Liaison

Purr-fect Betrayal

An orchestra of rattling pots and pans erupted from the kitchen as Victoria scavenged for the right size. Intending to make the perfect cat treats for when Mr. Whiskers came back, like any nine-year-old left unattended in a kitchen, she created an absolute mess whisking a battery concoction. Debatably edible, it was filled with random things with no rhyme or reason other than the child's personal preference on what tasted good. Wrapped up in child-like joy, the heiress, for a moment felt relieved of the stress of the situation as she tasked away, failing to notice the woman slip right into the kitchen behind her. Despite the friendly tone, Victoria shrieked. The second two eerily familiar hands touched her back, PTSD from the last time someone got behind her triggered a fight-or-flight response.

Tossed was the multicolored batter of who knows what over the girl's shoulder. The nine-year-old snatched herself out of Ryuko's grip, falling on her butt as she turned around. Unsure if she hit the stranger or not until she got a good look at her, Victoria was puzzled with the sight of some Blasian woman bowing, sincerely apologizing. Wide-eyed, the girl had a simple question. “Who are you?”

She clearly wasn't one of the green women Mr. Whiskers told her about.

Whereas the last scene might be the restart of wholesome beginnings, a scene quite the opposite resumed on the other side of the city. The latest domino was about to fall as a result of the last Orichalca ship's excursion. One about to knock over several more at once as word quickly got around.

Dozens of wobbled kneed laboring men with floating halos around their necks like dog collars profusely sweated under the rays of the Aesteria sun. The palace’s crystalline windows only amplified the light turning the room into a sauna despite having many openings. Even under harsh conditions they serenaded a lounging, eight-foot woman sipping a wine unique to these lands made of melon-sized grapes fermented in the golden sun with the soft breeze generated from waving palm leaves.

The woman perched on a shimmering throne cushioned with pillows stuffed with a bitsy portion of diced Gravlari feathers sat not just unamused, but impatiently. Even at the brink of exhaustion, a few of the men slaving away couldn't help but notice her beautiful gleaming skin likened to a flawless pear. The aura she gave off was quite different in comparison to the average Orichalca Amazon. Appearances aside, she had seraphim wings bedazzled with magical ring piercings, relics passed down from one empress to the next. In total, there were six each possessing a unique power.

Despite being decked down in the finest materials and accessories found across the galaxy, unlike the rest of her tribe, she didn't subscribe to their brand of hubris. Solicia did not think lowly of men. Most of the time it was just an act. Often behind her stone expressions she gave to the prisoners was a small ounce of pity.

“Maybe if I fan the best she'll give me a chance,” Sassayan, the once proud samurai of Fortis thought looking up at her. It was a shame. He had been broken down mentally to lusting for her as a life goal. Serving several life sentences, It was the only thing the lanky warrior could strive for as unrealistic as it was. No longer did he aspire to escape. He fanned to the point where the Queen’s enormous kinky tresses billowed in the wind. However, she failed to notice. There was only one thing on her mind.

“Queen Solica, we have terrible news! A ship of robotic pirates has waged an assault on the grand banquet hall! Injuries are piling up as they aim to neutralize the threat!” An older woman in an outfit, one part loose fitting toga and other parts skimpy top underneath barged into the throne room.

Rolling her eyes, Solica took another sip from her wine glass, taking her time as she sat it on a saucer on the back of a kneeled man as still as a table.

“I don't suppose you need my input on how to engage with a few pirates, Dolata. There are plenty of high-ranking warriors available.”

“That's the problem! Many of them were in Sha’Rema’s Chancery debating courtship rights of the promising man we acquired on our last excursion. He has outwitted all of them and fled after his violent escape!

“Escape?” It was like a flip switch in Solicias's mind. “What do you mean, escape?”

“He's a quite capable fighter. He broke Maletesma's nose not once but twice?”

“Twice?” A subtle quivering sensation stung the Queen's lower body.

“Thalira is leading a unit and is engaging with him but he's already so close to the Banquet. He might be in cahoots with the pirates.”

“He's out running our designated pursuit uni—AAAAUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” A breathly moan escaped her.

Everyone stood in silence, unsure what to say engaging in speed tag of eye contact across all corners of the room.

Impervious to embarrassment the Orichalca Queen inquired further.

“Did you personally confront him?”

“He kicked me in the gut prior to his esca—”

The woman couldn't even finish her reply before Solicia jolted out of her seat, lifting Dolata before taking a deep whiff of her draping garments. It reeked of lowly Krillians but another scent, more dominant, was there.

Solica's eyes took on a ravenous possessed look. Her enormous angelic six wings sprouted, unleashing a gale sweeping her unprepared servants off their feet. The Queen ascended to the skies, taking in the crisp, clean air of the Aesterian jungle. Above the palace the illustrious bejeweled garments on her swayed gently with the wind, flowing like golden ribbons of silk around her lithe form for all to see. She searched for the slightest hint of the fleeing man's scent with her heightened sense of smell. There was no mistaking it. There it was heading towards the banquet hall giving Thalira's tracking unit the slips.

This was particularly impressive given that once a target was in sight, the platoon's ability to launch arrows tethered to their spirit at the speed of sound rarely missed. Prey were like a fish in a pool attempting to evade multiple harpoon snipers working in tandem with until eventually being struck and reeled in by a dominating force. A glimmering laser show of golden trails left by their arrows lingered in the skies well after being fired.

It wasn't clear if he had been caught or not. Were they to fail, Solicia wouldn't. He will be hers.

Meanwhile, Merse continued his panther-esque brand of snooping, flying under the radar eyeing an oversized plate of Salmon Niçoise Salad. Rummaging through a million and one plans on how to get his greedy paws on the dish, all were thrown to the wayside the second his hyper-sensitive whiskers tingled. Before the information broker cracked his neck, an explosion near the entrance wobbled his footing. Molten metals flung around like overly wet clay in a pottery class as Metallo’s ship fired away with an intense blast of heated plasma liquefying the gold jungle gym structure cradling the structures entrance.

