Profile
[ Agelsss — seeker of nothing ]
[ ABOUT ]
Former leader of the Black Arms. Three and ten years in places he dares not speak of, now residing in a budding settlement on some backwater war-quarantined planet and learning to live again.
[ APPEARANCE ]
In his original form, Black Doom towered above the others in his hive, not due to his inherent height, but simply how high he needed to hover to keep his silks and jewelry from dragging the ground. Beneath his silks there was nothing below his ribcage except the last few vertebrae, no longer even shielded by beetle-like wings that had long since been torn out.
Compared to canon, his colorscheme is less black-and-red and more shades of deep purple and magenta, with extra patterns on his horns, rounder pauldrons to mimic his lost wings, and a slightly more rugged, scarred body.
The rings he wore were often never consistent, as he was constantly cycling them out with whichever's owner had most recently perished. Even his silks would be worn until ragged, by his insistence, due to his hive's chronic lack of resources.
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As a mobian, he's much more frail, and his third eye is always closed. Even years later, he still looks a bit malnourished and is lighter than the average mobian. He still has the same scars from his original form, along with a few new ones along his torso, lower back, and upper left thigh.
[ PERSONALITY ]
To most, he is reserved, laconic, and no-nonsense, if not somewhat abrasive. He simply speaks no more than is necessary, and sees no point in sugar-coating anything. While blunt, he isn't needlessly cruel; Aruna makes a deliberate effort to be at least likeable enough not to be run out of his present community or scare off potential new connections. Selfish at his core and with little natural empathy, he is driven mainly by securing and maintaining allies for the sake of continued survival; the very definition of manipulative, but not out of malice (anymore).
Despite his rough exterior, he cares deeply for his kind, and has a soft spot for nonhuman children, having often helped raise younglings in his hive. Though he isn't exactly forward about this to anyone, it becomes evident enough when or if one might get him talking about old memories. Not overly fond or sentimental, merely nostalgic. The burden of memories of countless lost lives is a heavy one.
Prone to melancholy, but not one to dwell or feel sorry for himself. High-strung and cautious, but capable of limiting himself. A mix of impassive and surprisingly reactive; not easily startled, but quick to alarm and put on edge. The list of balancing comparisons go on.
[ TRIVIA ]
Has "levels" of growls, each varying in intensity and meaning. This is not a case of "guy mimicking the sound of a dog snarling", they are all proper animalistic growls that come from the back of the throat/deep in the chest:
0. An inaudible rumble, which causes surrounding metals or glass to reverberate. This is an unintended side effect; it's just simply deep and persistent, and slightly below what humanoids can typically perceive. It is the equivalent of a purr and is exceedingly rare, used exclusively to self-soothe/heal when he's been severely damaged or is feeling especially ill.
1. A "death growl", bordering on supernatural in that it seems to come from all directions rather than his body. Often comes with the same rumbling effect described in 0, but much more intense. Used to discourage anyone who may be suspiciously tailing him, or as an intimidation tactic if he's been cornered/pinned and doesn't like his odds. To the average person, it is horrifying on an almost psychological level, and can be felt as much as heard.
2. A typical aggressive snarl. Less supernatural, more "highly aggressive dog". It is automatic and occurs most often during (unexpected) active fights, usually due to alarm, exertion, or simple desperate aggression.
3. Intentional warning growl. Someone or thing he doesn't like is in his immediate vicinity, and he wants them to know he Does Not Want Them There. This serves as their last warning before he either deathgrowls at them (the final-final ditch effort to get them to leave) or actually snaps, so to speak. It is drawn out and persistent; the equivalent of when a dog is anxiously frozen and tense and comparatively quietly growling in a similar manner.
4. Reflexive warnings. A watered down version of 3 that lasts for no more than a second. These are fully reflexive, often in response to minor stressors, as they indicate someone in his immediate presence has done something to make him nervous/feel threatened. They only last so briefly because he often quickly realizes what he's done and deems it unnecessary/inappropriate to full-on growl at them. He still doesn't bother to train himself out of this, as it does serve as a very clear "You've done something I perceive as dangerous, and I expect you to proceed accordingly".
- Displays incredible food aggression. Prefers to eat apart from others (if at all) unless he knows them reasonably well. Despite himself, even people he trusts are not immune to being level 3 growled at if they do something to make him Nervous while he has a meal in front of him, and absolutely no one is allowed remotely near him for at least half an hour after he's eaten, often warning them off with a level 4.
