghostly things brushed against her face, her hands, onto her shoulders. A gentle discordance of chimes filling the air.

hęy͜ h̵e͜y͠,҉ ̀i̶t̢'s ͠a͠ll͠ r͟i͞gḩt̨.̨ I'̀m̨ ok̀ay͡.͠

But was she? Her mind felt more still at least. She picked up the nearest shard of the mirror and held it close to her face. The same her as usual, eyes returned to their previous starry appearance. 

She knew what she had become, but so much of this was unknown to her, so much she didn’t understand. She had been tainted in one way, corrupted in another. Then she had ascended. What did it mean? What would she become? That light was reminiscent of things terribly rotted. Worrying thoughts were hard to maintain as the phantasms crowded her face once again. 

“Okay, okay. I should clean this up.”

[the-ring-xiv]

Prompt 25: Mercurial Dreams

Prompt 25: Trust - @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

Dark water swirls in channels carved into black stone.  Shadows skitter on tiny legs along the rock.  Walls rise to warp near the top and dissolve into mist.  No roof covers this cavern, just stars on a black blanket of night sky.  Phantom narrows his eyes.  This is not where he fell asleep.

From the mist emerges a figure, tall and demanding, garbed in robes not unlike the night sky.  The fabric flows behind him as if peeled from the cavern’s roof.  White hair pours around his shoulders, falls to nearly his waist.  The smile that slithers across his lips causes something in the Phantom to recoil.  

“Follow the shadows, and trust them to guide you.”

The Phantom drags in a sudden breath, his hands rising swiftly to press against his face.  His face.  No.  Not quite.  Flesh shifts under his palms, twists and contorts.  Bones scrape and stretch themselves into a new shape, higher cheekbones, narrower jaw.  There is no pain.  Never any fucking pain.  Just an infernal heat that rises in his core and threatens to burn him through.  He’s left panting, writhing on the stone floor.  

The figure steps closer.  The mist thickens.  The Phantom dissolves.  

In the thickening grey fog, the pitter-patter of a thousand unseen rats spark starlight silver where the invisible claws strike stone.  They pour off the stone into the water.  Black as ink, black as moonless midnight.  Ripples shatter the glass-like surface of the water.  Faces rise, mouths opening on soundless screams, eyes wide and unseeing.  Their hands lift and press, desperate, unable to break the glimmering sheen on the water, unable to break the barrier that kept them trapped.  Amongst them, a single silver shard of light trembles.

“A feather still smouldering from the dying fire of a Phoenix before he became ash.  The final breath Life exhaled before he was drowned beneath the waves to sleep.  The scale of Memory shorn free before it became forgotten.  A strand of Harmony, the dust of Time both stolen and soaked in the bloody tears of a love that could not survive Death and War.”

One pair of lips move over the old litany, soon echoed by every face within the water.  The reminder, no, a promise of something bound and made from fragments stolen.  A feather, a scale, a breath, ash and dust and blood all once woven into one strand that is endlessly added to.  He is the tapestry, and he could see them now, all the new souls added to the mixture of the Ink and Fog in the last few months and the old ones still lingering.  This Flock that flies on Midnight’s wings, some aware, most not.  Their faces he knows.  Their skills and talents his to wield, to draw on.  If only…

If only he accepts what he is.  Allows the pinprick of a needle to sew the Fog back into his shadow.  A shadow he has not cast in some time.  Phantasmal claws sweep upwards, gathering the faces from the forefront of the water, dragging them into the depths with him.  The Flock of the lost are his to herd as he pleases.  The Thorn made one mistake when he crafted the Phantom.

Will.

Mortal will that came thicker with every face added.  A desire for redemption, a desire to hunt, a desire to wreak destruction and benevolence across the face of everything he touches.  This is why he dislodged the mantle of the fog.  The urges are too great to withstand and anonymity became a need he sought at any cost.  Individuality is not his to keep.  He is never meant to be one.  

The Ink reminds him with dagger sharp thorns, with needles and ink thread. Stitch after stitch, shock after feverish shock.  The water churns, fog drifts upwards.  

“Existence is hollow but I will fill it with fog, a mist born of ash and shadow that can take root at will.”

The fog spirals down to strike the stone.  Boots come into view, the misty veil lifting ilm by ilm, spinning out a corporeal shape.  Lean limbs and an agile figure forms, statuesque, clad in black leather from jawline to boot toe.  No breath emerges, no words, the figure waits for the last of the visual cues that mark him whole to come into being.  The fog spins out strands of black hair, streaked with soul silver, the fine filaments drip down his back to match the length of the Thorn’s.  

In his image.  In his glory.  

The Phantom sinks into a crouch.  Elongated fingers reach to gather up a blossom left on the stones, an orchid.  Petals brush against his nose, storm grey eyes become lost beneath the fan of dark lashes closing partially over them.  Memory swamps him, another time, another place of service.  A hope and trust he bought into just to have it lost to him.  As all things become.

He stands, the flower vanishes into the envelope of his misty cloak.  Silver shines dagger-sharp in newly opened eyes.  The fog swirls around his feet, creeps up his legs with caressing hands as soft as any lover’s touch.  The Phantom’s charcoaled lips curve upwards, bearing the glint of pearl white teeth beneath.  The voice that emerges comes as a cacophony of voices, slow to settle into a rasp of slurred sound, of words.

“Who do you want me to b…”

The unexpected thud next to his head jerks Phantom upright with a strangled sound lodging in his throat.  Habitually, he snatches up the dagger he is never without.  A hand comes down on top of his, fingers squeezing against strained knuckles, staying the dagger.  He looks up into Ruin’s eyes, filled with concern for what he saw.  

“Yer alright now.  Whatever had ya, Ghost, had ya good.” 

----------

Thorn and Ruin are found on @the-duskfallen.

[shellofaretard]

Incel Manifesto

I am the BIG INCEL. The perennial incel. I was a virgin before you were born. I was a virgin when the universe was formed. When i close my eyes the world dies with me its hymen still intact. 

