Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Jul 9, 2015 22:08:36 GMT Chandre likes this

Quote

Post by Reathin on Jul 9, 2015 22:08:36 GMT

Reality is only one option

History was a funny thing. Oh, certainly, it was also a horrible thing. Billions of tragedies wove their way through the fabric of time and space, serving as the oft-forgotten foundation for new, more exciting atrocities. But it was also a funny thing. Amusing coincidences, happy moments...but the purest expression of comedy was absurdity. Not randomness, absurdity. The idea that a thing shouldn't happen but did anyway. Reathin was well familiar with the concept, and his avatar's cracked funhouse mirror of a brain was practically made of that understanding. And as he stood on this one odd cliff jutting halfway into the heavily forested valley, he was more keenly aware of the concept than normal. On this spot, some centuries before, a great battle had occurred. Shinigami and hollow and quincy had formed the bulk of the situation, but very nearly every spiritual race had some chips in the pot here. The three great forces had been convinced it would be their final triumph, an unprecedented opportunity to permanently cripple their rivals, after which a few sweep up operations would remove whatever remnants slipped away from this fight. It hadn't worked out that way of course. The sides had done immeasurable damage to each other in this bloodstained scar, wooded scar in the earth , but never quite enough to go beyond the point of no return. The opposing generals had all been just a hair to cunning, fast or lucky. In the end, after no small amount of death, all sides had returned home and there could be said to be no victor. The absurdity of the armies, to think that the spiritual battles echoing across history could be ended in a single massive effort, was laughable. But beyond that, it was also absurd that this place, which was to birth a single victorious future, would now be the realization of countless possibilities.

Provided this worked, of course.

Reathin sat near the edge of the ledge, his sword planted firmly in the solid ground several feet in front of him. As if having a staring contest with the living metal, Reathin had meditated (in his own way) about the enormity of what he hoped to achieve and the odds of it coming about. Well, if his avatar's way of thinking was correct, anything that could happen, did...in one reality or another. It was up to him to ensure that the reality in question was here, and the time was now. The air about him hummed, not only with his own reiatsu, but the faded auras staining the soil around him. The reishi remained agitated after all these years, despite no Quincy present to pluck the particles and fashion them into arms and armor. The fact that it was even noticeable was surprising, really. It was normally like paying attention to individual molecules of oxygen. Pushing the thoughts away, Reathin began the immensely straining exercise of avatar manifestation. The first stage in bankai trials was in many ways the hardest. It was overcoming the incredible gravity of reality to bring forth what was essentially a sapient thought into physical form. He poured his own energy into the blade, but the trick was then changing things about. With shikai, the zanpactou was much like a filter, or a lens. It “colored” the energy from its wielder, gave it shape and useful function. With bankai, it was different. You weren't passing power through it, you were passing power into it, storing and housing reiryoku flows of tremendous density into the blade. It became the end, instead of the means. As power was stored, it twisted the relationship of hand and weapon. No longer a fragment of the one, the avatar took on true life of its own...one that seemed much more alien and dangerous than it had moments ago. After long moments of concentration, Reathin felt himself pass the point of no return. His spiritual power “caught” properly into his avatar, and his zanpactou faded away. In its place, a figure began to grow. No, not grow. Build itself. From a single gear, others formed, unfolding from seemingly nowhere as the entire series built itself into an enormous clockwork ring. Atop it set a featureless mask, its eyes lit from behind with tiny flames. Hourglasses larger than Reathin himself seared themselves slowly into existence, wrapped with thin formations of brass before setting themselves hovering around the main ring. Hovering beyond these “arms” were large hands of stone and crystal. Finally, within the ring, a swirling ball of emerald energy, like a windstorm, grasped and shielded by a number of the hourglass arms.

The result was...large. Reathin understood on some intellectual level that Sanze wasn't any bigger than normal here, but within his soul, there was always a feeling that he dwarfed his avatar, with the inner world being fashioned from his own soul. Out here, in physical reality, the stories-tall entity loomed larger than life and made him acutely aware that his avatar was entirely capable of squashing him like a bug. Given the inherent risk of reaching for bankai, there was a non-negligible chance of that very thing happening. It was a sobering thought.

We are present. The same booming voices, a hundred tones in half-synchronized unison. It didn't help Reathin's feelings of smallness, truth be told.

You seem more... He would have said “lucid”, but calling one's avatar mad wasn't a solid place to start refining its trust. focused. Normally, Sanze spoke in hyperbole and riddle, simply because he claimed to see more than one possible world at once. All of them, actually. It was tricky to understand sometimes.

Many eyes are on this place, this time. There is clarity. Reathin understood. If an unlimited number of worlds existed, each with a different possibility, an unlimited number of Sanze must logically follow. And if all of them shared his fractal vision, they would have quite the audience.

Best to put on a good show for them, then. He said with a smirk, letting his own infectious confidence spread through his mind. He'd been waiting for this moment for far too long to not enjoy it to the fullest.

And I'd say that puts you as master of ceremonies. So, what's the name of the game? Reathin already knew the name. “Submission”. Attaining the final release required more than cooperation with one's avatar, they needed to fully trust their wielder, allow them unrestricted access to their inherent magic. It wasn't easily given at the best of times, and while Sanze certainly tried to be helpful, the sheer alien mind he possessed made the translation from thought to action dubious in nearly everything he did. Still, Reathin hadn't trudged all the way out here for nothing. They were going home legends, no matter what.

Thought precedes action. Awareness leads to control. If you would wield the glories of Creation, you must first understand it. Explore its many facets. To touch, one must see. Do you understand?

Obviously not, 'else I'd be worthy already, yes? Reathin was fairly certain his avatar smiled at that, which was an impressive feat for someone with no nose, mouth, or particularly movable eyes. His avatar's enormous frame floated backwards, past the edge of the cliff on which they were standing, and lowered himself until the sphere of energy within his ring-like body was level with the final step. The arms shifted out of the way, forming a short tunnel into it. Nothing was below the sphere save a hundred foot drop. Reathin intuited the next step immediately. Less a leap of faith and more a quick step, but the principle was the same. Taking his time, the shinigami made his way under the shadow of his avatar, through the tunnel of hands and finally, with as little hesitation as he could manage, into the sphere itself. There was a flash of light, brighter than the high noon sun, and then darkness.

