#Sunday 7 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aventurineswife · 14 days ago

Text

Stages of Shadows:

R O U N D 7

(Special thanks to Natto for graciously allowing me to use their incredible artworks. Please support their amazing work by following them on Instagram: @yattapan. Thank you, Natto (if you're reading this, lol), for once again allowing me to use your artworks with full credit given to you! I hope you enjoy this!)

The atmosphere was heavy, the tension almost suffocating as the stage transformed into the grand finale. A shimmering, otherworldly glow enveloped the set, mirroring the heightened stakes of this final performance. The audience, now deathly silent, awaited the clash of wills between two souls fighting for vastly different reasons—Aventurine, the desperate gambler with nothing left, and Sunday, the serene dreamer with everything to prove.

The spotlight fell on Aventurine first. His usually flamboyant demeanor was absent, replaced by an air of exhaustion. Still clad in the tattered remnants of his costume from his performance with Veritas Ratio, he looked dejected, his movements sluggish. The loss of his only true ally weighed heavily on him, and the brutal pace of the competition had left him unprepared.

But even in his brokenness, Aventurine stood tall, his voice carrying the raw, unfiltered emotion of a man with nothing to lose. The music began—a haunting melody of sorrow and defiance.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink, gone

I can’t let it go

Blink and gone”

Each word was drenched in anguish, his voice cracking as memories of Ratio and [Name] flashed in his mind. The stage darkened, flickers of dice and shattered mirrors reflecting his inner turmoil. Aventurine didn’t need theatrics—his pain was the performance. He sang as though tearing his soul apart for the audience to witness, and with every note, his desperation bled through.

His body swayed with the rhythm, unsteady yet deliberate, as he painted a picture of a man grasping for control in a world that had long abandoned him. The final crescendo left the stage in silence, save for the faint echo of his voice.

The spotlight on the stage shifted, bathing in ethereal light. Sunday emerged, calm and composed, his eyes glowing with an unearthly intensity. His tailored suit, immaculate and adorned with intricate golden patterns, gave him the air of a divine figure descended from the heavens.

The opening notes of his song resonated like a ticking clock, a calculated prelude to the grandeur that followed. Sunday’s voice soared—smooth, commanding, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

“The clock goes tick-tock, tick-tock

Just enjoy this

Blink, gone

Oh, in a blink, gone

Let’s go”

Where Aventurine’s performance was raw and chaotic, Sunday’s was ethereal and methodical. Each movement was a carefully choreographed expression of his ideals—a vision of a serene, pain-free world. Illusions of a tranquil paradise filled the stage, showing a dream-like utopia where suffering ceased to exist.

The audience was mesmerized as Sunday’s voice carried them through this perfect world, but beneath the beauty lay an undertone of melancholy. He wasn’t just singing about peace—he was mourning the sacrifices required to achieve it. His sister Robin’s face flashed in his mind, followed by memories of their lost family.

Aventurine stumbles slightly, his steps faltering as Sunday’s voice soars above the audience. The exhaustion from his back-to-back performances and the emotional toll of losing Veritas Ratio weigh heavily on him. Yet, even in his weariness, there is a flicker of defiance in his eyes. His voice, though strained, refuses to falter completely, cutting through the symphony of cheers and Sunday’s ethereal melody.

Aventurine extends both arms outward, his body swaying slightly, drawing on every ounce of strength he has left.

“Today, this moment

Won’t ever come again

The party’s getting started

And let’s go crazy high”

The audience begins to clap in rhythm with his movements, their energy reinvigorating him slightly. It’s not enough to match Sunday’s grace, but Aventurine’s raw, unfiltered passion keeps him in the game. His performance feels less like a show and more like a cry to the universe, a desperate plea for freedom, hope, or perhaps just acknowledgment.

“Wave both hands

Let the rhythm take over

This music

On and on”

(credits to @ilriyum on X/Twitter)

Sunday glides effortlessly across the stage, his every move a calculated display of elegance and precision. He feeds off the crowd’s energy, his ethereal voice carrying a hypnotic quality that captivates everyone watching.

“The verdant lights

They tickle my eyes

Before this piercing, radiant moment

Fades away”

Meanwhile, Silver Wolf’s hacking progresses, bypassing layer after layer of security with calculated precision. The Stellaron Hunters work in perfect synchronicity—Kafka provides cover with an unnerving calm, Blade slashes through attackers like a phantom, and Firefly moves with steely efficiency, clearing paths for the others.

