MPC 55X - When Empress Shot Anzu...
Oct 17, 2018 16:44:54 GMT
Post by Akemi & Anzu on Oct 17, 2018 16:44:54 GMT
((The MPC I'm doing is this one and I would like posts, please.))
This was an entirely blurry and all too foggy experience for Anzu to wake up to. Or, rather, what had been Anzu.
She felt scattered. As though millions of pieces of her littered the ground of the forsaken wasteland. Yet at the same time, those pieces were comprised of several others. Of people she had once known. It was here in this…sea of consciousness that Anzu had regained sapience. All too late, however. In actuality, she, along with almost all of those comprising the Sect of the Eighth Eye, had been slain by the remaining one of their own.
It was for the better, though. It definitely was. For they -did- dabble in a ritual far too dark for the Dark Area. And they did unleash a Gulfmon that was on the verge of becoming something far worse.
By all means, Anzu would have commended Empress for her efforts if she still lived. The BeelStarrmon, as far as she could see, looked haggard and exhausted from the fight, metal falling from her arm—The data bits that held Anzu noted that they seemed to be machine Digimon bits.
What…had I done? Thought the deceased. That was a little bit of a mistake to think, as exactly what she did took a sort of precedence over the now. Yes, yes, it was clear as day, transparent as crystal.
Anzu betrayed her friends. Sold them out. Killed them. Loaded them. All for a chance at a dream that she should have abandoned a long time ago. Just…scenes of what had transpired only hours ago flashing back for Anzu, who, at this point, was less data and more data squiggling into the outline of a Tsukaimon. Far up in the sky and away from the exhausted and now departing gunwoman.
How…long was she gonna be like this? She hadn’t died before. It felt cold. Empty. You’d think she’d at least have company, but that was far from the case. She had loaded the Sect, hadn’t she? If she had, then that meant they wouldn’t be up here.
They kind of already were, albeit in a twisted manner. They comprised a good portion of the data slowly rising into the blackened sky of this forsaken land. Anzu was also aware that eventually, the dead would come back. Such was an immutable law of the Digital World unless you load the core of the deceased. Nobody ever said anything about what actually happens while you wait for the dead to return.
The ephemeral Anzu felt guilt. Guilt, amidst a sea of other emotions that might have been less than ideal. She felt anger. Rage at herself for throwing all of what she and her allies had worked for. Rage at Empress for reneging on her so-called ‘promise’ to never be involved in their affairs again. Especially after the falling out between them. Hadn’t they used to be friends…?
Time felt as though it had slowed to a crawl when in all actuality, it was far from slow at all. It was simply the fact that there was nothing to be done that had been making the spirit feel that this was all going so slow.
And what was this even worth? Would she even remember anything from this life in the next? Where would she go? Who would she be? Would she even still be Anzu, or would someone else take her place? Come to think of it?
This whole thing. Death. The things she did before she died. Rebirth. Those possibilities outlined above. All of them? They scared Anzu to no end. She just wanted…wanted to exist. To be. As she was. Not someone else.
She just wished none of this had been happening. At all. That she hadn’t made all of those mistakes and turned herself into a monster and ate her friends. Of course, upon this, the skies around her began to darken further.
Almost like a creeping void was closing in. Ready to cease this sad sack of dung’s existence for the good part of forever. Is that what she wanted? Was that really, genuinely, what the bean wished for?
A finale? An ending? Closure to this tale of mistake upon mistakes?
The specter’s answer to that was decided as the void, ever so slowly, began to creep away. As though something had repulsed the creeping blackness to it’s core. The bean felt that even when someone stumbled, loses their way, they could always bounce back.
And while it may have been somewhat of an impossibility for her to actually recover from invoking some eldritch ritual that she honestly was losing the memory of, eating her friends alive, and getting shot through the head and heart by a former ally, she felt like she could at least move forward from this.
Maybe start again somewhere else.
Elsewhere. Anywhere but the village. Or the Dark Area. Elsewhere. While hours, and subsequently two days had passed, the final one had come, and this was signified by the ghost, and her remaining strings and bits of data, all flying in a direction she couldn’t really discern from any other direction.
The journey felt turbulent. Violent. Like the climax of a horrific story with a horrific tendency to stall at the worst parts before picking back up like nothing happened. A bumpy road trip. The bean’s spectral form compacted and rounded out into a vaguely-egg-like shape as it seemed to be plummeting out of the sky and towards the Ancient Ruins. In fact, it even fell through a hole in the ruins and into a bed of flowers.
There, what once was Anzu and so many others for a brief period of time, would remain. Until a slight nudge from various other otherworldly and higher powers would set the egg to hatch again. But when would that happen?