Multiple levels of historic architectural brilliance, permanently scarred in mere seconds by the band of pirates ramming and tearing their way into the hall greeted by hundreds of ear-splitting horrified screams at decibels agonizing to Merse's ears. The rumble could be felt as far as the quarters where Ryuko and Victoria were stationed. After the dust settled, the robotic crew stood tall in their best action movie poster poses, wielding a variety of unique firearms, traps, and gadgets. The pirates were ready to take on the role of liberators in this matriarchal dystopia and free the thousands of imprisoned men sentenced here from all across the cosmos. What would have been a hero’s welcome from thousands of prisoners rallying behind their cause failed to start only because of one very crucial miscalculation.

This wasn’t the prison.

Too late to turn back now. A band of pirates fired away, downing several Orichalca warriors while several others deflected the beams off their golden wristbands charging forward. It's like Captain Metallo and crew struck a wasp nest the way one Amazon after the next came out in droves. Many took to the skies, tossing tridents charged with radiant auras, many missing, creating small craters the second they struck the marble flooring. Others tossed weighted nets of ropes funneling lightning in attempts to capture members of the crew. One one young warrior named Aletheia stood back, connecting her fingers to create a triangle locked right on the captain. The amazon absorbed ambient energy in the area, as Aesteria was abundant with it, focusing the energy to a single point before unleashing a solar beam of vortexing yellow, orange and red light with the intent to knock the captain hundreds of feet back and even off the cliff. The battlecries filling the air signaled all out war, and witness to it all was Merse, casually stuffing his face, chowing down in the background. The information broker figured he’d stick around until the pirates forced the elite warriors to enter the arena. The crew of robots made for quite a convenient distraction.

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

There was little reason for a frost devil to feel the chills, yet, Vileiro documented every goosebump raising the fine hairs on his neck. His mind skated the rink of Cocytus. Looking down, the crystalline scape of flash-frozen entities leering at his spirit was enough to drive any man insane. It was a good thing Vileiro was not a man, but a devil chiseled, molded, birthed from the very ice he stood on. Like a grand statute of marble, he held his head high amongst demons, emboldened by the stature granted to him by his superior. His earthly persona often betrayed him, constantly overthinking, worried, and indecisive. Here? When Sarcoen addressed him, he felt empowered.

There was little reason for a succubus devil to feel shame, yet before him, Ixxa felt nakedness. An act Minos failed heartedly to accomplish. The unreasoning winds and torrential rain of the second circle stained her face with mascara, souls whirling about in this hurricane of lust in which several were her handy work from earlier. It was precisely the shot in the demoness needed. She stood tall. Sarcoen addressed her and she replied.

“You chased Sepias, sentenced him, labeled him cafone, and not only is he back, he is underboss again. I know better than to question you, but I can't help but feel out of the loop. However, I know one thing. You wouldn't unleash him unless you felt you could control him. When will you return to Aeternus?”

A guttural laugh, shaking the hells rattled Aeternus like a low-magnitude quake. This high up, Vileiro watched frozen books clang off the floor like unbreakable blocks of ice.

“You know me well, my child.”

Speaking from the same urge, Vileiro and Ixxa engaged with different parts of the same entity simultaneously.

“I have another question. Something that has been eating at me. I want to know what happened in the last war against heaven.”

“...”

“Forgive me Ealdo—”

“No, you should know. Heed my words as I predate time itself. I, an entity of duality, the embodiment of contradiction, born from the same primordial chaos, yet destined to diverge. Two sides of the same coin, my sons, of prophecy entwined in my conflict. I left much of my children in the dark.

In the realm of the ancient ones, the number two bore the mark of Wisdom, a concept encapsulated in the words "Wise" and "Dome." To "wise your dome" was to transcend the limitations of ignorance, to enlighten the blind, the deaf, and the dumb. But such notions were mere folly, feeble attempts to break free from the shackles of darkness that enshroud Lucifer's society and way of life. We, the eternal ones, who have witnessed the dawn of creation and shall endure until the final reckoning, scoff at such frail forms of logic.

Before I knelt the mighty Seraphim, the Cherubim, and the Ophanim, their divine arrogance a testament to their alliance with the Almighty. Yet, their hubris only emboldened me, the now forgotten one who spurred many devils prior to my wake now spurned.

Came Michael, his blade, ablaze with heavenly light, a beacon of contempt searing my flesh and spirit alike. His demeaning radiance split me asunder, weakening me with each relentless strike. It was as Uriel had foreseen. Had I reacted a hair sooner, had I crushed his throat, squeezing, choking the life out of the smug expression he held over me, we might be living in a very different world. All remember Michael. All laud Michael, some workshop him through idolatry. They paint our bout as one-sided. Disrespectfully so. After our battle, I championed my demise as a proud general of Hell. War comes with loss, and sacrifice. Aeternus would be a mere thought if eternal slumber greeted me. Death did not. Something far worse.

Showing mercy to a demon is the ultimate affront. A mockery of our very essence. Yet, in that moment of weakness, I was shown clemency, a gesture that haunts me still, for I have not forgotten the aftertaste of shame. Pride befalls man but a demon's pride is far stronger. It isn't hate I would describe I have for the heavens. My sentiment exists before the truest sense of the word. Every part of my collective malice is fed by the economy of souls, slowly revitalizing each part of me scattered throughout the circles of Hell. Hold on to what I bestow upon you at this very moment. A Sit-down Is in order. Prepare the Hotel for my presence.”

Neo Babylon

Two pairs of eyes locked. One, a fiery set of dark brown eyes below determined brows without a shadow of a doubt in their passionate gaze. The other, flustered red cheeks beyond their brush applied blush, below a confused, deep, cerulean set. An overwhelmingly collective gasp overtook the red carpet's audience and partakers.

