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Post by Silver Eyes on Aug 13, 2011 12:12:11 GMT -6
Tomes, recollections and other forms of documentation were not enough to satisfy her ever growing curiosity for her heritage. Amoura slammed another fruitless book shut and placed it back onto the dusty shelf below the living room. She had gone through everything with the word 'Mundus' in it but it wasn't enough; it was history, history and more history.
There was one who may hold the answers: Sparda. Amoura had long feared her heritage, the memories of it all and the possibilities of sinking to the level of a monster. The monster was already here and on a weak leash.
Sparda! Amoura's thoughts shouted in his head, I need to speak with you. There's something I must know and it's important. Very important. I'm downstairs with the books. She patiently waited. |
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Post by Sparda on Aug 13, 2011 12:28:37 GMT -6
In the centre of the ceiling above the Night Angel, a circular platform of energy materialised, roughly three feet in diameter. As it began to descend slowly, it left a dark mist in its wake through which Sparda lowered himself, the floating platform allowing him to drop into the room through his portal.
"Do you know how loud you think, Amoura?" he quipped when he had emerged fully and the portal closed above him. "I had to fight the urge to plug my ears for a moment."
The platform touched the floor and disappeared beneath him, and the demon flicked his gaze from Amoura to the heaving bookshelves around her and back again.
"Now, what's so important as to warrant mentally deafening me?" |
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Post by Silver Eyes on Aug 13, 2011 12:37:28 GMT -6
"I want to know." Amoura swept her hand out to all the books she had gone through, which were great in number, but what she sought could not be found within the pages. "None of these offer what I need. It's all repeating the same thing with history as do all tomes but nothing about what my father was capable of." She lowered her hand and faced Sparda with determination fixed in her eyes. "I've lost the fear of what I could be or what I could do. I want to see him, Sparda. I want to see what my father did."
The fact she addressed him as her father was already a big step in her acceptance. She never acknowledged the relation nor the importance of it; he was just the means to bring about her existence. If she could destroy planets, bring ruin to entire cultures and be the key to the end then maybe his memories will reveal something. If anything she can understand her powers. |
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Post by Sparda on Aug 13, 2011 13:59:30 GMT -6
"I want to know."
It wasn't this statement that caught Sparda's attention, so much as the hardness of Amoura's voice as she uttered it. Whatever she was talking about, the look in her eyes said she believed only he could indulge her and she wasn't taking no for an answer. Confused at first, the demon tilted his head; but as the Night Angel explained herself, he felt a frown of concern and understanding cross his face.
"Well, I can't say I'm not glad you wish to face up to him," came his response. "Acceptance of your heritage will make your steps towards mastery of your demonic power much longer..." The Dark Knight stepped towards Amoura, his closest friend. If all these books and tomes had not given her the information he sought, then he knew full well why she had called him here personally - she wished to see the truth of the matter in his memories, with his blood as the medium.
"Very well," he sighed, pulling off his right glove and rolling up the sleeve of his coat. He extended his right arm, hand bent so as to expose his wrist to the vampiress. "But I warn you; even before my betrayal, he was every bit the tyrant the stories would have you believe. I'm not sure what you may see of my memories, but I can guarantee it won't be very pleasant." |
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Post by Silver Eyes on Aug 13, 2011 14:15:35 GMT -6
Amoura didn't hestitate. After Sparda's explanation, she peeled back her lips to expose her elongated canines and plunged them into his flesh. Warm blood welled from his veins and she swallowed each mouthful she could take in, sparing not a drop.
The memories hit her like a truck.
Amoura fell back while everything came rushing in at once. She didn't take into account of just how old Sparda was but the memories entailing her father came into view at last. Sparda wasn't lying when he said her father was a tyrant, ruthless in his position, but had the mind to ensure he was in charge. Amoura had no idea Sparda was so devout to Mundus. All of his existence was poured into making sure that his rule was followed and that anyone who rebelled was taken care of immediately.
Mundus destroyed cities, wiped out entire populations and all with but a single thought. For her, she only needed to say one word; she couldn't imagine what could be accomplished if it was just with the mind alone.
That was the first of many flashbacks she'll be having from Sparda's memories. Amoura had to force much of it away to give her already taxed mind a break; the effort was like a cracked dam getting ready to burst, though. The vampire gritted her teeth, sat down, closed her eyes and felt it all washing through her again. To say she'll have a headache from all of this was an understatement. |
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Post by Sparda on Aug 24, 2011 12:42:31 GMT -6
Though the flesh around the puncture wounds had ripped from the rough removal of Amoura's fangs when she leapt back so suddenly, Sparda gave only a fleeting wince of irritation at the pain as the wounds healed over almost instantly. He stepped back and watched the Night Angel; that familiar look of distant melancholy, which one always wore when delving into another's memories with such interest, spread across her face as her doubtless overworked mind geared up to start sorting through countless centuries of memory regarding her infamous father.
