[i][color=a187be]In solitude, the mind wanders, wonders, and conjures figments to attack the silence. It questions itself, oneself, and life. Is that encroaching madness why I rest here, allowing myself to concoct a dragon that deigns to question my fate? Arrested in silence, dare I refuse to answer...? How would I answer what obscures the awakening from a dream? I suppose, I’m bored enough to try...

Imaginary Dragon, you would ask me to ally with those that could impede my aspirations -- a word that hasn’t nearly the strength to hoist the weight of my existence. No, ambition is the proper word. An ambition that I will entertain no pointless foolishness nor emotional drudgery. If you would ask me to sever ties of such alliances, I would be unhesitant. I seek the hearts of seven steeped in Sin. It is not for all.

No. Such an ambition is mine, and mine alone. My immortality is unjust, unnatural; a punishment. My atonement is all that drive me. Isn’t that funny, Imaginary Dragon? Darkness seeking to atone for its nature. For that reason alone, destruction does not frighten me. 

    Perhaps, I can pose to you, or rather, myself, Imaginary Dragon? How should I accept this? A dream, as you seem to want to be? Pray tell, how does one dream, if they are merely a head in a jar; trapped in a haze of thick oranges, subdued reds, and muted yellows? How do you imagine, when you are left to choke in a  liquefied nightmare of yourself, silence, and anguish?

Shall I accept this as a concoction of my solitude? A ragged attempt to stay sane in a prisoner of a jar upon a shelf, a mere head without a body, yet able to feel ever twist of the knife that peels flesh from my body, muscle from my bone, and draws against the nerves from my organs? How can I think, when I am trapped within this cloying substance; the mere playtoy of an overthinking bastard’s lab in some rich bastard’s hole in the ground?

Is this figment or fact, fiction or reality? Do I dare to believe that I can still dream, or accept that my mind is become lost? To whom do I speak: a dragon or myself...?[/color][/i]

	As the Bound Dragon rushed out, to be replaced by Unbound Reality, Marshall shook himself awake, and capped off his thoughts, ‘[i][color=a187be]I wish I could trust myself to know,[/color][/i]’ he sighed, ‘[i][color=a187be]Otherwise, that was one hell of a dream I just had.[/color][/i]’ Awakening, Marshall opened his eyes, and peer out. He saw the Harvin that always treated him with an infuriatingly conceited reverence. ‘[i][color=a187be]Bye-bye, Mr. Chambers.[/color][/i]’ he mocked her voice in his head -- high-pitched, immature, unable to be taken seriously. ‘[i][color=a187be]Someday, conceited child, I will drive that knife down your throat.[/color][/i]’ he swore, before the dream flittered over his thoughts. ‘[i][color=a187be]A dragon...[/color][/i]’

‘[i][color=a187be]I--[/color][/i]’ Marshall paused, sharply, and he felt a twitch. He closed his eyes, and focused. ‘[i][color=a187be]Alright, then, Imaginary Dragon...[/color][/i]’ the immortal mused, ‘[i][color=a187be]I’ll see what comes of trusting you, or embracing my madness.[/color][/i]’

In the distance, a mistake was made; a simple slip of the hand that caused a jar to roll into just the right range. Inside said arm, an arm twitched; flesh blackened, burn to a crisp, yet radiating Light-natured Ether. It held for a moment, as the scientist that had dropped it scrambled over to retrieve it with his pair of escorts, before thrashing wildly; a powerful fist slamming into the jar, and shattering it.

	‘[i][color=a187be]It’s time to shake off the atrophy.[/color][/i]’ Marshall says, as the jar his head was in started to bubble and boil. ‘[i][color=a187be]It time to wake up, and reclaim my Sins.[/color][/i]’ There was a distant scream – that could help to rouse his roommate -- that dissolved into choking gurgling. Against the wall, the scientist and guards were whipped by the arm that lied in pools blood and formaldehyde. ‘[i][color=a187be]Return to me, what’s mine.[/color][/i]’ Marshall says, as his arm turned again, and the blood disappeared. ‘[i][color=a187be]And, pay me... in blood.[/color][/i]’

‘[i][color=a187be]Time to escape.[/color][/i]’ Marshall decided, as the jar shattered around his head. ‘[i][color=a187be]I have my right arm back,[/color][/i]’ he noted, as said limb rammed down the door, ‘[i][color=a187be]Now, the rest is needed. Until then...[/color][/i]’ the immortal looked to his roommate, ever-silent, in her lasting, impenetrable coma. ‘[i][color=a187be]Awaken...[/color][/i]’

Marshall controlled his right hand, and it leapt in the air; as it hovered, it forged a baseball-sized sphere of blood, and forced it forward at his roommate. As it hit the wall to the right of her head, it shattered -- a shockingly powerful concussive force shattering the wall, the chains, and slapping the piss out of the Erune.

‘[i][color=a187be]It’s time to stop sleeping, isn’t it?[/color][/i]’
[hr]
[@The Irish Tree] & [@Suku]