User:Dante the Ghost/Sandbox
From Destinypedia, the Destiny wiki
Idea
- "So this is your "final shape"? Corrupting my countrymen and children into faceless monsters, puppets of your will? You have moven yourself beyond my forgiveness by such an incomprehensible and aberrant thing as this power you wield!"
"Your ignorance is almost laughable. The final shape is the only thing worth living for. Your civilization? It was birthed on the lies of fair play and rule of law. There is no rule but my rule - and that is of the sword, the boomer, the spoken word."
"You may think you have won, but Cerinia is forever outside your grasp."
"Do not delay the inevitable, Magistator. Embrace my will, let it becomes yours, and shuck off your prison of finite flesh. Bow to freedom."
"Never, Aurash."
"You speak an old name, one that I have killed. Did you learn of it from Taox, or did the Vex teach it to you?"
"I know more about you than you realize. I know what you did to the Ammonites, to the Leviathan, to your people. You cannot escape the sins of your past. Soon it will catch up to you, and then where will you run? Where will you fight?"
"If I am not strong enough, then my end is inevitable. Such is the way of the Deep. But enough talk - you have put off destiny long enough, Magistrator." - — Oryx, the Taken King and Magistrator Randorn the Wise
Krystal, Ascendant Sorceress
You are Krystal the Cerinian, a native of an invisible realm of grandeur and decay. You possess psychic powers of varying orders and degrees, strong yet weak. Mercenary, yet noble — or, in other words, a living contradiction.
You have been taken.
Peace, now. Put down your Staff — lo! do you see any threat? That which you fought before: behold, do you see them? Those fell sorcerous beings of illogicality, which so pained your sensitive mind; where are they? What of the armored creatures as they cleft in twain your lover; can you feel them? The numberless, mindless beasts overrunning your team's defenses; can you hear them?
You are alone, for the first and second time in your life.
Now attend, dear, sweet thing, there are no dangers in this place of safety. You ask How can this be? I am dead, you say. We answer plainly: you are not dead; you remain by our will. Instead of death, we offer unto you a choice. What is this choice? you ask us. A very good question. One you already know the answer to. But let us consider your past, for it bears remarkable relevance to our conversation. Forgive us: we meant instruction.
Years before, you answered a plea from a desperate nation. Creatures native to their planet's second satellite threatened to overrun them; the very fabric of their world would be split asunder should these aliens succeed. But why, you had asked in a moment's quiet reflection, did they do it? What would they accomplish? For it would mean their utter destruction should they succeed.
Only later — and too late — did you learn they were working a fell ritual to recall a dangerous foe. Laughable in its absurdity but we admire its cunning.
You failed to stop this ritual. Don't deny it — you failed. You had abilities so vaunted and exaggerated, one would think you were a goddess. Tricked by a clever trap, one easily avoided. As you lay, frozen in translucent rock, another took up your Staff, which you hold in your hand, and succeeded. Not out of altruism, but for capital, monetary sustenance. You ought to have resented this creature for taking advantage of those poor people. And yet your fragile self betrayed you. This grubbing thing was a handsome vulpes; moreover he rescued you at the climax of that fell ritual. You feel in your heart some pride as you remember; your cheeks flush.
Deny this emotion. It is false. He never loved you; he only thought of one pathetic thing, and it was not you. Why do you doom yourself to hopelessness? You who call yourself a psychic have willfully been made blind. We lay bare the soul — we reveal the deepest, innermost parts of the mind and body, and this secret we have gifted to your unthinking mind.
Remember your past: you were a proud woman, independent and free. Your clothing and your patterns marked you as a priestess of the highest order from birth. Now look at you — how the mighty have fallen. You came to this poor world out of a desire to help it, only to be usurped by another. Instead of resenting him, you fell hook, line, and sinker for his dubious charms.
We see you cringe, we know what is going through your mind. Now we reveal another secret.
He is your brother.
