Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

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Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 15th 2014, 9:32 am

The Underworld, a dark and gloomy expansive underground collection of caves. A place were all manner of beasts roam, yet despite its vastness, the large mileage that makes up its area, is sparsely populated. The  inhabitants collected in a single, swirling torrent of glowing green misery like a collection of rocks in a jar. No way to escape, no means of rest. The multitude of voices that rise from that vortex known as the River Styx would ensure that no soul within its waters would receive rest, not until they made their way to the destinations fate decreed they'd go. The great individuals, the heros, the ones who would sacrifice for the betterment of their fellow men would find peace in the Elysian Fields. A haven, a reward for the good deeds performed in life. An eternity of happiness awaited those lucky enough to have earned their place there.

But the thieves, murderers, the tyrants, those who would prey upon the weak, would find torment in the dungeon-like abyss known as Tartarus. They would be exposed to the any and all horrors the mind could conceive. Monsters of unknown origin would feast upon their bones, the very world itself would seek to break down, to destroy the soul's very essence until they became the very sands that other victims would be forced to walk upon. It is here the story of one particular character could be seen braving the storm of this horrid domain. Those curious enough to take a look need only cast their eyes upon his weakening visage, but it is not his time, not yet...

“Again?! That's the third time this week!” The Lord of the Underworld, Hades, lets his frustration be heard through his cries. He sits upon his stone throne in the grip of his hands upon the arm rests tightening. The blue-gray human-like man can't help but be furious at yet another failure at the hands of his incompetent minions. As he watches, his eyes ablaze, his skin's hues begin to change to a shade of purple, his body threatens to burst into flames from the fury just bubbling beneath the surface. Even the wisps of smoke making up the base of his robes start to move sporadically. All that is needed is a simple push, and his anger would be unleashed upon the nearest victim, or in this case victims.

Pain and Panic, his imp cronies, were watching their master from nearby, their large yellow eyes filled with fear. The long, slender Panic wraps his long arms around his short, obese companion, Pain does the same. Both know the wrath they faced when their master got like this, even with their ability to regenerate nothing could dull the burns, nor the pain of the broken bones. Yet, despite the abuse, they still would stay and take it again and again whenever Hades was in a furious state. Why they chose to continue this life is beyond the comprehension of others. Do they stay out of fear, or does Hades own their souls like a sizable portion of the community? No one knows...

Hades, not even acknowledging their presence, keeps his eyes glued to the swirling torrent in the center of his stone carved chambers, focused on the scene being played from within the abyss. The heroic, muscular form of Hercules the Hero, the son of Zeus, is currently locked in combat with a fierce beast, a monster made of a multitude of creatures. The faces of an eagle and lion, and the tail end of a snake, a conglomeration of animals that were known for their swiftness and deadly accuracy. The God of Death believed that if he couldn't beat Hercules in strength, then maybe, just maybe, precise blows would win out, but Hercules' defense was too much for the monster. Teeth would shatter upon contact, leaving their claws to be their only means of attack, and even that was failing horribly.

“Come on,” a close fist slams against his armrest, “Learn how to dodge a punch you idiot!” he says, motioning with his hands while he speaks. “Hercules is big and slow, he isn't fast!” The icy blue flames that make up his hair flicker violently, their shade become that of real fire. After a particularly painful sight before him, his anger seems to dissipate. He looks away from the proceedings, his expression one of disgust. “Eugh, okay I felt that one from here.”

“It's not looking good, boss,” The red imp throws in his comment, earning a glare from his master. Suddenly Hades is out of his chair and standing before the duo. In light of this, it's made obvious just how much more of an imposing figure he is to the imps. They barely came up to his knees.

“No, really, I never would have guessed.” His tone comes out as condescending, yet calm. Before Pain could react Hades scoops him up in his hand, gripping his throat. “What ever gave you that impression?!” He snarls, his body and hair now alight with fire. “Tell me, was it when Hercules threw it across the arena, or when it ended up as a bloody stain on the wall?!” When his hand tightens around the poor imp's neck, he can only manage a squeak akin to a dog's toy.

“I uh, think it coulda been both, master,” the blue imp answers, lightly tugging on Hades' robe to get his attention. The fool doesn't even realize his friend is being strangled just a few feet above his head. It's as though this were an every day occurrence for them.

Either Hades didn't hear it from Panic's mouth, or he wasn't listening properly, because he was under the impression that the imp he was choking was the one who said those words. With a shout of righteous fury, his flames spread over the body of Pain, setting him ablaze. To add insult to injury, the lord of the underworld turns his attention to a large circular window cut out of the wall. Pain's screams echo throughout the empty expanse as he's forced to fly a distance not set by his membrane wings. A small fireball in the distance to the minions and dead below him.

“Phew,” he sighs, his flames dying down to reasonable levels. “Okay, I'm cool I'm calm. Smooth as silk baby.” He smiles, returning to his throne. Meanwhile, Panic stands there in silence, shivering so much he appeared to be vibrating. Had he the means, he probably would have soiled himself from the actions he was made to witness. His paranoia would keep him from saying another word, fearful that he would receive the same fate should he utter a sound.

“Okay, so it fought him three times, and it lost three times. Now it's dead, what do I do?” Hades places a hand under his chin in thought. “Aside from the Titans, and Auron, I haven't been able to send anything against him that'd be a challenge.” With a snap of his fingers a navy blue goblet, its area covered in skull etched into it, appears. A single drink, a smack of his lips, and he's back to where he was before.

“Y-y-you c-c-ould,” Panic stutters through chattering teeth. Hades turns his head to face him, his brow raised in question. He doesn't appear to have discontent for the imp, yet. But all it would take is a simple slip up, and he'd face Hades' wrath like his companion. “U-use a-another dead guy. O-One that would l-listen to you?” His question comes out high-pitched, little more than a squeak. Seeing that Hades has made no move to torment him, he gathers a little courage to continue. “A-Auron was strong, super strong, b-but he wasn't loyal. I-If you got a spirit from Tartarus, w-wouldn't he or she be as grateful as the Titan's were? I-I'm sure they would.”

“Hmm, that's a good plan. Glad I thought of it.” Panic says nothing, opting to keep quiet. He knew that if he said anything against his master he'd end up a flaming flying imp. “but that's a lot of souls to sift through,” Hades builds off of his idea. “Many of them wouldn't stand a chance, even if I had them train a hundred years.” The scene before them shifts from the corpse of the chimera, to a vast expanse of blood red sand. As far as the eye could see, only a few living things could be spotted amongst the grain. They were too far spaced out to possibly know about one another though. A week's worth of traveling would need to take place before one could become two. Torture, a means to make the souls of the departed feel truly alone. Yet, all they'd have to do is simply take steps to make them overlap. It was humor for the dark god, that their straight and narrow paths would be all they'd take, never knowing that they weren't truly alone.

“Rapist, Con-man,” Hades starts, setting his drink down on the armrest. A simple snap of the fingers is all it takes before he starts looking through dark blue files brought into existence. “Corrupt Politician is there a difference, Animal Rapist, Slave Trader, Executioner, Spy, Arsonist, Serial Killer, Abusive Father, Abusive Mother, etcetera etcetera.” Every file he deems unworthy is casually tossed over his shoulder, bursting into flames as it does so. They burn into nothingness before they even hit the ground. Every man, woman, and beast that comes across his gaze receives the same treatment.A process that covers the span of hours.

But, what is time to an immortal being? Merely a blink in the eyes of Hades, who moves at the same pace, neither speeding up nor slowing down to give anything more than simple examinations. While some become more thorough than others, none catch his eye. Meanwhile, Pain has managed to make his way back, taking his place next to Panic as the duo sit idly by and watch the master work.

“Foot Soldier, Gladiator, Captain, Captain, Commander, Peasant, thief, thief, thief. Oh, here we go we're getting into some titles and names that mean something now.” Hades says with a smile. “Gerald the Barbarian. Brave, tall, handsome, and a penchant for burning things.” His grin fades immediately once he reads more, taking a look of disappointment instead. “Is now a part of the red desert in Tartarus. Oh well he gave up.“ he shrugs before continuing, “Noel the Butcher, a man with a mountainous body count tripped and fell. Now he's trapped in the river of the obsidian plans. Arden the Knight and Marik the Obsidian Tyrant,  along with a man named Eno, held onto a large patch of land won through war. They terrorized the populace doing unspeakable things yada yada yada.” Just, as he was about to throw the three files away, he reads over them yet again.

“Huh, well what do ya know? This Eno guy killed them. But they got 'em too. Still though, those two were pretty big on that world, not like any person could've done them in. But compared to the great Jerkules they're ants. But hey, if this guy could beat them alone, then maybe he's got the potential to take on Herc. It'll still take ten to fifteen years to build 'em up, but that's better than the others. I can work with a decade.”

“So, does that mean you'll use him?” Panic asks, his smile matching the lord of the dead's.

“Unless someone better comes along, yes. However, there's one thing he needs to do first.”

“What could that be?” Pain is the next to speak up. Flinching when Hades flicks his wrist, he's pleasantly surprised to see that all he's done is adjust the image being projected in the center of the room. Now, instead of looking upon the dry, dreary desert. They're now subject to the viewing of a certain giant of a man, suspended by nothing, hovering over nothing, Two others stand at the edge of the cliff this man is hanging just a few feet from, their expressions filled with malicious intent.

