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Appetite for Destruction.

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Appetite for Destruction.

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby dvsn on Sat Oct 13, 2018 7:20 pm

Whether in origin, recreation, or ruin, the same question persisted.


The ethos of his ancestors left much to be desired. The world was endless, beautiful, chaotic, but to what end? Where did the reason begin and the madness end? There was no touchstone that could assist in his analyzation or understanding, and no forebears with understanding that superseded his own. Fraught with dismay, many found The God Dragon to be unnecessarily belligerent and daring. Others would laud him, exclaiming that he was transcendent and crudely analytical. Throughout his entire life he learned more about himself and even more of others— but it never helped him answer the questions that he longed for most. As such, the more he learned, the more his desires for the ever existential musings of his convoluted mind swell. Many classical theses foretold that the world was governed by principles found in the worlds nature, and others that there was no order, structure, or reason at all. This obviously contradicted the precepts founded by life throughout the cosmos feeling that their way was the way, or perhaps that there must be a way, but in the end was it all meaningless?

Adell Illiandes Laemington debated such affairs regardless of how controversial they were, before he became the designated prince of dragons and even thereafter. The Kingdom of Fabrolias crumbled underneath the massive demonstration of what it was that perturbed him, and in the end he was left in disarray. Everything he had worked for was eradicated and rather than reject the truth he took to an equally vain pondering: why? Philosophy was terrific when it was a pastime, optional. In the months following his kingdoms collapse, however, his hunger for answers became a necessity stronger than even his desire to locate his daughter.

And so there he rest. Skin discolored and gray, rough like that of a mountain, and gentle hair twisting by mere thought within the soundless vacuum. Through transformation he evolved into a more complicated entity. With eyes gyrating with the cosmos within them shut behind his stone lids, his regular arms like thick bags of muscle condensed beyond natural proportions, were accompanied by auxiliary arms beneath them resting along the middle of his torso around the length of his ribs. Shirtless, it gave way to his mesomorphic form etched like an effigy by the hand of recreation, given the form of a paragon meant only for total destruction. Within the center of his chest was an orb that bled iridescent hues, perhaps a weak point for the dragon, guarded closely by his main arms crossed along his bulging chest. Then there was his bearded face, exuding decades of age (though much older), and his crown which danced with vitalized white hair standing in stark contrast to the world beyond him.

Wearing absolutely nothing, whereas not even genitalia could be seen, The God Dragon was quite the anomaly.

Where was this place? Somewhere between one world or the next, or perhaps nowhere at all? In a partial vacuum, where there appeared to be no matter, air to speak of, there was certainly a lining of ground beneath Adell that blended with the nothingness about him. When Ophion faded into enigma, all that remained was a twisted vacuum for which all swept within it eventually came here to die: by his hand of course. After-all, he was the one that made this place comfortable, his grounds of meditation. But why?

There was no reason. Not yet at least.

“How long until the promised day…” he transitioned his thoughts silently. “If only I had this power when we last met…”

His metaphorical heart quaked. The time was soon approaching, The Deus Artifice never lied to him, even as his connection with it weakened.

“Come, Son of Ruin. The Lord of Infinity awaits you.”

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Re: Appetite for Destruction.

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby Mesiphidon on Sat Oct 20, 2018 2:34 pm

Idleness, it was idleness that made the Emperor listen to the whispers among the cosmos. Idleness that stirred his hand to focus more upon the voice that called his name. By a name that few spoke aloud, and those that knew of it would second guess calling to him as such. It was idleness that caused Mesiphidon, hovering between the precipice of what was, and what could be, to turn his gaze. Looking through the vast of what was known, and unknown to the voice that was. Of all things it was a challenge, an entity that had knew of or heard of the Son of Ruin and wished to test themselves. Or perhaps they sought like so many others to put him down. No matter the reasoning behind the intentions the gauntlet had been thrown. And it was idleness that caused once Poet of Fortitude to answer.

From the source of the call he scanned, searching for a suitable rock upon which he would entertain what most would seem a random affair. A suitable battlefield was found, all but baren of population, a not quite dead but still viable planet from which whatever destruction they might cause would in the very least do little harm to innocent denizens. Rolling plains of golden grass nearly a foot tall and broken up by various large boulders scattered throughout the open land. At a distance the edge of a treeline could be seen, a steep and dark contrast to the gentle sway of land it rose from.

Mesiphidon had briefly contemplated arriving near the source of the call, yet inviting the birth of an Avatar within a personalized space could forfeit the sovereignty of anything the Mesiphidon touched. He had no ill will towards the being that challenged his name, and so would neither force his arrival if his cohort did not wish to risk such a thing. But most importantly, the Emperor did not heed anyone’s call, he might entertain the challenge. Relish in it even, but never would he arrive to a location at someone’s behest, his hubris, his station did not allow it. He would touch an Avatar to a neutral location, and should his challenger arrive, there they could test their mettle.

And so the world shifted, the very fabric of reality threatening to crack as the Dra’sin Emperor extended his empyreal touch, giving rise to a manifestation not seen in countless eons. The air itself ignited as form was created, burning into existence a body that seemed quite human. The physical traits were there, arms, legs, torso, head the figure was even of the size and build that most knew of their limited interactions with Mesiphidon’s physical manifestations. And yet the blaze continued, the heaviness of that presence held fast as Mesiphidon instilled more, more of that potential.

