My OC, Her Name Is Mellea, And Is An Original Species.

My girl is back. Wanted to draw her again, and practice an environment, so big stretch for hot girl weekend.

Full rendering of a character I made for a friend

Life's Price (Bat-Jokes fanfic)

The dark sky overhead was slowly being consumed by the rolling clouds, the full moon slowly being suffocated, dimming the only light on the scene of a densely wooded path. Barely able to see with the light slowly fading, just like his confidence, he ran as fast as he could, the brisk wind biting his face, lungs, burning its way through, and around his body, The wicked trees, now barren of all leaves, cut and grabbed at the edges of his disheveled, once white, button down, and his dark purple dress pants held by a black leather belt, and silver buckle. The weight in his hand was far from his mind, slipping it instinctively towards his right pocket, the more important weight on his mind was a moral one. The feeling of the presence behind him grew, it felt like they were almost there, but not now, not yet, I can’t see them, I need to get away. But the feeling of being watched never left his slender, clearly bruised pale face, and what looked like it was quite clean styled hair, now but a bird's nest of knots, twigs and what dead leaves still lay attached to them. His breath was getting more choked, his guilt clogging his airways, blurring his eyes with tears for only a few seconds, a few seconds that caught his ill equipped dress shoes, throwing him off balance, where he crashed to the forest floor with a hard *Thump*. There was a noticeable spray of needles, dirt and dried leaves, he managed to catch himself bracing with his dominant arm, twisting it to avoid slamming into a nearby rock. As he got up his right arm was in a lot more pain than it was before, with his side starting to stitch, he hobbled onward, with his body aching knowing what he did, before all of this,’ the physical pain is what I deserve by now for what I did to him.’ he muttered to himself, almost choking up again. He had images flash by as the last of the moon's rays peered out from behind the clouds, slowly licking away all his bearings. The wide open garden, with a retaining wall half way down the nearly two acre backyard, the large glass house built for parties, strung up with fairy lights, giving a warm comforting hue of orange and yellow onto sleek brown leather furniture. And the smell, not just of fresh cut grass, but their cologne, the food as expansive as could be. That’s when he remembered the song, the one that was most special, and caused this whole mess, a light calm jazz style, meant for dancing.

The crescendo and fall, like waves from a brass sea, then the orchestral string building behind as all lay low, the memories took over the times he’d heard this song, the visions grew just like the waves from the music. He had backed up seeing it come closer, and closer, trying to run until the music all paused for just a moment before the next burst of energy, but what rang out was not the drums and brass blaring energy and life into the room, not at first but a shot rang through the air as he stood there shaking, and just coming to his senses, ‘John?!’ a silky deep voice called out in a stern, but concerned tone. Shaking more, looking in surprise at the gun in his hand, not sure what to make of it, looking around at everyone, flushing barely muttered, “B-b-b-Bruce…” he tried to hold out a hand but hesitated, pulling back, whispering “I’m sorry…” turning and running out, and trying to escape everyone, ignoring the calls for him to come back, despite the pleading he could hear, John kept running. The memory was on repeat, more specifically the pleading he heard to come back, he knew he couldn’t go back, he didn’t even process if he injured someone, but he knew that the visions were what kept him from being able to be there, and improve, have a normal life, Now only small beams were poking through the thin parts of the cloud veil, but on his knees he fell at the edge of a small clearing, hiding a gazebo in the center, made of old wood, and ancient stone carved into eight sides. John hobbled over to the several stairs to get into the relatively spacious interior, where he collapsed on the far edge up against the cool brick wall, as the trees began rustling from the wind, with the weathering mimicking him, there started a drizzle, and then it picked up as he began to weep, pulling the gun from is pocket. He sat one leg up, back pressed against the cool uneven stones of the gazebo wall, his arms bleeding, along with his chest from the tiny knife-like ends of the branches which ripped his shirt and skin. Being almost unable to breathe between the emotions overwhelming him, and catching his breath, he didn’t hear the steps approaching, or the taps of dress shoes on the stone steps growing closer till they stopped at the top. Bruce walked up the few steps out of breath and soaked, adjusting himself to look across at John, cut and bruised, barely able to move his arm, as he tries to aim the weapon on himself, where he sees the tears rushing down his face, weakly saying with cracks in his voice, “I-I’m so so s-sorry Bruce, y-you should have..” he starts to cough, doubling over, and starts to shake, and becomes incapable of moving the arm holding the pistol, clearly straining, and desperately trying to move his arm, as Bruce walks over. “You-you know, I can’t function, you know this is what’s best, so I’m not a risk again, I c-can’t be helped!” John’s voice breaking, and sounding more manic. “W-what else could there be for me, this is the only logical way to deal with someone who is such a threat like me, R-right?” John, straining a pleading face, looked up to Bruce, standing right above him. Bruce simply got onto one knee, hand on the gun, threw it away, holding John's face in his other large, strong, and reliable hand, and said, “I wouldn’t even think it a possibility, my love, it’s something we must work together on, and you can improve.” A hopeful smile played across Bruce’s face, pained, but hopeful staring into Johns eyes, They at last embraced each other, thinking of the future as the rain poured around them, making the most of their new found time together, where John soon fell asleep on Bruce’s shoulder, as they waited for rain to pass to leave and dry off, and see about working their new life.

