In a cataclysm known as the Nightfall, the worlds were almost completely destroyed by a harrowing surge of darkness.
In the shadows of the ensuing chaos a new group has taken shape. Led by an Aegyl named Kalos, the 11th Hour touts an esoteric knowledge of how to combat the darkness and restore the worlds. They might be the worlds’ best chance at survival; but nobody really knows enough about them to confirm or deny their claims.
On the brink of collapse, the universe holds its breath in anticipation. Of restoration? Of destruction? It is up to individuals like yourself to decide.
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She had her eyes shut tight, arms still up in a guarded position when a fuzzy, tickling sensation made its way down her stomach. That frost blue gaze shot down in time to see her feet re-materialize. Okay, this was definitely strange... What in the worlds just happened?
The tingling had stopped, but her clothes had become noticeably more grey. Purple glyphic markings were strewn about her entire body. Odd, yes... But at least the colors matched. Sort of.
It took mere seconds for her surroundings to seize her attention, and she glanced curiously at the cell that held her in. This room was most definitely -not- the one she'd walked into. If she didn't finish her job, Ansem would be ticked. But... how exactly was she supposed to get out of here?
Now, it should be fairly obvious that something like this doesn't happen without someone, somewhere sitting up and taking notice. In this case, that someone was Tron.
By the same token, the intruder - whoever they were - was trapped in one of the holding cells, and Tron was particularly preoccupied with a surge of Heartless at that particular moment. He couldn't afford the spare cycles to go and investigate right at that moment. Instead, he made certain that the terminal in that cell did not have access back to the castle, and that the door was securely locked. The only person he had known to get through that door while it was locked was Sora, and the key wielder wasn't even on the world at the moment.
((Alright, some OOC notes. Tron's gonna be busy for a bit, since I assume Ansem was smart enough to have some kind of a distraction while the rest of this was going on. As for getting through the door, it can be taken out with sheer brute force if Era tries hard enough. Returning power to the terminal isn't likely at all, not without getting to the canyon - in other words, doing what you had to do in KH2 the first time you visited Space Paranoids. As for actually perpetrating some sabotage, well... depends on exactly what she's looking to do.
In any case, I'll be running the environment for now, with Tron only coming in if necessary to move the thread along. I figure Ansem probably has enough swarms of lesser Heartless to distract Tron and the RGRUC for a while.))
((Ansem's Report: Should this have progressed without the delay, it would have more coincided with Ienzo's wandering of the Garden in other threads. Since that one has gone on for some time now, additional groups of Heartless (Neoshadows and the such), small in number, have been dispatched and cropped up in outer-city regions. All intents and purposes are such that it would appear there are threats to be dealt with, but not a proper distraction, just random Heartless attacks, only slightly more regular than normal.
The pulsing light dancing across the cell, sweeping across her body, had temporarily intrigued her. It was strange, but sort of interesting. While blue had been the primary color in this cell, her color was a nice shade of purple, glowing and fading in a calming rhythm. Neither blue nor red, for her path was neither good nor evil. Instead, the light was a mixture of both. And it was ever so --
--Wait, she had to get back to her mission, or face the minced-meat consequences!
Her eyes snapped upward and she again set sight to her particular confinement. There was a computer. Maybe it would help? Well, the only way to find out was to check, right?
Closer examination of this foreign design had proven that it was dead. The small, orange-haired Somebody began to check the front, sides, back - any surface she could find. Maybe a cord was unplugged?
This, however, was not the case. This machine didn't even have any plugs. How baffling! Okay, so it was time to move onto plan B.
She began to hit random keys along the keyboard. Nothing. Maybe beating it would work? A few thorough whacks to its sides, however, accomplished zilch.
With a heavy sigh, the female's icy eyes scanned her surroundings again. The only other option was a rather large door. It seemed the most improbable method of escape. Besides, what if guards were on the other side? Then again, what did she have to lose?
With the previous thought as her motive, Era focussed her attention, closing her eyes and preparing her hands. A few seconds and a flurry of inverse sparks later, and she'd pulled her Soul Reapers into the physical realm. The blades of hardened shadow went straight to work, slamming and slicing at the boundary that kept her in.
She would resort to kicking, punching, slicing, body-slams; as much as she could muster before her energy had been drained. It was either her or the door, and just imagine the embarrassment of losing to an inanimate object!
It's not like the door was trivially built. It was a big, sturdy thing, very good at keeping things on one or the other side of it, and not allowing access. It was almost as good as a wall.
Almost being the operative term. It was not without its weak spots. A few lucky blows to the edges and it was seriously weakened. One body-slam later and the door was down on the ground, momentum taking Era down with it.
((Winner: Era!))
Whenever she regained her senses, she'd see that she was in a long corridor, of similar appearance to the room she just came from. There were many doors on one side of it - apparently entrances to cells like the one she had just come from. Whatever she was looking for, it wasn't here.
What was here, though, was a guard. He'd been curious about what all that pounding noise was, and had approached to investigate. Still, he was rather shocked when someone had literally broken down the door. For the moment, he was just standing there, dumbfounded.
The small female tumbled to a stop as the door gave in. She wasn't quite expecting that, though with all common sense, she should've been. Those dusty, ice-colored eyes quickly took in the immediate outside world, picking out some sentient being that had come to inspect the ruckus. He was in a temporary stupor: a tool she could use to her advantage.
If the guard had shown aggression, she'd have defended herself, but without it, there was no need to make the residents of this world angry with her. Maybe they could both just be on their way? Peaceful crossing perhaps? Okay, the idea was pretty far fetched. He'd probably just want to stick her back in the cell, so she did the next thing that came to mind, and hustled out of there. Her feet quickly carried her down the long corridor. Doors, doors, doors... But what was at the end? An intersection? A dead end? More guards? She was about to find out.
((I hate to nag, but since this is kind of a detrimental thread, could someone contact CG and see if he can give us an update, or worst case scenario, a mod/staff member help out with Tron? This thread has been going on three months with little to show for it, and it's kind of a big deal. >.>;)
Doors, doors, doors... But what was at the end? An intersection? A dead end? More guards? She was about to find out.
Or was she?
Collision with an invisible wall sent her stumbling backward, head reeling. The pulses of violet light running across her body flickered, static blinking its way through the misfit color. The AI that made up this world was undboubtedly conflicting with the dark taint that entwined her very make-up.
Tingling sensations broke out in random blotches all over. They tied between an itch and an annoying numb. Seconds later, her artificial body locked in its position. Try as she did, it wouldn't budge. This was either a serious case of lag, or something deeper was going on. From what she could deduce, the latter was the most likely culprit.
Within minutes, she was spit back into the real world: rejected faster than a bitter flavor is ejected from the mouth. Luckily she made it back to reality in working order... Even if her organs were in pain, and for the moment, begged to differ.
Ansem would not be happy to hear about her failure... but what more could she do? If she tried going back in, it was sure to result in the same outcome. Sure, she could just try over and over until she made it to her destination, but her stomach would be in adamant protest of ever working for her again.
Looked like it was time to move on.
Icy blue eyes checked left, then right to make sure she was still alone, and she made her wily escape. How many days had gone by in the real world during her absence, anyway?
)