The Death Of Hope Is A Choice [MPC#57X]
Dec 6, 2018 16:28:08 GMT
Post by Cion on Dec 6, 2018 16:28:08 GMT
MPC#56X: -> Endings & Beginnings (MPC#31)
# of MPCs Taken This Month: 1
Wherever and whenever she looked, the destiny of this world was ruin...
Cion did not know why this realm was continuously locked in a conflict with vile forces such as the D-Reaper, black corruption and other monstrosities, but today the cycle had reached its end once more. Unaware of the cause, all chaos had ceased in an instant of blinding light that left this planet bereft of almost everything it was. Flora, fauna and people alike were replaced by a barren wasteland - a void whose onyx soil had been torn asunder and rearranged into lifeless fragments that lingered admits the ether of infinite, hollow vastness.
Her dreams, as that of her treasured stalwarts, had joined the decadence of this dimension, empty carcasses of a formerly vivid city encased by dark embers; ashen sand and bits of volatile data that glittered mockingly in the rising sun's amber, uncaring veil. Where once their magnificent spire resided to inspire everyone, no matter their origins, to embrace lives of true peace and prosperity... nothing but shattered glass and huddles of sallow marble remained. Every ounce of effort, sacrifice and passion had been in vain; as always.
In face of absolute nothingness, it was a miracle that she and her companions had somehow survived this cataclysm. However, was it fate or luck, there was no reason to regard these circumstances as a blessing from her point of view. Standing and leaning silently against a ruptured pillar of concrete with her arms folded, the silver fennec was facing her greatest burden. It was neither serving as a herald of civilization, nor enduring the weight of this world on her shoulders. No... it was that everything she attempted was destined to die.
Her dearly beloved friends, family and her chosen path - they were the same, gone. Someday, this plain of existence was bound to recover, as this was far from the first palingenesis known to her. Though she never had suffered the curse of witnessing it personally. The spark of hope that was her outlasting members doing whatever to find comfort in a small hideout behind her did few if anything to sooth her broken soul. Numb, tearless eyes, unlike what others knew of Cion, were barely capable of pretending vigor, prowess and confidence.
Perhaps the memories that remained of her past were correct. Maybe trying to change digimonkind was inherently futile. If even total annihilation was a preferable outcome...
Her aureate gaze briefly shifted to the distant humans of the remnants of her organization. The restrained Arniomon envied them in a sense. They had a place to call home, one they likely returned to in acceptance of defeat. But her, Roy, Kazuya's partners and the others? They were witnesses of their home's apocalypse and eventual, memoryless rebirth. Whenever this meaningless event occurred nobody knew.
Sighing quietly, Cion returned her stare to where it belonged in patient expectance that someone broke the dead silence - the perpetual graveyard of limitless potential piercing her core.
[Words: 496 / 496]
# of MPCs Taken This Month: 1
Wherever and whenever she looked, the destiny of this world was ruin...
Cion did not know why this realm was continuously locked in a conflict with vile forces such as the D-Reaper, black corruption and other monstrosities, but today the cycle had reached its end once more. Unaware of the cause, all chaos had ceased in an instant of blinding light that left this planet bereft of almost everything it was. Flora, fauna and people alike were replaced by a barren wasteland - a void whose onyx soil had been torn asunder and rearranged into lifeless fragments that lingered admits the ether of infinite, hollow vastness.
Her dreams, as that of her treasured stalwarts, had joined the decadence of this dimension, empty carcasses of a formerly vivid city encased by dark embers; ashen sand and bits of volatile data that glittered mockingly in the rising sun's amber, uncaring veil. Where once their magnificent spire resided to inspire everyone, no matter their origins, to embrace lives of true peace and prosperity... nothing but shattered glass and huddles of sallow marble remained. Every ounce of effort, sacrifice and passion had been in vain; as always.
In face of absolute nothingness, it was a miracle that she and her companions had somehow survived this cataclysm. However, was it fate or luck, there was no reason to regard these circumstances as a blessing from her point of view. Standing and leaning silently against a ruptured pillar of concrete with her arms folded, the silver fennec was facing her greatest burden. It was neither serving as a herald of civilization, nor enduring the weight of this world on her shoulders. No... it was that everything she attempted was destined to die.
Her dearly beloved friends, family and her chosen path - they were the same, gone. Someday, this plain of existence was bound to recover, as this was far from the first palingenesis known to her. Though she never had suffered the curse of witnessing it personally. The spark of hope that was her outlasting members doing whatever to find comfort in a small hideout behind her did few if anything to sooth her broken soul. Numb, tearless eyes, unlike what others knew of Cion, were barely capable of pretending vigor, prowess and confidence.
Perhaps the memories that remained of her past were correct. Maybe trying to change digimonkind was inherently futile. If even total annihilation was a preferable outcome...
Her aureate gaze briefly shifted to the distant humans of the remnants of her organization. The restrained Arniomon envied them in a sense. They had a place to call home, one they likely returned to in acceptance of defeat. But her, Roy, Kazuya's partners and the others? They were witnesses of their home's apocalypse and eventual, memoryless rebirth. Whenever this meaningless event occurred nobody knew.
Sighing quietly, Cion returned her stare to where it belonged in patient expectance that someone broke the dead silence - the perpetual graveyard of limitless potential piercing her core.
[Words: 496 / 496]
