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Weightlessness. That was the first thing he was conscious enough to feel
First came his physical self, weaved together and reconstructed by the invisible hands of a doll maker not quite sure how to properly stitch together a tangible shape.The burning in his joints,the way sinew and bone crackled together in nauseating fashion, it was enough for him to feel the urge to vomit if he even had anything to dispose of in his pieced together stomach to begin with. He existed, if only for a few fleeting moments, in an constant state of drowning, oxygen a scarce resource to fuel his aching lungs
The very substance that molded the entirety of his abstract spirit felt artificially injected into the fresh, newly woven together fleshy vessel, caging fire and brimstone into delicate skin. Stranded between oblivion, a sort of itchiness, deeply disturbing in its nature, raked across his welded being with a sort of perversion that would drive a simpler existence into uncontrollable lunacy
He wanted to shed tears but he harbored neither the required moisture in his scorched body nor a sound mind to give such commands, yet the primitive animal that was the fear inside him writhed and thrashed around inside its confines with screams of madness
A gasp
A solid form hit the earth carelessly, not unlike a rag being discarded
He could finally breathe, his ribcage inflating and releasing air so rapidly as if he was a parched fool in front of a merciful oasis
His eyes, blurred by slowly dissipating fog,as he scanned his surroundings in an effort to find reason in this outlandish world. He felt warm, abnormally so, and his quick look around served to explain his blight seeing as pools of lava spread their red streams of peril all around him. The ground appeared charred and the atmosphere thick with ash but he ambiguously held some odd familiarity with it though unable to place a name or tittle to this strange realm
A chocked sound broke him out of his momentary trance, the man engulfed from head to toe in fiery hues swiftly disregarding his quest of studying the elements encompassing his figure in order to trace the origin of the sound. Startled and justifiably cautious, he felt the need to ensure that he wasn't threatened by a fellow monster or, Omnicron forbid, a stupidly courageous human
The form of a rather peculiar man stood before him with such rigidness in his posture that Fona would not be reprimanded for thinking that he was an especially impressive mannequin. The only hints of animation detectable were the slight twitch of his silvery brow and the erratic flaring of his nostrils
His wardrobe was unassuming,dressed in dark pigmentations but his clothing was vastly overshadowed by the majestic coat that draped over his upper half as an insignia of power and omnipotence. The brown fur color, resembling a mighty mane, was shy of featherly grazing his pale,angular visage
It was his eyes, rich in their blue color, that ignited the spark of recognition within his haze. The two slit irises that beheld him with both fascination and bewilderment, that only dared to regard him at a safe distance where the possibility of him vanishing was less probable. His hypothesis was further cemented by the aura that encompassed him like an onerous miasma whose frostiness was only dissipated by the tyrannical conditions serving as their current environment
Metta?
His brother, a masquerading apparition before him, tentatively approached him,similarly to how one would treat a mortally wounded and cornered beast
"Are.. a-re you real?" The man he recognized as his own flesh and blood asked, his hands hovered over his still kneeling form,horrified of the possibility of hurting him, like he was something fragile that would unravel at any intrusion. His eyes lacked their usual sharpness that Fona remembered as signature of him, instead replaced with deep pools of vulnerability
"I-"
He tried to speak,make a sound, anything in order to communicate but his throat was torturously dry. His vocal cords felt like the subject of a particularly cruel virtuoso who strummed the length of a bow across their strings like a perverted violin. His mouth uselessly opened and closed,his eyes prickling with tears at the mere struggle
"Metta?" He choked out the name, rolling every syllable in his tongue,the act of speaking a foreign practice that twisted his jaw.
"Ha" the white_haired man chuckled, though the act was colored with a hollow bitterness dissimilar to the mirth one would commonly associate with the act. Soon he devolved into a frightening fit of hysteric laughter
"IT WORKED!" He yelled suddenly, a shout so piercing that Fona couldn't help but wince. He turned suddenly, the overzealous coat decorating his shoulders following his erratic movements like an illustrious curtain "MALK, IT WORKED, HAHAHHA!"
