Lord Annihilator

Annihilyza

“ If she weren’t a white whistle, she would just be a regular weirdo… “

Made in Abyss Independent RP Blog “Lyza the Annihilator”

Semi-selective | Multi-verse Crossover-friendly | 20+ Mun

Sets out snacks to tempt the new blood... 

send assumptions about the mun based off of the muse and i’ll tell you if they’re correct or not! || Answering

Ooof

send assumptions about the mun based off of the muse and i’ll tell you if they’re correct or not! || Answering

"My first impression? Why is this pesky child speaking to me and how did she get on this private terrace?"

First Impressions || Accepting "What a way to meet, huh? I bet you musta been surprised to see a scraggly runt like I was back then."

Where others might have found challenge in being outnumbered, Srajo knew, with a trust born of their unwavering belief in a fellow White Whistle’s abilities, that such circumstances were exactly the sort of trouble that gave Lyza her epithet. One would assume Lord Immovable, with her unparalleled physical strength, would be reputed for terminating invaders. However, the utter ferocity and proficiency in disposing of one’s enemies has given the title of Annihilator to a delver who was truly worthy of it.

The tangy, metallic stench of blood overpowered the fragrance of wet earth. A thick moisture weighed heavy in the air, but the cold has yet to abate entirely. At the boundary between the Sea and the Goblets, the foreign raiders would all meet their gruesome ends. Srajo was a little impressed they managed to make it this far, but the implication that the group likely hunted and killed numerous Whistles along the way soured any sliver of respect they might’ve felt towards them.

The Obscure wasn’t worried about Lyza, even as the cloud of poison grew in size and hovered. It wouldn’t dissipate for several more minutes, plenty of time for their companion to catch and eviscerate the very few that escaped the clutches of a watery death. Their own brand of vengeance bestowed, Srajo stepped back to give Lyza a wide berth. They weren’t concerned or afraid, but shrouded as they were, they didn’t want to get in the way.

A poison of this magnitude took months to process, and even longer to collect the ingredients of. Perhaps they shouldn’t have tossed all of their stash, but they’d been quite miffed about getting shot. Now that the rare lick of fiery anger has waned, Srajo found themself feeling a bit sheepish. Keeping an eye on Lyza’s progress, they made their way back to their suitcase. Once the gas settled to the ground, they’d have to neutralize its effects so it left no trace.

Over the next few minutes, the signs of struggle escaping the increasingly thick and concealing cloud of gas began to taper off. The shadows of motion diminished, the choking and shouting were extinguished; occasionally punctuated by a scream of pain, the boom of thunder or shot, or the crack of breaking bone. And then without fanfare, they fell silent. 

The fog parts with a slow gust as The Lord of Annihilation strides out of it, dragging the limp body of one of the largest raiders by his collar, his face beaten to a pulp and her spear still lodged halfway through his shoulder. Lyza herself was hardly unharmed having accumulated a smattering of nicks, tears, slashes and bruises across her body from either the occasional lucky hit- perhaps as a consequence of her own recklessness- but it was clear the victory was as decisive as it was quick and violent.

She unceremoniously drops the body against the rock Srajo had been hiding behind before, spitting out the bark and calling out for them. “Clear!! 9 assholes, 9 bodies. I got ‘em all.” She takes the opportunity to slump down and look over her wounds while waiting for Srajo to reappear, wincing as she prods at them before reaching for her first aid kit. No wound was safe to leave undressed this deep in the abyss, even if they appeared minor.

Something Ozen hasn’t felt in years stirred within her, something she only ever felt around Lyza - the one person that came into her life and changed her irreversibly. She’d once harboured doubt whether it was a change to treasure, especially on lonely nights where the memory of golden hair stung with loss. However, now, with Lyza in her arms, that doubt was easily cast aside because of how right, how complete this felt.

“Having you by my side as an equal used to surprise me with how intuitive it was. You always seem to know what to do. A look alone is enough.” Ozen murmured, tone entirely unlike her usual hollow, lazy drawl. She spoke gently now, and slowly stroked Lyza’s hair - silken strands she’s always adored.

Lyza’s coy antics from before helped lighten the mood of an otherwise emotionally charged conversation. The aged White Whistle has grown tired of arguments and words carelessly spat like molten fire on raw wounds. She wanted to see Lyza smile, to watch those clear, bright eyes radiate with joy.