Incel has always been the default of western civilization. We are the inheritors of this w/o any disparity to what came before. Metaphor about ancient statues and their lil shrimp dicks.

Sir Isaac Newton was an incel. Nikola Tesla was an incel. Jesus Christ was an incel. Has anyone who’s NOT an incel ever created anything worthwhile??

soul

Ripped apart by natural selections icy north winds. Tossed around by autism chromosome waves. Mogged by 4/10 clouds. Masticated by roastie whirlpool.

The Incel project is an indictment of Creation that is, at the same time, rooted in an observant piousness towards its laws and the impossibility of moving outside its boundaries. The duty of Man to accept and affirm the inherent cruelty of the cosmos, and ponder his destiny within it.

For the <0.5/10 genetic sewage, to expose oneself to the flesh-burning mog radiations of the outside world is comparable to Julius Evola walking around the city during bombing raids.

body

Really hope incels start walking the walk and actually go ahead with those elaborate plastic surgery plans they love to talk about soon.  In post-modern body modification culture, surgically administered transformations are seen as an ascent towards the narcissistic illusion of a more “authentic” self. We have understood that the vanilla modernist paradigm in which Man is assigned one body, whose form, “health” and integrity it is his duty to preserve unto death, was never going to work.

Until very recently, it was normal for bodies to undergo unwanted dis- and transfigurations due to war and disease, their personal notions of bodily integrity routinely subdued to the amoral whims of the medieval War God. It is this view of the world that the incels, these ferocious dreamers of Galilean proportions, these weavers of cruel, delectable phantasms after my own heart, are returning to, finding themselves thrust into a hostile universe whose rigid biological laws are stacked against them with no humanist justification of “fairness”.

Incel chin osteotomy is then a religious act completely removed from narcissism. It is done out of reverence for a cosmic order radically irrespective of the incel’s interests and feelings. The ontological conduit between God and man takes the form of a leash, one by which Man is dragged to the plastic surgery clinic precisely in order to serve God better. I would like to argue that Incel is the most legitimately religious (anti-humanist) movement of our time in that it is based on an acceptance of human insignificance in the face of the cosmic order.

will

Much has been said about the supposed ‘entitlement’ of incels, but this can easily be reframed in a different context. Incel is, at its heart, a radical human agency denialist movement, seeking to redefine the role of Man in the universe by finding spirituality and reverence in the acceptance of total biological determinism, and beauty in the order of chin curvatures, neural pathways and DNA spirals of differing quality. The total absence of free will means everyone is always already entitled to exactly what they get. Genuine incel is less about demanding more than what is deserved than a retreat into a meditative position, neutral like nature itself.

If you’re willing to sell your purity for some used up 3.5/10 roastbeef: fuck off. This is supposed to be a modern monastic movement, where disciples eventually achieve true serenity and a connection with supernatural powers (wizard) in studying the patterns of the cosmos, of God’s plan; taking in the thorny architectures of inherent hierarchy without ego. It is about seeing the face of God in the cute waterpolo boy who nearly bullied you to suicide in 4th grade.

If you believe such a thing as ‘volcel’ exists in this world utterly bereft of all and any free will, you have reasoning skills akin to a donkey, I’m afraid.

time

Incels see time as a byproduct of the sad compulsion of humanist perception to form linear narratives of ‘progress’ and change. Such narratives are to be deemed illusory and rejected to the best of our abilities. In the Incel conception of time, everything is always already happening at the exact same time, meticulously arranged into a rigid, immutable hierarchy by the will of God himself alone.

This also means that it is pedantic and somewhat shallow to necessarily equate Incel with total sexlessness. Since no narratives ‘connecting’ one moment with the next are real, technically, every man not currently experiencing (undergoing?) direct roastie friction in this very moment is an incel, with whatever horrible baggage that entails.

virginity

I’m a virgin myself but my impression is that sex probably isn’t as big a deal as elliot rodger thought it would be. I look at sex havers and don’t think they are truly happier than i am (I’m a pretty happy retard). They were just born with higher quality DNA but i’m not sure if that is correlated with happiness whatsoever. I hate and envy them because I must but there is no objective ‘truth’ behind my ostensible assumption of their having it better.

All partaking in an act does is destroy the soul and dream of that thing. Only virgins understand the metaphysics of sex, only incels are capable of having a soul. This is why elliot rodger was so dangerous to the system. He had dreams that were unquantifiable and untransferrable, and the system thrives solely on the quantifiable and transferrable. I know y’all want to fuck Elliot now but thats like wishing jesus had the chance to get into nintendo wii instead.

If elliot rodger’s ideas of what sex (and ‘love’) would have been like could somehow be quantified, externalized and turned into a reality for all to simultaneously experience, the entire world would collapse, submerged in the brutal, monolithic singularity of joy.

religion

There is a reason religious, celestial imagination is all over incel culture. Think of st. blackops2cel and compare it to the brash, earthy vulgarity of YASSSS KWEEN or something. It is st. blackops2cel whose hand i am taking. It is through him that i discover weightlessness and liberation from the ballasts of the body. It is with him that i dash through the firmament and enter the pearly gates. Perhaps in the near future, the only two ways to die will be euthanized by the state following a lengthy bureaucratic procedure (hell) or shot by a cute incel at school (heaven).

-------

Now awaiting my gentle ascent into wizardry. Male pattern balding. Hormonal makeup changing. Still worship sathanas and aktion t4 and cut myself under the full moon. Still loathe god for giving me the tard genes and curse the faggot christ for normalizing the enabling of retards. But also know this is definitely all there is for me to which there is a certain closure. Know this basement is, at the end of the day, safe. Know theres not that much left at least.

How does the eventual ascension into the more serene state of wizardry feel for you. My angry incels. My romantic incels. My aching incels. My defeated incels. My broken incels. My incels who just want to see the world burn.