Last Edit: Jul 27, 2015 0:14:02 GMT by Reathin

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Jul 13, 2015 3:01:22 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Jul 13, 2015 3:01:22 GMT

Reality is only one option

The darkness was not companion to unconsciousness. As he fell freely into the blackness, Reathin was, in fact, acutely aware of his uncontrolled decent. The first thought that crossed into his brain was that something might have gone wrong and he was about to become uncomfortably intimate with the the forest floor he'd just been overlooking. This was disproved fairly quickly, firstly by the fact that it was still too early in the day for all this umbra, secondly by the fact that he'd had long enough to contemplate the fact that he was still falling. No, wherever he was now, it wasn't where he'd been. That was good. Maybe. It was also entirely possible that he'd failed his test already, missing some esoteric interpretation of what he was supposed to be doing. Sanze may very well have simply tossed him into some terrible void between worlds, destined to drift amongst the nothingness for eternity. The thought wove its way swiftly through his brain before being firmly discarded (with perhaps a suspicious amount of haste). Even if he'd already failed, this wasn't really Sanze's style. The spirit's madness found the idea of “nothing” vaguely offensive. That might make it seem an ideal punishment, but it would also require admitting that such a void could even exist, which the avatar seemed unlikely to sanction.

Before Reathin's train of thought could speed its way through further realms of supposition, his other senses picked up something important. Which was to say, something at all. A tiny flicker of light, like the first star to appear in the night sky, if one were to use a cliche. Either way, it was a welcome break from all this void, so Reathin attempted to make his way toward it. This revealed the fact that he lacked any real means of controlling his current dissent. The light was in the distance, horizontally, which was a bit of a predicament. He was going to miss it at this rate. His first instinct was to flail about with his limbs, but this had little effect. Wherever this place was, either it didn't have any air, or it didn't react the way it normally should. The fact that the shinigami wasn't suffocating seemed to imply the latter, but his fall didn't have any flapping about of his clothes either, so it wasn't clear.

Alright, think. Body position doesn't work. Can't control decent with reiatsu, since I can't really manipulate it in here. Probably break my bones from the sudden stop even if I could form a platform... So, conventional solutions were out. That...made sense, he supposed. What fragments he'd been able to dig up on bankai training seemed to indicate the zanpactou's spirit could exhibit unusual abilities in these special moments. Sanze had the reigns “in” here. This realm was his world and followed his rules. Odd thought. It was almost like Reathin was the avatar, and the avatar was the shinigami.

The moment this idea fully formed, the blackness...bent, for lack of a better term. Reathin could feel himself moving in an entirely different direction. Well, that was good. He was still not aiming toward the little light, but he apparently wasn't helpless so much as ignorant of the way this realm worked. He tried focusing on the previous thought, the swapping of their general positions. Nothing seemed to happen as he did so, however. He continued on his (altered) course, getting further and further from his new goal. Growing more desperate, he cast about for a new “guiding” idea. This place apparently responded better to thought than action, so thought would have to become his action.

Another shift, this time at a tighter arc, more in control. Still not quite the direction he was aiming for, but Reathin felt he was starting to get a feel for the rhythm of all this. His earlier concerns about falling forever were swept aside and replaced with focus. He could do this, he knew it. All he had to do was pinpoint exactly what was special about those two thoughts. Reversing tasks and thought becoming action. The connection between the two didn't seem evident, as far as Reathin was concerned. There must be something about them, some tenuous logical link. No, wait. His avatar's mind ruled here, if it wasn't actually his avatar's mind in a literal sense. In all their time together, the shinigami had never seen his inner spirit make a simple logical conclusion. It was always something unforeseen, some kind of lateral thinking, or a meandering chain of cause and effect far beyond the reasonable. Which meant he was fumbling about in the dark (in more ways than one, given all this colorless emptiness). He needed a new way of approaching the situation, some new perspective...

Wait...Perspective. That was it. He could feel it, that was the key! Sanze's mad perspectives were what made him special, what gave him his insights and challenges. The ideas Reathin had just processed, that had changed his direction? New perspectives. Taking inspiration from the realization, the shinigami tried a different kind of perspective. He wasn't falling away from the tiny light, there was no objective source of gravity in this place. Forcing himself to rethink the situation, he half-imagined, half-realized that he was “over” the dot of light, falling into it...and just like that, it was so. His position didn't change, he just opened his yes and it was approaching him at high speed. Reaching out, Reathin opened his hand to grasp at the palm-sized mote of luminescence in this dark dimension. I wasn't what he expected. Once he “plummeted” toward it, the light unfolded like a blooming flower, spreading out into a shape the shinigami couldn't quite make sense of. His pondering was cut short once he came into contact with the light-flower, transitioning out of the darkness and into someplace else entirely.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Blinking repeatedly for several moments, it was only with fairly extreme effort that Reathin found himself able to open his eyes at all. The light he had fallen into moments ago was gone, but its afterimage was stubbornly clinging to his retinas. It was due to this fact that it wasn't immediately clear where he had found himself. Once his brain started parsing the sensory input, things didn't actually get as comprehensible as he might have liked. Before him as water. A vast, blue sea curving around and above and before him...but not beneath or behind him. Several more seconds and he finally made the connection: he was underwater, kept from a frigid, suffocating death by several inches of reinforced glass. It was surreal, frightening, and oddly beautiful. Turning around, he further discovered the room he was in was simply using this point as a window. The rest was a luxurious bedroom the likes of which might be found in the finest hotels in the world. That was the image he was getting, at any rate. The room was dimly lit; only the lights out in the water shone out, giving him a limited view of the room. Where was this?

Can't stop looking at it, huh? Reathin whipped his head backward, hand reaching for his sword, which he only just realized wasn't there. Indeed, his clothing was different as well. Casual pants and shirt, not robes. Even his face felt different. Was that stubble? The earlier voice give a light giggle at his movement. Walking into the room from a well lit, beautifully carpeted corridor, the voice's possessor made herself visible in the dim light, carrying a bucket of ice. That certainly supported the whole “hotel” idea, but it didn't explain who she was or why he was here.

Not that I'm blaming you. The kids are practically hypnotized in their room. She paused, looking perturbed as she apparently got a closer look. No doubt his face had revealed some degree of shock when children had been mentioned. What was going on here? What was Sanze doing?

Raymond? Are you all right? Worry spread, and the shinigami questioned whether or not he should say anything. He resolved not to, for the moment. If needed, he could reveal it later on, but there was no putting the cat back in the bag, so to speak. Straightening his face as best he could, he tried to form a convincing, light smile. The light beard was unfamiliar and made the gesture feel slightly strange.