“You know exactly how beautiful you are. You don’t need me to point out the obvious.” She teased a little if only to soothe the blonde, a small moment of humour before tackling the main subject at hand. “We’ll have the ceremony you’ve always dreamed of. I’m fine with festive affairs if they make you happy.” Because if they did what Ozen preferred, there wouldn’t be a ceremony, and even an old, jaded grump like herself recognized that was a terrible idea.

“I want to marry you too, and I’m glad you returned. I think I had a…visceral reaction to it because I wasn’t ready to face you. You know how I am with abrupt change outside of delving.” Irritated at best, wrathfully stubborn at worst. “I want to be with you. Forever and always.” She murmured, echoing Lyza’s words. “I will wear the rings you designed with pride.” Hunching forward, she kissed Lyza on the top of her head.

“Maybe I do... but I’ll never get tired of hearing you tell me it.” Lyza smiles and chokes out a rough laugh through her sniffling as she tries to rein in her overwhelmed emotions, the teasing and hair stroking having the desired effect and more. She takes a deep breath to steady herself and looks up at Ozen with eyes shimmering with dew, reaching out her hand to trace up her jaw and stroke at her skin. 

Rough fingers brush across her lovers cheek with a reverent gentleness like what she was touching was something fleeting and ephemeral, that it could crumble under her touch or drift away like a waking dream and this was her last and only chance to feel it. That sensation had never gone away since they’d been together, and she hoped it never would.. “And I’ll never stop telling you either, until you really believe how beautiful you are to me. Perhaps I’ll include that in my vows.”

“It’s okay... I’ll always forgive you, my love.” Ozen was hardly the only one that had made mistakes in their relationship. All the fighting and shouting, running and avoiding the problem. Never quite opening their hearts and looking right at the other.  Lyza’s thoughts drift back to that day long past, looking up at Ozen in the field of flowers, and how even back then she’d given up so easily. If she had been more confident, if she’d made Ozen believe, then maybe things would have been different.

“I just wish I could have proposed to you properly... That I’d said the right words, or done the right things, and done them sooner.”  But years had come and gone, they had drafted apart, and time and living had changed both of them. She’d left for the abyss and driven what she once had thought would be an irreparable rift between them. “Now, even the field of flowers is gone...” She finds herself mumbling out loud.

But now they were together again. There was still time, and there was love between them. Perhaps theirs wasn’t a perfect love story, but it could still end in happiness. “I’ve made so many mistakes, and I was never sure that turning back wasn’t one of them. But this is one thing I finally know is right. That we’re making right together.”

Srajo knew they could simply sit back and let Lyza have her fill of bloodshed, but they were admittedly miffed about the bullet in their shoulder. They’d be satisfied with bringing down even one raider just to get their revenge. Lord Obscure wasn’t known for being a combatant, and it was true that they preferred to avoid conflict, but when conflict came by way of a musket shot, they weren’t going to back down.

If it weren’t for the immediate necessity to treat their wound, Srajo would’ve gladly watched Lyza in her element, fascinated by her relics and the vigor in her graceful rampage. They did take a moment to peek over the rock, reassured by the fact the invaders were far too busy with the Annihilator to pay attention to them. After a few moments, they ducked back down, and worked on smearing a handful of the powder onto their weeping injury. It managed to stall the bleeding for now, and that was enough for what they wanted to do.

Reaching inside their suitcase once more, Srajo took out three small, glass containers. Inside them was a purple, shimmering liquid. It looked quite pretty, like fluid, sparkling sand. Slipping them inside their pocket, they closed their suitcase - the seam disappearing, and redid the covering over their mouth before giving a short whistle. In an instance, they were shrouded, and they began to move, keeping an eye on where Lyza was to stay out of her way.

Strides long and silent, they closed in on the raiders. There was no fanfare to the acts of an imperceptible figure. Taking out the containers, they hurled them towards the invaders. Glass shattered. Purple liquid splattered across soil and rock, and began to sizzle. Within moments, massive clouds of smoke rose from the ground, and billowed towards the raiders. They encased the frightened raiders, fervent shouts quickly replaced by gurgling coughs and wet gasps.

It was an awful, agonizing death, having the water in one’s bloodstream drawn out into the lungs. A dry drowning - the raiders began to vomit torrents of water as their bodies began to shrivel. Srajo stayed put and watched, studying the effects of their poison. At least the raiders made good test subjects. Srajo has only ever used Abyssal creatures for this particular concoction, and it seemed to work just as well on humans.

