Four Thirty Five (435) wrote,
Four Thirty Five

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[RP] One Person Scenage on BGM

Well, couldn't find anyone to play this out /with/, so I thought I'd at least do it myself. I LURVE THE CONCEPT TOO DAMN MUCH.

It's one of those things that just isn't supposed to happen.

Rugal Bernstein, the official Heir to all the Shadowlands, sits amongst the dusty books in the palatial library, pouring over old texts in the constant search for power through knowledge. He's been hoping for months that he would be able to find the mysteries of the clone vats here, amongst the age-old tomes of information. How the Angels were created is of great interest to the former arms dealer, as his ambitions go beyond the kingdom and the possibility of having it as his own... He knew his father-in-law was nigh-immortal, and would likely never come off the throne. This left the Heir with only one other option for real power, and that option lay in the world he knew very well. Combat. What better way to make oneself invincible than to take a near god, such as himself, and perfect it?

As the German reads, the air of the night suddenly quiets, the sudden unnatural silence causing the man to look up from his reading. Brow furrowing, his eye darts to the window as a soft hum rises from the silence, the faint tingle of building electricity tickling every hair on his body. Slowly, he stands, keeping his eye on the window, when the palpable tension explodes.

Just as suddenly as the silence fell, the faint electricity becomes a major force, bluish-purple arcs sprouting from the flesh of the white-haired man. Head flung back, his eye rolls back into his head as he begins to howl in pain, body spasming as the energy surges through his body. His mind races through the haze caused by the pain, believing that he's been attacked... But little does he know that the Gates are once again fluctuating, and this particular flux has plans on the Heir...

Steam starts to rise from Rugal's skin as the torment continues, forcing the man to slowly drop to his knees as his screaming continues, eyes closing tightly as he doubles over. Teeth clench over the first knuckle of his right hand to quiet himself, incisors digging through the leather of the glove, the skin and flesh to clamp around the bone itself, blood flowing down his hand like a river. Hair from his lip begins to intermingle with the ichor, his moustache slowly falling out and floating away from the pain-wracked man in near slow motion. A sickening creak replaces the screams, the bones under the man's skin bulging and changing visibly as his frame transforms into something different...

Nearly a half-hour of racking pain passes, the room filled with a fog and the smell of ozone. Rugal swallows a mouthful of blood, breathing fast and shaky as the German forces control to return. A voice, more effeminate and gentle, utters the words, "That was unpleasant..."

A long pause interrupts that thought. Was that... /his/ voice?

Eyes open as arms prop the body up, the reddened orb glancing down to see something that Rugal hadn't ever thought possible. One hand raises to meet flesh he'd only had cause to touch on others, then drops to meet the lack of flesh he'd always known. A tight wrenching in his stomach confirms his fears...

This is no dream. He's female.
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