Yes, just...a bit much to take in is all. He said, vaguely. The other figure smiled back, apparently satisfied. Reathin turned and looked out again. Reaching out, he placed a hand on the glass. Rather than hard, smooth resistance, it rippled at his touch, like the liquid it was currently holding at bay. Seized by the faux-glass with a terrible suction, he felt himself pulled through it with irresistible force, leaving no crack as he passed. Out, out into the ocean. Reflexively, he tried to scream, but what air was in his lungs was instantly crushed out of him by the enormous weight of the sea upon him. Once more, he found himself falling into darkness.

WORD COUNT: 1532

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Jul 19, 2015 16:55:50 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Jul 19, 2015 16:55:50 GMT

Reality is only one option

Reathin “surfaced” into the emptiness once more, erupting from the spark of light like the drowning man he had moments ago been. He gasped loudly, frantically trying to draw in breath. This failed, as his lungs filled with nothing, but it also didn't feel like they needed anything here, in this place. He supposed that answered the earlier question as to whether there was breathable air “in” here. It took a few moments to get his body used to the idea that it was no longer dying. Hurtling away from the speck of light, the shinigami pulled his limbs closer to himself, shivering at the memory of the cold and the pressure he'd just been exposed to. No, not just that. He was shaking from the sheer alien nature of the experience.

Whatwasthatwhatwasthatwhatwasthat. Slurring a thought out and repeating it like a mantra probably wouldn't help for long, but in the short term, even just expressing the fear helped externalize it a bit, give him some fragment of stability and balance. It wasn't much, but at this juncture Reathin was willing to accept whatever he could get. Were all attempts at bankai this nerve-wracking? Or was his avatar just that different?

Or broken.

That thought as an unpleasant one, but like any fear-tinged idea, it was stubborn once formed. He'd always known Sanze was strange, in “body” and mind, but it had always seemed a mere curiosity, or even an amusement. Puzzling out his avatar's convoluted thought process was an engaging intellectual challenge. Now, however, Reathin saw the downside. If his blade's spirit was truly deranged, there might be no potential victory here. Without the slightest malice, Sanze could very well doom him to a fate worse than death, trying to teach him to accept his unacceptable, unique madness. Breathing deeply and deliberately, Reathin tried unsuccessfully to shed the sentiment, but it was no good. Worse, given the nature of this place, the change in perspective twisted his angle once again...straight toward a new point of light in the gloom. Twisting his head, Reathin could see the old one in the distance, so there were at least two. As his nonadjustable course brought him into contact with the fresh illuminated mote, he braced himself for whatever other terrible circumstance he might find himself in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Opening his eyes, Reathin found himself face-to-plank with a piece of...wood? Yes, a few inches from his head. Wait, Reathin? That wasn't his name. Was it? It certainly felt like it, for whatever reason. Shaking his head clear for a moment, the brief movement gave his peripheral vision a quick glance at the room. His fellow justices of Central 46. Yes, fellows. It was his honor, particularly given his relatively young age, to bear the esteemed title of 3rd Justice. He was Jigou, of Lesser House Sarutobi, and given to him was the authority to punish those who spat on the authority of Soul Society's grand order. Indeed, that was what he had been doing this very minute, before the strange thoughts of names entered his head.

Past the wooden plate before him, down in the lowest point of the semi-circular room, sat the prisoner. Jigou had only seen her directly once, and was grateful to his face guard for preventing further distasteful observation. Even putting aside the prisoner's extensive scarring and overconfident grin, the depth of her crimes alone made the judge feel ill alongside enraged. Or perhaps it was the lack of care that bothered him most? She certainly didn't seem to be interested in the gravity of these proceedings, nor of the guilt that any decent person would be crushed under. Jigou considered all these factors as he prepared for the sentence. The main formalities were already over. He had only to say his piece, then give judgment. Slamming a gavel to his side, the already quiet mutterings about the room silenced themselves. It was time.

Yuzuki Ito, you have been found guilty of forty five counts of murder...

Shame that. Was aiming for forty six. The rough voice of the prisoner set the room ablaze like a match in hay. Annoyed as Jigou found himself, his next strikes of the gavel were as much to stop the fury of his fellow justices and wise men. He himself refused to submit to the obvious taunt.

SILENCE. He waited a moment for the order to filter through the room. As the leading judge for this trial, he was entitled to controlling the court, a duty he took seriously. This woman might be an affront to law and order, but he would not allow his fellows to sink beneath their dignity. The feeling was apparently understood well enough to keep murmuring to a minimum after that. The prisoner kept smiling darkly toward her sword, placed several feet before her in the ground by ancient custom, and sealed as best they could. With her own restraints in place, there was no chance for her to escape. No-one fled the justice of the Central 46.

The prisoner has not been called upon to speak. The charges permit no defense from the guilty party. As before, forty five counts of murder, high treason, mass destruction of the Seireitei, attempted murder of Vice Captain Arshell, whose valiant efforts to halt your rampage are hereby noted by the court. Theft of no fewer than seven White-class sealed objects from the Central 46 vaults, countless derelictions of duty, disobedience toward superior officers and officials of the Soul Society... Jigou found the use of the word “countless” unsavory, preferring to have a specific number on hand for the sake of the records, but after what was seemingly hundreds of complaints, apparently 13th division simply ceased keeping track. Far too permissive, that captain.And finally, an attempt to enter rogue status. No plead will be entered; you are hereby found guilty on all charges. The sentence...

Yeah, yeah, death, real shocker there. Very creative for a bunch of old farts, aren't you? To their credit, while there was a general outburst of shock and anger, the rest of 46 apparently learned their lesson from before, quieting themselves before Jigou was forced to do so again. The prisoner continued before he could speak anyway.

Still, I'm not objecting. You're absolutely right! Death is the only proper way to resolve this. 'Course, there's the matter of final words. It's on the books. I should know; you stoic types keep trying to throw it at me. Prisoner is entitled to a final statement after judgment is agreed upon? And wouldn't you know it, I just agreed. Silence followed, followed by hidden nods behind the face concealing wooden boards. Despite her lack of respect for the law, this lawbreaker was well aware of the shinigami's legal system. Even judges were held to that standard. Especially judges.

The prisoner invokes correctly. It will be permitted, in accordance with the law. Speak your last, Yuzuki Ito.

Very gracious of ya. Right, I'll keep this fairly brief, since there's a fair bit of dying coming up, right? Two things I want on record. First, your wards suck. With a grunt, the criminal before them exerted a concentrated reiatsu burst, shattering the bindings on her hands, feet and chest like so much paper. How did she...

Before anyone else could react, Ito reached out to the zanpactou impaled in the ground before her, grasped the hilt and drew, as if the bindings on the blade were not even there.