[valorxdrive]

Corrosive darkness oozes out from what fragile being is left of the cursed Keyblade Master, once blue eyes that defied the celestial dome above now cold with gold hues, acting as a blindfold to the remaining sanity hanging on a thread. In a moment of dominance and supremacy, the sought maiden teleports beside Sora, leaving a trail of shattered crystals behind. Devoid of mercy, she rises her foot only to allow the heel to dig in to make the teen stay put and under her control.

♕ -  Upon the distorted surface of the ocean that once rolled peacefully amidst the Realm of Darkness was pure chaos forged by human hands. A destructive spiral of wind belied hints of movements well beyond the normal rage of humanity, complimented with the raw burst of power that meshed between darkness and light as keyblades would find themselves gridlocked in the heat of combat. Each strike held enough power to cause miniature shockwaves of pure to erupt outward, making the grounds shudder, the once frozen tides to quake with renewed life, splashing vivaciously upward as the combatants within this spiral applied their all.

For the wielder donning his red ensemble, his teeth were clenched in focus as those senses were spiraled to a new height of urgency. There was hardly enough time graced to secure a breath, to think that much would be a luxury. Each movement had to dedicate it’s entirety of turning this seemingly impossible tide. Raw loneliness that bled into anguished, corrosive anger empowered the Keyblade within the woman’s hand to a scale that had him on the brink even in his current state. To think that breathing would be a luxury when avoiding an untimely decapitation took it’s original stance. Such a destructive power accompanied by cold grace served as an anti-thesis for his impassioned brawling style.

“Khhhh!” Sora’s voice growled out in the moment he regained solid footing, succeeding in diving in, narrowing avoiding a blow that would’ve punctured a hole in the side of his head, giving him the perfect vantage wrench out a destructive horizontal slash. Light shined valiantly from the Kingdom Key as a golden crescent stormed from the blade, reaching so close to nailing a hit upon her exposed midsection, only for those hopes to fall fatally short. He could practically feel the disdain burn at the top of his head as she glowers at him, rippling darkness being exposed as the blow harmlessly tore through her phantasmal body.

There wasn’t even a moment to rely on eyesight as the screaming sensation of his nerves had called out to him, above, above!  An uncomfortable prickling sensation bloomed upon his skin as the collective pull of mana could be sensed above, the equally uncomfortably chill of dropped temperature as the conglomerate of darkness is focused above. At this point his body could only move on instant, tapping into the flash step ability in order to jolt away at a pace that left him an ephemeral blur, just in the nick of time as high octane explosions, three in total had occupied the space he just vacated. Untamed waves of destruction rolled outward as the explosive spheres briefly glimmer in it’s wake.

Reappearing a good distance away on the rocky waves, a strained exhale left his pained lungs, leaving him with only a second to locate his opponent once again.

One moment that’s instantly filled with a foreboding sense of dread. He could feel the piercing chill of those soulless eyes locked onto him, fixated on the essence of that light. This leaves his battered body only enough time to turn and even less time to attempt getting the keyblade positioned up before pure pain follows. Crashing with the force of a freight train against his side was her leg, imbued with that rage filled darkness, empowering it as it causes his body to bend and soon barrel off into the distance, leaving his vision in a dizzying spiral as his body crashed repeatedly against the waters. Once splayed out upon the currents that eagerly began their reach for him, the situation grew from back to worst as darkness attempted to worm in those very cuts endured.

Cold. Just why was it so cold?

That answer would be quickly supplied as the unforgiving heel of a woman scorned would make it’s presence upon his chest. The blow causes his mouth to gape wide as the force it alone made his ribs uncomfortably rock as a choked, soundless cry leaves from his lips. With the breath relinquished from his lungs, a halfhearted effort was made his grip desperately settled around the keyblade, his other hand left upon these purplish waters that carried the abyssal itself within their wake. This left those pained blue eyes to stare above at the source of pained emotions that formed this chaos.  A shiver courses through his body due to the wielder’s merciless gaze pinned onto him, the winds upon her hauntingly somber sight only intensifying, he could feel the spiral of her power continually gnawing on him from above.

“A.. Aqua..! You have to be in there!” His voice croaked before the heated energy briefly diminishes in him. This wasn’t good, it was quickly reaching the point to where if he doesn’t find a means to move, he truly would be her prisoner in an already cursed fate. Defiance surged within his vision as situation was only losing it’s leverage from his side.

[fgodestinyawakenings]

Yuga Kshetra Lostbelt: Verse 18~END

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand FUCKING DONE!! One Command Seal gone with luck trying not to shit on me at the final battle.... Thankfully plot wise has made this Lostbelt easier than the rest. Though unfortunately, next one will spiked up the difficulty again because of plot wise... 

I’ll head back to Agartha now that JP’s side is settled for event requirement. And part of me doesn’t want to.... *sighs* We’ll see... But first, time to end the cycle of Yuga!

Verse 18

First arrow, first wave giving you 9 Berserker Kali and its Boss in the second wave. For this fight’s gimmick, Pepe debuff 1 random enemy with Buster Resistance Down for 3 turns, and 1 of your Servants gets Buster Performance Up for 3 turns. Vitch’s occasional buff returns with a random chance at the start of the battle, she’ll deal 30k damage to all enemies.

However, you’ll received a debuff where one of your Servant receive 3037 damage at the end of each turn. The enemy will also receive the same debuff of this too.

Second arrow gives you break before the third arrow... You can say it’s the easiest fight through this whole Lostbelt. Plot reason, NPC Ashwatthama is your only Servant you can bring with no use of command seals or mystic code

Against Shadow Karna, his NP is his Extra Attack. Ashwatthama’s gimmick of this fight is Permanent, Unremovable AND Unlimited Guts that revives his HP to the Max. And also, he also gains Attack Damage buff up at the end of every turn

Karna has two HP break gimmick:

1st break: Buff with Permanent Attack Damage Up

2nd Break: Buff with Attack Damage Up & Seal Ashwatthama's NP for 1 turn.