One memory in particular would rise to the surface...
"Look upon this battleground, Sparda."
Amoura would find herself stood at the lip of a towering, jagged cliff of stone. At the bottom of the two hundred foot drop just beneath her, a wasteland of blackened sand and criss-crossing lava flows stretched out almost to the horizon, filled with milling black shapes as a battle of rarely matched scale raged before them. The stenches of spilled blood, acrid brimstone and roiling lava filled her nostrils.
Glancing down at the lip of the cliff, Amoura would be able to look upon her body; seeing exoskeletal armour, cloven hooves, skull-shaped protrusions from her knees, and a familiar curved sword clutched in her tridactyl right hand. It would take no time at all for the implication of this to strike her: she was viewing this flashback through Sparda's very eyes.
"It's been a long time since we last saw an uprising of such size, my lord," he spoke in response. He glanced over his shoulder and Amoura's sight followed, and as he flattened down his many wings, three floating orbs of seething red energy came into view, suspended in the air just over his right shoulder.
"And it will continue no longer, Sparda," came Mundus' confident retort, resonating from these three spheres of crimson light. "The force they face comprises but the lowliest of my foot soldiers. They outnumber our foe three to one, yet this battle has drawn itself out for three hours and these miserable rebels have stubbornly held their ground. I grow... impatient."
Sparda recognised that dark tone in his master's voice as meaning that new orders were imminent, and he had a good idea what Mundus would require of him.
"What would you have me do?"
"Bring this farce to an end here and now. Take the field yourself and hunt down the leaders of this pathetic revolt. Drag them onto the battlefield and end them in front of what's left of their soldiers; break their will to fight, that you might destroy them more quickly."
Even as his briefing was given, Sparda stepped forward onto the very edge of the cliff. He tensed the muscles in his back, and his six wings unfurled with such force as to cast a deep, resonant boom across the battlefield, heralding the advent of the rebels' ultimate ruin.
"Go forth and destroy, my loyal general."
"It will be done, master."
Sparda's angular mouth twisted upwards into a malevolent smirk as he leaned forwards and dropped off the cliff, catching air upon his wings and diving into the fray. The very air caught alight around his body, a blaze of demonic power raging into being that took the form of a great dragon of flame taking flight above Mundus' devoted harbinger of destruction... |
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Post by Silver Eyes on Aug 24, 2011 14:21:57 GMT -6
Suffering, anguish, chaos, destruction–it was all in these memories and both Sparda and her father delighted in their cause. The leaders were slaughtered, the soldier's hopes drained and he showed no compassion for the helpless. Victory was theirs that day. Amoura and Sparda were no different in this; she had once worked for Mundus, cared little for human life and took it as ordered without question. They were perfect pawns that became "tainted" by a change of heart.
Through Sparda's eyes she saw the terrible power her father displayed in the face of his foes. A bat of an eye, a flick of a finger, a soft sigh–he didn't have to do much to accomplish ultimate destruction. With The Dark Knight by his side he was invincible against any opposition. It must have been a huge loss on his part to not have his loyalties remain. His rule ebbed away.
Everything was rushing in too fast for her to grasp much of it firmly into her mind. Like water through parted fingers, it departed into different portions of her subconscious to be unlocked at a later date. There were flashes of light, battlefields littered with carnage, Sparda in his devil trigger, a look of helplessness in the eyes of dying humans, screaming, clashing of swords, bullets flying. Too fast. Too fast! Amoura grabbed her aching head. Explosions. Drops of blood. Battle cries. Lightning colliding with earth. Mundus creating life; more demons for the battles. The screams continued, her father's laughter boomed through her thoughts.
With a yelp, Amoura crumbled to the floor and just like that, the memories stopped flowing through her. The Night Angel rubbed her left shoulder, winced and forced herself to stand–the tattoo of a dragon head was revealed on her momentarily exposed shoulder. That burning sensation was back, no doubt triggered from all the stress those memories caused. "That's odd. Why did it stop all of a sudden?" |
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Post by Sparda on Aug 24, 2011 16:44:07 GMT -6
Sparda watched intently, a frown of worry forming upon his face, as Amoura grappled with whatever memories she was witnessing most vividly. She was visibly struggling to keep up with it all, wincing and clutching her head, before she finally gave a yell and tumbled to the floor, returned to consciousness. The Dark Knight quickly stepped forward, kneeling and placing his hands upon her shoulders as she unsteadily rose.
