When Time Began to Rant and Rage (Open)

[Arden]

When Time Began to Rant and Rage

Open to one. Contains adult themes.

[Arden]

Death is an undeniable truth to most. Some fortunate beings that walk the streets and stalk the highways of the world, however, deny it utterly. They live on through fear, desperation, and ignorance. Others simply live forever. They are destined to see heroes rise, cities fall, and oceans dry and mountains crumble. To live through endless and cycling trivialities is never a blessing. Try as they might, the immortals fall foul of powers darker still than evil’s purest incivility. They do what they can to make each day pass quicker – each night lull them into deeper, dreamless sleep.

Seated at the foot of an ancient shrine, Arden Janelle prayed once more for such sleep to come. He clenched the blade that spoke not, and kept his eyes closed loosely. He wanted to feel the breeze. He wanted to hear the kami’s whispers. He wanted to drift away.

“…<Let me forget,>” he softly said. His voice was hoarse, dry and exasperated by the days that had passed since he last drank or ate. “<Let me die,>” he added.

It was a week since the Komodo, Lord of Conda and Deceiver of the Heavens had fallen. The battle in the palace had cost the swordsman a grave deal. The Olbinians, by now returned home in a wave of glory and piety had saved his life, and the lives of thousands of Akashiman citizens with their dutiful sacrifices. The moment relived itself endlessly in the swordsman’s mind. Try as he might, he could not escape the guilt.

The sakura tree overhead was oblivious to his torment. In the light of a setting, flamboyant sun, its blossoms danced back and forth. Its real counterpart, a thousand miles away was the religious heart of the northern tribes. Paths east, west, north and south lead across a cavernous expanse. A lake stagnated a mile below, crystalline in the light of dragon kami that swirled in the mists below. A single, needle spire of rock held the tree aloft.

“<Not today, Arden-san,>” encouraged a faint voice.

The swordsman bolted upright, bulwark armour scraping and sword rising into a natural defence. Nothing approached on the path ahead. He turned about, feet heavy on the worn steps. At the foot of the tree stood his sister. She wore a kimono that had seen her married, buried, and reborn a thousand times. Disarmed by her appearance he lowered the katana.

“<I…I don’t understand.>”

Sweat rolled down his forehead. His heart rate, though stilled by meditation swiftly rose to a feverish rhythm. His stomach knotted as his mind and body caught up with one another. The tree blurred, and the cooling breeze smelt less of blossom and more of meat, wine, and ramen.

“<The Oni within must not feed on your grief.>” The spectral image faded as the warning echoed about the temple. The paper lanterns in the tree overhead lit themselves.

“<What does that mean?>” he roared.

Iron framed doors formed at the foot of the tree and swung open.

[Requiem of Insanity]

There was a flash of illumination from the iron door, a blackened silhouette against the backdrop. As the figure stepped forwards angelic wings unfolded to stretch outwards, heeled battle boots sauntering one step before the other against the cobblestone way. There was a soft click to each measured step, a grace that belied the deadly lithe movements of the woman. Her hair billowed in the wind, golden locks whipping across her ocean blue eyes. Her armor, resplendent and maintained well, was a crimson color that was darkened and not the natural color of the original hue. Etched across the breast was a single marking of an eye bleeding onto a dagger.

This angel that stood before Arden flexed her fists into two tight balls, knuckles white from holding themselves back like unfed wolves. Her shoulders were tense and coiled, her body not even the slightest bit relaxed. It was as if she was prepared to spring on a moments notice, looking only for the opportunity to do so. A blade of dwarven make, purple leather grip facing the sky as it hung across the belt shined a beautiful gleam across the smile of the ax-head.

She was equal parts radiant and terrifying. Her looks and charm spoke of a deific nature, but her body and mannerisms spoke of a true lord of battle. As it should, for she was the Avatar of Blessed Torture; Catherine Remi.

"At long last I get to meet the Hound," she said more to herself than her foe. Her eyes scanned the terrain, seeing the open skies and listening to running water. She narrowed her gaze upon the Tantalus troupe member, one hand reaching for the ax at her side and pulling the weapon out slowly. She grinned a murderous grin, wetting her lips as her blood began to boil. She suppressed the desire to shed blood, despite how hard it was for her to do so. The base instinct to shed the life force of the man was pounding against her skull.

"Draug was right," she mused loudly to him. "You look like a runt."

Her wings beat against her back, lifting her off the ground as she hovered in place. One hand held the ax at the ready, the other fist flexing open and closed. She grinded her teeth against one another as she listened to the man's heartbeat. The steady booming of a normal heart was different here. His blood ran faster, his heart beating like a drum building rhythm.

