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GBCE · 04-07-2012, 05:13 AM

Originally posted on MSPA by The Dr..

Username The Dr.

Name Jonathan Winters (and Quicksoul)
Sex Male (and genderless)

Race Tortured Soul

Color I rather enjoy this one, #003333. It reminds me of the night sky. I never really did get to see the sky much after I was Torn, after I went into hiding, but it's something I held on to when I really needed... oh, right, I seem to rambling again.

Description Jonathan stands reasonably tall - about 6'3" - and walks lazily, as if he'd stopped giving a damn years ago. He wears a dark green jacket, a loosely-tied scarf, and black jeans. A torn grey undershirt barely conceals the gaping hole in his chest, around where his ribcage would be; a large puncture, around 15cm, going straight through his sternum. His hands are burnt and scared; his scraggly, slightly greasy black hair folds over a pair of rectangled glasses and dark green eyes. His right sleeve conceals his "pet".

Items/Abilities Jonathan has magic blood, so he has slight control of fire. He's not very good at it, though, and commonly ends up hurting himself more than he does others. Other than that, Winters is basically human: aside from being slightly faster, having faster reflexes, and being considerably resourceful, he is as "normal" as one would think. His real ability shines through in Quicksoul, his "pet". Quicksoul is a malleable biological mass, silhouetted in black, that Jonathan morphs into various weapons; it is an extension of himself, containing his soul and fragments of his mind. If Quicksoul is destroyed, Winters becomes vulnerable and easy to kill. He retains his superhuman abilities, but is much easier to get around without it.

Biography

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SpoilerI stopped running, to breathe. They were coming for me. They were coming for me. They were coming still. They were these monsters from places that shouldn't be. I've got to explain.

The world we see is a lie: a hidden facade of fake faces and truths that follows every man, woman, and child. What people think is truth is a conglomeration of smoke and mirrors, lies and shady undoings. Just beyond the innocent faces of mankind lie the shadows of their souls. They saw these souls for what they really were; they took them, manipulated them, made them their playthings and they did not forgive. They came up from the underworld, they grabbed the souls of impure men. They tore into those who sinned and made them scream.

They were coming for me.

There it was again. That pounding. That sound. That sound just followed them everywhere, no matter where they went. That incessant barking of tortured screams and hallowed promises, it followed me. From there I ran, I ran through corridors with doors leading to nowhere and I ran through subway terminals postered up with ads from years ago and I ran farther and I ran to the pier, where the cold dark was waiting for a stray ship, and I figured it would have to do. I ran and I jumped, and the water was there, it was around me, it was with me, making me safe and whole again. My fire was useless here, but so was theirs. I liked the water: it made me feel alright, made me feel like I could breathe.

Still, they were coming for me. And I heard it, now. The pounding and the thumping and the screams. They never ended. They were here for me, I felt them tearing at my soul.

I'm sorry.

***

There was a sensation Jonathan had never felt before, and silence. He felt the unmistakable pain, the removal of a soul beginning. They were too far to grab him, but their tendrils could just barely touch. He was safe in the water, but their claws still pierced and stung. They couldn't reach his soul, but they could still stab at him, but they could still try, but they could still chase and they could still scream and god damn they could still hurt. Without warning, he felt a tearing inside of him, and then the entire world stopped. He still breathed, yet he could not move. He could think, but could not cry. The cool water around him slowly faded away, leaving him nothingness. Jonathan was sad; he liked the water...

On the cold concrete of the pier, all was silent.

***

The sun had already started to rise.

Jonathan still wasn't used to this whole thing. He'd known for a long time that tortured souls constantly underwent this chase, but it always got to him. He'd known for a long time that they tried to tear the souls from him, but he was never ready for them. What he didn't know was the pain. That screaming, searing rip deep down in the middle of his heart. That was new to him. He slapped his wet hand up on the concrete, pulled himself out of the tide, and breathed. It had been hours. He felt cold. And hurt. And hungry. He went to sit up, to tend to his basic wounds, but the tearing was suddenly back, and he cried. He fell, and he clutched his hand over his heart, only to find it phase through. He cried for a little while longer, and he finally opened his eyes and looked down.

For the first time, he spoke: "Holy shit," he panted. His heart was gone.

But yet, he didn't feel like his heart was gone. He didn't feel like his soul was missing, but there it was, a hole, right where it should have been. Torn straight through. He ran his hand through it a couple times, taking it in, but he couldn't mistake the feeling that this part of him hadn't departed from him. It hadn't been destroyed, just... misplaced. Instinctually, he felt it in his hands. He felt it in his wrist, his tortured heart still beating away. He waved his hands around, found nothing. He stretched them, found nothing. He stopped moving, and thought. And there it was. His heart was back. It was new, though: it didn't look like a soul. It was this silvery black mass, sitting in his palm, waiting for a silent command. Yet, still, he knew it was his.

He shifted it to the side, and it flopped. It stretched, it moved, and it changed. He picked it up again, and he had a sword. He shifted it again, and it was then a lance. He grinned to himself.

I like this new weapon. I like you, friend. I'll name you... Quicksoul.

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