Post by tokoz on Sept 4, 2012 18:13:50 GMT -5
Bran's footsteps echoed against the walls as he walked deeper into the darkness of Shibusen's Labyrinth. He continued walking, mentally following the route that he had taken when he first met Mocha and Laurent down here a while ago. His eyes flickered over a doorway, then settled back onto it.
Bran slid in, and swung the door shut, lighting a candle. He looked around. The room he had entered was small, around four times his arms length, and had a perhaps 8 foot ceiling. More importantly, it was quiet. He laid the candle down, sitting facing the door. He removed his backpack, fishing around for one of the sandwiches he had brought.
He chewed on it quickly, putting his pack in the corner, and moving to the center of the room. He finished the sandwich, and lay down, his body resting against the cold stone. He slowly let out his breath,and as he began rhythmically breathing in time with his heartbeat, suddenly deafening, he reached over, and snuffed out the light.
The sudden blackness caused him to catch his breath for a moment, but he soon relapsed to his breathing. Bran closed his eyes... and transformed into his weapon form. The darkness of the room was seamlessly transitioned into that of the void. Bran glanced around, his body glowing a dull red. He turned a few times,before exhaling, and closing his eyes once more. With that, He dived into his soul.
As Bran opens his eyes, the sudden burst of light startles him, bringing on a fit of blinking. As his eyes adjust, he looks around. He has been transported to a hilltop, sitting in the middle of a grassy glade. The flowers and grass wave, and the sun beats down. It appears peaceful, Idyllic. Bran looks around again,awed. And then confused. This is my Soul? THIS is what sits inside me? BULLSHIT! I'm a weapon! I'm a Berserker! This isn't me, I... What the Hell?
As Bran yelled, and his temper rose, the ground around him shuddered. The flowers were crushed by unseen hooves, the ground scarred by the blades of invisible warriors. As the sky roiled, having faded in the black smoke and cries of a unseen battle, Bran stared, aghast.
The idyllic scene before him had transformed,twisted into a battlefield. And from the ground, at the edge of his elongated shadow, blood welled up. It spurts from the ground, and twists, writhing up into the shape of a fully armored warrior. His body is composed of a maelstrom of whirling blood, and a great anger seems to radiate from him.
As the last drops whirl into place, his chest split open. Three Eyes glare at Bran, and the pupils cause him to step back, shocked. Each eye's pupil is a soul. The two on the sides are bloody red, the Kishin eggs he had defeated. The one on the right appears to have a fishhook inside, and the left-most one contains a miniature lance. The middle one, however, glows a soft blue.
Bran and the knight stare at each other for a while, before Bran finally speaks. Who... No. What are you? The knight looks at Bran, and finally speaks. You. I am the Raging Blood. The personification of your rage, of the Berserker that resides within you.
Bran nods slowly, and stares at the knight. Then you know what I'm here for. The knight merely stares. The three eyes on it's chest blink shut, and the trio of souls float into being around his hand. "The Path of the Berserker is that of death. Of Destruction. You know this. But the only way you will ever master your rage is to understand it. You have kept it at bay, holding it at the edges of your consciousnesses. You have used it,yes, but only sparingly. Thus, it bleeds through, into your everyday life. You see it, but you do not accept it.
The knight brings his hand forward, and the three souls fly out, sinking into the ground. "These three souls have been resting here, unable to be fully consumed due to the chaotic layer of rage that has built up on your soul.Fight them. The Rage is you, and you are it. You fear it will consume you. Foolishness. One cannot consume one's own soul.
Bran jumps back, as the two Kishin Egss he had fought before rise from the ground, their forms merely red outlines around the floating souls. The Dark Weapon raises his arm, lance spinning, and dives at Bran, as the Demon Fisher whips razor lines toward him. They may be apparitions, but as the line slices his cheek, it's apparent they can, and will hurt him.
"One last thing. These souls? Unless you defeat them,absorb them truly... they will tear your soul to pieces. You will die.Painfully."
With this parting word, the Raging Blood sinks back into the ground. Bran grits his teeth, and kicks forward, knocking the Dark Lance off. The fight for his life would not go easy, it seems.
With a growl, Bran enters his rage state. But it felt... different. He still felt the rush of adrenaline, still grinned savagely as his spear hand connected with the shoulder of the Lance, but he didn't feel quite as... real. With a start, it dawned on him that while his mind might be in a Berserker state, his body was not.
He had little time to mull this over, however, as the Demon Fisher's lines had managed to wrap around his feet. Before he had even fully registered this, he had grabbed the line,yanking the soul toward his, and then thrusting forward, shoving his spearhand into the oncoming beast. His hand sunk in deep, but the victory was short lived. The Egg laughed, and whipped it's wires around his arm. It kicks off, tearing the flesh on his arms. But it didn't hurt. He could feel it, but it didn't hurt. Bran stared at his bleeding forearm.
