User blog:GalaxE/Cosmic Perspective Volume II - Galaxian's GGaD Writing! :)



Galaxian (the Almighty)'s Note:

Hey, all!

To start off, I made this version separate from the other "Cosmic Perspective" because that one is...well, much more random and disorganized. And it got too long for me to edit, because I can't edit blog posts when they get too long, apparently. So, I came up with the solution of...why not just make another version?

Besides, all those events in the first volume happen before Galaxian's most recent amnesic bout, which means this time around I'm going to be developing characters and plots more, in writing. Yeah, I guess this one may have in-between events and fluff that has nothing to do with the "main characters" of plots, but those will be for character development. I hope to be more organized this time around xD, and I certainly hope my writing is improving.

Anyhow, all of my characters will likely appear at some point, and do expect to see certain characters a lot (the ones that have to do with the plot I like to call the A.A. plot). Overall, I can say to definitely expect:


 * Galaxian (I'd say this is a given)


 * Hitan


 * The Apologetic Assassin (the plot is called the A.A. plot for a reason :D)


 * The Seafood Squad - Benigno & Baldr/Baldur


 * The 0RES in general


 * Lianhuan and a lot of Ancient Chinese mages


 * More as I see fit.

Warning: My writing isn't necessarily inappropriate/mature or too graphic, but my works do include a fairly large amount of violence, potentially emotion-provoking language, and visual descriptions. I consider action, descriptions, and word-choice to be some of the largest and most relevant aspects of writing, yet I know my writing style and topics may be a "trigger" for some. I try to include warnings for topics and subjects I will cover in each chapter that will potentially upset someone, but I can't ensure that I'm good at describing at all, not to mention there are certainly topics out there that could "trigger" that I skip over, or am not aware of. If at any point my writing includes something that makes you feel worse than you should feel or already feel (like, it's okay to feel a bit sad, but not too sad, if you get what I mean), or you know you shouldn't read, then please, don't read it. Your personal wellbeing is the most important, not knowing my plots, characters, and whatever weird inspirations I gain in this weird mind of mine.

Otherwise, get ready for a train wreck of cringe, lack of time/time management/effort, attempted foreshadowing, writing phase chains, angst sections, and much, much more. Buckle in!

Prologue
(In the works, please hold.)

Mystery, the Apologetic Assassin
A/N: Warning for violence, descriptions of an assassination, and possibly graphical descriptions. This was part of my Scribble September works; the prompt was “Mystery”. Enjoy. :)

They didn’t know them.

They did not know them.

They would never know them, for they did not want to be known. And so, it would stay that way, for eternity, who can tell?

There were moments where the A.A. wished that maybe others would know them, but most of those people ended up dead. They needed to be that way, and stay that way. People who knew them would be cursed, anyways. They were still better off, shortly, dead.

Take the people who ordered them on this mission, for one.

They spun the gun in their hand, purely from reflex, as where they were was completely dark. They stopped it with an angle on the hilt, a finger a mere millimeter from the trigger.

Such elegant weapons, yet at the same time, so cumbersome. They would have preferred more efficient methods, but there could be no mistake. One mistake would equal death for an assassin. They couldn’t afford that. Of all other punishments they could take, they could not undertake death.

They had checked the gun beforehand, and they didn’t need a silencer. Everyone else was dead except their target, so no one could possibly hear them. They didn’t sense anyone nearby, either, within hearing distance. They could only hear the sound of papers shifting restlessly, as if from the wind. An open window, perhaps. After all, this was the tallest floor in the narrow skyscraper; perhaps mortals had a liking to open windows on high altitudes.

They aimed the gun, but the target, the man…wasn’t there.

The assassin immediately plunged backwards, just in time for the ground where they had been to fall. They were still silent, however; the only sound that could be heard was the resounding clang of another cage that fell before where they had been again, for they had retreated a bit more in the nick of time…and the sound of a man heavily breathing, as if clicking a remote control had been the most tedious work.

The assassin buried themselves in shadow as they leaned against the wall, listening to the footsteps from where the man had managed to hide in. ''Click, clack. Click, clack.''

Just from that, they knew he was wearing expensive shoes with heels. He was a nervous man who valued his own safety very much, likely over those around him and even those protecting him, and he had greater instincts than most of the A.A.’s targets.

Then he stopped at the edge of the temporary ravine, staring down into it. The A.A. took all of it into their eyes.

An assassin wasn’t supposed to see their target as a human, but they always did. It made it easier for them, not the other way around, because they could see through the humanity. In that instant, they could see the bitterness of emotion on the man’s eyes—fear, determination, a bit of triumph that he had captured someone who tried to kill him.

Oh, perhaps he didn’t know about those out there yet, or perhaps he did. Regardless, he did not think about the Why, and Who. He just thought—and thought he knew—that he had overcome something that tried to scar him, eliminate him even. He did not think about the reasons that both minorities and majorities sought his blood for: The deals he had made in the underworld for his own benefit, the people he’d dragged into his affairs, his gains that were all for power, and his luxury when the citizens were still impoverished and starving.

He stood in triumph. His head only went through the triumphant thoughts of ''I’m alive. I won.'' It was a chess board that he thought he had nailed the checkmate upon.

He had not. He had lost, for his soon-to-be-killer had slipped through the grasps of the cage, dodged the traps he had set up, and seen his idiocy to the end: The arrogant man hadn’t even bothered to carry a weapon for self-defense at the very least, not to say to fight back at all. What a fool.

And then it was there, through the cages that were supposed to hold in the assassin and not the victim, but in which the situation had somehow been impossibly reversed, their gazes met for a split instant. They were the perpetrator and the victim, the perpetrator and the perpetrator, the killer of the perpetrator, the killer of the killer, but which one was which did not matter anymore.

They allowed that one glimpse out of the mysterious—for the eyes that were so prideful instants ago to slip from their gaze, and to rove over their form, over the shadow that they were; over the night black of their mask; until they finally returned to the pale, baleful orbs obscuring their true eyes, the same color as the bloodshed they witnessed at their own hands.

His lips parted, trembling, for an instant. His hands shook, even though his mind couldn’t fathom the impossible, because his mind had understood the meaning of fear. Try as he might to form a plea, the words shriveled away on his tongue. He, as all did before their death, understood the utter feeling of helplessness: Death.

But as they looked into those fearful, pleading, yet desolate eyes, the A.A. felt no hesitation, and no twinge of pity. All creatures feared death, and that included monsters. There were no differences to such beings, like the one cowering before them.

They were not humans in that instant. They were merely alive, and they were to face their greatest fear. In that instant as they were forced to do so, perhaps their humanity would spark; they would perhaps see this as a consequence for what they had done. They wanted to be forgiven.

This was retribution for all they had done. Yet, there was still that bit of humanity in such monsters. Yet, it was to that fragment of what they were supposed to be that the Apologetic Assassin uttered: “I’m sorry.”

Then a gunshot rang out, and the world was still.