“He's gotta get away from those two. Looks like they figured out a little bit about Tartarus. I think I'll send the chimera his way. Gotta get him free so he can continue his test.”

“Test?” Pain echoes, “What test is that?”

“Oh that, my chubby little imp,” Hades says, flashing the two a wide grin. “Is a test of endurance. Without my help you can't escape Tartarus, so, I'm going to see how long he lasts. If I feel he's made it far enough I'm going to pull him out of there myself.”

“W-what if he fails?” His smile falters a bit, but he turns back to the image his demeanor relaxed, nonchalant towards what Pain implies.

“Meh,” Hades flicks his wrist lazily, “what's another gallon of sand to a desert like that?”


Last edited by Eno on June 15th 2014, 9:47 am; edited 1 time in total

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 15th 2014, 9:45 am

How long, how long has it been? This acrid miasma of choking ash invades Eno's lungs, always. From there it slithers through his very being. First physically it haunts Eno, worming its way across his skin as though it were pinpricks of needles. then it weaves a web of distress through his very soul. Punishment for Eno's self-inflicted damnation, and there is nothing he can do about it. It doesn't matter, his innate ability to adapt, it always tingles with just a new enough agonizing sensation to keep him hating it, to make him focus on it.

To make matters worse, the temperatures of this hellish domain fluctuate between extremes with no discernible pattern. From molten temperatures, hotter than the human body can possibly be exposed to, to cold enough that it feels as though the very blood chills in Eno's veins. To experience it expanding within causes him great, insufferable pain. Enough so to bring Eno to his aching, bloodied knees again and again.

Howling winds whisper through the man's already shattered mind. He is always, forever, on the precipice of madness. The horrors of this place being the cause. Never being given a moment to rest, to recuperate, or even sleep. Nightmares plague the poor soul whenever he tries, forcing him to wake in a cold sheen of sweat, so Eno gave up on shutting his eyes for an extended period. However, that exposes them to the arid winds that dry them out, causing them to tear up and blur his vision. Eno can only wipe them so many times before it no longer becomes an aid.

And yet, he presses on...

Why does the dead man resist? Because he is human. His mantra used to be that he would adapt and conquer whatever fate laid before him. The former has changed, this is a place he could never hope too get used to. Though through his punishment he has learned the true value of his ability. To know that it cannot help him now, its enough to bring tears to his eyes, yet he does not dare weep. He is stronger than what this place possess, he will endure. At least, that's what he continues to tell himself. But a man can only take so much before being broken.

At times like these, Eno finds himself wishing, many times, that he could have walked down a different path, if only he could go back and alter his destiny, he would. But in that moment, after all the things he had done, it was possibly his most righteous time on his world.

To slay the one who he helped bring torment to that land, to free the people from the Obsidian Tyrant. But, could the people handle being free to do as they please? Would they better themselves, or would evil men, stronger men rise in the demon's place? Even with the limited power he had, he did not have a full grasp on it. It gave him the ability to slay the enemies that stood in his lord's way, but all it wrought upon everyone else was anarchy. Well, Eno guesses that's what he was supposed to do, for them to become stronger, to become forged through the fires of chaos. but he couldn't stand it. Sadly, this would end in tragedy for him.

Before the tyrant, it was normal in their culture, for self-sacrifice to be rewarded. To think that this would be given to him. The elders of his world would weep if they knew that this is what awaits them. But still Eno resisted, his faith in the people he once abused remains strong. In a way it has become a sort of obsession. Fantasizing them flourishing without The Tyrant's rule. To see the spring flowers rush to life, to stretch out before the children for them to see, for the people to help one another work towards a brighter future. Perhaps Eno was mad after all. In spite of that, it helps cope with the atmosphere. This desolate, saltine wasteland of charred granite and swirling flame. Endless layers of eternal torment at the end of existence. Only the scent of sulfur greets him now. There are no buttercups, no honey suckles that waft along one's senses with the calm, cooling breeze. Truly, the Hand of Obsidian has hit rock bottom. There is no salvation from this...

Eno doesn't even realize the change of scenery until the first blow has been struck. A sharp pain across his ribs that leaves a lasting sting, forcing his eyes open and a large outtake of breath to be released from his mouth in a quick wheeze. His mind having focused upon the feeling of the unforgiving soil cutting into the soft soles of his feet distracted him from what was occurring this very moment.

Looking from side to side shows him that his naked arms are now strung up in a series of iron chains. Eno is now suspended over an empty expanse of black, the ends of his bindings unable to be seen through the dense abyss. All he knew now, was that he was hanging right above an endless drop into a pit, the edge of a bronze tone cliff being the only thing his tired eyes could see. He dangles on the edge of darkness, like a marionette whose master has long abandoned. The heavy wrought iron links are fused with his flesh and bone through the same infernal means that The Tyrant once used against those that dared to oppose him. Try as he might, the ex-hand didn't have the strength to break them. What he wouldn't give to be free, to move about as he saw fit. But no, now, all Eno feels is a blunt object slamming into his frail form yet again.

He heaves, a torrent of bile leaving his gaping maw. His captors want to keep him alive, forever. They would get their wish. A soul could not be destroyed by the means of another soul. Eno would be punished without end. The duo would see to that.

“Fuckin' inbred waste of space,” Eno can barely make out the individual voices anymore. After a few moments Eno manages to see a figure standing within arm's reach at the edge. One of the knight's he slayed to get to Obsidian himself, his brother in arms and head general of The Tyrant's armies: Sir Arden Baush.

A man a head taller than the average, with the patience of a child. His broad shouldered, muscular body who was the envy of most of the men he commanded, and it is still covered in the ashen gray plate-mail he wore on an almost daily basis. The golden eagle with its ink black talons rests proudly upon his chest piece. A testament to the man who ruled over both. A pair of sapphire blue eyes sit behind dark furrowed brows. His aging face almost sagging from the deep frown he wore. Arden's eyes held fury the likes of which Eno has never seen before. Though, his near perfect features he wore as a middle aged man of war was now the scene of stark white. Bits of his jaw, along with the hard bits of his high cheeks bones are exposed, a testament to the duel the two were in. Each struck a significant blow against the other, however Eno's showed to be the worse of the two, killing the man almost instantly. Arden's wound would leave The Hand alive just long enough to see his ambitions come to fruition...

“Don't look at me!” He shouts, his booming voice melding with the souls of the departed, distorting his words, making the madman seem demonic himself. His signature punishment tool, the steel baton, the length of which is half Eno's body, is what's currently being gripped in his gauntlets. The strength of which seems close to bending the pole, or breaking it. If his comrades could see him now, they would be ashamed.

Eno throws his head back, and whimpers in pain.

“You couldn't just leave it be, could ya? We had a great thing going!” The malice drips off his words like the thickest poison. “You wouldn't shut up about the people. Just HAD to ruin our way of life!” He raises the baton of his head, chewing on his lip. Eno winces, knowing what's about to come.

Whack, crack, the noise of metal on flesh, and the cries of pain reverberate throughout the endless expanse. The endless fighting, killing those who plotted against his ex-lord, the wound he would receive from sword and spear couldn't compare to this. After a rather punishing blow that left a red mark upon Eno's chest, he opens an eye and looks behind Baush. The man at his back, was the Tyrant himself.

He is only slightly taller than Arden, dressed in his ornate garments. The blacken silks due well to define his lanky form. While Arden and Eno acted as the brawn, the sword and shield, he acted as the brain. Not to say the two could think for themselves, oh no they could, it's just neither would shoulder the responsibility that would turn one into a paranoid mess, a shell of what they once were. He, like Arden bore the marks of his fight. Half of his youthful face down the middle along with a portion of his long, luscious locks silver hair were missing. Burned away by the magics they used against one another. Deep recesses of black where one emerald green eye laid, along with a nostril of his perfectly curved nose were laid bare for all to see. He was tormented too, being in the most dismal of realms. Regardless, he worked hard to make the best of it. Whatever constituted as best in this land of agony.

With the three of them dead the remaining army would be left to infighting until the people could act again. Soon they will get the freedom they desired. Eno was sure that reason was one of many that drove Arden to continue his barrage of strikes against him. Unlike his knight, he watched. Content with seeing Eno hurt by others rather than his own hands.

One part of the ex-hand was content that he was being punished for what he did. A sick, twisted pleasure that he unwillingly entertains. But the other part knew that Eno would have to wait thousands of years before he got another chance.

He never spoke, the Tyrant, not that he could. But, he commanded Arden with ruthless efficiency. Despite the blows, the sickening crack Eno could hear when his ribs began to snap under the pressure, Eno grins at him defiantly, mockingly. The baton comes down again.

“Why, you little shit!” Arden says once more. Eno's head hangs low from his ruthless attack. His armored hand grips him by the neck, forcing him to look into his eyes. “You liking this? Huh? HUH?!” Spittle coats Eno's face, the rage been made apparent behind the knight's words. The severity of them cause him to wince. “Yeah that's what I thought. Well buddy old pall of mine,” roughly releasing him, he spits at the ground right before his feet. “You've got countless hours to think about what you've done. We're going to make you bleed, Eno. You're going to bleed until TIME ITSELF pours from your wounds!” The beatings continue, unabated by time, not having to stop due to exhaustion, these men no longer felt it...

