The rhythmic tapping of slender fingers on the metal bars of the courtyard cage rings like a ghostly chime.
It is not a beckoning, but a warning. Eito stands here acutely aware of an unfamiliar presence in the room. Nature is not one with them. Like the flick of an invisible switch, his narrowed eyes give way to a softer gaze as he speaks into the open air.
"Ah, so this must be the 'enrichment' Sirei prepared for me. How quaint..." He tilts his head as he flips through pages in his mind. "And here I was thinking I'd be napping until there would come a tapping. But it's just me gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. 'Tis some visitors watching me tap at my chamber door. Only this and nothing more."
Eito's laugh blends with the distant birdsong. "You humans really have nothing better to do with your worthless lives, huh? Parading around me like I'm an exotic animal in a zoo. Neither of our sides have much to gain in such a state, but a little entertainment could do me some good. I welcome you all to try!"
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Though Eito's response is only a text message, his scoff is practically audible.
'Yet another human trying to connect nonexistent dots together with red string like I'm just a photograph tacked to a corkboard full of nonsensical conspiracy theories. It's foolish to attempt to understand me through your flimsy human means of relatability when I reside far outside of the bubble you float ignorantly within. Entertaining as it is to pick apart and analyze the many works of art your kind creates, none can compare to my experiences. My mind is a tapestry woven in indescribable agony, torn apart and sown back together over and over again by cruel, clawed hands. I am an angel with wings ripped from my back. I am suffering evermore. None of you are like me, for I am not human.'
Sitting cross-legged by a small pond in the glen, Eito stares down into his blue-hued reflection adorned with a halo of stars. Dark waters hold still, empty of marine or amphibian life. The earthbound angel remains just as steady. Misty eyes blinking in untapped rhythm observe his mirrored expression tinted with longing. ...Longing? Longing for what? He's out free in nature with not a monster in sight, right where he's always belonged. To yearn for anything else is a folly; best not to seek what is not real.
Yet Eito finds himself bringing an ungloved hand to the rested pool. Unshackling his most tender sense liberates his aching soul, body and spirit finally aligned. At home in the soil and grass and wind and water. Nature weaves between his fingers, a breath away from holding his hand. Comfort is close. Fingernails trace his silver lining, cool to the touch. In response, his reflection bends and warps until it is him no more. Just a watercolor painting of a feeling yet prescribed. Just like Takumi. Dawn agrees, red morning light seeping into the pond like blood from a fresh wound. It aches within him, too.
A new message pulls Eito out of his trance. He doesn't even bother with the effort to sigh in disapproval anymore.
'My efficiency with responses to your prattling doesn't equate to an addiction. Your own compulsion of messaging me at the break of dawn is what's really deserving of ridicule. Dependencies are self-destructive, yet I am the most alive I've ever felt out here. Nature truly is the pinnacle of beauty. Too bad humanity will never get to experience it. You've ruined your chances when your kind first touched the ground with bare, contaminated hands.'
There is a monster in that academy. And it is no human. It is something far more powerful. A being of chaos, capable of defying its fellow gods to disrupt the natural order of life and spread despair like a deadly plague. I have seen it with my own eyes. It tampered and twisted my senses, turning me into my own enemy as every visitor blended together in a blur of vibrant hues. I could only focus on myself, a taunting of what I fear most becoming reality. And my tormentor wore your watercolor face, with golden eyes and a crescent smile. I knew it wasn’t really you, but it let itself in under my skin and wouldn’t let me go. It wants you too, I heard it say. A warning, a threat, a certainty. I told it otherwise, knowing you too well for my own good. You’re stubborn. You’ve stood firmly on this hollowed ground and bent time into your weapon. But with the sudden, unresolved death of the vampire and my vanishing, I cannot help but wonder if we were the rocks your waves flowed over. Without us, would you froth and writhe into an unstoppable tsunami, allowing chaos to reign free? I fear your displacement in this world, as you are now without my guiding light. And so, as far as I have travelled for my mission, I will return to you soon. I just want the truth. The truth of the land I walk on and the truth you promised to me. My hands are still pristine for you.
Attached is a picture of a flower you don’t recognize, white petals lined with bright crimson facing the light of the satellite.
@bloodmoon-eito
It took Takumi a couple times to read the message, as it was long and tears kept blurring his vision. It took another couple of times to actually understand what Eito was trying to communicate to him. He left to find the truth- the truth that Takumi was holding from him. The truth that Takumi desperately wished to tell Eito, but for some reason just- just couldn't...
And the monster Eito mentioned, it was an exact description of Apophis. The being that healed him without asking for anything in return. They messed with Eito? It was confusing to Takumi, but he supposed that the being seemed very into 'chaos' so it made sense.
