{Name: Fiamma Adeen}
{Age: 17}
{Race: Human}
{Ability: Pyrokinesis}
{Love: 0}
Inscribed upon a diaphanous piece of pallid scroll loomed the identity of the lady, the girl bearing the christened title Fiamma Adeen. Her every detail forced into plain view for Eros to observe, from her gift that remained shrouded in clandestine mystery for the rest of the corpus, to even her age and affection, that which perfectly fell at an unobtrusive zero upon the scale, bearing no noticeable ill-will towards the teen she had only briefly laid eyes upon.
Still, despite such knowledge befalling Eros's mind in an otherwise perfect scene, Fiamma did not stop, nor did she break eye contact with the adolescent who dared meet her glare, the sole human among the collective whose eyes still possessed that spark of life no male ventured to kinder, she watched him, eager-eyed, her review piercing as though scrutinising his every aspect, from the boy's diminutive height to his mildly attractive features that now appeared gaunt and harrowed, with sunken skin that clutched tightly to one's bones, all the way to the soft trembling Eros believed to have blighted that still perpetrated his meek form.
Her steps remained sovereign, as though reflecting her appearance as the sole monarch of the ashen land cloaked in an umbral veil of occult darkness before eventually, her gait came to an abrupt conclusion while her ruby eyes that once remained solely focused upon the strange boy drifted to the pusillanimous clot.
"So these are the espers they send to be my guards'', Fiamma spoke, her dominant fervent voice unbecoming of her calibre ringing true in the ears of all who bore witness to her ethereal visage for the first time since her approach, yet, despite her apparent impassioned tone, her words failed to echo in the brains of the cowering horde, in fact, they dared not look at the beauty before them, for, unlike Eros, they had experienced the uncertain future that lay in wait. "Can't say any of you look too outstanding," The teen continued, leering at the group before, with a shallow, unsettling tone of voice she whispered.
"Not like that matters, considering you only have one job." The girl spoke her words going unheard amidst the mass. However, they rang clear upon Eros's obscured mounds of flesh, echoing discordantly in his mind still in the midst of anguish. He could pretend, ignore such words, live in a fantasy, a delusion, yet, the boy didn't. He analysed them, knowing already what they meant. Of course, he did. It was the solitary purpose men served in such a matriarchal world, their one reason for existence: to sacrifice, to shield and protect, to give their life in exchange for those in power. They were little more than martyrs.
And yet, despite knowing such, Eros couldn't combat such a claim, nor was it like he had the desire to do so. He merely remained focused on the beauties figure, or rather, the illusory notification that sparked before his gaze.
{+3 Affection}
From the centre of his view lingered such a line of archaic writing, one which Eros simply couldn't comprehend, that of a rise in affection. 'Why?' The boy inwardly commented, the words not even having time to brew within his angst-ridden muscle before he would be answered by none other than the beauty herself.
"You! You appear conscious. Tell the rest to follow after me." The girl demanded to which Eros could only wordlessly agree.
'Ah…it's because I'm the only one with some semblance of sanity. I suppose that makes sense,' The boy inwardly commented, his chocolate brown eyes focused on the soon departing figure of Fiamma, whose frilly dress undulated in the non-existent wind of the desolate land, yet, before the boy could make motion for the group to resume their journey he would freeze, for from behind him shrieked a horrific cry, one that curdled the very streams of crimson that ran listlessly throughout his form.
*GEEGH!!* a sound akin to that of the opening door blared, as without second thought, the boy bearing the name Eros instinctually swang his head around in search of the origin for such dissonant sound, and yet, the boy wouldn't have to look far nor even try to scour the expansive room for a source, it lay there, or instead it no longer did, the door that once stood ajar, dyeing the opening in its monochromatic radiance combating the darkness with its apostolic luminescence was closing, its hinges the sole singers to such violent choir. Still, no matter how much the boy searched, he could not find a perpetrator for such an action. No man, woman, or god lay in sight of the monolith, leaving merely a phantasm as a suspect.
Every second that passed gave waste to slaughtered light, massacred hope for the mass of youths who appeared disinterested or rather accustomed to such haunting motions, indifferent to the creeping closure of their very own sarcophagus until, eventually, there was no more radiance left to butcher, merely deathlike lurid blue. However, such burial did not merely end with the coffin's cessation, for motion soon resumed in the land, though its progenitor did not exist in the form of flesh but rather steel. The same grating sound of chains echoed endlessly in the void-like realm, their sultry mating ritual on display for all to see. They clamoured, danced, moved freely atop the items structure, wrapping around the broad door's body in a serpentine manner as though blessed with the gift of life, asphyxiating every inch of the item's surface in a vain hope of bringing an end to the existence of the inanimate object, from this moment forth, there would be no return, the burial had ended, concluded by the metallic seal that lay strewn lackadaisically atop the statues visage.
Terror racked the minds of all sane enough. The end was within reach. The world had given up on them, the school had allowed their deaths, and yet, Eros did not make mention of his distaste for the situation but instead merely made haste with the group, prodding them ever forwards, guiding them on the forlorn envy they once held towards his very presence, the life of luxury he had comparatively lived no little more than an erstwhile fantasy. Eros's advance, formerly reticent and reserved, now bellowed with a sacrilegious serenity cast back by the infinitely high walls to which the boy could see no beginning in the form of mocking laughter.
