#euthymicblade

he  isn't  actually  AWARE  of  this,  either  —  because  he's  never  known  what  it's  like  to  not  experience  constant  grief,  ren  just  assumes  sad  is  the  universal  default  state  of  being.  as  a  result,  there  are  times  when  he  gets  genuinely  FRUSTRATED  because  he  doesn't  understand  he's  struggling  with  something  beyond  his  own  control.  when  it  grows  particularly  bad,  he  can  at  least  register  something  is  wrong  —  but  that  usually  only  leads  to  him  condemning  himself  for  being  so  viscerally  emotional. it's a very painful, very unhealthy cycle.

in any case, he has far nobler blood to stain his hands with tonight.

he  flickers  in  and  out  of  sight  —  one  moment,  a  strolling figure  so  deceptively  humanoid,  the  next  evaporating  in  a  flash  of  lightning.  kunikuzushi  is  dead,  yet  the  new  god  still  chooses  to  wear  his  face  and  form  for  this  endeavor.  even  if  it  is  BENEATH  him,  that  pitiful  visage  no  doubt  rings  deceptively  familiar.  he  wants  her  to  look  into  the  eyes  of  the  son  that  she  abandoned  and  see  what  he  has  become.  feel  the  remorse  of  knowing  she  is  culpable  in  everything  that  has  transpired,  and  everything  that  is  soon  to  follow.  despair  that  her  fragile  puppet  now  threatens  to  ascend  to  a  higher  plane  than  a  creature  arrogant  as  she  —  that  he  is  strong,  that  he  is  stronger  than  she  ever  could  have  imagined.  strong  enough  to  break  this  stagnant  ETERNITY  with  his  own  two  hands.

the  electro  crackles,  coalesces,  and  reforms  in  tenshukaku  one  final  time.  then  belial  stands,  facing  the  final  GUARDIAN  between  himself  and  the  god  responsible  for  his  existence.  his  eyes  glow  like  celestial  bodies,  fueled  the  strength  of  not  one  gnosis  —  but  two.

he  is  cordial,  yet  demanding,  as  he  makes  his  single  request.  ❝  let  me  in.  ❞

perhaps  it's  time  he  takes  a  more  proactive  approach,  as  opposed  to  letting  his  songbird  have  all  the  fun.

@euthymicblade &&. said... MEAL : for both muses to prepare and share a meal together.

❝  to  be  honest ...  i'm  quite  surprised.  ❞  futen  mused,  laughing  softly  under  his  breath.  ❝  pleasantly,  though.  i  wasn't  aware  you  COOKED  at  all.  ❞  he  supposed  there  were  many  things  he  still  didn't  know  about  his  mother.  prior  to  sealing  herself  away,  their  interactions  had  always  felt rather  cold  (  painful,  even  )  —  though  he  had  been  too  naïve  to  realize  as  much  at  the  time.  he  only  knew  his  mother  to  be  haunted  by  some  form  of  unknown  sadness,  and  deluded  himself  into  thinking  he  could  find  a  solution.  in  truth,  she  had  been  battling  her  demons,  preoccupied  with  other  things,  and  he  was  barely  more  than  a  child  OBLIVIOUSLY  yearning  for  his  parent's  attention.

it  was  a  little  funny.  (  albeit  in  a  sad  way,  perhaps.  )  even  now,  even  after  five  hundred  years,  it  felt  as  though  they  were  still  getting  to  KNOW  each  other. he supposed in some ways, that was entirely true. she had been gone, and he had continued to grow, change, evolve.

... in hindsight, tasking futen with upholding her ideals of ETERNITY was a wasted effort from the very beginning.

❝  even  if  i  have  no  need  for  it,  i've  always  found  the  act  of  preparing  food  to  be  quite  enjoyable.  ❞   he  continued  earnestly.  ❝  it  was  one  of  the  skills  i  picked  up  during  my  time  under  the  care  of  HUMANS.  ❞   it  had  even  evolved  into  a  (  brief  )  point  of  contention  —  for  surely  someone  of  futen's  status  need  not  waste  his  precious  time  on  a  mundane  task  that  could  easily  be  left  to  a  subordinate.  yet  he  disagreed. the peace it brought him alone made it a worthwhile endeavor. ❝ ... perhaps i should follow your LEAD, then? what do you want to make?  ❞

the  blade  cleaves  straight  through  him;  the  new  god  puts  forth  no  effort  to  dodge  the  brutal  swing.  for  a  moment,  time  stands  still.  belial  stays  suspended  in  midair,  bisected  at  the  chest  —  his  own  hollow  stare  meeting  that  of  his  sibling's.  he  smiles with too many teeth.

then,  his  body  dissolves.  becoming  one  with  electro  itself,  there's  a  point-blank  explosion  —  sound  and  brightness  and  the  burning  scent  of  ozone  all  so  intense  as  to  be  overwhelming.  the  heat  alone  would  be  enough  to  strip  a  human  face  clean  to  the  bone  —  but  of  course,  the  shogun  is  not  nearly  so  fragile.  it  isn't  an  attack  so  much  as  it  is  a  misdirection;  belial  reforms  behind  them,  still  floating  like  a  cloud.  his  hands  come  together,  pointer  finger  to  thumb  and  vice-versa.  trapping  the  puppet  within  a  rectangle,  a  picture  frame,  a  snapshot.  he  is  not  so  arrogant  as  to  fight  the  electro  archon  with  her  own  ELEMENT.  yet  fortune  has  shone  upon  him  —  as compensation  for  his  centuries  of  misery,  the  new  god  has  not  been  given  one  gnosis  to  draw  strength  from ...  but  two.

his  eyes  light  up  with  dendro's  color;  beneath  the  balladeer's  attire,  his  ley  lines  do  the  same.  a  brilliant  green,  like  polished  emeralds.

❝  you're  in  the  way.  ❞   brick  cracks;  foundation  crumbles.  the  roots  of  a  great  tree  shoot  up  from  the  ground,  intending  to  ensnare  the  shogun  in  their  crushing  hold.