This was it. The path of a true Berserker. Feeling neither pain nor fear. Giving the all of the fight to the destruction of the enemy. Bran began to laugh, as the two souls whipped toward him, and as they jumped, he threw his head back, and howled. A guttural howl, one that ripped the skies. As the souls descended on him, suddenly, he wasn't there. He had jumped, speeding into the air past the two. His hand wrapped around their necks, and as his ascent slowed, he swung his legs toward the sky.
The brutal impact of hitting the ground reverberated through Bran's arms, shaking droplets of blood across his chest. He ignores it, slamming the two souls into the ground again and again. The sight of the two faces being beaten, bloodied, the souls starting to come apart at the seams caused not a flicker of emotion to cross Bran's dead face. His eyes the only marker of his true feelings, as they dance with a hellish fire, a rage so terrible it blocks out all else.
The Kishin Eggs attempt to slash at him, to cut him, stab him, but as the slamming continues, eventually they stop moving. After a long while, Bran stands. The two souls lie nearly in tatters. Bran reaches down, and wrenches the Dark Lance up. He turns on his heel, and brings the weapon down into the Demon Fisher's chest. The spectre fades, it's remains blown into the wind,vanishing into the surroundings. With that,Bran straightens.
During the entirety of these goings on, the third soul had simply been watching. Travis McGregor, a blue spectre now, stares at Bran. The two old friends look levelly at each other across the plains. Bran eventually speaks. "My Guilt. That's the last barrier I need to cross. I still blame myself for what happened. Yes. it was my fault. But I didn't know, and I did everything I could to save you. In the end, when you died, I ate your soul, hoping to see you one last time."
"I don't Blame you. You couldn't have known.What you've put yourself through has more than balanced the scales. But Bran, My old friend.... when you ate my soul, It did more than keep a piece of me inside you. It let something else in." Travis slowly stepped to the side. Beneath his feet was part of a bloody-hued stone. The rock looked out of place, in the meadow once again bright and calm. But it was clear what it was. A giant sideways eye was slowly pushing out of the ground. The outlines of the other two could just barely be made out.
Bran nodded. "Good luck, Bran. At some point, you'll have to face the music of the Madness. I just hope you're strong enough to win."
Bran stares straight ahead, as Travis slowly dissolves, and the Dark Lance in his hand sinks down over his wrist, settling on his arm. "So do I."
Bran slid in, and swung the door shut, lighting a candle. He looked around. The room he had entered was small, around four times his arms length, and had a perhaps 8 foot ceiling. More importantly, it was quiet. He laid the candle down, sitting facing the door. He removed his backpack, fishing around for one of the sandwiches he had brought.
He chewed on it quickly, putting his pack in the corner, and moving to the center of the room. He finished the sandwich, and lay down, his body resting against the cold stone. He slowly let out his breath,and as he began rhythmically breathing in time with his heartbeat, suddenly deafening, he reached over, and snuffed out the light.
The sudden blackness caused him to catch his breath for a moment, but he soon relapsed to his breathing. Bran closed his eyes... and transformed into his weapon form. The darkness of the room was seamlessly transitioned into that of the void. Bran glanced around, his body glowing a dull red. He turned a few times,before exhaling, and closing his eyes once more. With that, He dived into his soul.
As Bran opens his eyes, the sudden burst of light startles him, bringing on a fit of blinking. As his eyes adjust, he looks around. He has been transported to a hilltop, sitting in the middle of a grassy glade. The flowers and grass wave, and the sun beats down. It appears peaceful, Idyllic. Bran looks around again,awed. And then confused. This is my Soul? THIS is what sits inside me? BULLSHIT! I'm a weapon! I'm a Berserker! This isn't me, I... What the Hell?
As Bran yelled, and his temper rose, the ground around him shuddered. The flowers were crushed by unseen hooves, the ground scarred by the blades of invisible warriors. As the sky roiled, having faded in the black smoke and cries of a unseen battle, Bran stared, aghast.
The idyllic scene before him had transformed,twisted into a battlefield. And from the ground, at the edge of his elongated shadow, blood welled up. It spurts from the ground, and twists, writhing up into the shape of a fully armored warrior. His body is composed of a maelstrom of whirling blood, and a great anger seems to radiate from him.
As the last drops whirl into place, his chest split open. Three Eyes glare at Bran, and the pupils cause him to step back, shocked. Each eye's pupil is a soul. The two on the sides are bloody red, the Kishin eggs he had defeated. The one on the right appears to have a fishhook inside, and the left-most one contains a miniature lance. The middle one, however, glows a soft blue.
