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Old 07-21-2012, 07:24 AM
Saraibre Ryu's Avatar
Saraibre Ryu Offline
Drasconis Deviantus
 
Join Date: Jan 2007
Location: Voids of my mind
Posts: 6,530
Default [WAR XI] Let me Tell you a Story...[Judged]

Let me Tell you a Story...

... about my childhood.

The first, conscious moments of your life, what would you expect them to be; curiosity, bewilderment, trying to see what everything tasted like, not knowing if it was edible or not? Maybe…everyone is different, but no one really, truly remembers their first moments being alive, barely remember their first memories right?

I’m not here to talk about everyone though, or likelihoods.

A lot of people don’t understand me. What am I exactly? I’m a lot of things to a lot of different people; child, daughter, monster, murderer, victim, lost soul, hopeless cause, even dead to some people. That’s just the start of the list. Let’s start with the beginning, and how does it start? I’m not supposed to exist.

You heard me right. I wasn’t supposed to exist in the first place. Both my parents, both dragons of an odd variety-yes let’s make it clear that I am a dragon of sorts-lived on completely opposite ends of the spectrum. My mom was an instrument of Ragnarok, attempting to not be so, and my dad was stuck in the realm of Grim Reapers after a huge war that involved the living side wanting to take control over absolutely everything out of paranoia. Long story short, they weren’t even on their homeland plane anymore and their love was kept a secret. So how the hell did I end up there? Some weird essence, soul weaving magic thing I still don’t understand. Blood magic and such, my body was made thanks to chance and fate, I kind of look like my parents…but that’s not the point. By the end of it all, I was ‘born’ but considering my parent's bond at all was never supposed to have become an entity, I shouldn't have been breathing in the first place. So I was left in the realm in the middle since neither of my parents could actually get me.

It’s a beautiful looking life when the first thing you know is pure loneliness, and an agonizing anguish from it; but you’re too new to the world to even comprehend what that is and despair takes over, something else you don’t know of yet. You can barely wander around from the one spot you were stuck, paralysis in confusion already weakening your will to explore as a natural childlike curiosity is drowned in premature phobias that are bubbling to claim specific categories of your mind. You can’t even close your eyes because of dread, nor can you keep them open. The unknown of what you can see is just as terrifying as not seeing it. Everything voids any familiarity to remotely give you the slightest sense of comfort, because the one thing that would, is watching you from some sky loft point in another reality that borderlines the one you are in.

Now take that feeling and double it up, growing and expanding increasingly over days at a time… days turning into weeks… almost two weeks. Even as a mythical creature, feeling nature around you, seemingly pointing you out like some kind of beacon, feeling like anything can get you, and will if you so much as breathe too hard. Delusions from malnourishment take your senses away where everything else was plagued with dismay. Death seemed close by, and soon I found myself face to face with it. Something that looked like a larger version of me, but not quite looking like me, but at that point all I cared for was its size. Rugged, scaly with spines, thick hide on the claws, a pointed nose taking in the smell, forcing my body to flinch and recoil tightly. The pain from such a simple movement seared my body, and I knew that I could not move on my own again. I felt pointed fangs on the back of my neck, and I knew that I could only cringe. I waited, staring at this other, larger thing that looked like me. The eyes, hazel green and blue, glared at me back, but somehow, this wasn’t a menacing glare.

There was something new, something in those eyes… and it seemed… comforting, familiar, a reason for the fear to subside and flee. Tension flooded away and my soul untwisted from the uneasiness.

This wasn’t Death… this was… mother.

Of course, now I know that was only a surrogate mother, but nevertheless, mother is still part of that title. I was taken to a pack of feral dragons, raised and given care. I should also mention that my parents were civil dragons, meaning they weren’t as connected to nature as feral ones were. Civil dragons looked to work their lives outside of nature, not wanting to rely on it so much for nature's own good, whereas feral ones, were so in tune with nature they didn’t leave it, even after the diverge. A balance is kept between the two kinds, most of the time. Don’t understand what I mean? Let’s use common stereotypes of this day and age. Feral dragons are often the ones seen in movies that terrorize the castle, take the princess and get killed by the prince slash dragon slayer. Civil ones are the ones that talk in sophisticated languages and other beings can usually understand. As long as you get that, then I can continue.

Within new family standards, any doubts I had about the world were lost in child ignorance and bliss. What I used to be scared of, I attacked it head on with a newfound confidence, even mild afflictions were no issue, tussling with sister kin and having a mother who was loving and yet had the crazy idea of teaching her offspring how to fly by throwing them back and forth between two members of the pack that could do so, and were hopefully really good catchers. If it was going to be this way forever, I was all for it.

Nothing lasts forever.

It was when I was a very young child… I bounded off into the forest with a friend, unknown to me at the time, a druid, but in a dragon form. There was something about that day, drawing me far from the family I came to love and know, and wandering off for a while wasn’t unheard of with my curious nature. I wouldn’t know it lingered a terribly to be day in my history… not until it was too late.

When people tell you not to get lost, I think now in what sense do they mean? Mentally, physically, emotionally, did people not want your body lost, who you were lost, or your ability to feel going AWOL? No one ever told me not to get lost; I was always told to come back safe. Was getting lost that big of a deal?

Yes, it was. When you lose everything I just mentioned and more, it’s everything that’s torn away, and you have nothing left.

All I knew, before shutout, was a sharp agony in my chest, something driving through my ribs, pinning me to the ground. I screamed and wailed, but even the friend I had, became a faster victim than I did. The last thing I saw before a waking to the epitome of another oblivion, was a lifeless body in a pool of my own blood. That last image burned into my skull until it was ripped away with everything else I knew.