As Srajo begins their approach Lyza had gotten herself well and truly embroiled in the melee. 4 of the remaining delvers move to surround her and all attack at once, aiming to leverage their numbers against the lone woman and completely underestimating her ability to use their confidence against them. A sword swinging from the right is deflected with a quick strike of her spear in the same motion of twisting away from the maul’s overhead swing slams down into the earth from the opposite side. 

Before the next unfortunate fool could even make his attack, Lyza was already springing forward and thrusting her spear with two hands straight into the ribs of a surprised axewoman who buckles over in a cough of blood as her lungs are punctured, loosing grip on her axe just in time for Lyza to loosen her grip and snatch it in a freed hand. Her waists twists as she steps into a throw, leaving her spear impaled in its victim as the axe leaves her hand as quickly as it entered and snaps through the air and cleaves into the other swordsman’s skull.

The sudden sizzling and billowing of smoke bursts up from the ground just as Lyza began to move, and she steps back from the impaled woman, kicking her forward into the crowd to make space between her and the raiders. Her goggles snap down onto her face in a swift motion as her tongue pushes the strip of bark up from underneath it, biting down to protect herself from the gas with its bitter filter as instructed while the invaders shouted and choked. The effects were brutal, and even Lyza was given a moment of pause as she saw up close how gruesomely effective the airborne toxins were. The raiders she’d already injured or unbalanced were helpless as their skin wept bloody sweat and their lips frothed with the fluid asphyxiating them from inside, and the few far enough to escape its immediate effects could only scatter in fear, scrambling to wrap their mouths and noses with scarfs and scatter to avoid suffering the same brutal deaths as their comrades. Srajo’s inventiveness impressed her; the level of violence they were able to inflict with their knowledge of alchemy and the abyss’s local toxins was severe when they were forced to apply it. Any normal delver’s instincts would scream for them to stay far back as readily as any other dangerous beast or hazard.

It had been… several weeks since that fateful encounter with Nanachi and her friends. Damage assessments had been completed, including architectural, equipment, and personnel losses, and recovery and rebuilding could finally begin. What with the materials that needed transporting and the sheer amount of it that was needed, even with his supply routes it was taking time.

At least that time hadn’t been spent idly. In addition to his ongoing experiments, he’d added investigating the limits and capabilities of his new body to the list. Resistance to poison, fatigue, illness. Enhanced strength, flexible claws that could punch through steel. The speedy regenerative properties he’d observed in Mitty were absent in him, unfortunately, but this was all a learning opportunity.

And then there was his sight. From the moment things had quieted after the fight, he realized he could see something drifting through the space, over and around everything. After days of observation, he came to the conclusion that he was SEEING the curse, the deadly energy that filled the Abyss. How fascinating. That said, he wasn’t yet familiar enough with the ebb and flow of the force field to be able to pick up on Lyza’s movements from so far out. In fact, paired with the preoccupation of his research and the repairs, he only picked up that she was there when he heard something unfamiliar on the ruined roof above.

“Ah, the Sovereign of Annihilation,” he said, turning to look up at her as his remaining Umbral Hands slowed in their work. “I was wondering if I would get a visit from you.”

His form may have changed, but his mannerisms had not. White-furred arms ending in long claws spread wide as multiple eyes fixed on the Annihilator. For the moment, he ignored the questions directed at his appearance.

“I’d expect you would be most proud. All of this astonishing damage wrought by your daughter and her friends, as I’m sure you’ve already heard,” he said, his tail giving a pleased swish across the dusty concrete. “They put up quite an amazing fight. Rico is well on her way to following in your footsteps, dear Lyza.”

No response? So Novel wasn’t willing to share the results of his most recent alterations. Either that, or he hadn’t discovered of all the effects himself yet and was keeping it close to his furry chest until he did. Something to pry into later, Lyza noted as she remained on guard and kept alert for his movements, harmless mannerisms or otherwise for whatever she could could clean. She wasn’t expecting him to be hostile but there was no telling what kind of mood he’d be in after that kind of intense conflict. “Sovereign of Dawn.” She nods curtly and returns the formal address, “As you rightly should’a expected. No chance I’d hear my girl’s done this kind of damage without coming to see for myself.”

“Astonishing's not the word I’d choose, but it’s an apt one.” She gives an impressed whistle as she glances out over the ruins to survey the damage, appreciating the handiwork up close and subtly tallying up what was actually lost, “But I’d expect no less from my girl. You’re damn right I’m proud, it takes a lot to stand up to a White Whistle at an age like that. Especially a stubborn bastard like yourself. No offense, of course.” She smiles wistfully, her pride mixed with the distant loneliness of knowing that her beloved daughter had left her behind as surely as she once had, gaze lingering on the descent platform. Following in her footsteps rather literally, at that, but carving her own path to do it. A melancholic feeling.