[Name] stands frozen, their eyes locked on the screen. The duel between Aventurine and Sunday plays out like a tragic opera, each note, each move, a battle of wills. Robin’s words echo in their mind: “Please, take care of my brother.”

Aventurine, clearly struggling, still manages to force a grin as he raises his head toward the dazzling stage lights, as if mocking the Aeons themselves.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone

Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets”

Sunday’s voice carries the final note of the verse, and the crowd erupts in cheers. He glances at Aventurine, his expression unreadable, but there’s a moment—a fleeting one—where his calm exterior cracks, revealing something close to pity or regret.

As the spotlight turns fully to Sunday for the next refrain, Aventurine falters, his exhaustion nearly bringing him to his knees. The crowd senses the shift in momentum, their cheers leaning heavily toward Sunday.

At that moment, a small yet defining gesture happens. Aventurine lifts his hand again, not in defiance but almost as if reaching out—for guidance, for strength, or perhaps even for forgiveness.

“Come on,” he mutters under his breath, his voice too faint for the audience to hear. “Lady Luck, don’t leave me now.”

Blade pauses for a split second to glance at the screen. His expression, usually impassive, hardens slightly, as if recognizing Aventurine’s desperation.

The cacophony of the performance and the roaring audience was deafening, but all of it faded into the background as [Name] made their decision. Their heart raced, each beat like a war drum echoing in their ears. The sight of Aventurine faltering and Sunday’s silent yet relentless push drove them to a boiling point. They couldn’t just stand idly by anymore—not when their friends were being crushed under the weight of this twisted spectacle.

Just as they moved to intervene, a firm, unyielding hand clamped onto their arm. They spun around to see Blade, his face as cold and impenetrable as ever, his crimson eyes locked onto theirs with a silent warning. His grip was iron, unrelenting, and his intent was clear: Don’t do this.

“You’ll get yourself killed.” Blade said in a low, cutting voice, his tone almost a growl.

But [Name] didn’t flinch. Their resolve was a wildfire, blazing brighter than the fear Blade tried to instill.

“I don’t care anymore,” they shot back, their voice trembling, not with fear, but with determination. ��I’ve already lost enough. I won’t let them lose their lives because of this sick game!”

They yanked their arm free from his grip with surprising strength, their eyes meeting Blade’s in a clash of willpower. For a moment, Blade’s expression flickered—was it frustration? Pity? Respect? But before he could react, [Name] turned and bolted towards the backstage area.

“Foolish.” Blade muttered under his breath, his knuckles tightening around his sword’s hilt. Yet, despite himself, he didn’t chase after them.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Blink and gone

Relish the present

In a blink, gone”

The music thundered in the distance as [Name] crouched behind the wall, their breaths coming quick and shallow. The smoke bomb felt heavy in their hand, not because of its weight, but because of what it symbolized: the line they were about to cross. They stared at it, their fingers trembling. ‘What happens after this? Will anyone believe me?’

But there was no time for doubts. Their friends were in danger, and hesitation wasn’t an option.

“Clear your mind

Leave the burdens behind”

With one last deep breath, they pulled the pin and hurled the smoke bomb toward the guards. It hit the ground with a clink before releasing a thick, choking cloud. Startled shouts erupted from the guards as the smoke enveloped them. [Name] seized the moment, springing to their feet and dashing forward.

“Make this party yours

And no, don’t look back now”

The haze blurred their vision, but they kept moving, their instincts guiding them. Their heart pounded in their chest as they reached the next door, yanking it open and slipping inside before the guards could recover. They slammed it shut behind them, leaning against it for a moment to catch their breath.

“I can’t look back now,” they whispered to themselves, their voice barely audible over the muffled music and the chaos outside. “My friends come first.”

“Neither yesterday nor tomorrow

Exist for me

It’s this moment, or no”

Silver Wolf grinned as the loading bar finally filled. “And boom—we’re in.”

She tapped the final key, her fingers dancing across the keyboard. The screen before her flickered, revealing a flood of hidden files, video feeds, and data logs. “We’ve got everything: backstage feeds, audio recordings, the works. This show’s dirty laundry is about to go viral.”

Kafka, standing guard nearby, tilted her head with an amused smile. “Efficient as always. But let’s not celebrate too soon. We’re still not out of the woods.”