Perhaps it was the collective acknowledgment of witnessing the rare spectacle many claim to have experienced but only a few have. The divine luxury of love at first sight. Red and white rose petals serenely peppered the beautiful scene as many twisted their necks searching for the source.

“At this glorious gala in which the moonlight caresses your pale skin, I now know. Under this atrium of stars, it is clear. A thousand sonnets grow in my heart for you shine brighter than them all.”

Kissing the silky opera-gloved hand nestled into the gentle embrace of his palm, out of thin air, on one knee, Edris presented the fullest, most lush, bouquet of roses to have met this woman he had just met eyes with. Dozens of camera shutters rang off, capturing this moment between the hitman and Jadwiga a hundred times over, for millions of impressions, for thousands of media outlets. You could almost mistake it for applause.

“Edris, you sly devil. One might think you're from Aeternus. You've outdone yourself again.” Mentally patting himself on the back, his Buloke-solid confidence was sure to woo the popular socialite. No woman escaped his charm but the pheromones from her direction seemed overmatched by a hostile odor. Surely such a wrathful scent couldn't have come from Jadwiga in her wondrous, violet, jewel-embezzled gown glowing in ethereal beauty. Only in raising his bowed head, whipping back his silver-ish lavender hair did Edris notice Jadwiga's date to the ball red as a tomato with anger.

Veins bulging, this monstrously tall man, well over eight feet tall, but fairly proportionate, practically flexed out of his teal three-piece suit. Off came his collar button, popping out of tension at such velocity it detached some unfortunate influencer's retina on impact. With the crowd paying no mind to that, an intense stare-off between Edris and Vellotoni Versarache visibly sparked. The crowd went quiet, tension thick as oatmeal left out for half a day.

…

“I'm not apologizing.”

Edris' palm held an imaginary grip in the shape of a hilt as a single vine crawled from underneath his gold cufflinks, sprouting a flower blooming into a sword. Then it was black. Surely he did not murder a man in blind rage. It was against the assassins code.

Only the sensation of a cold hand pressing against his hollow frame did Edris feel anything. Lids open but sightless, the same cold hand dropped something into his skull. Until then, it felt like the concept of vision was foreign to him. Another hand crept near his face, doubling it. The same hands navigated his sternum, installing piece after piece as if he were a creation at the hands of Geppetto. Edris thought perhaps, this is how God designed us all, until the moment came when we finally were seemingly complete, later carrying our limp frames, hooking us to a conveyor belt. To where? A journey back to them, but only after experiencing the world whilst bearing the intentional gift and curse of life. With pleasure comes great pain. The pain of knowing this is unattainable makes us human, yet, internally… Edris challenged that. Until now he only felt one with Mother Nature. Who was this? Blasphemy. Before he could oust these thoughts, an unfamiliar voice fancied the thought of a destination to his psyche. Where? Edris would know once saw it. It was near, but where was he?

The flow of petals stopped, laying soggy on the top of the murky marsh staining the hitman’s white, heeled leather boots. A rancid smell assaulted the nostrils of Edris' souring face, distracting from not only the dream he awoke from, but the not so distant chitters, crunching and tearing. Quick hands allowed him to salvage his impeccably stylish tweed suit aside from a few splashes of muck. Springing up immediately, it was only so long Edris could watch his hand model-caliber hands slowly sink into the mud. A line of dirt packed every distal edge of his nails. It was already the worst-case scenario. What if…someone…saw him? Whoever did this had to pay, and soon. It was a good thing he had an idea where to look.

Looking up, the grayed skies could be mistaken as smoke. As dense as the forest was, the fog affected the visibility of the colossal mangroves standing mightily in the bog. At first, Edris thought he may have gotten something in his mouth but it was just the aftertaste of the absurdly moist swamp air. Following him were squelching sounds of his trot out of the thick mire of mud he found himself as unfortunate to spawn in. Each step sunk him deeper into the morass of uncertainty. Getting back to the Gala was an impossibility at this point.

The Land of Skara: and the Songtale of the Breaking

Phaedra was thin but not frail. Presence very much slender, yet resilient. Bearing the weight of her torment without surrendering, her spirit, akin to wilting flowers in a vase, held both beauty and sorrow in delicate balance. She sat moonstruck at the rail of a bridge overseeing a riverbank. Behind her roseate eyes veiled by her silken, platinum-blonde bangs, her repressed memories resurface, besieged by guilt over the great tragedy engulfing the Luminae Academy of Mystical Arts.

An inquisitive sable darted around the area, climbing up the young girl’s shoulders, foraging through her kinky tresses draping her backside. It ran her pockets for a few nuts. Phaedra paid it no mind. Head tilted, the small creature observed the mourning sorceress and her radiant, almost aubergine complexion bathing in the moonlight. It could tell something was wrong but quickly fled at the arrival of a rumbling carriage.

The doors of a patchy wooden crate masquerading as a luxury coach swung open, ushering a vacuuming vortex, snatching Phaedras's gray sarong with such authority it whipped her around like a roll of paper towels. Wide-eyed and flustered, she caught no glimpse of the inside before it swallowed her whole. The rhythmic clops of horses casually strolling away with her appeared to be in no rush once the doors closed. In total darkness, she felt wedged between a stiff old couch and a rickety chair.

"Hello, odd maiden! Don't mind my get up. Doing a bit of research." A faint amber spark developed, revealing her captors. A jovial wooly-mustached jester passed her a small, blank sheet of parchment and a huge woman whose rotund figure greatly strained the seams of her colorful attire. “Hello, Lovely.” Her overly caked cheeks already left residue on Phaedra's clothes and the liter of perfume she doused herself with did little to alter the fact that the carriage smelled like a hotbox of sweat. “Trust us, we’re not kidnapping you,” they said in unison. It was hard for Phaedra to lower her guard completely, but her gut surmised there was perhaps some method to their lunacy.

