The Corpse King, Yogure [Solo/R]

[Miranda Frost]

Another weekend, another leave of absence granted to the Unseated officer to visit her home. This Miranda wasn’t there to provide a certain relief to her people, but to visit a certain spot just outside the small village. Through the settlement, a stream flowed undisturbed towards the endless wilds outside the Rukongai. The villagers have often spoken of the water’s high spiritual density, but Miranda has yet to witness its alleged power. When she sat at the edge of the stream, it brought her peace and calm, allowing her to delve deep into her inner-most thoughts. Whether she was in distress or she wanted to admire the sanctity of her home, this spot was a place most ideal for her.

Miranda smiled as she came alongside the stream. Despite its movement, it would seem as if the waters were still. Her reflection shimmered across its pristine surface, the visage only muddled by the untamed sun that shone high above her, producing an unsightly glare upon the water’s surface. Frost sighed and removed her zanpakuto, Yogure. She’d dip the tip of its sheath down into the water as she walked alongside it, watching as it did little to distort her image. The water’s properties were strange indeed; it had treated the blade as if it hadn’t invaded its space and formed around it as it moved along its path.

Frost removed the blade from the stream and came about the spot she normally sat upon, a massive limestone boulder that had been embedded in the earth for who knows how long. She circled around it, her fingertips wistfully dancing over its polished surface. Over the years of visiting this place, the position upon the boulder in which she had sat had worn down the stone, eroding it into a perfect impression for her to relax. Frost would set herself down, her legs conforming against the stone beneath her. She was here to revisit the corpse king that lived within her blade. Ever since her bout with Arantima, her lieutenant, she was curious about the method in which he taught his lesson.

Why would he pull on her desperation and bait her into performing something in which she was nowhere near ready? She rested Yogure in her lap and brought her hands before her, examining them. The power she had tapped into was directed from those hands. At first, the release of such unclaimed abilities excited her, but Frost had unknowingly stepped into the current as her ability attracted the reishi around her to begin forming over her body. To her memory, before she blacked out from the pressure she had exerted upon herself, it was akin to trying to stop a powerful water current with her own hands without being whisked away within its torrential rage.

“It was impossible”, she muttered, balling her hands into tight fists. No matter how hard she resisted against her own power, there was nothing she could have done on her own. Her lieutenant had stepped in and put a stop to the power. The scaled brand that had been seared into her left shoulder served as a reminder for what he did. Little did she know at the time that he had saved her from her own self-destruction. Frost sighed and rested the palms of her hands upon Yogure’s sheath, her soft flesh pressing against the aged wood. During that bout with Dragon-sama, Miranda had been introduced to Yogure. Before then her attempts and connecting with the sword had fallen short of success.

Maybe there was a barrier before, a veil that hid the essence of Yogure from Miranda until that point in time. Perhaps Miranda physically was unable until Dragon-sama pushed her beyond what she was capable before. She certainly felt stronger if not in body but in sheer will. There was no reason for her not to be able to achieve this. Her eyes closed and her mind cleared, letting the sound of the silky movement of the water fill her being. She reached out with her spirit in attempts to initiate contact with the zanpakuto. She held the link out until it wavered from the effort before dropping it. The attempt had been unsuccessful.

Her eyes opened and her hands clenched over the blade’s sheath. “Damn it. Didn’t work… think Miranda, how did you do it last time?”, she pondered, reflecting back to the moment Yogure reached out to her. Dragon-sama had released the seal on himself and had begun to overwhelm Miranda with his speed. Her efforts were in vain as the golden one beat and battered her past the point of putting up a defense against him. Miranda had been beaten before since Yogure had taken its form, so merely not fairing well in a sparring session didn’t pull him out. Was it desperation? No, such an emotion wasn’t well rooted in her spirit, or so she thought.

However, the blaring sensation in her burn reminded her of one detail highlighting a possible solution to her problem. She had never bled in battle. Sure she had received her ass on a silver platter, but never before had her blood been spilled. This explained a lot of things to the shinigami. It explained why her sword felt so quiet and non-existent when she held it yet when she clashed with others, even in a friendly spar, she could feel something from their swords. She remembered the appearance of Yogure, a giant skeletal king sitting amidst a golden throne. Miranda’s blood had woken the king from his slumber.

