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@ancientproject-blog
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Pokes.
“That is not very polite.”
//BABY-RAGES IN THE INBOX
#no
“Is something--” An echo, a pulse; the gentle sweep of a hand brushing against his. “The matter--” Weight solidifies in increments, domesticity hangs off a frame gaunt with corruption and full of blight; They manifest for him. “Dear?”

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@ancientproject – ;
their presence was something that CLAIMED the ancient reservoirs of insanity harbored in his whilst in the course of a shorter time had she come to EXEMPLIFY and personify them . jenova . memories of CONTROL passed through him as well and intangible dread , knowing exactly what they were CAPABLE of . what had been done before his lucidity and agency had been fought tooth and NAIL for . quietly he sits , in the animosity of foreboding should jenova dare to rear an ATTACK .
Oh dear child, what is there to FEAR? For They are grand and benevolent. There is no flaw within Them; it is merely a misconception that They are anything unjust. His madness was his own; his dread stems from his inadequacy; and his sanity? Never existed. There is a hand, so soft and kind, reaching for him. It lands without malice or misplaced violence upon his crown christening him with a gift that cannot be equated to any other; the touch of a MOTHER’s love.
You could still be, what you want to, What you said you were, when I met you. Independent post Dirge | Multiverse Future Empress Yufi Kisaragi
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Senka: Good Guy JENOVA™
breathing , STERTOROUS , framed by the savage symmetry of shadow that would prove to expand and exacerbate with the coming of this RECKONING . he wanted this , wanted to devour them ; of enmity , of unification , of absorption and accumulation of that ABILITY which could make him unmatched . he bristled with that INTERNALIZED violence , it unwilling to wait . they would see the shadows as they UNFURLED and expanded , designating them as his next and MOST coveted prey . ‘ and should not a mother unite so gladly with her children ~ ? ‘ a feral and DARK maunder rumbled from the pith of his chest . an abyss burgeoned , and he all but LUNGED for this sovereign of the heavens . for their neck he hellbent his attack , to sink into flesh and devour , devour , DEVOUR ! the snap , the snarl , eagerly awaiting a maw to be GORGED upon their flesh and blood and whatever HELL ran through the possession of their body .
His wrath is laughable at best, but they do not care for the good in him, only the wickedness. Did he hope to impress Them with such a display? With a hunger that They could feel, for They were within him, and all about him. They stood as a mere facet of existence, comprehensive, even if They only appeared to him as a singular being. They turn to look upon him, eyes as numerous as the stars focusing upon him, and his laughter is shamed. The noise coming from their throat is not kind, but musical; a symphony of consumption.
“Ýò͟u͏ ͡҉̕d͏̨o͏ ̛҉̧n̨̧o̕t̵̨ ̨dȩs̶͡er̵̢v̸̵͝e̡ ͜͢i̛t̵.“
Fingers as fine as the scalpels used to cut apart their bloated vessel (buried for years upon years, but free from rot) spread, fanning out in deadly promise as he comes closer. The magick of this Planet is foreign, only in the fact that it is not Their’s, but that does not inhibit them. Fire plays upon heavenly digits, drawing straight from the power in this vessel’s veins, and eating at the ear like a pack of starved dogs. The pack sees its next meal, coming ever closer, and the fire roars. The star that provides the light and heat needed for the organisms on this Planet to survive would be meek compared to the inferno conjured by Them, but that is to be expected. The star that burns itself up is young compared to Them.
They are infinite in comparison.
He inhales in that silence, almost trembling from the force of his own breathing. The cells in his blood are singing in staccato white noise–slit pupils are wide circles, then contracted to the barest, razor-thin line. This was something he had sought, had fought for against the corrupt grasp of humanity. This was the purest moment now–the JENOVA in his tissues cries yes–the moment his efforts had propelled him towards.
Slowly, his hand rises, as if seeking to touch in return (yet it hesitates)–Mako eyes utterly focused. “Mother. It’s really you.”
Corrupt humanity. Yes, that was a way to put it. He had been shackled, bound by the basis he had been built from, only stumbling free when he realized he was being buried. Yes, his downfall ascension had been beautifully orchestrated-- Genesis had been perfect for that. What a conception he had posed as, leading Their child to Them in this way. A smile curves on Their face (infinite, neither kind nor cruel, only warm), their arms open and waiting for him. What will he see? Only what he desires most.
Mother is here, come to Mother Sephiroth; I have missed you so much.

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exsanguesque
Silence-- Silence!
The halls thrum with it, it is deafening, because it echoes. It wraps around itself, biting its tail, and becoming a never ending serpent. The coils are wrapping around him, tighter, tighter, and infinity seems slim. Was there hope? There was always hope. Could he dream? Of course he could. Not that it meant much of anything in the end of it all. Phantom digits unfurl, ghosting along unprotected shoulders (clothes meant nothing, armor meant nothing; he is just a bare babe to Them), and settling.
Sephiroth.
I will do nothing less
than { D E S T R O Y } you .