Strive, Kyougou. The bloodstained edge of the weapon shuddered for a moment, shredding the contaminating fluid to clean itself and humming in the air with a low, understated menace. The collected judges transitioned from shock to fear, attempting to get out of their seats and flee the chamber. Ito made no move to indicate she expected that to work.

Second, you need to do your homework before sentencing someone. Kyougou here, she likes a challenge. Gets psyched up when something big shows up. If it's a weak enemy, she'll make 'em stronger. If it's a strong one, she just gets that much sharper. But against a swarm of opponents, well...I did say death was the only proper way to resolve this, didn't I? A casual swing, and the nearest justice collapsed in a pile of gasping viscera. Desperately trying to fill lungs that were no longer intact, the first of many perished in this room. With so many here, the weapon was sharp enough to cut the eyelashes of a fly and nothing else, if its wielder so desired. Turning her gaze toward the head justice, Jigou felt the cold grasp of death on his heart seconds before a flash-stepping strike pierced his heart. The hot and cold pain that accompanied it was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and as his life's blood spilled out from the elegantly placed wound, he found it odd that the only things on his fading mind was the manic grin on Yuzuki's face, and the strange name he had almost thought of himself earlier...Reathin...

Word Count: 1525

Last Edit: Jul 19, 2015 16:57:38 GMT by Reathin

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Jul 21, 2015 3:42:07 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Jul 21, 2015 3:42:07 GMT

Reality is only one option

Another escape into the increasingly comforting darkness, another moment of desperate scrabbling to ensure his ongoing existence wasn't in danger. So far, so good. Despite the very real lingering pain in his nerves, Reathin's hands drew back with no blood on the fingers as he felt his chest. There was no gash over his heart where he'd moments ago been stabbed. Again, he tried to center himself with deep breaths. How long was he going to drift here? Until he figured out exactly what Sanze was trying to demonstrate to him, probably. He felt like an old pen, dipped into this black ink-well of a realm before being used to scribe new worlds into existence. Or perhaps it was more a matter of looking at pre-existing ones. His avatar would likely say as much, but that still seemed off to him. He'd just experienced horrible death twice, under different people worn as masks. Were they him? If so, why was he intact now? Falling toward yet another light, Reathin grit his teeth and braced himself for another immersion. The tension probably wouldn't help, but he couldn't resist the instinctive action. Engulfed in light, his vision faded out and in once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was over. The final battle had been fought, the final sides drawn up. The world had been defeated, crushed under the terrible weight of an army of monsters, demons and stranger things still. Ahead and above them all were the vast, titanic ancients, older than time and as cruel as negligent creators could be. They had come to reclaim what had been ripped from their hands all those millennia ago. This world had once been theirs, fashioned like clay from the rolling tides of chaos and potential before the rising of civilization and its magics had, through epic confrontation, driven them into prisons beyond the borders of sanity. Trapped within prisons of their on world-sized flesh, the ancients had meant to be contained forever. It hadn't been enough. The war to end all wars had occurred with their return, and if they were disappointed or pleased that their traitorous creations had risen up once again in defiance, it wasn't for their minions to know.

The nameless general knew all this, and standing overlooking the scorched planes that had once been his home, he wondered how he was supposed to feel about it. Once human, he had seen the pain and horror his masters had endured in their exile. Despite their monstrous nature, he had felt pity for these fallen creators. They'd offered a pact: freedom for freedom. They would give him the strength to do as he wished in the world, without restriction, and he would use that unimaginable might to let them have their release and justice. It had seemed fair enough at the time, with his eyes clouded by sweetly whispered words and sympathy they had carefully cultivated. Too late, he'd discovered the price. The magic they offered was everything they'd said it would be and more...significantly more, in fact, and not with healthy expression. Tainted by alien ideals and understanding, the nameless solider had grown increasingly inhuman as he'd evolved. As corrupted as he now was, the sight of his former world burning with colorless fire beneath a sickly emerald sky didn't bother him as he thought it once would have. The screams of the leftovers of humanity should have been awful to experience, but now he could only twitch in annoyance at their poor tonal control. It was an inartistic display, offensive to the sensibilities of the once-human. The pungent smoke in the air was soothing, at least. He could detect the lingering spirits that had once inhabited a nearby forest burning. Exquisite.

He walked from his high position, striding the broken land on feet of burning brass that seared the ground where he stepped. There was little else to do. Mere days ago, the greatest battles history had ever experienced had played out across the surface, sky, seas and tunnels of this place. Mortals, heroes and spirits against demons and worse, led by ones such as the nameless general; turncoats and traitors to their former humans. Treachery had sealed away his masters, so it was appropriate that treachery would provide them with the key to sweet liberation. Such conflicts they had been...Men fought against beings greater than armies, oceans of living acid and beasts whose mocking laughter turned the sky to blood. Darkness and fire swallowed nations and entities of living language tore apart all resistance with quite literally cut like blades. And now it was over. His pact fulfilled and purpose exhausted, the nameless general knew precisely what awaited him. It didn't bother him, really. Fear of his end had been excised upon his “recruitment”, alongside much of his empathy, joy and the comforting ignorance mortals clad their minds in.

As if summoned by such a thought, shadows flitted about on the ground before him, each a perfect sphere to match its owner. Looking up, the general beheld the being who had uplifted him from mortal life and pain and fear and thought and purpose. She was beautiful in a way that most couldn't understand; colorless flames encased in glass, orbiting about themselves in patterns more intricate than simple sight could show. Such was her nature that these patterns were as much her body as the flame and the glass. More, really. Yes, she was beautiful. And hateful. The cold, crystalline voice that echoed from her thousands of spheres could not fully disguise her loathing. The nameless general did not feel upset at this. She hated all things of thought, not excluding herself. Willfulness shattered the perfect order of things, and this world had so much will in it. He had tried his best to follow her designs. Uplifted as he was, he had performed better than most humans would have. Not enough of course, but he knew he would never have her love. Merely a lessened portion of hate. His purpose now fulfilled, the nameless general awaited his next order. It was not hard to guess what it would be.

You have completed your assigned task. What was expected of you has come to pass. The voice was a clear, empty echo of pitch-perfect crystal, lovely and horrifying to listen to at once. Each tiny aspect of it fed into the larger self, a hierarchy forming between the tones. There was no pride or happiness in the voice, but perhaps there was some degree of contentment. Or was it superiority? You are hereby permitted to die.