Why, it would happen when another falls from the sky and into the bed of flowers. When another is given the aid of an angel seeking to find his way once more.
This was an entirely blurry and all too foggy experience for Anzu to wake up to. Or, rather, what had been Anzu.
She felt scattered. As though millions of pieces of her littered the ground of the forsaken wasteland. Yet at the same time, those pieces were comprised of several others. Of people she had once known. It was here in this…sea of consciousness that Anzu had regained sapience. All too late, however. In actuality, she, along with almost all of those comprising the Sect of the Eighth Eye, had been slain by the remaining one of their own.
It was for the better, though. It definitely was. For they -did- dabble in a ritual far too dark for the Dark Area. And they did unleash a Gulfmon that was on the verge of becoming something far worse.
By all means, Anzu would have commended Empress for her efforts if she still lived. The BeelStarrmon, as far as she could see, looked haggard and exhausted from the fight, metal falling from her arm—The data bits that held Anzu noted that they seemed to be machine Digimon bits.
What…had I done? Thought the deceased. That was a little bit of a mistake to think, as exactly what she did took a sort of precedence over the now. Yes, yes, it was clear as day, transparent as crystal.
Anzu betrayed her friends. Sold them out. Killed them. Loaded them. All for a chance at a dream that she should have abandoned a long time ago. Just…scenes of what had transpired only hours ago flashing back for Anzu, who, at this point, was less data and more data squiggling into the outline of a Tsukaimon. Far up in the sky and away from the exhausted and now departing gunwoman.
How…long was she gonna be like this? She hadn’t died before. It felt cold. Empty. You’d think she’d at least have company, but that was far from the case. She had loaded the Sect, hadn’t she? If she had, then that meant they wouldn’t be up here.
They kind of already were, albeit in a twisted manner. They comprised a good portion of the data slowly rising into the blackened sky of this forsaken land. Anzu was also aware that eventually, the dead would come back. Such was an immutable law of the Digital World unless you load the core of the deceased. Nobody ever said anything about what actually happens while you wait for the dead to return.
The ephemeral Anzu felt guilt. Guilt, amidst a sea of other emotions that might have been less than ideal. She felt anger. Rage at herself for throwing all of what she and her allies had worked for. Rage at Empress for reneging on her so-called ‘promise’ to never be involved in their affairs again. Especially after the falling out between them. Hadn’t they used to be friends…?
Time felt as though it had slowed to a crawl when in all actuality, it was far from slow at all. It was simply the fact that there was nothing to be done that had been making the spirit feel that this was all going so slow.
And what was this even worth? Would she even remember anything from this life in the next? Where would she go? Who would she be? Would she even still be Anzu, or would someone else take her place? Come to think of it?
This whole thing. Death. The things she did before she died. Rebirth. Those possibilities outlined above. All of them? They scared Anzu to no end. She just wanted…wanted to exist. To be. As she was. Not someone else.
She just wished none of this had been happening. At all. That she hadn’t made all of those mistakes and turned herself into a monster and ate her friends. Of course, upon this, the skies around her began to darken further.
Almost like a creeping void was closing in. Ready to cease this sad sack of dung’s existence for the good part of forever. Is that what she wanted? Was that really, genuinely, what the bean wished for?
A finale? An ending? Closure to this tale of mistake upon mistakes?
The specter’s answer to that was decided as the void, ever so slowly, began to creep away. As though something had repulsed the creeping blackness to it’s core. The bean felt that even when someone stumbled, loses their way, they could always bounce back.
And while it may have been somewhat of an impossibility for her to actually recover from invoking some eldritch ritual that she honestly was losing the memory of, eating her friends alive, and getting shot through the head and heart by a former ally, she felt like she could at least move forward from this.
Maybe start again somewhere else.
Elsewhere. Anywhere but the village. Or the Dark Area. Elsewhere. While hours, and subsequently two days had passed, the final one had come, and this was signified by the ghost, and her remaining strings and bits of data, all flying in a direction she couldn’t really discern from any other direction.
The journey felt turbulent. Violent. Like the climax of a horrific story with a horrific tendency to stall at the worst parts before picking back up like nothing happened. A bumpy road trip. The bean’s spectral form compacted and rounded out into a vaguely-egg-like shape as it seemed to be plummeting out of the sky and towards the Ancient Ruins. In fact, it even fell through a hole in the ruins and into a bed of flowers.
There, what once was Anzu and so many others for a brief period of time, would remain. Until a slight nudge from various other otherworldly and higher powers would set the egg to hatch again. But when would that happen?
Why, it would happen when another falls from the sky and into the bed of flowers. When another is given the aid of an angel seeking to find his way once more.
