Ellipses (Open)

This is the end for all heralders of Light... a voice spoke upon deafened perception.

Isla's made a hard impact with the ground as he arrived from the tear, dirt invading his nostrils and mouth. His sensations burned with confusion and chaos. Pushing himself to his knees on the thirsty earth, his dazed vision began to focus and take in the surroundings. All around him, weapons in disrepair were littered as far as the horizon stretched. His eyes focused on his notebook, which was a couple hundred feet in the distance. It had appeared much further from him and seemed dramatically inconvenient. Standing, he began a staggered saunter (his left leg felt sprained) towards the parcel, trying to collect his thoughts.

This doesn't seem like Firebloom as Sezrix described.. wait. Panic encapsulated the psyche as Isla realized his friend was nowhere around him. They must have separated. What was the last part of the wording, again? Journey's end. Upon this realization, the voiced boomed again, this time not lost on his ears. And then again, it didn't boom. It was extremely loud, but completely silent.

This is the end for all heralders of Light...

Isla froze and scanned cautiously around him for an origin, but even after minutes of inactivity, none was found. Reluctantly, he closed the rest of the distance to his journal, mentally preparing the haiku to send him to Firebloom. Right before he attained it, though, the dairy was swallowed in an inky darkness.

There will be no words to stop the agents of Darkness...

His extended arm began to convulse with pain. The blade of Isla's right manipulating appendage was burned with an amber word that faded into his skin shortly thereafter. Before it did, he made out the phrase.

Curse

You will find that the passenger no longer accompanies your journey. Forward unto your own destiny, Isla...

And then he was alone and injured, stuck in a vast expanse in the middle of nowhere. His solitude allowed for a few breaths before it was interrupted.

About twenty feet in front of him, small, inky-looking creatures delved from the depths of the ground and breached into the third dimension. What another would know as Shadows, Isla knew only as danger. Turning, he began to run on injured feet. He had no idea why - they were simply strange inhabitants, perhaps friendly even. But those ocher eyes struck fear into his very heart, so he ran.

Lightning ran through his leg with each step, but the pain was dulled by his terror. Glancing periodically, he saw them stumble towards him very slowly. But they looked tireless, like zombies from a fairy tale. Isla wondered what he was running to, or why. It was just emptiness ahead. If they were hostile, he was dead. No escape.


One of the rusted weapons glinted with a beam of sunlight that shouldn't have been possible due to the celestial positioning. The scribe had never wielded a weapon before, but now seemed like a better time than ever. Or, the last time possible.

Moving to it, Isla took note that the creatures had merged into a flat state and began to move towards him very, very quickly. Taking one thrust and pull, he relinquished the blade from the ground!...

Well, half of it. The blade was in such bad shape that it had torn in twain. The handle was completely rusted, but the gray-metal blade was about two feet long and pointed, the end similar to a toothpick and the base about as thick as an orange.

He prepared his final stand as the Shadows approached.

The first one lunged from its dark canvas and leapt to the height of Isla's torso, extending its inky claws towards the scribe's fragile heart. A clumsy swipe from the broken blade knocked it away, sending it into a tumble rightward. A few flips sent it into a dead-stop as the black body collided with one of the many Keyblades. Before Isla could celebrate, the other two attacked similarly, except in unison. In lieu of another attack, the scrawny man held the blade horizontally across his chest in a defensive motion. Claws scratched against the metal, chipping away at its already poor state. The one on the left had struck lower than Isla anticipated, and pierced his stomach with the grievous weaponry. The pain was cold and shocking, like being baptized in a pool of dry ice. Taking a step backwards, the scribe tried to clear his head and find a better positioning. He was no warrior, by far.

"Help me!" A strained yell echoed amongst the barren wasteland. Isla was talking to the silent voice, but would accept anything, anyone. He didn't want to die.

There was no answer.

The next few minutes went about the same. The one Isla initially swatted away rejoined the pack, and an onslaught of semi-coordinated attacks followed. He would strike one, block, and receive more damage before retreating. The emotionless monoliths of darkness continued their advance, pushing Isla backwards while they seemed to tire not. Maybe they were undead. His entire body was bleeding from superficial wounds, and his head began to swim with dizziness.

He was without his words, too, not that they would offer any help. No haiku could be uttered fast enough, for sure, and apparently the "passenger" would no longer help him. That had confused Isla, though - he had thought the words were just pulled from the universe so that he could slightly manipulate it. Was he, in reality, drawing power from a deity or guide?

No time to think. But the thought that flashed in his mind when confronted by Gwain flashed again.

Maybe... just a word.

No passenger. No assistance. Just him and a word, right from the "stomachbrain", as Sezrix might have said (probably not).

Isla began writing a word in the dirt with his foot, a thin trail of blood acting as his "ink". A claw shot forth and interrupted him. Holding the broken blade forward, the Shadow was completely ran through by the point. As if it were unaffected, it began to slowly squirm its extended claws towards Isla's chest. Frantically, he kept writing.