That was the key then, this blood of hers. Miranda moved to grip Yogure’s hilt, slowly relieving the rusted blade from its hilt. She never really got used to the rough feeling of the blade grinding its way through the confines of its sheath. The feeling could be akin to sharp objects sliding down upon slate. The sound permeated her bones and the vibration was equally sickening to her. Her expression was one of grimacing disgust from the sound reverberating through her. It was an unhealthy feeling, about as unhealthy as the blade’s appearance. Rust spots dotted the ancient appearing blade, with chips and cracks lining its structure.

“ I am not ready for this”, she muttered, laying an exposed arm over her lap. She bit her lip and brought the blade to bear on her arm, pressing the rusted edge against her pale flesh. “I… I can do this. You can do this Frost” She’d slide the rough edge over her flesh, its edge tearing through it with relative ease. Blood welled quickly to the surface and Miranda paused once more seeing it. She released a pent-up breath, panting hard as the crimson stuff dripped over the steel of her sword. “There. N-now to try again”, She’d lay the blood-drenched sword across her lap, her hands laying softly over it. She’d reach out once more to it, her spirit piercing Yogure’s veil.

And it welcomed her.

[Miranda Frost]

The reality in which Miranda knew was stripped away as Yogure grasped a hold of her own, pulling her down into the dark depths. The color of the world around her faded to a featureless void. Gravity seemed nonexistent here leaving her form to float there, aimlessly reaching out against the endless firmament. She was so close, she could feel it. The unseated shinigami inched further and further and grasped upon that which was unseen. The black void peeled away, the lightless area burned away by blinding light. Miranda shielded her eyes from the searing sun that beamed down at her.

Her feet met solid ground, marking the end of her brief time in the void. Miranda stood and composed herself once she was able, the transition proved reasonably disorienting after all. She wasn’t in the Rukongai anymore, but something of a mirror image of the place. While the rukongai was bristling with life, this place, for as far as the eye can see, was but a barren wasteland. The calm, comfortable climate was a sweltering furnace, and the air had a distinct metallic smell to it. The only thing that dares exist in this land was a lonely, crumbling colosseum that stood invitingly before her.

“Endless desert and a giant arena in the center of it all. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is.”, She mused stepping to the grand arena. The building had certainly seen better days. The closer she approached its grand arches. Outside sat a man resting against the structure. He stood up upon Miranda’s approach. He’d tip his wide-brimmed hat towards the shinigami. Miranda paused, halting in her tracks at the man’s welcome. Frost’s sword hand dropped to the sash at her side as if to grip the hilt of her Zanpakuto, but the blade was nowhere to be found.

“Ah! A visitor, welcome to my home. I take it you aren't from this part of town.” 

Miranda glanced around her again, making sure the environment was as she had initially seen it. She had heard of inner worlds and their malleability depending on a variety of situations, but she wasn’t wrong from what she saw. “These parts” were empty and barren. Was the man mad from the heat? What was with this guy. “Erm, what are you talking about? There’s nothing here but this… thing.” She raised her hand at the giant coliseum behind the man, causing him to glance back towards it. “Are you ok, sir? Surely you weren’t sitting out here waiting for me to arrive.”

The man moved to stroke the rough stubble on his chin as if contemplating on what Miranda had just said. His hazel eyes widened with surprise, but the rest of his expression remained unphased. He’d laugh and pull his hat further down over his eyes. “No, you’re right. The sun has been quite bright as of late. The heat must but getting to me. Say there miss, Do you know why the sun is so bright? It has been so long since we’ve had a single cloud in the sky. I am curious as to why, Miranda Frost.”

[Miranda Frost]

“Miranda Frost” The way the man had said it, that is with the emphasis on her name, in a telling way. The man knew very well why Miranda could only see empty and barren desert ground for as far as her eyes can see. Even more, telling was how he expressed that. What was his game here? Was he stalling her from going inside? Why would he poke and prod at her curiosities in such a way? Why was she asking so many questions, whether verbal or non verbally? The man’s nature was affecting her, something she couldn’t quite understand.