Imagine yourself in the dark, alone, the only thing you can hold onto, something that you aren’t willing to relinquish, is your identity, your memories, personality, what makes you a unique individual, that makes you… something. All of it ripped away by something you can’t perceive, smell, touch, not even feel. The only way you know it’s there is by your ability to feel afraid slipping away, the ability to be courageous, sliding between your fingers. As you try to reach out for it, what was taken away from you is used as a weapon to beat you back into submission. As they try to take away your torment, you relive your most excruciating, scarring memories; remind you of that time you really hurt yourself climbing up that tree, and when your living relative passed on. As you are forced to see these over and over again, they slowly fade away, distracting you from the force that’s taking your physical body piece, by piece, by tiny piece. Before you know it, you’ve been completely stripped down to your essence, no emotional response, no pain, no you. Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Harrowed and refined into a godly being of destruction only to make way for something more horrible. Nothingness. Nothingness was a force of unknown, it was nothingness and that was it. Now to lead it on as it grew in power was an armored, giant draconic monster that obliterated entire worlds, screams of grieving, hate, anger and sorrow, only vibrations against the inside of my head. Pain was only a quick pressure against what part of me retained a physical appearance, blind to my own condition as everything else fell before a power no one could stop, because it was literally, nothing that was claiming their existence.

It was a fate worse than death.

When someone dies, the memories of that person may remain. Their accomplishments remembered in history, even the most horrible of people are remembered in the scars they lay into people’s hearts. Statues or monuments, even a bench on a park trail for people to sit on. To have your entire individuality and presence just erased… nothing comes and leaves only itself in its path. I was buffered and locked away, seemingly erased but my will power fueling this beast that was not permanently attached to my soul. You may be wondering, why did this Nothingness choose someone like me, a mere child just out of the blue?

I wasn’t supposed to even be remember?

It all boils back down to that, simple fact. I wasn’t supposed to exist, but here I was anyway, tearing entire worlds apart, slowly bringing Nothingness to its grand climax of turning everything in the known universes into one big nonentity. Not even emptiness, and by the end of it all, I would be there to witness it all… for something had to exist to see there was actually nothing, to justify the paradox of Nothingness being there in its entire nothing. Time would not flow, or even be present. I would be immortal. Disease would not grant me death, for that and life would not be either. No hunger, no sense of fatigue, no need to sleep, no need for anything. All curses people sought out so obsessively would all be on me, a horrible, horrible, yet fitting consequence for my actions that weren’t even my own.

One last place I was told to create a stepping stone of, one more place before my initiation of the Harbinger of the End of All’s End. The very place I was born, taken from, my homeland. I knew no difference from it than the others, if you could call it my doing. The process was slow, as I was fought against, it wasn’t anything new. However, there was some point where, I felt something in my chest, burning in an icy cold flash, my eyes looking at one spot. That’s when I think it happened.

Everything came in one, blurry motion, and a mass of ethereal force it stunned me, crushing from all sides. The reality shattering into a million pieces only to melt before it hit the false ground below, leaving myself barraged mercilessly by what was admonished from before; everything, all at once, cascading down on my soul in a well of unimaginable intensity. I felt something. For the first time in decades I had felt something. That grasp, followed with the agony of harming these beings, trying to destroy my own home. A torrent of grief, regret and turmoil filled my mind, an overwhelming feeling as I went to put my hands on my head to prevent it from combusting into everything that had been locked away for so very long. Memories of plight and happiness all coming at once, colliding into one and other like fireworks, leaving the aftermath to explode into other emotions of mine long since lost. The sensation of overflowing power eased away like water cutting into the earth once I started to feel my small, child mind return to me, weakness overcoming the insane tremor of obliteration. A shivering body fell over a warm, familiar heat, a rhythmic beating returned and a trembling body, one that was my own, as my own again. As if I was bathed in hell fire and someone had finally thrown the mystic water to put it all out, and I was being remolded together like clay from the ashes. Breathing was like a natural high, reaching out to feel the atmosphere as your back would crash to the ground on the wet blades of grass, gravity keeping you grounded, and even with that, after all I had been through… I experienced the best kind of freedom.

Terror that was Nothingness, was finally over, and I had defeated the odds once again. I wasn’t supposed to escape that, but somehow, I had. I wasn’t supposed to exist, but here I was.

I, to this day, blame myself, dreaded with the guilt and weight of the world and more, of what I did, the voices of those who were lucky enough to die first before their bodies were erased, swimming in my nightmares, burning the insides of my body. Of course, then, I had no idea where the feeling was coming from, or why I was feeling it, I only knew I had been forced to do something terrible.

No one else saw it that way.

I awoke, in a cell, barred in the dark with no light for me to see anything in. The floor, cold and stony, unforgiving as it ached my sides and back, no idea where I was or for that matter, what had happened, how I ended up here. In the background I could hear mutterings of words I had never heard before. I could smell something foul, something that told me this place was meant for no return. The next thing I knew, I had something placed too quickly for my comprehension over my head, and I didn’t even have time to thrash about in response. Something grabbed me, gripping my neck so hard my breath was unable to return to my lungs. A bitter metal was cuffed and coiled around my body, restricting my wings from moving, though I could not fly truly, and tying my ankles and wrists together, leaving only my tail, limp and lifeless to drag against the ground.

I was blinded, no scent caught my nose, but I heard words again, ones I didn’t quite understand besides the spare few here and there. What I could feel, was fear, and for the first time, it was not my own. Swelling around me, pushing against my mentality was distress, anger, and obscurity from truth. Confusion in masses as I felt hundreds of eyes staring upon me. I would come to know later that two pairs of those eyes belonged to my true parents, from their respective realms.

They were unable to save me from what came next.
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