- His spine is a bit messed up, even as a mobian, as a result of having his wings ripped out when he was about 900. Occasionally the nerves misfire and cause simple touches to feel like burns. He will instinctively lash out if anyone unexpectedly touches literally anywhere on his back especially. If they touch his lower back, they'll be lucky to keep their lives.
- Sensitive to certain frequencies. Droning sounds or even a voice singing in a specific register may lull him into an unnatural state of calm, bordering on trancelike and going somewhat limp. He can, and will, fall asleep to a blaring siren. This is not exactly pleasant for him and he does not enjoy the sensation. (The fourth link in his list of themes is a good example of one of those droning frequencies.)
- Owns multiple outfits now, a majority of them made and tailored by one person (Deneb). His jewelry, too, was commissioned and made by one person (Clive).
- Has an appreciation for artisanal goods demonstrating obvious care and quality, and tends to absently comment on it when he notices. This is usually limited to textiles and metals. He has no frame of reference for traditional art or music (so he thinks), and is therefore completely neutral toward them as he doesn't see the point in it.
- Exceptional chemist and has a near supernatural ability to process and remember distance—because it almost literally is. Though in this form he lacks the usual powers his third eye would have provided him, spatial processing and mapping (in particular stars) came largely from that. What proficiency he now has at map-making is learned skill left behind.
- Proficient with crossbows and various daggers. Heavily utilizes paralytic poisons in place of the Black Arms' paralytic gas, which he now lacks the ability to produce. Shockingly fast when he wants to be and naturally inclined to stealth.
- Opening his third eye can be done, but takes an extreme toll on his body as it usually means outputting a massive amount of energy/magic power he just no longer has. Only ever does it in legitimate emergencies or as a last-resort desperate measure.
- High pain tolerance stemming from his near-invulnerability in previous forms, and is immune to infection/natural illnesses.
[ LIKES ]
- Loose-fitting clothes outside of work.
- The scent of some potpourri.
- Sunny patches to take naps in, even though it dries out his skin.
- Calm people. Spending time with precious few trusted individuals in silence.
- Soft or comparatively unconventional things to sleep in, such as literal dog beds (he is unaware his first experience with one was meant to be degrading), or oval chairs.
[ DISLIKES ]
- Change. Breaking from tradition.
- Showing more skin than necessary, being touched without (or even with) permission/warning.
- Being inside modern buildings of basically any sort, even decorated. 15+ years later and humanoid structures still feel unnatural to him.
- Communicating, in general. Too much gets lost in translation one way or another. Especially hates texting, so will usually opt for speech-to-text to compromise.
[ BACKGROUND ]
Black Doom, in his capacity as leader of his hive, was firm yet attentive.
On this timeline, the Black Arms operated not as one antlike colony stemming from his will, but each with their own thoughts and personality. Forced to flee their original planet to avoid its inevitable collision with a black hole, they took up residence in the Black Comet, numbers steadily dwindling to hunger and lost battles.
Resources were scarce. Time was short. They took to scavenging or picking clean planets whose populations were already critically low, not out of some moral correctness or guilt, but simply because their own numbers were insufficient to put up any real fight or risk negative attention.
In some unfortunate twist, humans were among one of the most nutritionally-beneficial species for the Arms, and he knew this. Gradually starving and desperate to secure a stable food source for his kind, one bad choice led to another led to total species annihilation (barring exactly two, himself included).
To those whose lives they ended, he was merciless, unfeeling, unsympathetic. And for those whose lives were exchanged for the Arms', they would be right. He listened not to the pleading emaciated mother begging for her and her child's already failing life, cared not for bargains or reconciliation or the memories of those not his own. He did what he must, for himself, for his people, and there was nothing to regret about that.
To his hive whose time he tried so desperately to extend, he was a dutiful albeit quiet leader. He spent time with generations of younglings, tolerated their clinginess despite his troubles, patiently guided them into adulthood. He made his rounds through the comet, checking in with glances despite his ever-present access to the hivemind which would have made the process much more straightforward—but impersonal. He was kind, in his own way, to them, and that was all that mattered.
When he was nine-hundred and ten, his wings were ripped clean from his shoulders on a planet they thought had been safe to scavenge, if not for one especially resilient, defiant party of stragglers.
When he was nineteen-hundred and something, he bargained for the first time. And in a mere fifty years after, he had lost that bargain in a spectacular blaze of deserved betrayal.
