the problems of the soul - [OPEN]

[MEMENTO MORI!]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=cellpadding,0px,true][atrb=style, background-image: url(http://i62.photobucket.com/albums/h99/houndoomXdelta/de.png); width: 500px; -moz-border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border-radius: 20px 20px 20px 20px; border: 1px dashed #000000] blew down the doors to let me in shattered windows and the sounds of drums people couldn't believe what I'd become ♙words : 759; ♙tags: everyone; ♙lyrics: viva la vida by coldplay; revolutionaries wait, for my head on a silver plate flashback; There it was again, encroaching upon his being like a hunter onto prey, washing over him with such intensity that he had to lean against a wall for support. What was this... this... Madness? And why, of all people, had it picked him? Was he really that corrupt? Was he really that weak? Involuntarily he groaned, slender hands groping at his cranium while his legs buckled underneath him. Ahh.. what had he done? Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could he do that? How could he... he... He couldn't even think about it. And how, oh God, how could he ever possibly enjoy it? What was this arcane and disgusting mix of horror and excitement he was feeling? Was... was this it? Had he condemned himself to Shingami's list? The limp boy whimpered from behind clasped hands at the thought, and slowly started dragging himself further away from the sin he had committed. He didn't want to look. He didn't want to see the demons that awaited him with open arms. He just wanted to forget, and burn the guilt he felt seething inside him. But he couldn't... he just... couldn't. There was a dull thud and a scrape as the youth tumbled over, forehead pressed against the ground, shoulders shaking with the effort to suppress the insane laughter and sadness that was building up within him. Hehehe... he really was mental, wasn't he? Absolutely crazy. He snorted, and grasped at the cobblestones underneath his fingers, the hilarity of the situation making him howl in amusement, emerald green eyes drunk on the Madness that was corrupting him. Oh... why did it have to be like this? He didn't want... he didn't want to be evil... he'd be good, he promised. Just... one more chance... And with the joy that echoed from his chest came the tears, silently trailing down his cheeks as the hallucinations he was seeing closed in around him. Yes. They were coming for him now. He could feel their footsteps, daintily pattering down on the pavements, his name being yelped with both worry and anger. But he would never come to them... he didn't want to die... no... He didn't want to die. flashback end; And then just like that he was back, the girl he stood over silent and serene, her pale, unseeing eyes still open in shock, fingers gently curled in under her palms. She was, without question, dead, and Mori was undoubtedly the one who had killed her, as the sword by his side still dripped the with the blood that had once flowed through her veins. It had been the memory which had made him do it. Yes, the memory. Always the memory. Never showing itself on his face, but turning his insides into molten hate. Was it constantly going to crop up whenever another soul was consumed? Mori certainly hoped not; he did not require yet another problem in his life. A sigh escaped from between thin lips, and the sword was quickly re-homed in it's scabbard, the task of cleaning it pushed off till another time. Right now he couldn't be asked. One last look was cast back in the corpses direction, but no emotion stirred in Mori's head. She was a body now, soulless and irrelevant to him. He had no need to feel sorry for her. She was just another person. Another bug to be eradicated. Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, the young man gave her not a further thought and continued on his journey down the streets and back alleys of Death City. Admittedly, he knew he was taking a huge risk coming here. He was right in Death's domain after all, and the thought of what would happen to him if he was caught... the Kishin barely suppressed a shudder as he turned yet another corner, the edges of his white coat still bleached with the crimson of his earlier kill. But why should he care? They might be powerful, but so was he... nothing he couldn't handle. Progressively, his face fell back into it's traditional, lax, unfazed expression, both arms held stiffly behind his back. Besides, he had business to attend to, the type of which he could not ignore. Pausing, the young man casually glanced around, suddenly stopping for no reason at all. Not that it mattered. He had all the time in the world. just a puppet on a lonely string, oh who would ever want to be king ♙notes: it's recommended that you listen to the below song while reading this. soz its so short.; credit to gREY of OTE

[VISTA!]

He stood above all else on the church rooftop, looking out across the world. He stared out into the distance and into the dark alleyways, his lips curled into a smirk. A brief chuckle escaped him, but he held it back in check. This was Death City. This was the center of the world, where people from all backgrounds gathered to serve Shinigami-sama. To become Weapons, destined to become Death Scythes wielded by him, or Meisters, foot soldiers fighting the battle outside of Death City where Shinigami-sama could not go. They were all the servants of order, working to keep this chaotic world in check and drive out the existence of Kishin Eggs and Witches - the kinds of beings who would disrupt the order of the world. But that in itself brought up a question - Why is it that an organization such as this one would fail to stop the arrival of a new Kishin when Asura had died?

"The answer is simple" the young man upon the rooftops spoke to himself, chuckling darkly still. "Shibusen may claim to be the balance that keeps madness in check, but little by little their authority has begun to shake. Shinigami-sama no longer has the power to stop the influence of Lord Kishin - Nay, he doesn't even have the power to leave the city. He is but a pathetic shell of the being he once was, a terrifying and powerful deity, now little more than a Headmaster for a school of would-be warriors! Were I not the enemy, I would pity him. He's become powerless, whereas even I, by embracing this madness, have found great power. The winds are changing, Shibusen. Someday soon, the world will change and madness shall reign free, uncontrolled, just as it should be".

His prophetic words resounding in the air around him, he licked his lips as he anticipated the day when Shibusen would be gone, left as only a reminder of the order that had once prevailed before anarchy took hold of the world. Nostalgia, and nothing more. The figure upon the rooftop turned and began to make his way back down from where he had climbed up. He was hungry for a meal and he desired power. It was time to begin another hunt and take another soul. He desired a feast. He'd already gained such power, now he wanted even more. Until he knew he could stand by Lord Kishin's side, ready to finally wipe out the existence of Shibusen. He could practically taste Shinigami-sama's soul. That would be the most satisfying. All he needed now were comrades, allies with whom he could begin his anarchy.

A shriek rang out, but it was silenced quickly. Against his own will a smirk extended across his visage and he knew he had to find the one who did it. He wasn't a fool, he knew what this must have been - someone was getting a little hungry for souls. He licked his own lips. Well, he'd contain himself for now, first he needed to know who this was and what advantages they gave him. Now down in the streets, he walked calmly, but at a quick pace, his eyes suddenly flashing. Issekigan - The Discerning Eye. He could discern a Soul Wavelength nearby. He quickly walked down the street and turned into an alleyway, finding himself right at the scene of the crime, the killer standing over the pale, deathly woman lying in the street.

"My luck, to find someone who shares my tastes here... To think, I was just in the neighborhood..." he remarked casually, strolling towards the Kishin Egg as though he were but an old friend. As if. This would be their first meeting, but Vista hoped it wouldn't be their last. "I'm sure you don't want to stay here long, under the watchful eye of Shinigami, but perhaps you'd like to spare a few moments?" he remarked, watching him carefully with the Issekigan. By watching the Soul Wavelength, he could pick up on subtle changes in emotion. There was no need to rush things, he'd be careful to watch what he said and see if he could strike a deal. After all, he was after people who rebelled against Shinigami. People who were just like him.