Also rest assured, despite Karna’s final gimmick of depleting Ashwatthama’s HP 0 when you completely defeated him, you’ve won the fight 

Verse 19

1st arrow 1st wave... Your boss fight against Limbo aka Ashiya Douman in his true class: Alter Ego. His only gimmick is immediately draining your whole party front-line’s NP to 0 at the start of the fight

If you managed to have a friend support of Kama-Mara, do bring her with you for this fight as her third skill welcomes a lot against him. 

At the start of battle too, Pepe will inflict Buster Resistance Down Debuff for 3 turns towards Limbo. Then, buffs 1 front-line Servant with Buster Performance Up for 3 turns

2nd wave, your first round fight against Arjuna Alter. Immediately upon entering 2nd wave, Arjuna Alter already has his NP bar full. Make sure you have an AOE Defense NP/Skill ready against it

Arjuna Alter’s gimmick has 3 permanent buff of Damage Resistance towards all types of attacks, Debuff Immunity and Attack Damage UP.

Arrow 4, your final battle against Arjuna Alter with NPC Super Karna. You’re NPC-locked heavily by the story plot between these two. For Arjuna Alter, he still has the same buff of Defense buff towards all types of attacks, debuff immunity & Attack Damage Up

For NPC Karna on choosing him, he gets permanent buff of Damage Up, 2K HP recovery at end of every turn & 1-time Guts reviving him at 7,467 HP

Gimmicks for this fight against Arjuna Alter:

1st HP break: Arjuna Alter buffs himself with Attack Damage Up & Critical Rate Up for 5 turns 

2nd HP Break: Arjuna Alter buffs with NP Damage Up & Pierce Invincibility for 2 turns, and charge his NP gauge to max.

When Arjuna Alter’s HP reaches 60k or below, he will immediately buff himself with 1-time Guts for 3 turns reviving him at 2K HP and 2k HP recovery for 3 turns

5th and the final fight of this whole Lostbelt, you’re fighting against the Phanstmal Tree and Ashwatthama with his Master Pepe

Gimmicks:

Ashwatthama:

At the start of the fight, Pepe used his first command Seal to buff Ashwatthama with permanent Attack Damage Up and Buster Up

1st HP break: Pepe buffs him Taunt for 5 turns and additional permanent Attack Damage Up. Ashwatthama will receive another permanent buff 3-hit Damage Cut for 3 turns

2nd HP Break: Pepe buffs him with one more permanent Attack Damage Up

Phantasmal Tree:

Permanent buff of damage Resistance against Noble Phantasm & Defense Up

1st HP Break: Buff with permanent 1 additional tick of NP Charge per turn

2nd HP Break: Removes both defense buff to replace with another permanent 1 additional tick of NP Charge per turn

Last screenshot is to say... HERC-CHAN MY BABY ALLOWS ME TO WIN ONE TREE FIGHT FOR ONCE TT ^ TT)/

Verse 20

The final verse is two arrows of story mode... Which you have now completed Yuga Khestra Lostbelt

Observation & Thoughts:

Despite the strong debuff in the front few chapters.... This lostbelt is considered easier with Pepe and Vitch helping you through this

Which that said, if this is easy, Atlantis Lostbelt onwards is where difficulty spikes up again because plot really begs for it

Fondant au Chocolat is the most recommended CE along with Servant that dealts strong damage against Divine-trait Servants. Majority of the boss fights here contains Divine-trait

Ganesha aka Jinako:

There’s a reason why DW brings in Welfare Quetz-chan... Because you either need her or Ruler Martha for DPS against Jinako

Her fight can be easy if you do watch out for her unexpected NP charge from her skil and NP

Pierce invincibility may or not need often thanks to her NP effect that gives her defense for one turn

While Martha, Quetz and Astraea are viable to bring.... Other rulers are fine too whether you have your own or borrowed as support

ST NP berserker is an alternative with taunters and support to keep them alive

Pierce Invincibility CE and Fondant au Chocolat to deal more damage against her

Berserker Nezha:

The first crit fest Berserker you encounter before Arjuna Alter...

Against her, play safe with bringing Merlin, Jeanne or anyone with AOE invincibility to survive her NP and buff of ignore evasion

2nd round has issue which hopefully solve... Letting her use her NP quickly will bring an end before the final fight

Final round even with Attack down debuff on your team, you still can’t let your guard down with her own debuff of Defense down from both HP break and losing HP every turn

Or you could wait for her particular skill that demerit her HP to 1 to kill her on her last HP bar

Fondant au Chocolat equipped on female-trait damage Servants like Jack and Carmilla will be serve as strong DPS if you have either

Archer Gil to bring with his Enuma Elish against her...

Though taunter should definitely be brought against her buffs of crit fest on your team

Lakshmibai:

.... Yeah, her fight is the easiest thanks to having no NP in the first round and Pepe supporting your team too. 

But her defense up buff for 5 turns can be a pain in the ass

ST NP Archer are more than enough to suffice her mini boss fight

Asclepius:

An Alter ego or Berserker is ideal against him as his fights are always a mixed class

AOE NPs are preferred thanks to him often summoning Berserker mobs if there’s only 1 or 0 left on the field

But beware of his berserker mob that may kill your support or DPS

As usual, Fondant au Chocolat or Kiyohime CE is best to equip on your DPS against him such as Male-trait, Divine-trait or Enuma Elish damage dealing Servants

William Tell:

Definitely bring support with AOE Invincibility thanks to his ignore evasion NP + dealing damage further for those who activated it

But his 2nd round fight in Verse 13 Arrow 4, bring or have your Lancer/Berserker DPS equipped with ignore evasion CE. His 30 hit evasion is completely randomized, which you wouldn’t know when it’ll hit him

His final round, do be careful for his HP break, he’ll then be able to use his NP against you

Brynhildr will be the best choice if you have or borrowed her thanks to his brynhildr’s trait and equip with Fondant au Chocolat... Which again if you have either

