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This chapter is also rated M. ...I guess.
Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.
Chapter 25; Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.
A week had droned by since the burning incident, and Gleam had been confined to the sofa in Style Magle’s dorm room. She tried, tried arguing that she didn’t need to be graced with a bed or stay in her dorm room, but the usual latter of not winning prevailed once again. Familiar, something had been disgustingly familiar about it all, but she no longer cared. It didn’t matter—nothing mattered. A fuse, her life was running on a short fuse. Sick of everyone, everything; she was sick of everything. The extension, the extension of her life angered her. She was tired, tired of people forcing themselves to save her. While she knew thinking it would be better if society killed her, she knew she had no right to think such. The thought of leaving the world had thus stayed permanent. The thought, the thought refused to disappear, and she didn’t want the feeling to vanish. Despite somehow feeling a calm feeling for a short time, she knew it was an illusionary calmness. An illusionary calmness and a part of her enjoyed it. A part of her enjoyed, enjoyed the illusionary calmness. Nothing had gone on for the entirety of the week. Gleam knew, knew nothing dangerous remained. No one dangerous remained. Dead, every dangerous member in society had been removed from the world, and she knew it. She hated thinking that there was nothing dangerous, but she knew that no one was going after her anymore was a sign, a major sign, and she was hoping, hoping it would remain in such way. She was tired of it, tired of people going after her. Tired of it. She knew, knew that it was of absolute stupidity to think, think that society, the ocean, had been done going after her. A horrible and completely dumb thought. It was an absolutely horrible and dumb thought, and she wanted to stop—stop thinking about the ocean. The ocean was no longer, no longer a concern, a concern to her. The ocean was done, done—done being a major concern.
The blood covered world. The blood covered world had been dimmed. Dimmed slightly. The world covered in blood, it had only come back once in a while during the week. When it came, she hated it, hated it more than anything. Hated the sight, the sight of everything, everything being covered, covered in high volumes of blood. When such had been happening, she wanted to burn, burn over and over again. The craving, the craving of becoming a corpse only continued, continued to live inside her. The feeling, the feeling of craving, craving to become a corpse. Extreme beyond extreme, the feeling had been extreme beyond extreme. However, she knew the sight of everything covered in blood would never vanish. Permanent, it had become absolutely permanent. She almost craved it, almost craved the desire. The desire to become a corpse when such visions had become the extreme visions they were. Blindness, it had to have been related, related to blindness. Visions of extremes that had not been there, blindness, it had to have been blindness. She wanted the blindness, the blindness to happen soon. She no longer wanted to see—see a world, a world where everything, everything had been covered. Covered entirely in blood. She no longer wanted to see, see a world, a world covered in blood. She had to find a way, find a way to escape the occasional, the almost always occurring visions of everything, everything being covered in blood. But Style, Style disallowed, disallowed any of such.
In the week of being forced into Style’s room, she learned more, more than she should have known. Something had felt familiar, familiar about everything. Everything that Style, Style had told about herself. She had learned, learned everything. Everything there was to know about her. The passions inside her, the age she currently had been, her entire past. The past—her past seemed more tragic, more tragic than she thought it could have been. She hoped nothing would trigger, trigger in Style as she reconciled, reconciled her entire past. She realized, realized—different. Style had been so different, so different from Chime. She was so different, so different from Chime. No longer did she see, see Style to be a female Chime. She was anything but, anything but such. Her impression, her entire impression had changed of Style Magle. A girl with ambition that had charm, she had charming ambitions, and she admired, admired how the girl, how the girl had nice, nice ambitions. Her ambitions—her ambitions were amazing, amazing, and she envied, envied her ambition, her aspiring ambitions, and she wished, wished she could have been—been exactly, exactly like Style. Ambition, a girl full of ambition. She wished, wished she would have, could have been, would have been exactly like Style, but it was too late, everything, everything had been gone. Her ambitions, everything.
She had learned. Learned Style had only been thirteen—in about three months, she stated she would be fourteen. A new teenager, Style had still somehow had been a new teenager. She had entirely and passionately stated, stated how she had wished and dreamed, wished and dreamed to have been able to take it to the next level, take it to the next level, to take her friendship to state of girlfriend and partnership. She stated clearly, stated bravely and clearly that she had kept her hair short for Eggshell. She had kept her hair short to show her, show her that she loved her more than life itself. She stated clearly, she realized, realized she had loved her in a romantic way. She told Gleam, she had once been a Sovereign, a Sovereign in her life before. She explained, explained to her, explained that she had been the Sovereign of Murder, the Sovereign of Murder in her last life. She stated clearly and bravely, clearly and bravely that she had been declassified as human, declassified as a human by society. She explained it had been the same way for Eggshell. Both, both of them had been past, past Sovereigns. She stated, stated that it led, led to relentless torture, relentless torture by the hands of the people, the people in her so called utopian little village. Her so called utopian village, and she almost wondered, almost wondered if it was a mistake, a mistake to have lived in the village, but she knew, knew that was a dumb thought.
Style had then told her. Curse, she had been cursed, cursed to die—die in the exact same way she had in her last life. A curse, it was almost a cruel curse. A cruel curse, cursed to die the way her past life had. She told the girl she liked it, liked it because it meant, meant there could have only been one way, only have been one way to die. She stated, Eggshell, Eggshell had been of the same, a curse, but it had not been the same, the same as her curse. Gracefully weaker, the life Eggshell had been given was cursed to be weaker, significantly weaker. Throughout the week, Style explained all, all about everything. All about herself, all about the cruelties, all about her world; all about everything was to know, and she seemed completely brave, completely brave in every single entirety.
In the present time frame, however, Style had gone back to indulging herself into her painting. Seriphard had left; Seriphard had left four days before. She had decided, decided before. She had decided, decided Seriphard had done, done enough. He had done enough and sent him back to his dorm. Eternally grateful, she had been eternally grateful for his supervision. Style had noticed that Gleam had attempted, attempted to hurt herself during certain instances, and she had to stop her. It annoyed her in ways she couldn’t explain, but the supervision of suicidal feelings continued. They only continued as she did not want to see, did not want to see Gleam, see Gleam act in that way. There for her, she had to be there for her. There for her in place of Chime. In the silence of her dorm room and paintbrush, she knew, knew that she had to check, check up on Gleam. She couldn’t allow, couldn’t allow for any signs, any signs of suicide inside her. Somehow get her into her painting, she wondered if she could strike up a conversation about her painting to change, change the direction, the direction of which she had been thinking. Try, she would try, try to do such, to do such to change, change her thoughts.
“Hey, Gleam,” she said. “I’m painting a mountainscape. Could you tell me what you think of it?” a smiled creeped onto her face slowly in an attempt, an attempt to get her to smile.
Gleam turned and stared morosely at the painting. Nothing there, there had been nothing there. A blank canvas, a completely blank canvas. A trick, was this some kind of trick? Was this some kind of new trick her mind was playing on her? Nothing on the canvas, there had been nothing there on the canvas. There had been absolutely nothing appearing on the canvas. She didn’t understand, didn’t understand why, why that was, she didn’t understand, she didn’t understand why—why there was no image, was no image appearing on the canvas. Lie, she had to lie. She had to lie and tell her—good, that it looked good. She had to lie, lie and say, say it looked good. She couldn’t, couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t say she couldn’t see the painting. Lie, she had to lie. Lie, she had to. No choice, she had no choice.
