Portal Breach: The Collision of Worlds :: v.4.0


    Metamorphosis

    Share
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Mon Aug 17, 2015 10:54 am

    Time: Unknown
    Date: August 15, 0006

    Day Four




    Down in the depths of Mortis' temporary tomb, there was no time, no hours, no minutes or seconds to count. There was only silence, interrupted only by the idle creaks and groans as the house settled and expanded under the day's heat and night's chill. Since the day before, Mortis had been down here, settled upon the cement floor in a manner most befitting of a corpse.In his back, snout pointed towards the ceiling with his clawed hands crossed over each other upon his chest, the Dark Judge gave nary a stir while the rest of the world still wheeled about him, ever changing, ever progressing, ever populating itself with sin after sin.

    Missing out on all the bountiful fodder, of course, was hardly at the forefront of his mind while he laid within the abysmal remains of their old lab. Far more important matters were being mulled over.

    Upon having started his lengthy meditation, Mortis' attention went, first and foremost, to the barrier that kept his and Fear's mind separated. It needed reinforcement, it needed to be sealed completely. The last thing he wished to do was inadvertently submit his brother to the same fate as he. Although part of him was whispering that it was more to keep himself where he needed to be, so he would not waste all of his time, all of Fear's time, for nothing. A few more layers were set up, a few more fail safes and adamant mental structures to ensure everything stayed where it needed to. He prodded at it once finished, seeking any seams that another could press themselves through, any cracks that could be exploited or weaknesses that he would be able to target. He poked, thrust, and threw himself at his own barriers, each and every attempt meeting with failure to get to the other side, and if all went as he had engineered it, no one would be able to get through to him either. Everything having been secured, The Dark Judge focused his attention upon his main interest.

    The vault.

    Layer after layer of ebony fail-safes lay before him, solid and adamant despite their intangible nature. Each and every one once again was slowly peeled back, much like one would push aside the slab of a grave. One after the other, Mortis kept moving aside layer after layer, until once again the vault's contents were open to him. It's warm, loving glow was pressed aside, albeit wistfully as he idly lingered upon all that it carried. His longing, his admiration, his love, all of it had washed over him, yet he refused to feel its aura. The objects of his secret affections soon were displayed as well. Faces, people, a land lost to time fated to play on repeat over and over within its own capsule. He remembered his brothers from the academy, he remembered their times spent on the beat; sending the iniquitous and criminal to a more lawful path. He could see all their faces in life, Fuego, Sidney, Kelsey... All of them were there. How strange was it all that these same faces, the ones that he cherished, were also the ones holding him back.

    Each and every one of them were looked over, sadness and disgust conflicting within him as he looked over the living forms of his brothers. Two of which may never come and meet them in this accursed dimension. They may as well be dead, by all objective standards. Therein, what was the point of keeping their visages, if only to mourn over what had been and what will never be to begin with? That was the only reason they remained, he reason, to torment himself needlessly when he could be focusing upon better things, more ambitious things. Still, that was not all he had contained within this mental fortress. Venturing deeper, the Dark Judge went on past the last memory of his brethren, both in life and in undeath. Back, until that admiring glow started to fade, deep, pulsating reds and a feeling of primal heat seeping in to take its place. Obscure forms writhed and breathed, heat blooming against damp skin. Right alongside them were less intense imagery, forms embraced within one another like pieces of a puzzle, hushed assurances and tender touches. At these deeper fantasies, the Judge had at one time cherished them just as much, his gaze now just lingering upon them as a dispassionate observer, all too aware of the reality of it all. Their obscurity and lack of focus reflected the amount of neglect they suffered.

    For the best. He hissed to himself.

    If there was no place in law for the feelings he held towards his dutiful brothers, there certainly was no room for all of... This.

    Mortis' dispassionate observance started to fluctuate, a deep seated loathing and disgust blossoming within him. What had possessed him to think of his brothers this way? To see something so intimate as to be impossible not only with their duties, but their state of being. This too, he knew, although he loathed to admit it. At one point, long ago, he had thought this all to be possible during a time of weakness and idle thought. he had pondered that maybe things would change once they had finished purging Deadworld, that perhaps retirement would open up new possibilities. He prepared accordingly, much to optimistic in his planning. One never simply retired from being a Judge, there was never truly a moment of peace even when the entire population had been wiped off the face of the planet.

    There was always something else that needed attention, something else that required their dutiful touch and care. He soon realized his lecherous nature and sunk it all away within the vault, deeper than the memories and surface feelings he kept to himself. He let them sit in the dark and wither away, rotting for years until they were barely legible to himself. Still, part of him wished they would have faded completely instead of becoming fragmented and blurry, motions and sounds growing choppy and distorted from lack of maintenance and care. He could hardly tell who was who in these dreams anymore, save for perhaps a familiar splash of color here or an identifiable fragment of a voice there. Some of course, were easier to read than others. It would be here that he started, the Judge decided.

    This place would be easy to wipe clean, after all, everything within it was near the point of completely being lost to the depths of his mind. It would not take much effort, and all that he stared upon was that which he never had been all that fond of since he had sank it all to begin with. Even with the passion, heat, and comfort all these fantasies had produced, there were underlying feelings, discomfort and anguish that made themselves apparent like a foul smell.

    There was no place in their duties for this, there had never been any place for it.

    He reached out for an especially corrupted dream, talons tracing the blurry figures with the barest sense of familiarity. They wiggled within the fantasy like maggots, enthralled in a sense of bliss that he would never know for himself. What point was there to any of it, he wondered. Why not simply destroy it all back then and never let it get a chance to rot and fester, where it could potentially seep out like the rest of his feelings? Yet, there was a small understanding of why...

    It was a sign of a personality defect, his inner Judge reminded. It would cost him his badge should he let them stay and continue to exist within the deepest depths of his psyche. They would come to the surface, sooner or later, should he not take action.

    Did he want Fear to possibly stumble upon all of this? Did he want his only remaining brother to think of him as a deviant and a corrupt Judge?