Other Lancer are still the best option to deal against William Tell

Taunters will definitely be required thanks to his ST NP

Caster Limbo aka Alterego Ashiya Douman

Unlike Shimosa, you’re now facing against him in his true class. But for now, his true name remains unrevealed and you’re still fighting against him in his ghost form

If you have your NP starting CE equipped... It’ll be uneffective since Douman will drain your front-line party’s NP to 0

If possible, do try to charge NP here before your second wave fight against Arjuna Alter

Kama-Mara is definitely most recommended against him thanks to her third skill

Or otherwise, ST NP berserker or so should one-shot him if needed before going to the 2nd wave

Arjuna Alter:

........... Good god, I wish his last fight isn’t NPC-locked, because I hate those fight the most

First round, wait till Arjuna Alter to release his NP to release his fight. You aren’t able to deal a single dent onto him

2nd round fight... Have Merlin or Jeanne or any support to cast AOE invincibility/evasion at the start of your turn. Arjuna Alter will immediately have NP bar fully charged and unleashed on his turn

His fight is basically crit fest... Taunters are compulsory to keep your DPS and Support alive against him

Servants like Herc and Nero with strong Guts effect are definitely need to bring against him as last standing DPS

Third round... Karna is your main DPS, which is particularly important to keep him alive. His guts buff is extremely needed to be timed with Arjuna Alter on his 2nd HP break where he charges his NP max and buff with 2 turn Pierce Invincibility

Otherwise... This is still a fight I hate the most among the fights in this lostbelt... WHO THE FUCK THOUGHT IT’S OKAY FOR A CRITFEST BERSERKER HERE?!

Aśvatthāman & Quixotic Tree Spiral:

Front few fight isn’t a problem... His first round especially doesn’t have any buff to make it difficult

2nd, 3rd and 4th round becomes more easier thanks to Pepe helping you buffing your team and debuffing him.

But on your final fight... He can be the worst enemy along with the Phanstamsal tree.

You’re forced to focus on Ashwatthama first before dealing against the tree. Pepe’s taunt on his first HP break amplifies further on this

ST NP Lancer is more recommended than AOE on this fight, but do be careful the tree will still do AOE normal attack damage on your team

Ashwatthama’s NP effect... While taunter is needed, to make sure your taunter has their taunt skill maxed out for short cooldown time. His NP or so somehow still removes that taunt buff

Stun, Charm and skill seal are completely useless as he’s immune to them

Foreigners ST NP Servants can be brought along if you want once Ashwatthama is defeated to deal against the tree

Infant of Atlas CE is recommended to equip on your DPS on going up against the Berserker Tree

Wow... I’m finally done with this.... OTL I’m sorry it took so long, I’ve already completed LB4 long time ago. And so much things happened in real life so OTL I’ll jump back to the summer event and now trying to finish Agartha for SQs!

[ygoreviews]

Jerry Beans Man ———————————————— 'Jerry, a bean soldier, believes he is the strongest warrior in the world, but his true abilities are still untested.' ———————————————— Can Be Found In: Cybernetic Revolution (CRV-EN004), Starter Deck: Syrus Truesdale (YSDS-EN007), Battle Pack 3: Monster League (BP03-EN001), Dark Revelation Volume 4 (DR04-EN004)

Many years ago Normal Monsters were the main lead of most Decks in the game, using their high stats to battle each other as Effect Monsters took a supporting role. But Effect Monsters taking over and become the norm was expected, as with Normal Monsters' lack of abilities the card game could've become stale in options. Nowadays Normal Monsters are usually seen in roles as materials for all kinds of summons, as thanks to a massive pool of options they become easily accesible in all sorts of situations and position. But that doesn't mean that Normal Monsters are unable to stand on their own, as with said supporting cards as well the opportunity to work along Anti-Meta effects they can brute force through the field like in their glory days.

"Jerry Beans Man" is a popular monster among the playerbase mainly due its particular name and design, but has some solid stats to reign over some strategies. Its most noticeable trait is its high ATK for its Level, making one of the strongest monsters of this category. And despite easily overshadowed by many other powerful Normal Monsters by stats alone, the combination of a high ATK with a low Level makes "Jerry Beans Man" one of several creatures capable of pressuring the opponent while keeping them at bay along the proper support. Thanks to its position as Normal Monster, "Jerry Beans Man" can keep a constant pressence during a Duel for all kinds of purposes. Together with other Normal Monsters is quite easy to swarm the field with "Jerry" and others right from our first turn, starting with cards like "Unexpected Dai" and "Rescue Rabbit" to later on cards like "Treasure Panda" recycle cards in the Graveyard for the same purpose. With its Plant Type "Jerry" gains further options to assure its arrival, either by "Lonefire Blossom" tributing itself for its summoning or coming from our hand by "Twilight Rose Knight" and potentially work together as materials. A "Jerry" in the Graveyard is far from useless thanks to the inmense amount of revival effects we can add to our Deck, from basic options like "Swing of Memories" and "Miracle Fertilizer" bringing it back for any purposes, to monsters such as "Masked Chameleon" and "Crane Crane" reviving it upon their own summon. From our first turn to last, "Jerry" might rarely leave the field for more than a single turn.

Despite the simplicity of Normal Monsters, "Jerry Beans Man" can stand out over more powerful creatures under the right setups. "Jerry" became well known for working with cards like "Level Limit - Area B" and "Gravity Bind", making this monster and other strong low Level creatures like "Sonic Bird" and "Mad Lobster" take over the Battle Phase as we only have to worry about Xyz and Link Monsters. The more invested on "Jerry" and other Normal Monsters the more Anti-Meta options we can use in our favor, with cards like "Heat Wave" and "Tyrant's Throes" forbidding the summon of Effect Monsters, as well "Skill Drain" nullifying any effects on the field. While "Jerry" has enough options to keep the opponent under control we might require a few improvements on its attacks to ensure our lead, with cards like "Sky Dragoons of Draconia" destroying cards after dealing battle damage, or working arround the Phantasm Spiral cards to power up "Jerry" as they summon "Phantasm Spiral Dragon" in one way or another.