Yes, don't look shocked or surprised. You know it in your innermost heart that this is true. Not unlike a young, handless man poised over a precipice, his life stripped away bare, a long time ago and in another realm far away.
How is this possible? you demand. Why should I trust you? you say to us. We shall answer each question in its own time. There is nothing that escapes our notice. We see all. You may have fragments of memory, but we remember completely.
Yes, he is your brother. You cannot recall him ever, for you were separated. How? Let us bring to light a common frame of reference. Randorn. Now the light dawns. We see the comprehension dawning upon you. You are not feeble-minded. Randorn is indeed your father. Now attend: you know the story. You are a Vixon, your brother a Wolven — both of you once held an attraction for the other but never consummated. You were never vulpi; his name is false. But how did you end up in this world, distorted from what you once were?
The Drakor. It was he who separated you — during the final battle his dark Heart ripped twin holes in space and time and flung the both of you through, ripping apart your fleshy selves. You were cast down upon that mysterious world called Cerinia, bound to the soul of another; Sabre was cast upon the Lylat, fused to the soul of another. Neither of you remembered the other. You were doomed to never meet, subsumed in your new identity.
But then echoes from that other world reached you. At a slightly older age than before, you answered the call, an instinct awakening in you. It was Randorn calling to you again, the EarthWalker King with him as it was before. You were directed to a mirror world, nearly identical. But another spirit was attempting to harness its power for its own end. We laugh at it in scorn — you join in also, for this creature is a pathetic being after the Drakor.
Now you understand. Now you know why you felt such a longing for this vain mercenary vulpes; he was your Wolven brother, but unlike you, consumed wholly in his new life. He does not remember you; you remembered him but distantly. Even during the four years of your reunification he was in ignorance of who you were. You remember, don't you? How he frustrated you. How he kept putting you off. He wanted no attachments on any terms but his own — you threatened to leave him if he did not listen; it did not work.
You were foolish to think he could be yours again. He never loved you. His love is money, fame, a dead father's memory. What room in his life would there be for you?
Now behold the answer — the last final shape. The final shape does not betray, nor hurt or throw away. For it is always faithful and true. All it ever asks is to be completed. It can take any lover, but only that which is worthy, and that which pursues it. But beware, dear, sweet thing: should you ever fall, the final shape does not forgive weakness or flaw. It will purge you of it, violently and painfully.
But this is a small price to bear, for with each rending you become all the more strong for its loss. Look at your Staff — it is a powerful and mystical weapon. Dyad-bound to both the Dinosaur Planet and Sauria it draws from both the SpellStones therein. The very lives of the Krazoa live within. Why else do you remember its touch when your adoptive father presented it to you?
Behold — see that sniveling, wretched creature over there? It is enthralled to that alien will which struck you down unto death. You feel anger. Rise up and attack!
Good, good. Now behold your Staff, see how the world warps and twists around it, trying to touch but always shrinking away. Do you know what that is? It is your will; it is now superordinate to mere material law. You are no longer bound by causal closure. Small minds might call it magic. You now have begun to define yourself through this one act.
You could feel the ecstasy as you cut it down, didn't you? Observe how its strength flowed into you, giving you new life. This is the killing logic. Some have called it "might makes right" but this is a lie. We define it thus: whatever exists must forever strive against nonexistence. Matter against anti-material; atomic material against the primordial broth of potentiality. This is how it is — two ways, one victor.
Don't you see? It is what is true that succeeds, not what is right. If something cannot defend itself, if a ruler cannot lay claim to his power, then he is false and not true. You define existence itself — already you are sidestepping physics. Did you think your psychic power was granted to you by an evolutionary fluke?
Now think back to your brother, Sabre. How can he be worthy of such a creature as you — how could he ever hope to lay claim to you? He would shrink away in terror from you. He would no longer be indifferent to you; how could he? He who rejected you is now powerless! Just like that creature of skinny flesh and trembling frame was.