It felt as though hours passed, hundreds, perhaps thousands of swings were wrought upon Eno's body. Enough to break an entire army of hardened warriors, yet still his mind does not allow him to break. He is forced to fight through every sting, every loss of air from his lungs. Never to know peace, this place would not give him such a rare commodity such as rest. But after a while, Eno felt something. Something that he hasn't felt since his death.

He looks up to find nothing, nothing but a baton crashing into his cheek, forcing his head one way. A combination of blood and spittle leave him, falling into the dark hole below. However, he can still feel lit, over the pain, over the sting and burn. A soothing, comforting feeling, like one looking to blanket him from the harshness of the Tyrant and the Knight. It's...

A dark blue aurora comes into Eno's mind as foot falls dampen the howling winds. Hope, he didn't believe it at first, why would he? But with the falls Eno interpreted as grieves, and the light weight they carried themselves, there was almost no mistaking it.

Suddenly, his heart jumps up to his throat, the adrenaline pumping through Eno veins. Arden, and the Tyrant fail to notice, even as the source of the ex-hand's rising spirits come so close. Another deafening crack, yet again another vengeful smack. Streams of crimson flow and squirt from openings in his body. But, in spite of the unholy pain, and the gravity of lingering damnation, he pulls against his bindings. In a great bout of strength the iron chain links bend, snap, then break. The force of which lets Eno land on the cliff.

Arden takes a few steps back, surprised by his escape. Firmly planting his feet, Eno rises from the kneeling position he landed in. Eno stands over Arden and level with the Tyrant, looking out over them. His eyes fill with thick tears, his mouth slowly forces its way past the scarring and muscle weakness into a smile. From ear to ear he grins, and Eno's breath picks up. His chains no longer feel heavy as they hang off of him.

“R-Reina?” Eno weakly says, his voice raspy, goatee caked with blood. The Tyrant and Arden both look to him with hatred at first, but they both raised brows when they saw Eno's gaze beyond them and turned to look themselves. They couldn't feel what he felt, but all three of them saw a form pierce the darkness. And funny enough, all who saw it were equally confused. Eno's eyes narrow to get a better look at the silhouette present to him.

That wasn't Reina, his childhood friend, but it felt like her. With acrid smoke swirling around them, he could make out only minimalistic features. An hourglass shaped silhouette, a slender figure the likes of which matched her, however the comparison was quick to melt away, to give way to the reality of just what was coming along the narrow granite.

A chimera of sorts, a conglomeration of eagle, lion, serpent. A monster that could only be born of the deepest pits of this place. The feral hunger that lies within its lingering gaze, and the drool that runs along its three maws sends chills to the very core. The likelihood of being eaten was large, yet the ex-hand was more focused on just what he was looking at. He could barely make heads or tails of the thing, the same could be said of his two tormentors. Whatever it was, it was capable of giving Eno the extra strength he needed to free himself. Before he could deal with that creature, he has another matter to attend to.

With Arden and the Tyrant distracted Eno acts. Self preservation is the main thing on his mind at this very moment. He dashes forward, malicious in his intent. Arden turns around first. Eno grasps him in his left hand by the throat, lifting him off of the ground. The strength he possessed as a living entity seems to have carried over beyond the grave. Despite the wounds his body bore, he could easily act. Was this the strength of spirit? To persevere through impossible trials that those of the living could not? Eno is about to find out in this very moment.

Before he can speak, Eno throws his hips into a right cross into his nose. He cries out from the sudden shock, but the ex-hand doesn't stop. He hits Arden again, and again. Eno in is that place again, the one driven by bloodlust, the very same state of mind that surely landed him in this hellish landscape. But what could be worse than this? It matters little to him right now.

His ruthlessness could only be accentuated by the red veins of his blood shot eyes. Arden utters a squeal like that of a dog being struck, yet still he does not stop. Cross after cross, hook after hook Eno pounds his face. In this instance he has become a machine whose only purpose is to bring forth the agony two fold for what he received. Smack, crack, his knuckles bore into bone, flesh, and cartilage. Soon wet snaps fill the chorus of strikes building up to their crescendo. What does the inside of Arden's skull look like? Eno intends to find out.

The Tyrant looks on with horror, and immediately he displays his open hands. Flames overtake both, the same unholy fire he used to burn those before him, the magic he used to usher in Eno's demise. The fallen king is preparing to end him, to send him into a state of nonexistence. Seeing this, Eno casts away the limp sack of meat that was currently occupying his hand. The body flailing helplessly before being shrouded in the black abyss. Neither hear the body land, perhaps it was deeper than either could comprehend...

Quickly, Eno prepares himself for what's to come. But, before the Tyrant can cast his spell, the snout of the lion peeks over him. Looming like the reaper of old. Fangs that could rival swords in sharpness suddenly dig into the meaty bits of his shoulder, and for once Eno is able to hear his voice since being killed. A coarse roar, a culmination of anger, shock, hurt. Were he a lesser man, Eno would have been forced to his knees from the sheer volume.

And as soon as it started, it was over. While the lion went to work on the torso, the eagle dug its beak into the poor man's throat, silencing him for good. The snake's body begins to constrict his legs, slowly traveling up to meet with the maw of the hungry feline. The magical flames quickly burn out. The Tyrant lets out one final choke, his lips spilling over with hits own life force. It is ironic that the thing Eno thought would feast upon him, instead eats one of the things that would see him die again and again for all eternity. A small gift among the nightmares.

Slowly he approaches, the chimera none the wiser, too preoccupied with its meal. As quiet as Eno's battered form would allow he steps around the beast, the wet sounds of his powerful jaws snapping through flesh and bone cause Eno to cringe, but he can't linger. The last thing he wishes at this very moment was to be the next item on that thing's menu. The snake's head watches him warily for a few moments, as though sizing him up, before going back to its food.

Breathing a sigh of relief, being thankful for this mercy, Eno breaks out into a desperate sprint, willing with every fiber of his being to be as far away from that cliff as possible. Not once does he look over his shoulder, fearful for what he might find...

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
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Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 16th 2014, 7:24 am

“Well what do ya know, the chimera made it in time,” Hades, while adjusting the small set of reading glasses on his nose, looks up from his files to see Eno limping away from the site. “I guess it's useful for something after all.” Whether he's happy about this information, or not, remains to be seen. His expression remains neutral, lips set in a thin line while he scans the projection through half lidded eyes.

Perhaps he will not allow himself to be excited because he knows what will happen next. Eno may have been freed from his physical abuse, but that in and of itself is no mercy. He will be forced along the same path yet again. The Ex-Hand will not know peace during his journey, if anything things will gradually become worse for him. What little light he has might just be snuffed out if he isn't careful. Knowing this, Eno isn't something Hades believes he needs to invest in beyond what he has already. The God is used to disappointment, and this would be no different if things play out as he predicts they will.

But, Eno wasn't a pushover, that was something Hades knew already. However, the file couldn't replicate what his eyes witness. This soul was a tough nut to crack, even with the baton causing openings, none of them were life threatening or deep. And the length of which it was done, a normal person would have gone into shock from the abuse. Yet Eno was beaten for much longer than a human or average soul could take. Four days it took for that animal to get to the cliff, four long, grueling days of unending beatings with a metal stick. His endurance is nothing to laugh at that much is certain. In the end, while Hades didn't have high hopes for him, he still had a smidgen of it to spare.

Regardless of how he feels though, Eno hasn't made it anywhere near far enough to be worth anything more than simple entertainment. There were plenty that made it farther than him, much more notable, beings that could leave him in the dust when it came to comparing power. Despite that, Eno did have something they didn't. They were in denial, believing that their strength would win out in the end. They would tire themselves out and fade, not being able to contribute anything towards their freedom even though it was impossible.

However, Eno wasn't a fool like they were, he didn't believe himself to be all-powerful. He knew his own limitations and he was desperately fighting to overcome them, to adapt and endure. In a odd sense, Eno was testing himself in the same way Hades is now. And knowing this, The Lord of the Dead allows himself a small smile. Perhaps Eno has a chance after all.

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
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Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 16th 2014, 7:27 am

A narrow escape to be sure, Eno couldn't believe his luck, wouldn't. It was as though someone were toying with him, treating him as though he were nothing more than a plaything for some sick, twisted entity. Why else would he be forced to walk through the arid wastes, only to be captured by those he had nothing but contempt for? To be given a moment to escape, to get revenge, only to end up back to square one? Whoever held his fate in their hands must truly be evil, sadistic even. Who in existence would enjoy such torture?

While these questions, among many others plague the ex-hand's mind, he couldn't focus on them for too long. Despite his knowledge of being dead, the effects he felt matches that of a living being. He didn't know what it was that drove him, but something within compels him to keep moving forward, to not give up and stop his journey, as unending it may seem. Maybe he'll get lucky again and find something new, Eno doubts that. He believes that one event to be a fluke and nothing more. A chimera won't be coming to save him again.

So here he is, on the horrid plains of anguish and sorrow, his anguish and sorrow.  A sand-blasted expanse of red as far as the eye could see. It's featureless save for a few rolling hills, along with rock formations eroded by the hand of time. It is his punishment, his journey borne by his mistakes.

His existence is like looking into a mirror, its a reflection of his sins from his time in the Tyrant's military. The innocent people he tore from their homes and murdered, their children screaming for him to stop. Turning those same kids into slaves, whores, or fodder for the grunts. That is but a few along Eno's long list of misdeeds. A fate befitting a man of his caliber. He does not bare this hellish burden with pride, but with shame. His one moment of redemption meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. One act does not wash away the errors of one's ways. This place has made that fact certain. This place, was hell itself.