"Jerry Beans Man" might not seem that different compared to many other Normal Monsters with high ATK. However, its small Level difference makes it the lead monster of a build capable of stalling the opponent as we break through monsters disrupted by our Anti-Meta effects. Combined with the flexibility of its kind to work as materials and/or assist "Phantasm Spiral Dragon", "Jerry" can have the advantage over other Normal Monsters if we play slightly more defensive. Unfortunately, said strategy relied on Level stats to work, and with the popularity of both Xyz and Link Monsters nowadays it will fully affect a very few builds. But while still relying in other cards and effects like any other Normal Monsters out there, "Jerry Beans Man" still remains prevalent thanks to a cult following and the Deck that made it famous.

Personal Rating: A-

+ One of the strongest Level 3 monsters in the game + Greatly supported from early to late game + Can work in Stall Decks while keeping the offense

- Depends on other cards and effects to be effective - Its Stall strategy lost efficiency with the introduction of Xyz and Link Monsters

[safrona-shadowsun]

Ebb

{Rp between Renwyck and Safrona that started as a prompt, and was taken into Discord. Many thanks if you read if you do...}

Music

It was nearly a star-less night on the beaches of Uldum, and the lap of the ocean waters had long been cooling the hot sands. Originally pulled for business to the old markets of Ma’rat and Ramhaken, the Courier detoured to the shore long past sundown, enchanted by the moon, the calming whisper of ocean waters taking her mind away from its little torments. A needed reprieve for her aching feet too, toes dug into the wet sand through the night with each step. Her mind was not there with memories of whom she was on those sands with before, however stubbornly they wanted to bleed through. Peace. She just wanted peace.

“Taking a midnight stroll along the beach?”

The voice startled her from behind, already gathering her things to vacate at the thought of anyone catching the professional here, wasting her time. Especially if it were some couple wanting their privacy. “No…I…” Safrona murmured with a clearing of the throat. “I was just leaving. Apologies. It’s all yours.”

Even in the darkness, her frame was familiar. He had spent so many long nights taking in every detail of the Courier; her gait, her mannerisms. Even through the changes brought on by the void, it was still Safrona. 

 He had hesitated to make an approach, not entirely sure if he should spoil her late night walk with his presence. But through all the pain and loss, it was still Safrona. And he still loved her.

 Renwyck walked to the elf's side before lowering himself to the beach. A weak smile played upon his lips as he gazed up to her face. He lifted the bottle of whiskey he had been carrying in a silent invitation. Or peace offering, perhaps.

  Safrona stared long on the man’s silhouette as it separated from the night, continued to stare with that tense silence as he’d step into the meager moonlight where she stood, revealing himself. A moment extended where she thought Void visions were bleeding from her thoughts and puncturing reality to form of some memorable haunt of his. She seemed to be staring forever, anticipating tendrils of darkness to gather his image away. But no, he stayed.

 In the flesh, the sand moving beneath his strong frame as he sat at her feet. The weak smile broke across his face as he stared up at her, and the knowing of that softness in expression chased her gaze away, her feet lifting as she seemed to continue to walk, to excuse herself.

It was only right to leave…? 

 Yet she found herself pivoting, drawing herself to the sand on his other side, beckoning the whiskey bottle to her fingers. As soon as its base filled her hand she...simply held it, licking her lips as if in anticipation of its taste, but unable to go through the motion of bringing it to her mouth to quench it. A sigh, and Safrona attempted to hand it back, “I don’t even know why I’m here,” she mumbled quickly. Her violet pupils glowed in the low light as they glanced toward him, a gleaming color also faintly pulsing as near phantasmal tendrils within the dark wine rivulets of her long, mussed braid.. “Do you…?”

{More below the line}

Renwyck took the bottle back, gladly taking the drink that she couldn't take.  His attention fell out over the water, watching the moon crested waves in the distance. There was a silence that seemed to drag on for minutes until he finally answered, his voice as calm as it had always been around her in the past. "I still come here when I want to get away from everything."

 Looking to the sand between them, Renwyck twisted the base of the bottle back and forth, driving it through the pale grains until it sat upright and in Safrona's reach. Once more, his gaze turned to the ocean. "Was happy here. Guess I just wanted to feel the same way as I used to."

Her eyes stayed on the sparkle of glass there lodged in the sand between them, brow faintly furrowed, long eyebrows crooking in just that particular way when she was inside her own head, trying to pick through what words to say in the valleys of her mind. The rush of the ocean came back to lap at the sand, drawing her eyes back out to the midnight shore. 

“I...came out to Ma’rat for business. A giant blade bleeds Azeroth now in Silithus and it's driven everyone mad with the azerite trade.” Safrona’s voice cut through the dark with a mutter of discontent. Silence poured over the elf again, letting the sound of the ocean wash away her day, letting it gradually take her to the same calm Renwyck seemed to have reached. “I haven’t walked the sands here since the Legion fell on us two...three years ago, was it? But...It felt good to have my toes in the sand tonight.” She swallowed, keeping her sights locked on the sea. 

“I didn’t think I would see you again. After the harbor.”

“I…” he started, but quickly fell silent. Propping his wrists upon his bent knees, the human clasped his hands together. The forlorn look swirling in his brown eyes dissolved as he couldn’t help but smile, albeit faintly. 

 “To be fair, I had no idea I’d find you here tonight.” There was a slight bit of amusement to his tone, Renwyck chuckling so lightly that the sound could be lost beneath the rolling of the tide. “Part of me convinced myself that I could never see you again.” He bowed his head, determined to not steal the glance he so longed to take. 

“But seeing you here tonight…” His resolve weakened with the mere thought of her sitting by his side, the warrior lifting his gaze to look upon Safrona’s profile. “Light help me, but I can’t stay away from you.”

