Post by Blight on May 16, 2016 23:22:03 GMT -5
"Where is this guy? I thought he'd be here already."
Stillness. Quiet. Blight was the only thing that stirred in this tunnel. He'd entered an older part of the waterway, one which had been long abandoned. Even the rats no longer tread the area. Moisture had collected in unpleasant ways, leaving the walls partially calcified. There was no moss, no sign of life whatsoever. This was the dead man's realm, a place only habitable by those who lived by the poison. Blight was such a creature, borne of waste and radiation. Today, he was looking for a cure. Not a typical antidote for his predestined condition, no; he wasn't looking for that kind of fix. He had another kind of affliction, one that had just recently manifested on his skin and was doing, other, well, unpleasant things to his mind.
It was confusing to Blight, a Hazardmon, that he could fall ill. Written in his code was the ability to negate any ailment. An immunity, if you will. Why was it, then, that the Mark affected him so deeply? It was more than just an ugly scar. His mind was beginning to fail. The chaos that swirled beneath his (relatively) level-headed exterior was beginning to break free. It wasn't like he didn't possess the willpower to stop it, either. He felt as if he was being rewritten. His data wasn't cohesive anymore. He hadn't experience something like this since, well, he died. At least, presumably. He woke up in a body he didn't know after succumbing to Dark Digivolution, and the rest was history. Weird shit. This Mark predicament worried him more than Dark Digivolution, however. It was too intrusive, too sudden. Worst of all, its control over him was beginning to solidify.
Peering into the distance, Blight hoped to see a doctor. Not your typical doctor, of course. He sought the Plague Doctor, Master of the Vials, the One Who Knew What the Fuck Was Going On. Whatever title suited him best. All Blight wanted to know was how he could fix his worsening condition...or if he could be fixed at all.
Iscariot
Stillness. Quiet. Blight was the only thing that stirred in this tunnel. He'd entered an older part of the waterway, one which had been long abandoned. Even the rats no longer tread the area. Moisture had collected in unpleasant ways, leaving the walls partially calcified. There was no moss, no sign of life whatsoever. This was the dead man's realm, a place only habitable by those who lived by the poison. Blight was such a creature, borne of waste and radiation. Today, he was looking for a cure. Not a typical antidote for his predestined condition, no; he wasn't looking for that kind of fix. He had another kind of affliction, one that had just recently manifested on his skin and was doing, other, well, unpleasant things to his mind.
It was confusing to Blight, a Hazardmon, that he could fall ill. Written in his code was the ability to negate any ailment. An immunity, if you will. Why was it, then, that the Mark affected him so deeply? It was more than just an ugly scar. His mind was beginning to fail. The chaos that swirled beneath his (relatively) level-headed exterior was beginning to break free. It wasn't like he didn't possess the willpower to stop it, either. He felt as if he was being rewritten. His data wasn't cohesive anymore. He hadn't experience something like this since, well, he died. At least, presumably. He woke up in a body he didn't know after succumbing to Dark Digivolution, and the rest was history. Weird shit. This Mark predicament worried him more than Dark Digivolution, however. It was too intrusive, too sudden. Worst of all, its control over him was beginning to solidify.
Peering into the distance, Blight hoped to see a doctor. Not your typical doctor, of course. He sought the Plague Doctor, Master of the Vials, the One Who Knew What the Fuck Was Going On. Whatever title suited him best. All Blight wanted to know was how he could fix his worsening condition...or if he could be fixed at all.
Iscariot