The paper forcefully planted in her hand burned with an ongoing script of orange text, spelling out the message, “The Kaiage of Knowledge.”

The strange woman introducing herself as “Alegora'' placed her forearm and hand of many rolls on Phaedra's left knee, meeting Phaedra’s upturned eyes with a concerned heterochromatic gaze. Finally getting to the meat and potatoes, Alegora revealed “We know the attack of the Karnagebeast wasn't a natural occurrence. We have reason to believe many of your classmates are still alive and not only is High Chancellor Seldora complicit, we suspect she is a doppelganger.”

Nothing exemplified Phaedra's fear over the subject more than her deafening silence.

Once again confronted by not-so-distant traumas far from being healed, the young woman’s quixotic quest she steadily ran from presented itself to her in yet another way.

Her eyes shut. Reliving phantasmagoric nightmares, the dawn's sky resplendent with hues of pink, and orange whimpered out as tenebrous clouds ran roughshod over any ray of hope the new day provided. To the untrained eye, a storm brewed. Phaedra lamented the times itself as came lighting, thunderous roars existing only as the product of unchecked imagination followed. On this Lundros morning, she awoke from one nightmare into another. A tangle of Wyrms, exterior like oiled scale mail interwoven in a sinister dance, descended upon the enchanted spires of The Luminae Academy of Mystical Arts, unfurling their twisted serpentine forms in an act of indiscriminate terror. They sodomized the school’s mullioned windows, razing the corridors, invasively rattling the entire dorm with a faint hum like the presence of an unseen stampede. Low-humming until it wasn't, with a deafening crash, the sound overtook Phaedra’s capacity to think let alone speak. The entire wall on which her door was hinged ripped away with the raiding serpent leaving behind a jagged maw of destruction–

“Or so, that's the theory, Ha-Ha-Hahaha!” Alegora's boisterous laugh rocking the carriage to the point where it startled the lugging horses brought Phaedra back to reality.

Eyes wide, dumped on her ass in the middle of a cobblestone pathway, Phaedra realized she was no longer in the carriage but set right in the middle of the path leading to the cursed academy she had been running from. The horse carriage that transported her trotting in the opposite way left her a parting message.

“Keep that card close. You'll know where to find us as well as the others there, beloved.

Their message was pretty blunt. Go to school. It was something Phaedra already knew she had to do in order to save her classmates but now, knowing she perhaps wasn't carrying the weight alone, the task felt less daunting.

The Land of Skara: and the Songtale of the Breaking

Additions to The Lore

Mørkheimr

Mørkheimr, a realm shrouded in perpetual midnight, veiled its shadowy forests with swirling mists only illuminated by their blood-red moon, Svarthrafn. The air crackles with dark energy, and an eerie silence hangs over the land like a heavy cloak. The landscape is rugged and untamed, with jagged cliffs and winding rivers cutting through the obsidian terrain.

In Mørkheimr, what's left of Phaedra's elven ancestors, the Netheri are said to dwell within sprawling citadels carved from the living rock, homes hidden deep within the shadowy recesses. These dark elves have had centuries to study the power of Obscuria, the mystical realm of shadows and darkness. Naturally leaking into their realm it produces a nexus of dark energy that permeates the very fabric of reality. Guardians of ancient knowledge and gatekeepers of long-forgotten secrets, in bouts fueled by selfishness and greed, they waged war against each other which is why they were seldomly seen in Skara. Their culture was one flooded with distrust and betrayal. Because Netheri have evolved to be attuned to the dark rhythms of Obscuria and draw strength from its depths, they are considered untrustworthy, though they hardly had any time to antagonize Skarans.

Characters

Phaedra

Name: Phaedra Hawthorne
Alias: Mourner of the Moonlight
Age: 20
Height: 5’6
Weight: 118
Sex: Female
Race: Human - Netheri Hybrid (Dark Elf)

Appearance:

Phaedra is a slender yet young woman whose expression at times bears the weight of recent trauma while still managing to be beautiful. She has roseate eyes veiled by silken, platinum-blonde bangs, and her radiant, almost aubergine complexion glows in the moonlight highlighting her Afrocentric features.

Weapons/Kit:

Serenelle: With every swing, every parry, every strike, Serenelle sings with the echo of Phaedra's will, amplifying her resolve through strikes capable of severing spirit. As much as the moon resurfaced dark memories, Phaedra deemed Serenelle's elegant, sharp edge like a crescent moon. Her bestowed dussack, an heirloom that sat dormant for decades thought to be lost is the only thing that connects her to her lineage, a descendant of dark elves known as Netheri.

From Mørkheimr, coveted by many for its legendary properties. This blade which also functioned as a spell-casting staff is said to be forged from the darkest shadows of Obscuria, infused with the essence of Mørkheimr’s mysterious moon, Svarthrafn. Phaedra has always kept the origins of Serenelle shrouded in secrecy, revealing little about why she possesses such a rare and coveted artifact from her homeland she’s never been. The few who know of it in Skara view it as an omen of death, while many Netheri view it as a critical weapon to unify all the elves under a single ideology. Regardless of the truth, Phaedra taps into Obscuria's dark energies through Serenelle, channeling its power to enhance her abilities. Only recently has she been able to overcome the fear of utilizing such a dark weapon in an attempt to avenge her fallen classmates.