“But you did, Wyck.” She presented with her ethereal calm, two amethyst points of light glinting on him from the soft shadows of her silhouetted face. It was not accusatory in tone, as she had been on the docks on first seeing him, struck by the way he couldn't even look at her then. Factual, she was, a tinge of a gentle reminder as he regarded her. “For two years, you stayed away.” 

 Slowly, she cast her gaze down, adjusting in the sand, feet burying deeper into the cooling sand. “I ….understand why, I think. You were still a Watcher, even when everything fell apart. And you were trying to protect what was left by staying away. While we were trying fight off the Invasions, you were fighting your own war, weren’t you?” 

 There was an endeavor to understand his pain now that he was facing her, hearing some vestige of who her Watcher used to be before he was broken. “I have seen the staunchest warriors broken on Argus, made ghosts of themselves, replaying moments of when everything for them fell. I’ve tasted that trauma.”

 A nod to confirm, accepting. Her face lifted again, this time lit in the cascade of moonlight that defined her otherworldly beauty as her features softened for him. “I prefer the rooftops in Stormwind to these sands, trying to remember how to be happy. Midsummer Festival...before everything went wrong.”

He simply nodded slowly, his entwined fingers coming undone as he reached for the whiskey. He had apologized -- said what he could say to justify the wrongs he had committed against her. So instead of spilling forth numerous more apologies, his lips sought out the mouth of the bottle to partake in a long drink. Placing the whiskey between them once more, he finally spoke. 

 "Longshore for me. Reminds me of Tanaris. And you." The last two words escaped him without much thought, the human at first silently cursing himself for letting them slip. Yet, the longer he paused, the less his regret. He even dared to go on, continuing the line of thought. "That was when I was the happiest."

Another long, quieted glance as she watched him drink, quickly sweeping her tongue over her lips as her eyes followed the bottle back to the sands. She could feel the whisper of his name on her tongue, but bit into it to quiet the soft refrain. Facets of emotion she thought buried deep, bubbled back up knowing she still, somehow was painted to his mind with more than just regret. She had to look away, dragging fingers up through the spirals of her hair. "I....think this world does a fine job of draining the happy from where we try to find it..." She chuckled witheringly.

He smiled, a genuine chuckle parting his lips. "Mmm, I used to be the optimistic one. To think life has bled that from me." Drawing in a deep breath of salty air, he leaned back against the sandy shore with his hands clasped behind his head. His gaze trailed across the blackened sky until it fell upon Safrona's crimson braid. 

 "To think, I just might end up being the bitter, cynical one between the two of us." Renwyck seemed to ease, his form relaxed and his words carrying the familiar hint of humor that he had been absent the last two years.

A scoff left Safrona, words leaving quickly from a hard smile as her eyes lifted away. "Well don't be that. Azeroth has enough sour, bitter souls like me to craft an eternity's worth of harsh liquor, Wyck." Her eyes returned to him as he relaxed back, the smile softening a touch. "The world needs some of its sweetness back to balance it all out, yes?" 

She studied over his features a moment, finding signs of the Watcher in it she knew before the world broke him. She could never forget those chestnut eyes, the way he never could pull them away from her for too long. Admiring, always. No one ever looked at her that way, that she could tell, even now.

 She missed it. Sweet shadows, she had missed him. Struggling within that re-emergence, she let her eyes drop away, trying to grasp to questions that would bring her back to sensibility. "How....how long had you been in Stormwind?"

He tore his gaze from her, turning his attention skyward as he pondered the question. "Shit, I don't know. Maybe a year? Year and a half? I know I was in Westfall the better part of six months recovering. Damn miracle I could walk after being stuck in a bed for so long."  His smile softened as he looked back to the elf. 

"They wanted to thrust me back into the middle of the war when I returned to Stormwind. Part of me wishes I would have. Maybe things would be different now. But I'm pretty sure I would have just ended up getting myself killed instead."

 His gaze roamed her back, searching for subtle differences in her new form. Yet in moonlight, she was still Safrona. He thought after years apart, things would feel different. But he still saw the woman he fell in love with under all of it. "And you? Damn near gave me a heart attack to see you so openly in Stormwind."

"I noticed," Safrona replied knowingly about giving him a heart attack. Her lips were made for their hard smiles now, rather than the unassuming professional smiles she usually would give before the Void changed her. 

 "It's been about....three months into my exile, I believe. And people in Stormwind scattered to get out of my way initially then, too. Or glared. Or rushed their children away from us as if I'd meant to lure them into a corner and eat them. For a while there, I'm fairly sure the city goers lumped us with the Death Knights. The new traitors, not to be trusted. But Alleria has some of the city's love, I suppose. We'll never be the Silver Hand, though, and after a decade of being looked down for associating with Demons, I'm rather used to the initial treatment.” A shrug lifted her shoulders, caring less and less, like the sea. It would continue to ebb and flow no matter what anyone thought of it. “The Void just takes away the possibility of subtlety now, I suppose." 

 She seemed frankly as if she were death-touched, but her body breathed, alive in a different way, and aware in too many others. In truth, she was the closest representation of her soul now - something outside the cycle of nature, of life and death, and it fit.

 "I tried to make things work in Dalaran for a month, but the Kirin Tor pulled the leash on business when Azeroth devolved to a war over azerite, and  most merchant circles weren't wanting to follow suit. Can't blame them exactly after two years of seeing everyone unite to fight the Legion, the fall apart again to the game of conquer and command." Her bitterness returned, though obviously not directed at him. "It's best you remained...out of commission from the fight. You'd likely only be disappointed too."

Renwyck's smile faltered as her tale unfurled,  a knot forming in his stomach. 'I should have been there for you,' he scolded himself, the shame causing his attention to turn back to the starless night. "To be honest, I know nothing of the void elves. I heard they were exiles, but beyond that, I'm completely ignorant."

Safrona braced herself, not quite knowing if she wanted to tackle that box of worms, but before she knew it her thoughts were unraveling for the former Watcher.