“Um,” she said. “It looks good!” she smiled, smiled as she lied, lied incredibly badly.
Style blinked. The tone, the tone of her voice. Lying, she had been lying. Badly, for that matter. Lying, why was the girl lying? She didn’t like it, like how she was lying, lying about the painting. It was enough, enough to instigate anger, enough to instigate a point of anger inside her. A lie, the girl was telling a lie. There was no way, no way she was going to accept, accept a lie, a lie for an answer. There was no way, no way she would. Would go about and accept it, accept the lie. Confront the lie. Confront it, she had to. She changed her smile to a frown within seconds. Serious, it was of a serious expression.
“Gleam, please don’t state falsehoods, okay?” she said in a demanding tone present. “I would appreciate it if you speak of the truths and not of the falsehoods.” She sighed as she continued on, the good kid. She was still a good kid. She was still a good kid. There had to be a reason, had to be a reason, a reason of which, a reason to her lie. Good kid, she was still a good kid. “Come on, Gleam, you’re a good kid! Could you tell the truth?”
Gleam backed away slightly. No—caught, why had her lies always been so easily caught? Why had it always been that way? Always caught, her lies were always caught? How? How could she go on and tell her? Go on and tell her? Go on and tell Style, tell Style she couldn’t see—couldn’t see the canvas. She didn’t want to say; say she couldn’t see the canvas. She didn’t want to. She knew, however, knew she had absolutely no choice. Onto her, the girl was completely onto her. Completely and utterly onto her, she had to, had to, had to come clean. Come clean and say, say she couldn’t see, see the painting on the canvas. She had to come clean and admit it, come clean and admit that she could not see—see the painting.
She breathed and prepared, prepared to state—state the truth. “Sorry,” Gleam answered. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” She changed her expression to that of a dark one. “I can’t…” she paused. “I can’t see the painting.” The tears, the tears could not fall. Serious, serious, a serious face at all times, there had to be a serious look on her face. She couldn’t cry, there was no way, no way she could allow, allow herself, allow herself to shed any tears. No tears permitted, no tears were even permitted. “I’m really sorry,” she said. “I’m just so sorry, Style. I’m really sorry.” Apology after apology, she could feel apology after apology flow out of her as if she could only, only apologize. Apologize and nothing else. Only an apology that seemed to rush out of her. An apology—was that really all? All that could come? Come out of her?
Style wondered why, why Gleam couldn’t see, see the containments, the containments of her painting. She wondered, wondered what that could have possibly meant. She didn’t know, didn’t know. She wondered. Just how much trauma? How much trauma had the girl truly gone through? How much trauma had she gone through? How much trauma was there? Not normal, it could have not been of normalcy. It could not have been of normalcy. Somehow, it was a scar of which, a scar of which she didn’t understand. A scar that she knew, knew she would never personally deal with. Still, she knew, knew she couldn’t, couldn’t leave it alone.
“Don’t apologize, Gleam, it’s okay,” Style answered. “You’ve certainly gone through a lot, haven’t you? Much more than I have, so I guess that must be why you can’t see my painting, I totally understand!” tone, why was her tone changing? She sighed. “Gleam,” she said again. “I find it coolsome that you can even handle any of this. At your age, and all.” She felt an overwhelming desire to pat the girl. Pat the girl on the shoulder. She wondered why, why she had such desire. No sense, it made no sense to her.
Gleam noticed. Noticed how Style’s hand was about to meet, meet with her shoulder. No, no—she couldn’t. Couldn’t do that. Chime, it would remind her of Chime. She didn’t want any key reminders she didn’t want any key reminders, reminders of how Chime, how Chime did anything. No memories, she wanted no memories of Chime. Not now. No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t, she couldn’t touch her shoulder. Back away, she had to back away. As the fear of being forced to have flashbacks continued, Gleam backed away from Style. Enough distance, there had definitely been enough distance between, between the hand and her shoulder. Say something, she had to say something, anything to explain. Anything to explain the entirety of why. Backed away from her, she didn’t want her to think, didn’t want her to think she had a personal, a personal issue. She didn’t want her to think, think she had, had any issues, issues with her.
“N-no, please,” she said, shaking. “Not my shoulder!” tears began to glue onto her face. Why? Why now? Why had she started crying now? Why? “Please… please don’t pat my shoulder. I don’t want the memories to flow back! Please don’t! I beg you, Style! I beg you!” a mess, why had she become such a mess? She was a mess, a mess, and she knew it. She knew it more than anything. A mess, a mess, and she somehow knew. Somehow knew. Somehow she looked equivalent to an animal, equivalent to an animal, and she knew it. She knew it more than anything. A pitiful animal, she was a pitiful animal.
Style looked directly at Gleam. Trauma. She had definitely been experiencing trauma. She should have known, known it would have been a bad idea. A bad idea, it was a bad idea. A bad idea, and she knew, knew she shouldn’t have. Shouldn’t have attempted, attempted to pat her shoulder. Bad on her end; a horrible move, it was an absolutely horrible move. It was of no wise movement to her. Apologize, she had to apologize. She could not accept, could not accept; accept what she had just tried to do. Unacceptable, it was so unacceptable.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Gleam. I didn’t mean to remind you,” she said, voice dropping. “I don’t want to bring up memories of your guy buddy, really. Sorry, Gleam.” She wondered; would Gleam view her, view her worse than society? Would she view her as a member of a dangerous society? The thought, the thought graced her mind. “Well, it’s okay if you think I’m just like the society of this program,” she said. “I really wouldn’t mind.”
As Style had begun with her strange extra personality trait, Gleam came to wonder. How many people remained? How many people remained in the program? How many members of the ocean remained in the program? How many members of the ocean were left? How many? It came to her, came to her that there had been so little people left. Style’s strange personality trait—the ocean. Somehow find out how many people, how many people truly remained in the program. Would Style go for it? Would Style go for what she wanted to know? Wondered, she wondered beyond, beyond her usual level, her usual level in wondering. Would Style? Would Style go along with it? She breathed in and began, began to initiate, initiate what she wished to ask.
“You’re not,” she answered. “Speaking of society…” her voice began to drift off as she thought of how to word, word what she was about to say. “Speaking of society,” Gleam repeated. “Style, I want to see how many people are left, please?” she sighed lightly. “If there’s even a way, I mean.”
Style had wondered. Wondered the same thing. She knew, knew that Seriphard, Seriphard would know. Know the answer to such question. Dorm, Gleam and she could go to Seriphard’s dorm and ask. Ask directly; ask directly how many people, how many people had been left in Mariibo Rumaibo. He had left, left his dorm room number information. Ask Seriphard, she knew they could ask Seriphard. She gazed at Gleam and prepared to tell her, tell her where they were headed.
“There’s a way!” she said, pointing her hand to the ceiling. “I have Seriphard’s dorm information! He left it for me in case we needed him again. Seriphard knows everything, Gleam, so we’ll ask him!” too enthusiastic, she was too enthusiastic.
