Reflection

Seeking for a place of solace and quiet, the Archon retreated to the heart of the woods- he had known that there was untapped potential of new Arcane prowess, of something different to his previous ability; it was something that he needed to draw, to develop and nurture if he wished to make use of it.

Much like all Arcane abilities go, too.

But this was no common meditation session, nothing usual that would go with the power of Telekinesis as previously done; this had to be something far more active if he truly wished to comprehend this power, a new training technique had to be developed. Zaruma has noted many times that this one holds far more potential in the actual combat rather than any other usage in life, but- certainly, there would be a way to tap into it without oneself experiencing a rush of adrenaline, right?

At least, that's what he had hoped for.

Instead of remaining mostly dormant and focusing on exerting one's will upon the world, it was the time he had to exert such will to the inner workings of his body, to empower it and grant himself precision that would previously be unseen and untouched.

The power of Chaos Sight.

'To focus on one's rage and fury...'

He felt the rush of that power whenever his life was threatened, that's true. It was something he needed to reflect on, to tap into in order to develop this power further.

It's time to focus.
(Zaruma)

A deep breath.

He had to go deep inside his mind for such memories. The memories of Tristan slaying Adara, or the memories of the events such as confronting Jack, that insufferable fool- or was it the Ardent, that he wished to have destroyed for so long, and at last achieved his dream by making it reality?

And there was more. The hatred in his dark heart of Occult boiled with horrific frequency, much like the engine that was unstoppable in it's ideals to wreck and destroy everything on it's path. Now, if only to let such energy flow through him, and to focus it upon his resolve.

He knew what had to be done. All these memories, all these events coursing through his mind, they all had one thing in common - he wished to destroy, to maim, to kill his target, no matter what it takes. He had to draw such power out to the surface.

And he focused it in optics, his very eyes that graced this world.

The crimson in his gaze began to spark, muchlike the glow of death that was threatening to destroy everything it touches; the pumping heart of Occult carried through these emotions of hurt, of hatred and anger, the foul blood running in his veins with bigger intensity as he focused his resolve.

To kill and maim in return for all that the world has done wrong to him.

(Zaruma)

For all the hatred that boiled within him, the world has suffered.

It was apparent on global levels, such as countless wars where Aetherius has killed and maimed countless people, or the times when Ardent was razed- but now, this time around, there had to be reflection of hatred on the local levels, something to do with how he manages to exert such will.

And so it did- his gaze was venom, a killing tool that brought upon absolute annihilation and suffering; the glowing crimson caused nearby grass to wither and die once its light touched the pattern of nature, for the trees to have their bark rot and fall apart, for leaves to turn brown and fall, and for flowers to wither away and dry up.

Even smaller life forms, such as rodents of the forest or even insects - they all would fall to the killing light of the crimson that was shining through, solidifying matter into stone or destroying it.

But it was not just that, no- he could see into weaknesses of the pattern, yet unlike the Order opposite, his own sight allowed him for destruction only, instead of peaceful incapacitation that Order magi would typically engage in.

He could see that clearly, too. The core of tree had a single weakness point, one that would no doubt shatter the pattern in half and quite literally cleave it.

Yet- it seemed that it was not enough for Zaruma to do so. Something was lacking.

He had to feed his resolve further.
(Zaruma)

To focus the resolve of his hatred would mean to go into memories that were far more vivid, far more important to him.

He had to go deeper- to the memories of the day when Somnus died, to the memories of his battles at war, and most importantly, his battle with Ikkaku. The decisive battle at which he almost died, a shame of defeat that still plagued both his mind and the dark heart of Occult alike.

To have him defeated like that, overwhelmed, reminded of his mortality- no, it wasn't bearable. He needed to overcome this weakness, for all intents and purposes he viewed it as display of shameful act before his other Archon peers.

And with shame of defeat, came forth the rage, the anger that he sought for- the Arcane amplified his emotion, and the glow of his crimson was overbearing, overwhelming as a contrast to his negativity.

The true world was revealed in it's colors. The weakness of everything, the spots to which he'd have to strike, the resolve of his hatred that fuelled his body - the death of all around him.

The world was twisting around him, protesting to such Arcane energy gathering all around him- the twisted anger of Archon that stood in silence and focused his resolve to fuel his strikes was a terrifying power to bear with, and with that, soon the fall of the remnants of his enemies.

Now, to use it.
(Zaruma)

With such power came forth the ability to strike down and kill anything in his sight, with exception of the most formidable opponents that he would face.

The Tempest was no stranger to such fatal blows, and with his body fuelled to deliver such deadly strikes, there was sent a rolling forth blast of wind towards nearby tree, if only to shatter it immediately due to precise strike at it's weak point; while usually, the wind magi could cut the tree or damage it significantly, this strike has proven to be too much, immediately cleaving it in half.

But that was not enough, no.

The hurricane gathered around him, sending out the phantom strikes to all directions- any living creature, any pattern or structure that was surrounding him was immediately destroying, only displaying further the power of newfound anger and rage that boiled within him.

The shame of defeat, the critical point of his existence, the near-death experience - it was becoming his strength instead, his newfound power, one that he would no doubt use against his remaining enemies. The question was only, how soon?

But for now, the crimson in his eyes began to fade. There was a new connection to Arcane, resolve found in his hatred and rage alike, and a wry smirk that painted Zaruma's face.

'It begins.'
(Zaruma)