Falling Stars (a random draft idea)

I could feel the breeze brush past my face, the sky a multicolored band, clouds in many shades of pinks, oranges, reds fading to dark grey and black. The smell of damp air fills my nose, fresh and clean, when I start to feel the rain fall, as I fall through the sky like one of the drops. Arms open facing the bottom of the clouds as I fall further.

There is no sense of fear, no dread, the only feeling rushing through my body and mind is the word, ‘Free’ as it echoes through my mind, and covers my body like warm water in a tub. The rain picks up becoming more and more dense as I fall, tears of the sky for my falling, but yet no sadness runs through me. I feel the water drip onto my skin as more and more starts to cover my body, where I start to realize the sunset sky has faded as I look up at the sky of tall pillars of clouds at the very edge still glowing in amber light with stars shining down to me in a vista of endless beauty, with long stretches of cosmic clouds colored into endlessness.

And in front of it all, the twisting world, the beauty of the large clouds, endless sky, and sweet rainy air was my body, my clothes and legs flying in the wind as the clouds deepened around me closing up the sky and light above. The rain having now become more heavy and soaking me to the bone, covering me in a bubble, but for that was not why I wept but for the loss of the universe and endlessness that lay above me. 

I choked in a breath, my body convulsing, throwing my arms around and making me almost sit upright. I coughed a number of times, taking deep breaths and holding my hand to my chest to feel my heart beating quickly. And as I slowed my breathing I looked up at the ceiling of an old cabin in the woods. The roof was like an ‘A’ with the… ‘what did father call them? Cross braces? Yeah that’s it, braces.’ I thought of the past few days, and weeks having gone by. 

I was breathing deeply, and slowly, and soon my heart came to the same slow rhythm. There was only a bit of light outside, the room being lit by a single window to show a wooden desk with some assorted shadowy bags, and blobs too close together to discern any detail. I could feel my body, I had been sweating slightly, and outside it smelled like rain had just come through, I even felt the tears of my dream where they dripped down my skin. 

And I almost jumped out of that skin when my door was abruptly opened by a tall man, I had no idea how long it had been since I woke up, but apparently my father heard the commotion, and so while wearing his usual shorts and no shirt under a robe he tried to ask keeping his voice calm but wavering slightly, “Hon, I heard a loud noise from your room, an-and your coughing. A-are you alright?”

I couldn’t see his face, but I knew it  all too well, his buzz cut hair which he said he wanted to grow out, ‘but it seems like it just won’t play nice’ as he’d say, deep eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a short but black beard with a connected mustache all complimented by his dark skin. I could see the twisted mouth through the lack of light, the creases in his head from those upturned eyebrows being so concerned, and those always shining eyes of calming amber. 

I replied looking up at the ceiling, arms spread out, “What did you think I fell off the bed or something?” I cracked a smile to myself, knowing full well he couldn’t see, continuing on to say, “it’s fine just a dream, I forgot to breathe, not like I’m dying you know.” being still groggy and realizing what I said moments too late to stop it, I shifted over to my side and faced the wall, covering my mouth with my hand.

I quietly whispered, maybe more for myself, “I-i’m sorry, not what I meant.”

I could feel him walk over and sit in the alcove by my knees, and his soft hand on my shoulder as his concerned stare could always open me up to talking, even if this time it took a little longer, with him lightly rubbing my arm. I eventually turned over with difficulty, my fathers face illuminated ever so slightly by the light from the window, accentuating the bags under his eyes, and the real look of concern for me.

I pushed myself against the headboard, however small it was to make a good backing, and held his hand, not sure what to say but wanting to say everything at the same time the tension feeling like it’s building and my mind starting to race and nothing yet everything feeling like it’s weighing on me, “Hey, look at me, I’m right here, just checking up on you, don’t look so panicked.”

My father grabbed my face to look at him, startling me for a moment, taking in where I was again, and slowing my brain when he continues after seeing that I have calmed down thoroughly, “You said something about a dream, would you like to tell me, or is it about someone you like.” His smile gets lit by the light, which in conjunction with him poking at my side helped kill that tension in my mind. 