What followed was pain, white hot but gone nearly as quickly as it had arrived. He wasn't dying, of course. The dead left bodies, tainted the ground. It was messy, sloppy, and wholly unacceptable to the being hovering above the now vanishing general. No, not dying. Merely being unmade. His body rendered back into the magic the world could once more use. His final use. It was good to have purpose, even in this. After all, what did one do with tools but use them as best they could be used?

As the general vanished, the only peculiarity in his thoughts was a moment of remembrance. The man he had once been had wanted something. A word. What was it? It seemed important. Oh yes. There it was.

Transcend...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...Sanze! Escaping once again, Reathin didn't need to fill his lungs with non-air. The transition between that...place...synching up with his sword's release phrase. It didn't activate shikai, given that he as inside his sword, in a way, but everything seemed to shake for a moment. Curious how that could be detected, with no landmarks or air to speak of, but the shinigami could definitely feel something change here. Yes, he could see it in the distance. The lights...there were more of them. Many, many more. The closer he fell toward them, the greater the firmament seemed. If each one of those hundreds (thousands?) was a world...The implication hit him all at once. He saw his avatar's game now. No, he wouldn't do this, couldn't do this. It was beyond him. Struggling to pull away, Reathin could but look on in horror as the wave of stars launched themselves into him.

Word Count: 1381

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Jul 27, 2015 2:42:55 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Jul 27, 2015 2:42:55 GMT

Reality is only one option

The oncoming points of light dashed about this way and that, always approaching him, but never with an obvious pattern. It would seem they couldn't care less about his opinion on the matter, drawn to him as if fear was a gravitational force. Nonetheless, Reathin didn't halt his struggles in the least. Desperation mixed with anger at his avatar's nonsensical games. What was the point of all this?! Throwing him into vision after vision without the slightest connecting factor that he could see was supposed to allow him to “understand Creation”? To the shinigami, it seemed to be having the opposite effect; he was less certain now about everything. Either his avatar was wrong, in which case this was entirely doomed to failure, or he was right, in which case he was doomed to madness, then failure.

Still too limited. Still too focused. “I will win, I will lose”. Nothing more? The voice of his avatar finally answered his cry from moments ago, apparently reading his wielder's scattered thoughts. In his current state, Reathin was...less than receptive to the hint. The lights were closing in fast as he lashed out, verbally and physically.

Well excuse me for being rational! There are such things are binaries, you know? Some things either are or are not! Swatting a light with a heavy backhanded swing, some part of him was dimly surprised when it went flying away from him, rather than engulfing him. The rest of him, however, was venting frustration into the increasingly crowded void.

Show me as many of these as you want, it'll just make things worse! This isn't enlightenment, it's just... He grabbed one of the lights, holding it in a vice grip. The energy seemed to squirm and writhe, but made no move to draw him within.

...utter.... Another sphere was wrestled from thin air to fill an empty, grasping hand.

....CHAOS! Unthinking, working purely on some deep, destructive impulse, Reathin slammed the two motes together with all the strength he could muster in this awful place. There was a cracking noise, like glass splintering under heavy pressure. Alarmed, the shinigami hurled the pair of them away like live grenades. This proved to be exactly the wrong thing to do. The lights exploded outward, their “contents” for a lack of a better word, pouring out. It appeared very much like an enormous quantity of paint flowing downward, actually: bright and dim colors oozing in thick waves as some form of liquid. On the one hand, it was rather cathartic to see all those potential images reduced to a smear of color. It certainly made the void look different, breaking the monotony of this backdrop even as it's sheer scale was brought into sharp contrast. The downside was that the vision-sparks were apparently not content to let a mere two of them shatter. Every drop that splattered onto another light brought about a similar effect, generating a chain reaction so extensive that Reathin was hard pressed to actually see the darkness in which they were all floating. Finally, as if to spite his earlier efforts, the entire blend surged toward him like the offspring of a bullet train and a paint factory. Further attempts at escaping this situation were, evidently, not going to be tolerated. The flood came down just as he made one final attempt to persuade Sanze to do...very nearly anything other than whatever this was.

Wait....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...ing is pointless, I assure you, sir. If we are to strike, and we should, now is the most opportune moment. He stood near the helm of the enormous battleship, the HMS Vigor. As fine a vessel as had ever been commissioned, with a stout, experienced crew...'loyal' to a fool. Their former captain had been a man of intense action and great charisma, wielding the three-masted war machine like an unstoppable hammer against any force stupid enough to get within his reach. The Vigor had been the pride of Her Majesty's fleet in the Caribbean...Until they had lost their beloved captain to an (un)lucky shot in a boarding action. The first mate had stepped in as the chain of command dictated, but while the previous commanding officer might have seen something worthy in the man, Reginald was hard pressed to find a single thing about him to admire. Introspective to the point of passivity, uncaring about morale, cowardly in battle...Worst of all, his idea of delegation simply meant that everyone else was responsible for his failures but not his “successes”. Now, Reginald was pressed by the rest of the crew to step beyond his role as navigator and try to make his so-called superior understand that if they didn't at least attempt to take the enemy vessel before them (which, unless all those degrading planks were secretly miniature cannons, would be trivial), he would have a mutiny on his hands. Reginald might not like the man, but being marooned was not a fate he would wish on many.

Sir, if you....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

....please! I can't...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hold on! Just a little longer! Edward shouted at the young man dangling over the windowsill, holding on to the older firefighter for dear life. Granted, fleeing the inferno they were currently occupying was a sound idea, but jumping out a window had been...reckless, to say the least. Now, the only thing preventing tragedy was the arm of an aging fireman. Fit as he was, holding up a whole person with a single limb was extremely taxing. He intended to keep the victim up until the team below could get a safe landing zone into position, but the unfortunate's hand, slick from fear sweat, lost its grip on Edward and went rolling down the slanted roof before grabbing onto the edge. Thinking fast, the public servant grabbed the axe from his back and, gripping from the head, pointed it toward the grappling youth.

Quickly! Grab...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

hold on! Do you hear me Sanze! I can't....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...maintain temperature. If this is going to work, we'll need it steady. Alexander spoke, deeply and calmly to his apprentices and journeymen. Good lads, one and all. The ones who weren't cut out for this line of work had long since left of their own accord. There was no need to banish them from the workshop. Long hours of toil were all that were needed to weed out the unfit, and it wasn't in Alexander's nature to deliberately toss someone aside. He'd been on the receiving end of poor masters before, those who didn't give the unlikely student a chance. He hadn't liked it. Resolved to never allow it to happen where he had the optoin. But he was glad that only the skilled were here, regardless. The work they were doing was important.