“I am sure I’ll figure that out soon enough.”, she responded, resisting the urge to return the question back on this mysterious stranger. This man’s game, whatever it is, would be something she’d choose not to play. As if reading her very thoughts, the man adjusted his glasses and tilted his wide-brimmed hat over his eyes. She could hear the slightest chuckle on his breath. He took step back, leaning upon one of the colosseum's many great pillars. The conversation as it were, however brief, had concluded, yet she learned very little about the man. “I take it you are not going to come with me?”

“I will, but for now I will reside right here, outside this grand stage, until the time is right of course”, he mused, his arms crossing tightly across his chest. Miranda stared at him for a bit longer, expecting more out of him. That was it? Ask a few questions then not pursue where those questions lead? She had not given him his answer. She frowned and turned away, stepping beneath the main archway that led into the depths of this gladiatorial building. The man sighed and peeked around the arch he stood against. “OH, right. Beware your thoughts here, lass. If something unsavory happens don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The words never did reach her. Not a single sound from the outside permeated the eery sanctity within this building. As Miranda navigated its corridors, she found out first hand. It was quiet and surprisingly clean considering the chipped rock and aging construction that kept this thing together. The deeper she explored, the stronger the sense of dread pooled at the pit of her heart. Her hand clutched at her uniform. “The hell was going on?” There was nothing innately frightening about the place. It was empty, yes, but the stadium was impressive! From the carvings to the gold trim lining the walls, Miranda found the place… beautiful.

Despite this, she couldn’t wash away this feeling of despair that grew stronger the further she delved. “Considering what I had to do to get here… i... I should probably follow it.” Through sheer force of will, she carried on, climbing stairwells and moving through passageways. Before she knew it, her walk had evolved into a jog, then a run, and then a desperate sprint to get to where she needed to be. The arena was empty but she could feel the eyes of many weighing down upon her. Invisible hands clutched at her and dragged her along. Her heart throbbed and her lungs screamed.

And then, nothing. She had entered one of the skyboxes that looked over the arena from a comfortable view. The oppressive feeling was gone, and she was filled with a soft warmth. She gasped for air, realizing she had stopped breathing on her mad dash here. She fell to her knees at the foot of the throne before her, her body trembling as it recovered. What the hell had gotten into her? She couldn’t remember ever feeling that… terrified in her life. What was with this place? She rose from her forced prostration, her eyes gazing into the empty pits of the decaying king that sat within it.

[Miranda Frost]

Within the death pits that were the king's eyes were a glimmer of light, and they were focused upon her. The dead king was very much alive. As if directed by her thoughts the giant raised a bleached arm, a finger outstretched towards her. "Y oU. DaRE ReVIeL yoUr FaCe TO Me?", The corpse's jaw creaked open, the sound from which shook the spectator's box with the sheer power of his words. Had her knees not already been grounded, his words alone would have put them there. "AfTeR WhaT yUo DiD?", he continued, the rage in his voice burning in her chest.

"W-what? What have I done?", she asked, recovering from her position. She tried to shake off the uneasiness he gave him, but even if her mind was recovered, her body still shook uncontrollably. The dim light in the corpse king's eyes subsided and sank back into the pits from which they came. His jaw sealed and his body relaxed into the silent agony that held him. For a moment, Miranda was made to believe him to be dead, the weight of his anger finally snapping the poor corpse's will. Unfortunately for her, she would never be that woefully lucky.

"I am reminded of the cruelty of your world" it whispered, the voice now calm and soothing. "Time is but an object to be played with. Of course, you wouldn't know of the horror I've been forced to live through. The memory of that day is all but wiped from your memory." Its hand outstretched once more, rattling the unseen chains that kept him imprisoned. "Come, Miranda Frost. Allow me to show you the events of which you remain woefully unaware." Miranda was hesitant but stepped forward to grasp the giant's skeletal hand. "Perhaps you will return here with proper reverence for who I am."

Miranda had not the time to ask on what he meant by 'proper reverence'. Almost as soon as the last syllable was spoken all reality warped in on itself. The dusty gold of her surroundings blurred together in a sickening soup of color. Her body faded into the madness and her mind along with it. She cried out into the torrent of power consuming her, but none would hear her. Before long this whirlpool of matter and energy coalesced into the blackest night. Miranda grew tired and felt her metaphorical eyes closed before sleep welcomed her.