“N-no not about anyone, it was just a dream of me falling through the clouds during a sunset, with a beautiful sky above me, full of stars and nebulas. And as I fell the clouds started to close in around me with the rain getting heavier and eventually I was covered in a bubble of rain, and I guess that’s why I woke up.”

My father shifted his position up the bed next to me, very intentionally listening to me, despite what I guessed was him being exhausted himself, maybe not even sleeping because of his concern for me. When I was done talking he just simply rubbed my head and said with a smile, “Someone has an active mind. Do you want to go watch the sunrise, maybe I’ll even let you have hot coco.”

I could see the devious smile play across his face, backlit by the now rising sun, and so my face mimicked that energy saying, “I think I’d like that, but you better pay up with that hot coco.” a snicker and evil smile playing from me.

Black Spire

I narrowly kept my life through the treacherous dangers that lead me here, a dead valley, neigh, it was a world unto itself, the dead raise of their own will, the sky a sickly orange, and clouds of dust blot out the sun. The rock and soil stained red, or a dull orange from the horrors of the blood spilled in these lands. The world has truly gone to hell, these are the only thoughts that can permeate my mind as I walk these damned plains towards my likely death. The only thing that can draw the eye in this vast open land was the cause of this nightmare, a black spire, it reached into the clouds, and a surface with uneven cleaving, like an imperfect diamond, its’ base and climbing most of the way up was a surrounding cathedral, tall towers leaning onto the hellish spire behind it, the rest of the building was sprawled out around the base of this spire, and climbing down the steep hill this structure sit upon.

The thin veins of the tower streaking down the sides looked like someone had let thin paint run down a canvas, the bricks seemingly wanting to match both the sickly sight of the land, and the spire that it was attached to, it was a dull brown from afar, the sun shining through clouds behind the structure that seemed to be a call to true hell. ‘Only the mad, or those who wish to die dare into those plains-’

‘You must want to die if you are going there!’

‘You’re insane, you know what you’ll find there, your own grave! You have nothing to gain, you’re just like the rest.’

‘What makes you think you’re so damn Special!’

The voices came to me as quick as the wind, all those who cursed at me, and shunned me for willing to sacrifice myself against this standing pillar of suffering and nightmares. There was never a belief, as all those who come here know their fate, and all think us mad forsaking our lives as if they are but a pebble, little else seems of worth for someone with nothing, so those of great valor who have lost all, and those of nothing who cannot hope for anything all walk the same path. 

I walked with a rhythm from my steps and armor, past body upon body of felled soldier, I looked down upon them all, and they were all different, but all shared one truth, they had no master, and bore no allegiance. These were but people of honor, or little else left to their name and life to give. I saw armor torn open like paper, and half buried husks of what was once someone like me. I dare not utter a prayer, this is a land forsaken by all gods, and to only be given to those of sorrow and loss. 

I set upon this path long before the decision was ever made by me, this was just the end for me, either by fate, gods, or some magnanimous other force, that I be laid to rest here, regardless of sorrow and grief upon this life I claim.

There I look up and have nearly met the base of my grave. I knew the fate of what comes by entering, but I knew I would not fall till I must collapse, as for all is lost, nothing is to lose. Even if I were to purge this land of this parasite, all who walk upon this land are cursed to it for eternity, so I merely raise my weapon and readied myself as I opened the door. 

I leave this for all who come after, all who have vowed for their loss to venture here, be brave, brace against yourself, and stand tall for no allegiance, king, country, or god follows, you are greater unto yourself through this decision than all who damned you here.

Pt. 1

This I write as the last words to be heard by my hand, and to attest to the atrocities of which I have bore witness to. I must be clear, no answers will come to you, or comfort learning what I have seen and know now. I was damned long before taking that job researching things that man had best left alone. But to get to explaining what happened we must understand who I am, god I must be honest, I am but a shell of a man, let alone far and away from the same person I was where this story starts us.

I had grown up in a small everybody knows everybody town in New England, quaint idyllic life for most people nowadays. I had been raised in a relatively religious household, little more than Easter church, and prayer before meals as a young lad. I had a fascination with religions, and mythologies, going through from Greek, to Norse, and even some Eastern mythologies where I could find content in my small town library.

This led me to being enamored in learning about the bizarre and occult secrets like Paganism in my mid-teens, familiarizing myself with all the little details, I guess this is also how my desire for being a historian started. I worked hard through my teens, always the odd one, somewhere between the school nerd, and goth, both envied and hated, and now only one of those may be true for those who know me, knew feels more apt after that last job.

The ostracizing never really was a concern for me, as much as it was my parents, but given my performance in school being near top of the school by graduation, they never seemed to approach me about their concerns directly, but I could hear them talking through the walls at night. They did congratulate me soon after graduation when I had managed to get a scholarship into a quite prestigious college for a major in history.

