🌈 for asonswrath? This seems neat-
Your Soil
@asonswrath
“Ah, so you wish to know the color your spirit would manifest… Fair enough. Give me your palm. A simple touch is all that is needed.”
The Soil of Michael
“The paper-thin line between life and death, Searing Canvas White.”
Rarity: ★★★★★★★★★☆ (9/10)
Compatibility: Asura, Bahamut
Description: What a horrible, horrible, beautiful soul - Like a supernova concealed beneath skin. It shifts, it toils; Extending in every direction almost as if craving everything it could never have. Tendrils of living sand pressed like tiny palms against cold glass - to a trained Soil Adherent’s eye - a spirit of terrible, gaping longing. It leaves even a veteran mage’s mouth agape - but not his. For the Wind bears a very similar soul, indeed. A soul which should never have been, yet is. A sin against nature, perhaps? Who gave them the right to tinker with life? Who corroded the innocence of the jewel that was once the soul of a child? The color of it - long lost, bleached and erased. What remains beneath the searing white, the searing hate and wrath and pain and damage - the reaching limbs of a void eager to reclaim what was never meant to see daylight. The tendrils of a void that coos for its failed child to come home. But the defiance forged in the blinding light and boundless dark will forever fight for what it was denied. And is it not that very fighting spirit that makes this soul so very distinctly human...? What, then, if not that brilliant duality of sin and love?
Kaze’s comment: “Kid?” The single word hung as a question, the unreadable face of the gunmage for once betraying worry. No, not worry - pity, then? Never, not out of the respect he felt for the creature he saw before him. No, that child needed no pity, for it was not a failure. Slowly he extended his human hand, reaching for the other’s shoulder almost in reverence of the bleached spirit. If Wrath let him - if he did - and the Wind’s hand could touch the other’s body - that brief moment would have their spirits resonate and tell Wrath he was not alone. There were others with souls as searing as his.
“I see how strange it all may seem to you. To some, the white is their own. To some, it was once a vibrant soul twisted by mourning. And then. There are people who were reforged like us. You bear within the spirits of innumerable others, innumerable sacrifices, all with their own lost hopes and dreams. All of those souls - if you take enough of them, you would see every color appear - every shade, for all are unique even if we sometimes cannot tell the difference. Now, tell me, child - what do you get if you see the rainbow as a liquid, strip it from the sky and pour it down into a pot? When you take it in its glory and mix it together like stew? ...Yes, all colors come together to form pure white. The spectrum converges inside you, as their lives had. I see now the meaning of your... name. Those lost dreams, denied, they morphed into wrath and stained what was once you. Twisted through such unnatural means - have you seen your own death, child? Have you truly been to the other side...? I myself am hardly human anymore. If you wonder what allows me to see your spirit so clearly - this demon of mine, the machine called Magun - it processes souls to invoke summoned creatures, and keeps their vestiges for generations. All of the rainbow, all the magic present in countless prior wielders, countless prior sacrifices? ...You can see it now, I trust. How alike we are. How alike, indeed. Go and cherish this life for their sake, then. Like a forest that was cut down to grant you paper for this canvas - it may be blank, so what? Paint on it. Use your new limbs and paint. The gravest sin you could commit would be to waste this existence. I assure you. You have a place in this world. I trust that you have... found it. Cherish it and never look back.”