I just have to finish before-]

One of the impish manipulators began to slowly drive its way into his chest. Though in an almost blinding amount of pain, he looked down to find the shoddily composed word, and spoke it.

"Light." The words were accompanied by a mouthful of blood as a tingling sensation encompassed his body. Nothing happened. The shadow almost had its greedy grip around his heart.

It was over.

...

Psyper had watched as a horde of heartless showed themselves and overpowered a person that had just fell out of the sky. It wasn't until the man was in the process of being consumed by the darkness did the Nobody spring into action. She had no interest in helping. She had no reason to help, but the heart that was not her own begged her to help the man, even though it didn't serve a single purpose for them, and would only attract attention that she wasn't looking forward to.

Out of thin air, she appeared, standing over the man with a rapier that had neither a scratch nor dent. Her soulless eyes stared down at the helpless man before extending an open palm to him, where a bright beam of light shot out that vaporized the tiny heartless, yet didn't harm the man at all. With her presence known, Psyper raised her weapon, but it was no needed as the tethered heart of dear old Spirit slashed at any of the heartless that dared come close. It was unfortunate the man they were saving couldn't see her savior as she didn't have a form that anyone but the doctor could see. He would have appreciated the effort Spirit put into keeping the little monsters at bay, while all he could see was a woman with a blank smile in a robe of black with a weapon that was raised yet did nothing but watch his broken body.

"The weak should not travel to these desolate lands," she said coldly, squatting down to see the damage he had suffered. A greenish orb appeared in her free hand, and without much of a fuss, she pressed the orb onto the man and ran it through the more vital areas of his body first, closing up the wounds and mending any internal damage he might have suffered. "That will keep you alive for now."

Psyper stood up again, just in time to see more of the dark creatures rising up. "We can't keep them at bay for long. Better find a way to get them to leave you alone before I decide this isn't worth the delays." The nobody slashed horizontally in front of her, cutting through a group of shadows that had escaped Spirit's defense. Psyper was really not active at all in defending this person, but she would strike down any of the shadows that went for her. Those that targeted the man was left to Spirit, and the person, if he could stand back up.

The Power Word's action was delayed. Before Isla could recognize what had happened, who Psyper was, and the condition of his own body, the broken blade flashed an offensive beam of Light. It's image flickered into another one for a moment, and when the Light gave rest the Heartless were gone. Only then did the scribe recognize that his physical state had, for the most part, been restored, and that a new person accompanied him. They stood unnaturally still, as if no breath of life flowed through their body.

"Uh, thanks." The words came out with a few drops of blood leftover from his previous injuries. Taking a dirty sleeve, Isla wiped his mouth clean before continuing. "Who are you?"

A flash of light dispersed the heartless, but she was sure it did not originate from Spirit. Psyper turned around to see the man back on his feet with a functional keyblade. By the looks of it, it was new. She finally found a keyblader, and he happened to be a complete rookie. She was not going to risk having him help her. He would no doubt destroy both of them in the most spectacular way.

"My name is Psyper, though a number of people call me 'murderer.' And my friend, whom you aren't able to see is Spirit. She is the one you should be thanking. I was merely the vessel that brought her here." She looked around, seeing the world as desolate as it used to be. "What brings you here to this barren world?"

Looking at the broken blade, Isla wondered to himself what the form it had taken for that split-second was. It was a strange golden colour, but now it had reverted to its broken, grayish-rust state. He was weary to discard it, especially around someone who nonchalantly took the title of murderer.

"Oh, uh... thanks, Spirit." Isla fell into thought for a moment. "Chance." He concluded.

"You wouldn't happen to know a way off of this world, would you?"

Chance? How unlucky. The nobody huffed in disappointment. It didn't interest her enough to ask for an elaboration. He then asked her if she knew a way out of this forsaken place. She nodded and offered a hand, but kept a firm grip on her weapon.

"You can either keep walking towards a single direction and hope to find an exit, or teleport out of this place. I'm about to move on from this graveyard, and wouldn't mind bringing you along." It was a one-time offer. She cared not for him, but she'd see it as a waste of her effort in saving him when he would simply upped and died.

Well, Isla didn't want to walk. He definitely didn't have a means to leave the planet otherwise.

"I guess I'm going wherever you want to drop me off." He concluded plainly. His hand interlocked with Psyper's in a handshake gesture. Perhaps contact was necessary for transport? Isla couldn't find another reason for the Nobody to outstretch her hand.

Psyper nodded. She wasn't sure where she'd drop him off, but probably a place that's safe. Or at least safer than this place. She didn't say a word, and when her hand was taken, she and the mystery man warped out of this world's existence towards a random world the woman thought of the moment she decided to warp.

[Exit]