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@arcrowoon
ă reaŃonŃ wĐ˝y ă
archansol:
( ... )
   Since then, Hansol hasnât been quite as cooperative when sidled with a partner, stubbornness causing him a detrimental streak of mission failures. A temporary suspension was placed for him as he reflected his own behavior, and Hansol had stormed out of the office seething with rage. Drowning in his thoughts, his feet had unknowingly led him to the training grounds. His fists clenched upon seeing a familiar figure, ugly emotions rearing within him as he glared from the sidelines at an individual that represented what he had.Â
   ââŚRowoon.â
Heâs trying to be better, be nicer, be more considerate of others, be everything except the person he was raised to be. Ever since being brought to the arc, heâs done everything everyone and anyone has told him to do, no matter what the task, no questions asked if he could hold them in. What is right and what is wrong is something he canât trust himself to judge. How could he -- when he still hears Father Seoâs voice every day, when the things heâs lived by all these years are supposed to be lies yet are still principles he believes in, when he still doubts Godâs true words over those in the Red Book? Gone are the days he preached Father Seoâs prayers on the streets day and night and gone is the Rowoon that would do anything to make outsiders swear by them too. But what does that make the person thatâs left?
No one in this place is like the family he had back then. He canât say he trusts any of these people, is close to any of them, would die for any of them -- unlike how he would risk it all for any member of the community, regardless if they were his mother or a stranger that had only joined that day. In the arc there are people heâs paired up with, some more frequently than others, but in the training rooms thatâs all they are to him: training partners. Of course some of them are more than that, his current one especially, considering that they were friends before crossing paths there, but in general, training isnât a pleasant experience for him, and thus itâs preferred to keep the relationships separate when possible.
But that doesnât mean he doesnât care about those partners. Recently thereâs been a rumor circling around about one in particular, entailing something about consecutive mission failures and a difficult personality, two things he never wouldâve associated with Hansol. Heâs been meaning to check up on him, but the other boyâs never there when he knocks on his door nor anywhere to be seen around the facility when he wanders.
Today heâs training solo, strengthening his endurance by determining exactly how many platforms he can create and testing his weight against each one, when he finally spots him out of the corner of his eye. As soon as he sees him, he dispels all of the constructs except the one heâs currently standing on a few feet above the ground and offers a smile, followed by a wide wave. âHi, Hansol!â
More platforms are formed in succession as he runs up to greet him, but upon nearing his smile fades and he slows, stopping a few steps short of standing beside him, almost afraid to get any closer. âUm... are you okay? You donât look okay...â He continues to look up at Hansol until he canât bear the otherâs stare any longer and shifts his gaze to their feet. âI was looking for you before. I heard about the rumors... Is there something wrong?â
closer
archyuna:
( ... )
âRowoon, right?â It finally comes out and sheâs got the biggest smile on her face. She scrambles to her feet to greet him properly, rocking a little bit between her heels and the ball of her foot, feeling the sand shift and move underneath. âHyuna! I think ⌠we might have trained together a couple times, havenât we? You do the âŚâ her hands are outstretched in front of her, palms vertical, as if against a flat surface. Itâs a crude imitation of what she thinks are forcefields, but itâs better than saying it aloud with too many to hear around. âI have, yâknow,â she nods her head towards the water, same reason, same tiny sort of subtly that she could muster.
âItâs nice having a place like this within reach of the compound but,â her gaze travels to his shoes, clearly not suited for sandy beaches, chuckling a little to herself, âyou probably didnât come here to swim, did you?â
Features that had winced in fear of mistaking the girl for someone else relax when she says his name, the corner of his lips quick to quirk up into a slight smile as confirmation. She stands before revealing her own and he rushes to get back on his feet to return her greetings, ducking his head down again only to lift his gaze to follow her hands, uttering a soft laugh when he realizes what sheâs doing. âYeah, I remember now. Sorry, itâs been a while.â
Right, Hyuna. Itâs supposedly a common name, but sheâs the only one he thinks he knows, and sheâs definitely the only one he knows that can control water. Though there arenât too many names and faces at the facility to recognize, training schedules arenât consistent, and considering the fact that they arenât paired up often, he doesnât blame himself for forgetting her. What matters now is that at least he was able to remember, although Itâs a little strange that he canât seem to recall anything else besides the name and abilities she just gave. Either they never spoke outside of the training grounds, or his memory is worse than he thought, the former being most likely. The thought is pushed aside as she chuckles.