Gleam almost smiled. Seriphard, Seriphard would know, know he would definitely know such information. While the thought of pestering him bothered her, she knew, knew the population was dwindling. She knew this was the perfect opportunity to learn. Learn from him—how many. How many people remained, remained in the program. Remained in the program besides the three of them. She knew, knew they were not the only ones. More, there had to have been more than just the three of them. She knew despite albeit pestering, she knew. Asking, asking was the right notion.
“Wonderful!” Gleam cried. “So, where exactly is Seriphard’s dorm room? Is it far away or anything of the like?” Gleam blinked. The like? Why? Why would she blurt? Blurt words like that? She shook her head, no—no time. No time to fall into her thoughts. No time, no time to lose to her thoughts. No time, there wasn’t any time for the sort.
Style went into thinking the number, what the number of the room had been. An incredibly high one, she remembered the number exactly: room 885. A high dorm room number. It was a high dorm room number, but it mattered none. It didn’t matter the number—Seriphard would still be there, hopefully. She, for one, did not want to abuse the boy’s knowledge, but she knew if she would have to protect Gleam, she needed to know too—know how many people remained in the program as well. Guy buddy, Seriphard was their guy buddy, maybe it didn’t matter—matter if they asked him or not.
“You might mislike this,” she said, sneaking her dialect into the sentence. “Seriphard is in room 885. He’s about two floors above.” She laughed inappropriately at her next sentence. “The dorms are so weird here, but we’ll find it!”
Gleam didn’t like—like how high up the number was, but there was no time to fall into a thought now. Leave, they had to leave and ask, ask Seriphard. Ask Seriphard how many people remained.
Gleam stood and prepared, prepared to leave. “Room 885 is far, but we can do it,” she answered with a practical fake confidence. “So, let’s get out of here!”
Style laughed and grabbed Gleam’s hand. “Okay, okay,” she said. “Let’s go on a quest to Seriphard’s dorm room!”
As the two left dorm room and headed for Seriphard’s Gleam knew, knew the number she would hear would not be of a high one. She was prepared, prepared to know and learn, learn the new population. The new population of the program. Ready and not, she was ready and not to learn, learn the current population, the current population of the program.
When Gleam and Style had arrived at Seriphard’s dorm room, they had noticed. The door, the door had been rotted. Rotted to the very core. It had almost been as if people had gone after Seriphard as well. The door, the wood. The wood had been rotted. Gleam wondered why, why anyone would go after an angelic messenger such as Seriphard. A rotted door, a completely rotted door. Not a good sight, it was far from being a good sight. It was far from being a good sight, and she knew it. The ocean, the ocean had been cruel, cruel to so many people. So many people, and she did not like it, she did not like how little people cared about others. Cared so little about others. Cared so entirely little about others and their lives—known, she should have known. Should have known that the ocean was no different than anyone. Gleam then sighed. She stopped her thought trail. No, not now, not now, not now. There was no reason to get lost in thought now. No reason, no reason to get lost in thought now. No reason, couldn’t, she couldn’t. Knock, she had to knock. Get it over with; they had to begin to get everything over with. Gleam didn’t know why the number was so important to her—wondered why it so much as mattered, but she knew, no time to think. She didn’t have a single second to think any more about it.
Gleam flinched and decided. She couldn’t, couldn’t turn the knob. She couldn’t turn the knob. She couldn’t turn it, turn the knob. She turned to Style. She couldn’t turn the knob. Frightened, she had this sudden thought; it would be frightening and mortifying to learn. Learn the number, the number of people which remained. She knew, knew the number would be low. She didn’t want to know, know the number of the amount of people remaining. She had to know, to know, the number, she couldn’t, she couldn’t stop herself, stop herself. Stop the truth.
Style sighed and knocked on the door in Gleam’s stead. She waited, waited for the answer, waited for an answer at the door, the rotted door. In the distance, Style could hear the footsteps. Wait, she had to wait. Wait for the knob and footsteps to meet. Wait, she had to wait. Wait for the knob and footsteps to meet. Wait, she had to wait. Wait until the sound of the knob panned through the hallway. She waited, waited, waited for the knob to show signs of turning, for the rotted door to become an open door rotted door. She waited, waited anxiously for the door to open. Waited for the door to become a side door. Long, it had been taking so long. Why had it been taking an almost millennium? Eventually, however, from what would seem like the wait of the millennium, the knob turned and the door opened. Style prepared a serious face to grace the serious issue.
After the door had swung open, Gleam realized—cindered. The dorm room on the inside from her line of sight had looked cindered. As she usually had done, Gleam examined the boy’s appearance. She found it incredibly strange, incredibly strange how no one, how no one had done anything about the boy’s clothes. She noticed, the same shirt splotched with blood. He had to have been wearing the exact same shirt. Poor? Had the boy been poor before entering the program? Possibility—it had to be a possibility.
Seriphard stared at Gleam and Style. He knew, knew why they had been there. He had known, known they would come. Despite it, he couldn’t, couldn’t show any signs of knowing. He knew what would happen next, happen next if he told the two, told the two how many were left. He knew, knew what had been about to happen, and he couldn’t go against it, he couldn’t go against, against the absolute inevitable future. He couldn’t tell, tell anyone, anyone he had known—known everything that came to be. He couldn’t. The future—the future was an inevitability. Couldn’t be stopped, it will never stop. Inexorably marching, the future had inexorably marched on.
“O-oh,” he said, shaking. “S-Style, G-Gleam. G-come in.”
As Style and Gleam entered the dorm room, Gleam again noticed. Noticed the destroyed inside. The entirely destroyed inside room. Cinders, everything had been burned, a burn raid, there had to have been a burn raid. A burn raid. Why? Why would anyone do such to anybody? Horrible, it was a cruel and horrible world. She knew it would inappropriate to ask about the burned room, but she had to ask. She knew, knew she felt it in her, had to, she had to. She had seen a burned couch with popped springs. Would it be okay? Okay to sit? Before anyone could say anything, Gleam placed herself down on the couch and turned to Seriphard.
“Before I ask,” Gleam said. “What happened to this dorm room? It looks like there was a witch hunt in here.”
Seriphard did not mind the question. He knew, knew she would ask the question. It was okay, okay that she had asked. Answer the question before telling, telling what she wanted to really know.
“N-no, n-not a w-witch h-hunt,” he confirmed. “A-a b-break in h-happened. W-when my s-sister had b-been here.” He changed his expression to a less frightened one. “T-they c-came and t-tried t-to b-burn her t-to d-death by s-setting t-this r-room on f-fire.” He paused. “B-but I-I s-stopped t-them w-with my Seraphim Holy Makeshift m-magic. T-they n-never c-came back.”
Gleam blinked. Sister? Seriphard had a sister? A sister—what kind of sister had a Seriphard relative been? She knew that she couldn’t—couldn’t ask. Couldn’t ask—couldn’t ask his sister now. Later, after she learned, learned how many people remained. After, that would be for after.
“That’s terrible!” Gleam cried. “But… to the point.” Gleam turned to Style. Easier, it would be easier to have Style ask—to have Style to ask the question.
Style nodded as Gleam turned. “So! Seriphard!” she said, clapping her hands together inappropriately. “Could you tell us how many people remain in Mariibo Rumaibo?” Style pointed at Gleam and then at herself. “Gleam and I want to know!” Style sighed to herself. The cheerful voice, the cheerful voice was wrong. So wrong, terribly wrong. Too late to fix her tone, it had been too late to fix her tone.