To: Aotsuki Eito
From: Sumino Takumi
hey so about uh that creture is named apofis not sure if that means anythign to you
wish you wouldve told me you were leaving kinda hurt dude
i belive you for somem reason as much as my brain tells me not to
can we maybe meat up
i still wanaa tell you everythin
please
It found you already. I should've known. You even know its name, though your spelling is surely less than credible. But learning the name of a demon is a step towards its banishment. Good, this bodes well for us in the face of our greatest adversary wedged between our rivalry. For now, I'm sticking to my path in the wilderness. I left as suddenly as I did because of a destination I was given by the one who lifted that god's curse, that and the avoidance of any more harm to come to me inside the academy. The unit would be quick to accuse me for the death of Hiruko with what you've regaled to them of my unwritten history in your previous timeline. My judgmental treatment of them hasn't waned, either, so they'd have no reason not to send me to the guillotine even at your behest otherwise.
You can certainly try to meet with me, but I'm not taking any steps back. You'll just have to catch up. I gave you a marker, and that's all I will grant you. Good luck.
Hey, hey, hey, hiiiiii Eito! I'm one of Takumi's anons, it's a pleasure to formally meet you.
I know you're trying to be cool and mysterious and emo with your disappearance act but I am here with a message for Eito Aotsuki from Takumi Sumino.
"Eito when are you coming back? 💔 Will you come back before day one hundred? 🥺🥺🥺 Why did you leave me bby? 😭😭😭"
(Wow I am so good at this messenger gig)
- EA
Asphalt crumbling underfoot, Eito’s march across the city ruins comes to an end at the overtaking of grass rivulets running through cracks in the road. Illuminated by the unnatural glow of the satellite at midnight, Eito’s real journey begins at the overlook of an open glen, a sleeping serenity lying between a lost civilization and the rugged slopes of staggering mountains further ahead. The floral field from Ama’s memory has changed. History took its toll. Sparse and scattered, mooncatchers flicker and fade under starlight. Small, empty ponds fill craters where missiles and rockets once wounded the retired battlefield. Despite its age, the land did its best to heal, reshaping its scars into something to be loved. If only… if only…
Yet another hum in Eito’s pocket. Inside the cat backpack, Salem mrrps almost in mockery of the message notification, yet her caretaker takes out his phone despite the distraction. He holds the screen close to his chest, as if in fear of the brightness being spotted from space.
An unamused huff joins the breeze blowing past Eito. Great, one of Takumi’s brainless supporters sought his angel out. Quite the dramatist, too, using Takumi as a sock puppet to lure him out of hiding. They think they're so clever, but they know so little about the monster they chase after.
'Your characterization of Takumi is severely lacking. You assume he'd use emotes to an excessive degree, but I doubt he would have half the energy to even search for one to add. He would also not think to capitalize or edit his writing before sending it, texting the equivalent of a raspy, gurgled 'morning voice.' He also does not call me that. At all. Ever.'
...But, what if Takumi really did miss Eito? A potential culprit leaving the academy at the dead of night after a body discovery is sure to put any unsuspecting human on edge. And for Takumi, the newly-opened vacancies in his soft heart are naught but craters dried of water. So then, does the tide recede back into the depths, lost without the push and pull of the moon?
'However, if you really are a messenger sent by that ugly Takumi, I'll entertain your queries. Ever generous as always, I am. First off, I did not kill Hiruko, if that stops you from pointing your disgusting fingers at me. I'm keeping to our promise, as the saint I've always been. That hasn't changed. And all that anyone needs to know about my current whereabouts is that I am on a mission. A detour to reach the final dream destined for me. A search for the answers I've been seeking. I do not know how long my journey will take, or where my flicker of hope will lead me, but I know this won't be the ending to our story of rivalry just yet. In fact, this is just the end of the beginning. A new cycle, as someone said to me. Sure as the stars crossed in the sky, we will find each other again, Takumi. And this time, fate may not even know how. The truth of this world is close now. I can almost smell it over the stench of sour milk.'
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Another figure has re-appeared in the Courtyard, shortly after all others have made themselves scarce. The masked Futuran child. It hadn't been long since they left their note, but the recent... disturbances, had caught their attention.
Such cruelty... it would never cease to sadden them.
They cautiously approach Eito, who was sitting like a statue in his cage, tapping lightly on a nearby surface to announce their presence.
Eito's eyes lock onto the returning visitor at the sound of their arrival. "You..." His whisper is a blade cutting through a feather. "What... do you want?" By no means is he intimidated by the masked child, but given the curse that befell him, his 'cornered animal' attitude is all the more prevalent. He slowly rises, expression cold as he contemplates their reason for coming here. More cryptic messages? He'd spend whole days at the academy library to tirelessly decipher that foreign note if it weren't for the recent chaotic events hitting him back-to-back to test his resolve. He certainly hadn't forgotten about it if that is of the child's concern.
Regardless of the festering frustration, Eito steps up to the edge of the cage to meet the child. The corners of his vision simmer in the darkness of his cursed reflection in the metal bars. Don't think about it. Just ignore it. It's not real.
The child stays where they are for a moment, watching. They understand the fear he must be feeling; now in closer proximity, they can practically feel the Golden-Eyed Serpent's curse emanating off of him. And of course, the shattered god had been so cruel as to make it so this one would linger. The others' misfortunes only lasted a few hours, would maybe last a day at most. This one was thick enough to linger for weeks, fueled by its host's misery.