She couldn't tell how long she had been drifting, how long her spirit was pulled in this unknown direction. It was peaceful, but the throbbing in her slashed palm told her that the connection she had made had been cut. If this was the case, then why hadn't her consciousness returned to the place she started? Why must she continue, if her attempt had failed? What did Yogure mean? Her presence alone was enough to set his demeanor ablaze, but for the life of her, she couldn't remember. With how long she drifted she had no shortage of time to try.

[Miranda Frost]

Frost awoke with the sun beaming softly upon her brow. Her eyes opened, blinded by its rays. Her hand clenched upon the grass around her. It was unlike that in her home district. It was something so foreign to her yet at the back of her mind something about its texture felt familiar. The shinigami sat up, her wrists rubbing at her tired eyes as they adjusted to the new light. She sat upon a hill overlooking a small village bustling with life. Farmers and guards took to the street, moving to and fro in a fevered pace. A formation of soldiers marched with great confidence and discipline through the center of the village probably to stock up on supplies.

Frost’s eyes narrowed at their weaponry. Each one carried a long musket at their shoulder and wore uniforms of a dark green color. Watching them brought a smile to the girl’s face. As serious and disciplined as they were, there was something to be said about the rigid way they marched and the over-the-top flamboyance of those uniforms. Miranda had read that armies used to fight like that. They just lined up in rows and fired their guns in thunderous volleys. There was something to be said about the pride those soldiers wore on their backs. They either had balls of steel or otherworldly courage to wear such things, even if their guns may miss them.

Miranda stood and patted down her clothing. Her brow raised in slight surprise. Her uniform was gone, instead replaced by a simple cream colored dress, cutoff right beneath her knee. Out of habit, her hand fell to the pommel of her blade, but there was nothing there. “Right. Because I’m inside. That makes sense”, She sighed, her hand clenching into a tight fist at her side instead. Strange it was not to have the sword there. Miranda didn’t know what to do with her hands.

She made her way into the village, dodging the numerous people moving in and out. At first sight, one might believe the village too small to house so many people, but the soldiers’ camp must be not too far from the place. Likely an entourage of people has been following the army. “Poor villagers”, she commented, sifting through the crowds. The first thing she needed to do was to find out exactly where she was. The place felt a bit more real than that Colosseum did. The silver-haired woman sighed and squeezed through the crowd, her sandals coming down hard upon the local pub’s wooden steps.

‘The local watering hole seems like a good place to find out some details… I wonder if the drinks here hold any water to what I remember’, she thought, stepping into the rowdy saloon. Men of all walks of life hammered down their drinks and sang a variety of songs in their drunken stupor. The woman dodged grabby hands of those looking to do a little more than get drunk tonight. Miranda frowned and stepped out of their reach, taking refuge at the bar. The old folks there shifted their stools over without as much as a word. “What would a lass such as yerself be havin’?”

[Miranda Frost]

Miranda gazed over the selection, her body leaning up upon the bar’s surface to get a better look. On the shelves by the barkeep’s boots were a variety of liquors, from imported whiskeys to home-brewed vodka. Rum and grog were kept in a plentiful amount, but nearly all of the bottles looked a bit old. The glass had long lost its luster and a coat of dust covered them. It was honestly hard to tell one drink from another if it weren’t for the drink’s color. The shinigami sighed and pointed at the small bottle nestled near the end of the shelf, tucked neatly beside that of a scotch.

“That one right there. Half’a glass of that stuff, Sir”, she requested with the hintest bit of gleeful inflection in her voice. The old geezers beside her turned their heads towards her, their attention stolen by the haphazard way she rocked the old rickety stool. The barkeep worked but didn’t keep his eye off of the silver-haired lass. The man poured the vodka and placed it before her, but something seemed off in his eyes. Miranda didn’t see it of course. Her distracted mind was set upon the strongly scented liquid.

“Thank you!”, She stated, immediately attacking to cool glass. The barkeep stroked at his thin stash and reached for something hanging at his belt. “You look vaguely familiar, Lass. Those eyes are very much like an old veteran that frequents this place.”, the man’s hand pulled his broad knife from the scabbard belted to his thigh, poking it against the old man to Miranda’s right with its point. “Ain’t that right, Joseph?” The old man grumbled and swatted away the knife with such strength that it caused the barkeep to drop the knife behind the counter.