Seriphard prepared. Prepared to say, say the number. Prepared to say, say the number. Prepared to say the number, the relatively small number. He had to prepare. Prepare to say, say the number in its entirety. Say the number, the small number. He knew—knew how small the number would be and how Gleam, how Gleam would react, react afterwards. Ready, he was ready. Ready to start to say, say the number. Say the number of which remained. Remained in Mariibo Rumaibo. He knew, knew, knew that Gleam would react. Do, he already knew what she would do. Too late to change the inevitable. It was too late to change the inevitable future.
He breathed. Ready, he was ready. “I-including u-us three? Uh,” he said, trying to hide the fact he did indeed know. “T-twenty five.” He said it in the darkest tone as possible. “T-twenty f-five people w-when you add t-the three o-of u-us t-to the number.” He turned to Gleam. He could see she was about to scream. He knew everything was pacing the way it had been made out to be. He disliked it; disliked how he couldn’t go against the future, but late—it was far too late. “T-they’re peaceful p-pacifists. C-completely benign p-people t-trapped in this b-building. M-my s-sister is l-looking for an e-escape r-route.” He could not say, say his sister had already known the escape route, he couldn’t. “T-the r-remaining p-people. T-they’re like u-us. T-trapped h-here.” He could not continue, continue to speak. Could not continue.
Style knew something—something was beyond terrible. Beyond terrible, beyond terrible about the number—the number left behind. Twenty five people—twenty five people, twenty five remaining people. Something about the number disgusted her. Disgusted her. Disgusted her—the number. The number was disgusting. Twenty five people; disgraceful. It was absolutely disgraceful.
“Wow, no!” she cried. “That’s terribysmal! Twenty five people is such a low number! How in the worldview did that happen?” she knew—knew that was a really bad move. Bad question, it was a bad question. “Oh, uh, on second thought,” Style said. “Don’t answer that! Sorry!”
Gleam could feel a scream embrace her. No. Twenty five people. Why? Why was the number so low? Why? Benign, he had said the people were benign. Benign, benign in every entirety. Twenty five people. Horrible, it was of an absolute horror. Twenty five people. Twenty five people. It was too horrible, too horrible for words. She could feel a scream embrace again. Terrible, it was too terrible. Too terrible for words.
Gleam’s scream caught onto Style. Leave, they had to leave—Gleam, Gleam was absolutely indulged. The thought had to have shocked, shocked her entirely. Leave, they had to leave. Dangerous, the girl had to have been thinking something dangerous. Couldn’t stay there any longer—leave. They had to leave the dorm room, leave before Gleam tired, tried out something of entire danger. She had to get Gleam out of there—out of there before it was too late.
“Thank you Seriphard,” she answered. “Gleam is going to do something dangerous, so I’m taking her back to my dorm! Sorry for coming at such short notice!”
Seriphard walked over to the door and opened it for the two. It was not short notice—he knew, knew they would come. But he couldn’t, couldn’t say such to Style. No one could know, know such horrifying truth. Not a short notice, it was not a short notice. It wasn’t of short notice, but he couldn’t, couldn’t say anything about it. He couldn’t. Something else, he had to say something else.
“N-no,” he said, shaking like a leaf. “I-it’s o-okay. A-always happy to h-help. I-if you n-need help w-with G-Gleam’s d-dangerous t-thinking, come b-back for me.”
“I will,” Style replied. “Thanks! See you again!”
As they left the dorm room and Seriphard shut the door, he sighed. This future to come. Inexorably marching on, it insisted on going the way—the way it had been set to. He wished he could change the future again, but it was too late. Used his three chances to change the future; he had used his three chances to change the future. As the thought graced him, he swore he could feel stone fill his stomach a bit. No, no, his magic was changing, and he hadn’t—hadn’t even done any impure acts. No, no. Was it wrong to tell the girls the truth, or had his lies of knowing, acting as if he didn’t, catch up to him? He could feel the stone from inside stopped forming. An illusion, it was perpetual illusion.
“V-Vanguard, sister,” he said to himself. “S-sorry, I u-used up my t-three f-future changing grants. I-it looks l-like I c-can’t c-change the inevitable f-future…” as he sunk into the floor from the emotional pain, he knew. Knew everything would be over for him—over for him before he knew it.
Meanwhile, as Gleam and Style entered the dorm room, she could feel the thought. Die, she wanted to die—die for the better good of the universe. Die to save—save the remaining members of the ocean. Twenty five people including herself, there had only been twenty five people left. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t—die, die for the better good of the universe. She had to destroy the building after everyone but she escaped. She had to. Sick of it all, she was sick of the program existing. Destroy the building and die in the collapse, she would perform, perform the heroic act. Want to—she wanted to escape—escape the program. Have everyone else escape, she wanted everyone else to escape, escape as well.
Style noticed. Noticed Gleam had been locked deep into thought. What could she have been thinking? What could Gleam be thinking at this point? Know—she needed to know. While she knew it was rude, she knew, knew Gleam must have been thinking, thinking something entirely dangerous. The bottom of it, she had to get to the bottom of the thought before it was too late, she had to. Rude, she hated being rude, but she had to.
“What are you thinking, Gleam?” Style asked. “Don’t deny something is on your mind.”
Gleam didn’t care—care if Style knew. Care if Style knew what she had been up to. She would not let her stop her; she would not let the girl stop her. He to, she entirely had to do this. It was time, time for action. She knew Style would stop her. Stop her from letting her do, do what she needed, wanted. She knew she would, she knew she would try to stop her—no time. There was bi time for that. Absolutely no time for that. Be clear with her opinion and decision, she had to make it clear.
“Sorry, Style,” Gleam said. “I’m going to save the rest of you by using my life as patron.” As she said such, her eyes glowed red. No sights of blood covering appeared this time. Good, everything was working.
Style clenched her teeth. Stupid, dangerous—the girl was doing dangerous things. Hit her, she wanted to hit her, but she couldn’t. No hitting, there would be no hitting. Suicide, she had a suicide plan. She knew, knew this would happen. Stop her, stop her from doing what she wanted to—kill herself. She had to stop her in every way.
“Do you realize what you’re saying?!” Style cried. “You say you’re going to kill yourself to save everyone? That’s stupid, Gleam! That’s suicide! How do you even think you can achieve such a stupidity?!” hit her, she wanted to hit her, but she couldn’t. Hear what she had to say, she had to let her talk.
Gleam sighed. She knew Style would call it stupid. Different from Chime, she was so different from Chime. Tell her anyway, she would tell her anyway what she had in mind. The rejections were going to continue either way, and she knew it.
She opened her mouth to speak again. “I’ll destroy the building as all escape,” she answered. “This building needs to go down, Style.”
Style balled her hand into a fist. Such stupidity, such stupidity she was spouting. She could not allow, allow the stupidity to happen. The little girl, how could the little girl even hope to achieve? Achieve such stupidity? She could not allow it, she would not allow it, she shall not allow, allow her stupidity to become a truth. She couldn’t. It could not happen, it would not happen; it shall not become a truth. She again balled her fist. Stupid, the girl was being stupid.
“You can’t destroy the building! That’s a stupid idea! It’s just a suicide! You can’t!” she cried. “You can’t, okay? Do you even have the magic to do that?”