Just as he had had poor masters, Alexander had been blessed with good ones. Currently, his employer was Princess Gavre Ustrov Till Bostra, often called the Steel Wind by her allies and enemies alike. Victor of countless personal combats, in three weeks time she would be called to duel one of their country's fiercest enemies for the possession rights of a particularly contended fortress on their borders. The wining country would claim a critical strategic position (or at least, so the smith understood. He had a mind for metal, not tactics, in truth). To win, the Princess would need the best equipment available, razor steel to match razor skill. Alexander could say with quiet pride that he was the one chosen to fashion such a tool. He and his assistants would forge the finest blade the world had ever seen, if that was what it took. The smith had many secrets refined over the years, and he figured he would need just about every one to meet his own standards for this project. The youngest among them had already completed the basic setup of the workshop for the day, and his more experienced workers were just now heating the forge. Once everything was heated, it would be time to begin. Alexander did not allow himself to pace. Focus. Harder and harder. The minutes passed slowly, but he had mapped out the next few hours down to the moment by the time he was done.

We'll begin with the...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...handle! Can't handle it all! It's too much! My mind is going to...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

....split before the cops show... Steven said to his crew before the lot of them hurried away in multiple directions. They'd planned this out. A quick smash-and-grab, with plenty of bodies to carry away the loot and too many mixed bits of evidence to pinpoint a single target. It had seemed a fairly sound move at the time. Sure, he felt a bit bad about the jewelry store owner. The lady'd been genuinely decent when he'd been in before, “window shopping”. He knew how shabby he must have looked, as he'd cased the store for later, but she'd smiled genuinely and made polite conversation, made him feel like a bit of a gentleman. Almost made him call it all off, actually. Say to the others that security was too tight. Frankly, he'd wished it had been. But it hadn't, and he had his own family to feed. Times like these, jewels were a luxury to the few rich guys around, and taunts to everyone else. The pawnshop owner wouldn't care, and the “old family gems” line worked every time.

Still, he felt bad. Maybe he'd steal her something nice later, leave it somewhere she'd find it.

Or at least, that would have been the optimal outcome. Right now, standing with policemen pointing sleek black pistols at his chest made him strongly wish to reconsider his career choices. A bag of valuables in his hand and a ski mask on his face weren't exactly proclaiming his innocence.

Look, I know how this looks, and I won't deny it. Mostly. But it's for a good cause, I swear! If I had any other option, I'd go for it. But I don't. So could you just cut me a …

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

...break! My mind will break at this rate. What is the point of all this! WHY AM I HERE!?

Word Count: 1703

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Aug 4, 2015 17:31:54 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Aug 4, 2015 17:31:54 GMT

Reality is only one option

Reathin didn't really expect his outburst would have the slightest effect on his current predicament. If it wasn't simply swallowed by the roar of other realms coming and going as they pleased, he assumed it would simply be ignored by his avatar; irrelevant to whatever inhuman point he was trying to make. As it turned out, he was wrong (not for the first time today). Everything came to an abrupt halt, holding so still that, were it not for his own thoughts and movement, the shinigami might have concluded that time had entirely stopped. Not trusting this blessed moment of stillness to last, Reathin repeated his question.

Why...am I here? No anger, this time. Just a blend of exasperation and fear. The volume was little more than a whisper. No response, this time. It wasn't clear if Sanze was thinking of what to say, or waiting for something. There was no chance he wasn't watching, that much was clear.

I want to understand this. I do. But this is too much. It's like a flood chipping me away, wave after wave. I can't hold out against it forever. There's no way to deal with a thousand thoughts at once... The response was just as sudden as the stop. The last word echoed with thunderous force throughout the void, sending ripples through the liquid colours about him as waves would through the ocean.

ONCE

The fluid descended in a single mass, and Reathin followed (in direct opposition to his own opinion on the matter). Like the lights that had been here before, it all unfolded before he came into contact with it and...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Akhilesh wiped his brow, smiling despite his fatigue. It was far too late to be working, yet he found he couldn't sleep with all this nervous energy. His eyes protested, but his hands, mind and heart refused to put down the tools and return to bed. Best to satisfy them to the point of exhaustion. He certainly wasn't going to be able to do anything but think insistently about his latest masterpiece. His right hand intuitively reached out for the next tool while his left held the delicate mechanism before him in place. Memory trumped the need to literally see what he was doing, to the great relief of his poor eyeballs, and he retrieved the jewel setting tongs for the next phase. The man-sized assemblage of clockwork components before him would be the pride of the city, if he had his way, and that required a certain amount of ornamentation. The average individual wasn't really equipped to appreciate the glorious intricacy of hundreds of interlocking components working in perfect harmony, so shiny rocks had to be stuck in. Part of Akhilesh wanted to shake his head at the loss, but even he had to admit that his near-complete work looked good from a more conventional perspective.

Positioning his tools, Akhilesh froze for a moment as an overwhelming wave of deja-vu struck him. As with most people, he experienced that on occasion, briefly. This was altogether more intense and enduring. Rather than fading quickly, it only became stronger by the moment. He'd been here before. Literally, here, this moment, this place, this time. He had a terrible sensation that what was coming next would be terrible. Reathin put the pieces of metal aside. Reathin...Yes, that was his name. But it was also Akhilesh Johar. This wasn't just a vision, it was a memory. It was real, this had happened to him! This was who he once was! No small part of him was ecstatic. Like many shinigami, he'd completely forgotten his past life after the soul burial had sent him on. Here, in this place, he'd reclaimed that forgotten core. Was this what Sanze had wanted to show him? If so, why all the rest of the gibberish? Rather than being swept up in the worlds his avatar had shown him, utterly unaware until he'd exited it, this time he was stable, centralized. It was his choice what to do next.

So he chose to let it proceed as naturally as he could. Something bad was bout to happen, according to his instinct, but to tamper would risk ending this once-in-a-lifetime chance. He moved back to his tools, made ready to continue working on the half-assembled clock before him. deliberately forcing himself to remain calm, to stay "in character", with...himself, really. It was stressful but invigorating all the same.