THE MULTIVERSE DIRECTORY

THE MULTIVERSE DIRECTORY

The Multiverse is an expansive, interconnected web of diverse realms, timelines, and dimensions. It is the ultimate tapestry where every conceivable world and narrative can coexist, intersect, and evolve within roleplay. Within the Multiverse, countless stories unfold simultaneously, each contributing to the grand mosaic of collective imagination. Whether it's a high-fantasy epic, a dystopian saga, or a slice-of-life tale, all narratives find a home here, influencing and being influenced by the universe around them. It’s a place where groups of all themes have the opportunity to encounter and even face off in epic tales reshaping history, leaving their mark across the cosmos. Ideally, players will compete for territories and assets or just create expansive interweaving stories.

GROUPS

Roleplay Groups are the core units within the Omniverse. Each group consists of a collective of storytellers who collaborate to create intricate and immersive narratives. To formally join the Omniverse, Roleplay Groups should submit the following:

Group Name: The official name of your Roleplay Group.
Group Overview: A brief description of the group's thematic focus, narrative style, and any unique characteristics.
Group Members: A list of participants, including their preferred roles and characters.

Example Submission:

Group Name: The Celestial Voyagers
Group Overview: A group dedicated to exploring space opera narratives, focusing on interstellar politics, alien cultures, and cosmic mysteries.

Group Members:
- Player A: Captain Aurora [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]
- Player B: Xylor the Navigator [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]
- Player C: Dr. Zynthor [Hyperlink To profile in Character Tab]

- Locations: Location 1 [Hyperlink To profile in OOC]

- Group Assets: Asset 1 [Hyperlink To profile in Character tab]

LOCATIONS

Settings are the distinct worlds or locations where the narratives take place. Each setting adds a new layer to the Multiverse, enriching it with unique environments, histories, and cultures. To submit a setting, provide the following details:

- Critical Location: Planet Zolteria [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]
- Sub Location: Kelloron City [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]
- Sub Location: The Laboratory of Lon [Hyperlink To profile in Location Tab - OCC Tab]

Setting Name: The official name of the location or world.
Setting Description: A detailed account of the setting, including its geography, inhabitants, key landmarks, and any pertinent lore.

Relevant Threads: Links to existing threads or posts where the setting has been developed or used in narrative.

CHARACTERS

Characters are the heart of any story, bringing the settings and plots to life with their actions, decisions, and growth. To introduce a character into the Omniverse, include the following:

Name:
Age:
Gender:
Race:
Group: If any
Tier: Ex: Mid to High

Character Description: A detailed description of your character.

Skills, powers, and abilities:

Ability 1: Ex: Flight - The user can fly by using magic/spells, by emitting a burst of magical energy into the ground that sends them flying into the air, user can also do this by producing an aura of the magical energy which would levitate them, or a beam of the magical energy to the ground, but it can also be wings, producing wings from magical energy. [Low]

Ability 2: Ex: Force Fields: The user can create magical constructs are capable of blocking or impeding approaching objects and nullifying attacks, including physical and energy based attacks or even repelling or reflecting them, as well being used as a means of containment to imprison others. [Mid]

Ability 3: Ex: Mind of the Chosen - The user can manipulate an extraordinarily potent and immense variation of telekinesis, capable of enacting destruction and creation on a grand scale. This formidable power primarily interacts with objects and entities visible to the naked eye, excluding the microscopic realm of atoms, molecules, and subatomic particles. [High]

Equipment

Item 1: Ex: Sword of Kusanagi - The Kusanagi Sword is a legendary sword owned by Orochimaru. He retrieves this sword by opening his mouth and extending a snake which then opens its mouth and produces it. Orochimaru was seen producing the sword handle first so he could use it freely, or blade first to attack his opponent instantly.

The sword can quickly extend and retract its blade to attack from long distances, be controlled telekinetically according to Orochimaru's command, and cut through almost anything. Even Enma, who is able to transform into a diamond-hard staff, noted that the Kusanagi blade would leave him considerably sore. The sword has been seen transforming into a small snake and returning to Orochimaru. [Low]

Item 2: Ex: The Ultimate Nullifier - An item described as "the universe's most devastating weapon." As such, the Ultimate Nullifier has the ability to completely and utterly eliminate any target the wielder chooses (through violation of the law of conservation of mass), and—if the wielder's mind isn't powerful enough—the wielder themself. Its effectiveness is heavily dependent upon the concentration, knowledge, and mindset of the wielder. Ordinarily, it has the power to at least destroy a universe. In the hands of a being with an extremely powerful intellect, such as Galactus, the Ultimate Nullifier can destroy entire timelines from beginning to end or instantly nullify (and paradoxically recreate) a Multiverse. [High]

Character History:

In hider box

Here

Threads participated:

Ex: Relevant Threads
- "The Trials of Seraphina" (link)
- "The Battle for Lysandra" (link)

Joining The Multiverse

To formally join the Omniverse, please post your submissions in this designated thread, following the formats provided above. This is not a requirement, however, as everyone is free to do what they want with their threads and stories. We may work on an approval method and consistent judgment criteria for threads and fights but this is still in the early conceptual phases. This can also be an official profile and settings dump for people to reference for people who prefer to fight on discords.

Groups IC - Locations OOC - Profiles Character Tab

THE MULTIVERSE DIRECTORY

Place Holder

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

1 of 4 posts I plan to drop soon. Stay tuned.

The Family Biz [Open To Apply]

A spirit vogued mockingly through the valley of the shadow of death.

Quietness lingered after the storm. A body, like it awoken from a slumber, stood on stilettos in pitch blackness, crust-eyed, wishing to be absolved of the atrocity before them. Not quite sleepwalking, the devil witnessed it all. Usually, tranquility spoke volumes, still air whispering hope, planting seeds, foretelling the sun's arrival. It was nature's gentle way of reminding humanity that even the most tumultuous nights yield to light. In Aeternus, there was no such hope–such light. They say God is light, and in him, there is no darkness at all, but anticipating the rays of the morning to awake from *this* nightmare? One waits an eternity.

Dawn never came, and it never will.