Though, she wasn’t especially intent on processing the emotional impact of her daughter’s victory and descent with the very enemy that had been defeated, even if she’d been on better terms with him. She pulls her thoughts back and the conversation back onto the topic at hand and points the questioning back at her host.

Srajo gave their head a slight shake to indicate Lyza didn’t need to apologize. After all, they were a White Whistle as well. They should’ve been able to take care of themself, and thus, their injury was no one’s fault but their own. [I’ll be fine. Don’t worry.] They tried to sound reassuring despite the hastened speed of their signing. [Flesh wounds are common for us delvers.] That was true, but it’s been a while since they’d had a wound that bled so much. They hoped the shot hadn’t nicked an artery.

The Lord of Mystery was harder to take down than a lucky shot, however. While Lyza checked on their enemy, Srajo tugged open the covering over their mouth, and gave their whistle a quick blow. The seam on their suitcase appeared, and, using their uninjured side, they opened it in search for a vial. Inside the vial was a white powder, ground from various herbs and animal bones. It wouldn’t help with the musket ball still lodged in their shoulder, but it would slow the bleeding.

Seeing the look of wrath on Lyza’s features, Srajo was reassured of their situation. They had no doubt in their mind that Lord Annihilator of the Abyss would tear apart all who’d dare invade the Netherworld and harm her fellow delver. Their heart fluttered a little at the nickname she gave them. Despite the pain and the blood loss, they felt a swell of warmth within their chest. It felt good to have a friend.

Just before Lyza was about to pounce, Srajo reached forward, and laid a gentle hand on her arm, a gesture to wait for a moment. Not wasting time, they took out a pouch in their suitcase, and produced a slim, small strip of bark to give to Lyza. [Put this in your mouth and breathe through it.] They smiled a little, the expression vaguely visible through the small opening in their mask. [I’m a White Whistle too, Lyza. I can’t simply sit here and watch you fight alone. This bark filters smoke and gas. Go on. I’ll be right behind you.]

Lyza’s rage is momentarily blunted by a feeling of guilt at underestimating the Lord of Mystery, at underestimating her friend. Despite the deep respect she usually had for them, she’d unconsciously taken to treating them like they were helpless in a crisis. Or perhaps, she’d just begun to feel overly protective of those she was delving with. Unwilling to lose any more friends to to her own mistakes. But the empyreal drone of a true White Whistle stirred her senses, and seeing Srajo swiftly move to produce their own brand of resistance in the form of medicines, tools, and clever tricks reassured her. She grins as she takes the bark with a quick sign of [Thanks], and cracks her knuckles, thoughts back on the fight, but no longer disordered. Having successfully pissed off two White Whistles, these mercenary idiots didn’t stand a damn chance. She gestures behind her to count down, and if not for the warning to expect it someone with slower reflexes might have missed Lyza begin to move at all. The first resounding crack is not a gunshot in retaliation, but Lyza’s hand snapping to the opposite direction of her approach, hand crackling with a burst of concussive electricity as a combination of sheer force and magnetic propulsion send a Thunder Spar crashing into a rock face with a tremendous noise.

Before the first spear even lands, Lyza’s halfway across the open ground, sprinting low and streamlined as she blitzes straight towards the greatest threats; her mind flicking across each of her opponents and scanning their weapons, their vitals, every motion as she selects her targets. 

9 bodies; 4 rifles. 2 hatchets. 2 swords. 1 maul. 2 Gunners on the left, a third on the right, one center. The rest scattered throughout. She bends left towards the guns. Her wrist flicks and the air cracks with ozone again as another lightning-propelled spear streaks across the battlefield, with only a split second for the others to react as the missile impacts with it’s target to pin the rifleman to the wall through his ribs before the Annihilator’s on top of them in close quarters with her iron-clad fist connecting with his wingman’s jaw. 

The sound of the gunwoman’s teeth and jaw shattering would be deafening if it weren’t drowned out by the snap of concussion from her gauntlets as they discharge at point blank and turn a simple punch into a gruesomely deadly blow, or the snap of the distracting spear snapping back into her hand from distance with a magnetic hum, slashing through an swordsman’s side as it passes and dropping him to his knees. The muskets crack from behind her as the others react with shouts, but the haze of combat feels like moving in slow motion to the bloodthirsty wolf feasting on them. She twists sharp and the musket ball slams into her armored wrist, electricity sparking to deflect it but shattering the ball into shrapnel that tears across her face in a crimson rake, splattering blood back through her hair as the second whistles past.