Whatever part of him had recalled the next step had not been mistaken. With a resounding crash, the door to his workshop was burst open by a brutishly large man, accompanied by five others. All of them had a rough look about them, each one's face lit up with greed. They said something in a language Reathin had forgotten, his responses equally untranslated but natural to say. Whatever his frightened retort had been merely made them laugh. They charged, making for his device. Thieves then. Indignation unleashed its fury, ineffective as it might have been. Rising from his bench, sharpened tool in hand, he flailed about ineffectually at the onrushing intruders. He was quicker than expected, fueled by desperation and adrenaline, but only managed to land a glancing blow on one of the thieves. It was enough to draw blood, but little else. He was rewarded for his efforts by a backhanded blow to the head, which sent him tumbling to the floor. This was followed by a blinding, white hot pain as one of the brigands stabbed him in the back with a knife. Not the toughest of sorts in the first place, Akhilesh/Reathin felt his life bleeding away, powerless to save himself or his device. He would have destroyed it there and then, if he could have, but the power of his spite only let him stay conscious for a few seconds more. The cold seeped in as the heat of the wound died. Then, he did as well.

The rest was a blur of activity, and it took no effort whatsoever on Reathin's part to follow it. Dead and ethereal, he wandered his way after the murderer and his gang, watched them tear apart his creation to get at the jewels embedded in the components. The parts made their way onto the black market, which made them harder for the ghostly inventor to track. Despair overcame him, and the mysterious chain on his chest gnawed itself shorter at a disturbing and painful rate. It was only through the kindly intervention of man in black robes with a mysterious sword that he found any sense of peace, even if it was in forgetfulness. As the dream-world collapsed and Reathin found himself back in the void realm, he made to dive back in, but couldn't manage it.

Wait, I wasn't done! There must have been more, more to see, more to do! That was my past, Sanze! That can't be all there is!

IS

Again, the booming voice. Again, the colors swirled, and Reathin got his wish. He fell once more toward the great opaque plane, smiling for the first time during this terrible trial as he approached headfirst and at high speed.

Word Count: 1199

Last Edit: Aug 10, 2015 2:03:53 GMT by Reathin

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Aug 11, 2015 18:11:20 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Aug 11, 2015 18:11:20 GMT

Reality is only one option

Color swirled about the smiling shinigami, but his good mood was rapidly interrupted, replaced with mild confusion. Everything seemed to fade back into the place he'd just left. Black emptiness of unimaginable scale, with animate chromatic flows. Had he...missed something? Perhaps the vision had failed? Was it because he'd just seen it? The rules here were as seemingly arbitrary as Sanze's stability, so it wasn't exactly inconceivable. Indeed, the only thing that seemed different was the position of the color-fluids. Before, they had seemed content to more or less orbit him. Now, he was apparently not the focus of their attention (which, truth be told, was quite a relief). They were still drifting lazily about something at their core, however. Given his current angle, it wasn’t readily visible. Not sure what to make of the situation, Reathin once again tried to alter his perspective of what was up and what was down. It came easier this time, and he managed to control his flight (or rather, his fall) enough to manage a better peak at what was going on here. Perhaps whatever had taken his place inside the mass of “paint” might provide an answer or two (and likely six more questions. Reathin's pattern recognition wasn't exactly broken by all this strangeness). Seeing inside through a gap in the liquid's path, he finally pinpointed his target.

It was him.

Reflexively turning his head to make sure he wasn't similarly being spotted, or that his senses were somehow externalized in whatever non-euclidean nightmare it would take to produce this scenario, he promptly noticed that, no, there was nothing behind him (the real him, that is) save more nothingness. Turning back to the entity infringing on his trademarked build, hair, general look and probably face (it wasn't possible to see right then), he found himself happy that he didn't have to explain to “himself” what was going on. Judging from the uncanny dialogue his doupleganger was sputtering, it didn't seem likely to produce anything but even more confusion in a mess already over-saturated with the stuff. Instead, he just listened, growing more disturbed as he did so.

I want to understand this. I do. But this is too much. It's like a flood chipping me away, wave after wave. I can't hold out against it forever. There's no way to deal with a thousand thoughts at once... He had just said this. To the letter. Which meant...Reathin covered his ears reflexively.

ONCE

After that booming proclamation, he watched himself, helpless, fall into the sheet of paint and his past. Not wasting an opportunity when he saw it, Reathin (the proper one, from several seconds in the future, as far as he was concerned) dived in after, still desperate for another taste of history. Perhaps this was Sanze's way of granting his wish?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he passed through, however, he did not emerge back to his no-longer forgotten life as a human. When he opened his eyes, there was only the color and the blackness. He was back where he had started from, not a recursive layer this time...He was fairly certain, at least. Not ready to give up his point just yet, he yelled back into the void, into his avatar's frightening world.

It can't be over that soon, can it! There were questions, so many questions! I'm not done yet!

YET

Apparently willing to talk, but not with polysyllabic words, all the color imploded into his body, once again taking him into another vision. How many more of these need he endure? There must be a message to all this, a purpose! He had to trust his avatar's “reason”. If not, this was all pointless. And after seeing the man he had once been, he refused to toss everything aside and fall to madness in this place. He had a center to himself he had not known to be lacking until this very day. He had something to hold on to, and it would stabilize his efforts now and in the future. Future...Judging from the word choice, that was what he was about to perceive. The world turned bright one final time, before fading.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pain. It surged through his side like some awful, frigid fire. His sword arm was damaged heavily, but still he fought back against someone. A woman he had never seen before, yet who seemed strikingly familiar. She lashed out with a blade of broken glass, melted together into a vicious implement whose crudeness was matched only by its evident edge. Her face was cold and apparently calm, but every motion seemed to scream just the opposite. Fury, desperation, hate in a concentration the shinigami had never born witness to. They fought on an island, floating in mid air and enclosed on all sides (sky included) by a whirling sea of energy. The entire structure hurtled along like a leaf blown in the wind. The gravity changed by the moment, forcing Reathin to adjust his steps and vision constantly, lest he be blown away. His opponent, judging by the fluid, quicksilver dance of motion she utilized, had no such problem. It was likely why she had the upper hand. Individually, the strikes she performed were very similar in skill level to his own. The same degree of telegraphing and control were evident.

Words were being spoken, but Reathin could not make them out. His ears were filled with a rush of noise like proximity to a mighty waterfall mixed with static. It was decidedly unpleasant to hear, and yet the look in her eyes made him feel certain that whatever she was saying was probably even less of a treat, so he was thankful for the cacophony. Tightening his defenses as best he could, Reathin tried to talk back. The curious sensation of speaking without hearing what you were saying (or even properly knowing) took over. He was trying to reason with this person, but from the looks of things, negotiations were going less than smoothly. Parry, parry, twist, speak, parry again. Every word he uttered appeared to goad his target, but while he couldn’t be certain what precisely he was saying, his body language wasn’t that of a deliberate taunt. Pushed to the edge of the floating island, he felt himself slip off; destined to plunge into the ocean of energy they were fighting within and beneath. Hands caught him, enormous ones made of brass and stone. Was this the real Sanze? The one from this world? Or someone else? As he was pulled away from the combat and out of the vision, he began wondering whether there was any functional difference, when all was said and done.