The body burned, flesh turned to what seemed scale, and the thickness grew. Forming over and over until the multiple layers took the shape of what some might call armor. Gauntlets with clawed fingers rose to above the elbow. Extending in a bladed spike, that shifted with the curling of his arm. His form wrapped in the scale like armor, thick, a mix of scale and interlocking plates, liquid white flame rolled through the joints and crevices, lined the edges of the plated scales. It was as if his core was an entity of living flame wrapped in the abyss black armor. A helmet holding a half visor that extended forth in resemblance to a dragons head covered his face. The exposed jaw like white molten metal or rock. As the figure touched ground, grass and earth beneath him ignited and smoldered to dust, the earth itself charing, threatening to melt. Around the entirety of his form the heat rippled in waves.

Extending his right arm, the fires within flared from his grip extending out rotating until they solidified. His will made manifest, Alan’dore held in his talon like grip, as similarly in his left the Hoplon Lion’s Guard was brought forth from the spatial pocket within the Dirac it often resided in. Tilting his head to the side as if cracking his neck, molten tendrils fell from the back of his helmet and shifted. Spreading across the black cloak that finally settled unfurling from the air itself.

The Dragoon had been born again, the form that gave rise to his namesake. The strange being from another world had asked for the Son of Ruin and he had arrived. Echoing from the everywhere and nowhere the disembodied voice gave call. A gateway held ready should the being chose to utilize it. A single gracious offering from the Dra’sin God of War.

“Come then Lord of Infinity, perhaps it is time you slept.”

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Re: Appetite for Destruction.

Tips: 0.00 INK Postby dvsn on Sat Oct 20, 2018 3:46 pm

Ambivalence filled the gunmetal dragon when his call had finally been answered.

The angst of loss clashed with the elation of the unknown. Flesh as cold as the vacuum reacted to his arrival in an idle stirring, crawling eccentrically, just as the ethereal projection manifested. Volatile as ever, The God Dragon was easily excited, especially when confronted with a threat that superseded any he had faced in recent memory. As the leylines of energy coalesced and brought forth the Son of Ruin, the stoneskin dragon vanished from the limitless vacuum and appeared where the scion had finally chosen to show themselves.

When released into the world beyond the frigid vacuum, his symbiotic flesh shifted by mere thought, muscles displacing themselves across the entirety of his body back and forth, changing the proportions of his figure rapidly. Growing acclimated to the barren wasteland, his mere arrival alone was enough to vaporize the tall golden grass, devouring life too weak to sustain itself before the thoughtform. Releasing one of the many polydimensional seals fortified by his cohort, the veritable nature of his being slowly revealed itself in his first appearance in the living world since the fall of his kingdom.

So why here, why now? What was this for? Aggregated rage pulled from the handless clock since time immemorial collapsed into him, filling his body with a power far beyond that of the usual. The crystal in his chest glimmered. He wasn’t simply enabled by this emotion, this was no force of will power, or even psionic prowess, it was solely utilized in tandem with the Dragonic Arts in a comprehensive system dedicated to documenting the power available to his dragonkin. So dominant, cosmic wyrms who devoured entire bodies of existence, they needed limits, understanding, and logic.

The monolithic paragon appeared like a mountain of stone, the world around him began to die by the sheer absurdity of his presence, and both arms began to raise themselves even as the flesh along his body danced. His main arms raised themselves above his head at a fourty five degree angle in tandem to his head, and his ancillary arms spread out directly horizontal to the blackening earth beneath him, his hands palms opening, and facing the Mesiphidon. As if announcing his presence, fifty meters away from his opponent to be, even the world beneath him had begun to blacken, consumed by both presence and the sheer killer’s intent that roared from the center of his soul without actually having accessed his Qi for anything not attributed to his conventional and unconventional senses.

Adell Illiandes Laemington then grinned to Mesiphidon, and as if lining up his own arrival and stanced pose in tandem with the full manifestation of the Son of Ruin, they both arrived in their totality and prepared themselves for the reckoning of their battle in perfect unison.

Perhaps this is what it meant to be bound by battle.

“On the contrary, I’ve slept long enough…”

His right ancillary arm began to vibrate just after he snapped his fingers, thumb to middle finger.

An explosion of electricity shook the foundations of the world beneath them. The beam of white split the skies and quaked the earth, consuming the titan within the sheer amalgamation of superheated protons and electrons within the air given by demand of the primogenitor, The God Dragon. The current of white like a divine pillar was more complicated than it appeared, far from the standard variety of electricity, it radiated with both ionized and non-ionized forms of radiation like waves in unison, rolling across the the dying plains one after another in succession. Whatever wasn’t destroyed by the mere presence of Adell would be turned to a raging inferno by extension of the galvanized power. Blades of lightning thin as a katana cut through the world at randomized angles from the pillar of white itself. The grand array of brilliance was beautiful, otherworldly, but not supernatural. This was the bioforce of dragons, and as the prince, the eye to his soul could manifest a variety of exotic and strange variations of matter often never seen before. This was but one, and in actuality, perhaps the most standard and easiest for him to control, atleast as proven by history.

What Mesiphidon found himself threatened by was both non-ionized and ionized radiation, arcs of electricity likely to conduct themselves off of his metallic attire if given the opportunity, and the growing heat of the world around them both.

This was no attempt to overpower, although it could be widely disputed that Adell was opening up strong against an opponent he respected from afar. Years had he studied his exploits and acknowledged his achievements, even while his contemporaries split themselves in both laud and disgust. There was no way to properly judge the merit of this entity’s worth without acknowledging the scion with his own two— or rather, twelve hands. While only four could be seen, this was merely the beginning of what Mesiphidon could find himself facing, and it was the dragon’s hope that he was prepared.

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