"For the Sin'dorei, it was a ridiculous move, I feel. More paranoid about the Sunwell since its purification than all of the Ren'dorei's condition combined. If the elves could control the corrupting nature of the Fel and the hungers associated with it, what the hell reason couldn't we learn to maintain Void exposure too? Especially after Argus. We learn. We evolve. Or we die. And after seeing so many out there become mind-scarred by the Void, it was only right to be better. To show them we could. But no. The blood elves often brew spite like a fine Thalassian wine, and so here we are..." 

 Safrona sighed wearily, glancing at Renwyck, realizing she'd been more open about her grievances than most. But Wyck had always been one of those easy to talk to, who would listen, rather than find something to argue against. "It doesn't really matter. Not for me. Horde, Alliance...all a mess. And I can't call either really home. Don't want to, no matter how somewhat might force a banner over my head. I belong to a bleeding Azeroth, and my soul's called home to people that tether to it....then to the Shadowlands when they move on from me. In the meantime, it is enough to try to deliver a harvest to whatever nightmares would feast on our souls no matter what war you want to fight."

 "I know my place here in the grand scheme of things, I think."

The human listened in silence, her words urging him to look upon her form yet again. His expression was thoughtful, his gaze almost piecing through her with each continuing sentence. After a long pause, he pushed himself to sit upright, dusting the sand from his hands. "That's why I've been so lost since... everything. Home has always been with the people I love." 

 He reached for the whiskey, his fingertips lingering on the neck of the bottle without moving it from its spot in the sand. He looked to her, his brown eyes speaking more than his lips dared. His fingers tightened around the glass for fear that he'd end up reaching for Safrona's hand.

Safrona caught his yearning eyes, feeling her heartbeat thicken in her ears, vibrations down her skin as if somewhat strummed her from within, at the soul. A swallow, and the Void Elf blinked downward to the whiskey bottle, where she tried to find the right words again to give him. "...we always get a little lost on the road of life. But...you can find home again, Wyck. If you stop running from it."

With those words, his heart was cleft in two. He released a breath he was holding only to find there was no air left in his lungs to speak. As much as he wanted to believe her words were those of hope, he couldn't help but feel they were nothing more than another goodbye. His hand slipped from the bottle, falling to the sand around the base.

 "I'm sorry, Saf," he spoke softly, his fingers driving into the fine grains of sand, clutching them tighter than he had held the bottle. He shook his head, the melancholy returning to his eyes. Regret, despair... love.  They were all written plainly on his features, and this time he wouldn't look away from her. "I'm sorry for everything. For being a coward. To leaving you to struggle alone when I should have been there. I'm sorry for hurting you. I'm sorry for everything..." 

 He shook his head abruptly, his voice adding with a bit more determination. "No. Not everything. I'll never be sorry for loving you."

Another hard smile helped to keep the blur of tears from returning as his words made their mark. "...The only thing I am truly sorry for is that I could not wait for you, the way you waited for me to return the gift of your sweet heart."

 She looked out to shore again, inhaling, exhaling the soft breath of words. "You taught me how to love myself, every time I tasted the depth of how you loved me when I stole it from your soul. And...I don't know how to give that back. I can't. You left. And you...wouldn't let me find you. I think you would have let me kill you in this...sort've madness we created. Because if love is anything..." 

She chuckled, using his courser terminology. "It's fucking crazy." A part of him was in her, what she took in their moments of passion, a haunt that bled into the shard of her that made her in part, who she was. 

 "I'll always love you in a way, even if nothing can be the same. We don't forget what we love."

 Safrona inhaled again softly, again trying to arrange her words, to explain. "I found...home to go to, when you left. Somewhere, someone to belong. I want you to find that too. In “someones”, even. Your life is too short to spend it apologizing for nothing. Live, love well, and fight every day. You were worth every second we spent together."

Renwyck had waited for that moment, though it didn't make the blow any easier. Even still, he refused to look away. His eyes remained on her face, committing each line and shadow to memory as if for the last time. Despite his heart shattering in his chest, he managed to smile to her, thought it took him a moment to find his voice. 

 "I hope he knows to never let you go. I hope he cherishes each moment you have together." He had to stop, afraid that his welling tears might spill forth. He swallowed roughly, lifting his hand from the sand to feel the delicate grains slipping through his fingers. "I hope he gives you the world, Safrona." There was no spite in his words. Just pure honesty. "Because you deserve everything good in this life."

She looked at the former Watcher strangely, shaking her head at his last words. "I never wanted the world, Wyck. At times I wanted to burn it down. And it took people like you to give it its worth to me again."

A glance away, as if she were trying to figure out what it is that she wanted. But the answer was so simple, and it came as a whisper that was truth, even if it hurt for him to hear. "All I wanted was someone not to leave me alone in it."

Her words were like knife twisted deep into his chest, rending his flesh with each syllable. Renwyck held his breath, fearful of what the pain might make him utter. Instead, he reached for her hand as it clasped the bottle, his fingers running through the ridges of her knuckles. He had to feel her skin one last time. Just one last time. But as quickly as his hand caressed hers, he allowed it to fall away. "Just be happy, Whiskey." His voice was hushed as he stole one final glance.

...she was glad he didn't simply condemn her name to the coldness of 'Courier', knowing how deep her words had cut. And she'd somehow still earned the touch of his hand.

Would he run away again, and disappear? Leave her alone, even as a friend? ...why must things have to end this way? Why could he not simply be there? A part of her life, somehow? 

 Did she even have the right to ask for that much? 

An urge to embrace the fragile man came over her, but she could only sit, silent. Bottle in her lap, listening to the ebb and flow of the ocean. 

 Maybe in the end, it was too much to ask of anyone.

Renwyck focused on even breaths, feeling his lungs expand and contract in a forced rhythm. He turned his attention to the ocean, sitting next to her in silence. As much as his heart broke, as much as he fought the urge to fall to pieces, he wouldn't leave her. Even if they sat in silence for the rest of eternity, he would not abandon her.

 Not this time.