    No, of course not. His talons started to sink themselves into the figures, starting to pull them apart. With it, the scene started to unravel, the delicately woven threads of the figures, the room they were in, every sweet nothing that passed from their lips, albeit fragmented, started to pull away and snap. Forms stretched and teared apart, sounds hissed and sputtered like a sinner's final, dying breath as Mortis continued to pull, slowly. He watched  as they were shredded in two and then... He grasped them again and repeated.

    Over and over, pulling and snapping, cutting and tearing, until not even a whisper of what was there before remained. His talons shivered as he pulled them out from the massacre, staring down at them in realization of the deed he had committed. He had been able to do this to something that he had not felt a thing towards but loathing and resentment, yet... He still felt a trickle of regret. Was this all completely necessary, did he need to rip apart all that he held dear and hidden away? Even the things he had left to be forgotten held some sense of importance, he knew, and that in destroying them he would never get back what had been there before. Yes, they were but dreams, fantasies of a mind far too idle and optimistic for their own good. Dreams could be recreated, they could be made again if he so wished. However, the consequence that would follow should he regress back into old habits was inexcusable.

    All of this would seep, eventually.

    His thoughts turned to the memories placed at the forefront of the vault, knowing full well this would be the fate that would befall them too should he finish with this section. His claws curled into tight fists and Mortis could not help but curl in on himself. Dread washed over his mind once again, its cold grip freezing him from doing anything further.

    He needed to do this, he had to do this...

    But how?
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Mon Aug 17, 2015 6:06 pm

    Date: August 16, 0006

    Day Five




    This must be done.

    How?

    These feelings must be removed.

    How?

    The personality defect must be remedied.

    How?!

    How was he supposed to do all of this, to rid his mind of so much? Frantically he racked his mind, time and time again coming up empty. He did not have the strength for this, he did not have the focus, he told himself. All the while he remained curled in on himself, surrounded by the idle dreams and fantasies of an optimistic, foolish mind. How was he going to summon the focus, the cold, clinical mindset that was required of him to do this? He needed to look at it all objectively, to see the detriment behind it all. How could it have been so simple with that one synthesized desire and yet the rest were so daunting? Of course, he knew that it all was because of a simple thing, permanence and expendability. The dreams were expendable, they could be remade and formed to his very whim and desire. They were not meant to be permanent, which was all too apparent by how much Mortis had left them to decay in the very depths of his mental lair. He did not maintain them, he did not ensure they were kept neat, orderly, and accurate. The memories on the other hand... Nothing could replace those should he lose them. he could not simply dream up the times they spent on the beat again, he could not just imagine what his brothers looked like before their transformation.

    Once they were removed, there was no going back from it. There was no idle day to spend making up new ones, new sincere images of his brothers and the close times they had shared with each other. He would not have that luxury, not so long as he still valued his duties and badge.

    He would need more time to ponder all of it, more time to prepare himself. For a brief moment he uncurled from his position within the vault and once again cast his gaze over the wriggling, heated scenes laid out before him. Too dark and too corrupted to see clearly, but recognizable all the same. He could hear his brother's bass rumble now should he ever stumble upon it...

    Mortisss, What isss all thisss?

    F-Fear, I can explain-!

    No....No, I have ssseen enough for myssself to know. I do not need your excusssess.

    Brother... Pleasse... I had not meant for any of thiss-! I-I'll fix it!

    Sssilence, Mortisss. Upon reviewing thisss... Ssspectacle, I have found you unfit for duty. Hand in your badge, Mortisss. No brother of mine sshould ever think of usss with sssuch basse interessst. You disssgusst me, and you dissshonor the uniform with your very pressence. Hand in your badge and vesstmentsss, then get out of my sssight.

    He could hear his disgust, the searing disdain in his words as he gave the final verdict. Ever stalwart and objective in his judgement and sentencing, it would only be sensible, it would only be fair, that Fear would make him hand in his badge and garb of office. He could feel the malaise in his presence as Mortis was disowned and cast aside, his suspicions validated with utmost prejudice.

    He curled tighter in on himself, staring up hopelessly at his secret desires. If there was a time he would have wished for his brother's advice, now would have been it, yet at the same time to ask of his help would damn him. He could not be made aware of this, he could not be enlightened and risk jeopardizing centuries of work. He needed to figure this out himself, he needed to find the answer and the strength to implement it. However, his form still remained curled up on the floor of his vault, unable to move save for the small shudders of his despair that shook him, only adding fuel to his troubled thoughts.

    Do you want Fear to find all this?

    No.

    Do you want your badge to be revoked, do you want your only remaining brother to lose faith in you?

    No.

    He did not want anything to come of this, for his brother to think of him as defective or corrupt due to his own unlawful interest. Yet, that was the catch was it not? Technically he already is corrupt by merely having these thoughts in his possession. Should his brother come across them, there would be no argument as to what he was, and the punishment that was to follow. At once the rhythmic undulations of his decayed fantasies seemed less blissful and more painful. Were they truly in bliss, he started to wonder. Could they merely be writhing in pain as much as he was, although unseen? Perhaps they wished for release, maybe they longed to be destroyed and put out of their foggy, jerking existence.

    Maybe it all would be a mercy to just reach out and grasp one, to pull it asunder and let it drift back into the abyss from whence it came...

    Slowly he uncurled and Mortis's claws flexed, ten daggers at his disposal, ten blades to slay his vices.

    He grasped at another writhing scene and pulled.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Tue Aug 18, 2015 2:00 am

    Date: August 17, 0006

    Day Six




    Ripping, shredding, tearing...

    One by one, Mortis went through each of the dated fantasies, his talons slowly taking each one apart at the seams. Blurry faces were rent in two, bodies rived and comforts torn asunder in a silent scream. Dread, horror, despair, anguish, all of these filled him. His hands shaking as each was granted their final peace and sent unto the void in tatters, Mortis slowly, painfully went about the process of removing each and every one of them. A scene of what were two lovers in each other's arms, curled up in a tender, private moment arose before him. The details upon their faces were obscured, but the location he still could make out enough to recognize. It was a personal dorm, the walls peeling and the furniture within was dust covered, cobwebs hanging from the sides of what he presumed to be a table. This must have been a fantasy that took place after the purges, Mortis deduced, observing the two form within.