To him, it feels like he's trekked across infinity and back again. Though how long isn't certain. Time seems to have no meaning for the dead. Sometimes he fears that he'll never leave, never get to know peace again. But, that fear takes a secondary place in his heart. For now, there is a force that overpowers that. It was the same drive that freed him from his binds. Eno has no idea what to call it: blind faith, foolishness, hubris maybe? Though, despite it all, he did learn a lesson from all of this.

Chuckling to himself for a moment, he shakes his head. His parched throat aches with each exhale, but he ignores it for the time being, wishing to play this little fantasy out in his head.

When he gets home, he'll have to tell Reina all about it. No matter how far you fall, even at the bottom of existence, through infinite layers of pain and torment, there is always, no matter how small, a small light of hope. As long as Eno can keep that alive, there is an opportunity for the best possible outcome in all things, even if he knew that was a small chance.

'That will make a good lesson,' he thinks, a present to the childhood friend he abandoned all those years ago. Even if it's taken far too long for him to learn. Maybe she'll be proud of Eno, waiting for him with a smile and open arms, maybe the ex-hand will be worth being proud of. Or she'll slit his throat from ear to ear, the latter proves more likely in his mind. Their meeting will be anything but a pleasant one, if it should ever happen that is...

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
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Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
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Level V: 0/120,000EXP

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 20th 2014, 12:31 am

“Ya know, I'm glad all he's gotta do is walk, but at the same time, it's really boring.” Hades leans back on his throne, putting his arms behind his head, not caring that he's talking to himself. A sigh of satisfaction leaves him as his feet are propped up by the bottom portion of his throne being released by a mechanism. “I mean, I know he's leaving bloody footprints in the sand,” he motions with a hand while he speaks, “he's starving and dealing with dehydration, but he hasn't fought anything since Arden and Marik. It's been almost three days since his escape and all he's done is put one foot in front of the other. It's like the demons want nothing to do with 'em. Maybe I should spice it up.”

Almost to accentuate his point, a little salt shaker containing black powder is willed into existence, a small skull and crossbones emblem could be seen along its face. For a few moments, a sinister smile graces his features, flames of excitement roar behind his beady eyes. But, within an instant that inspiration evaporates. His smile recedes, and he goes back to reclining.

“Nah, I'll leave him as is,” he says, casually tossing the salt shaker over his shoulder. The little item sails through the air, quickly leaving through the open circular window, and to the expansive dark stalagmites below. He knows not where he threw it, nor does he care. Creating small items like these are a miniscule task to him. The deadly binkie he tried to pop in Hercules maw is one of those many items he can make on a whim, just to be rid of whenever he chose. The same could be said of the imps Pain and Panic. While they were not of his creation, he could easily erase them from existence once the thought arose. Though, unlike inanimate objects, they actually screamed when they were tormented, and that was good enough to keep them around for. He'd love to say that they were useful minions, but he'd be lying to himself. That duo could barely fight their way out of a wet paper bag let alone handle a large task. He learned his lesson from the Hercules incident.

The echo of an explosion, followed by the cry of “MY LEG!” from a random dweller of the dreary caves frees The Undead Lord from his thoughts. Yet another unfortunate victim of Hades latent boredom, and if things go as they are now he won't be the last one of the day. Having being used to hurting his fellow denizens, his acknowledgement, if you could even call it that, of the pain delivered is nothing more than him adjusting his position in his reclining throne, yawning, then scratching his stomach.

“Huh, smells like sulfur.” He absentmindedly comments, not even bothering to turn away from the events unfolding right before his potential minion. And just like before he goes back into his lackluster state of being.  A sudden burst of static would be the only cause of his eyes widening this day. In spite of his sudden attention to detail it'd be all for naught. As soon as it started, it was over. Hades barely had the chance to shift in his throne before the image displayed became crystal clear yet again.

“Well, that was odd.” He stares at the projection intently, waiting to see if any more abnormalities would display themselves. For just a few seconds he sits leaning forward, when the event didn't happen again he dismissed the anomaly, chalking it up to Tartarus' own power keeping him from having a constant proper view. What he didn't realize however, was that there was something happening, something that would require his attention should he hope to consider having a new minion. A strange force, a curious one at that, has made their way into the undead realm. They tirelessly search, their goals unknown, how they made it here is unknown, but their destination is not so mysterious.

Tiny beings silver in hue, followed by an eerie white afterglow. Their forms resemble little droplets, as though small bits of rain were suddenly given consciousness. Capable of travel across the cosmos, using their power as a means to get from one place to another. An ability that many would dream of having, but never given the chance to use. While some would use it to explore, to broaden their horizons and learn all they would ever want, these creatures only wanted one thing, and that was to form themselves into a glowing stream of holy light that is currently swimming into the swirling vortex of green. Where they might end up would be anyone's guess, but their presence bathes the River Styx in a strange conglomeration of white light filled with thin green wisps of smoke...



“Damn you, Ennnoooooooooooooo!” Arden's voice is quickly suppressed by the sound of wind rushing past his ears. He's been falling throughout this black expanse of nothingness for who knows how long. Since his defeat at Eno's hands he's been unable to do anything. By the time he woke up from the beating he was already so far down the cliff above was nothing more than a speck. Though, he did notice something through the countless hours he spent rotating in the air. No matter how far he fell, the distance never increased. Were he back on his world he'd have already hit the ground, yet that doesn't seem to exist here. To be stuck in a perpetual free fall for eternity, a damnable punishment he wanted nothing to do with. Yet, he threw the dice, not believing Eno would have the strength to fight back, and he ended up paying for it.

How did he manage it, to find the power to free himself and fight? He took a beating that lasted days, torture that would have killed him were he alive. None could have survived such brutal blows, and even if by some miracle they did, they'd have lost their minds due to the pain, yet Eno survived. How, out of all the people Arden could have hurt, why did it have to be someone like the Ex-Hand? There was no way he should have done what he did. He was bleeding, he didn't have the strength to life his head, his entire body was limp. Was he just pretending? Did he have the ability to free himself but chose not to? Why would he do that? He got The Black Knight's hopes up, Arden couldn't stop smiling about it. Finally, he had the means to punish Eno for all eternity for killing him. That bastard had the audacity to fake the severity of his injuries, he'd made a fool of Arden yet again.

“You piece of shit!” He screams, flailing his limbs in vain at the air around him. All he wanted in that moment was to go back in time, to tear Eno apart until nothing but bloody pieces of meat remain. Had he knew then what he did now, he would have used his lance instead. After finishing he'd use the lance's attachment to cook his remains, then he'd feed him to whatever demon came their way. Vain hopes and dreams dashed, the eternal fall a constant reminder.

He did have ideas to escape it, the side of the cliff ran parallel to him, but he was falling so fast that the rocky surface was nothing more than a blur of color. If he tried to grab on to a loose portion he'd end up tearing his arm off of his body. He'd reached terminal velocity days ago, there's no way he'd be able to pull himself up without repercussions. He couldn't make it with a single hand and he'd dropped his baton some time during the fall. Arden had nothing to slow his decent, nothing at all.

He'd lost all hope of escape, that is until something happened. A strange occurrence in an equally strange place to be sure. Something alien, even to this realm, has made its way in. They came for him from a distance, like little flecks of snow they fell slowly, their light only glowing brighter the closer they came. Unlike him though, they were truly descending. Their lackadaisical movements were made quick due to this. However, it still took them a great deal of time to make the fall, almost too much time. Or maybe they truly were that small? Little orbs no larger than a marble in size.

One curious little sphere broke away from the swarm still lagging behind, its curiosity made apparent by the way it hovers around him. It says a few feet out of reach, orbiting around his body, examining every portion of his armor, his exposed skin, and the bones from the torn skin. To be honest, the knight felt a little embarrassed under its gaze, as though it were looking for any and all imperfections. Perhaps he was over thinking it, maybe it really was just a spirit of this realm, looking at the newest addition to this hellish place. Well, if it was, it definitely wasn't the threatening creature he'd imagine it'd be. Bats demonic in nature, deformed lions as large as mountains, devilish hydras that'd run amok, eating as they went. That was what he was expecting, not this tiny, warm, little light.

Like the orb, Arden wished to know a little bit about it. It was odd being looked over without being able to do the same. So, using his arms and legs, he figuratively swims through the air and over to it, reaching out as he comes close. It made no movement to run as he closed his fingers around it. The sphere really was warm, its presence alone was soothing, but as soon as his gauntlet wrapped around it, that feeling spread not only from his soul, but throughout his very being. Suddenly, slaughtering Eno wasn't a priority in his mind, same could be said of harming the people he used to command.

Torture, thievery, rape, the impulse to do any and every one of those things melted away, only to be replaced with the memories of times long since past. A small smile graces his lips, one of peace, not one that's been falsified to fool peasants, or used to make young girls feel comfortable, a legitimate grin of happiness. It lasts for only a few moments though, before an electric shock jolts him back to reality. He almost escaped from his fate, to retreat to the recesses of his mind and take the fall in peace. With his muscles relaxed the orb quickly leaves his grip, though it does not try to run away. Arden absentmindedly reaches out, trying to re-grab his bastion, only to have it go out of reach again.