Gleam sighed. Now she had to state—state she was the Sovereign of Destruction. Didn’t want to, she didn’t want that to happen. Too late, now it was too late. She had to tell her she could, could destroy the building. She had to. She had to. No choice, she had no choice. If Style rejected her she couldn’t be surprised. Tell her, she had to tell, tell she was the Sovereign—the Sovereign of Destruction.
“I can,” she said. “I’m the Sovereign of Destruction, Style.” She changed her expression to an inappropriate smile. “Sorry, this is how it has to be, Style. But, I appreciate your effort of being a good friend.”
Style sighed. She gave up. She couldn’t stop her, not with a reason like that. Been through a lot, she had been through a lot. As much as she hated the idea, she knew—she had to let her. Let her do what was needed. Do what had to be done. The answer she gave, she couldn’t argue, she couldn’t argue about it.
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” she said, lowering her tone of voice. “Well, I guess this means I can’t stop you. I’ll let you do this.” She sighed. “Sorry for stopping you.”
Gleam blinked. Did she not say anything? Did she not say anything about her being a Sovereign? Different, this girl was so different. With her acceptance, she knew, knew she had to exit. Exit this moment. She turned to Style one last time. She had to exit, exit and exit now. No time, as the moments ticked, there would be more societal risk. She had to leave, leave right at that very moment.
As she thought such, she stood and headed for the door. “Thank you, Style,” Gleam said. “Thank you for this week and for saving me a week before. I promise I’ll save all of you, really.”
Style sighed. How could she be so confident about dying? “Well, it’s okay,” she said. “Sorry for stopping you and all. I’ll pray you do well.” Her last words to Gleam, horrible, they were abysmal.
As Style had finished speaking, she knew. Knew it was time to exit. The perfect hallway, she knew her perfect hallway. As she exited the dorm, she headed to the place she knew well. The window, the window she had shattered. There had been a trigger, a trigger to destroying, destroying the entire building there—hidden, hidden on the ceiling. As she had spotted the window on the side, she stood and prepared. Prepared to die for the better good of the universe.
As she was about to destroy the building, or prepared in her case, a blinding light had made way in front of her, stopping her from preparing. Why? Why was someone getting in her way? Why now? Why now of all instances? As the light died down, a figure of a beautiful girl with angel wings appeared. No, stopping her, the girl was about to stop her.
The girl spoke. “Sorry, Gleam Noiyam,” she said. “I can’t allow this destruction to continue! This suicide isn’t happening.” She placed her hand on her chest. “My name is Vanguard Duosoard and I’m not letting this continue.”
Gleam stared. Vanguard Duosoard. Vanguard Duosoard was stopping, stopping her wish. The last name, the last name, the last name, familiar, it was disgustingly familiar, and she could barely get over it.
End of chapter twenty five, next to come: how it’ll all end, and how the wish will be fulfilled. The wish will be fulfilled, and it will be of a tragedy in its ending result. The final chapter, how it unrolls, unrolls in a tragedy!
The next chapter ends the main project.
Yup. It's ending with one more chapter on the line.
You can tell.
Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard.
Chapter 26; Gleaming Glow of Light.
Gleam thought long and hard about the name Vanguard Duosoard. In a sudden instant, she realized: familiar. Something about the person had been entirely familiar. Something about the person had been entirely familiar. She didn’t know why, why she felt like that she knew her. A feeling she didn’t understand, it was a feeling she did not understand. A feeling she didn’t even want to understand—why? Why was this girl stopping her? Why was Vanguard Duosoard stopping her from fulfilling her wish? She did not understand, did not understand why it had been so important, why it had been so important? Why was it so important to keep her alive? Why was it so important to a stranger? Why had it been so important her? Something about it had not been adding up? Nothing about it was adding up. Nothing. She wondered—Sovereign. Could this person have been a Sovereign? Could this person have been the last Sovereign remaining? Was she stopping her because she was after her? Was she stopping her for the entire reason of wanting to kill her instead? Was that why? Could that have been why? She knew if that were the case she would find a way around it. Enough, she had enough. Stupid, it was all too stupid. All too stupid to force herself to make sense of any of it. It was all absolutely pointless. Stopping her was pointless. Bother, why would anyone bother and go to all that trouble? Pointless, it was all pointless. Pointless in stopping her wish, just so pointless. Dying for the better good of the universe and destroying the building like she wanted to. Why couldn’t the wish come true without a person interfering? An interference that always broke through—her purpose, it must have been a forced purpose. A blatant reason behind it, there must have been a reason behind this.
She studied the girl’s appearance after too many moments in shock. The girl had quite long hair, perhaps the length of her bottom. The girl had hair reminiscent of an angel hairstyle. The hair on its own had been angelic looking of absolute beauty. She had beautiful light blue hair like she had never seen before. Her eyes had been the exact same color of Seriphard’s eyes. Ink, the eyes were the color of ink. She again felt that feeling again—familiar. Her eyes had given it away. She was familiar. Her eyes were the deadest eyes she had ever seen; the girl barely looked alive, the girl did not look alive in the first place. On her back appeared to be angel wings. An angel, was the girl some kind of angel? The wings again produced a feeling, a familiar feeling, a feeling as if she had already met, already met her once before. Impossible; that had to, and was impossible. It was impossible—impossible. So impossible. She couldn’t have met her; she had never seen her before. So why, why did she seem so familiar, why? Finally, Gleam examined the girl’s clothing in an attempt to get a final sense of who she had been. Her clothes had been so white, so pale; it was as if she could see right through her. She wore white, practically clothing. It bothered her, the appearance bothered her.
She could not stand the thought, could not stand the thought of interference, interfering with her desire. She was interfering with her desire, and it was so aggravating. Why? Why did she insist on prying? Why did this stranger insist, insist to pry? Why, why couldn’t she go? Why did everyone insist, insist on meddling? Insist on saving her? She failed to understand, failed. Why couldn’t she allow her to do what she wanted? She knew that as long as the person had been there, as long as the person had been there, she knew, knew there wasn’t a way to avoid her. Get the ball rolling. Explain to her, explain to the girl that she had to. Had to die for the sake—die for the sake of those who remained. Die for the sake of those who would remain. How little it mattered—mattered to her that the girl, the girl had been standing there. Vanguard Duosoard needed to know, know she could not change her mind at all. She wouldn’t get that far, there was no way.
Gleam gave a fake smile to initiate a conversation. “Who are you?” she asked. “You know my name. Just who are you?” she could feel her blood boil with anger as she could feel the vicious thoughts—after her, this girl must have been after her. After her, and she figured in which she was stopping her for the reason, and that reason only. “Just who are you?” she cried. “Why do you insist to interfere? You’re a Sovereign, aren’t you? You’re after me, too, aren’t you?” she could feel an illicit fury undergo inside her skin. She figured it would occur either way, and she could barely care. Get rid of her if she was indeed after her. She would get rid of her if such were the case. Nothing ever worked, ever worked in her favor. “Who are you?” she asked fro the third time. “Why are you interfering?” repeating herself too much, she was repeating herself too much.