The sepulchral blue light of the tear grew in distinctness with every metre lost until becoming a blindingly opaque daub that adorned every inch of exposed flesh the five males possessed, hair once brown and untamed lay washed blue, dress obsidian the same hue of death, an icy cold foreboding that permeated throughout the air, yet as if in apparent defiance to such sovereign rule, appeared crimson, unsullied though the antonym of angelic, Fimma loomed defiantly by the ethereal rift, her ruby eyes focused not upon the meandering troop but rather a cloaked form that existed positioned before her, her lips, cherry red in colour moved with tyrannical arrogance, as if the apparent senior in the conversation, a thought that held little ground merely judging by the apathetic stature of the veiled form.
Her words, previously cryptic, soon gained body as the mass loomed within metres of the beauty who would be their leader throughout the expedition, "What do you mean I only get an E-rank dungeon? I'm a B-rank esper. I can clear one of these unattended, let alone with the need for the meatshields you provided," The girl all but yelled, her apparent frustration erupting from a place Eros knew not.
Yet, the boy did not care, for simply hearing those heavenly words regarding the rank of the locale put him at ease. It would be an E rank, an easy enough dungeon for the five boys alone to decimate, let alone with the assistance of a proclaimed B rank esper. Immediately the weight that lay dormant within his chest appeared to lift, the threat of gastric acid erupting from his sole orifice now little more than a nightmarish impossibility. Eros would live. The prophetic demise given form by his inadvertent incompetence had been avoided, a sentiment that appeared unanimous across the once ghoulish form of the otherwise formerly identical quadruplets. Life once more returned to the eyes of the wretched conglomerate sparking in a multitude of polychromatic pupils, their woeful depression possessing ethereal body had been slain by such simple words, and now reverie reigned supreme.
Still, they would have to enter the celestial gate before them, an affirmation proved by the hooded form that failed to spill even words but merely pointed to the intangible anomaly, a notion that met apparent disapproval from the boy's master as with little more than an abhorrent scoff Fiamma soon transplanted the apple of her eye with their joyous aura, which even under assault from such overwhelming resent did not go vanquished.
"Take a weapon. We're getting in there as soon as possible," The girl viciously spat, her words solely directed to the only youth who could earn her prior attention, that being Eros, and yet, despite such conspicuous antipathy, her affection did not lower, no remark erupted in the midst of the boy's gaze nor did the number stealthily drop without his knowledge, it remained placid, firmly affixed upon the common number of three. Still, before Eros had time to mull over such absurdity, his gaze would be drawn to the slender form of the girl's ivory hand that hovered sternly pointed in the direction of a mass of phantasmally vitiated silver.
A mound of weapons, its magnitude innumerable, blades with different lengths, girths and forms, from that of a meek, almost crystalline dagger to those of immense stature such as pikes and grand axes the likes of which such feeble youths could hardly hope to wield, all lay compiled within but metres of the teens, their existence magical in nature, for not even seconds ago did they exist. Eros wandered to such tumulus of armaments, his gaze disinterested, uncaring. He had never borne such items upon his body nor had to train to combat what creatures lay beyond. His preference did not exist, nor did Eros know what called to him. Eros merely moved, grasping upon the first hilt he distinguished upon the mass of death-coloured silver.
Heavy. Weight befell the centre of the boy's palm, uncalloused and nescient. Whatever lay grasped scraped against his discoloured flesh, pressing upon little more than bone. The item did not feel balanced, skewed to the outer length. Eros found difficulty merely raising the construct, hoping to bring it to eye level in order to examine the device. Muscles cried out in silent protest of the youth's uncultivated movements, though such wails fell upon deaf ears, for the metallic glint stained a horrific shade now reflected with infinite clarity within the boy's once chocolate brown gaze. To say his absentminded choice of weaponry was bland would be an understatement. What sat wretchedly within Eros's hand was nothing more common than a mere longsword, one from a far-gone era forgotten by time. It appeared of Elizabethan make, with a length resting at 1.2 metres, no leather bound its body, merely metal for the boy to grasp.
Thoughts of placing such a weapon back in the mound in place of something more practical, like a spear, propped up within Eros's rather disinterested brain, yet, before he could act upon such caprice, he would be hurried along by none other than the final of his peers, for he had remained, albeit unknowingly, the last to select his means to kill.
Immediately Eros's gaze turned to the insubstantial mass of blue, in wishes that his classmates urging were without base, yet, he would meet nought but disappointment and supposedly feigned anger upon such action. The boy's words were true. Four figures lay anxiously surrounding the dungeon's sole entrance, all bearing different weaponry to enact a bloodied vendetta, all but Fiamma, who sported little more than the flesh and gift a god had blessed her with. Their gazes focused upon the now slowly meandering youth, partnered with a boy whose name Eros hadn't even attempted to memorise despite their many months co-inhabiting the same dreary classroom until finally, the boy's tandem footsteps came to an abrupt halt while the once panoramic view of stained darkness soloed in upon the phantasmal origin of it all.
Eros could sense the growing confidence sprouting in the hearts of his peers as all lay bear their eyes upon the beautiful Fiamma, waiting for her motion, her heed, for them to perform the job only they were capable of, for to even enter a dungeon, one must have an ability. Still, the youths wouldn't have to wait long, as within but seconds, the fiery woman resumed motion and vanished behind the cosmic curtain that separated space, while like unsullied lambs, the four followed, leaving Eros momentarily alone in the vast hall, with merely the soliloquy of silence and the mouthless forms of the veiled espers to hold feigned company.
However, the mouthless conversation of such figures soon installed an urge to depart within the boy's mind, where nought but false confidence bolstered by Fiammas presence reigned in cardinal power, yet, despite such illusory emotions, the seed of foreboding once planted in Eros's stomach would only further to grow, as, with one broad step, he found himself consumed by a world of blue.