The beast was testing the waters. Stretching its legs. No surprise given how unstable the Bloodspace had become, but what was its angle, here? A power-grab would be pointless, with things structured as they are now...
But, that didn't matter. In front of them was someone in need. Kin or not, they were a Healer. That was the power and curse their Blood carried.
They approach the cage doors slowly, but without fear or aggression, not wanting to give the already jumpy teen any more reason to lash out. Even with the mask covering their face, it was clear that they were concentrating. Attempting to recall knowledge from long, long ago, foggy from lack of perfecting the skill and having long lost their original reason for picking it up in the first place.
Small hands move slowly, and unsure. There is deliberation in the movements, mistakes making things unclear at first before they seem to realize and correct themself. But their clumsy message still gets across.
'CURSE HURT YOU, I CAN HELP PLEASE', the child signs to Eito, sure he will understand, a least, what they're trying to communicate.
Well, at least the sign language makes things a little easier on Eito, regardless of the child's fumbling. Message received, he hesitantly signs back, 'How? You are just a kid.' He could've asked--and complained--plenty more, but keeping it simple saves him time spent avoiding his own mirrored visage.
This child is many things, but a curse-remover being one of them? It feels like some desperate fantasy to try making Eito feel better. A placebo. He might as well put this kid's proclaimed abilities to the test to see if there's any truth behind such a bold statement.
The child seems to hesitate before responding, scraping their memories for the knowledge needed to communicate, or perhaps the best way to explain their intention.
'DIVINE BLOOD,' still slow, still clumsy, 'HEAL IS MY POWER, WEAK IN THIS PLACE, CAN STILL FIX IF DRINK'
They move right up to the cage bars as they scrounge through the pouch on their hip for something. After a moment, they remove what looks to be some sort of ornate ceremonial knife: an unknown type of flora engraved on the blade, and what appears to be a moonstone embedded in the otherwise simple hilt. With precision and a practiced hand that seems ill-suited to their apparent age, they sink the blade into a spot near their wrist and allow the blood to flow, only hissing slightly at the pain.
Impossibly, the blood seems to flow upwards - swirling, not unlike when they summon their Class Armor, or when Commanders transform. It's clear the child has quite powerful hemoanima.
They examine the self-inflicted wound, and, seemingly satisfied with the flow and potency, offers their wrist to the older boy in front of them.
Eito moves to sign another interrogative response, but halts as the glimmer of a knife shines right in his eyes. He defensively puts his hands up in front of his chest, only faltering when the child turns the blade on themself. He flinches at the sight, but keeps his mouth shut. It's just a little blood. Nothing he can't handle.
Being told to drink it, however...
The memories Eito shared with Takumi during their physical struggle in the infirmary bubble up to the surface. Flashes of a normal life Eito never got to have, and most likely never will. Not with humanity. It was... weird. He'd rather forget about it. But at least Takumi got to see things through Eito's eyes for a change. It makes the explanations of why humanity has to die that much easier to parse.
The rising scent of blood snaps Eito out of his recollection. Now he may end up exchanging memories with some mysterious magical child. With Takumi, Eito at least expected a relatively boring and uneventful life. But this young stranger could be living any kind of life, and he wasn't sure where it would leave him. He really wants to be rid of this curse, though...
Just get it over with. It can't be worse than the curse.
Heaving a long sigh, Eito kneels to better reach the hovering blood, though he still has to lean ever slightly. He tilts his head at different angles, unsure of how to approach such a strange way of drinking. He feels ridiculous, but the mere thought of looking stupid forces him to act. He cups his hands around some of the blood and pours it into his mouth, as if drinking straight from a river. He swallows the blood before he can think too hard about the taste.
It was only a small amount - they wouldn't let him take too much; his body likely wouldn't be able to handle it. And besides... they didn't particularly want to share their entire life story with him.
The effect was almost immediate - a rush, not unlike when absorbing cryptoglobin. But instead of the addictive, animalistic rush there was only warmth - like a holy flame burning away corruption and lighting a way forward.
Flame gave way to silver moonlight in a memory of a monochrome world.
The young girl sat alone at the edge of the wood, idly braiding sheaves of differently-shaded grasses and wild grains between expectantly scanning the familiar forest clearing, and casting her gaze to the brilliantly starry sky above. The shining moon of Ceren, bright as a beacon, ever-watching and guiding those that may be lost in the dark, hung full and bright next to Shoel, its blackened companion - seldom visible, despite its size, save for the shimmering rivulets that could sometimes be seen on its surface, when Ceren shone brightest. Grandmother always said the moons were the faces of the Old Gods of the heavens, watching and observing since their children and the children of the Depths converged and created their first ancestors. The stars, scattered spirits and wishes of those who opted not to descend, choosing instead to remain watching as their kin embarked on a new journey.
Gods or spirits or not, they were beautiful. Shining. Sparkling. Even if she couldn't enjoy the world of color everyone else could see, she could still love the things she found beautiful. And their world was so, so beautiful.
Her face lit up, happiness bubbling in her chest as she caught sight of a falling star. And another. Sneaking out to see this had definitely been the right call, even if she was a little sick and Grandmother would surely scold her. She never missed the night of the mooncatcher flowers' first bloom, and the clarity of the night and surprise meteor shower only made everything more perfect.
