The fight literally bled out of her in trickles of carmine and vermilion, sluicing down the length of her chin in characteristic consistency. Adrenaline left her arms spent and shaking, trembling in the throes of a white-hot pain that conglomerated into a pleasurable lash against her body from where the soldier had struck her; bruises blossomed and Magdalena had never felt so alive. Fighting meant she was viable, aware, taking down her opponent was an acknowledgment to her existence, in the customary of battle, blows exchanged were all that she had - this moment was her own. She had collapsed back to her haunches and with arms supporting her weight she had breathed in the air stagnant with a volatile cocktail of spirits and death brought not by her hands, but the others. A part of her had been subtly annoyed that Aaron had once again rushed upon the situation and impaled his blade deep into the juncture of where Omega’s armour had been the weakest; a true vulnerability especially when his attention had been directed towards the increasing deconstruction of his chest plate as her volcanic spit had chewed through with an agonizing sluggishness that would have eventually sunk, and melted through his torso. Though in ironic reflection, the dual wielder had spared him a rather torturous death, Magdalena smirked at that, her simper remaining in a curious lift when she rolled to her knees and allowed the finality of battle to wash over her.
The soldier was terrified of his death, eyes wide and gradually dimming with the increasing seconds that dragged out in terrible listlessness, to die was horrifying and to not know what laid beyond even more so. A cavernous void had summoned forth below and above where nothing was seen and nothing was heard, an endless drone of silence had assuaged his senses and he felt no pain in that quick moment when blonde waved before the pit of obsidian Hell. Blue eyes bright and brimming with life and curiosity, just watching and he recognized the demon with her giant ring and then the agony to follow when something, someone, had punctured his veining neck. Fear was acute and numbing when at her shoulder lurked the devilish veneer of something derived from the bowels of a fictional netherworld. When her head tipped to one side, so did the hellish beast and when she touched his brow clammy with sweat, the creature mirrored her action and expressions that fissure across his ebony shell. If there ever was an after life, he hoped not that this being was the harbinger of the dead.
It was a morbid pass time that was really a quick interval of sadistic curiosity that had overtaken her in the singular moment. Her former annoyance with two particular men was banished when she reclined back on her booted heels and accompanied the soldier in his bereavement.
“Does it hurt?”
There wasn’t an answer, for the dead don’t talk, no matter what she saw in her nightmares. From the back of her mind she could feel the presence of eyes and shadowy smiles, of contradicting visions and forms that murmured their glee and want, of when she swiped her hand across her magmatic mouth and tasted her own blood. She wonders if Nautilus has burial rituals and events for their fallen soldiers, and she then wonders if it’s appropriate for her ponder on such things; for this is the enemy and they’re meant to die by their hands. Magdalena only brushes her fingers across his eyes lids and surrenders his body to the writhing darkness that has been eagerly awaiting this gift; this contribution and sacrifice. Hands pull and sink the corpse into the depths of whatever it is, of whatever this is and she doesn’t really know what to think of it when the body vanishes entirely by the ravenous Despair that follows and canters within her soul.
It’s not like she has anyone to talk to about it, not really. So she guesses that she’ll never know and perhaps this is for the best. She misses the darkness she had been held within during her times at Oak Ridge and before in her youth, to be the blind in this ugly world, and it really is ugly she decides and braces palms to her knees as she stands at her small height. Instinct bids her to retrieve her weapon, once again, and she welcomes it home across her spine. There isn’t time to reflect, to judge her actions in this campaign, for the gaping maw of the war zone is just beginning to yield open and Magdalena ascends upon it with eager hounds galloping across the silvery plain of her mind and here Chaos awakens with the soldier’s dead body firm in its jagged mouth.
┊» ｏａｋ ｒｉｄｇｅ; ＢＡＴＷ●
Revenge is an interesting thing, it opens your mind and wills you to do whatever you have to do. It paves a way of relentless whims and opportunities often shadowed and less favoured. He doesn’t really care for these details though, only that he manages to get what he wants.
Julian had stood at the gates of Oak Ridge for a long time, no longer seeing them but still staring as if will alone could siphon her back to his side. His hand is burning from where he touched her and his visage is still contoured into a scowl, he really really hates losing. He should have known that Cid would undermine and move against him, that his intention of handing Magdalena over to BATW was just an original fake to cajole him into lax simplicity and to hold off his original intentions. He had spoken to her after their graduation and he can remember the haunting blue of her eyes and it makes him angry all over again. There’s something about her expressionless countenance that infuriates him beyond all reason as if she has to temper herself constantly around the world and leaves nothing but a doll esque shell. Oh but if you put her next to her friends, there’s a shadow of a smile there, fleeting of course but the simple fact that the smallest of grins slips across her revere is just enough for someone like him to notice, he who is constantly watching and observing.