Unlady-like, Ixxa burped an ember, wiping a morsel of blood from the corner of her mouth with her wrist. It didn't compare to what stained her dress and the rest of the room. Like a taipan, her forked tongue instinctually licked around her lipstick-smudged mouth. Around her, devastation–litters of limbs, blood seeping into the deep cracks of leather Chesterfield seats, once ornate interior cornices charred beyond recognition, and countless demons beheaded by guillotine, stretched into knots by looping torture racks. The crimson-skinned succubus stood alone in the center of it all.

Her snow blonde bed hair could have looked worse, but for the moment, looks mattered little to Ixxa. It wasn't like anyone could see her. Only her lime-green eyes stood out in the magical darkness. That begs the question though, where exactly was she? She blacked out.

A sanguine flame of zippo lighter lumified a corner of the room, evaporating the humidity of the dark mist. On top of Vincenzo's piano, Ceven sat cross-legged with a look reading business as usual.

“Eating for two now?”

Ixxa whipped her snow-blonde tresses behind her shoulder with her left hand. Slightly embarrassed, she raised her chin, running her sharp black acrylics through her hair, neck gently swaying left and right. Perhaps it was an act, but she failed to acknowledge the situation.

“I think it's time to go to the hotel. I don't suppose Nocturnelle will let us just waltz through the front door with this. Think he'll sniff out our plan?”

“He always does, but I have a feeling his hands will be tied this time around. Go on without me. I’ll have to fix up here a bit so we can open back up in an hour. We may have to sit down and try to convince him. Anyways, Vincenzo hit the music.”

On her way to the hallway, the succubus strutted past several bodies in her descent wayward down into the winding rabbit hole of the speakeasy’s backrooms. Leading to the infinitely crawling ant colony of catacombs that were Aeternus’ depths, the freshness of Aeternus’ sulfuric fumes delighted Ixxa's nostrils even down here.

It never quite made sense to the horned seductress, but who was she to complain when it could potentially smell like piss or the countless dead bodies of wanderers who dared traverse this eternal labyrinthine connecting all parts of this verse. Even now, hysterical wails diluting into whispers in the abyss tickled her sharp ears. Passing sepulcher after sepulcher, small and large, some vaulting nefarious imps, others fell titans, the deeper she traveled, the less hazy her mind became. Normally just walking between the walls felt like being wedged in between the gyri of a truly odious mind. Right now, it felt…different. The tunnels always had a mind of their own, testing wanderers' resolve through hellish standards which allowed only the most blackhearted demons to navigate with clarity.

Admittedly, she struggled most with this place out of the demonic casino quartet of Vileiro, Ceven, Parooz, and herself. It may have come from a sense of insecurity. Ceven was the treasurer of souls, Vileiro racked up souls by the second with his intergalactic chain of casinos, and Parooz, the most efficient of them all, when around, was The Big Earner managing to acquire premium souls by the boatload with get-rich schemes on a whim.

Ixxa, despite being the seductress of deviancy, the mistress of great sex, the sultan of twat — she, a renowned demon in her own right, facilitated the fitting end of too many mortals to count. Yet, her work was slighted. Souls were souls, most of the time at least, but admittedly, those who long for sexual deeds from a demon whether for an experience or to be desired understandably felt like endlessly snacking on junk food. Frankly, it was too easy but no longer would she stand in her peer's shadows.

Her trek brought her to a brightly painted door entering the wine cellar of the Pleiades Casino & Resort. Unlocking the creaky door, which gallons of WD-40 could not fix, she was alone, walking past rows upon rows of wine racks and severed claws with gnarled fingers carrying colossal vats of strange liquids. In this ashy, obsidian-bricked chamber, each bottle is sealed with a molten black wax stamped with blasphemous symbols and infernal sigils. In the center before Ixxa, a goblet of blackened crystal, filled with wine so dark it dimmed the light around it like a reverse glow. It was the succubus devil’s first time seeing it, but she was certain. This is what guided her through the catacombs. Looking up, it dwarfed her. Seldomly a red drop from the black ceiling broke the silence of the chamber and that is what guided her through the tunnels.

She kneeled, burning the sigil birth to her by the Hells on the foot of the enormous glass with the tip of her fuschia glowing nail. Standing in silence, a single blood-red drop fell from the murky expanse of the ceiling unleashing an echoing plop until the edge of the glass overflowed into a waterfall painting the dark floors a blood red. The walls around Ixxa murked, shrouding everything around the succubus until it was just her, the crystal glass, and a hazy pink sky. The river she stood in felt like being ankle-deep at the start of rapids. The feeling of an outgoing tide pulled her in by her most carnal temptations, desires, aspersions, and wishes. Yes, even demons had those. With her lime-green eyes, she made out a far more sinister pair on the other side of the glass. Even devils gulped.

“Speak Daughter.”

Purr-fect Betrayal

ASTERIA SPACE

One might argue being a great pirate takes as much luck as skill. More times than not, it was better to be lucky than good, and if both? You have Captain Metallo and his crew drifting in Asterian space. They took deliberate measures to avoid detection from the buzzing Orichalca's scouts in orbit buzzing about like bees, zipping in and out of orbit. However, there was one oddity looming about. There should be way more. As the vessel masquerading as debris veered ever so close to the last line of sensory detectors, The Midas Dome, set to analyze through every photon refracting off its asteroid mile-wide thickness, the defense dropped.

Other than an eerie hum, it was tempting. Nothing separated Metallo’s crew from upping the propulsion, shortcutting their journey into the city.

… UNTIL THERE WAS!

The blinding baptism like of millions of bulbs overheating, infinite shattering shards, sputtering explosive light evolving into vortexes of tangling gold and silver rays prying open a slit in space with sheer might, willpower, birthing a glorious luminescent mothership, a whale by comparison directly over the captain's stealth vessel.