The first flowers began unfurling, towards the center of the clearing most illuminated by the night sky. Long, triangular petals, light and bright like snow but delicately transitioning to a much darker shade along its edge, its curled stamens a similar dark shade draping out over the edges some almost grazing the sepals. Fully unfurled, those first blooms live up to their name, seemingly soaking in the gentle moonlight and reflecting it back, taking on a luminescent glow that gradually spread out to their various patches across the small field; the planet's reflection of the dazzling heavens above it, breathtaking and shining in their own wonderful ways.
All was quiet, save for the light rustling of the wind in the trees and grass, and her own humming. She'd bask in the dreamy beauty of the scene forever, if she could.
A sound catches her attention, a crack, or a bang? Almost like thunder. She tenses up as jolt runs through her veins and her hair stands on end; it's almost instinct. Something is wrong, very wrong. She scrambled to her feet, gathering her pack and the blanket she'd laid out as another bang - louder - sounded out overhead. And another. Oppressively loud, now.
She gazed skyward towards the moons, and in that moment understood what she'd been hearing. But couldn't understand what it was she was seeing at all.
The sky looked as if it had fractured. Like a small crack within thick glass, spreading outward in spiderwebs of light that ripped across the sky, stars multiplying and collapsing in the bending reflections. Fear - primal, roaring, frozen - gripped her heart as she clutched the strap of her bag and allowed her gaze to trace the lines back to their source.
Some sort of fissure - bright, twisting, breaking - between the moons. The surrounding air seemed to be getting pulled towards it, everything going dark as in a split second it seemed to twist, two moons becoming one as another boom ripped through the air.
They shattered.
The fissure dissipated, light rippling across the heavens in fractals before all was as it was, save for the glowing cascade of debris that was once Ceren and Shoel, and the showers of light raining across the sky in all directions.
One grew closer, and closer.
The girl panicked, shrieking and diving towards the ground as the falling meteor tore overhead, wind chasing it as it grazed the tops of the trees and landed somewhere between the mooncatcher clearing and her village, ground shaking beneath her as it made contact, hot air beating against her body and knocking the wind out of her.
Another sound, amidst the the shuddering woods and animal cries; a scream, in the direction of the fallen star.
Her body was moving before she could even think about it, dashing through these woods she knew like the back of her hand. She knew this was stupid; she should be running straight home to Grandmother. 'Ama, you're too reckless!' she could almost hear the adults chiding her. But she was never the sort of person that could leave someone alone. Not if they were hurt, or suffering. It didn't matter how scared she was, or if it would get her killed one of these days.
Ama knew she was nearing the impact location; the area was brighter while the sky seemed darker, the air warm. As the woods opened up to fields, she could see the crater and... meteor? some distance ahead. Running on pure adrenaline, she approached quickly, watching for scattered fires and debris that might be underfoot. At least the fires wouldn't spread to the forest. As she approached crater's edge, she slowed, scanning for anyone that might have let out that scream, and gasped in shock at the scene before her. The smell of fire, molten metal, and burning flesh hung thick in the air; whatever was left of the meteor had burned up and was collapsing in on itself. But in front of it, dragging themselves forward in tortured gasps, was a person, their body covered in burns and still burning. She slid down the edge of the crater, rushing towards the stranger and yanking the blanket out to beat out the flames - she needed to put that fire out. She didn't know if he could be saved, but she had to at least try to spare him any more pain.
More voices approached as she carefully bent down to examine the stranger. Fearful, panicked eyes met their own, as she heard her Grandmother and a few other villagers behind her. She felt herself pulled from the scene, one of the neighbors fussing over her as Grandmother and the Elder looked over and began tending to the stranger. Her eyes drifted skyward towards the ruined moons, dust and debris littering the sky above, a glittering mosaic of destruction.
Surely, something was coming.
~~~
Weeks, months passed. The adults were all panicking over the moons. Everyone in Luimr was. Heck, everyone on the planet probably was. But what could they really do, aside to pray to God for answers?
Ama chose to focus on her training. Grandmother was the village apothecary and healer, and she intended to follow in her footsteps. And if part of that meant tending to the stranger from the crater while he recovered? Well, then so be it. She supposed she'd get to sate her curiosity in that matter as well.
He was strange, and while he initially drew a lot of suspicion and hysteria from the panicked villagers in the fallout of the destruction of the moons, in no small part to how he was discovered and his enigmatic nature. Aside from mutilating his face and body, his burns and other injuries seemed to damage his ability to speak. And on top of that the few occasional whispers that came from him were in a language no one could understand. He jumped at shadows constantly, fearful it seemed of almost everything and everyone.
Understandable, given the circumstances and his wounds.
But Ama wasn't the type to give up easily. In spite of his wariness, she took time to try to visit and communicate, trying to learn what she could and bridge the gap of communication between them. Fear, became trepidation, became cautious acceptance of her company, until he clearly tired of her presence. He seemed young - probably still a teenager, only a few years older than her. Surely they'd share common ground. She noticed that when he didn't speak through words, he would sometimes make gestures - speaking through hand signs. She tried her best to figure out what meant what, just as he seemed to try to understand her and the other villagers' words and the books she'd bring.