âOh, this. Yeah...â He sets the item in question -- a pair of black running shoes the organization gifted him a couple months ago, now slightly worn -- in the dry spot they were just sitting in. âI just came to see what a beach is like. No one told me I was supposed to swim.â
No one had told him much of anything, really; just that it would be fun to go on a day like today, regardless if it was with a friend or alone. A few wandering steps forward is all it takes for his toes to reunite with the water, but he continues to tread until the tide wraps around his ankles when it stretches out. âDid you come here to swim?â He looks back to her, taking a brief glance down at the dress sheâs wearing, unsure if sheâs even able to go in the water in that kind of clothing. âOr did you come here to practice?â
âpandemonium
arcwonil:
( . . . )
ârowoon, listen to me.â eyes focused, breaths even. he needs to stay composed, he owes his teammate that much. âwe canâ no, we will get through this. but to do that iâŚâ a pause, to confront his reality. their reality. âi have to turn into that.â
the bitter admittance leaving his mouth wasnât intended to further fan their fears, but to confirm the evident danger of their current position. they donât have the firepower to launch a counterattack, and he canât risk rowoon going under further stress. itâs simple rationalisation perhaps, but he still hates that it had to come to this.Â
âfocus on protecting yourself. until it clears us a path, and once that happens, iâm trusting you to put a stop to it.â itâs unfair, he knows. but he doesnât have time to supply a sufficient apology. âplease.â
at their agreed cue, he runs out into the corridor. he doesnât hesitate. he doesnât think. âitâ doesnât need to think; âitâ doesnât need to fear. if sticks and stones canât break its bones, then bullets sure as hell couldnât. itâs an entrance that signals the cacophony of gunshots and agonised screams, shock and fear at the man that so readily switched into a beast. and thatâs what they donât know, thatâs what they wonât understand. itâs not a switch that comes instantaneously â heâd never needed a switch, and thatâs his secret.
heâs always angry.Â
Heâs not sure if heâs good and heâs not sure if heâs bad. What do those words even mean anymore anyway? Does the answer even matter? Everything is so confusing. Itâs hard to believe that salvation will come through these missions, sneaking around places theyâre clearly not meant to be in, hurting people that are just doing their jobs, getting away with it all under the guise of research thatâs nothing but lies on top of lies. But when Wonil pats his shoulder and asks he forces a smile and nods, because regardless of what he thinks he knows heâs supposed to be good-- no, he has to be good. This is one of many moments theyâve been trained for after all.
Mongolia is another term heâs not sure about, another place out of many he has yet to experience, but thereâs no time to appreciate the scenery when theyâre in the middle of a mission. He tries to drown all of it out as he trails behind Wonil: the foreign words and faces surrounding them as they approach the compound, the structure theyâre climbing right now, the fact that theyâre not in the training room anymore, the fact that this time either of them could die if he messes up, the fact that heâs now responsible for both his and his friendâs life. He manages to maintain focus for the most part, thinking of nothing except supporting his partner as he follows his senses and guides them along, but an alarm blares and his dam cracks. All the worries come flooding in at once and he tenses amidst the tides, waiting to see what his partner will do, or what heâll become.
No. The thought is instant. Theyâve trained enough times that he knows what will happen next. His lips part as Wonil speaks, but the word never finds its way out. Heâs too afraid to even tremble, more so shake his head or speak. That thing isnât him; itâs a monster that consumes his soul. Every time it appears, Rowoon doesnât know if heâll ever see his friend again, and the worst part is that he has to torment the human to tame the beast.
Wonil keeps talking and eventually he snaps out of his trance and grabs him, seizing the otherâs arm before he can do anything rash. âWonil, I- I donât want to hurt you again. I canât.â Bullets click into place around them and dozens of barrels loom overhead. Armored guards barricade the corridor ends with steel and leer beneath uniform helmet visors. Theyâre all shouting obscenities his ears canât understand and he can already feel the muscles beneath his palm swell. With nothing else to do, he drops his arm to his side and musters a quick âokayâ, darting forward after Wonil.
As soon as the other moves he creates a field around them to block the bullets and makes haste to keep up with the beast. Rowoon is fast but itâs impossible to stay at its heels. He exchanges strength for size to compensate for the gap between them that grows wider with each step, not worrying about containing it just yet, nor preventing the guards from lunging through at them. Though itâs not something he likes working with, heâs fought with it enough times to know it wonât just ignore them.