He doesn't take notice of the swarm surrounding him now, a conglomeration of white spheres close in, taking advantage of his attention being elsewhere...

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on June 20th 2014, 12:37 am

This world warped and changed around him, always. There were no maps, no landmarks in which one could navigate. Unlike the material world, Eno was far from being one of the 'big dogs' around here. That thought caused him to hold his gut from the laughter that flowed through.

Who was he kidding? Even on his world he wasn't some all powerful being. He made mistakes, he had flaws. No matter how many books he read he wasn't the smartest. No matter how many hours he spent training his body he wasn't the strongest. Running leagues throughout the castle grounds and countryside didn't make him the fastest. Taking beatings from both friends and foes alike made him far from toughest. So, how was Eno able to accomplish the things he did when he was among the living? How was he able to survive? He had no idea on either count, because he isn't, he's dead; just looking around reminds him of that. His luck had finally ran out.

Step after step, reluctant trudge after trudge, his bare feet displace the find red sand. An endless trail of imprints lay in Eno's wake. How long has it been since he escaped? Too long. He never should have put himself in a position to come here, but Eno's self righteous behind did. He thought he could endure it, he thought he could find comfort in the knowledge that the people would be better off this way, but he couldn't, not anymore.

Their world needs someone to rule, to give direction. What could he do now that the Tyrant was truly dead? Dismembered by the ex-hand's own blade. There would be a struggle for power, there always will be. Some greedy, looking to claim mountains of gold for themselves. Heartless people will put on masks of lies to guide the others. Eno was sure the process would start anew without him being there. His hope all but extinguished. For dying, for leaving the people to potentially suffer, he intends on fixing it the only way he knew how at this point: through pain, misery, and loneliness. Three things that were now a constant in Eno's life.He shakes his head, trying to dismiss those thoughts. That wasn't true, the ex-hand needs to stop telling himself that. His thoughts would then find their way back to his dear friend Reina.

On that fateful day, a few hours before his defection from Marik's Army, Reina gave him one final chance at happiness, and he discarded it like a fool. Throughout the years those Eno got to know and love through her gave him a chance for comfort, family, friendship, and love.  Yet, he shot it down repeatedly.

He did this to himself, his fate done by his own hands, and he was going to do right by himself. Back then Eno was stupid, arrogant, and immature. Horrible traits, ones that he will try to improve upon while he's here. He would tame himself before he brought his face anywhere near her again. The ex-hand wants, more than anything, to walk back to that village in the mountains. Where the elevation was so high the very clouds would shroud the cottages in a blanket, giving it a mysterious atmosphere by the torchlight. To present himself to his friends, his dear, loving friends, and be able to say “I am a better man that you remember.”

Bringing his arms around himself, he suppresses the tears that pool in his eyes. If he cannot do that, if he can't learn from his sins, then there was no point to any of this, no point in going back. He might as well stay here, in his personal hell...

His clothes are not the same ones he died in. The armor he once proudly wore upon his person was replaced. The torn, ratty pants he now wore, along with his iron clamps and chain links, seem fit for a dog, not a human. It was appropriate for the setting though. Eno was a prisoner to his surroundings. No boots to cover his roughened feet, nor shirt to at least conceal his view of the marks his body now sports. How must his face look from that beating he wonders? Lucky for him his eyes weren't Arden's targets, he could still see through both clear as day. It helps that his eyes were no longer crippled by his need of glasses. A weakness he was glad to be rid of.

Despite barely being clothed, the air was heavy with humidity and hot, it was very uncomfortable. The sweat coated his body, creating a layer of sheen. In fact, looking up would show  the sky to be concealed by clouds that matched the dead soil. Red all around him, red in the distance. A color that was beginning to disgust him. Did nothing to distract him from his smell though, it has to be horrible by now. If there was anything Eno needs right now, it'd be a bath. There was no suitable water around here though.

Almost on queue with his way of thinking, Eno passes a river upon whose banks he now travels parallel to. He dare not drink from it, or wash in it. It's a green matter of sludge like viscosity, it bubbles, boils, and reeks of pus. Vomit flames spew up from the surface at random intervals, never letting it settle. There was nothing natural about this. There was no spring feeding this horrible air of disease and heat. None save for his own anguish. It was self-perpetuating, it was sickness, and he wishes he could say that it was the most horrible thing he has ever seen.

Alien plant life sprouted spontaneously from the sands around him, brought to accelerated existence by this stream of suffering. Thick, black stalks upon which rest a bulb of sickly green enzyme sway in the winds, howling their maddening chorus. It flowed down an array of fleshy petals, and stained the ground.

The nourishment afforded by his deepest depressions flooded the once dead desert. It was gradually warped, transfigured, from red rusty sands into a hostile bog that sucks at his feet as they plunged through the morass. Each step became  a labor, each foot a test of endurance. It seems to suck his feet deep into the muck each time he's forced to trudge. From the depths of it all, a figure slowly bubbles upward from the thick sludge and moss.

The tainted fluid coalesces, writhing inward on itself until it takes on the form of a man, a man who watches Eno, covered in wrinkles and gray hairs. As far as he can reason, it is an image of himself thirty, maybe forty years from now. His lips open and he grins, showing diseased, rotting teeth which, even then, are falling from his gums. As if he were pleased to see a younger visage of itself, it reaches a hand out to Eno as he passes, but he leaves it behind like the marsh of time will eventually leave him behind.

Still the image, now burned into his memory, causes him to shiver with fright. Was that to be his future had he lived? To become some disgusting, diseased old freak of wrinkled flesh and bags? He could barely stomach the thought. Turning back, the figure begins to melt away into a decrepit skeleton, and then that vanishes beneath the sludge.

This place loves to remind him of the impermanence of man. It would do anything to try to break the ex-hand's spirit. He knew that his surroundings weren't the worst part, that was yet to come...

For every breath he takes, every moment he exists in this realm, he feels the oozing miasma of this atmosphere filling his body once again. Just like before, it fills his volume. From there, it worms its way into his very soul. Like a million barbed fish hooks, twisting and writhing through him. He clenches his teeth, dropping to one knee as he does so. Anything he had to deal with on his world was nothing compared to this. He hates this, it hurts so much, too much.

But, just like with everything else thus far, he forces himself to bear it. Getting back to his feet, he continues his journey, albeit at a much slower pace. It is the afterlife gripping him, making sure that he'll never leave it. This torrent of torment is like an obsessive lover, one that he wants only to abandon and leave behind, but it won't let Eno. Unseen chains of supernatural gravity coil around him. If this place has its way, he would fall to his knees again, submit to its desires, and gradually dissolve, fusing with this infernal realm forever. But, he wouldn't give it the satisfaction. He would continue on, defiant towards the oppressive will of this twisted plane of existence.

For a time, night has fallen upon the area, and the clouds concealing the sky beyond dissipated. A single star hung in the sky, a guiding beacon of sorts. A single, white prick that pierced the heavens, giving him a direction even in the blazing heat that continues in the darkness. It was a small, microscopic, light of hope for him. Others might call it blind faith, others foolishness, but he didn't care, let the afterlife know and understand this now: He is Eno, and he will chase that hope, to wherever it would end up taking him...

Fatigue was no stranger to Eno, no not at all. More than once in his life he has known its alluring pull. He had to resist it more than once. But here, there was a sense of urgency. He dare not submit to the call for his physical need. To do so would leave him vulnerable, open to whatever The Underworld has in store for him. If it was so active while he was awake, just what was it going to do while he slept? It was depressing to think about. Then again, this whole world was depressing, is depressing.

As much as Eno hates to admit it, he is losing steam, becoming slower both in mind and in body. The lack of water is starting to take its tole. His stomach felt like it was digesting itself, and every once in a while, he swears that he is hallucinating. He shouldn't be here, why, oh, why didn't he just leave things as they were? Why couldn't he just refuse Ardon's offer, go with his friends, bring down The Obsidian Tyrant with the resistance, and live happily ever after?

Well, of course it wouldn't have been that easy. He remembers the spine of the shovel in his hands, his work in the stables still fresh in his mind after all these years. How he just wanted to drive the blade of the spade into the throat of those who'd do your friend's harm. How you wanted to decorate the walls with Arden's entrails when you found out what he'd done.

Eno was never an arist, but everyone needs a hobby, right? Something to fill the void left by his friends leaving his side. That's what he needed. But, he couldn't blame them for turning him into a puppet. What was done was done, his life was his to live. His problems were his to surmount, and though his beloved friends helped him so much, he couldn't stand the thought of them being so inconvenienced.

Eno is an idiot, he lied to the only people who ever loved him, and then he gave up. The tears fall freely from his eyes, cascading down his cheeks, hitting the muck below. All he can think about are the opportunities he wasted siding with the enemy.

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
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Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
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Eno

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on August 8th 2014, 6:56 am

“So, uh, how's things with the up-and-coming contender?” Pain asks, leaning over the armrest of Hades' throne to get a better look. Within seconds the blue back hand of the God of Death makes its mark with Pain's cheek, knocking him away. “Ow, that hurt!” the little imp now sits on the cold stone floor rubbing his sore cheek, shooting his master a hurtful glare.

