#despairification

    Vigilant eyes peruse the ongoing act, partially visible through what murky atmosphere lingers within the confines of  this dubious sector where she perches. Another, whether unaware of this lurking presence or not, prods ever so frequent at what appears the limb physique of an abandoned corpse. Rather, it is the peculiar method she observes that elicits pink brows to lift slightly so, one elbow pressing atop her thigh so that a gloved palm could support her chin with ease. No usual curiosity to death itself seems to be proffered by this youthful stranger, this lioness electing to reveal herself willingly at this point.

RACE: CERBERUS MONSTER CLASS: GUNMAN ASSIMILATION: 95%

     Had hell incarnate not yet been defined, it was a cross between someone like Junko Enoshima and what formerly was Mukuro Ikusaba. It was all a quick process for the soldier, her transference to this thing happening in what felt like centuries, though only totaling to a period of a few hours; what began as a head-splitting headache with feverish shaking morphed into grotesque stretching and growing of entirely fresh limbs, hair, heads (yes, multiple; it seemed her own consciousness had been parted between the three dominant appendages). Those who passed this creature avoided it, those who had not passed it were blessed, as she emanated sheer terror, fear, and abnormal lack of grace with every step she forced.

     A struggle beyond her own body's comprehension set in the forefront of her two somewhat comprehensive minds: they all operated on their own instincts, each brain only a component of the whole Mukuro Ikusaba, all of her separated and manifested and branching into their own enraged, berserk selves - though one would notice only after moments of watching this sad beast it was among the clumsiest of things, all of her relying on innate needs to drive them to their goals (which, of course, all of her too had its own, or lack thereof, motives).

     It was simple enough to call her a wolf-turned-monster with no hope. If you dug surface-deep, that is - her split consciousness craved both destruction and solace, prioritizing such and annihilating anything which intervened with meeting their natural needs; her memories, albeit hazy and far-off like a first childhood memory, existed still in the form of drive.  The monster itself was driven by these memories, all backed with the need to both protect itself and someone else it could not pinpoint, yet another third of her found distate in the very notion of being near this repugnant, disastrous figure it too craved meanwhile.

     It would also be sufficient enough to show the mercenary to no longer exist at the front line, replaced with a split survival-based consciousness. Simpleness, too, could be found in avoiding this mess of a berserk beast - yet there was always an exception to the rule, someone who lived to defy logic and hope itself.

     The instant the monster did not see, but scent the warm yet murky, cold yet soothing figure in the near distance, it was then it declared war.

               d a l e

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