    Though he could not make out all too much of the pair within the dream, he paused as he noticed the badges upon their chest. Reflecting what little light there was within the room, they were arguably the clearest aspect of this particular fantasy. FEAR, read one silvered badge, MORTIS was inscribed upon the other.

    He paused.

    Had he thought that this could have truly been possible? The dialogue was too muddled, too old and unkempt for him to read into what exactly this particular scene had entailed, but their positions... Perhaps this was one that surfaced back when Fear had recently turned, when his thoughts and memories became open to them all and he learned about his preferences. That said however, it made him wonder if perhaps this particular fantasy stemmed from an optimistic notion that his brother would show interest in him because of that recent development. Foolish, he told himself, there was nothing that suggested it, nothing to give a clue as to what Fear had liked in a man. His thoughts were pathetic, baseless assumptions that were made to be ripped asunder and tossed into the void. They were nothing, they meant nothing...

    Yet, his hands shook as he reached towards it, talons hesitantly pressing at the edges. A stifled, heavy feeling weighed upon his chest the longer he looked upon it, and found that along with it, the scene started to grow more and more unfocused. Odd, was it starting to deteriorate further before his very gaze?

    plip... plip...

    Mortis' hands trembled as they rested upon the image, and while he may not be able to feel it, he could register when something damp hit the leather of his uniform. He glanced down, a few more droplets falling upon his arm. Tears...? No, that made very little sense. Why would he cry? Why would he do something so... so sinner-like, as to cry over nothing? This was a scenario that never would happen, never could happen. There was no reason for him to feel so much attachment as he did to something so whimsical as a fantasy. It was deviant, it was sinful, it would make him corrupt should he not destroy it. He was not going to cost himself his own badge because of a weakness that could be overcome!

    Remove it.

    His mind urged him, but the dampness refused to go away, the weight within his ribs refused to abate. A hand reached back and roughly wiped across his edges of his eye sockets. He was being weak, he was being pathetic. Should his brothers be here, they would be disappointed in his display, they would reprimand him for being unable to do what was necessary for their duties. What good was he if he could not get over his own vices? Was he not a Judge of the Law, could he not find the strength to better himself on his own? Despite it all, a few more watery droplets fell from him.

    He had to be strong. Even if it was painful now, it would all work out in the long run.

    Both of his claws returned to the image, jerkily grasping it to the point where his talons would puncture its fabric. It would all be for the best. Fear would be proud of him once it was all said and done. He had to be.

    Mortis' talons twisted, threatening to rip it apart, but he never managed it. His arms shuddered and his shoulders rocked with a silent sob. Ten daggers lessened their grip upon the memory and withdrew, the Dark Judge inching closer to the fantasy instead and letting his hands hesitantly reach out and gingerly trace the shapes within it. Could it be so far fetched as to think this could have been him? Two brothers in undeath curled up against one another, sharing an embrace in private... It all sounded so... pleasant to be able to feel his arms wrap around him, for him to be tucked up against his chest, cradled with his skull resting in the crook of his neck.

    It will never be.

    No, it would not, could not. Regardless, his talons went to trace the fuzzy image of Fear, the warmth of this particular scene halting him. Perhaps for just a moment, he could cherish it for a little longer. It would only be a few more moments, then he would do away with it, he promised. As the thought left him however, his sight grew misty once again and his form shook with another bout of quiet sobs. It tormented him, to see the two of them like this, to be so close, so intimate. The sight enthralled him just as much as it disgusted him, the Judge once again conflicted between two possible routes.

    No, he did not need to ponder the alternatives once again, he knew what they were... But perhaps it would not be too much to simply remain here for a short while. He just needed to rest, to regain his energy for the task ahead. Removing his talons from the decaying imagery, he settled in front of it and remained there, his gaze remaining on the infinitely repeating scene all the while. Each touch he studied and attempted to feel for himself, savoring its warmth.

    Again he considered the harm in contacting Fear one more time...
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Wed Aug 19, 2015 1:51 am

    Date: August 18, 0006

    Day Seven




    For hours Mortis had been staring at the image, and for hours he battled with whether or not he should destroy it like the rest. Despite the choppy motions of the figures and the fuzzy, out of focus look of their forms, the Judge's gaze traced every movement, both envious and despairing at once.

    Why could he not have that?

    What made him so different that he was not allowed to feel this sense of closeness and be prohibited from cradling his brethren in his arms?

    What was the point of being damned to this immortality, forever linked to the only three he could ever consider good enough for him, if he was unable to show it? He deserved to feel this love, he deserved some measure of comfort and happiness that could come from something other than his work. Judge Mortis reached up again and traced the fantasy's edge with his talons, lingering upon their badges for a short while. If he could dream it, why could he not make it a reality, what prevented him from being able to return to Judge Fear and show him all that he was, everything that he felt without prejudice. There was nothing, and yet, there was so much.

    The risks; the possibility of him being reprimanded and penalized for his thoughts, his dreams, his feelings. Fear could just as easily accept him as he could reject him vehemently and relieve him of his badge. Not to mention, there was also another...

    The bargain. That which was starting to seem less and less like a simple bargain the more he pondered upon it. Nothing within his brother's mind had suggested it would end after their plans were done. It could just as well stretch on until the alien wished to die, which of course was the case. The bargain ended when Kev wished to pass on, therein binding Fear to that tiny green sinner for as long as he wished. Heat rose within him at the thought, a new kind of jealousy kindled and starting to grow. Fear had chosen this path, he had chosen to spend the rest of his eternity here with a sinner at his side. The fellow Dark Judge knew the consequences involved, he knew what it all entailed, and he still went through with it willingly.

    The scheme was a ruse all along, he realized. Mortis' talons sharply flexed, digging into the mental image of his and Fear's badges. Tears made their way from his yellowed claws, pulling deep runs into the fantasy without a care to the damage being done.

    He saw more in a criminal than someone who was as just and lawful as himself. Fear had chosen him over-!