“Shut it, we're getting to the good part. I've been waiting three days for this,” Hades leans in, his eyes fixated on the same projection he's been staring at for the better part of a month. To the red demon, who now eyes his master's forward posture, and gnarled fingers warily, can see that this small hobby to pass the time is starting to become an obsession with the God. In fact, he hasn't even left his throne in who knows how long. It's as though he's glued to that spot, and the only means to release him would be for Eno to reach his expectations. Judging by the red veins worming their way into Hades' eyes, along with him gripping the arm rests so hard his digits are turning white, that moment seems to be getting closer and closer, but it isn't coming fast enough. The God has started to neglect his duties that his brother has put him in charge of.

Both Pain and Panic have seen to it that the River Styx kept flowing with fresh souls as it should. But how long will things like this last? They do not have Hades' expertise, they cannot keep this charade up forever. They don't even have full knowledge of the past lives the people on their world have lived. It's a trial just getting them to the Elysium Fields or to Tartarus, not to mention the mistaken sentences and the mess that came of it. Traffic has built up to a point that's never been seen since the Underworld first came into existence.

If something doesn't happen to Hades' obsessive attitude soon, it will have to be Zeus' arrival that will force a change. The two Gods may not see eye to eye, but they are brothers each assigned their own duties. Nothing would stop the Ruler of Mount Olympus from making his way down here and forcing his brother to do what needs to be done. This neglect can't be allowed to go on, the two imps know that, the Gods that reside on their mountain paradise know that, and even Hades himself should know that, but at this moment nothing seems to matter, nothing but the prisoner fighting against the impossible.

And, to make matters worse, the duo managed to find the source of the interference Hades dealt with some time ago. They know not what it was, but the imps are aware of what those orbs of light were able to do in the time they invaded the plane known as Tartarus. The man that was to have stayed in the endless fall, has managed to fly out of the abyssal chasm with the help of those little creatures. A scary thing to witness for Pain and Panic. They watched as the swarm invaded Arden's very spirit, warped him, corrupted him, changed his body into something fitting for his escape. They've even given him a means to fulfill the only purpose in his eternal life: getting revenge on Eno.

The fallen knight may be many leagues away, but with those new wings of his propelling him faster than his feet could ever hope to, that seemingly large length of time might just shrink...


“Yes, faster,” Arden cries out to the howling wings blowing past his hair. Almost as if on command his mighty, black membrane covered wings flap, propelling him forward. With each little burst his new extensions gave him, the wind bore into his face just a bit more. A slight sting to his heightened senses, yet nothing that would give him cause for alarm. Besides, even if this were pushing his new body to its limits, he held little concern. These weren't his limbs, but the ones given to him b those glorious little memories. Yes, who would have thought something as trivial as a memory could take form and provide such gifts?


He felt stronger now, more than he'd ever been while he was alive. His muscular structure, perhaps even the genetic structure has been altered. His body became larger to compensate for the changes, and thankfully for the fallen knight his plate-mail encompassed his body with the change, as though the armor itself had a mind of its own, a will to protect the one encased inside its shell. However, not all of it could successfully mold to the owner's new body.

From elbow down the mail became shredded from the new muscle growth, revealing the orange tinted scales underneath. Two long gangly limbs now take their place, stretching to Arden's knees. While he retained all five digits, they too have extended, the bones becoming tougher, the skin transforming to the same leathery texture that took up the entirety of his arms. Long, curved claws, sharper than any blade, now extend a few inches from the ends of the appendages. The grieves suffered the same fate as the gauntlets. From knee to feet, now exposed, were two legs with the same consistency as the arms.

However, while the hands maintained some human-like quality, the feet did not. Three lengthy toes each sporting a talon curled inward with the wind. A fourth lie just behind the base to offer balance whenever the knight decided to land. Like the eagles of his old world any victim unlucky enough to end up on Arden's menu could be grabbed then torn to shreds by his feet alone. But, that's not all that has corrupted to become a part of this improved being.

He no longer had the features of a nobleman. No woman would fawn over a face such a this, a disgusting, inhumane appearance that would make any child cling to their parent in absolute terror. The face of nightmares. The scales slither up from his collarbone to his cheeks, leaving his face the cream colored skin he was born with. Thanks to the stretchy quality that human skin possesses, the new facial features didn't rip him open. A sharp muzzle filled with rows of white teeth that could tear through flesh as easily as any razor now greets his sight each time he crosses them. Two nostrils flare with each breath, sending out small plumes of smoke from the blackened holes. A serpent's tongue could be seen lolling from his maw with each guffaw. The smooth, silky hair he once proudly sported was no longer upon his scalp. Instead his bald head sported two thick black horns that curved back along his head. The width of which could easily block a blow from any blade or blunt object. As far as the top is concerned, he might as well be wearing a helmet. Though the thing that set him apart from other abominations, the true bone chilling feature, would have to be the sickly yellow slits that peer across the landscape, hungry for a target, a single one: Eno.

A raging storm like no other, a single monster, and it is desperate for blood.

“I'll find you soon you little piss ant!” Spittle flies from his maw as he speaks, the wind carrying it far behind him, “I can smell your foul flesh from here,” His head whips from left to right, scanning over the never ending sands. “You better not slow down, you better not rest, for if you do, I'll leave nothing but bones!”

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
Level I: 0/0EXP
Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
Level IV: 0/75,000EXP
Level V: 0/120,000EXP

Eno

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on August 8th 2014, 7:08 am

He emerges from the humid swamp some time later into a dry desert. Well, not so much as emerge per se, if anything the surroundings spontaneously changed yet again. A reflection of his own mind he supposes. Nothing of consequence. The putrid vegetation of mucus and fluids of pus drain away between glans of sand leaving only a rusty desert with dark skies as before. Strange, it seems as though this place is starting to run out of ideas. It almost felt like he was back in the deserts his Tyrant wanted for himself. That was a miserable experience as well, the hot dry air, the excess sweating beneath his helmet, even the blood of the locals appeared to boil in the unforgiving sun. Another memory best kept to himself. Taking another look to the sky, he sees it, his little flicker of hope hanging amidst the blue. Very well, that direction is where he will continue. It's not as though he has anywhere else to roam.

Eno treks across these new sands, just like the old one it's uncomfortable. The loose grain sticks to his torn ridden pants. However, this was leagues better than wading through that swamp. That unmentionable stuff left a rather profound impression on his form. By the light's holy name he needs a bath. Alas, the light cannot provide for him.

'Hmm, maybe my faith is misplaced,' he thinks to himself as he wanders. His thoughts take him back to that fateful moment, Arden still held tightly in his hands. On the edge of a cliff looming over a winding expanse of nothingness that spread on for eternity. He still remembers the violent updraft from the heat, it ruffled his clothes from under him. Though, throwing him from that cliff and into the abyss was rather satisfying. Perhaps his tendencies didn't die with him, it would make sense for some of his sadistic nature to survive along with everything else, well as far as the term survival went in this place.

Eno suddenly comes to a stop, he knows he shouldn't, but he can't help it. The desert sands began to shift, a figure rising from its depths. An obstacle appears before him. The static form of a human comes together, constructed of violent currents of arcane power drawn from the surrounding atmosphere. Red bolts of lightning sporadically move around him, causing him to squint from its brightness. The magic crackles and flashes until it solidifies into a more corporeal form. A rather bothersome one, one that strikes him as unpleasant. Its flesh runs like ink, dripping off of a dark and gaseous musculature that swirled beneath this liquid layer, only to be replaced by more of the thick syrup. It's eyes were blank, lacking pupils or any direction.

Has he finally succumbed to the howling winds of madness already? Has Eno gone insane, his shattered mind having lost all grip on reality? Maybe.

“Hello there!” It spoke in a sickly gurgle, giggling like a man driven to insanity. Bits of black bile fly from its mouth like a man spitting food from his open maw, causing Eno to step back a bit. Not wishing to see any more of it, he tries to bypass. The visage moves to intercept him, it's smile growing larger and larger all the while. Small strings of ooze stick between its lips, being stretched by its actions.

“You poor thing! Just how long have you been out here, all alone?” He wished not to acknowledge the demon. So, Eno remains silent, watching the large blank eyes nestled in the skull as it examined him. Part of the reason for his silence is that he doesn't know what he's looking at. The other part is obvious, he has no reason to trust anything conjured by this realm.

He tries to pass it once more, but it steps in front of him and cants its oily head.

“Move,” Eno demands, his voice a monotone drawl.

“But Eno, you don't need to go anywhere! I'm here, now, and I will give you everything you want!” The eyes glow with a shimmering light. Suddenly, the sandy ground buckles, and from it a series of tables rise around the ex-hand. “I only wish to be your friend. Just stay here for a while, and I will take good care of you.”

As the loose sand falls off the sides in streams of red, he sees that each table houses a banquet. Peaches, apples, and pies. Beverages and alcohol, cakes and crepes. Delectable treats that would cause any man's mouth to water with want, with need.

“Come on, I have been studying you for so long, Eno. You have no secrets from me!” It emits a cackle, “You don't want to waste away in this dreadful desert, do you? Just stop for a bit. We can enjoy this together! As friends! Forever!” The Underworld has made sure that he is starving by this point, and he is quite dangerously close to dying of dehydration if that was possible. But, he is not fooled. While it offers him lies, he has faith which offers hope. Again Eno moves to bypass it all.

“W-wait!” the creature calls, raising an inky hand before darting to him once more. Eno furrows his brow and curls his lip in response. More displays start to rise from the sands. The most glorious, plump grapes he ever did see. Large, juicy green grapes. Bouncy, leafy green salads, he hates salads.

