beyond the light, darkness transcending time

Names and faces are insignificant as they are susceptible to decomposition in time. Beneath this illusion called peace, the last battle for survival has begun. I shall wait for your challenge. Warning: spoilers for Zexal II; secondary RP project in experimental stage [Independent roleplay blog for Yu-gi-oh! Zexal character Mizael.]

[inversionoflight]

IV. Delusion

When Mizael is walking through the open door, he notices its minimalistic simplicity. Akin to how an appartment is supposed to look like when humans already terminated the process of moving out, he assumes.

Empty.

It is disturbing him, to intrude to this detailed extent into how human life functions. They are only objects, gears to the mechanisms that connect their worlds. Mere instruments to prevent the decay of his world into the Sea of Ill Omen. He is an analyst and this is valueable information, but it does not catch his interest. He does not wish to get involved. He despises its neccessity and yet...having the inconvenience of Durbe lingering in pathetic reminicences of incidents long gone, it left him optionless. At least concerning the reliable options.

Mizael wants to spit with disdain. And yet he just smirks. It is not like he -they- had any choice to begin with. Before it would become a nuisance - he was not receptive to impulses such as affection or empathy. At the collision point of two worlds, he is a soldier of the Barian World. He is a tool to utilize in the grand scheme of happenings.

That is his merit. No more and no less.

"European painter Goya is quoted to have expressed that the sleep or dream of reason produces monsters" Mizael comments nonchalantly as he walks into the room utilizing precise audible steps, "But fantasy [...] united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of marvels.*"

Dressed in dark pants and vest, white button-up shirt, hair tied up and a violin case over his shoulders as well as his Barian Crystal slipped into the inside of said vest, he supposes he blends in well enough with his human body's physical age, having fully entered into the living room only to find a young man sitting on a stool painting.

"But excuse my impoliteness" he recites the set phrase as he brings a hand to his chest, "My name is Mizael. I was told the previous owner of this apartment had already moved out."

__________

[*Both quotes are by Spanish painter and printmaker Francisco de Goya, often considered the last of the Old Masters and the first of the moderns. The first one is depicted on his etching El sueño de la razón produce monstruos, 1797-1799.]

[inversionoflight]

III. Sincerity

Mizael moved through the floor of one of those human institutions called film studios when he perceived voices from intermediate to far distance.

A few times, men would pass him by, carrying cartons or false monster props or painted like in these pathetic shows Gilag used to watch. Some had retangular gadgets to catch motion on film; they were called cameras, he believed. Come to think about it perhaps his adaptablity in the human world -or at least in here- would have increased without his casual human disguise, he mused. This whole setup brought a picture to his mind's eye - of human children he saw after having passed by a playground earlier. His 'life action performance', through, was a real fight for one world to endure and another to fall into pitch black darkness.

There was nothing amusing about these facts.

When he approached the scene, he was flooded by flashing light devices and the blurred noise of a myriad of human voices talking obnoxiously loudly at the same time. With his limited human perception he was not able to distinguish the tonal differences as with human vision. It bothered him and gave him a sort of headache as the image of this number of Vectors lurring in the Throne Room involuntarily entered his mind. He massaged his temples in frustration.

Mankind had indeed invented quite a few mindless time-consuming activities.

He supposed it was unfortunate that his objective was the center of their entertainment. The boy who wore the blue cape and appeared on television had apparently been involved into the Numbers case.

Mizael decided to take a seat in the back of the anteroom and wait until these noisy sensations subdued to a tolerable volume.

[inversionoflight]

II. Melancholy

Melancholy (noun): 1. The sentiment of wistfulness, i.e. having lost something significant in the past and mourning its irrevocable loss; melancholic (adj.)...also one of the Ancient Greek Four Temperaments according to Hyppocrates; next to sanguine, choloric and plegmatic; associated with dry/cold and the black bile in medicine......

Mizael closed his eyes for an instant. There was something in the distant past that desired to surface again, a recollection of temples and dragons and ancient chants just like in a fever dream. He mentally shook his head, just once. There was no use lingering on negative states of emotions concerning events long gone. Melancholy...what a useless word. Investing energy on what possibilities with already died with the birth of present time. It was irrational.

Irrational. Mizael closed the outdated encyclopedia before placing it back on a shelf in Heartland Library.

And yet there lied this fascination in this very irrationality. What exactly was the information he inquired? Flowers and life decayed to rejoin the past. Humans would eradicate themselves by the own creations of their mind to destroyy the future. When exactly would be the point at which their worlds corroded and fell away? Refracting violet crystals decended down just in slow-motion, they were the presnt. They broke on the ground or met disintegration in the Sea of Ill Omen...

Only knowledge would persist in time.

Knowledge is power.

With practiced fingers Mizael took another volume out of the confines of the shelves the west wing of the library consisted of. He noticed the fragility of the spine through his gloves, the smell of old yellow paper, black ink on ivory. Another station on his research for a cure. He tried to sort it into his system.

It is then -in a moment of nonchalant passing time- that he gently tapped against the spine of his book, an indication to the man sitting opposite him of seemingly having picked the same one.