And this is where my life started proper, I had to move a number of hours away, and lived in a dorm with three other students. We managed to get along quite well given all of us seemed to be out of state, and in different courses, one was in music, one business, and another in forensics. We managed to become drinking buddies at the frat parties that were hosted around, even getting into young trouble by dipping into the local bars, and on more than one occasion banned for upwards of a month.

All this to say get to where things properly start, with the professor for history, a man at the time was quite young compared to the other professors in the school, it felt like night and day between him and the teacher next door, one side with a late thirties man, well kept dark hair and quite the surprising energy about him, and the other side a man who seemed to have more hair on his thin arms than his head. The history teacher was Dr. Myard Hammond, he was an expert in the esoteric, and less savory details of history, human, and as I came to find out, inhuman knowledge. 

Given my passion and striking fondness for the subject I spent many off periods throughout the first two years discussing the very macabre and obscure histories of the world, including religions on their societies. 

It wasn’t until my second year, December had fallen and we were just about a week out from Christmas break, the students were either taking Midterms or burning out from them, so the bars were quite alive that night, I was out with my roommates and as the lot of them talk about heading back for the night. They all had their various reasons between their own tests coming up, or lack of sleep biting at them for proper repose they left.

I stayed seated at the booth, finishing my drink, figuring that if nothing else I should also get some repose, burning myself to finish a few classes worth of studying for a number of overlapping test days ahead. I had just about finished when looking up I saw Dr. Hammond enter, the only tell the door was opened was a quick biting wind from the frosty air outside, the place was too lively and loud to hear the small bell above the door ring.

I motioned him over as he looked around, and I noticed that even under his large coat, he was a disheveled man, I could see the bags under his eyes, unkempt hair, wrinkled dress shirt poking out the bottom untucked. He seemed skittish, surprised someone would recognise him almost, and I soon came to find out why once he tentatively sat down, confirming nobody else was coming back to sit there. He ended up getting some strong liquor and kept looking into his glass most of the while.

I by this point was at least mostly intoxicated, with some wits still about me, asked jovially of his day, unaware of his tense nature.

He mumbled to himself some, then looked up at me, and even through the alcohol I saw the eyes of a desperate man, he was half the man I saw just a day before, and when he spoke all the energy that had been so pervasive through all his classes was now gone, he made no sense at the time, talking of some place he called the ‘sunken city’. I pressed if he was talking of Atlantis, and what that has to do with anything.

He had slapped his hand on the table, just barely shaking the drinks and said, ‘God damn, I know Atlantis, but where, by the Dead Gods Where! They have been found from the deep Amazon, to the deep Sahara, where did you slimy Bastards hide the last key.’ his voice was unusually sharp, and edged, and seemed to be talking to himself more than me.

Mellea Lore rough outline of early life

Mellea- given title: subject 231

was created in Aether lab under the main building of the central hub for inter planetary trade on the world of Veda 5

she was created as a last ditch effort from Aether to populate other worlds beyond their solar system as their star was dying

this lead to the company expanding into theoretical technologies most prominent being MEDC, and gene modding

MEDC a (mass & energy dimensional conduit)

mellea was created as part of the Eden project, the culmination of research and efforts to send populations out to habitable worlds and create colonies safe from the death of their solar system, she was one of 100 eventual subjects that were sent in groups of 4 to various planets

each subject was created differently, leading to them being classed 1-5 on risk of genetic deformities or abnormal developmental cycles that could be a determine to the subject

Mellea was one classed as a catagory 5, likely not expected to survive beyond a few years or if she did that she would have severe issues in function/ deformities occur halting her usefulness as a candidate

she was stored with other subjects that were of class 4-5, many of whom were not fit to take part in the mission or were transferred out because they had fatal mutations that the doctors were trying to keep from disturbing Mellea

One such event that the researchers failed to react to was with Subject 15

subject 15 developed severe muscle weakening causing their lungs to make it much harder to breathe, risking lung collapse, mellea (age 7) trying to help went to get doctors or anyone she could find, this was met with a number of researchers coming into her room and checking Subject 15, then escorting them out to the examination wing, not allowing Mellea to follow along

this prompted her to crawl through the ducts and vents to overhear the conversation of the researchers and the condition of her friend, finding out that the genetic augmentations they went through had caused muscle atrophy and weakening of the lung muscles, and survival was unlikely at best

they sent for Mellea to be fetched so they could reasure her that subject 15 would be fine, so she quickly crawled back through the vents and into her room before a scientist, the lead scientist and her daughter a few years older than Mellea (10) knocked on the door and entered, explaining that everything will be fine, and subject 15 will be transfered to a safer place to get medical attention, in the meantime the daughter will be staying with Mellea, childs name is Alexandra Labrynn, her mother being Reya Labrynn