In a blur of movement, Srajo felt Lyza dive away from the projectile. Air whooshed past their ears. The pain struck before they could make sense of their surroundings, unused as they were to being carried. The shot had left a ripple across the force field, the sensation disorientating. Srajo was reminded of their loathing towards illegal raiders as blood began to ooze from their shoulder. Thankfully, they hadn’t been hit in the head or some other fatal spot, but they could tell the bullet hadn’t punctured through, which meant they’d have to dig it out later.

Great. They were an efficient surgeon, but that didn’t make the task itself any more pleasant.

Shuffling to join Lyza’s side, Srajo whistled to deactivate their relic, and promptly came into being next to their fellow White Whistle. Through their dark and many layers of robes, it was hard to tell colour, but the smell was unmistakable. They could feel blood trickling down their chest and along their arm. Hopefully, this wouldn’t attract any predators, though it wouldn’t be so bad for an Abyssal beast to make a quick meal out of the raiders.

Gingerly, breaths slightly quickened, Srajo shrugged off their suitcase with a wince before plopping down with their back against a large rock. [Sorry.] They signed, looking a bit sheepish. [I tried to warn you, but I forgot you couldn’t sense me.] A silly blunder, now that they thought about it. [I think there are about ten of them. Maybe less. Would you like me to create a diversion? I can sneak up to them and smoke them out.]

Lyza herself smells as much as spots the blood as Srajo moves up next to her, and curses under her breath again in frustration at her own carelessness, even if it were induced by abyssal trickery. As much as she preferred to sign back to Srajo as a matter of respect, the tense situation lended an advantage to quick speech. “Abyss take them... no, I’m the one that’s sorry, Srajo. Between the curse and your relic, I couldn’t even remember you there were. How are you wounds? Are you going to be alright?”

She glances over the rock again for their position as another musket shot crashes into the rock right beside her head and sends rock chips flying everywhere. “Fuckers think have us pinned... I saw about that many as well. Some with firearms, some with swords and hatchets.” She runs over the numbers in her head, building a plan of attack and weighing their odds as she looks at Srajo’s wound. “I can’t ask you to do that... you’re already injured, and they might not even have noticed you yet. Don’t push yourself, Obscure.” She growls, frustrated at herself and feeling guilty that they still offered to help. She bares her teeth and the anger starts to show in her expression as she begins to look less like a bright and cheery woman and more a feral animal about to be unleashed. “Do as you must, but if worst comes to worst, I can handle ‘em myself. They don’t call me Annihilator for no reason, Sraj’.”

The first assumption made by this young woman was that he was any sort of researcher eager to expand his knowledge of the dark. Truthfully, over his many expeditions and missions to eradicate the perpetuation of the dark, the only knowledge he actually utilized was how to better contain or destroy it.

He turned, peering down from his looming height at Lyza, clearly unfazed by the words of wisdom imparted upon him. If he were to die doing what he was doing, it would only be a fitting end for someone who had run from the dark in the past, when he should’ve stayed to die fighting it off.

“That “curiosity” has only lead to such things being used with malice. I’m not going to let that continue.” With as much muscle he has on that body, and as much strength he has to even the odds, it’s unsurprising that he’s stubborn to an overbearing extent in his conviction.

“The only knowledge I want to leave with, is knowing that it’s all gone.”

Lyza stares back up at Rowan and looks him in the eyes without flinching, long accustomed to being loomed over those taller than her, and even taller than him. She gives him a look of soft disappointment like a disapproving mother and shakes her head. It’s not that she assumed he was a scholar exactly, but that to her, learning and fighting were one and the same, and she had always struggled to understand what drove those that fought blindly without knowledge as either munition or motivation. Fighting with a death wish however... she had complicated feelings about. Diving deep into the abyss was in itself asking for death, never able to return, but there was a key difference between accepting ones death and inviting it. “Pretty grim outlook there, guy.” But in this world she had fallen into... she was only just beginning to understand the darkness looming over this land, and the knight she now spoke to more than most. She sighs and nods, accepting his resolve. “There are some things each of us can never compromise on... and I’ve seen irredeemable evils done in my time with that power.”