Wanted to do something a bit unorthodox, and this is the result. Hope you enjoy it - the story of Vifoxe.
Vifoxe was never meant to be a person. Vifoxe was an organization commonly considered one of New York Citys most dangerous cults. I lead them. We met daily nightly I suppose I should say and spent hours in exhausting rituals. After each ritual we would make sacrifices on our makeshift alter underneath a parking garage. These sacrifices, well, they were the kind that earned every member a death penalty, but our lair was well hidden, and no one was even sure we were human. We were good at what we did.
One night, after our sacrifice, we noticed what appeared to be a thick, black liquid dripping from above our alter, coming down in large drops that broke silently on the remnants of our offering. I recall now that it was our six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth sacrifice. Regardless, we watched in awe, the oily fluid only existed on the place where our offerings were done. As it would drip down, or splosh off, the semi-existent fluid would vanish, and dissipate into nothingness. Explanation? Still none to this day.
What was done with it? As the leader, I solemnly accepted my duty to take the first drink. No doubt that was what had to be done. I cupped my trembling hands together and faked composure. I kneeled on top of the alter and close my eyes as the liquid pooled in my hands. What did it feel like? Not a liquid, that is for sure though the only way I can describe it is as slightly fuzzy, slimy and gaseous. Not sure how long I could keep up appearances to my followers, I took a deep drink, letting the majority run down my face as it disappeared.
That which ran down my throat did not disappear though. I felt it it overwhelmed me, indwelled me. I lay there I remember everything it was like a seizure, the seizure of my body by that which is greater. I fought it, no matter what the reward could be I would let nothing have direct control over the one thing that is mine alone my body. I can remember the happenings of my followers, although that was not what upon I was concentrated, I let surroundings drown out as I struggled to maintain control over my flesh.
I do remember the happenings of the others though, I recall them perfectly as if I had carefully paid attention all night. They panicked. Simple as that. They took me to the hospital, blood and sweat dripping from them as we had come directly from our ritual, and told THE TRUTH to the person at the counter. Before the sun came up we were on death row and I was in a straight-jacket. Our execution was that day. No court case, no nothing we were to be dead before nightfall, I believe because they feared supernatural intervention would possibly prove to ruin their only chance to exterminate us. We Vifoxe were the most feared anything; gangs, storms, heights, darkness, even death itself; none of these were feared like we were.
I remember the room we were executed in, yes; we were executed I watched as all my followers died before me. Did I notice it then? No. I was still fighting within myself, not aware then of the fate already brought to the others, and only seconds from me. The needle didnt hurt as it pierced me, but its cargo did the trick. I let out what closest would be classified as a scream, the pain was like a hook through my chest and ripped out as I remain stationary. Did I die? Dont be ridiculous. I am here am I not? The toxin did not kill me, but rather that being that had indwelt me, and fought for dominant control of me. I had bested it.
Now I re-entered the world around me, instantly remembering all that had taken place. Unspeakable anger overwhelmed me. It didnt take long to realize that the dead spirit inside me, though not successful at gaining control of me I had been more victorious at surmounting it. With its power at my disposal, I easily freed myself and avenged the deaths of my brethren. Now the only survivor of the group known as Vifoxe, the name became my own. Soon though, I learned of the negative side-effects. I had been shrunk now barely above 4 feet tall, and worst of all my voice had been taken. My throat would never successfully make any sound again.
Unwilling of my own accord to remain in NYC, I decided to move and where else than the capital of the world for crime and power? Yes, I moved here, to Paragon City. It was a mistake that is when I met the Circle. Those <censored bleep bleep censored> did not deserve me much less their weak godhead. A decree went out practically upon my entering the city; apparently their godhead feared me and wanted me eliminated. I could have taken the Circle and its godhead alone, easily, and triumphed, I chose to let them kill me. They uhh, convinced me that death would uhh, make me more connected with my power . . . uhh, that believable?
This experience is somewhat more shaky for me, but somehow I was revived, someone who said he was an empathy defender trying to help me out while I was fighting crime. What the heck is he thinking? I am the crime lord of all crime lords, evil and fear are my servants and he was convinced I was *fighting* crime? I walked away, unable to rebuke him as I was, and letting him live solely for his potential usefulness later in case I decided to let the Circle of Thorns think they had won again. Well, as I left he informed me of the hospitals, and the way I could be resuscitated from a defeat in battle, and after faking not to be interested, I hurried to this place he had mentioned in outbreak. Then I realized, it was worse than death.
Upon receiving the ability to return to life after defeat, I also became unable to fight that which I had never gotten along with the virtuous. I was inclined to only one option kill the criminals that would not yield to me as their leader. Quickly, I determined to make use of resources, and through assistance of the virtuous I cannot combat we both are slowly achieving our goals them to reduce the crime in their precious town, and I am gaining power over the city that will soon come to be mine but it has its difficulties.
For one, their ideal of peace slowly continues to grow on me, it continues to appear as what would be a preferred domination of darkness and this sickening ideology gains ground each time some little old lady approaches me with her words of gratitude if only I could speak to her how it really made me feel. But they have come to love me, the heroes and the citizens alike. The friendships are nice and how could I ever dream to become a dictator over a city when I cannot even speak? What am I thinking, arrgh, and these thoughts continue to grow in number and in believability, what is happening to me? Is this the horrific transformation from villain to hero?
Vifoxe - SM/REG scrapper on Protector - truely played silent, only using /emotes. Turned out to be a fun project for me, hope you liked it as well.