Eventually, they were finally able to communicate, somewhat reliably. Unfortunately, it only led to more questions.
He had no memory of before the meteor. No past, no name. Only the present, the pain, and the monsters hounding the edges of his dreams.
It was sad. Ama felt bad for him. For her friend.
Grandmother, upon learning, took pity as well. And so took it upon herself, with the young man's blessing, to take him under her wing as another protege... and as Ama's new clan-brother. And to grant him a name.
Dammuz. Her new brother, and friend.
At the end of the ceremony, held with only Ama, Grandmother, and the Elder in the comfort of their home - so as not to overwhelm the poor young man with a crowd - he lightly pulled at the edge of her tunic, straightening it out as he got her attention. His expression - or what she could see of his pale face, behind the mask that covered the majority that was deformed and burned, was hard to place. Pain and relief, at once. He smiled, and whispered some words to her, signing at the same time so she would understand.
Eito however, could understand the words clear as day.
Words of thanks, of gratitude.
The memory fades, and color returns as everything returns to the present. The child - Ama's - wounded hand has already healed, flesh stitched together on her palm. With her face covered, her expression was unreadable. But from the child, herself, in the memories, it was easy to imagine sympathy. Curiosity, perhaps, at a world millennia ahead of her own.
He wouldn't be far off the mark to assume as such. And it was clear that the apparition's illusions had been dispelled.
Ama tilted her head in inquisition, picking at something on her tanned hands before signing again, 'Is that better? Are the illusions gone?'
Lit aflame by the sparks of newfound invigoration within his chest, Eito gasps and takes in the calming smell of the courtyard, no longer submerged beneath waves of ink and smog. His head spins from the influx of new and overwhelming memories flooding his brain, yet the bewilderment settles as his blessed form fully recovers from the curse. He brushes his hand along his face as he glimpses his slivered, metallic reflection. No more horns, no more wings, no more scorn.
Eito looks back at the child with owllike eyes, trying to discern their shared memories without blurting all his thoughts out in a tremendous waterfall. This planet... Futurum, was it? It used to have moons! Two moons! Bright, beautiful celestial bodies lighting up the night sky, accompanied by shimmering stars! They were even given names! Honored and heralded as they should be! Even with the loss of color, the sight of the moons looming above felt like standing under the observant eyes of the universe. But pretty things don't get pretty deaths. They were brutally destroyed, their remnants most likely scattered across space or fallen to earth in ruinous blazes of lost glory.
And whoever that... Dammuz was... was no doubt a human salvaged from the meteoric wreck that horrifying night. Once again, humanity had rid a world of its natural beauty. And those not of their kind had given this survivor utmost kindness despite the horrors his species committed. Eito just didn't get it.
Blinking twice, Eito feels the aching in his fists from clenching them too hard. Easing up, he almost signs back a response before realizing he could speak again without hurting his ears. "Yes, they're gone now. I feel like I can finally breathe again." His own voice soothed him like no other voice could. "...Thank you for banishing that infernal curse from my body."
Ama regarded him curiously, nodding at him as she signed, 'You're very welcome."
Another silent moment of regard, bringing her hand to her masked chin in thought, quietly pondering something. A turn of the head - towards the notebook and pen Eito had been using to communicate while his perception of his own form had been warped. She reaches through the bars of the cage, taking the items in hand, and flips the page. Clearly taking a moment to consider her words, she begins writing. Another pause, before scribbling something out, and writing again.
She hands the page over to Eito. At the top, the start of the message written in messy, faulty kanji, mostly-obscured by scribbles. What followed under was the full message, written in the same language and script as the note he'd received earlier.
But this time, something was different. Despite all logic demanding otherwise, the text was understood.
'I was going to try to write in your tongue, but wished to test something.
When I had consumed Divine Blood before, it brought with it memories, language, and perception. When you had consumed a ration from this avatar, some knowledge returned. I am curious, Star Child, if you can understand this.
I have seen your story, as you have seen it. I understand some, yet now even less. Your way of seeing the world echos that of my brother, taken on by myself before his death, inherited by my children after. But I see through your memories, it should not be possible for us to be kin, or for you to possess the Blood. A mystery to me, do you have insight?'
A quizzical tilt of the head. Waiting for an answer, or questions.
Eito lets Ama write in his notebook without a hint of protest. Best not to scare away a new ally, no matter how strange, especially in her willingness to understand his plight. He takes the offered page, scanning it with a concentrated stare. He's seen these symbols before. A foreign language belonging to the inhabitants of Futurum, shared in that recent note, yet not a single book in the academy's library had information on. But finally, his luck graces him yet again. In his mind's eye, the letters twist and snap into place, letting itself be known. And as the words forms phrases and phrases form sentences, he learns exactly why it unveils its secrets to him.
Finishing his reading, misty eyes clouded with questions, Eito glances back up at Ama. As if the memories didn't give it away, this was no normal child. The mentioning of her children means that this person has existed and had a family that extended beyond her own generation. An ancestor returned to the body of her younger self. Where does she begin and where does she end?
