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Post by Anima on May 8, 2013 6:38:37 GMT -8
In the beginning
Principal Authors: Anima
Who can post: Anima
Do you want to recieve critical responses: I have no preference.
Will you be using standard universe rules: Yes.
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Post by Anima on May 8, 2013 14:56:53 GMT -8
Where does one begin a tale of their life? At the beginning, with their earliest memory? Measuring existence by such impermanent frivolties seems... unsavory. And yet, I can still recall a young boy, seated in a wide, white walled room. Splashed crimson, and littered with various appendages, and scral s of charnel. But none of that was real, was it? That was simply what he saw.
In reality, there were two men- taller than him, significantly, but no more so than by virtue of age. Arkanian, very likely geneticists, prodding him with syringes and innoculations, running test upon test, attempting to identify some key factor. Perhaps, if they had asked, he might have told them. He might have been able to help- but that is the folly of man. They take upon themselves, with no shortage of pride, the burden of truth. Even when they live in a world of lies.
But the memory is patched, flawed, broken- just like the boy it once belonged to.
No, life begins with one crucial event. Above birth, above purpose, above understanding. Life begins with truth. Truth- painful, unglorious, and yet, liberating. My truth came for me at the end. There was a boy, defiant and strong of will, until his last moment. With his dying breath, his mind crazed and fully lost, he shouted out curses- ancient, dark, and sinister. He rejected life, even as it rolled back and left his eyes. He rejected the pain that came, wave after wave, crashing down on him.
But still, the pain came. Pain. Suffering. Truth.
That is where the story begins. At the end of one life, and the beginning of something else. Born in the light, and yet, baptized in the darkness. That was the creed, once. That was what we all aspired to. And that- all of it, glorious or tragic- shattered and became illusion. Malleable, insipid, broken- the Code that we once held as law, by no more than a few words and the rolling of a great man's head, was undone.
Injustice? Perhaps. Another lie? Absolutely.
I stand upon the precipice of a new world. One looking onto the horizon for truth, but finding only hope. Only some desparate prayer in the back of a child's mind to cling to. The Harlot, Ashla, who stirs the fetid hearts of men into delusion and rides them into despair, and finally, into the grave. They seek a just patron, and in her, they find euthanasia- a life filled to the brim with lies of love, of care, of equality. There is no justice in her embrace. Only momentary bliss, and then, oblivion.
The Corruptor does not coat his word in honey and drive it forcibly into the mouths of the eager; no- he waits, patiently, for the blinders to be lifted. For the human condition to set in, and for suffering to erode the ego. And when it finally comes to pass, the Corruptor opens his fickle arms and embraces the children in what they know best. Their own depravity. Tell me how this is unjust? Life, in it's truest form, is darkness. Sin, war, pain, and finally Death.
That is what men seek. The darkness just at the edge of their vision, that looms far enough away to assuage their fear of it, warded away by notions of being "the unknown" or "evil." But what they come to learn, in life or in death, is the truth.
All men are evil.
And so, it begins. These words mark the dawn of a new age. A world soon to be swallowed in Darkness awaits. And I eagerly watch, waiting to be the shepherd of a new flock. I am Anima. Jen'jidai. This is only the beginning.
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