Blade, stationed near the entrance, cut down another approaching security guard with cold precision. “Focus,” he said, his voice sharp. “We don’t have time for games.”

Firefly, her eyes scanning the area, frowned as she noticed something amiss. “Wait—where’s [Name]?”

Kafka’s smile faltered, and Silver Wolf glanced up from her screen. “Didn’t they stick with us?”

“Yes,” Firefly said, her tone tense. “But, they were just here a few minutes ago…”

Blade’s grip on his weapon tightened but he didn’t open his mouth.

“This dark, crimson air

Embraces us

And lifts our spirits”

Sunday’s movements were fluid as he closed the distance between himself and Aventurine, his eyes gleaming with an enigmatic intensity. With a deft motion, he pulled Aventurine’s microphone down to rest against his neck, switching his and Aventurine’s off. As the crowd roared in anticipation of what seemed like a dramatic pause, Sunday leaned in close, his voice a quiet murmur meant only for Aventurine.

“Why fight it, Kakavasha?” he whispered, his tone smooth, almost coaxing. “You’ve already given everything to this game. Let it consume you, let them adore you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Aventurine froze for a heartbeat, his eyes widening. The words slithered into his mind, planting seeds of doubt and exhaustion. Sunday’s voice carried a dangerous allure, like a siren song laced with manipulation. For a moment, it felt as though the weight of it all—the expectations, the pressure—might pull him under.

But then, like a flame rekindled, Aventurine’s resolve surged. He shoved Sunday away, his frustration clear as his hands trembled while fixing his mic. “Don’t you dare.” He hissed under his breath, his voice low enough that the audience couldn’t hear.

Straightening up, Aventurine turned back to the crowd, forcing his lips into a defiant smile as the music swelled. His voice cut through the air with renewed strength, even as anger simmered beneath the surface.

“And this hot, fiery thrill

Blazes up in the sky till the end”

(credits to @sviteer on X/Twitter)

Sunday staggered back, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. The crowd cheered wildly, oblivious to the tension crackling between the two performers. To them, it was all part of the act.

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

Sunday’s presence was almost otherworldly as he moved effortlessly, his voice slipping into a haunting melody that seemed to lull the entire audience into a trance. Every note was perfect, every movement graceful and hypnotic. His eyes glinted with an ethereal intensity, as though he were above it all, controlling not just the music, but the very atmosphere.

“Forget everything and just enjoy it

Oh, in a blink, gone”

The crowd’s cheers swelled, their adoration for Sunday palpable, but for Aventurine, it felt like the walls were closing in. His breath was coming quicker now, his exhaustion seeping through despite his best efforts to hide it. Sunday was a master of this game, effortlessly gliding through the performance while Aventurine fought to stay afloat. The gap between them was widening, and the weight of it was crushing.

“Don’t miss this moment

I’m tellin’ you Blink, gone

Don’t leave any regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock

Blink, gone”

Aventurine could feel his grip on the performance slipping. His voice was strained, each word a battle against the fatigue threatening to overwhelm him. Sunday’s power, his control over the stage, was too much. And yet, Aventurine couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when Ratio’s memory burned in his chest like a fire that refused to die. Not when he had to prove that he was more than just a pawn in this twisted game.

His frustration bubbled over, the momentary doubts clawing at his resolve. Why was he even still here? He should have been able to defeat Sunday. Why couldn’t he just be free of this… this pressure?

But the moment he faltered, he could almost hear Ratio’s voice, that quiet reminder of the bond they shared, and his resolve hardened once more.

Sunday, however, was watching him, his gaze almost calculating. He knew exactly what was happening. He could see Aventurine’s struggle, the cracks in his composure starting to show. Sunday’s lips curled upward, an almost imperceptible smile. He was enjoying this, watching Aventurine wrestle with his own limitations. To him, it was all part of the game.

The crowd erupted as Sunday’s performance reached its peak, his ethereal grace pulling them deeper into his web. But Aventurine… Aventurine was falling further behind.

“Don’t let it go…” Aventurine murmured to himself, his fists clenched, trying to find that last bit of energy within him to push through.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to focus, to fight past the fatigue. For Ratio. For [Name]. He couldn’t stop now. Not when the finish line was in sight.

Aventurine’s vision blurred as the memory of Ratio’s final words flooded his mind, louder than the pounding music, sharper than the pain in his chest.

“Take care of yourself, Gambler. Do stay alive. I wish you the best of luck.”

