[He is enjoying his little appley juice yes thanks for asking.]
Setting me up with a high expectation? I see, I see.
[Where he lacks in his magical flair and energy for the time being, he makes up for in the deliberate play of his tone, of volume and cadence, a shaping and twisting like an artisan.]
Then, my dear Jing Yuan. My old and young alike. Draw in and listen close to Solomon the Wise.
"There is only one way to stop an ouroboros."
[
--
Once upon a time, there was a child.
Born of man, the child knew not of how strong their fate intertwined, and their life stayed simple and happy.
One day, the child was taken. Brought to the realm of demons, against their will, to test their power and the strength of their resolve. Though frightened, the child was brave. They would not be devoured. They would not show weakness.
In their studies, they found power they did not know that a human could possess. In the grasp of their new experience, they were challenged to the source of their heritage - not just from a human, but from an angel as well.
And, over their time under the watch of the demonic, their heart softened, for they had found connection, and affection, with both the angels they had come to meet, and to the demons they were meant to control.
In this, with the birthright of a human, the bloodline of an angel, and the heart of powerful demons, they blossomed. And once again, they returned, to that life of simple happiness, now stretched across realms they never knew possible.
However--
As they continued in their growth, like the roots of a tree, their power stretched beyond the space of its anchoring. As they reveled in their happiness, the world around them started to shudder under their inexperience. Like a pot boiling to overflow, their body could not stand as a vessel for the many avenues they'd opened... and it was the world that was quickly paying the price.
Like the maw of a great beast, the ground started to open under the roots of their power. Forests of humanity started to collapse. Ancient tombs in the firey pits of hell crumbled. Even heaven itself was not left untouched, the rivers of its bounty drying and falling away.
For the three realms are a ring. An ouroboros of balance, of death and rebirth. And as one child grew so quickly, so erratically, across the stretch of all worlds, the ouroboros strengthened beyond itself.
The worlds began to devour each other. Those demons the child had once considered so dear began to forget them as the beast of their power devoured their memories as well. The angels that loved them so watched and waited from a distance.
And, as the kingdoms of heaven and hell moved to intercept, a man appeared from the depths of candlelight. He wore the cloak of the reaper, and carried in his hand a book. And on that book was a label. The Prison of the Soul.
"I have brought you salvation, my dear Ouroborus", said the man to the child. "For I come from the depths of that which controls life, of every angel and devil and human that exists. I see the light of their candles fading under the great storm that is your presence."
The child begged the man for help. "These are my loved ones! This is my home! These are worlds I do not want to see devoured! Please, what must I do?"
The man looked at their plight, and nodded in understanding, opening the pages of his tome. From it emerged a blade as black as night, whose presence chilled the air even as the man continued to speak.
"There is only one way to stop the cycle of an ouroboros. For you can never stop it from eating, nor can you take away its meal. So you must sever it completely, from head to tail.
This is the power of death itself, my child. A dagger which can sever anything. But I warn you that it does not come without a price."
"What is your price?" cried the child. "Please, I must know!"
The man took the dagger, and pointed it towards the demons the child had loved so deeply.
"There is your price. Drive your blade through those powerful beings so close to you. Their deaths will grant you pause, and you will be able to sever the power that roots you to the world's destruction."
The child grew hateful of the man. They spat and cursed. They wept and pleaded. And their loved ones grew further, their worlds grew emptier, and their heart ached more and more.
So they took up the knife. They found their most beloved, the most powerful under their control, who barely remembered their name. And though they warned him of their actions, he only looked on them with love, and bowed his head in allowance.
As they raised the blade to drive it forward, the light of heaven shot down, through earth and hell alike. For the demons' hearts were not the only ones the child held so tightly in their hands. And as an angel fell from the heavens, a sin against his Father tearing his wings, he used what love he kept for those below to pass along a blessing of his own. An artifact, stolen straight from the thrones of the archangels, whose power alone shattered the motion of their magic.
In stasis, the worlds shifted. Their balance rippled. And the roots so deeply ingrained began to withdraw, for the sacrifice of the angel had turned their boiling pot into a lake, hungry to be filled, eager to accept the flow in and out of the world.
The former angel hid his scars, hiding his intent so that the child might keep their happiness. The beloved demon embraced the child, keeping their anger at bay so that the child might keep their happiness. And the man cloaked like the reaper withdrew, dissatisfied and biding his time to return, but refusing further intervention, so that the child might keep their happiness.
And from the bottom of its new lake, with all the time in the world, the cycle still continues to spin. Between human and angel and demon alike, in a delicate balance, devouring and growing. Potential and disaster in every gulp, masked with love and companionship.
