Kubo hadn't reached for his mother immediately once the screaming from the monitors began. He'd swept his shamisen into place, ready to put his paper magic to work.
Once the screens showed the violence that had filled this place, though, he gasped sharply and reached for his mother's arm, gripping her tight through the familiar silk of her robes.
He looked up at her for some confirmation that this, at least, was not phasing her. She'd seen the wonders and horrors of the cosmos, centuries of war and death. If she'd seen something like this before, something like this could be overcome.
Kubo had seen terrible, heart-shattering things, but nothing this overwhelmingly, meaninglessly awful. He desperately hoped for his mother's confirmation that it could be overcome.
But before he could communicate any of this to her with more than a glance, cold swept through his flesh, touching his mind. The last thing he managed to do before losing consciousness was tighten his hand on his mother's arm, pouring all of his strength into keeping her with him.
He awoke to find it hadn't been enough.
The smell and sound hit him before he opened his eyes. He jumped to his feet, slipping a little on porous, wave-cut rock. The sound of a roar turned out to be the source of the smell - a rancid sea of a liquid that didn't seem to be water, stinking as it churned against the tidal flats. The softer sediment in the rocks hissed as the acidic waves ate it away.
Kubo ran inland as the next wave washed over where he'd been lying seconds ago. A cliff of roughly hexagonal stone pillars of varying heights surrounded him, surmountable, but with effort. He climbed the stones as the sea washed into the bay, emerging onto a flat landscape of black mold, pitted with soggy pools of shallow liquid oozing like open wounds, and fungus dripping bone-white slime. A dense fog smelling of the rancid sea kept his vision short.
Kubo refrained from shouting for his mother. A shape moved, distant, in the yellowed fog. He stayed still where he was, watching as it moved, trying to distinguish it as a friend . . . or something else entirely.
(ooc: Kubo won't be transforming, and will be using his paper magic to nonlethally fight any transformed Legionnaires who attack him, while trying his best to talk them back into their senses. Feel free to attack him, but ping me before dealing him some damage and let's talk!)
Kubo
Once the screens showed the violence that had filled this place, though, he gasped sharply and reached for his mother's arm, gripping her tight through the familiar silk of her robes.
He looked up at her for some confirmation that this, at least, was not phasing her. She'd seen the wonders and horrors of the cosmos, centuries of war and death. If she'd seen something like this before, something like this could be overcome.
Kubo had seen terrible, heart-shattering things, but nothing this overwhelmingly, meaninglessly awful. He desperately hoped for his mother's confirmation that it could be overcome.
But before he could communicate any of this to her with more than a glance, cold swept through his flesh, touching his mind. The last thing he managed to do before losing consciousness was tighten his hand on his mother's arm, pouring all of his strength into keeping her with him.
He awoke to find it hadn't been enough.
The smell and sound hit him before he opened his eyes. He jumped to his feet, slipping a little on porous, wave-cut rock. The sound of a roar turned out to be the source of the smell - a rancid sea of a liquid that didn't seem to be water, stinking as it churned against the tidal flats. The softer sediment in the rocks hissed as the acidic waves ate it away.
Kubo ran inland as the next wave washed over where he'd been lying seconds ago. A cliff of roughly hexagonal stone pillars of varying heights surrounded him, surmountable, but with effort. He climbed the stones as the sea washed into the bay, emerging onto a flat landscape of black mold, pitted with soggy pools of shallow liquid oozing like open wounds, and fungus dripping bone-white slime. A dense fog smelling of the rancid sea kept his vision short.
Kubo refrained from shouting for his mother. A shape moved, distant, in the yellowed fog. He stayed still where he was, watching as it moved, trying to distinguish it as a friend . . . or something else entirely.
(ooc: Kubo won't be transforming, and will be using his paper magic to nonlethally fight any transformed Legionnaires who attack him, while trying his best to talk them back into their senses. Feel free to attack him, but ping me before dealing him some damage and let's talk!)