“You're terrible at this,” It gasps from his sudden response, watching as Eno moves along.

“Wait-wait-wait!” It shouts, the infuriating creature blocks his path for the umpteenth time. The ex-hand's next response is to narrow his eyes and cross his arms. The blot leans in to him closely, with a sly expression across its features. “I know what you reeeeeally want~!”

What a waste of his time, it squints its blank eyes, and they start to glow again. Up from the desert floor comes a perfect, juicy, delectable platter of prime rib. The aroma, one of which he hasn't smelled in so long, instantly catches his attention and lowers his guard. They were accompanied with all his favorite fixings, marinated with his favorite seasonings. Biscuits came with the meal, so that he may use them to wipe the juices and savor those as well. Also, a bowl of mashed potatoes, the most fluffy, delicious cloud of heaven that he could imagine.

Eno's eyes become spirals, his will begins to drain away. His tongue hangs out from the corner of his lips. The creature that provided all of this smiles, pleased with the result, with a motion of its hand came another plate of perfectly cooked filet mignon. The sweetness of temptation did not end there, there were baby back ribs, rib-eye steak, beef skewers, T-bones. So long his body has gone without protein, it leaves him unsatisfied and drained, it's he cannot get used to.

“Pork sandwiches,” he mutters, completely enraptured by the site before him. Not only that, pork chops, lamb chops, ham, and turkey. All styles of chicken came into being. It's then he feels the familiar cool sensation of metal in his hands.

First a knife, which he clenches. In his other, a fork, which he holds with equal strength. The chance to, once again, taste the flesh of an animal, to taste it as it trickles down into his gullet while he chews and savors the juices of another pile of meat. All of it is right there for him to take; and the drinks, that was another story all together.

Fountains to join the cups and goblets spilling over with water, his favorite brands of liquor! Fine wines of both red and white, he could feel the soothing mist of the fountains as they rose around him. Gigantic romanesque statues absolutely flowing with the blessed gifts.

His mouth waters, his body producing saliva with what it had left. The voice warps gradually, as it does its shape, coloration, and texture. What now stands before him, is a woman that in his eyes was the epitome of lust.

Large, supple breasts that would overtake his hands hang proudly from her chest, their perkiness seemingly defying gravity. Full lips, wide, birthing hips along with thick thighs that could crush his head like an egg. Coupled with smooth brown skin, long wavy black hair, and dark eyes, it took everything the ex-hand had to keep himself from walking over and letting his hands explore her body.

Instead, she's the one to approach him, causing Eno to swallow nervously. When she comes close she bats her eyelashes and leans in.

“Stay with me, human. Abandon this silly little crusade,” Her voice trickled honey'd words, her face riddled with concern. “You're hurting, you're tired. Sorrow and bedlam dog your steps. This is no way to live.” Pressing her breasts against his bare chest brought his heartbeat into drumroll. “What sort of friends would make you endure half the things you have? They are so greedy. All I ask is that you stay. I offer you relief from all your suffering, everything you could possibly want.” That sultry tone, along with her half lidded gaze, only drives the loneliness further home. Before he can dwell on that thought she speaks yet again.

“Will you accept my friendship?” This woman eagerly awaits Eno's answer, as though his acceptance would have her mount him then and there. He could already feel her excitement where she placed her breasts. What was missing? He could live an eternity of torment trying to get back to his so-called friends, or he could have it all right now. Why would he want to leave?

He smiles, weakly, and that weak smile grows into a wide grin as he becomes more and more with the idea of just reaping these rewards. He deserves this, all of it. From all that heart break that he was forced to endure, biding his time to help those he thought in need. Rescuing those prisoners from a life of servitude, dealing with the ordeal of Arden's elite guards, and after foiling the rule of an infernal mage, sacrificing himself for the betterment of the world.

Here he didn't need to work to change himself. Besides, they're all probably happier anyway. For all this food, drink and company, why not? Looking over the feast laid out for him, his body begins to dissolve, particle by particle, fusing with the infernal realm, embracing it, begging for its acceptance.

But, just before the last of his willpower leaves him, his brain delivers a jolting reality check. A twitching sliver of sanity that screams so loud to be heard his fractured psyche could not ignore. His eyes return to their normal sapphire blue, and his arms drop to his sides. The silverware leaves his opens hands.

His reaction startles the visage of a woman, causing her to gasp and take a few steps back.

“What's wrong?! Do you need more? I can make more!” Eno looks around to the smorgasbord provided, and all at once he feels angry, furious even. He's outright livid that he even allowed himself, for a second, to fall for such a simple trick. He furrows his brow steeply, looking up to the eyes of his host.

“I didn't come here to embrace death, monster!” He asserts, jabbing an accusing finger towards her. The 'woman' begins to shudder, and she oozes back to the thick, syrup-like consistency that she held once before. One by one, the tables around him burst into clouds of red vapor. Eno didn't make a habit of living off of hand-outs, why would he start now?

“But, b-but,” the creature stutters, stunned by his response. The form begins to melt down, bubbling into a rough approximation of a little girl.

“Move.” He starts forward once more, shoving the unstable thing out of his path. Behind him, she looks at Eno with a fiery hatred before she smacks a foot against the ground.

“I'll have you soon enough!” The entity calls out, “You'll not survive for much longer! And once you can no longer move I will rip into your essence and feast until you cease to exist!” The tone was no longer gentle. Rather, it was as if the chorus of billions of victims forced their way into his mind.

Eno responds by simply walking away in silence.

“Just remember, human, that I offered you comfort!” The interloper's breaths grow heavy and desperate, tears well up in its false eyes. She moves to follow you, but cries out in pain as her flesh dissolves, her exposed muscles burst into red sand, and her bones melt away into calcium deposits on the desert floor.

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
Level I: 0/0EXP
Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
Level IV: 0/75,000EXP
Level V: 0/120,000EXP

Eno

Post Count : 352
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Munny : 1123

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on August 9th 2014, 8:07 am

“Yes!” Hades cheers, his fists raising above his head in cheer. His brash laughter fills the air, only adding to the despair his cronies are feeling. That same emotion, that atmosphere of hopelessness has spread throughout the Underworld, all who call this realm home are affected, even Cerberus, who is usually full of energy, is instead sleeping by the gates. It's as though Hades sucked what little mood their cavernous area had into his chambers. What with his anticipation, and excitement growing, it's as though he's the only one providing any source of joy. It's unfortunate that he isn't able to turn that enthusiasm to his job.

While the desperate pleading and puppy-dog eyes did finally catch The God of the Underworld's attention, and though he begrudgingly completed his task, after only five days of work he's gone right back to his throne yet again. The souls are starting to pile up anew, and it's only a matter of time before they receive a letter from Hermes entailing Zeus wondering what's happened. They fixed the mess quickly enough, but the same tactics won't work again. They'd have to up the ante, and for slaves to try and give their masters something they'd want is quite a task. What could they possibly have to offer that'd make him leave his throne for more than a week at best?

“I knew he'd be able to resist the desert, but that buxom babe?” He leans towards the duo, prompting them to place their practiced smiles, albeit they're a bit over the top, what with them straining their cheeks to show their joy, but ether Hades doesn't notice, or he doesn't care. In their case it's probably the latter.

“Y-Yeah master, h-her breasts were as big as me! R-Right Panic?” Pain says, nudging the blue imp with his elbow. As though snapping out of a trance Panic adds.

“O-of course, and th-that butt. Oh my goodness that r-rear,” Panic's shaking does nothing but make him sound insincere. “Wh-who'd say no to that?” Chattering teeth soon joins the vibrating demon. Hades slamming his hand upon the armrest causes him to open his mouth in a silent scream.

“My man with the iron will that's who!” He laughs again, a loud uproarious one at that. The vibrations carried by the sound of his voice is enough to make the imps look to their feet in confusion. If there was anything that could make their lord happy, it had to be a good thing right? Despite the situation hanging over their heads, could they perhaps allow themselves to have a little bit of joy? Hades hasn't been this happy since they lied to him about killing Hercules. Why should they force his responsibility upon him? Oh, because his job affects the immortal lives of millions. Of course.

“M-Master,” Hades actually turns to him, a small smile on his face. The shivering only intensifies as sweat pours down his face. Yet, Panic smiles in turn. “Th-there are more so-” The grin drops from Hades face, and he puts a hand up to silence the little imp.

“Yeah, Yeah I get it. I've got more souls to take care of,” Hades grumbles, getting up from his throne, “Stupid mortals, why can't they stop doing things that get them killed?” The duo look to one another before shrugging.

“I don't know, master.” Pain responds, “Panic and I took care of a group of eight that all jumped off a cliff and into the sea.”

“One right after the other,” Panic adds.

“Y-You see,” Hades starts, his eyes wide with anger, talking with his hands he continues. “That's what I'm talking about! Are they lemmings?! Can't they control the urge to follow the crowd and jump off of high places?! It's souls like that that make me want to quit! And the Gods wonder why I don't like my job.” His tone takes on a mocking deep inflection. “Oooh look at me I'm Zeus. Hades, my brother, why don't I rule the Gods on Mt. Olympus and YOU take care of the dead? Won't that be marvelous? You'll get along so well!” Next he flutters his eye lashes and smiles while grasping both hands much like a maiden would should she be thinking of the man she's smitten with. “Why yes dear, of course they would. It's a horrible job, but I'm sure our brother can handle it just fine, he's a toughie!” At the mere mention of Hera's little nickname his face warps into a sneer. “Inbred pricks, the lot of them.” Grumbling he makes his way past his cronies, dead set on getting things taken care of before they can get worse.