For, truly, there is only one way to stop an ouroboros.]
no subject
Setting me up with a high expectation? I see, I see.
[Where he lacks in his magical flair and energy for the time being, he makes up for in the deliberate play of his tone, of volume and cadence, a shaping and twisting like an artisan.]
Then, my dear Jing Yuan. My old and young alike. Draw in and listen close to Solomon the Wise.
"There is only one way to stop an ouroboros."
[
--
Once upon a time, there was a child.
Born of man, the child knew not of how strong their fate intertwined, and their life stayed simple and happy.
One day, the child was taken. Brought to the realm of demons, against their will, to test their power and the strength of their resolve. Though frightened, the child was brave. They would not be devoured. They would not show weakness.
In their studies, they found power they did not know that a human could possess. In the grasp of their new experience, they were challenged to the source of their heritage - not just from a human, but from an angel as well.
And, over their time under the watch of the demonic, their heart softened, for they had found connection, and affection, with both the angels they had come to meet, and to the demons they were meant to control.
In this, with the birthright of a human, the bloodline of an angel, and the heart of powerful demons, they blossomed. And once again, they returned, to that life of simple happiness, now stretched across realms they never knew possible.
However--
As they continued in their growth, like the roots of a tree, their power stretched beyond the space of its anchoring. As they reveled in their happiness, the world around them started to shudder under their inexperience. Like a pot boiling to overflow, their body could not stand as a vessel for the many avenues they'd opened... and it was the world that was quickly paying the price.
Like the maw of a great beast, the ground started to open under the roots of their power. Forests of humanity started to collapse. Ancient tombs in the firey pits of hell crumbled. Even heaven itself was not left untouched, the rivers of its bounty drying and falling away.
For the three realms are a ring. An ouroboros of balance, of death and rebirth. And as one child grew so quickly, so erratically, across the stretch of all worlds, the ouroboros strengthened beyond itself.
The worlds began to devour each other. Those demons the child had once considered so dear began to forget them as the beast of their power devoured their memories as well. The angels that loved them so watched and waited from a distance.
And, as the kingdoms of heaven and hell moved to intercept, a man appeared from the depths of candlelight. He wore the cloak of the reaper, and carried in his hand a book. And on that book was a label. The Prison of the Soul.
"I have brought you salvation, my dear Ouroborus", said the man to the child. "For I come from the depths of that which controls life, of every angel and devil and human that exists. I see the light of their candles fading under the great storm that is your presence."
The child begged the man for help. "These are my loved ones! This is my home! These are worlds I do not want to see devoured! Please, what must I do?"
The man looked at their plight, and nodded in understanding, opening the pages of his tome. From it emerged a blade as black as night, whose presence chilled the air even as the man continued to speak.
"There is only one way to stop the cycle of an ouroboros. For you can never stop it from eating, nor can you take away its meal. So you must sever it completely, from head to tail.
This is the power of death itself, my child. A dagger which can sever anything. But I warn you that it does not come without a price."
"What is your price?" cried the child. "Please, I must know!"
The man took the dagger, and pointed it towards the demons the child had loved so deeply.
"There is your price. Drive your blade through those powerful beings so close to you. Their deaths will grant you pause, and you will be able to sever the power that roots you to the world's destruction."
The child grew hateful of the man. They spat and cursed. They wept and pleaded. And their loved ones grew further, their worlds grew emptier, and their heart ached more and more.
So they took up the knife. They found their most beloved, the most powerful under their control, who barely remembered their name. And though they warned him of their actions, he only looked on them with love, and bowed his head in allowance.
As they raised the blade to drive it forward, the light of heaven shot down, through earth and hell alike. For the demons' hearts were not the only ones the child held so tightly in their hands. And as an angel fell from the heavens, a sin against his Father tearing his wings, he used what love he kept for those below to pass along a blessing of his own. An artifact, stolen straight from the thrones of the archangels, whose power alone shattered the motion of their magic.
In stasis, the worlds shifted. Their balance rippled. And the roots so deeply ingrained began to withdraw, for the sacrifice of the angel had turned their boiling pot into a lake, hungry to be filled, eager to accept the flow in and out of the world.
The former angel hid his scars, hiding his intent so that the child might keep their happiness. The beloved demon embraced the child, keeping their anger at bay so that the child might keep their happiness. And the man cloaked like the reaper withdrew, dissatisfied and biding his time to return, but refusing further intervention, so that the child might keep their happiness.
And from the bottom of its new lake, with all the time in the world, the cycle still continues to spin. Between human and angel and demon alike, in a delicate balance, devouring and growing. Potential and disaster in every gulp, masked with love and companionship.
For, truly, there is only one way to stop an ouroboros.]