Post by Zou ۞ on Jul 2, 2017 16:35:28 GMT -5
The Envainar of Hope is a man who suffers. He does not eat, but for a putrid substance containing all of his nutrients and the broken down bodies of Hollows, painfully funneled directly into his bloodstream. He does not sleep, but for moments when he rests in exile and allows his mind to be drowned by nightmares. His life is as automatic as his breathing, only a motion that is reflexive and raw, something that only happens for some distant purpose as vague as the notion of survival. He is both one with the present and an arbiter for the future. Every second is agony because he knows what has passed, what is, and what it is he will bring. He was not always like this. He was a warrior, perhaps the best there was, perhaps the best there ever would be. None could match him, and they spoke of him almost mythically, as if he was some boogeyman that did not really exist. And he was proud of that fact. Of being that lone wolf of such fame.
Silbern would have been quiet on this day if not for the cataclysm that was brought upon it at the most inconvenient hour from the most terrifying enemy. For one moment the gray and white sky of their secret world was empty, and it was just as it had always been, a pocket for the universe hiding within a larger one, undisturbed and at eternal peace for all times even if people knew it existed, unreachable. Then a large mass blotted out the light of the sky on a painfully gray morning. It resembled a huge white tanker or submarine larger than a skyscraper and floating in the sky while casting shadows that intimidated the weaker masses and made others of some strength question it. Three more joined it in the sky after that with each one appearing out of nowhere. Those Quincy who were old enough would remember the last time they had felt this. That emotion had been reserved as the prelude to a Shinigami invasion... to genocide.
He was trapped in the darkness of bitterness left after a betrayal and after years of wandering a lonely white desert with only a sometimes incomplete moon for company. He was someone that had braved and survived years of killing and eating again and again every day as a predator all just for the sake of that vague notion of survival that was as automated as his life now. But from that darkness he found a light and he reached out for it and for the chance to live in the present and to finally, for the first time in a long time, see. He reached out for the light because he had grown weary of the dark. He reached out for her, and then for them. They had rescued him from misery. For a single moment he had purpose in the present, reflected in the times they spent together, illuminated by the laughter in her voice or the fullness of her soft lips. For just a moment he thought that this new life was not Hell for his crimes and that he could be happy.
Fire and brimstone rained like an Armageddon storm pushing Silbern to be two steps from Hell. Explosions were rampant and there was death everywhere. The attack began in a way that was familiar to all of the Quincy who were old enough to remember. First there came death from above. It was always mass destruction and death from above. It had to be. There were buildings to demolish, supplies to cut people off from. There was chaos that needed to be created. The next step was when that blighting of Silbern evolved and actual soldiers began to appear. They were well organized and they all wore identical black armored outfits and helmets. They came with gear such as guns, EMP devices that could blow away reishi, and were also equipped with their own spiritual powers. They were Mod Souls, and would remind these Quincy of a story that had been told of an invasion on the Soul Society some time ago by an army much like this. But this was more numerous, better organized, and better armed than that. Its power had escalated since that test run.
And then just when he thought he had found his place it turned out that he was wrong. He had seen into the future and been told to protect them. Keep them close. And he had tried, but it was time once again for the warrior that had thought himself unparalleled to be humbled and to feel powerless. First he was defeated by a King surrounded by red. Then the shadow that had always been his benefactor turned on him with scorn and rage for his defeat, and snuffed out the light that had given him hope. All but one. Her. She had not been killed. She had fled with a lover. In spite of all that they had experienced together, in spite of his love, in spite of the sacrifices and deaths of their comrades and his need to grow to surpass the reaper that had humiliated him, she left and was gone. That was when he understood. Nothing is permanent, and everything dies. It was haunting, but it awoke a furnace in his aching heart.
A man in a black cloak and hood descended to the ground level amid the explosions and the ashes. He wore a full head helmet that doubled as a mask as well to hide his face. When he spoke his voice was modulated and distorted. He went for intimidation and for psychological warfare. He was still and always would be conscious of the pain in his heart. Just like in a life before, he had now felt betrayal. He had been betrayed by her. So with his fury burning and his fire roaring, he drew his sword, all of it concentrating there, and he unleashed it all upon the world for everyone to see and hear and experience and for everyone to be destroyed by. The masked man in black who was the Envainar of Hope stepped forward and mercilessly blocked attack after attack, weaving through or cutting down arrows that chased after him, until at last he reached each victim and their bodies were cut into pieces.
His heart is the most active volcano. It is a nuclear furnace raging with energy and heat and fire. The brimstone that rains from the sky is a physical representation of his soul. It is so hot that even he is not immune, for he burns in his own light. Every second is misery, every heartbeat agony, every little movement a reminder of what he lost. And now, finally, he understands the trap of the light. When he should have been thinking of them, when he should have devoted his time to protecting them and not to fulfilling a personal vendetta, he was thinking of himself, and his own ego. And now he can no longer think for their wellbeing again. Yet it is not all him. She left. When she could have been thinking of the bigger picture, of all of them, she was thinking only of a different love. She betrayed them for that love. Now he understands that to survive in the world one must have a furnace heart with which to burn everyone around.