“You two,” Pain and Panic shoot up straight like soldiers in a line, “Watch the projection for me. Make sure Eno continues unabated. I'll be back in a few hours.”

“Yes sir!” the imps say in unison, saluting the back of their master. And finally, the two manage to share a genuine smile, one they haven't been able to do for quite some time. Quickly the two climb into their master's throne and recline, their eyes dead set on the doomed man of the Tartarian Desert...

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
Level I: 0/0EXP
Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
Level IV: 0/75,000EXP
Level V: 0/120,000EXP

Eno

Post Count : 352
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Munny : 1123

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on August 9th 2014, 8:24 am

Eno resumes on his path, unhindered by anything short of his perpetual hunger, thirst, and unbridled agony of existing. The ex-hand swore he felt an angry quake beneath his feet. But, however frustrated this realm became, it did not change one fact: Eno has friends waiting for him. Friends who always encouraged him to be the best he could be, friends who would never, allow him to give up. The Underworld would have to try harder than that.

Looking up to the sky once more, the doomed man finds his light, then continues on his way to wherever it leads him...

Sleep deprivation should have done Eno in by now, frankly. To be fair, the lack of moisture intake should have destroyed his body too. The spirit is starting to get to the point where the lack of food would be killing him, but it doesn't truly matter. It's a really strange thing for Eno to experience. Feeling hungry, thirsty, tired, but not having to take care of any of the three to stay alive. In fact, where the ex-hand not sweating, and his body not experiencing the heat of exhaustion, he'd probably even forget to breathe. It's not like the soul truly needs oxygen. Yet, despite all of that, his body still acts as though it's alive. Quite annoying really. More to add on to the pile of things trying to make the ex-hand concede.

Step after step leaves a heavy imprint of feet in the soft, fine sand. But, being surrounded by howling winds and ashes, the tracks are being buried not too far off. If Eno somehow loses his way, whose to say the spirit wouldn't end up back in this spot, and the ex-hand would be none the wiser. A scary thought he quickly forces from his thoughts.

But, with nothing else appreciable in sight, he has time to do just that: think. Eno comes to the obvious realization that yes, he's physically suffering despite being dead. The prisoner has since hit a plateau of agony, at least that's what it appears like. Not that he in any way enjoyed it, but it was a break. It's not like things were steadily getting worse now. It's the best he'd ever get.

Tilting his head up to view the sky, the ex-hand finds that the star he was once following has since fallen from its place. His relentless advance comes to a pause, scanning the hellish skies with a swish of his eyes this way and that.

Depression wells within, and Eno would be lying to himself if he said that it didn't leave him feeling drained. The substance of the surrounding air warps around the man in a visible shimmer, and the undead soul swears that he saw a familiar shapeless form marching tauntingly around him in a wide circle.

“The human body requires two quarts of water per day in order to maintain one hundred percent operating efficiency in most environments,” it explains, much to Eno's chagrin.  “Going by the dryness of the wind, the ambient temperature of forty three point eight eight degrees Celsius, and the gradual decrease in the pace of your march, your body will give out in a matter of hours. It will then decay, and bacteria will...”

Eno has learned to ignore the presence of these hallucinations, as much as the prisoner wanted to believe that they were real, oh well. It's not like the ex-hand has long anyway, the imaginary scholar was correct. But, at the very least, the red sands of the desert have faded. The prisoner's consistent defiance has yielded, finally, something different in terms of surroundings. Not better really, but different. The constant hum of wind whipping through his ears is replaced by dead, eerie silence. Actually, the silence itself was just as disturbing. The sound of Eno's feet grinding sand was replaced by the hard crack of glass. Black, glossy, jagged, volcanic glass.

Uneven, broken canyons and valleys of obsidian stretch out before the undead soul. Where there might have been trees, spires of the same substance as the ground jutted upwards in slanted formations. The land was truly dead here. Whatever this was, whoever created it must have been a powerful entity indeed.

That was something the ex-hand always wondered; what sort of mind does it take to put all of this torment together? As Eno pondered, he grunts, his eyes opening in shock. A particular piece ends up cutting into the sole of his foot, reopening the raw skin and pouring his life out onto the glossy surface. Sharp throbs of pain now accompany the poor spirit on his journey. Just what the man needed, another injury to add on to his already fading soul. How much could his spirit continue to take? There has to be a breaking point eventually.

The occasional ember of nuclear green matter drifts down before melting against the ground. The sky itself, emitted this hauntingly green glow that shimmered and moved like an aurora. That light that reflected off the glossy black ground, complets the effect of sick hopelessness. What was all this, really? Eno could not guess as to what horrors might reside here. Should the weary traveler continue on, or should he turn back?

The spirit ponders this for a moment, looking over his shoulder. The 'safety' of the desert was so far behind him that Eno couldn't see it. So, he turns his attention forward, and proceeds. Nothing left to do now, after all. If he's going to fade into nonexistence, then he can at least choose to do so moving. Again Eno fills his thoughts with those of his friends to try and circumvent his growing paranoia.

First thing he was going to do was come crawling back. A foolish thing to do, but after everything that happened between them, they had to at least give him a chance, right? Eno would even become friends with Reina's mother. She seemed a kindred spirit of sorts. She'd always set aside time to take measurements just for him to make sure his clothes would fit properly and provide him comfort. That's something that the ex-hand did appreciate, and he'd show her that in the form of silver which she would vehemently refuse. Though, aside from her making his clothes, there wasn't much said between them other than 'hello' or 'see you later.' She deserved more than that, they all did.She even came with Reina to visit Eno in the clinic when a colt bucked him off his feet.

Eno lifts a hand and strikes his forehead. 'No depression, keep your spirits high. This world cannot have me.' Fredrick, that was another one he would have liked to see more of, a wild wolf among sheep he was. Even when the two had a large gap in sword skill, he always tried to best him in sparring matches. While Fred couldn't keep up, he still made for excellent sport, and he'd always come back better than before. Sure, he was thickheaded and didn't like to listen, but the ex-noble liked him, even considering the occasional cheap shots during fights.

The spirit grumbles to himself. Okay, okay, enough of Fredrick. Brenda the Wench? Well, moving on. Mary? Yeah there was a woman he could think about. She scolded him to the pits of hell and back. In fact, she thought he was one of the biggest idiots to have come from a womb. But hey, she did make him feel at home from time to time, that was something. And also, despite her insults, she always had a smile when he was around, except when she didn't. Which was whenever Eno did something stupid.

He furrows his brow and growls to himself again, giving off a low, echoing thrum. Okay, moving on again. Diana? If annoyance were a sin, she'd be in this place with him. She drove him up the goddamn walls with her constant inquisitions, and her loud obnoxiousness. But for some reason, Eno liked that about her. There was a contradiction: everything he hated about her is why he liked her. Even that bat-screech of a laugh that she produced ever other sentence. He would definitely need to spend more time with her, he could use more laughter in his life. Yeah, that's what he'll call it: Diana Therapy.

And then, there was Reina herself. Well, what about Reina? Unfortunately, doubt was starting to rouse its ugly head concerning her. When he professed his 'love' it was rather hasty, out of the blue, and last minute. At the time he was in the process of being speared through the gut by a resistance member and falling off a cliff. Emotions were running high. Did she really meant it? Did HE really mean it? And hey, the fact that he made a full recovery from it was a feat in and of itself, but for the thought of love to be brought into it as well?

Come on, Eno, you're supposed to be driving yourself forward, not back.

He shuts his eyes and bares his teeth, angry at shooting down his own thoughts. Because of that, paranoid has returned anew. He could not dwell on that for very long however. The sound of rushing water echoing in the distance would see to that.

“No, no it isn't possible.” Eno mutters. To him, it has to be this place playing tricks on him. But, he would have to open his eyes eventually. Willing to gamble on just what the source of that noise was, he casts a glance over in its direction.

A green, glowing flake drifts down into his field of vision. With no more light to follow, wouldn't the best idea be to seek out any source of water and follow it? That's exactly what the ex-hand believes. Even if it wasn't real, it was something he has to take into consideration. Taking a look at his surroundings in all directions, he sees nothing but black glass, the same thing he's seen for the last few hours. Arches, pillars, stalagmites twist from the ground at random intervals. If nothing else, curiosity would get the better of him. It's really against his better judgement, what with the fiasco with the ink creature still fresh in his mind. For all Eno knew he could be walking into another incident. If there was anything he knew, is what the nature of this blasted land that he's been condemned to is one of perpetual torment and disappointment.

But alas, this is his world for the time being...

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
Level I: 0/0EXP
Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
Level IV: 0/75,000EXP
Level V: 0/120,000EXP

Eno

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Munny : 1123

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

Post by Eno on September 16th 2014, 6:10 am

(For those looking to see the continuation please click here)

___________________
Eno's Theme

Speed of Light

Eno Vale
Level I: 0/0EXP
Level II: 15,000/15,000EXP
Level III: 19,739/40,000EXP
Level IV: 0/75,000EXP
Level V: 0/120,000EXP

Eno

Post Count : 352
RP Words : 0
Munny : 1123

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Re: Break the Limit (Open Within Reason)

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