    He stopped, his claws abruptly moving away from the fantasy. Wispy remnants of the fabric clung to his talons and faded like mist soon after, the Judge's gaze returning to the now gouged scene. Ten long gashes ran through the chests of both subject stretched like the mental fabric was a sort of cloud-like canvas instead. Tiny shudders rippled over his consciousness and the heat that filled his chest started to turn to a despair filled chill. Fear had chosen Kev over him... He saw something in that sinner that Mortis could never replicate, and while the Judge did not know exactly what that something could be, he knew it had to be something that Fear was not getting from any of the other three Dark Judges. Perhaps it was his humanity, or the way he could feel things like a sinner could and share it with him, maybe it was as simple as it being another being who could share the same amount of feeling as him and was telepathic as well. Being an empath, there had to be some sort of experience that was lacking when he was around Fire, Death and himself.

    However, the more Mortis attempted to puzzle it all out, the less and less sense it started to make. What could a sinner provide aside from their constant insolence and law breaking mentality? It was a chore to stand their very presence without ripping their very lives from their weak forms. Perhaps Fear simply had decided that the ones he worked with for centuries were not all that attractive in his eyes. He had said before that he loathed Death and Fire was far too abrasive. Perhaps it was the same for himself as well, maybe his presence was only tolerated because they both were stuck here and everything he felt was just an act to make sure nothing went awry.

    Was he not smart enough, had he not tried to remain sensible and level headed between their trio of lieutenants? Perhaps he simply lacked the same adaptability as Fear, that willingness to go into deep cover and pretend to be like one of them.

    Therein, was it not fitting he would go to someone like that green sinner? It was a predictable match in hindsight... Even with how insipid it all was. If he were to go and confess his feelings to Fear, they would be rebuked anyway. He was not good enough, he could not be related to like Kev could. What good was old Mortis for except for a sheep joke every once in a while. A laugh behind his back and a shake of that bucket upon Fear's shoulders every time he had the thought that they could still have meaning in this place, that they could still cleanse this planet, this dimension of iniquity.

    All while he was cuddling up to a criminal right in front of him.

    The gouged remnants of the fantasy still held his attention all the while, it's shapes and movement starting to take a turn for something that sat sourly in the pit of his gut. This was the Judge he had felt for, this was the lawman that had his heart for centuries. A criminal sympathizer, a sinner lover, one who would entertain the whims of an iniquitous soul that would just as soon stab him in the back as he would dote on him. He had not changed at all. His thoughts seethed, he just changed the presssentation of his foolisssh nature.

    Fire blossomed within his breast and Mortis lashed at the ancient dream.

    SLASH

    He learned nothing!

    RRRRIIIP!

    He was only going to repeat history!

    SSHRED!

    Within moments the image was reduced to tatters, scattered on the winds of his subconscious. Only a void remained in the place of it, the Judge's claws flexing as he looked about the remaining fantasies. Fire, Death, Fear, they all had their own little scenes, their own little scripts that Mortis had thought up. Polished silver, bone, charcoal, iron... They all were the same, they all were forbidden to him, prohibited not only by law but by their own wills. How often had he dreamed of perhaps being more than just a simple lieutenant, a bully-boy meant only for taking the punches while Death gloated and held all the glory. He had dreamed of being regarded with as much passion in Fire's burning heart as he had for his duties, of maybe holding a potential spark for something more intimate, to taste a different kind of flame. He dreamed for centuries to feel Fear's embrace, to hear his deep bass tones rumble in his ribs as he uttered ever so softly; "I love you..."

    But that was the reality, wasn't it? Dreams were only just that, a longing, a wanting for something so ideal that it could never be true to begin with. Dreams were but glass, easily shattered by reality as it caved them with a force like a sledgehammer.

    Reality dictated that Death held not a care for anything but his vision and himself, his lieutenants were fodder and only were needed when he did not want to get in the line of fire.

    Reality declared that Fire was far too abrasive to feel anything for him, all of his passions were for his duties so far as he could tell. The rest was as lost to the void as he was, whether the walking pyre still lived or had been destroyed.

    Reality revealed that Fear enjoyed the company of sinners to that of his own brethren, he resented the only three that shared his curse.

    Reality told Mortis that his fantasies were but a farce, a fool's dream that overlooked far too much. Mortis would be plagued by his dreams, his longing and admiration from centuries until they devoured him from the inside out. He would be stuck in this prison of a dimension, alone despite the numerous masses that surrounded him and the presence of one that was considered his kin.

    A Judge was all that he was, and all that he would ever be.

    The images around him were nothing but a cruel reminder of what he would never have, eternally taunting him with a possibility that could never be brought into reality. They writhed in bliss, possessing all that he desired and wished for while he suffered and choked on his own pain. So long as they existed, he would be pained, so long as he let them remain, he would suffer. He would be reminded of the path Fear had chosen, he would be reminded of Fire's demise and Death's aloofness, even towards his own brothers. He would suffer and they would be trapped in an eternal loop, decaying but satisfied.

    With a hellish banshee's howl Mortis lunged at the rest of the fantasies, ripping, shredding, tearing all of them to pieces as his fury reached its crescendo. Frustration and envy fueled his strikes as he went after another, and another, and another. The area was soon filled with the fading, wispy remains of very tender moment and passionate throe he had conceived.

    The carnage of dreams past continued to spill, until his fury was sated, until he no longer had the energy to lay another blow, until he could no longer remember why he felt as tormented as he did.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Wed Aug 19, 2015 11:59 pm

    Date: August 19, 0006

    Day Eight




    He should have that same comfort!

    He should have that same closeness!

    He should...

    He...

    Should...What?

    With every dream and fantasy torn asunder, the Dark Judge's strikes began to slow. What was it that he should have? His gaze turned to the final few fantasies that were still remaining, their forms far too muddled to make any sense of from age. Foggy, blurred out faces on equally incoherent bodies, the backdrop having long been eaten away by time and neglect into a speckled void. Every strike and slash of his furious talons grew more pondering, and the Judge soon came to a stop before the last few images, watching them pulsate and move in front of him.