Vanguard glared at Gleam. What was she going on about? After her? One way or another, she had to get through to the girl. The destruction could not continue, it could not continue. She would fulfill her purpose in stopping her, she would fulfill it, fulfill exactly what she needed to. Tell her, she would tell her that she did indeed, did indeed have reasoning, reasoning behind everything. Reasoning behind it all. Tell her in order to stop her, she would tell her in order to change her mind. All the truths, all of what she had to say, everything. Everything she had to say. She had to before it was too late, had to; she had to before it was too late to explain it remotely; entirely. Confirm and disprove all. Everything had to be fixed, everything. Everything had to confirmed, everything, everything there was; absolutely everything and she had to say. Could not be unturned, it could not be unturned.
She gave another glare. Time for some questions, confirmations and answers. “Yes, I am a Sovereign,” she replied. “The Sovereign of Prosperity.” She sighed. “I would never even want to go after you. I’m here to prevent your destruction plan! I cannot allow you to do such a thing, Gleam. Think of the people who care about you and love you.” Already, she was already going off to a tangent. Said what she had to say completely out of sequence, it was all out of sequence. But, it didn’t matter, the sequence, and it wouldn’t have to matter. “I’ve been watching over you for a long time,” she replied. “Since your first battle, I’ve been keeping my eye on you. There have been so many instances in which I could have stopped you from doing your dangerous acts.” She paused. “I didn’t have a physical form then, but now I do, and now it is my turn to stop you!” she put on a brave face within moments to show her serious side.
Gleam allowed the information to sink in. Sovereign of Prosperity, Vanguard Duosoard was the Sovereign of Prosperity. The last Sovereign, she was the last one. The last Sovereign, the last and final Sovereign. Her name, Seriphard, she must have been related to Seriphard. Get everyone out of the program with her assistance; she had to change her mind. She had to somehow change her mind. Somehow, she had to. She wished it would be easy, easy to convince her. She thought over, thought over the second part Vanguard had said. Cared about her, cared about her. The girl, Style, gave in. She knew, knew Chime would stop her, but there was now way, there wasn’t any time, wasn’t any time to think, think about Chime. She had to convince her, had to convince her that this was the only way. The only way to save every single person.
She gave a fake smile once again. “Sorry,” Gleam said. “This is just something I have to do.” Her voice lost expression. “A thing I need to settle.” She breathed pathetically. The girl had been watching over her. Why? She didn’t want to find out the reason, the reason at all. “I really am sorry, but I have to do this. Sorry if your watching over me will end in failure.”
Vanguard sighed. Would she have to attack her? Would she have to attack Gleam in order to fix her thinking? It was her final chance to save her, her final chance to completely save her before she did the damage. Save her before it was too late. If she continued to persist, she would indeed attack. Attack it out of her. She would attempt to attack it out of her. It was all she could attempt. Attempt in order to save her. Try, she had to try, try before going on to attack her.
Vanguard thought about it. Bring up everyone who tried to save her; she would bring up everyone who tried to save her. That would be the right move in the latter of knowledge. Wake her up, wake her up, it would wake her up and stop her. Completely stop her. Completely wake her up and stop her thinking. She had to get her to stop; it was all she had left to try before attacking. Remind her and bring up who had tried to save her, she would do it.
Within seconds, she knew it was time to try. “You do realize,” she started. “That everyone trying to save you will be in vain, right?” was that even the right word? Was that even the correct word to use? She sighed and continued. “It will all be for vain.” Was this going to be a bad way? A bad way to continue? “It will all be in vain. The boy who always protected you, Chime Nume, failed to save you. He used his last moments in life protecting you. He failed to save you from this moment.” She started to pace around in order to continue. “My brother, Seriphard Duosoard tried to save you,” she directed. “He used all three of his future changing chances in my place to save you. It looks like he will also fail to save you.” One last person, she had one last person to go through. “The girl, Style Magle as well failed to save you, even, and you indeed persist on this. Please, think this over! Do you want everyone’s efforts to be all in vain?” point made, her point had been made.
Gleam had barely listened. Barely listened to any of the possible arguments that the Sovereign had in store. She didn’t want to hear them, did not want to hear them; did not want to hear the arguments she may have had. It didn’t matter; it didn’t even matter to her. All stupid, it was all so stupid. Did not matter, she could not change her mind. She would remain stubborn in her choice. She would remain entirely stubborn. Entirely stubborn with her choice. There was no way she would convince her, convince her to do anything. Would continue to be stubborn, she would continue to be stubborn. Show she would be insistent, she would show how insistent she was on this.
“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “But I really have to do this. You can’t stop me. I’ve made up my mind, Vanguard. Please don’t try to continue forcing yourself to try and stop what I wish to do.” Why was she trying to stop her? Why? Why couldn’t she be like every other Sovereign and want to kill her, why? Why had the last one have to be this way? Why? She highly disliked it, highly disliked how everything was playing out. “Why is this even so important to you?” she asked. “Why am I even important? I shouldn’t even matter, so why do you care? Why? You really don’t need to do this. Just let me do what has to be done! Enough with trying to stop me already!” while she knew, knew it was wrong to snap like that, she no longer cared to try, try in the attempt, try to do anything. Anything at this point. She no longer cared, no longer cared. No longer cared about anything. Fulfill her desire, she would fulfill her desire. Mattered none, nothing had mattered. Nothing mattered anymore. Nothing had mattered, nothing mattered anymore. Find a way to get her to stop, find a way to get her to leave her be to escape everything. Find a way; she would remain to find the way.
Vanguard knew that this was now enough. Attack her, she would now attack her. She would now have to use the Seraphim Manifestation magic inside her, use the magic inside her to stop, to use her magic to force her to stop. All she could do. It was now obvious. Now obvious that she had to stop her in a way she didn’t want to. She didn’t want to, didn’t want to resort to violence did not want to lose half of her life span by using her magic. She didn’t want to cut half her life span again. Her magic, her magic cut her lifespan by half. By half each time she had used it. Five years remained. She knew with using her magic again, knew using it again would lead to her losing two years and six months. Worth the life span cut. This was worth the lifespan cut. Attack her to stop entirely. She would only attack her in order to stop her entirely.
She flapped her wings to the ceiling and prepared. Prepared her reluctant attack, her reluctant attack. “I’m a pacifist, but,” she said. “If you continue to insist upon trying to do this, I’m sorry, but I’ll have to attack you!”
Gleam completely sighed. Attack her; she was going to attack her. Mattered none. The delay, the delay did not matter. Matter whatsoever. It did not matter, she no longer cared. No longer cared that this person attempted to do, to do in order to stop her. What the Sovereign continued to do. How little it mattered. How little it continued to mattered. How little it continued matter. How little it continued to matter to her. It was all a ruse, all must have been a ruse. A ruse to stop her. Stop it later; she would stop the attack later. Not now, she could not do such now.
Vanguard stretched her arms out in order to collect the energy. The energy to manifest. Manifest the angel of fire in her body. Within two moments, a holy drowned Vanguard. The holy light, the holy light had begun. Begun to harbor, harbor inside her body. As the light strengthened, the sight of an angel going inside her body soon became evident. As the angel became a part of her system, she could feel the transfusion of the angel’s soul and her soul mashing together. She hated the feeling of the soul transfusion. As the final moments of the transfusion ended, she could feel the cut, the new cut in her lifespan. As the time had finally ended, the fire swirled around her body. Time to unleash the attack; it was time to unleash the attack.
“Fire angel, hear me!” she cried. “I give you half my lifespan to initiate a slight fire barrage! Show me the way of the fire!”