“If you’re going to point it at someone, you might as well use it.” He slammed his mug down and hopped down from his stool and tilted his small straw hat over his eyes. “Otherwise shove it up your ass.” The man stormed away, pushing and bulldozing his way through the various customers that dared to block him. Miranda watched him as he left, twirling the crisp drink in her glass. “Ever since he came back from the war he’s been that way. Works himself to the point of breakin’ and drinks to numb the pain. Hard worker, but he takes care of his family. It’s disappointing really.”

The woman paused mid-sip, curious on what the man was talking about. She dared not admit her own lack of attention to the matter. Clearly, she was distracted by other things. “What is?”, she asked, setting down the empty cup. The man collected it and drew a clean handkerchief from his breast pocket, cleaning down its surface. “He could have been so much more.”, The barkeep almost sounded remorseful with the thickness of disappointment in his voice. “ I would suggest asking him yourself.”

Miranda reached for the coin pouch she usually kept at her side but, like her zanpakuto, it was gone. The man waved her attempts to pay him away. “Don’t worry about it. You’re new around these parts, that much is clear as day.” He sighed and leaned in closer, his hands pressing against the polished wood of the bar. “Tell ya what. The man’s house is next to the north road leading in, across from the village’s church. When you visit, tell him that Crow sends his regards”.

[Miranda Frost]

Frost nodded and made her way away from the bar, dodging the grabbing hands that narrowly missed the lower portions of her dress. Ten minutes or so in the bar would be enough to clear the streets. Only soldiers lingered, their formations dragging spiked fortifications down the dusty streets. In the center of town a tall man clad in a black uniform similar to the soldiers around him. The sun reflected dreadfully off his skull and his face was sculpted.

Flanked at his sides were those of which Miranda could see as a member of the draconic cults in her home district, judging by their shifty movements and long, concealing cloaks.Miranda kept moving but slowed her pace. The man’s gaze shifted from the large piece of parchment he carried to the woman. He continued speaking to his retinue without pause, yet those steel-like eyes stayed glued to her movements. Miranda realized that this man was this force’s commander.

Other than that, something was familiar about that man and those people around him. They were discussing plans of sorts in a place so public, yet the shifty figures at the man’s side acted as if they were behind closed doors. The men working diligently and those making their patrols as if they weren’t there. Given the man’s awards hanging from his chest, he certainly was a man of higher standing. Miranda couldn’t believe that men such as these were so disciplined that they wouldn’t give even the simplest amount of recognition.

No. Something was off here. Miranda turned forward casually and continued along her way, but she could still feel those lifeless eyes burying themselves into the back of her head. A droplet of sweat rolled from her brow and her heart thumped in her chest. Where ever she remember that man from, that memory was not from a good place. After a minute of walking at a brisk pace, she was sure the line of sight was broken, yet she still felt his gaze.

‘What’s with those guys…', she thought quietly, as if their over-looming presence could peek into her innermost thoughts. Frost brought her wrist up to wipe away her brow. ‘Intense and bone-chilling. I feel like i know it, but where. When?”, she questioned herself, her arms crossing at her midsection. His gaze burned over her flesh. Her quick pace broke into a run, stumbling even, as she narrowly passed a couple of guardsmen. They cried out in warning and protest, but she was already gone.

[Miranda Frost]

The Village here was indeed small, for it didn’t take long to find the place the barkeep referred to. The church lay to the left side of the dirt road. A wall of smooth, polished stones stood waist high, separating the church property from the rest of the surrounding area. Much care had been put into its towering steeples, which cast its shadow upon the settlement with its height. Miranda wondered how she didn’t spot it before.

The steel grayness of her eyes flicked to the opposite side of the road and there sat the humblest of cottages. Compared to many of the houses and buildings in this village, this one appeared to be the one with the most age. From the crumbling plaster that made up its walls to the straw roofing job that was lacking in a few areas, such a bare-bones environment fit the man who’d stormed out of that bar moments prior.