Tangled in uncertainty, Eito entertains Ama with his fluttering thoughts caught between his teeth. "My knowledge of my divine blood and gifted senses are restricted to myself. As far as I am aware, any human inflicted with a near-identical condition are recorded centuries apart, and none lived long enough to put their tales to script for proper archival. At least, that's what the doctors told me. But if your kind is similar in nature, despite far different cultures, then perhaps these extremely rare afflictions can strike both species twice, so to speak. Was your brother the first of the Futurans to be ailed this way? And how common was it to spread across your lineage, however tall your family tree grows?"
What is a blessed gift to him could be a viral curse to others.
Though the mask obscures her face and any expression upon it, it is clear that Ama is listening to him intently, curled index finger resting upon her chin. At his inquiry, after a few moments of thought, her hands begin to move in response,
"I know only for certain that two of my children inherited these senses. Beyond them, I do not know," she signs, and shakes her head, "As for Dammuz... His origins were always a mystery, even to himself. When I had taken a piece of him into myself, he had only recovered fragments, feelings. Towards the end of our war, I know he had uncovered the truth of himself, but was unable to tell me before he gave himself to-"
A sound rings through the tranquility of the courtyard, the sound of wood splitting, like an old bridge finally starting to give after decades of use, or water freezing in the cracks of an old log as the chill of winter sweeps over a forest. Ama notices immediately, and inspects the source of the sound - her own hand, the same that had offered her blood and salvation from the illusions that had plagued Eito not moments ago. Warm, acorn-colored skin gave way to driftwood gray in her wrist and palm, as a deep split now ran from between middle and ring finger to the center of her wrist. Ring and pinky fingers hang uselessly on the splintered, cracked hand, and it begins to creak with every move. She - or rather the avatar - shakes her head in mild irritation, and quickly seizes the notepad and pen they had previously communicated with, hurriedly scrawling a final message now that she knows he understands the ancient written word. A few silent moments, punctuated only by the ambient sounds of the courtyard, the scratching of pen on paper, and the soft creaking of wood.
The hand crumbles entirely, shards of wood clattering to the ground with the pen as she finishes her message. She shakes her head, clearly intending more, but it will have to do.
'Apologies, Star-Child. I had concerns earlier, of how sharing the ration of Divine Blood that powers this doll may affect its lifespan. I see I may have pushed it too far.'
'I will have to leave; I know little of your origins but do not wish to leave this construct where it may be claimed by the "SIREI" entity I have been warned of. But in spirit of kinship, I shall leave you with a portent, and advice.'
'I am not as attuned to the flows of time as others, but I have felt the disturbances and the cycles. Many of us that remain in the lands between, have been working to keep things from collapsing completely. This fragment you call yours... will soon be fragmented and cast anew. You, as you are, will be reborn in a new cycle. As will all others. I do not know if there is much, if anything, you can do to stop this. But you seem to be a bird that would rather fly free than be confined to a cage. If you should choose to fly from this one, I would suggest heading Northeast, towards the mountains and the wood. You remember the mooncatcher clearing and the wood, from the dream you witnessed? There is a fissure in the mountains, a small creek running through. Follow this creek, and you will find the wooded valley that holds my old home of Luimr. The current war has ensured the people that remain have gone into hiding, but the lake reflects the stars just as beautifully and the halah still roam the woods freely. You may find it agreeable.'
She nods curtly, and gives a slight bow. She waves, and makes her exit as quickly as he appeared.
A muted gasp falls away under the sharp splintering of the wooden child’s limb. Caught up in the inhales of fresh garden air, Eito was remiss not to notice the absence of a human or Futuran malodor. This bygone girl lived on in an inhuman construct, built to travel where her former body could no longer carry her to. And now, much like all living things, it is dying. A life for a life.
Eito kneels quietly opposite of Ama as she writes her last message to him. Once she finishes, hand crumbling into sawdust, he gingerly takes the note between his fingers. Just like before, the foreign language is easy on the eyes, morphing into a familiar lexicon. By the time he stops reading, Ama is already gone. All that lingers are the mysteries of her land and lineage left for him to decipher.
The message regales of a cosmic disturbance upsetting the natural order of the world. A bending and breaking of time's skeletal frame, reshaped into a monster of the devil's own. Many sci-fi books dabble in parallel universes and time travelling for thematic explorations, yet none were on a scale quite as incomprehensible. And Eito stands in the eye of the raging hurricane threatening to circle back again. Fate cannot be his compass, just as lost in the chaos of the absolute law's corruption. Though this cycle has no name, its definition a blank space--a dark void, a featureless face--Eito holds the burning candle to light his way through the emptiness. With the flickering hope of Ama's words as his guide, he swears to dive into hell's high waters to retrieve the key to his chains. The koi swims upstream. The angel gets his wings.
A journey to be trekked alone. Eito must leave his ugly Takumi, his demon, his anomaly, his match to settle his own scores under the gods' watch. Their ethereal judgement blinds like blazing spotlights above the grounded soldiers. And yet, if their destined connection stays tethered no matter the distance travelled, whether miles or lightyears away, they will find each other again.