Pairs and tuples of men fall at its feet with each passing moment, but he tries not to think about what heâll have to do once the last gun has have ceased its fire and when the grounds will be stained with red. He keeps his eyes on the figure in front of him and breaks out into a sprint when it seems like heâs about to lose sight of it, trying to close at least some of the distance. When it turns a corner at the end of the passage, he compresses the force field into a shield to protect himself from the security firearms above and slams down a wall to block off the enemies still chasing from behind, picking up his earlier pace as soon as heâs done, praying that once he finds him -- the real him -- Wonil will be okay.
closer
@archyuna
Itâs nothing like the books, nothing like anything anyone could have said itâs like, nothing like any of his wildest dreams. Three steps past the edge and dirt thatâs not quite dirt fills in his soles, gritting between his toes in a way his mind doesnât know whether to like or dislike. He sinks a little with each stride, effort needed to move forward and break free of the mounds that dent beneath his weight and cut through the wind gusting against his skin. A young boy bumps into him as he runs past, smearing a small patch of white cream against his calf. A hand shields squinting eyes that watch him chase after friends, all barefoot, all donning the same reddish glow. Minutes later he follows suit and takes off his shoes, gasping as his soles burn and his toes disappear beneath the surface. Steps are now accompanied by shells attempting to pierce his callouses, but itâs far more comfortable than before.
Laughter is left behind and replaced by the crashing of waves against the shore. The dunes and shells disappear and whatâs left is a surface similar to wet concrete, where he can look back and see his footprints leading to the spot he now stands -- though only for a moment, as the ocean rises to erase them every now and then. The next time the tide comes in he steps closer, letting the water surround his ankles and crash against his feet. A couple minutes is all it takes for all remnants of his path to be swallowed by the foam and it looks like heâs just appeared out of nowhere. The ground no longer hurts and the sea-filled air smells strongly of seaweed, heavy, yet also refreshing. Itâs like nothing heâs ever experienced before, like being a stranger in a strange land all over again.
Amongst groups of what appear to be family and friends heâs alone, but he doesnât feel sad. Wonil had told him people go to places like this alone all the time. Looking around unveils a few others that seem to have made the same decision, one having a face that seems somewhat familiar, though he doesnât know for sure. Itâs also uncertain if itâs okay to disrupt someone while theyâre keeping to themselves like she is, but a moment of debate leads to him treading back to the waterâs edge to where she sits, bowing once with a hesitant, âHello,â before settling down beside her.
âSorry for bothering you, but you look really familiar. Are you from âthereâ?â He clasps his palms together and lowers his head. âAgain, sorry if this is strange. Iâll leave if you want me to.â
oh little girl
@arcsora
Even after two years with these people, itâs still difficult to believe that these paranormal events that are constantly unfolding before him are actually happening. His existence in this maze feels like a twisted dream that impossible to wake up from, where heâs chased by figures he doesnât know, through traps that seem more suited towards animals than people, and saved by invisible barriers he still apparently has the ability to create, only to learn that this was only the beginning.
Somehow itâs not surprising to see that the walls are able to move. The banging on the one he erected just moments ago ceases as he watches the enemies disappear behind metal, standing still, almost too afraid to breathe until the creaking stops. Itâs only when heâs sure the shifting is over that he squeezes his eyes shut, taking a moment to clear his mind before wandering past one of the new doorways.
Despite being under a time limit, thereâs no urgency in his steps. When he realizes thereâs no more traps and no more footsteps chasing after him, he loosens his grip on the drawstring slung across his shoulder and lets himself savor the tranquility.
Truthfully, thereâs no reason to fret when danger has yet to show itself. The director said there would be three stages of the evaluation; presuming that the recent change in scenery meant the first was done, the next challenge is bound to come soon. Even if he doesnât look for it, heâs sure itâll find its way to him. Thereâs a high-pitched cry for help in the distance, confirming his suspicions of impending threats. Nearing the end of the hall, his pace falters as he swallows the bundle of nerves thatâs suddenly made itself present in his throat. Thereâs no such thing as failure in this trial, he reminds himself. He turns the corner. Thereâs no such thing as failure--
âAh!â
As quickly as he steps into the next hall he stumbles back, fingers quick to latch around the wallâs edge. Snapping his eyes open doesnât remedy the pounding in his chest, but it does elicit another exclamation, this time underlined more by relief instead of fear. âAh. Sora. Itâs you.â
He lets go of the wall and rubs his temples, trying to regain his composure. âAre you okay?â
Angels Giving Hope 2016 Concert
HS_Hearted | do not edit.