The words echoed over and over again, a reminder that had become his burden, his motivation. The bittersweet final smile Ratio had given him just before slipping away was the last thing he could remember of his friend—of the person who had believed in him when he had nothing left to offer.

The memory of Ratio’s fall, crumpling to the stage, blood staining the ground, was a haunting image that would never leave him. Every detail felt like it had carved itself into his soul.

“Stay alive…”

The thought carried weight now. It wasn’t just for himself anymore. He could hear Ratio’s voice as clearly as if he were standing right there. It was a voice that reminded him that, despite all the pain, there was still a purpose, still a reason to fight, to survive.

But the effort to keep going, to push past the crushing exhaustion, was too much. His legs wobbled beneath him, and without realizing it, blood began to drip from his nose, staining his lip. It was a sign of how far his body had been pushed, how much he had neglected his own well-being in the pursuit of something more.

His head throbbed, a deep, pulsing pain, but Aventurine didn’t falter. Not yet.

With a gasp, he shook himself out of the memory, forced himself to refocus.

“I won’t stop… I can’t stop.”

He looked over to Sunday, whose effortless performance was only pushing the gap between them. But not today. Not today, he swore. For Ratio. For [Name]. For the promise of something better.

He wiped the blood from his lip, still shaking, but his gaze remained steady. Aventurine was going to finish this—no matter the cost.

The music blared, a feverish beat that rattled through the air, echoing the tension between them. Sunday’s performance had become a carefully crafted illusion, mesmerizing the audience, but it was the vision of Aventurine—slumped and struggling—that broke the illusion. Every step, every strained breath, was a silent cry of defiance.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

Aventurine’s vision swam. The figure in front of him, wearing the same pristine white suit he had seen so many times before, was none other than Ratio. Sweat glistened on his brow, his posture firm as though the events of hours ago never happened. As if he hadn’t been shot and left to bleed out on the cold stage. Aventurine’s heart twisted.

“Doctor…”

But as the hallucination blinked, it shifted—flickering like a faulty signal—and Aventurine realized the truth. This wasn’t Ratio. This was Sunday, playing the cruel game of the mind. Sunday’s voice, soothing and familiar, had been twisted into something else entirely. A manipulation, not of words, but of perception.

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

Aventurine’s throat tightened, his breath ragged, but he refused to look away. His mind was clear now, more than ever. The hallucination was just that: a ghost, a reflection of the pain, the guilt that haunted him. He tore his eyes away from it and, through the haze, saw them.

“Oh, in a blink, gone

Forget everything and just enjoy it”

[Name].

‘My God, My Universe…’

His heart surged. They were back. The figure he’d longed for, the one who had kept him tethered to this fleeting world, stood there, a beacon of hope amidst the chaos. His pulse raced in recognition. But they weren’t alone.

Beside them stood someone else—a figure he never thought he would see again.

Robin.

Her eyes locked onto Sunday, filled with a strange, unspoken message, her presence more powerful than any weapon. She had come back, alive. Somehow. And Sunday saw it too.

“Oh, in a blink, gone”

Aventurine didn’t hesitate. He surged forward, every step toward [Name] a prayer, a plea to not let this moment slip away, to not let the chaos of the show swallow him whole. His hand reached out, desperate, trembling, but his heart was full of determination.

“Don't miss this moment

I'm tellin you blink, gone”

Sunday, watching with wide eyes, understood the unspoken challenge. He had no time for hesitation. His sister, Robin, was watching, waiting for him to make his move. He couldn’t disappoint her. The scoreboard flickered, a stark reminder that time was running out.

“Leave no regrets

The clock goes tick tock tick tock tick tock”

Time was up, and it was clear who had won.

“Blink, Gone”

The shot rang out so suddenly, a deafening crack that seemed to tear through the very air, freezing everyone in their tracks. The audience gasped, the music faltering as the blood splattered across the stage in a violent burst. For a moment, it was chaos—confusion, panic—but for [Name], everything slowed to a horrifying crawl.

Their eyes locked onto the figure, standing just a few feet away from them, his form poised in a way that seemed almost serene. The bullet had hit him before anyone had even seen it coming. His body jerked, a sharp intake of breath, and then he crumpled, falling to the ground as the crimson pool spread beneath him, staining the stage.

The scream tore from [Name]’s throat before they could even think.

(credits to by @yuun0110 on X/Twitter)

[Navigation]

142 notes · View notes