Miranda braced herself and swallowed her nervous temperament down and approached the door to the cottage. She rapped her knuckles against the wooden door no more than three times and waited. Given the size of the place there was no way for him not to be heard. Surely enough after a long moment’s passing, Frost could hear the shuffling of feet and the tumbling of locks. The door creaked open just slightly, the old man peeking his head out.

“Whatever you hooligans are sellin’ I want nothing of it! I’ve a loaded pistol in hand, so if you know what’s good for ya I’d get off my property.” The man opened the door a bit more and stepped out just enough to make his threat visible. In his hand was the pistol with its hammer drawn back. “You listenin’ you… you.”, the man trailed off, his tense, puffed out chest hunching over in a relieved posture. “You’re that new lass from the pub. The hell you doin’ here?”, he asked softly, holstering the pistol at his hip.

Miranda kept her cool through that whole ordeal. Given what she had seen of him already, she didn’t expect any danger of him. She exhaled slowly and bowed her head slightly in respect to him before rising. “My name is Miranda Frost, Joseph, and I wanted to ask you a few questions”, she said softly, her hands folding neatly in front of her. The man shook his head and muttered under his breath.

“How do you know my name? The ‘Keep tell ya?”, the man inquired, his strong hand brushing back his messy, sweat drenched hair. Miranda nodded in response, her demeanor not budging from its current position. “Well hell…Come on in I suppose. Make yourself comfortable, if you can.” Miranda stepped in after Joseph, and glanced around his home. He certainly wasn’t the only one here. A woman with pale complexion and short grey hair sat at the table along with a child with similar features to herself.

The woman peeked her gaze up to meet Miranda’s own and greeted her with a soft smile. “Well hello there, dear. New to town?” Before Miranda could answer the man cut her off as he sat down. “Of course she isn’t, just look at her, that hair.”The woman glared at Joseph and combed her fingers through her own hair. “You know well i’ve always had grey hair, Joseph. It isn’t unreasonable to think there aren't others out there. With a similar hair color.”

“Well… you’re my wife, and she ainn’t. That alone says she doesn't belong here, I reckon.”, The woman shook his head and reached over with her hands, grasping Miranda’s own. Her touch was cool, but held a motherly aura to it. Her hands gave her own a strong squeeze. “Don’t listen to him, dear. The presence of the soldiers have gotten him on edge.”The man stroked his beard and nodded defeated. “And for good reason to. They’re gettin’ in the way of my work.”

[Miranda Frost]

Miranda sat there quietly. Not sure how to respond to the tense lines of dialogue filling the air. The soldiers’ garrison in this village was certainly unwanted presence. Whether they are defending a position near here or taking refuge for a time to replenish supplies, there must be a strain on the capacity of people this settlement can support. There was only so much space here for shelter and the amount of food available could only exist to a certain amount.

Frost sighed and the tension melted. The man gave a harsh “hmph” and that was the end of it. "If you need a place to stay for the time being, we have a spare bed for ya in the back.” He leaned back in his chair, causing it to creak from his slightly overweight stature. “Hell. Would keep a soldier or two from claimin’ it. Would sure save me some heartache.”, Joseph stood and moved to a nearby window peakin’ out of it. “I’ve got to make sure these punks don’t mess with my crops. If you’d like to help my wife with a few things, I’d appreciate that.”

With that said, Joseph left without another word, leaving the two women behind. Frost looked to the other, who had returned to the earlier task. A pair of black leather gloves lay on the table before her and one by one she attached bone adornments along the fingers and knuckles. Each digit ended in an ivory point. Whether it was a weapon or traditional ceremonious garb, Frost couldn’t tell, but she felt drawn to them.

The woman broke the silence. “Don’t worry. There isn’t much, if anything, to do. Cooking is all but done and the preparations for tomorrow is set.”, she spoke setting down the gloves and caressing her likely cramping hands. “My name’s Cassandra, dear. My apologies for not introducing myself. It is a pleasure to meet you, Miranda”. Cassandra gave a soft smile and grasped the gloves she created.

“Ill need you to check on my husband later tonight. The man struggles to sleep after the war, and the army’s presence here isn’t helping. He’ll be in the fields out back working. Just… make sure he doesn’t work too hard.” Frost nodded and got up from the table. The request was simple enough. She may have to hit the bed early, so she could wake up in time to catch him. It was still midday, but Miranda did feel a bit drowsy.