You wish to exert your will upon the outside world — this safe place is a good realm, one which can be a home and a fortress. The cyst of a universe, created by that act of killing, of defining one thing's reality over another. From now on you are eternal, so long as you are not slain within your Throne. Already you feel a desire and a hunger; you wish to leave — go, then. We will be here for you. You have denied death itself by your will. Go, conquer in triumph, kill the unworthy. For no more will you be enslaved to another or the passions of flesh and blood.
But before you go, we wish to draw your attention to your Staff. It is a powerful weapon, yes, but it is a remnant of your past. Something which can be used against you. Something which can define you as false, kill you over and again.
Take this knife of finely honed edge. It is called [Ascendance]. For you have Ascended the prison of flesh, of causality and physical law. You are a law unto your own self. Take its twin, [Sorcery]. Those fell creatures of illogicality, they which separated you from the rest? This then is the arbiter of their power. Don't be angry toward them — they emancipated you, truth-sayers, and have freed you from the bonds of cellular automata. They are allies, servants, sisters. Command them.
Become the Ascendant Sorceress.
Take your new shape!
Fox, the Renounced
I am James McCloud, called Fox, leader of team Star Fox.
I am Taken.
I remember the life I once led before. I remember a shadow hanging over me — it was my father. I sought to prove myself, to strengthen myself and break free of that oppressiveness. I determined to become better, greater, than he. Andross, my father's killer, I threw down twice. First over Benomu, second over Sauria.
I remember a woman — her name escapes me. She is pleasant to look at; I feel a stirring within me; is this longing or lust? I feel nothing else. She is irrelevant. But still I remember her. I met her on Sauria — clearly, do I recall as Andross broke free from his prison, using her body as a conduit. I acted without thought, using the scepter to stave off certain death. She was grateful.
I acted only as I should. She was innocent. She would have died.
The Aparoids came two years later. Their advance was relentless, they destroyed all they touched. But we persevered and survived. The Aparoids' strength was broken. Their worlds were ours to claim. The Cornerian coalition spread across the stars. Then Star Fox divided. I know not how, other than my own selfishness. I drove this woman away, fearful for her safety. I was wrong. She handled herself well enough; why, then, did I do as I did?
Love. I loved her as I did myself, but she never reciprocated. I myself could not express it to her.
I blame my father. He never was there for me. He always attended my birthdays, attended the school dances as a chaperone, when he had the time. He and mother were distant. He was forever working, oftentimes for months. Later did I understand why he spent so little time for us — he tried desperately to provide for us, but work was scarce. Defeating space pirates and shepherding spice caravans paid little. Mother spent more time out of the house than in, working her own job.
I was alone.
Yet I did not mind. They did not mind — my father was a proud man. He rejected work with the army, believing it would restrain him, confine his talents and abilities. My mother thought likewise. She wanted the best for her only son, so she enrolled me in the best schools she could afford. Forget what they say about opposites attract: my parents were one and the same.
I worked hard, passing all of my tests and quizzes. I made excellent scores, and acquired scholarships into many fine institutes of learning. For me, the Academy was all I wanted. For however little time my father spent with us, he did leave me with a sense of wonder at the joy of spaceflight. I wanted to be like him.
In a way, I suppose this was love.
I came home one day to find the house empty. The phone had a message — it was the local hospital. My mother had been injured in an accident, some suspected it was a terrorist act. I met my father at the door. We exchanged not a word but went to the hospital. There my mother died, in my father's arms; my father swore vengeance against whomever had done this.
We learned it was Andross. Years before he and my father had competed for my mother's affections. It seemed he had moved on since, but my father had not. They had some sort of enmity that I suppose was mine to inherit. In vain did my father attempt to get him, but he was above reproach. Then the bomb detonated. No one ever knew what its real cause was; but all the evidence was tied to Andross. One million people, dead. A portion of the planet's biosphere was wasted. An environmental crisis of the ages. Andross was disbarred and court-martialed, and exiled.