    What was it that he was supposed to have?

    His fury now fading from his thoughts, Mortis now stood inside of his mental vault and wondered. Why was it that he had been so furious, what had brought him to such a violent anger? He remembered a distant flash of something, a certain longing for... for...

    A claw raised to his forehead and stroked back to scratch where bone met rotting flesh. What had he been longing for? Was it something in these old images? He recognized the heat that filled this area of his mind, and the primal nature of its aura, but he could not rightfully recall what had caused it and the lusts associated with these foggy figures. He could only remember it had something to do with his brothers... But what exactly it was, he could not rightfully recall. Looking down at his free talon, the Dark Judge flexed it curiously. What had it all been? What had he done?

    Admiration, longing, love...

    Primal heat, lusts, desire...

    Had he-? Mortis looked up at the imagery, reached forward slowly to touch it. He made all of these, he had to in order for them to be here. This vault was to hide his feelings regarding the other three of his brethren, to keep himself from growing distracted and risking his duties in the name of his desires. His fingers tensed and curled against the image, a shudder coursing through him as realization hit his consciousness.

    Within a day he had nearly successfully wiped part of his mind, he had lobotomized himself. He had wiped something that belonged to him, that had been close to his heart without a second thought. Another bout of shudders rippled through him and his hand slid down the writhing, blurred imagery as he kneeled in front of it. How could he have been so rash? What had been a library of possibilities had now been diminished to merely three images; too blurred to see, too corrupted to hear. His snout tilted up to look at them all again, a garble of chopped words filling his ears.

    "I-ove..es-you....do-lea..pl..."

    While he could not hear what they were saying, he could still hear the familiarity of the voices within the chopped snippets. He could make out his voice, he could make out Fear's voice.

    Fear... His chest burned at the recollection of it. Soon after, he remembered.

    He remembered that Fear had made his bargain with Kev, he remembered that Fear was content to spend the rest of his existence here at the side of a sinner. He remembered Fear only tolerated him, only saw him as another Judge, another insufferable bully-boy that he was stuck on this accursed dimension with. The foggy imagery grew only more out of focus as tears began to fill his eye sockets again, sorrow filling the void that fury once filled. He had seen his brothers with such admiration, such love, and this was what Fear had decided. Mortis' chest heaved as a sob escaped him and he laid down on his side, turning his face away from the corrupted memory as he could no longer look upon it.

    It was inevitable.

    Yes, he had never stated his feelings, he had never made Fear aware of how he felt. It was inevitable he would go and find someone he could feel close to, someone that could make him feel special, he supposed. Fear always did have troubles with being appreciated and feeling like he was wanted within their group. However, even with this knowledge, it was not like Mortis had a choice in being able to let on about his feelings. He knew the penalties that resulted should he admit that he liked or even loved one his brothers, if not all of them. He would be declared unfit for duty, his badge removed and his fellow lieutenants along with their chief would have scorned his confession.

    What was the point of it all, if he could not say what he felt. What was the point of it all if he was forced to keep everything to himself, hoping for an opportunity that would never present itself. Even here, where it was presumed their duties held no meaning and therein their laws held no weight, he was unable to say anything. If not by the chains of duty, it was due to another catching his brother's eye. There was no winning, there was no way to make Fear see what he did without jeopardizing what was already in place. He simple was not... good enough. His skull titled back to the muddled images and sounds, their garbled white noise starting to sound more like a plea to be sent to their demise than the choppy remnants of sweet nothings said between lovers. He knew that they would torment him should he keep them around, even these muddy relics that could hardly be discerned as anything.

    The feeling would seep into him sooner or later, it would distract him and bring about what he fought so hard to prevent. Yet, he still remained where he was, laying on his side, tears dripping down bleached bone to drop to the floor in a salty puddle. He would only repeat what he had done here earlier, but instead of shredding apart his desires, he would shred apart something far more important. Their oaths, their bond, their duties.

    He had sworn to uphold their laws, their regulations and standards first. If he were to destroy all that, where would he be?

    What would he be?

    Another bout of sobbing shook him and the Dark Judge curled in on himself, pain wracking his heart and conflict roiling about in his mind.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Thu Aug 20, 2015 3:38 am

    Date: August 20, 0006

    Day Nine




    It was inevitable...

    His suffering, his conflict, his fury... Everything was doomed to explode in his face at one point. However, even with this fact, Mortis had not expected it to happen like this. Curled up on the floor of his own mental vault, wracked with sobbing as the Judge neared what had been truly the inevitable since the beginning of his problem. The choice, that was the truly inescapable reality of his ancient folly. He had been fighting for days regarding whether or not his badge was greater than his desires, or if the other was stronger.

    Mortis already knew what the right path would be, the lawful path. The one where he kept his badge, he continued on with his work, and left all of this idealistic nonsense behind. It had been the construct of a younger Dark Judge, an inexperienced fool who failed to look beyond what was already in front of them. He failed to think of the unknowns, the possibilities, the risks of his fascination. Now, it was all coming down on him, and already he had taste of what was to come of both possible routes.

    The first, to keep his emotions, his thoughts, his feelings. If he did so, he would have no choice but to turn in his badge before things grew worse and he started to get in the way of their plans. He would have to return and admit his weakness, and throw himself at the mercy of the only other presiding Judge upon this very hellish rock. He would set himself at the mercy of his own longing and jealousy, which he saw for himself proved to be nothing but an ugly stain upon his otherwise rational mind.

    The second, to do as he had set out to do, to purge himself of this insufferable vault and all that lay within it. With it, he would ensure his own reliability as a Dark Judge, one of four that were eternally bound by oath and by bond. He would remove his bias, and assure his place as the rational one among them, a strategic thinker, a plotter, unswayed by emotions or petty desires. He would be what he needed to be and what he was sworn to be. A Judge, a servant of the law and all it requires.