Wanted to do something a bit unorthodox, and this is the result. Hope you enjoy it - the story of Vifoxe.
Vifoxe was never meant to be a person. Vifoxe was an organization commonly considered one of New York Citys most dangerous cults. I lead them. We met daily nightly I suppose I should say and spent hours in exhausting rituals. After each ritual we would make sacrifices on our makeshift alter underneath a parking garage. These sacrifices, well, they were the kind that earned every member a death penalty, but our lair was well hidden, and no one was even sure we were human. We were good at what we did.
One night, after our sacrifice, we noticed what appeared to be a thick, black liquid dripping from above our alter, coming down in large drops that broke silently on the remnants of our offering. I recall now that it was our six-hundred-and-sixty-sixth sacrifice. Regardless, we watched in awe, the oily fluid only existed on the place where our offerings were done. As it would drip down, or splosh off, the semi-existent fluid would vanish, and dissipate into nothingness. Explanation? Still none to this day.
What was done with it? As the leader, I solemnly accepted my duty to take the first drink. No doubt that was what had to be done. I cupped my trembling hands together and faked composure. I kneeled on top of the alter and close my eyes as the liquid pooled in my hands. What did it feel like? Not a liquid, that is for sure though the only way I can describe it is as slightly fuzzy, slimy and gaseous. Not sure how long I could keep up appearances to my followers, I took a deep drink, letting the majority run down my face as it disappeared.
That which ran down my throat did not disappear though. I felt it it overwhelmed me, indwelled me. I lay there I remember everything it was like a seizure, the seizure of my body by that which is greater. I fought it, no matter what the reward could be I would let nothing have direct control over the one thing that is mine alone my body. I can remember the happenings of my followers, although that was not what upon I was concentrated, I let surroundings drown out as I struggled to maintain control over my flesh.
I do remember the happenings of the others though, I recall them perfectly as if I had carefully paid attention all night. They panicked. Simple as that. They took me to the hospital, blood and sweat dripping from them as we had come directly from our ritual, and told THE TRUTH to the person at the counter. Before the sun came up we were on death row and I was in a straight-jacket. Our execution was that day. No court case, no nothing we were to be dead before nightfall, I believe because they feared supernatural intervention would possibly prove to ruin their only chance to exterminate us. We Vifoxe were the most feared anything; gangs, storms, heights, darkness, even death itself; none of these were feared like we were.
I remember the room we were executed in, yes; we were executed I watched as all my followers died before me. Did I notice it then? No. I was still fighting within myself, not aware then of the fate already brought to the others, and only seconds from me. The needle didnt hurt as it pierced me, but its cargo did the trick. I let out what closest would be classified as a scream, the pain was like a hook through my chest and ripped out as I remain stationary. Did I die? Dont be ridiculous. I am here am I not? The toxin did not kill me, but rather that being that had indwelt me, and fought for dominant control of me. I had bested it.
Now I re-entered the world around me, instantly remembering all that had taken place. Unspeakable anger overwhelmed me. It didnt take long to realize that the dead spirit inside me, though not successful at gaining control of me I had been more victorious at surmounting it. With its power at my disposal, I easily freed myself and avenged the deaths of my brethren. Now the only survivor of the group known as Vifoxe, the name became my own. Soon though, I learned of the negative side-effects. I had been shrunk now barely above 4 feet tall, and worst of all my voice had been taken. My throat would never successfully make any sound again.
Unwilling of my own accord to remain in NYC, I decided to move and where else than the capital of the world for crime and power? Yes, I moved here, to Paragon City. It was a mistake that is when I met the Circle. Those <censored bleep bleep censored> did not deserve me much less their weak godhead. A decree went out practically upon my entering the city; apparently their godhead feared me and wanted me eliminated. I could have taken the Circle and its godhead alone, easily, and triumphed, I chose to let them kill me. They uhh, convinced me that death would uhh, make me more connected with my power . . . uhh, that believable?
This experience is somewhat more shaky for me, but somehow I was revived, someone who said he was an empathy defender trying to help me out while I was fighting crime. What the heck is he thinking? I am the crime lord of all crime lords, evil and fear are my servants and he was convinced I was *fighting* crime? I walked away, unable to rebuke him as I was, and letting him live solely for his potential usefulness later in case I decided to let the Circle of Thorns think they had won again. Well, as I left he informed me of the hospitals, and the way I could be resuscitated from a defeat in battle, and after faking not to be interested, I hurried to this place he had mentioned in outbreak. Then I realized, it was worse than death.
Upon receiving the ability to return to life after defeat, I also became unable to fight that which I had never gotten along with the virtuous. I was inclined to only one option kill the criminals that would not yield to me as their leader. Quickly, I determined to make use of resources, and through assistance of the virtuous I cannot combat we both are slowly achieving our goals them to reduce the crime in their precious town, and I am gaining power over the city that will soon come to be mine but it has its difficulties.
For one, their ideal of peace slowly continues to grow on me, it continues to appear as what would be a preferred domination of darkness and this sickening ideology gains ground each time some little old lady approaches me with her words of gratitude if only I could speak to her how it really made me feel. But they have come to love me, the heroes and the citizens alike. The friendships are nice and how could I ever dream to become a dictator over a city when I cannot even speak? What am I thinking, arrgh, and these thoughts continue to grow in number and in believability, what is happening to me? Is this the horrific transformation from villain to hero?
Vifoxe - SM/REG scrapper on Protector - truely played silent, only using /emotes. Turned out to be a fun project for me, hope you liked it as well.