1 year ago
Siasma had silky hair running through the wind with slanted eyes and a flowing white gown. Her people were unique. If an Angel cried five times, the fifth time it would be blood. Their blood had a mesmerizing scent and taste that drove the demons mad. It had supernatural and chemically matching components of the Tanti gem from Planet X, often referred to as the Tai blood. Siasma despondently strolled through another corridor, the orange wind softening. She had been doing this for years, wandering the hundreds of stories of the palace on X while quietly directing the demise of the demons. Her demon king had locked himself in his chamber, and hadn’t emerged since.
She knew Ijin hated the angels. They biologically had a deep inner power, that if awakened would prove strength beyond his greatest soldiers. This left her no choice but to use the union to eliminate as many of the demons as possible. Her concern heightened when she realized that in eliminating all of Ijin’s people, Ijin would still remain a risk. Their son Carris would be a risk as well, being half demon. She would need to figure out how to carefully remove them so the angels could take both Cyber and X. Siasma’s plans for conquest involved leaving Hell to be the empty graveyard that her people originally wished it had been. Siasma was unaware that in Ijin’s chambers, Ijin was building up revenge for what she had done and was doing to him and his people.
Siasma’s focus, even if it meant losing her son and her husband, had to be a noble one- she thought. Noble desires had to triumph over evil. Ijin also underestimated an essential component. He activated the Tanti gem because Siasma had grabbed it simultaneously. The Tanti gem could not be activated without an angel, and if he were to destroy all of the angels then the Tanti gem would be useless.
Meanwhile on Planet Cyber...
Monitors flickered akin to light bulbs blinking to extinction, the room’s complexion a fallacy of stage lights dancing about the young, dazed girl who pranced along the floorboards. Her arm extended to the air, as she sang the inscription, “One little girl wants to save the world.. Can’t see past the line, murder at her side..” Imagined winds brushed the brown strands of hair across her pale face, fiery pedals streaming into the scaffold of intermittent crystal walls that circled a marble floor. Once, then twice, her eyes closed. The illusion of the outdoors returned to the recessions of her mind.
Beneath her was the silver placard, where the poetic inscription that had driven her life into fairy tales rested. At the age of ten she had read the eerie tale over and over, captivated by its literary construction. The mysterious and loner child desired no companions, needed no one, and thrived on such stories that helped remove her mind from the atrocious reality her family was planted in.
Before she knew it, arms bundled her like a pillow sack and shifted her mind back into the cold hands of that reality. Two very mean looking men with knife sharp clothing and painted faces were relocating her. “Hey!” Trixie cried, “Stop it!!” she fought to no avail with her baseball fists, becoming more frustrated as her beloved poem was taken from the floor and slung into one of their gilt belts. “Hey that’s mine you neutrimetracklistical psycodermic anesthisiacs!! Give it BACK!!” Trixie yelled.
“Aww, it's just a wee tot learning to make up words,” one of the men said.
“Let go of me you tard-spits!!” Trixie screamed. Her head hurt, and it was too blurry to make out the details of the yellow and white tiles as she went rocketing away with them.