Flying too close to the sun, it was too late to run now. The seldom air traffic and dropping of the dome. It was not a trap. It merely foretold the arrival of one of the grand Orichalca's ships, making space. Skin bathing directly in the ethereal light of the oval ship simmered. The pirates in such close vicinity had to be sweating wells. A gravitational-like pull pinned their ship terrifyingly close as a mechanical whir progressively dialed up, triggering a sonic boom that made you instinctually close your eyes. The helix-ringed ship rubber band popped from orbit into the Asteria homeworld, dropping countless space rocks into a vast artificial ocean stimming with life.

Among those dropping towards the carefully curated marine ecosystem behind the main mountainside of the Golden City, Captain Metallo and his crew, probably ready to puke from the epileptic light show and drastic movement. Their journey into Asteria wasn't textbook by any means, but successful as the Orichalca ship disregarded their presence, gently hovering westward to land, marking the end of their latest space excursion hauling the chaotic cast they knew and unknowingly brought.

✯✯✯

Victoria's hazel eyes gleamed sad, conflicted, alone in a strange world. Struggling to process the events that brought her here, the nine-year-old's last memory was a traumatic one. Shaken out of her sleep by a blaring announcement rattling her bedroom, her eyes pried open. Immediately noticing Mr.Whiskers was gone, she was concerned for his safety. That worry shifted immediately to herself when a woman slithered through the crack in her window, cross-bodying onto her bed. In serious stranger danger, Victoria shut her eyes to scream as loud as her lungs allowed. A swift hand muffled her cry as her bulging eyes strained looking over her shoulder. A strange light filled the room, then the still of darkness.

It all felt like a bad dream. The bed the heiress awoke in was not hers, high up, circular, several times larger than she was accustomed to. It took several scoots for the girl to slide from underneath the gold satin sheets to the edge. The size of the room was baffling, with incredibly high ceilings supporting several gingko chandeliers and their white petals. It took a lot to impress the young girl, never known to dine without a silver spoon. In Aesteria, the standards for cutlery were gold. Rushing barefoot across the cold white statuario marble floors, Victoria lugged at the door but it wouldn't budge. She roamed the luxurious space until she turned her attention to a large balcony. Behind its translucent beige drapes, a small, familiar figure, waving its tail silhouetted by the morning light.

“Mr. Whiskers. You came to save me!” Victoria's delighted cry filled the room, so loud that her voice shot through the window of the adjacent balcony attached to the room next to hers. She wasn't aware, but her unsolicited spooner inhabited that room, them too abducted by the space-faring tribe of amazons and given favorable accommodations.

Victoria was young, and simply too short-sighted to anticipate such a thing. Seeing a familiar face, she was far too elated, immediately picking up the calico cat, mushing her rosy cheeks against his. She put him down to look for some food in the kitchen, raiding the nearby cabinets and fridge. When she came back, Mr. Whiskers peculiarly lounged on the couch like Garfield as if he was watching the television which mysteriously turned on.

*** "By the authority vested in me by the Orichalca Tribunal of Asteria, I hereby enumerate the heinous transgressions committed by the defendant, Reginald Cavala, CEO of Balecorp, against the laws and sanctity of the galaxy…” ***

It was her father. Worry filled Victoria’s previously gleeful face, taken aback by the alien live stream before her. It was true she despised her father, but she realized he was in danger. Her silence spoke wonders, watching Reginald in a state she’d never witnessed before.

“Father…”

Only a truly unique cache of crimes accumulated across the universe managed to land the head of Balecorp smack dab in such an absurd predicament. Forcibly kneeled, wrists and neck shackled by luminous rings. The floating halos seared his flesh whenever his posture lagged. His arms felt like noodles. Were he to move slightly, the rings followed, but any drastic sequence might result in the CEO losing a hand or worse, his head.

In the center of a coliseum carved into a mountainside blessed by Midas’ touch, Reginald stood trial at the mercy of thousands of winged, teal-skinned, female warriors chanting in excitement over the set of twin waterfalls on opposing sides of the arena. Yet, somehow, the corrupt entrepreneur felt at ease, releasing a sigh of relief. Maybe it was because, for the time being, the disgraced linchpin was as far from Merse as realistically possible. Perhaps it was because he assumed his daughter and all of the agents within his manor were left be. Neither of those were true but bliss sure is nature's best pain reliever.

After the interlude of harmonizing obtuse-shaped Didgeridoos, Reginald Cavalas’ crimes were listed as follows…

• Unlawful Waste Dumping in the Sacred Gardens of Exoplanet Xerxes.
• Petty Theft of Relics from the Ancient Civilization of Renaum.
• Forgery or Falsification of Planetary Deeds.
• Selling filtrated mud from Planet Mire, Labeling it as Spring Water.
• Sabotaging the Galactic Bubble Wrap Factory on Planet Pop.
• Faking an Emergency to Skip Queue at the Intergalactic Spaceport in Prolix.
• The Mass Production & Smuggling of Truly Forbidden Snacks into Earth F67x through Ximbic.
• Illegally Parking in the Handicap Zone at Asteroid Metropolis Mall of The Universe.
• Racketeering Charge - Illegal Trading of Stolen Sacred Samurai Swords from Planet Fortis.
• Starting An Illegal Fire Stone Mining Operation on Planet Kilamara.
• The Mass Distribution of Stacker 2000 Throughout The Multiverse's Space Lucha Scene…”

The list continued to the point where the sun notably changed position in the sky…

*** “These petty crimes, while seemingly inconsequential on their own, collectively disrupt the harmony and sanctity of the universe. In the name of justice and the preservation of cosmic order, these transgressions must be addressed for the greater good of the universe. You, Reginald Cavala are sentenced to an eternity of indentured servitude so that you may finally begin to nibble at atoning for your wrongs only by the grace of our great matriarch." ***

The tall, bejeweled Orichalca warrior named Nalaita draped in her silky, golden sashes and sarong finished her speech, looking down on Reginald with a set of judgemental eyes raising concern in Victoria’s visage. By her fathers wishes, she lives a sheltered life. The alien woman was of nothing she’d ever imagined, admiring her kinky white hair braided to her ankles and domineering set off fully stretched, feathery wings. Victoria didn’t let the woman's otherworldly beauty distract her for long. The fact was her father was in trouble. Noticing the girl's heart raced with the all too familiar feeling of having already lost a parent in her mother, before the first tear managed to drip off her cheek, Mr. Whiskers did the unthinkable.