At last the masked man reached the palace. This palace was full of strength that could not stop him. He was Kuroi Naito. He reached out with the power of his cold venom blood and the unrelenting machine of his fury. A deep red brought the entire entrance to the palace to bear as ashes. His soldiers started to rush in ahead of him, but he soon followed behind and walked. He cut down anyone that attacked him. He was fueled by the Mugen No Yami, the Infinite Darkness. He had looked into the abyss and it had looked back, but it had been the darkness that blinked and gave him its power. Now he used it to slaughter Quincy after Quincy, cutting his way through the inside of the palace. He looked to either side of himself to confirm that his closest allies were still with him. They had long since deserved their own individual assignments. "Kouhai-Sama will be here soon. Before he does, I want Wilhelm Kohler. I want B, The Boss, Baal."
Silbern would have been quiet on this day if not for the cataclysm that was brought upon it at the most inconvenient hour from the most terrifying enemy. For one moment the gray and white sky of their secret world was empty, and it was just as it had always been, a pocket for the universe hiding within a larger one, undisturbed and at eternal peace for all times even if people knew it existed, unreachable. Then a large mass blotted out the light of the sky on a painfully gray morning. It resembled a huge white tanker or submarine larger than a skyscraper and floating in the sky while casting shadows that intimidated the weaker masses and made others of some strength question it. Three more joined it in the sky after that with each one appearing out of nowhere. Those Quincy who were old enough would remember the last time they had felt this. That emotion had been reserved as the prelude to a Shinigami invasion... to genocide.
He was trapped in the darkness of bitterness left after a betrayal and after years of wandering a lonely white desert with only a sometimes incomplete moon for company. He was someone that had braved and survived years of killing and eating again and again every day as a predator all just for the sake of that vague notion of survival that was as automated as his life now. But from that darkness he found a light and he reached out for it and for the chance to live in the present and to finally, for the first time in a long time, see. He reached out for the light because he had grown weary of the dark. He reached out for her, and then for them. They had rescued him from misery. For a single moment he had purpose in the present, reflected in the times they spent together, illuminated by the laughter in her voice or the fullness of her soft lips. For just a moment he thought that this new life was not Hell for his crimes and that he could be happy.
Fire and brimstone rained like an Armageddon storm pushing Silbern to be two steps from Hell. Explosions were rampant and there was death everywhere. The attack began in a way that was familiar to all of the Quincy who were old enough to remember. First there came death from above. It was always mass destruction and death from above. It had to be. There were buildings to demolish, supplies to cut people off from. There was chaos that needed to be created. The next step was when that blighting of Silbern evolved and actual soldiers began to appear. They were well organized and they all wore identical black armored outfits and helmets. They came with gear such as guns, EMP devices that could blow away reishi, and were also equipped with their own spiritual powers. They were Mod Souls, and would remind these Quincy of a story that had been told of an invasion on the Soul Society some time ago by an army much like this. But this was more numerous, better organized, and better armed than that. Its power had escalated since that test run.
And then just when he thought he had found his place it turned out that he was wrong. He had seen into the future and been told to protect them. Keep them close. And he had tried, but it was time once again for the warrior that had thought himself unparalleled to be humbled and to feel powerless. First he was defeated by a King surrounded by red. Then the shadow that had always been his benefactor turned on him with scorn and rage for his defeat, and snuffed out the light that had given him hope. All but one. Her. She had not been killed. She had fled with a lover. In spite of all that they had experienced together, in spite of his love, in spite of the sacrifices and deaths of their comrades and his need to grow to surpass the reaper that had humiliated him, she left and was gone. That was when he understood. Nothing is permanent, and everything dies. It was haunting, but it awoke a furnace in his aching heart.
A man in a black cloak and hood descended to the ground level amid the explosions and the ashes. He wore a full head helmet that doubled as a mask as well to hide his face. When he spoke his voice was modulated and distorted. He went for intimidation and for psychological warfare. He was still and always would be conscious of the pain in his heart. Just like in a life before, he had now felt betrayal. He had been betrayed by her. So with his fury burning and his fire roaring, he drew his sword, all of it concentrating there, and he unleashed it all upon the world for everyone to see and hear and experience and for everyone to be destroyed by. The masked man in black who was the Envainar of Hope stepped forward and mercilessly blocked attack after attack, weaving through or cutting down arrows that chased after him, until at last he reached each victim and their bodies were cut into pieces.
His heart is the most active volcano. It is a nuclear furnace raging with energy and heat and fire. The brimstone that rains from the sky is a physical representation of his soul. It is so hot that even he is not immune, for he burns in his own light. Every second is misery, every heartbeat agony, every little movement a reminder of what he lost. And now, finally, he understands the trap of the light. When he should have been thinking of them, when he should have devoted his time to protecting them and not to fulfilling a personal vendetta, he was thinking of himself, and his own ego. And now he can no longer think for their wellbeing again. Yet it is not all him. She left. When she could have been thinking of the bigger picture, of all of them, she was thinking only of a different love. She betrayed them for that love. Now he understands that to survive in the world one must have a furnace heart with which to burn everyone around.
At last the masked man reached the palace. This palace was full of strength that could not stop him. He was Kuroi Naito. He reached out with the power of his cold venom blood and the unrelenting machine of his fury. A deep red brought the entire entrance to the palace to bear as ashes. His soldiers started to rush in ahead of him, but he soon followed behind and walked. He cut down anyone that attacked him. He was fueled by the Mugen No Yami, the Infinite Darkness. He had looked into the abyss and it had looked back, but it had been the darkness that blinked and gave him its power. Now he used it to slaughter Quincy after Quincy, cutting his way through the inside of the palace. He looked to either side of himself to confirm that his closest allies were still with him. They had long since deserved their own individual assignments. "Kouhai-Sama will be here soon. Before he does, I want Wilhelm Kohler. I want B, The Boss, Baal."