Greetings, Eito Aotsuki.
Your absence has been documented.
This system will not interfere.
Your trajectory is your own.
May your good fortune persist.
Do not reply.
Another hum in Eito’s pocket. He freezes mid-bite of a granola bar to check his phone again. This time, the sender has a name. Or, at least, the imitation of a proper title—a mockery of a god. It brings with it an automated message made to feel personal. A scam, trying to lure him into buying an idea that will never take shape. That’s all the text should read, anyway.
An encryption lies at the very bottom of the message. Perhaps it’s a calling card; a way to trace the signifier back to the sender, like a serial killer’s MO. It taunts Eito, holding the truth just out of reach. No, no, he can’t get distracted by riddles. He has to keep moving. Or else, whatever killed Hiruko could get him too.
Takumi most likely suspects Eito of the unceremonious murder. If the demon festers in his short-term past, then it’s for the best of both of them. They can go back to the way things were, without the labyrinthian mess of emotions they wrung out of each other. They can have their final battle and breathe their last sighs of relief when their evils are defeated. The end of human history should be easy to understand, so easy that a child could read it.
So after you kill all the humans, are you gonna take all the cats and dogs and i guess other animals down from the satellite and i guess just let them free on the planet? That's...not gonna work out great for them you know. They're domesticated, they live best with people, you have to know that. Plus releasing a bunch of new predators would totally fuck up an ecosystem. Whats the plan here?
No hologram materializes to scold the outcast. Instead, there’s a low hum in Eito’s jacket pocket, prompting him to pause his trek across the ruins and take out the cell phone gifted to him. He leans his back against the fractured brick wall of an abandoned building as he reads a new text message. An annoyed sigh bedaubs the screen at the realization it’s a rather heated query sent by a satellite civilian. He doesn’t have time to answer such nonsense pestering him like a mosquito in his ear!
But he has been on the run since the midnight hour, siphoning all his energy into getting as far away from the academy as possible in hopes no monster finds him. No doubt Takumi is awake now at high noon, and when he goes to find an empty courtyard, the demon will be swift on the hunt. Eito prays his luck won’t work against him. He just has to keep moving—a songbird skipping through the tall grass in hopes his many predators won’t catch him in their claws. He is lost, but he will be safe soon.
Eito needs a distraction. He slumps down slowly, taking a cat backpack and a satchel off his shoulders. Chest aches, body weathered by the long walk he’s tread and will continue to endure until he finds what he’s looking for. Finally, fingers trembling, he replies to the message.
‘Nature has her ways of correcting humans’ mistakes. It may take many years, far longer than you’ll ever live, but she always finds a solution. Invasive species integrate into unfit ecosystems and survive despite it all working against them, but the native wildlife will adapt and evolve to even the score. Some will live, some will die, as is the natural order of things. And eventually, it will all work out as planned and everything will go on as if it has always been this way, as destiny decrees.’
"Eito... I need to talk to you about something..."
@teamleader-takumi
Your fears realized; Eito is gone.
Cage door deceptively shut closed, looking through the bars reveals an emptiness not yet known before in the peaceful garden. Life was taken from it. A few gifts remain strewn about, only those one body could not bear the weight of. Calling out for Salem leaves solemn echoes drowning in the oppressive air. Loyal to her companion, she follows him to the ends of the earth.
Takumi's already pale face turned even paler. Did... did Eito run away? Did he- No, Eito made a promise, he couldn't have- but it wasn't as if Eito had lied to his face before. It wasn't as if Eito hadn't killed her before...
No, no, surely Takumi was mistaken. Surely he wasn't wrong to trust Eito a second time a third time a fourth time a fifth time a
Without a word, Takumi turned around and tore his way through the school, looking for a sign, any sign, of the white haired teen.
Though signs of who once was are scarce, it takes no detective to find what else has gone missing. Two items signifying safety and protection and control were stolen from this place. An infuser and a fire extinguisher. The dots connect.
Eito escaped, fleeing into the ruins of civilization on his own for the first time. But the reason as to why is left to guesswork. Fleeing the scene of the crime? Seeking something beyond the walls? Following the phantasm of fate? Digging deeper into solitude?
Whatever the answer you hope it not to be, paranoia crawls under your skin, thoughts infested with terror and disbelief.
"Eito... I need to talk to you about something..."
@teamleader-takumi
Your fears realized; Eito is gone.
Cage door deceptively shut closed, looking through the bars reveals an emptiness not yet known before in the peaceful garden. Life was taken from it. A few gifts remain strewn about, only those one body could not bear the weight of. Calling out for Salem leaves solemn echoes drowning in the oppressive air. Loyal to her companion, she follows him to the ends of the earth.
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My cat had some pretty gnarly mats and needed to be shaved so she’d have an easier time grooming herself. And since it’s cold and she’s naked, enjoy a picture of my cat in a sweater.