[photonstream-blog]

I. Dualism

inversionoflight started following you

[photonstream-blog]

If there was anything Kaito had learned from his research regarding the Barians, it was that Mizael was not only the most aggravating but he was - well, in short - a diva in his own right. Shot out of the sky like a comet, bursting into Kaito’s life with the threat to be his rival. Kaito hadn’t wanted a rival. Hell, he had only really been interested in his duels with Yuma while collecting data on Numbers to help him. Without warning and without reason (to his knowledge at the time) Mizael had shown up in his peacock display and forced his way into Kaito’s life to rest as an uncomfortable totem between his sanity and his dignity.

Kaito rubs his temples and tries to find the will and energy to get out of his bed and face the looming threat that is and will continue to be Mizael. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to move - it’s simply that it’s difficult. His body isn’t in a state yet where it’s recovered well enough to withstand the effects of the Barian Sphere’s for very long, or use his Photon Mode for an extended amount of time. Granted, it was certainly much more stable than what it had been in the WDC but still, recovery was recovery all the same.

Since their last encounter the need and obsession to know more and become stronger and consumed a better part of Kaito’s days. Nights of coffee mugs and chocolate bars made for days of exhaustion and frustration when the answers wouldn’t come to him.  Barians weren’t just things you could plug into a search engine. Yet for what he could gather, it wasn’t enough to explain how he could hold another Galaxy Eyes - where had such massive power come from?

Mizael. The Lone Barian Knight; his rival and source of head-throbbing frustration. Whatever mess he had to go deal with, he certainly wasn’t in the mood or physical condition to want to fuss around with whatever h had planned.

Kaito pinches the bridge of his nose and stands, tugging on his coat and giving himself one last physical check before he pulls Mizael’s location and runs the coordinates by Orbital. “Let’s leave now,” he orders in a tired voice, yet filled with conviction. he will face him. He will face this shadow-stalking demon who cursed him with the order to remember his name and let it resonate and fester inside him like some sort of parasite, leeching off of him and feeding Kaito with spurs of frustration and confusion.

There’s no protest from Orbital this time. In fact, he doesn’t say a word even when Kaito lands and plants his feet firmly on the concrete beneath him, struggling to keep his hands from shaking (an unfortunate side-effect of his treatment) when he straightens himself and tilts his chin upward.

“Mizael.”  

[inversionoflight]

With seemingly meticulous precision, Mizael observes the few rays of sunlight refracting through colorful glass artfully framed by onyx and white veins penetrated stone. There is harsh light. He asks himself whether it will be hidden soon? Birds attempt to flee in the face of an approaching storm. Soon gray clouds shall obscure the view on heaven. After all the carefully placed hints, he must only summon up a certain amount of patience for his guest to come. Mizael observes them with a smirk. Black feathers setting into flight-

He doubts he will have to wait for long.

From one instant to the other his eyes perceive waterdrops falling from a crack somewhere. Its sound resonates on vine-coverd stone. The stone is wet - dripping water from a crack somewhere his human vision is not able to reach? It was first unsightly, bothersome, to possess a human body, he mused in retrospect. But time told him also fascinating, in many ways similiar to the exploration of new sensations such as the temperature of cold water or the red liquid substance running through his veins.

His reverberant steps announce his trepassing into what appeared to be a hall as he lets his gloved fingers stride along those walls constructed of the same configuration of molecular structures feely. The engraved words and pictures which immortalized a meaning long lost...Fiat justitia ruat caelum. He stops in his tracks to sigh for a moment.

To be exact, he has no knowledge about how much time has passed. And yet what does not cease to intrigue him is the possibility of another existence -another Galaxy Master and another Galaxy-Eyes- akin to his own and at the same instant exhibiting so many differences. This theorem against nature itself. What has once only posed a minor inconvenience to save a decaying world - his world - is now on the verge of proving itself as so much more. And it stirrs a sense of curiosity, one may say. Or perhaps more like fascination? No. What concerns his mind is the question of who would be the hunter in this last act, and who the prey.

He does not turn around when steps could be perceived.

“It is quite interesting, don’t you think? The human heart operates with an average pressure of 100mmHg which equals twice the strength of the leg muscles of one of your top athletes. Pumping blood through a system of 100.000 kilometers of veins, which equals 2.5 times the circumference of this planet. And yet,” he makes a pause, “It equals to you humans deciding in favor of the most irrational things.”

Mizael turns around, slowly striding down the stairs.

Half-closing his eyes, he watches the only visitor in the vast hall. "There are no traps in here. I’m not as filthy as Vector. If I were to butcher my enemies in the dark before I had the chance to break them, it would be no victory at all." Mizael only offers a knowing smirk. "Wouldn't you agree...Hunter-san?"

[inversionoflight]

ROBOTS OR DINOSAURS?

Placing his finger between the pages, Mizael contemplated the flickering violet light refracted by the crystals called Barian lambs for a moment.

“It is quite obvious. Dinosaurs are a relict of the past since they lost their struggle against nature, which the humans would later conquer. Robots whereas are a construction thought up by mankind who are able to exert missions with mechanical precision beyond that of their creators. Pathetic humans…” he remarks in an amused manner.

“Yes, indeed. I find robots to be quite interesting” he smirked just as if he could see the greyface behind one of the crystal structures.