One piece of him, uninhabited and dead, fell to a random street in Central City and was recovered by GUN; another, alive yet reduced by some (loving) twisted multiversal magic into an almost mockery of himself, was collected by Eggman. Eventually the empty husk was stolen with intent to see if the doctor might stuff the alien's consciousness back into its original body, to see how it might benefit his empire, or if robots made in its image might be possible.
Until then, until Eggman grew bored of the project halfway or deemed it unimportant beside the next shiny and new thing, he was accommodated with ridicule and mockery, but taught too how to use this new body and to read and write the language of the same beings who had so cruelly bested him.
Three years later, he was sold to a multiversal facility much less interested in pure science or selfish innovation. What happened there, for no less than ten years he can never get back or truly recover from, is best left between him, the multiverse itself, and a certain nonlinear god.
[ CURRENT SITUATION ]
That nonlinear god never did have control over where their charges might end up once ripped from the facility and sent elsewhere to be rescued from this cold and severe place.
Starved to the point of being practically feral, and with what should've been a broken leg, "Black Doom" attempted to attack and make a meal out of the first person who found him hobbling along in an unknown forest on some backwater planet. Undeterred, this person who he would come to know as Clive, convinced him she had no ulterior motive in helping him. With little else logical choice and the knowledge anything she might be capable of couldn't even begin to compare to the facility he'd come from, he allowed her to bring him to a nearby settlement, where he was ultimately nursed back to relative health and taught small ways to better fit in.
Discontent with doing nothing, from nearly the moment he was capable of consistently moving again, he took up small requests from the settlement's community board. These gradually evolved into much more complex, higher-stakes missions as his strength returned. These days, he's considered a mercenary first and foremost, and an unintentionally valued member of the community. As far as he's concerned, the mercenary work simply gives him access to meals that no one will particularly miss or go looking for.
Though eventually given the ability to leave, he chose to stay in this settlement. Over time he's come to view it as a new home of sorts, though he lives a fair distance away from the place itself, and sees its people his own in a sense. At some point unknown to him, his tactics to simply fit in for the sake of raising his survival chances led to simply being part of the community. Though he still holds (mostly) all of them at arm's length emotionally and lacks the capacity to view them as his people (for nothing can ever truly take their place), his care for them is still on some level genuine.
Two or so years after his arrival there, Clive brings him news of recovered remains of his kind. Months later, the news of one—just one—still-living, hidden away in a stasis pod back on his original timeline.
At the end of millenniums of suffering, he is rewarded with a new beginning; slightly more complete than it had been before.
BLACK MOTH (INO)
Companion
Irreplaceable friend, dependable ally. They were there for him in the worst and best of moments. And when they were there no longer, he spoke to them in a deadened hivemind, at a grave, to a discarded robe. Now that they're back, it's as if nothing has changed.
SEMI-MODERN SHADOW
Biological son
A tenuous relationship at best. They tried to reconcile once, twice, but there are some differences not even time can mend. Aruna's still bitter no matter how much he wishes to be neutral. Shadow can't quite wrap his head around the fact "Black Doom" has changed; the sudden 180 from his perspective is almost just insulting.
CLIVE
First "new life" ally, honorary one-of-his-own
The one who found him, much less tolerated his (very weak) attempt on her life out of starved desperation before he realized she wasn't human. Responsible for getting him back on his feet, he's come to both respect her as an ally and work partner, while also low key viewing her as the closest approximate to one of his own honorary "children". Everyone will always be young in the eyes of the two-thousand-year-old alien grandpa thing.
[ Character belonging to GreyWays ]
DENEB
An unexpected pillar
Clive's older sibling. He never meant to get attached. Deneb's near-uncanny similarities to Black Moth quickly saw to it that he did anyway. Their relationship is a quiet, gentle one, supported by simple shared company and unspoken care. Apart from Black Moth, Aruna lets his guard down around this one the most. This often leads to unintentional naps, which seems to be Deneb's specialty anyway.
ALOE
The only trustworthy doctor
An old acquaintance from time shared in a particular facility, not that either of them immediately remember. Due to Aruna's critical condition early on, a doctor's care was an absolute necessity. Tolerance has led to slightly more trust than he cares to ever admit. Aloe is, quite literally, the only doctor Aruna willingly sees.
[ Character belonging to GreyWays ]