As the chant ended, Vanguard placed her hands into a wide position. As the fire surrounded her body and collected into her hands, she closed her eyes. When such had been established, the attack launched. She hoped and pleaded. Hoped and pleaded it wouldn’t do too much damage. Hoped and pleaded it would not do any damage. Hated causing damage, she hated causing damage.
Gleam eyed the fire, eyed the fire as she could see the attack becoming more vicious. She didn’t care, care that the attack was about to hit. Let it hit, she would let the attack hit. She didn’t even so much as care. Didn’t even so much as care, even so much as care about the fire. Within seconds, a smile graced her face as the fire travelled, travelled swiftly to her clothing and body. As the fire broke deep into her skin, she continued to smile. Numb, the fire felt entirely numb. Attack back, she would not attack back.
As the attack had ended, she could feel the fire surround her singe. She could feel the fire vanish and become nothing, vanish and become nothing, vanish and cease to do anything. She could then feel the final action. She could feel the angel exit her body and the new cut, the new cut in her lifespan. All would be over, all would be over. All would be convincing. The attack would convince her, convince her, convince her to stop; it would play a role to convince, convince in changing her mind. As such had been done, and the angel entirely left her body, she dropped to the ground and flinched. No way, no way was going to allow this to continue. Convince her to stop, would this convince her to finally stop her dangerous notion?
Gleam sighed. On attack, just one attack. Human magic. Human magic, one instance of non lethal human magic. She couldn’t hurt her, she couldn’t hurt this Sovereign. Benign, she couldn’t hurt anyone of which was benign. She couldn’t. There was no way. Her decision, her decision in the end—die. Die for the better good of the universe; destroy the building. She wanted her to give up. She decided on the attack, decided on the attack, decided on the slight attack. She wanted to stop her line of thinking. She wouldn’t let the girl continue to try to force, force her to try and convince her, convince her in stopping.
Gleam formed her hands into a circle. Underneath her legs appeared her magic circle. She wrote the words seed pluck onto the magic circle. From the magic circle emerged a half dozen diamonds, the color of seeds. Pluck on her face as if a bird, they would pluck on her face as if she were a bird. The hardness of the diamonds transformed. The hardness of the diamonds further transformed, transformed into something softer. Something completely softer. The diamonds became the hardness of about a flurry of seeds as the transformation had been done. She watched quietly as the diamonds travelled to her face. Within seconds, the attack and Vanguard met. Stupidly, she watched, watched as the seeds plucked her. As the seeds plucked her, she watched, watched the attack. Within moments, the attack ended. That had to have been that. She knew, knew however it wouldn’t work. Continue to convince her, she would continue in convincing her. She would continue to attempt, attempt to convince her that she would not, not let her alter, alter her decision.
Vanguard had finally decided. One more attack, it would only take one more attack. One more attack. One more attack, just one more. Cut her lifespan in half once more. She would cut her lifespan in half once more. As such had been thought and done, Vanguard flapped her wings and flew, flew to the ceiling. Water angel, she would this time initiate the use, the use of a water angel to attack. She didn’t wish to continue, didn’t wish to continue, didn’t wish to attack twice, but she had to. She had to do such. No choice, there was no choice in her choosing. As it was obvious it was time, Vanguard stretched her arms out to allow, allow the angel inside her body.
Gleam sighed. Sick of this, she was sick of this fight already. She was tired of dragging everything out, tired of having Vanguard drag the battle out. Tired of forcing a battle, forcing a battle to drag out her saving of everything. Stop it; she had to put a stop to it. No more, she couldn’t take it anymore. No more, she could not take this girl’s preventing any longer. No longer. This could go on no longer. Say something, she had to say something to stop, stop this from continuing. Something, she had to say something, anything.
“Stop!” she cried. Not loud enough, it must not have been loud enough. “STOP!” she proceeded to shout. “Please, let’s stop this. I don’t feel like battling you, okay? I’m sorry, Vanguard, I’m out of options here. I’m really sorry, but this is what I have to do. Please stop trying to change my mind.”
Vanguard sighed and placed her hands at her sides. She couldn’t win, she just couldn’t convince her. She just couldn’t convince her to stop, stop with this suicide. Give up and help her fulfill her wish, she would help her fulfill her wish. As the thought graced her, she knew it would be best, best to do what she wanted. Selfish, it was so selfish. So selfish that she had been trying to stop her. Enough, enough with the selfish desire. It was enough. It was enough, Vanguard forced herself onto the ground and began, began to regret, regret what she was about to do.
She sighed. “Alright, I give up,” she said. “I guess there is no way I can convince you to stop. It was indeed selfish of me to stop you as well. I give you the utmost of my apologies.” She breathed and paused. “Whatever it is, I guess I can help you. I give you my word that I will do what you ask of me.”
Gleam blinked. Help her. She had suddenly made the decision to help her? Why the sudden change? She knew, knew now she could get her to find some way, find some way to helping her get everyone to escape, to escape the building with absolute safety. She knew, somehow she knew, knew that Vanguard might have known. Known the building escape routes. She must have known. Get her to get the twenty four including Vanguard out. Vanguard could tell, tell the remaining to evacuate. She decided, decided to get ready, get ready to tell her.
She breathed her final breath and stalled for a moment. “I’m going to destroy Mariibo Rumaibo with my Sovereign magic,” she replied. “But, I’m going to need you to escort everyone alive out. Could you do me the favor and help me find a way to get the twenty three, including yourself, out of here?” she gave a smile as it all was becoming the truth, a corpse, she would finally, finally be a corpse, finally be the corpse she craved to be and escape, escape the building, escape the program permanently. “Could you find a way?” she asked again. “I’m sure you know one way around.”
Vanguard knew. She knew, knew the location. The location, the location of the evacuation door. Allow the others to escape. Allow the others to escape the program. But what about Gleam? What had she been planning? Destroy the building. What about the corpses? What would become of her and the corpses? Before continuing, she needed the nerve to ask, ask about the corpses. Though, constantly stalling was the use of the selfish, selfish to delay all.
She gave Gleam a look of practical regret. “What about the corpses?” she asked with a hint of regret in her voice.
Stupid question. Why had Vanguard been asking such a dumb question? Joining the corpses. Joining the corpses like she craved, craved. Craved becoming a corpse. It was time for her to say, say she will be joining, joining the corpses. She would join the corpses. No more delaying. No more delaying at all. She could not delay this any longer. She could not delay this any longer. It was time.
“I’ll be joining them,” she said, beginning to place a suicidal smile on her face.
Vanguard had to remind her, had to remind her that this was what the creator had wanted her to do. Despite it all, despite his departure, he would still be able to receive her power anywhere. It was what the creator wanted, but she knew. Knew, knew she could no longer attempt, attempt to stop her. Remind her, she still had to remind her otherwise. She still had to. She still had to remind her, remind her that it was exactly what the creator wanted. Exactly what the creator wanted. It was what the creator wanted. Quickly, she would say such in order to remind, remind her. Selfish, it still however, had to have been selfish.
