TheWolfDutchess

Omnis: the Latin root, meaning "all" or "everyone." Many creatures are born here, and many others die. But fate is determined by the unaltered rules one lives by. The Rules    Omnis operates on one single assumption: that universes are not only composed of itself, but of many other dimensions, gathered in clusters that exist on a plane only existential deities can comprehend. This logic dictates that any and all universes exist at once, in their own clusters, and each have their own version of awareness on the subject.    Think of a bubble cluster, if you have to, floating in the air with a perfectly round bubble in the center. Now imagin

    “Boss!” The voice called, muffled, from outside the door, as a hip barged into the old wooden plank. It bounced open with a vibrating squeak, tilting back to reveal the state that the office was in. Trinkets, here and there and everywhere–teddy bears and books with untouched pages–scattered in the room as though it were a crowded museum on display. The only light gracing the collection was dull and grey, reflected from the clouds outside as it shone though the only window, and down onto the mahogany desk in the center of the room. There was the man in question, his head hiding in the crook of his left elbow, while

     The quiet, still air of the once bustling arena hardly whistled. It sat and rot in the empty space, smelling of blood and crowded bodies and guilt. It was raw and warm, like a corpse left to bake in the sun of a swamp. There were, in fact, two bodies in the desolate dust bowl, though neither took the time to decompose. One, a young woman, her body poised elegantly as though the partner to a fantastic dance, and her entire body gleaming in colored glass. Her face held a contortion of fright, though she smiled, eyes forever staring up at the fingertips that curled around a nonexistent hand high in the sky.    The other body was alive, but

    “…you got that loooooook…~”    The voice of the voodoo jester swung through the warehouse walls as he descended above his employer, a sly smirk on his face. The man in question, Silver, raised an eyebrow to his partner’s words.    “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The artist replied curtly as he pursed his lips, trying to ignore the demon and get back to his artwork. It was rare Silver had inspiration to make his own glasswork creation, and now was not going to be the time for mind games. Jasper swung in the air again and landed on his feet, adjusting his three-pronged hat.