    It was a decision that was so simple and yet... Yet he had been separated from his brother, traversing the grasslands, and finally secluded within the basement of their old hideaway for over a week. It should not have taken so long for him to make a decision, Mortis chastised himself, yellowed talons tensing and pulling at the spaces between his ribs as he curled in on himself further. The hell he had gone through for these past eight days had been a testament to his own weakness, evidence that could not be ignored which only proved he needed to go through with his purge the rest of the way. He could not let himself simply be half of what he was and what he needed to be.

    He was so close, so close to where he needed be... But there still was a lingering dread that crept into his mind like some disgusting, crawling thing. What would he truly be like should he go through the rest of the way? Part of him said that he would still be the same, he would still be Judge Mortis, but improved, fully impartial and unburdened by his thoughts, the remnants of his sinner self before all of this. He would become fully pure, he would be the epitome of what they were supposed to be.

    He would be committing a mercy to himself, really.

    Should he decide to let his emotions remain, his unrequited love continue to fester into a nasty jealousy and envy, he would be tormented for the rest of his years upon Portal Breach. It would be a fate worse than containment to be sure. Sooner or later his toxic feelings would manifest into something far more destructive than what had occurred within this chamber of his mind's vault, and who would they turn to? His only remaining brother would suffer its brunt, he would be damned to a fate he never deserved. He did not deserve to be torn asunder like the objects past, which now the ghoul could not truly recall, but still held a small inkling of what used to be. They had something to do with his brothers, something sinful and perverse... That was all that he could recall, and all that likely he needed to know. For his own sake, for the sake of the remnants of his sanity.

    The remnants that still needed to be purified. His thoughts turned to the rest of the vault, all that contained his memories, faces of those he cherished. They would have to go too in order for it all to be completed. Mortis shuddered once more at the thought, did he truly have to, was there no other way? Fear... He was a master of emotions, an empath. Perhaps he could aid him if he turned himself in for the corrupt Judge he was. Yes, hope bloomed within the Judge's thoughts at the idea. Maybe Fear could find a way to remove these iniquitous desires without having to purge his mind of memories, without having to force himself to suffer through the unknown and possibly destroy that which did not need to be destroyed in the first place. Fear would not take away his badge so quickly would he? His brother still needed him, for their plan, their goal. It would be to think that his brother would toss him aside so quickly, so effortlessly with such an important task on the horizon.

    Did you really want to do that? His mind answered. Did he really want to bare himself before Fear and hope that he did the same as Mortis wanted, as he needed? Who was to say that his brother would not go the extra mile and purge whatever else he found to be useless, what if he reduced him to nothing more than a puppet for his own purposes? It was insane to think it, but at the same time... Fear was never much for the rest of them. He tolerated his presence as much as tolerated Fire and Death, while Mortis certainly valued his more empathically inclined brother, his actions never really reflected his words... did they? Since when did Mortis act as a Emmet McBarlot to Judge Fear, offering him sagely advice during their purges, during their containment. Since when had he offered any comfort or consolation prior to coming here... The truth was, he had not. He had been focused on their task, their duties, for centuries. It was centuries that he had not given Fear what he deserved, centuries that he retained the same distance that the rest of them had, and it had been centuries that Fear had to tolerate all of them and still fulfill his purpose. Who would blame him if he decided to get some long awaited comeuppance against his sheep-skull headed brother?

    Who would say that Fear would not just make him suffer even more for being unable to do what he had promised. That he possibly would indulge a little in his inherent sadism, rend and tear him apart, limb from limb until he was satisfied with himself? How was he to know he would even want to fix anything, and instead merely find a way to keep everything suppressed until he was no longer useful?

    Then the cycle would repeat... over, and over, and over. If their plans failed and their laws had no meaning, that would surely be the case. After all, what else was there to do upon this miserable rock? his thoughts turned to an old memory, something that he had gleaned upon from one of the many sinners that he had purged and managed to tickle his fancy enough to stick: "When devils grow bored, they will torment their own."

    Could that not be the case with Fear? Could that not be the case with any of their four should they come here and find him in this state?

    Terror mingled with his dread, and Mortis choked back another sorrowful cry. No, he could not let his remaining brother see him like this, he could not let him take advantage of what would surely appear to be a prime opportunity. If he wished to remain, to survive... He needed to go about this alone. He needed to do what he set forth to do -as painful as he figured it may be- without Judge Fear's aid. It was a better alternative than facing a possible torment worse than his own personal hell, and better than succumbing to its tempting whispers.

    Mortis pondered over the days he had spent in this cellar, and the time he agreed to stay away from his brother for his own health. Today would be his ninth day, he deduced, leaving him with five more short, painfully long days to complete his task. It could be done, he thought. It could be accomplished with enough focus, enough determination. He would need time, he would need to meditate and steel himself for what was to come.

    Of course, there was still hesitation, part of him that considered that Fear would not be as monstrous as he thought him to be. It was a side effect of being cut off from him for so long, he was starting to get paranoid from a lack of knowing what he was doing and thinking. He could be merciful, he could be kind to him instead.There may not be a nightmare threatening him on the horizon should he return early. But there was also no promise that there would not be either. They were devils, whether they wished to admit it or not. They were inherently sadistic, violent, and all too pleased with their work. Where many would mourn they rejoiced, they relished the terror that filled a sinner's eyes and mind at their approach.

    Even if Fear was calm and complacent now, it did not mean he too could be hiding something he would regret to awake within him should he return. There was no promise of mercy, of care, or love. He was not destined for it, he was not destined for what he would consider to be a happy ending, where the passions he felt for all three of them, of Fire, Fear, and Death; would be returned in kind. It was not fated for him, it was not meant for him.

    He did not deserve it, and it would devour him from the inside out should he continue to entertain its folly...

    Mortis remained on the floor of the vault, soon to be a tomb. Dread and terror slowly abated, replaced with an understanding, sorrowful, yet accepting.

    If anyone was best suited for mercifully euthanasing all of this, it was Mortis, and Mortis only.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Fri Aug 21, 2015 10:38 pm

    Date: August 21, 0006

    Day Ten




    Focus...

    Diligence...