“Yes Ma’am. I’ll make sure he doesn’t work himself to death.”, Frost replied with a dutiful nod. “I’ll get some sleep now then. Can’t do much exhausted, I suppose.” Cassandra returned her nod with a smile and returned to work on those alluring gloves. Frost pushed the chair in and walked to where Joseph had mentioned. Surely enough it was there, a cot of woven cotton with a thick wool blanket draped over it. Not the most comfortable bed she’d slept in, but it was far from the worst.

[Miranda Frost]

Miranda’s slumber was a dreamless one, but she awoken on time. Her pale eyes creaked open and glanced to the window, observing the moonlight’s gaze beaming through. Her body slowly stirred and she tiredly slipped from the bed, her feet slipping into her shoes in a mindless, well practiced motion. She glanced around, hearing the slow, deep breaths of Cassandra in the room adjacent to her. Good.

She’d leave the snug little house and make her way out back towards the fields Joseph tended. She’d climb the hill that overshadowed the acre of crops beyond and gazed out to see that man still working along in the fields, but he wasn’t alone. The same commander she saw parading through town. His posture worried Miranda. It was tense, ready, as if looking for a fight. Joseph clearly did not, but that wouldn't stop that man, no.

Miranda was a soldier through and through and recognized this man for what he was, a soldier. She’d sprint down hill from whence she stood, hoping to somehow interrupt this. She didn’t even register movement before a flash of light momentarily blinded her. Frost fell and tumbled in the grass. Her muscles shook, what was this?

She felt a dull, pulsing pain in her chest and her hand moved to investigate, touching the warm wetness Frost was all familiar with. She was shot and she could just lay there and bleed out. No, she had to warn Joseph. Frost winced as she attempted to rise from her position only to freeze when she realized what stood over her.

For a moment she saw the hollow-like face of a monstrous creature with a mask contorted by the pain of a thousand soldiers, but a blink shown the face of that one particular commander whose uniform remained immaculate within the light of the moon. His gaze was woefully familiar and his voice even more so.

“Not very faithful to your memory. What could you have done that would have changed this outcome?”, he’d turn towards where joseph once stood. What remained was a mangled pile of twisted limbs a meat, indistinguishable from what it once was. “But that’s not all you witnessed didn’t you?” The man smirked and reached down, gripping Frost by the throat, lifting her from the ground, but.. That wasn’t it either wasn’t it?

Though she could see him tighten his grip around her throat, he felt that grip close upon her entire being, as if she were just a doll crushed in the grip of a giant. She’d struggle, but she couldn’t move an inch. Frost would cry out and bite down on the invisible force. Her teeth clamped down on something tough and flesh-like, but a burning sensation would fill her mouth as if an acid was eroding away at her teeth and gums.

Her limbs would soon feel this misery as these invisible digits branded and burned her flesh slowly away. Her moans of agony gargled as blood and acidic fluid pooled in the back of her throat. Tears filled and streamed from her eyes as a new scene befell her. What once was a small family home was a burning ruin of rubble and smoldering wood.

That’s when she saw her, the crumpled body of Cassandra, clasping the gloves she was preparing so methodically during the day. Miranda choked and coughed, her vision fading and her consciousness slowing to a crawl, but she wouldn’t pass out. The commander, no, this horrible monster’s grip would keep her away by tightening his grip just enough to rouse her. She was so close to death, she could feel it.

Maybe that’s when she realized what actually held her, a hulking monstrosity of a Hollow. She’d gargle her disapproval of it and spit upon its twisted mask which only drew a distorted laugh from its slit. He would parade her among the ruins of the village, wading through the bodies and rubble. Smoke burned her eyes and wounds and the smell of rot nauseated her.

Miranda would see it all, the horror of a Hollow’s attack on a population. Children and their mothers lay in the street twisted in an amalgamation of limbs and viscera. Fathers and soldiers were scattered about, resembling not but crushed meat and bone. If it weren’t for the clothes, they would be indistinguishable from a butcher’s careless work.