He was about to inquire to her mental state when the sight of the tattoo upon her shoulder caught his eye and he studied it for a passing moment. It was a dragon head, and not only had it not been there before as far as he was aware, it was also naggingly familiar...
"Stress, I imagine," came his answer to Amoura's question. "Too many memories to sort through all at once. Your mind couldn't take it, and ejected itself from the flashbacks before it burned itself out."
He peered at her shoulder again. "If I may ask, Amoura, where did you get that..." He trailed off, suddenly remembering where he'd seen it before. Of those three kids he'd fought here in Hallowton a few weeks ago, the short pyromantic demon had borne it.
"That tattoo," he finished. "I know where I've seen it before... You wouldn't happen to know anything about three vigilante kids wandering Hallowton, would you? A vampiress and two demons?" |
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Post by Silver Eyes on Aug 24, 2011 20:05:19 GMT -6
"That would explain it. My mind has been known to reject memories if it becomes a threat. I can't explain it. It's like I have some fail safe. All the memories I obtained through blood goes away for some reason but I know they are in my head somewhe–" Why was Sparda staring at her shoulder? Amoura's brow knitted and from the corner of her eye she saw the source of his curiosity: that dragon tattoo she got from Jenna. Just what was so fascinating about this? Dragon tattoos were common in some areas of the universe. To put it past The Night Angel to get a tattoo was ridiculous since she already had one on her other shoulder in a bizarre likeness of a flame circling around her.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about three vigilante kids wandering Hallowton, would you? A vampiress and two demons?"
Amoura had forgotten that Sparda ran into them. There are some things that shouldn't be known and their fate was one of them. What's more is she felt no regret for taking their lives to further empower her goal to defeat or not become The End. Lying had become too easy for her. "I heard of them, yes, but never saw them. You mean one of them had this tattoo?" She pulled up her sleeve and stared down at the artwork quizzically, "I got this one recently in another city while I was exploring. I'm sure you noticed my constant absence as of late. Saw it being displayed on paper while passing the shop and I couldn't resist." She smoothed the sleeve down, "I like tattoos if they are done correctly and don't look hideous. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure but I won't go doing it all over my body." Question is if he'll buy what she said or not. |
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Post by Sparda on Sept 3, 2011 15:25:43 GMT -6
The look upon Sparda's face as Amoura explained the tattoo was very subtly incredulous. Not only was the fact that it was identical to that demoness' - and in the exact same place on her body - stupidly unlikely to be coincidence, but he also highly doubted that Amoura of all people would sidetrack herself for such a mundane reason anyway.
He kept his disbelief to himself, however. Amoura was quite clearly lying to him; for what reason he couldn't deduce at the moment. Knowing her, however, he conceded that she must have a personal motive for keeping the truth of the matter from him, and it would probably be best to let it go. They had a whole list of more important things to concern themselves with, after all.
His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he was attempting to read her facial expression, Sparda eventually closed his eyes and gave a small shrug.
"Never mind," he sighed in response. "It's not important right now anyway." |
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Post by Silver Eyes on Sept 3, 2011 15:43:54 GMT -6
He was suspicious but Amoura stuck to her story. A wave of relief hit her when she realized Sparda won't be pushing the subject and she made two bad moves when she thought he wasn't paying attention: she let out a quiet sigh and her shoulders dropped. If he was going to let it go then there was no point in keeping her guard up all the time. "I had no idea Michael had so many tomes down here. There's subjects on daemonic magics, ones that we are familiar with including usage of runes and even necromancy. It's interesting." Amoura plucked one of the books off the middle shelf and flipped through the worn pages.
Ever since she absorbed Rowen, she was able to read the languages meant for the necromancer but she won't let that be given away while Sparda was here. A puzzled look crossed her features and she shut the book, "Can't read it, though. It's one I wasn't able to figure out." The hint of the book she held being about necromancy was an image of skeleton on the front. With a shrug, she put it back, "Anyways, I haven't found anything on the Arashi down here. I may have to look elsewhere." |
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Post by Sparda on Oct 2, 2011 13:43:48 GMT -6
He might've been old beyond comprehension, but Sparda most definitely was not senile. He had dealt with enough spies and traitors to be able to read subtle body language - and he knew liars who thought they'd gotten away with it when he saw them. Amoura had made such movements, allowing her shoulders to lower and a faint sigh of relief to escape her lips. Both were sure signs that she thought he'd bought her little story.
His own brow furrowed slightly and he fixed her with a stern look, again reading her expression. He said nothing; his face conveyed plenty of incredulity. After a long moment of staring her down, he turned away, casting a glance over the heaving bookshelves.
"I'll leave you to it, then," he said promptly, mounting the stairs to head back up. As he ascended, he looked down at Amoura once more. "Something'll turn up. It has to."
With that, the demon disappeared. |
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