Cresting in his hand rides the terrible awe of Rainbow Undecimber. In the time it would take for the maid to make her assault, divinity has already smote the creature. Light itself bends into a sword and to the others they see absolutely nothing but the diaphanous edge of a blade, which is solid, not exactly steel, enchanted but real, cleaving through the beast with terrible Almighty cacophony and hordes of flashing color. 

There was no actual silence — the princess of Frosthall felt the cadence of the waves resonate deep into her bones. It invigorated her. The headiness of the moment diffused, Silk’s answer hanging off her lips while it fully formulated. “I’m hopeful for much out here but speaking in candor, I’m only out here in a moment of selfishness.”

He's been here enough to see a hundred different artists come and gone, genres lost and revitalized over time, and in the end of it, music still always found a way to persevere. Whatever way, shape, or form.

Alfie Santoro has always found himself to be a non-believer and a cynic, but if there's anything he'd say he might believe in, it is this.

One way or another, humanity might likely go dancing and singing, all until the edge of the world.

He sank into the emptiness, gripped by thousands of tiny hands extending from the depths. Brutal and bloody, their nails dug into the things that made Killian whole. The memories of his mother. His sister, amaryllis karneva. And the most cherished ones of Alexandra Briarwood he swore to never forget. They tore it all away until NOTHING remained.

She was out of place on the deck in the placidity of the languid loungers and the sunny glimmering overhead amongst an idyllic sprawl of blue behind endless clouds. Sin was an omen, foreboding and nebulous, threatening to pull anyone close into uncertain existence. A macabrely beautiful contrast: the woman's intention was meditation.

"Mr. Saito" (what a dull name) was off duty today, which meant that Cold Case was working today. Which doubly meant that Cold Case was causing trouble today.

...Such trouble, as it so happened, manifests in a young man playing new hire in a bar not far off from a scene of a crime. They don't take kindly to unknown faces—or so, in his experience those that ask too many questions a bit too many times tend to be met with some version of a gun to your head—so, variables. Bar has a sign saying they're looking for new hires. Bar happens to be full of edgerunners. Bar happens to be a few streets away from a second-degree murder. Policemen talk under the right circumstances. Win win!

Ideally.

When you're not being gated out the front by someone who definitely looks more than thrice your size for trespassing the employees only room. But that's irrelevant right now.

Xander inherited many things from his father: good looks, stoicism - money but the professor's intellect wasn't one of them.

That didn't stop him from listening or laughing dryly at the outlandish nature of their situation. Disappearing islands and rips in space-time, an invisible box around Hoenn. Not to mention the meteor heading straight for them.

What chance did he, a mere man, stand at helping anyone?

He likes to think they've wracked up enough heart points for this dynamic to not be completely shot in the water by a few wrong dialogue choices. No worries.

Oh, how Icarus flew before the fall. How he reached for the sun as the wax ran down his back.



Oh, how the pride filled you before the world exploded beneath your hands.

Titania runs a hand against the balustrade, peering down from her cloud into the face of protest. “But it’s said that some of the worst deaths come in the absence of pain—that when a body experiences too much, it simply shuts down that sensation to spare itself the shock.” She imagines herself down there; a baseborn serf or two within her immediate circumference… one minuscule alteration made to her personal gravity and said serf would experience far too much.

“This, of course, begs the question of how much is ‘too much’ in the absence of it.” Titania lifts her attention away from the dotted ants below, swinging its iron back onto a so-called subject of hers, calibrating Gia’s steel with the tenacity of her own. “How deep can a blade go; how many nerves can it sever; how many inches of flesh can it rend?”