When she thought it would never end the creature stopped and stared into her soul with its pale, glowing eyes. “Lonely girl, wouldn’t you like to be nothing to?”, it would ask as it slowly increased its grip on her. She’d scream, but none would hear her. Her bones would crackle and pop and her organs would rupture audibly. No pain could ever compare to this.

The monster would let her body drop to the puddle of crimson ichor he’d wring from her corpse. Leaving her spirit to watch. Never before had she felt so weak, so helpless. Never before had the chain hanging on her chest felt so heavy. She’d glance down at it, seeing that it was tied to the ground. She’d pull at it and scream in absolute terror as the creature plopped down across from her, its arms full of souls that it had collected from the piles of corpses.

“Looks like you’re not going anywhere for a while. Look upon me, and gaze upon what is to come”.

Her body would freeze and tilt her head up at it against her will, watching as one by one, the screaming, pleading souls of the villagers entered that monster’s gullet. Her body trembled with horror. This, this wasn’t what was to become of her, was it? To be devoured and crushed and digested within’ that hollow? It would not come to pass.

After each soul was torn asunder, she feared she would come next. She would struggle against the chain that imprisoned her to the ground. She’d claw and bite at it, doing all she could. When the beast stood up Miranda froze, but her fear would not come. The beast turned and left her among the mangled bodies of the dead.

“Sire of my nemesis, there are worse things than death. To be forgotten, to watch and live with the memory of the dead. Embrace the wish to fade away, to become as the dust beneath your knees.” She’d glance in his direction watching as the encroaching winter set in, distorting and blocking her view. He was gone and she was truly alone. Her eyes fell to the ash covered road she was tied. As days turned to weeks, and weeks turned to years she sat there. Her chain became tighter, gradually pulling her to the ground she knelt.

Only when her body lay flush with the soil beneath her did her eyes shift to something other than the same spot. It was as if her slumber was disturbed and she finally saw the light of day. Cassandra’s gloves lay there, untouched by the passage of time. Her body began to phase into the ground. She thought about it all: these people, the monster, the pain, the horror.

For the first time in her life she felt numb to it all, but there was one thing she did not wish of herself. To become as that monster said: Nothing. Even from this position she could still do something, couldn’t she? She could think, hope, speak. A fear gripped her heart at the realization that she for the longest time wished this of herself: to experience “True Death”. She’d reach for the gloves laying beside her and tightened her grip around them.

“I choose to live”.

He’d appear back before the giant skeleton king bound to the throne of sandstone. “You said after this event, I would hold proper reverence of you, but I tell you this, I only just recognize you.” The being’s jaw began to open as if to speak but a chain of crystal would loop about it and pool it free from the rest of the skull. It would sit here in this prison in silence. “You are the desire to return to a state of nothing, brought about by my worst experience. Years have I struggled with you without ever realizing who or what you are, but now I see. Your words are those of poison.”

Miranda would turn and walk away from the coliseum’s throne room. “You asked, no, commanded me to provide reverence to you. My answer is thus: I choose to remain something. I choose to be remembered. I choose to live. By showing reverence you wished to be freed and be left to reign over my soul and thrive until all here fades away, but that will never be the case. You will remain here in the deepest depths of my heart bound, gagged, and crippled.”

She stopped and glanced behind her one last time. “You will rot”, she’d say gently before exiting the arena.

What met her wasn’t the open, cracked desert she had bore witness prior, but a dark passageway, leading to but a singular, lamp-lit room. She’d follow it and gazed upon an altar and upon it rested a great dragon of stone. Her fierce scales ran elegantly along her body as if chiseled by renown master craftsmen and its eyes shown a deep crystal like azure that stared down from its regal position.

“Only now dosth you truly see’th me for who I am child. Looketh upon me, and know me. Knoweth me, and speaketh my name.”, it spoke radiating the chamber with its power she glanced down at her hands, noticing the clawed gloves she had picked up earlier. They had formed over her hands with a perfect fit. Joseph, the father, and Cassandra, the mother, held hints of their essence within them, sparking the memory within. She’d sniffle and wipe her eyes. She had forgotten who her sire was, how truly pathetic she was. Still, to finally remember them proper brought no shortage of joy to her wounded heart.

“Towairaito”

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Alrighty! So, I counted 79 paragraphs, so that'll be 395 TP for ya!