    How much would it take to wipe away that which he did not need? It was one thing for Mortis to destroy the fantasies that he had neglected for centuries, they were hardly a shadow of what they had once been. There was little to identify, and even less so for him to grow attached to at a mere glance. Although his reaction to them had greatly differed to that of the memories he had attempted to rid himself of a month prior, it had not been enough to send him reeling back out of the vault, overcome with distress.

    They were, after all, the only remaining mementos he held of his brethren prior to coming here, both as street Judges, and as guardians of Deadworld. They were kept in better shape, easily read and defined for what they were. Not to mention they were numerous, far more so than those... things he had purged earlier on. They were flimsy, weak. These would be far more resilient as they were reinforced and maintained to whether the ever churning sands of time. For the Dark Judge to go forth and rip them apart one by one, it would not only be time consuming, the tax it would take upon his mind would be great and he still may not be able to destroy them all in time for his promised return.

    A pensive hiss escaped the Dark Judge as he sat there in the mental vault, pondering. He would need to take a more expansive approach, something that would be able to sweep them all away at once. His thoughts turned to Death's attempt on the Mega City, the nukes he had taken to destroy that accursed metropolis once and for all. While it may have failed, its effects upon Vegas were noteworthy. If only there was a way to emulate it for his own purposes...

    Slipping back into his meditation, Mortis pondered this further. A dream of purging his vices in a swath of cold fire, its frigid flames decaying his memories, his sinful feelings, everything, filled his thoughts. The first step would be to gather his strength.

    Thus, he focused, pooling his psychic energies within his mind, concentrating them all upon the vault. It would take time, perhaps the whole day, but it could be done...
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Sat Aug 22, 2015 12:00 am

    Date: August 22, 0006

    Day Eleven




    A whole day had been spent gathering his energies, his strength for this task. Yet, as he continued to pool them all, something felt... Odd. As much as he could draw from the depths of his own concentration and power, nigh fathomless as they could be, the ghoul could not help but find it to be inadequate. No, that could not be, there had to be plenty, more than enough for him to do what he needed. How could there possibly be a lack of psychic power for him to draw upon?

    While the task was not exactly easy by any means, it was still very simple. He had been able to take over the minds of mortals, make them kneel to his very whim should he choose, he had been able to break through solid walls, brick bonded with cement and iron, with only a mere touch of his talons. What made this task any different from those? Could it be the nature of this dimension, draining his power despite the necessity of his goal, of their goals? Mortis wracked his mind for an answer, all the while attempting to scrounge up any remaining traces of power that he could find.

    Oh, that was it.

    Attachment.

    He was still attached to these memories, these thoughts and feelings that threatened to corrupt him further. Despite how much he knew he needed to get rid of them, they still held some sort of meaning, as subjective as they were. They held old depictions of his friends, family, and kin all in one. All of these, and those he had once thought of as those he loved. Mortis paused to correct himself; still thought of as those he loved, actually. Despite how painful it was to think of them as such, given his realization, some part of him he supposed still denied that they were ever what he found them out to be.

    He wanted to believe Death valued them all and saw him along with the other lieutenants, as important and their bond as something to be cherished. He wanted to believe Fire would embrace him warmly, instead of possibly incinerate his hopes upon mentioning them. He had wanted to believe Fear held more than mere tolerance for him, and less than pent up resentment for their actions, however warranted. Yet, as much as he wanted to believe these things, Mortis knew better than to mistake illusions for reality.

    Oh, he knew better the moment he had to learn the hard way.

    When their ribbing at their brothers grew more serious, when it was no longer joking and playing around. In the Sanctuary, where Lunette and Cailia had discussed the possibility that Death really did have no care for any of those he lead, with only his vision in mind and not a single thought of the consequences that his lieutenants would bear the brunt of to accomplish it. That had been the first taste Mortis held that possibly his ideal vision of their leader was but an illusion, a foolish image brought on by centuries of denial. Why else would Death leave all three of them on Deadworld despite how they said that they had done enough?

    Why else would he leave them to rot in containment while he ran around doing as he pleased, when he pleased, and finally leaving them without his presence completely when the three of them had been finally released to do another Judge's dirty work.

    With all this in mind, how could these memories be viewed with such sentimental value? Mortis had learned enough, reflected enough, to know that all he had seen previously was false. There was nothing promising left in this vault, just as there was nothing actually there behind those expressions that his brethren wore in life. These memories were hollow, empty and full of nothing but a fantasy of what Mortis thought he saw within them. Therein, what separated them from the fantasies he held in the lesser parts of his mind's most secure location?

    There was nothing behind Death's grin as he clapped him on the shoulder the day he was reborn, undead and purified of his sins. He just saw another tool for his disposal.

    Nothing lurked behind Fear's smile, merely a brief amusement to further his day along, to make his time spent having to put up with him, Fire, and Death a little shorter, a little quicker.

    What point was there in cherishing them?

    What point was there in this entire mental structure?

    Nothing, his thoughts replied. Nothing made any of his memories worthwhile, there was no point to harboring his emotions. Still, it did not stop the dull pain that ached in his chest.

    The sooner he dealt with them, the swifter the pain would leave. Over and over, he repeated it like a mantra.There was nothing left for him here, there was nothing to keep him from getting rid of all these burdens. All they did was weigh on him, pain him with their false promises of a love that could be returned in kind. What was there to cherish, when there was nothing there to begin with?

    Nothing, he answered again.

    It was all fat that needed to be trimmed away, useless as it was hurtful.

    It had no place with him.

    Mortis' meditation went onward, and he soon found that the power he needed, that he had gathered was indeed the proper amount all along. All that he needed to do now, was focus and shape it to his requirements.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Sat Aug 22, 2015 1:41 am

    Date: August 23, 0006

    Day Twelve




    Focus...

    For the whole day that had been all Mortis had done, diligently pondering his method of choice. Hours of meditation had been poured into his task, and hours more would be needed before he was finally ready. The final three fantasies he had failed to remove would be easy enough to sweep aside. They were old, decayed from neglect, and very weak. His talons had shredded through them like a sharp knife through thin canvas, he rent them until nothing remained except for a dark void, and the walls of the vault closed in to accommodate for the loss. Desire left him near completely, as did the heat that permeated this section of the mental chamber. His lusts were now miniscule, and but a small effort would wipe them completely away.