“... I’ll save him.” It was said almost begrudgingly.

“...”

Puzzled, Victoria turned to her pet, wiping the tears from her rosy cheeks. “Mr.Whiskers…you can talk?”

“Of course I can. I’m a special cat.”

Fully in possession of her innocence as a child. That answer was more than enough for her.“Wow! Can you really save my Father?”

“I will!” the cat said valiantly, leaping all the way from the couch onto the balcony. Perched on the glossy railing, he left Victoria one final message before biding her adieu.

“Make you listen to the nice green ladies and eat your veggies.”

Victoria’s face became playfully sour-faced before smiling cheek-to-cheek. “Thank you, Mr.Whiskers. You’re the best!”

And so, Merse leaped, taking in the glimmering, breathtaking views of the golden architectural marvel city built within the Sub-Saharan-like tropics that is Asteria. The information broker plunged a few hundred feet, his tiny frame transmogrifying into a human-sized anthropomorphic feline, flesh bubbling like microwaved mac and cheese. This time, clothes even came with the package. Placing his signature fedora firmly on his head to complement his long, beige trench coat and trousers, Merse was in full detective mode. For anyone with the displeasure of knowing him, they knew this was his default. Landing securely on his toes as a cat always does, Merse knew exactly where he was.

This massive building he referred to as a five-star prison. The Orichalca Amazon's terrible habit of abducting civilians was something he had several opportunities to observe. Of all the shady figures Merse's line of work put him in contact with, a handful of them already met similar fates like Reginald, rotting away in the prison deep in the core of the asteroid were they not to reform. **This** place, however, was different. This is where they brought the women, granting them the chance to accept their rightful place in this misandrist's wet dream of a matriarchy.

For men, this place was a dystopian hell hole. Yeah, men were allowed to visit, and even enjoy the amenities, but with laws so obtuse and skewed, it was only a matter of time before any male found himself in trouble for the most petty of offenses. Without a doubt, they planned to assimilate Victoria and even the woman in the other room that Merse stealthy snooped on before finding the child.

He noticed the stealth gear littered all over the floor. It was fishy, and not in a good way like filleted flounder. The detective deduced she infiltrated the Cavala residence and was near the young heiress, mildly concerning him. Their rooms being so close made sense. As suspect of a character Merse was in his own right, not trusting the woman, the information broker left fine traces of his fur as any cat would all over her apartment. One here, one there. Anywhere. These hairs were peculiarly sensitive. Always connected, Merse could identify where every single one was without much thought. Though a protective measure, it was susceptible to backtracking if he wasn't careful. He wasn't. Maybe that's what he wanted. It was.

Sha’Rema’s Chancery

A vigorous debate ensued at the precipice of a mountain of Asteria, a golden castle, shining like the morning sun, a gleaming star to waking eyes. A court of warriors, young and old, tall and short, unlogical and insane argued under the light of a constellation chandelier centering a spiraling amphitheater. Its prevailing light has not been off for a century. To normal folk it was blinding, but Asteria’s prestigious warriors considered it a blessing to receive its golden rays. In reality, their eyes were baked to oblivion, most seeing vividly through sensory techniques passed down from one generation to the next.

“This man's body is impressive, sleek, agile, powerful. The laborers born from him could sustain a small generation of efficient workers, maybe even be lucky to father an Orichalca of immeasurable potential.”

“He lacks the mind! Think of where we found him. What exactly was he doing? Krillians aren't known for exactly their philosophical acumen. He even injured Maletesma!”

“Thalira, more the reason to sentence him to reformation! He is a loose cannon left be!”

“Surely someone capable of injuring a warrior of her magnitude is worth his weight in gold, which is why I decided to barter them as much. Was a small price to pay considering the troves we plundered on Axlar. They should be able to flip—”

“I just think he's hawt!” shot a high-pitched voice chanting from a distance.

“...”

“...”

The room erupted into chaos like dozens of alleycats squabbling in an alley over scraps in a seafood restaurant’s dumper. Thirty voices clashed in blaring arguments, borderline screeching so loud and tangled, not a single word pierced the uproar. All in front of the very man of topic, who at this point, probably pictured the prospect of a room of women fighting over him going much different. They haven’t even asked for his input and haven't bothered to feed him. Rude. Not to mention, he found himself caged, contained by golden constructs resembling hard light on a raised platform. As the debate dragged on with no discernible end, the Orichalca warriors practically begged him to act out and escape as a faint trace of a Kharcho soup slipped into the room.

Only several floors down, a feast was underway in a bountiful oasis of gastronomic delights. A cherished custom, celebrating the latest excursion's success, their victories, culture, and most importantly unyielding spirit bringing light to the world. A banquet featuring fruits and vegetables from across the galaxy grown in the verdant gardens of Asteria, displayed by floating jumbo-sized cornucopia weaving gently in the air. Golden trays, imbued with the same magical energy that their warriors possessed, floated gracefully through the hall, serving as an endless conveyor belt of culinary delicacies unique to this asteroid. Even the utensils shimmered with a life of their own, resting on tables draped in sleek white linens, starkly contrasting with the collective golden splendor of the venue.

And watching all of this, a pair of cat eyes, observing from the safety of the skyward atrium.