Eito's intense gaze falters, catching sight of the holographic photograph. He pauses his browsing, a small smile forming on his pale face. "Hahah, how cute. I'm sure it'll keep her nice and warm while her fur grows back." He glances back at the Gift-O-Matic's screen in consideration and scrolls through the menu until he finds recipes for pet-sized clothing. Something to keep in mind as a gift for Salem.
Hey so with Hiruko dead, doesn't that mean you get your stinky, stupid Takumi all to yourself? Wonderful news for you! You don't have to share anymore!
As the sun sets on another day at the academy, the lone Eito is out and about. The pesky hologram finds themself not circling the courtyard cage, but rather in front of the Rec Room's Gift-O-Matic. Peering from behind Eito's shoulder as he browses the long list of craftable items, it's clear that he's trying to make a large satchel of some kind. Perhaps he's finally planning to move all his gifts back into his room on the roof.
Eito doesn't turn to acknowledge the hologram, far too focused on his current objective. But that doesn't stop him from yapping. "It's certainly the most favorable news I've heard since I've been stuck here. The loss of one of the unit's strongest soldiers and the promise of freedom must be a blessing from destiny--a sign I'm on the right track. I won't let this golden opportunity go to waste. I will have my final battle with Takumi at humanity's end, one way or another." He says no more, waving the projection away so he may continue with his plan into the night.
Well, at least you didn't laugh at a human's misfortune this time. I thought that one of us being sick would fill you with joy, that or you'd make some weird statement about 'it's what humans deserve' or 'that's a sign that you are all disgusting'.
Self-pity seems to win out over outright malice against us, how interesting...going soft, angel of vengeance?
“One power ballad played at a heavy metal concert does not make the whole of the program about it,” Eito matter-of-factly states. “Variety is the spice of life, as they say. And though this world is nothing but doom and gloom, am I not allowed to voice my own sorrows anymore? I am of a higher power than you rotted lot, but you know by now that I have endured a lifelong agony far more painful than yours. Such an onslaught of torment would bring any human down into the darkest depths of despair, but not I, for I have been elevated by it. So it’s certainly not all bad for me, hahah. And eventually, humanity will get to experience a kind of torture once only familiar to me. It’s no little inconsequential sickness, I can tell you that. A cold is just an omen of worse to come.” The bird with steel feathers silently swears he’ll cut through the vines entangling him, even if it chokes him in the process of freedom.
Have you ever woken up with a cold and immediately wanted to roll over and just die? I’m achy, I’m tired, I can’t breathe through my nose, and I can’t stop sneezing and coughing. My suffering is immense and my day is ruined.
Eito scoffs, crossing his arms. "You wouldn't know true suffering if it stared you right in the face. While, yes, a common cold can be annoying when it creeps up on you, there are far worse maladies out there that aren't so easy to be rid of. A cold is tolerable, but be grateful it doesn't come with unforgiving waves of symptoms crashing down upon your every moment of wakefulness until you know no rest. That's been the story of my life walking among you diseased monstrosities. If you expect my pity with your tall tales of woe, you are sorely mistaken."
Have you tried on the navy blue sweater yet? It was washed with hypoallergenic detergent, I wore a mask, had on my dishwasher gloves, and folded it properly...Oh....is that a cat? Wait...is kitty sleeping on the sweater?
In the middle of reorganizing his piles of gifts, Eito glances back at the inquisitive hologram eying Salem. The calico loafs on the sweater's wrapping paper, finding comfort in the unusual bedding. She regards the visitor with a flick of her ears.
"Anywhere she sits is her throne," Eito chuffs, head raised. "I dare not move her from her rightful place." It's clear it's become a new favorite spot for Salem. However, Eito can't help but gaze down with a nervous bend in his eyebrows at the offering. His mind begins to wander. He rests his chin in his hand while he whispers to himself, "brighter feathers visually indicate a bird's vitality and strength, right? Perhaps if I do something of the same, then that shall reinforce my status to not be trifled with…"
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Hey Handsome! It's New Years' here on the Satellite. Give Salem a huge cuddle, she's a good girl. I'd pop a party popper but I don't want to scare your little Guardian Cat. Hope you're making the most of your time in LDA. Let us know if you need new books or a little social interaction. (Complain all you want, Lovely, but you miss our attention <3 )
"A new year..." Eito tilts his head to the side. Misty eyes gaze out into an unforeseeable future. "It's really been that long, huh? Well, speaking for myself, I've only been stuck in this war for less than a hundred days. As if the days don't drag on enough here, how much longer have you all played your sad little waiting game up there on your false moon?" He freely cackles at the thought. "And given the chance, I'm not opposed to stalling humanity's precious time and resources until they run clean out. I've got time to kill and kill." Despite his harsh words, his fanged smile never wanes. His words will only tire when the years slow to a crawl.
Well being smart is one thing, being emotionally immature is another.
Eito remains still, continuing to face away from the hologram. Yet his gaze becomes unsteady, focus racing back and forth between the edges of his vision. "Alright, then. Will speaking in a quieter volume and more 'acceptable' tone get you off my back? I assure you, I can control myself. It's quite foolish to attempt to judge your executioner, as if it would stop the axe from swinging down on your neck. Try as you may, no one knows myself better than I."
