[center][h3][color=F0F8FF] Amp [/color][/h3][/center]
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“Awake”, a term referring to the state where no sleep is presented. Such a useful term to describe her state of mind. For according to such term, Amp has been “awake” for a while now.

Maybe it was during Perillian’s awakening that Amp has regained her consciousness, Amp thought as she felt bones cracking after centuries long. The joints, which have been gathering dust, move for its first time since the rebirth of the world. Sand and dirt rolled down from the clarinet, whose length seems to be longer than the longest mountain range. Bones twitched and fog moved as the giant skeletal stirred, slowly pulling its feet from the ground beneath. From her chest, streams of sulfurous smog ushers, filling the area with its musty smell. The area was littered with glass statues, sculpted after various beings, both monstrous and humanoids. But they didn't last long before shattered and reduced to nothing more but fine dust, floating in the first dawn’s light. Some of them were heroes, who seek to maintain an endless day by challenging her. Some were her followers, gullible, sweet, and adorable in their own ways. And some were just things that she had special bonds with. Lovers. Friends. Enemies. What are their names? What are their stories? For what reasons do they seek shelter from the Nihilist? It doesn’t matter now. They are all dust. Their stories have gone. Their information, gone. And the statue, the only things that reminded them, gone to the shockwave from her feet, sending to somewhere on this world. But it doesn’t matter, she could hardly remember a single one of them.

One after another, the explosion of concepts and meanings came to life. One after another, a new beginning is about to start. One after another, the clock of twelve is about to move its second hand. But with every beginning, there needs to be an end to all things. Take the example of a raindrop. From the moment it decided to leave the cloud, it has already determined its death by its birth. And the moment it becomes one with the muddy puddle beneath, it has died. And at that moment, in that steady of regression from order to chaos, from pure to corrupt, from complex to simple, Amp called her moment. And the universe is no less than the raindrop that falls from the sky during a downpour. It started with explosions like this, sometimes with more or less force, and ended with her clarinet’s sound.

How tragic? To be a musician for her own death? Nah, Amp’s doesn’t mind. She barely even remembers how she died nor what notes and song she decided to play for the funerals. To her, the cycle is nothing more than a day. When she awoke, she plays. And when she tired, she returned to her sleep. The concept of death doesn’t hold any weight to this skeletal giant, who is casually walking toward the gods gathering. After all, she was in no rush. Behind her, pools of smog filled her footsteps before gradually connecting to each other, combining to be something greater than themselves. Soon, this mountain range’s name will be treated as the sacred land for the mad and the broken, to be forever guarded but never welcomed. Maybe the Nihilist would invite them to stay like what she used to in the previous cycle, but that is another concern for the future Amp to make.

[center]~[color=F0F8FF]♬[/color]~[/center]
Some bones to act as the basic foundation. Fewer developed muscles compared to its opposite gender. Skin to attract both genders of the same species. Eyes to see the world. Mouth to savoring foods. Ears to hear the melodies of happiness, both mortal and her… With her minor appearances slowly come to finish, Amp’s destination is near.

With the images of other gods begin to arise from the horizon lines, a small sense of familiarity and alienation begins to arise in her, only to be swipe clean with her nonchalant nature. Legio and his shiny armor always held a grudge against Amp due to her playstyle. Ualla and his constant ranting. Perillian, cool woman. Make toys, doesn’t talk that much about how she played. Thumbs up in Amp's book. But among familiar faces, there is also the absence of some important figures, mainly Orgalong and Sandrimor. She felt a little bit sad, a little bit lost. And that is it. The olds need to move for the new to come. 

Twirling the brass clarinet in hands, Amp nods softly to her kinds before giving a slight bow to the empty throne, showing her utmost respect for the next in line. The Prince of Chaos had carefully instructed her to observe from the distant, only meddling in this mess if the situation calls for. As such, she would refrain herself from mixing her in this conflict. Besides, what does that throne have that she doesn’t own yet? 

“Nah, that throne is just a symbol. It held no true significant but a glorified title,” Amp said, brushing off Legio’s remark on the importance of the King before approaching Nyrae to ask for the latest attires for her minor appearances. After all, this one still needs some clothes. That or the minor appearance would need to grow a layer of fur and fat.