She smiled for the start of the battle deciding to have fun before explaining herself to the bloodmage.

[Arden]

Unsettled, Arden turned his blade’s edge to align with his opponent’s neck. Oft one to allow anger its way, the swordsman fought to control the rising temper within. He channelled it down his arm and into the tip of his sword, as old as the Citadel itself, and as vicious and keen to shed bled.

“It is oft the runt that leads the pack,” he said. The metaphor sounded ill at ease in the common tongue, but it served its purpose. He was not going to fall afoul of the virility of the Remi name. “One day, the runt of your litter will be ‘queen immortal’,” he added.

Delicate blossoms continued to spiral down from the sakura tree branches overhead. The rocky outcrop, suspended by bridge and beauty alone continued in isolation of the turbulent war atop its heights. Below, waters sparkled effervescent, containing the souls of kami long dead, and the oni of futures unrealised. The image of his sister, dead and illusory, still burnt bright into his retina.

“As fate has foreseen it wise to pit us against one another, let us honour it.”

With reverence of circumstance, the swordsman prepared his body with minute adjustments and tenses of his lower leg muscles. He tested the weight of his blade, his lithe form flaxen like his hair in the breeze. He bit his lip, drawing crimson with unseen fangs and readying his mind with the scent of blood. There was no care as to why she was here, only that to end this ordeal; she would have to cease to be.

“As I will not get the chance to repay Cassandra-sama for her deeds on That Night, you will do.” His words, heavy with portent, carried the blood down his cheek and in a trail to the arid dirt beneath his silk shoes. Denying her first blood, he leapt upwards and drew his blade in a cleaving arc right to left.

[Requiem of Insanity]

(A few weeks ago)

Screaming echoed in the underground of the Cult. It rebelled and raged, no coherent thought to make clear why the screaming happened. It drowned out the pitiful wails of those being tortured, like the birthing cries of a newborn.

"What the hell is wrong with her!?!" A man screamed, backing away from the room the screams emitted from. Two more men shrugged, frightened glances peering as if trying to see through the iron portal. Another scream echoed and the leader of the three began to pull out keys thumbing through the iron with a clatter settling on one and forcing it into the lock with a click.

The screaming intensified, the iron sound breaker no longer muffling the horrific screeching. The three men looked at the stairs before them, debating until they saw the source of the screams. They all trembled at the sight before them, before the lead gulped. He opened his mouth and spoke softly, and quickly.

"Get the dark mother, now!"

(Present)

Arden had shed his blood in a pre battle ritual. The stark lines across his face awoken a deeper, primal urge within the woman. His attack had registered before, but now it was lost as a red haze gripped her madly. She shook violently, like a hunting dog shackled to a leash rebelling to be free. She tilted her head upwards as if she was pulled by her hair, a wry screech parting her lips as she bellowed to Arden, her face slowly looking back to him with a red tinted glare.

His attack was met head on, her wings beating against the air propelling her forwards. Her ax lifted to meet his blade, the weapons striking each other deafening the serenity of the arena with a thunderclap of metal on metal. She pushed past his strike, her hand coming up like a claw to grab him, but her target was elusive, riding the parry with his blade and sliding away. She turned to face him, her breath ragged and disheveled. She cried again in frustration, her blade lashing out to his with the ax's smiled edge gleaning in the illumination from top to bottom. Her tongue lucked the air quickly, like a snake looking for a meal. Her eyes were wild with an overwhelming desire, her mouth parched and dry.

"Give it to me!" She shrieked, half in desperation, half in madness as she swung the ax down, prepared to run him over with her bulk.

(Permission to bunny granted!)

[Arden]

Bending at the knee, the Ronin fell away from her hellion descent. As she had slipped through his guard harmlessly moments before, he slipped through hers. He bounced, like a blade of grass striking back against a cruel foot, and ran away up the stairs to the sanctuary of the Sakura tree resplendent in bloom overhead.

“To get something in life, <meinu>, you either have to ask, earn,” he turned seditious, “or take it.” There was a rasp to his voice, and a lash of the tongue accompanied his venomous words.

The caldera danced with energy. Beneath the central platform, the temple dais, the crystalline waters danced with life. Kami continued their effervescent dance despite the war raging overhead. The clouds, sullen and sulking overhead continued to broil, threatening rain. The woman’s wings beat as she turned; ready to rise to meet the bloodied blade that had slain beings far greater than she had.

