5tar
Active Member
Hasegawa Sumaru, a strange abnormality in the strange world of Nekovalkyrja and cybernetic echos of humanity coexisting in a dream of what was, continually perpetrating on-wards in it's existence of self made evolution. He was born a nobody, a citizen in a countless empire of people so vast that numbers do no justice. He was a boy, who had became a man; with a wish. But not everything that glitters is gold, and aether may shine bright - but it burns hotter then the fire of a sun.
He had lived his life following his dreams, but those dreams were mere illusions. He achieved greatness, but that greatness was a false, a mask that he had though was his own. The shell his soul resided in was not his own, the second ever NH-27 Nekovalkyrjan case was not an honor, but a way to appease. The body no matter how many years he trained with it, no matter how hard he worked at it, never belonged to him. He was not like the great samurai he had embodied himself to be, he had never truly grasped the greatness of the ones he trained under. His only failure was he was born a man, not a Neko.
For days after his great failure Sumaru had relinquished his cherished position as Sora's guardian, shamefully accepting his defeat before the elders and offering his robes willingly. From then on he took to the remote quarter of the Samurai house, where countless nights he would sit awake staring up high at the stars, wondering if he ever truly had a destiny among them. Turning away any visitors, answering no messages.
Then as the full moon rose high up over head, he had decided his own fate. With a traditional letter of 'no resurrection' laying beside him, sealed with his own personal mon, Sumaru did the only thing he could do to escape his shame. Blade in hand he plunged deep into the core of his being, set his brain to shut down and his body to destroy itself - using the measures set aside to not allow Yamataian tech to fall into the wrong hands. As he felt the pain of the blade deep within his soul, he could feel his systems shutting down; one by one. A peaceful calm washed over what was left of his consciousness, and as he fell over onto the matted floor he could see magnificent array of colors as different layers of his optic sensors were turning off.
His eyes fought to focus on one of the Yamataian maples just outside the open wall in-front of him. The blood red leaves blowing gently in a breeze. "My life came like dew, disappears like dew. All I lived is dream after dream," his last words, his death poem. After that came the soft embrace of the darkness, the simple nothingness of thought and feeling gone. The seconds passed, and the boy who dreamed... was nothing more.
He had lived his life following his dreams, but those dreams were mere illusions. He achieved greatness, but that greatness was a false, a mask that he had though was his own. The shell his soul resided in was not his own, the second ever NH-27 Nekovalkyrjan case was not an honor, but a way to appease. The body no matter how many years he trained with it, no matter how hard he worked at it, never belonged to him. He was not like the great samurai he had embodied himself to be, he had never truly grasped the greatness of the ones he trained under. His only failure was he was born a man, not a Neko.
For days after his great failure Sumaru had relinquished his cherished position as Sora's guardian, shamefully accepting his defeat before the elders and offering his robes willingly. From then on he took to the remote quarter of the Samurai house, where countless nights he would sit awake staring up high at the stars, wondering if he ever truly had a destiny among them. Turning away any visitors, answering no messages.
Then as the full moon rose high up over head, he had decided his own fate. With a traditional letter of 'no resurrection' laying beside him, sealed with his own personal mon, Sumaru did the only thing he could do to escape his shame. Blade in hand he plunged deep into the core of his being, set his brain to shut down and his body to destroy itself - using the measures set aside to not allow Yamataian tech to fall into the wrong hands. As he felt the pain of the blade deep within his soul, he could feel his systems shutting down; one by one. A peaceful calm washed over what was left of his consciousness, and as he fell over onto the matted floor he could see magnificent array of colors as different layers of his optic sensors were turning off.
His eyes fought to focus on one of the Yamataian maples just outside the open wall in-front of him. The blood red leaves blowing gently in a breeze. "My life came like dew, disappears like dew. All I lived is dream after dream," his last words, his death poem. After that came the soft embrace of the darkness, the simple nothingness of thought and feeling gone. The seconds passed, and the boy who dreamed... was nothing more.