    Good.

    His desires left him disgusted, betrayed by his own idiocy. What good were they? They served no purpose than to get in the way of his thoughts, his judgement. He no longer wished to feel their forms beneath his fingers, to bask in their embrace and share quiet, loving utterances. He now longed for silence, for stillness and the icy touch of the void and all its wisdom.

    A cold flame, icy and sickly, powerful and fetid at the same time. This was what he envisioned. Like an infection it festered within him, empowering and overwhelming to bear. As he envisioned it, so too did it manifest before him, silently flickering at his feet as he stood up. It was almost too much to hold all of his energy, all of his strength in one small place. Its energy threatened to rend itself away from him, if not for his disciplined grip upon it, surely it would have already, he figured. However, there was a purpose to this near overwhelming accumulation. In the back of his mind lingered a fear of what may become of him should he underestimate the durability of the time and effort he put into maintaining his memories and the feelings that coincided with them. A fear of what may become if he failed and instead became a shell of what he was, half cured and half afflicted. A Judge who no longer held memories, eternally trapped with feelings that he no longer understood. A love and admiration that held no place or purpose, not because of his duties, but due to missing a place to connect. He would be forever bewildered with an attraction to his brethren, but not a single clue as to why.

    It was an abominable fate, one which he wanted to avoid at all costs.

    He watched as the flames grew, higher and higher, ever growing colder until it felt as if the undead Judge was surrounded by ice. They licked at the ceiling of his vault, eating away at it as an unnatural frost crept over its walls. His gaze turned to the remaining fantasies, and then beyond.

    It isss time. His thoughts hissed.

    The unnatural inferno flared once more, and then was released in a sickly gale.
    avatar
    Mortis
    Petabyte

    Petabyte

    Posts : 928
    Join date : 2014-03-22
    Location : Deadworld
    Level : 60

    Character Sheet
    Defense Bar:
    65/65  (65/65)
    Health Bar:
    650/650  (650/650)
    Stamina Bar:
    120/120  (120/120)

    Re: Metamorphosis

    Post by Mortis on Sat Aug 22, 2015 3:29 am

    Date: August 24, 0006

    Day Thirteen




    It spread quickly, first snapping up the three remaining husks of the Dark Judge's dreams before they raced onward to the ever precious memories he had once held dear. It was odd, Mortis pondered, as he remained behind, to see something eaten away in a flash, knowing it had once been there the moment that it had been eaten away, and then holding not a single memory of its existence...But what was there? What had remained that he knew had been there? His desires no longer stirred, his dreams and desires laid to rest and with them his lusts. There was no evidence of their being to his mind, of anything regarding it, and yet...

    He stared at where the desires had once been and wondered; what exactly was he looking at? Had there been something there, something that was worth his time to sit and stare in its direction? Mortis turned his gaze to the fire as it spread, its ravenous flames devouring moments trapped in time with a voraciousness that he found hard to keep up with. However, that did not mean he was not aware. He could tell it was happening, and suddenly he found himself feeling constricted as panic gripped him.

    It was all too fast.

    It was too much.

    He could feel faces leaving, voices fading, places, people... They all were being wiped away and he found to his dismay, all too late, that it all was too overwhelming. The academy, Fuego, Sidney, Kelsey, the world that was before Deadworld. He knew them and then, quickly, he did not. He searched himself, names at the tip of his tongue and yet not all at once. These faces... They had names, they seemed familiar... why? Where were they? What was this city that lingered in the depths of his mind? Ice gripped his mind as the flames pressed onward, snapping up every single familiar visage until... Until...

    Tremors wracked Mortis' form, continuing to stand in the vault as it started to shrink in. He had to keep focusing, he had to keep spreading the flames outward, to rip out every memory he had of... these people. These sinners, though he could barely recognize them anymore, had to be rooted out. Had he worked with them at one time?

    He could not rightly fathom anymore, the final memory the final face, finally being eaten and destroyed by the Judge's purge. The vault was now a void, a tomb for something... Though the Judge could not remember for what. Still, his mental functions urged him on, to push his purge outward, further on to the memories outside. He beckoned them forward, and they sought out what he wished. The blurred remnants of a woman's face, the memory faded for so long that the Judge could not rightly fathom what she was or who she had supposed to be. Still, something told him it needed to be removed.

    The flames gladly devoured her, and the choppy, foreign language she spoke.

    He sicced them on fond memories of his brothers, upon Deadworld, upon anything and everything that possibly suggested he held feelings for the other three, for Death, for Fire, for Fear. He ordered them to be devoured, and they were with swiftness and hollow pleasure.

    What was pleasure? It seemed familiar and yet foreign... Everything seemed foreign as ice started to fill in the void where his feelings once were, growing colder, and colder, and colder. It was all so much, too much. Too quickly had he worked, too quickly had he...

    He... He could not rightfully remember what exactly he done. He sent the flames out to do... something. He had to purge his memories, he remembered, but he could not exactly fathom why. He had told himself it had to do with his duties, they were getting in the way of his duties, putting feelings that he should not have in him. Confusion briefly mingled with his numbness as the flames started to die away, all that he needed to purge having been removed. With it, Mortis suddenly felt a heavy drain crash down upon him. Overexertion, he remembered. He had spent too much energy destroying his vices, whatever they had been.

    It's sudden overbearing weight crashed down, and Mortis found himself unable to gather the strength to rebuke it. Out of the void did he fall, down, down, until he could no longer think. Fatigue overtook him, and Mortis found his thoughts swamped with the comfortable, numb dark of unconsciousness. However, with the Dark Judge no longer being awake and attentive, that which he had erected to keep himself locked away started to crumble away. layer after layer, the mental black that separated himself from his brother fell away, until finally nothing stood between himself and Fear.

    The link was open once again, but the only greeting his brother would receive was a bitter, hard chill...

      Current date/time is Tue Sep 26, 2017 2:17 pm