And it’s not just Magdalena, he watches them all, they’re interesting subjects really, every single one has a potential to be used and exploited for the powers they harbour within. His curiosity is incapable of being sated with the lesser subjects that had been provided to his department, they’re capable yes, but the experimentation's themselves require individuals of more efficient power and quantity. He needed Guardians.
Julian mused over the various files scattered hazardously across his tables, littered with glasses and tubes, metallic painted black and computers calibrating their predetermined data and analysis's. It’s a common print used in their everyday typing, but the brands across the sheaf of every single paper is what he’s interested in, how many times as he read them? But these are more than the WARG files, these are personal collections and details about psychological configurations and studies, of psychical capabilities. Of familial lists and their individual relations. That cruel grin that has been his trademark in her nightmares stretches wide across his cheeks, he taps his fingers idly, indicating towards his findings - he’s going to make his move.
And it won’t be pretty.
In foresight when an assistant passes by, to gather reports on the latest spirit calibrations of their newest recruits, she happens to glance at the files left open - perhaps deliberately - and recognizes those that have been highlighted in a crude red. It’s harsh and bright, almost a splotch of blood that clarifies Julian’s sadistic nature hidden beneath the veil of a scientist working towards The Cause.
┊» ｙｏｕｎｇ ａｎｄ ｈｏｐｅｌｅｓｓ●
Magdalena had never before been claustrophobic, but as they descended further beneath the shopping mall and were momentarily separated from the world above, it suddenly became more difficult to breath.
Or maybe it was her bruised chest.
The near hour march deeper into the war zone had been a testament to her durability, the process was lethargic in resetting her battered jaw and ribs, the soldier had inflicted internal damage from the brute force he had utilized and she took that into inventory, prepared for the encounters, took that bit of information and wove it into her attack patterns, but her excursion was costing her. The pain in itself was desirable, without a doubt, and indicated by her hyperactive breathing, but within those harsh pants was the subtle wheeze of her agony and small body bruised over and over again. Magdalena accepted the water with a swift flick of her wrist and drank graciously, however, every reflex of her throat made her jaw twinge and she bit the inside of her cheek to keep the wince from being illustrated across her indifference. The medical officials paid a special concern to the bruises visible and received a rather uncharacteristic snarl for their efforts which, despite their indicated occupation, made them hasten and move on further down the line of their troupe.
She barely listened to the General though her shadow nervously flitted to and fro between Thael and Olivia when the designated Captain of their charge had been, well, confused in the actuality of it. She wasn’t entirely surprised by it, but witnessing Olivia’s obvious cattiness in result was what perplexed her most, it seemed a tad out of nature for her though she didn’t comment or speculate further - she would have been irate as well. Instead she followed at her usual pace, put aside the pain in her hip and ribs and her attention fell on the soldiers of this near hopeless defense.
Those injured seemed to be seduced by their appearances, their department was legendary, a fantastical evidence of power and ability by the spirits harnessed within them. Her shadows became alive in waves of black and grey at the peppering of emotions permeating the air and every time she breathed, it only reaffirmed the empathetic waves her shadows were swollen with. Her blue eyes naturally fell upon Thael, the literal golden ray of hope in their group of chaotic powers and dark things, he was the framed picture of what these troops needed, he was the hero to step forward in his golden light that she couldn’t stand to behold. In the circumstance should he address them, she naturally backed away, wanting to avoid the entire situation, and passed by the rest for she was in no position to provide toward the backbone of the current morale. A man lifted his head and she met his eyes and it was the same crippling shade of her very own, he was young, just like her and beneath his helmet there was curling blonde a hue darker, dirtier than the threads sweeping into her oculus.
Staring at the past, or was it the future, the potential of it? The could have been, the lost soul, the dead in her dreams.
“You’re in WARG?” He inquired, a sort of awe struck glimmer in the depths of his pain filled realization.
Magdalena hesitated, “I am.”
“Heh, but you’re so...”
“Small.” She very well knew her height was a disadvantage when compared to most.
He chuckled briefly, only to bring a bout of coughing that shook his thin shoulders beneath the bulk of dented armour. His calloused palm cradled his side, one eye fluttering shut as the pain ripped through his lungs and bones.
“I’m sorry, but I, uh, don’t suppose you’d be a healer?”
Blue eyes flickered over to Kimberly, the actual healer addressing Olivia softly and carefully. She kept her eyes on him for a moment before her stare gradually passed over to Aaron, arms crossed defensively.
“No.” She couldn’t even heal herself, thought she wouldn’t admit it, and the idea of absolving her blemishes and bruises was a fluctuating line of wanting and declining. Revitalized: she could be of more use. Battered and broken: she’d be submerged in her anger, her desire, her burning heart. Distracted.
“Oh, I see.” He mumbled and visibly deflated.
She looks at him again, softly, carefully.
“Don’t worry.” Magdalena murmurs, barely catching his ears when he offers her a perplexed glance. The soldiers around him, a group of comfort she supposed, cast eyes on her for a second in their own confusion.
“You won’t die.”
At least not today.
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