Word Count: 1115

Reathin


IN CHARACTER	OUT OF CHARACTER
Profile	26 posts
Plotter
Inventor	HL
Hetero	Reathin
Vizard
Offline

Bankai Trail: All Creation, Flutter of Wings Aug 20, 2015 21:36:11 GMT

Quote

Post by Reathin on Aug 20, 2015 21:36:11 GMT

Reality is only one option

Emerging once more, this time even more violently than his past exits, Reathin reached around for a coherent thought. There was something to this, some undercurrent he hadn't been able to place before. Something interlocking the illusions he had been swept through. It was on the tip of his tongue, just out of reach of his conscious thought. Sanze was dangling the lesson in front of him, he was certain of it. He wasn't coming out and saying it directly, but that had never been his way. Normally, however, it was a case of interpretation. The avatar was more than willing to give answers, and they certainly made sense to him, but to a more human mind like Reathin's, it came through fractured. This trial, this demonstration...it was something altogether different. Something was being concealed here, beneath deliberate layers of symbolism. Which probably meant that figuring it out for himself was not only important but critical to wielding the sword's full potential. That made some sense, at least. A start.

But from there, it was trickier. The colors were beginning to pick up speed again, but this time, Reathin responded actively. He needed more time, and the last thing that would help was being washed away in the splintered light. So he ran, or rather, flew, away from the mess. It was easier than he'd anticipated. Perspective was easy when you were repelling away from something. The half-formed mind-scapes were faster than him, but it bought him some time. What had Sanze said before this had all began? Something about it rang true here.

If you would wield the glories of Creation, you must first understand it. Explore its many facets. To touch, one must see. This...was this Creation? Was this real? At first, the idea had seemed ludicrous, but seeing each new world in turn cracked that certainty just enough to let doubt creep its insidious way in. What if he had been dismissing his avatar's worldview incorrectly this entire time? Not just now, but during their entire career together? They were supposed to be trusted partners. What sort of partner thinks the other was wrong at all time? Doubt found itself layered with guilt. It felt disgusting that he'd never considered this before, been this blind. Now, he was seeing things from a truly different angle. Moreover, the thought came with it a different revelation. Sanze claimed to see all things that were, are, would be, could be and could have been. These visions were part of that. Which meant that everything was true.

That thought, that horrifying, terrible, glorious thought ripped through and into the void, shredding the wave of light into smaller fragments. As if somehow aware that it was in danger, it came hurtling at him from all directions at once at intense speed. Broken apart as it was, each drop carried with it a new world. Overwhelmed even more than he had been minutes ago, his senses were flooded by a mass of contradictions and possibilities. Words and images flashed through his brain which was rapidly starting to overload from sheer stimulation.

Red-light-over-crystal-field-open-sky-dancing-shaking-stopping-running-fighting-love-fear-hate-the-darkness-spin-the-glass-have-to-leave-cut-the-loose-end-out-burry-the-past-smile-its-only-for-the-night-write-spin-the-story-we'll-come-out-fine-can't-you-stay-only-ever-thought-of-it-peel-away-the-lies-under-the-hood-find-the-beginning-retire-now-or-your-family-will-hate-you-never-open-the-attic-can't-avoid-the-noise...On and on it went, trying to break him, to make him part of it. For the first time since this began, Reathin wasn't worried. He knew, with an intensity that brought him utter peace, what was about to happen. All things were true. Perspective was everything. There was no “me” and “potential me”, just the same soul, the same person, looking through a million windows to a million worlds. Billions. More. There wasn't a limit, but with limitless possibilities came a simple truth.

He had already won. Infinite option, infinite outcome. In some set of instances, he might have fully realized the nature of his avatar, and thus he had. It was all him.

The understanding wasn't the end. This was just the beginning of something unimaginable. He raised a hand, and the light that had so doggedly chased after him imploded obediently into it, swirling together into a space that would have fit comfortably into his palm. Smiling, Reathin looked “up”. One last time, her flipped his perspective, “falling up” at tremendous velocity. With assurance as sure as his next breath, he swung a fist toward what he had perceived as the “ceiling” of this endless nothingness. All those worlds within that emptiness...why had he thought the void itself wasn't simply another one? Assumptions had been perhaps his greatest foe today. Breaking through the invisible sky, Reathin broke into a new vastness, but one very different than the previous void.

It was glorious. Suspended in the center of everything, he saw countless more specks of light orbiting himself, lights and planets and stranger things besides. Each one a world, and within those, more worlds and so on and so on forever. It was humbling and empowering at the same time, in the most unbelievable way. He didn't have to touch them. The simplest thought, and he was in and out with full control. The shackles of his (comparatively) mundane existence fell off his soul, and he flew freely between places and times. Indeed, time stopped having any sense of meaning; every moment could be as long or as short as the realms he dived into allowed. After what felt like (and very well may have been) an eternity, he breathed out in the “central” zone, the Nexus around which it all flowed. He thought back to the world he had come from. Despite his freedom, there was some part of him that wished to return. But why? He was, for all intents and purposes, a god here. Going where he pleased, doing as he wished, selecting worlds that perfectly matched his desires (and fears and wants and everything else). Why leave?

Why stay?

The realization that had brought him this far carried him toward the answer. Leave or don't leave, some part of him (an unlimited part of him, really) would be here. If he were to spend a century or twelve in the dimension his current perspective had originated in, this would be waiting for him. He smiled at the awareness before reaching out. Only one proper way to say hello, world.

Ban...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hands broke out from the empty air on the forested vale Reathin had left from, but they were not his own. Emerging from a vertical glyph painted above the jutting rock he'd tossed himself off of so very long ago. The hands, metal and brass, grasped the side of the air like it was solid, dragging the rest out. More arms emerged, until a veritable swarm brought with it a massive machine, like a mechanical spider the size of an apartment building, with a temple-like structure on its back. Within the structure, hovering at its core, was a man wearing a black kimono, white socks, and a smile. Opening his eyes slowly, he drew a heavy, satisfying breath. This was it. This was right. The Nexus sealed itself behind him, but in the back of his mind he knew it would follow. Wherever he went, whatever he did, it would wait, just behind him. That knowledge was his weapon, more than this impressive array of gears and brass.

...kai.

Word Count: 1206

The Nexus:

SPOILER: Click to show