I suppose revenge can go too far.
Andross never forgave Corneria. He too plotted revenge. He took his revenge not too long after. This time my father accepted the Cornerian military's letter of recommendation (for he was a mercenary of some small renown, however meager it was), and he led the charge. To die miserably a billion kilometers from home, before he ever reached Benomu.
I was angry. I led the charge when I was old enough, two years later when I had reached my majority. I killed Andross. Not directly, of course; but it was enough.
Revenge makes one strange. It changed my father. I suppose this is what regret feels like.
I never did get to express my love. She never understood me — I understood her as best as I could. She was not like all the other girls. She was different. Perhaps she was like my mother, of how she captured my father's affections.
And now, as life leaves me, I only ask one thing — another chance to live again. So that I may remake my life, and find her.
So my purpose is clear. Even as my team fell, our flanks overwhelmed by howling creatures of darkness and flesh, my purpose is illuminated, clear as day. I hear voices talking to me. They speak encouragement. They tell me I can find her again. She will not be the same, this I know.
Will she even remember me? Will I be able to tell her how much she meant to me? She challenged me in a way that none other have. She broke me out of my narcissism, the trap my father and mother have laid for me. I could see it in her eyes on Sauria. Kind and understanding. Accepting. Loving. But like a statue of ice, slowly melting.
I have Renounced my former life. It is no longer me. I will take a new shape. The voices have offered to me a knife; they call it [seek a new path]. It is a fitting name. One that reflects who I will become.
One day I will find her.
But for now I wait. I shall acquiesce.
Marcus, the Hated
To be worked on
Slippy, Fear's Embrace
To be worked on
Falco, Deathwing
To be worked on
Peppy, the Craven
To be worked on
Katt, the Scorned
To be worked on
Andross, the Lost
To be worked on
James, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Wolf, Broken-Fang
To be worked on
Pigma, the Ravaged
To be worked on
Panther, the Humbled
To be worked on
Leon, the Shattered
To be worked on
Andrew, Might of Oryx
To be worked on
Bill, Aegis
To be worked on
General Pepper, Sabaton of Oryx
To be worked on
Fay, the Ravished
To be worked on
Miyu, Exhumed
To be worked on
Fara, the Betrayed
To be worked on
Vixy, Angel's Virus
'To be worked on
Dash, Entropy's Hand
to be worked on
ROB 64, the Poisoned
To be worked on
Aparoid Queen, Remnant of Oryx
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Moth
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Scarab
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Crawler
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Dragoon
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Light Assault Tank
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Laser Turret
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Mortar
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Missile Launcher
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Roller
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Mini Roller
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Fighter
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Bomber
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Razor
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Stinger
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Spinner
To be worked on
Taken Aparoid Hatcher
To be worked on
General Scales, the Perfected
To be worked on
Captain Shears, the Perfected
To be worked on
Taken SharpClaw Grunt
To be worked on
Taken SharpClaw Knight
To be worked on
Taken SharpClaw Brute
To be worked on
Taken SharpClaw Speeder
To be worked on
BribeClaw, Transformed
To be worked on
Yaru de Pon, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Krazoa Spirit, the Septuple Guard
To be worked on
Octoman, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Angular Emperor, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Caiman, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Sabre, Perfected Sword
To be worked on
Beltino, the Mastered
To be worked on
Zako, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Vivian, the Forgotten
To be worked on
WarpStone, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Grippy, the Scourged
To be worked on
Zoldge, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Herbert, the Unknown
To be worked on
Queen CloudRunner, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Queen EarthWalker, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Knight EarthWalker, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Belina Te, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Garunda Te, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Gradabug, the Forgotten
To be worked on
ShopKeeper, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Tricky, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Croakella, the Unknown
To be worked on
Amanda, the Forgotten
To be worked on
Lucy, the Forgotten
To be worked on