The person in question only bothered to make a noise akin to an affirmative grunt,displaying complete and utter disinterest at the rather heart-wrenching scene playing out before him. He merely continued fiddling with some large contraption that Fona could tell was quite recently used based on the immense and artificial heat he could sense emanating from it. The freshly reawakened tyrant was alarmed and befuddled at first at the sight of this supposedly human being present in the vicinity along with them but, from what little context he had been provided with, he appeared to have formed a sort of allyship with his sibling
The fact only led to a dozen more questions but he had half a mind to comprehend any of them. However, he dared not consider his choice of recruiting a deplorable simian vermin questionable given that he himself would not hesitate to call the essence that the scruffy-looking man rather alien. A way the fiery tyrant would scout his prey was by the comforting warmth a living being emitted but the mimicry before him radiated the oppressive rigidness of a decaying husk and the air surrounding him like an invisible aegis was bustling maliciously with electricity
Seemingly finished with whatever was capturing his attention, he spared him with a passing glance,face fixed with a permanent scowl of scrutiny. Fona couldn't make out his eyes obscured by his round,mousy glasses but he could sense the discomfort of being picked apart visually as a subject of interest, an experience both embarrassing and demeaning
"It could certainly be improved" he muttered, the clinical detachment in his voice successful in further expropriate the kneeling man. It was almost comical how an entity so deeply associated with hellish temperatures could be moved to shivering under the detached gaze of some anthropomorphic anomaly
Metta responded with a displeased scoff as he clicked his tongue,his previously presented mania muddled but definitely not erased completely
"I'm fully aware" he said, not without a hint of venom in his tone "I would much prefer that you don't poison our achievement with your cynicism, I have no use for your attitude. Use that energy on productivity or simply keep your rancid tongue in that mouth of yours, partner" he dragged the last word out with disgust comparable to a person who had deal with mud beneath his feet. Like it appalled him still
The third son of omnicron didn't feel much confident himself when he once again became the matter of inspection
"Grovel all you want" Metta muttered, continuing his tirade against this Malk (who looked totally unimpressed, all things considered), as he shifted towards Fona, his form casting a shadow over the debilitated soul
"Not every useless existence can claim that they have attained the art of resurrection"
...
What?
How inconceivable of a statement
He-
Fona could vaguely recall how he was in hot pursuit of some young,blond-headed buffoon that dared challenge him but ,beyond that, the visuals in his head were greatly fragmented and disjointed. However, even with his mind swimming in rivers of amnesia, his body flared with gruesome knowledge. The sensation of adrenaline coursing through him with murderous intent, the unnatural flash of fear that fogged his reasonable facilities,the horrible,stabbing pain in his chest-
Did he..die?
It was insane to conceptualize,audacious even. The great general of blazing infernos bested by a mortal creature so lowly it would be blasphemous to compare the two. How could he have been slain when he vividly holds memories of a world showered in fire and stone of his own design where every member of their kind was his lawful servant? Was that a fictive creation of his rotting,delirious mind?
It couldn't be, could it?
Disqualifying the obvious detail that the youngest of their ilk was wailing in his weak embrace, the environment around him was unidentifiable.The oxygen that pumped his lungs felt different, the scents and fragrances in the air foreign to his senses. The world he thought himself acquainted with had shed its skin and was riddled with sickening unfamiliarity that roused a primal sort of discomfort to settle beneath his very being
The beginning of a migraine started crawling at the edges of his already panicking brain. Fona shut his eyes in an rather pitiful attempt to chase the ailment away
"For how... how long?" He croaked out in a fit of struggle,voice empty and distant as the reality of it all sunk in.His hands uselessly dangled at his sides as if the realization had sapped whatever minimal strength he had regained upon his supposed rebirth
"For too long, brother" Metta responded, a concoction of hopelessness and blooming ire coloring his words, his hold of him tightening to an uncomfortable degree,body still shaking violently "Too long"
"Come" he beckoned him, one glove-clad hand reaching out to aid him. Fona clutched his arm like the appendage was his only saving grace in this hostile,novel macrocosm, standing up on shaking legs that were just about ready to fold like a castle of cards. It was then when uncertain,crimson eyes were met with the unfamiliar acrimonious coldness that now appeared to permanently reside in the youngest's own icy gaze
Like he had lost something. Like he had lost himself. Fona was not proud in the fact that he was in reality hardly intimate with the last of his brethren but even the little knowledge that pieced together an image of the white-haired man before him could make it evident that he wasn't quite... there anymore
How long,brother? How long since we parted? How lonely was eternity?
"We have much to discuss"
Metta offered him a comforting smile but the concept was as illusionary as the life he thought real while long dead