“Why are you really here?”

Questions seldom came more weighted from Arden Janelle’s lips. Gods, quite literally, had fallen at his knees of late. They had fallen because of his actions, not his words. Here he was, bereft of his sister, and the Nekojin Neko – yet entirely holding his own. Anger fell away, a mask shattered by pretence. In a veil of sakura blossoms, discarded idyllically by the tree’s branches, his white robes and high-heeled sandals carried him well.

“More important…,” he added smarmy, “why has the ‘<Kurai Haha>’ sent you, and not come here herself?”

[Requiem of Insanity]

Her reply was to scream at him. His words had not angered her, nor had his actions. It was primal, full of rage as she bellowed incoherent words at the air itself, but Arden merely kept himself away, looking to her patiently awaiting his answers. Her hand trembled violently, the ax in her white knuckle grip lifting up and down in time with her shoulders as she heaved. She took a shuddering deep breath, like she had emerged from water after spending several minutes drowning, and she stumbled forwards, her wings beating against the grass and lifting her up. With a shake of her head the red haze around his eyes vanished, but it was only a small reprieve; the rage would come again, tainting her thoughts and actions.

“I can hear two hearts beating,” she spoke, her voice filled with spite as she let her head lift up and look down upon the hound. She lowered her weapon’s head, pointed in his direction. “You, much like me, feel that carnal desire to shed blood; to lick our weapons clean and spill it everywhere around us. We care not where the blood is shed, so long as it flows.”

She lowered her gaze, narrowing her eyes. “Curious,” she continued, as if in deep thought. “That you resist your urges yet the call so loudly to you.” She touched the ground, looking to the peaceful hill top and gazing over to the tree where she had found him. “I could be your goddess, Arden,” she said with a gleeful grin punctuating her point that she jested with him. “In the name of blood, we could husband and wife. Nothing, not even my mother could stand before us,” She rolled her head to him, her mind at an uncomfortable ease in this serenity. She blinked to Arden, and the rage started to build again, his heart beat like a steady wardrum in her ears.

The red vision was growing once more, and with a snarl she turned to him again, as if she suddenly was aware he had asked her a question. She gripped the leather of her ax tightly, the leather creaking audibly as she appraised her foe. “What I truly want? Why was I sent to muzzle the hound? Why not my mother?”

She bit her lip, eyes wincing as she began to bleed in her mouth. It wasn’t enough to sate her desire to shed blood, but it kept the edge off. She spat the blood wad out and smiled. “My mother is currently in the process of ascending! She now incubates within the womb of Gods, prepared to be reborn as the Goddess of Blessed Torture. As her avatar, I was sent to you, to kill one of the Heralds of the Thaynes who dared oppose her right to divinity.”

She spoke with the weight of authority, as if this mission was clearly all she wanted, but it was a half-truth. There was more here than he realized, more than she even knew was going on. But before either could see it clearly, blood had to be shed.

She lifted herself into the air again, lifting her weapon up and flying forwards, prepared once more to do battle.

[Arden]

“You mistake me for a herald,” Arden hissed.

With a stoic step, he removed himself from an upward arc of the witches’ axe, and spiralled full-circle along the crumbling stairs. His red cloth flashed, and the cherry blossoms overhead accented his grace with a puerile incivility. Nature resented the exchange, even though it was fake…forged of fallacy, and condemned to die when the monk’s folly spent.

“I AM a Thayne,” he roared.

The change was sudden, and with eyes sullen, fangs protruding, the Hound revealed itself to be less a bitch and more a tiger.

“That is what my mother says,” Remi hissed. She stopped her assault, turned murderous, and leered down at the swordsman from the higher moral and physical ground.

“Do you always listen to her?” Arden scowled. Had he the strength of the yesteryears, he would have divided her virile form in half there and then. Greater Oni had died to his blade, what difference did a name make to that legacy? “I’m sorry for you.”

“Shut up.”

“How is it…,” he continued, but he trailed off, wistful. Armour, cherry blossom, and sadistic smile rose up the stairs back to the tree’s embrace and the zenith of the caldera temple. Here, even in the illusory realm of Akashima’s heart, Arden Janelle was keeper and enlightened master. “You are always the bridesmaid…”

Remi knew the end of his taunt and with bloodlust her veil, charged. Her axe, once more, ascended like a guillotine to end a revolution. Arden Janelle finally composed against an onset of bloodlust and vengeance, turned his blade in his grip, and readied to end this pitiful assault of the senses. Time resented its oppressor, and it raged, with Akashima as it's battleground.