Akuma
(#64810363)
Level 1 Imperial
Familiar
Curious Parasol
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Energy: 49/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Female Imperial
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
27.87 m
Wingspan
19.02 m
Weight
5654.42 kg
Genetics
Obsidian
Metallic
Metallic
Obsidian
Safari
Safari
Obsidian
Firebreather
Firebreather
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Imperial
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
6
AGI
6
DEF
6
QCK
5
INT
8
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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 A K U M A 
"Salvation is soon to follow."
A n ancient cemetery, forgotten by time lies in the heart of the Shifting Expanse. A place blessed by the Stormcatcher and fallen out of view. Something sinister calls this once holy sanctuary home, and it hungers for more than broken stone and faded memories... This is the tale of the Barghest, Akuma. |
The old monastery waited quietly beneath the full moon’s light. There were only subtle sounds - the faint whistling of wind through cracks in the old windows and the ever-present hum of flies as they darted about the stagnant air. Occasionally, the floor would groan, rotting wood shifting beneath the weight of a great beast. Blackmore let out a sigh as he laid his massive head against the floor. He was once again guarding a nest, a haphazard structure of torn fabric and the shredded pages of old holy books that cradled three luminous eggs. Blackmore’s own form was coiled about the periphery, dark fur rising and falling with his breath. The hatchlings would emerge soon, and Blackmore would be alone in raising them this time.
Indeed, the hatchlings’ mother was asleep somewhere deep within the form she shared with Blackmore. Despite being intertwined, Agatha and Blackmore had fought, constantly battling for control of their shared physical form. Agatha had finally succumbed to the afflictions that face any mortal - starvation and disease. Death should have followed were it not for Blackmore’s presence re-animating her cold flesh from within. The eggs were already lifeless when the Wildclaw laid them, but they remained viable by the same magic that tied their father to the physical plane and they too were born inhabiting forms that should not have contained life.
As their forms deteriorated, the children looked for new ways to anchor themselves to the physical plane and each of them bound themselves instead to a location. Church-grims, they were called, massive beasts that haunted the old ruins of churches and other holy places. They fed from the faith of those who visited, forcing them to sit endlessly and pray as their forms wasted to dust. The beasts themselves were rarely seen, dark dog-like creatures whose fur trailed off into black smoke as they stared through brilliant eyes. Those who stared back would become caught in the beasts’ trance, a daydream from which they would never wake up.
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It was a thin fog that clung to the stones laying in haphazard formation upon the coarse sands. Most were cracked and faded, words long bleached away by the biting sun. Some sat in two pieces, broken in crooked paths cut across the surfaces. None of them interested the young pearlcatcher. It was the new, dark stone that shimmered in the moonlight that caught Collen’s eyes. Above him, a sign creaked. A new feature to accompany the old. Its surface read, “Even as your names fade from stone, may the dirt never forget where you have stood.” Pretty words for a much less glamorous truth. Collen stepped lightly through the cemetery gates, head held low. Equal amounts of rage, regret, and reverence filled his chest. Upon the newest gravestone was written a name he knew well. Demelin. His brother. He’d been killed while fighting in the savannas a few weeks back. Crushed under a rockback charger’s massive hooves. It was his first mission, his first time fighting with the warriors. It was meant to be Collen’s too. He’d chickened out. The fear of meeting his death on the battlefield was too much. If he had been there, it would’ve been different. Collen could’ve saved Demelin. Killed the charger before it stepped on him, or at the very least pulled his brother to safety. Instead, he’d stayed at home and read books with his mother like a hatchling. Like the coward he was. With a start, Collen realized the mists had deepened. A veil was cast over the graves. He could see no more than a few tail lengths in any direction. From the shadows came a whisper, “It was not your fault.” His claws began to shake. Collen leapt to his feet. “Where are you? What do you mean?” A thin, haunting laughter echoed around him. He took a step back, eyes flickering wildly over the clearing. “So nervous.” A silhouette shot out of the fog, taking a seat atop the shimmering stone. He calmed. It was nothing but a dog. A talking dog perhaps, but a dog nonetheless. “Do you really think it was your fault your brother died? You tried to convince him not to go. He laughed you off.” Its mouth moved with the words, but its expression remained eerily the same. Collen blinked. “How do you know that?” Demelin had laughed him off. Nothing but a giddy smile and reassurance that nothing would happen. It suddenly occurred to him that this dog’s eyes were not the normal soft brown, but rather a stark, glowing red against its dark hide. He shrugged it off. The creature wasn’t much bigger than his foot. It couldn’t harm him. “It wasn’t your fault, Collen,” it repeated. “You know that. But there is somebody to blame for this. Who pushed you all those years? Who trained you to fight from the moment you could walk?” He tilted his head. “But dad…” He shook his head. “No. Dad loved him.” “Your dad loved what he could do,” the creature said, offering him an odd sort of smile. Its fangs were oddly red in the light. Collen could’ve sworn the dog was smaller. Now, it rose up to his knees. Perhaps if he hadn’t been quite so blinded by his own anger, the pearlcatcher still could’ve been saved. “No,” he shook himself, stepping back. His ankle twisted and Collen was forced roughly to his rump. His legs felt curiously weak. “No,” he repeated, futilely. Down inside him, he knew it was right. She, he corrected himself. She was right. The dog laughed again, her dark fangs flashing. “Don’t deny it. Why couldn’t the two of you get the same treatment as your sister? Frail and weak, she never had to fight. Why is she so special? Why not you? Why not Demelin? If your father was not quite so blinded by child soldiers, Demelin would still be alive!” The last word came out as a growl. Rage turned to icy fear in Collen’s veins. She towered above him now, a ginormous hound. Ruddy black smoke wreathed around her body. It slipped around the graves, cradling the stones. She leapt gracefully from the tombstone. Sinuous muscle rippled under a thin coat of fur. Collen tried to climb to his feet. His legs wouldn’t hold underneath. They had gone weak, just as the rest of him. The simple motion cost him his breath. “Please,” he whispered. It was futile. Whatever monstrosity stood before him, it was the opposite of holy. A huff of smoke billowed from her lips. “You’re selfish, Collen,” she said. “And I must thank you for it. Yours is the sweetest rage I’ve tasted in some time.” “What are you?” He’d resorted to digging his claws into the ground and dragging his body. A massive paw stepped upon his, preventing him from moving any farther. She smiled. Her luminous red eyes glowed down at him. “I am Akuma.” Collen was young again, playing in the Labyrinth’s nursery alongside his siblings. They laughed and tumbled over each other. The sound was distorted, as if heard through water. His parents entered the room. They smiled at him. They had the beast’s fangs, teeth stained blood red. He stepped back. His tail smacked into his sister’s side. Demelin and her turned to him. They smiled, reflecting back at him the same emotionless, bloody grin. The four of them lunged. Then there was darkness.
Layout and artwork by awaicu
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