She gave Gleam a look of the dead. “You know, you do realize that by doing this,” she said and paused to get into the mindset. “You are doing what the creator wants, correct?” she needed to remind her, remind her he could still get to her powers, no matter how far, how far she would be from him. “He has a way to steal your powers. He will; I know he’s a God now, but he still can steal your powers. He used a rewriting spell to make such possible.” Why? Why did a twelve year old have to go through all of this? Why did a twelve year old have to go and deal, deal with any of this? “You’re still twelve,” she slid in. “You’ll never experience what it’s like to be a teenager.”
Gleam tried not to feel hostilities as Vanguard seemingly tried again in delaying this. Why did she continue to delay? Why did she continue to delay this over and over again? Almost annoying, it was almost annoying, but now was not the time. Now was not the time for such. She couldn’t. Couldn’t get angry and ruin it now. Freedom, she wanted her last emotion to be freedom. Freedom and nothing else. An open and free emotion—all she wanted, that was all she wanted.
“I know,” Gleam replied. “I know it’s what the creator wants. But I don’t want to be in a world where Chime doesn’t exist.” She breathed to maintain control of herself. “I don’t want to be in this world as long as I’m alone, and living in a world without the happiness I once sought? It’s a stupid one?”
Vanguard understood. She understood now. There was no way Gleam was going to back down and out of this; there was no way she was going to. Do what she had to. She would do what she had to. She knew. Knew it was time, time to do what had to be done. Escort the twenty three others out. She had to escort the twenty three out now. No more dawdling and asking of question. Time for action and for action now. Time to do what had been needed to do; it was time to do what had been needed to do. She knew, knew she would need, need to use an angel, an angel for that notion.
She reflected upon her decision. Reflected upon it before going on, before going on with what she knew had to have been done. “Alright. I’ll do it,” she said. “I know where the exit is located. I’ll send an angel out to escort everyone out of the building.”
As everyone flew over to the ceiling for the third time, she stretched her arms out in order to allow an angel to manifest. An angel of sound, she would manifest an angel of sound in her body. The holy light, the holy light was starting. Her body slowly began to harbor an angel within her body. As the light strengthened, the sight of an angel going into her body soon became more evident than before. As the angel became a part of her system, she could feel the pain of the transfusion of the manifestation of the soul into her body. As the transfusion ended, the cut became more evident than before. One year and three months. She now had one year and three months remaining. She now had one year and three months of her life remaining. As the transformation and transfusion ended, the barrier of sound surrounded her body. Time to do what was needed; it was time to do what had been needed.
“Sound angel, hear me!” she cried. “I give you half my lifespan to send out a warning to the skies!”
As the chant ended, Vanguard placed her hand over her ears to initiate her sound blast. As she could feel the shout she needed to say inside her, she practically fainted from the everlasting pain. The everlasting pain of losing, losing her lifespan. Within moments, she shouted with her accompanied sound angel:
“To all, this is the angel of the sound speaking! I’m here to inform you we have found a way out of this program! Into the world, you will see, there is a hidden fire exit on the first floor! Embrace your escape as this will be your one and only opportunity. Embrace it!”
The sound of the voice, the sound of the voice shook entirely through the walls, panning through the dorms as well. She knew it had been loud enough; it had all been loud enough. Loud enough for all to hear. Loud enough, it had been loud enough.
As her work had ended, she could feel the angel leave from inside her body. She dropped to the ground and felt a sudden weakness break inside her. All too much, the strain was all too much, but she knew, knew this was a result, a result of the angel going inside her body. She knew, knew this was the direct result. As the dizziness completely ripped her apart, the weakness killed her on the inside. She could hear all the leftover, all the leftover sounds of the evacuations of all the people. It was a strange feeling, a strange feeling to hear everything now.
After ten minutes, Vanguard was sure everyone had been out of their dorm rooms. Alert Gleam that everyone had been out, she had to alert her that such had been established. Out, everyone had been out. Everyone had exited the building. Alert Gleam such, she had to alert her everything was ready. Ready for her to do what she needed. She breathed and tried to crack through the weakness going all around her body. It was time; time to tell her as delaying was over.
She looked over to Gleam’s left. “Everyone is out now, Gleam,” she said. “Go on. You may destroy the building now.”
Gleam shook her head. No, not yet. Not yet, become her spirit form. She had to have Vanguard go into her spirit form. She couldn’t allow, couldn’t allow her to get caught in the blast.
“No, not yet,” Gleam said. “Please go into your spirit form. I don’t want to hurt the Sovereign of Prosperity.” She smiled a fake and lying smile. “I’m going to save you, too!” she exclaimed. “You’re part of the benign society. You need saving as well.”
Vanguard exasperatedly blinks. Within a second, she tugged her wings; a beautiful, yet useless vortex overtook her. The Sovereign magic, however, not having a place of which to go vanished. Her body, her body acknowledged such magic had been done; her body vanished, vanished as she again had forever lost her physical form. This was the end. The end of Mariibo Rumaibo.
“Thank you, Vanguard.”
As Gleam thanked Vanguard, she could feel that she was ready, ready to die to fulfill the final purpose she had left. The final purpose left inside her. Before everything had to prepare, she smiled a death smile and said her last words.
“This time, Chime,” she said. “This time I’ll join you and no one is stopping me, so get ready.”
As everything was final, a gleaming glow of light overtook her. It had been a while, a while since the feeling of the Earth were to come into her hands, and she was more than ready for the feeling, the feeling of the Earth in her hands had then came. She knew the next part would decide it all—the perfect and final part of the act. A cluster of energy came into her hands. After the attack had been done charging, she quickly released it. The attack travelled to the foundation trigger planted into the ceiling and vibrated throughout the walls. The feeling of the building’s destruction shambled entirely throughout the building. The gleaming glow of light ended, everything was beginning to end gracefully.
As the weakness overcame her, Gleam fell to the floor, back facing the ceiling. As the crumbling building began to crush her and her life thinned, she smiled, embracing death with open arms. She could feel her vision blacken. The end, this was the end. This was the end. Moments and moments of everlasting collapsing took her over. Eventually, the entire collapse of the building hit Gleam. Fragments of the building broke her lungs. She could feel her brain numb, her lungs break, and her heart stop. Over, she could leave the world forever and it would be glorious. The final shake came by; final fragments of the program dangerously fell onto Gleam. The final moments, the final moments were now. As Gleam closed her eyes permanently, the building became no more. Gleam Noiyam, Gleam Noiyam no longer existed. Free, the answer she would receive, the life, the life of Gleam Noiyam now ceased, ceased to be of the living.
As the building had been reduced to rubble, Vanguard could feel the tears embrace her as she saw her brother and everyone of the remaining society had evacuated. Why? Why had it had to be this way? It was only now she realized—the gleaming glow of light, the gleaming glow of light was gone forever. There would be no more, no more reason, reason for her to see. See a world the way it was.
She continued to cry rivers. Why? Why did Gleam Noiyam’s light have to die? Why? She shook her head quietly. The gleaming glow of light, the gleaming glow of light would be happier, happier in the afterlife. She continued to float by absent of her physical form. The gleaming glow of light, Gleam Noiyam would search and find the Principal in the Reverse in the Laws of Cause and Effect and find everlasting happiness.
Vanguard closed her eyes and turned away from the ugly world. At least the little girl escaped, escaped the standing creation.
End of Standing Creation - ♥ Vanguard Duosoard. The journey ends here, and it will end for eternity.
This is the end! I... I thank you for reading.