Bran and the knight stare at each other for a while, before Bran finally speaks. Who... No. What are you? The knight looks at Bran, and finally speaks. You. I am the Raging Blood. The personification of your rage, of the Berserker that resides within you.
Bran nods slowly, and stares at the knight. Then you know what I'm here for. The knight merely stares. The three eyes on it's chest blink shut, and the trio of souls float into being around his hand. "The Path of the Berserker is that of death. Of Destruction. You know this. But the only way you will ever master your rage is to understand it. You have kept it at bay, holding it at the edges of your consciousnesses. You have used it,yes, but only sparingly. Thus, it bleeds through, into your everyday life. You see it, but you do not accept it.
The knight brings his hand forward, and the three souls fly out, sinking into the ground. "These three souls have been resting here, unable to be fully consumed due to the chaotic layer of rage that has built up on your soul.Fight them. The Rage is you, and you are it. You fear it will consume you. Foolishness. One cannot consume one's own soul.
Bran jumps back, as the two Kishin Egss he had fought before rise from the ground, their forms merely red outlines around the floating souls. The Dark Weapon raises his arm, lance spinning, and dives at Bran, as the Demon Fisher whips razor lines toward him. They may be apparitions, but as the line slices his cheek, it's apparent they can, and will hurt him.
"One last thing. These souls? Unless you defeat them,absorb them truly... they will tear your soul to pieces. You will die.Painfully."
With this parting word, the Raging Blood sinks back into the ground. Bran grits his teeth, and kicks forward, knocking the Dark Lance off. The fight for his life would not go easy, it seems.
With a growl, Bran enters his rage state. But it felt... different. He still felt the rush of adrenaline, still grinned savagely as his spear hand connected with the shoulder of the Lance, but he didn't feel quite as... real. With a start, it dawned on him that while his mind might be in a Berserker state, his body was not.
He had little time to mull this over, however, as the Demon Fisher's lines had managed to wrap around his feet. Before he had even fully registered this, he had grabbed the line,yanking the soul toward his, and then thrusting forward, shoving his spearhand into the oncoming beast. His hand sunk in deep, but the victory was short lived. The Egg laughed, and whipped it's wires around his arm. It kicks off, tearing the flesh on his arms. But it didn't hurt. He could feel it, but it didn't hurt. Bran stared at his bleeding forearm.
This was it. The path of a true Berserker. Feeling neither pain nor fear. Giving the all of the fight to the destruction of the enemy. Bran began to laugh, as the two souls whipped toward him, and as they jumped, he threw his head back, and howled. A guttural howl, one that ripped the skies. As the souls descended on him, suddenly, he wasn't there. He had jumped, speeding into the air past the two. His hand wrapped around their necks, and as his ascent slowed, he swung his legs toward the sky.
The brutal impact of hitting the ground reverberated through Bran's arms, shaking droplets of blood across his chest. He ignores it, slamming the two souls into the ground again and again. The sight of the two faces being beaten, bloodied, the souls starting to come apart at the seams caused not a flicker of emotion to cross Bran's dead face. His eyes the only marker of his true feelings, as they dance with a hellish fire, a rage so terrible it blocks out all else.
The Kishin Eggs attempt to slash at him, to cut him, stab him, but as the slamming continues, eventually they stop moving. After a long while, Bran stands. The two souls lie nearly in tatters. Bran reaches down, and wrenches the Dark Lance up. He turns on his heel, and brings the weapon down into the Demon Fisher's chest. The spectre fades, it's remains blown into the wind,vanishing into the surroundings. With that,Bran straightens.
During the entirety of these goings on, the third soul had simply been watching. Travis McGregor, a blue spectre now, stares at Bran. The two old friends look levelly at each other across the plains. Bran eventually speaks. "My Guilt. That's the last barrier I need to cross. I still blame myself for what happened. Yes. it was my fault. But I didn't know, and I did everything I could to save you. In the end, when you died, I ate your soul, hoping to see you one last time."
"I don't Blame you. You couldn't have known.What you've put yourself through has more than balanced the scales. But Bran, My old friend.... when you ate my soul, It did more than keep a piece of me inside you. It let something else in." Travis slowly stepped to the side. Beneath his feet was part of a bloody-hued stone. The rock looked out of place, in the meadow once again bright and calm. But it was clear what it was. A giant sideways eye was slowly pushing out of the ground. The outlines of the other two could just barely be made out.
Bran nodded. "Good luck, Bran. At some point, you'll have to face the music of the Madness. I just hope you're strong enough to win."
Bran stares straight ahead, as Travis slowly dissolves, and the Dark Lance in his hand sinks down over his wrist, settling on his arm. "So do I."