Marta stood on top of the pillar, sinful and wretched, with her soul so dark one can easily distinguish her humanness dissipating. Long gone were the days of young Marta walking along the park swaying her hands in alternate, with vibrancy of her lips giving life to all around, and the humming that passes through it and charms the passers by resembling a pied piper. She could command them at will if she wanted to. But her innocence, coupled with her beauty and grace, it stands alight and flourishes, pushes away the temptation and begs them forgiveness as if she were at fault. Her strength lies in empathy, not the love that drives most of the righteous crusaders, and this empathy is not exclusive for good, as one could be drawn too to evil for compassion. Once those who took interest in her soul found this corruption leeway, they quickly drove adrift and performed preemptive actions. Not long ago, as Marta was passing through the park as she normally does, her shoe caught trapped on a narrow crevice. Unfazed, she crouches to untie her shoe, and at that moment the sky grew dark and empty and the park all brown and humid. The wind suddenly died down, as if frightened of this sudden change knowing what lies ahead. The grass became all sharp and vile, like small spikes appearing out of nowhere and shimmering everywhere she looked. These moment no longer frighten Marta anymore. She has already experienced things far much worse than this, and her strength to fight these illusions only empowers her so, just because these are the only times anyone can see Marta in a state of anger and madness, like she is of a different person throughout.
Meanwhile, these contemptible things would not go down without a fight. They stood their ground quite well, shadowing themselves with any life that can be spotted at that place, draining them of their soul and leaving only agony and despair, clothed themselves in the dark, and utilised its lack of luminance for stealth and evasive manoeuvres. They would attempt to enter her mind and corrupt its core only to discover it backfire and swallows these restless phantoms to oblivion. Marta's entire being, despite its sweet exterior, is quite formidably well-defended with virtues. Virtues that build up her personality as well as her strength. Like a monk in minimalist gear.
All these modes of attacks are sublime, not completely understanding the manner in which these creatures choose to fight, only that one needs to understand the concept of how to defend the self.
But it would not last for long. At this very moment, Marta's soul has been completely corrupted by the darkness. What's more is that none could have anticipated this surprising turnaround. This once-considered a potential next messiah chose for herself this newfound unification. The path she once despised and embattled in a hard-fought feud, now her chosen family, and her sudden blend forms a great imbalance to the injustices that continues to squish life to its foundation. The world now witnesses a great, new terror standing on a pillar before them, watches as she takes pleasure to the steady increase of loss of life.
The park now paints in red. Her solemn place slowly kills itself in blindness, losing its identity inasmuch as Marta loses hers. The monochromatic streets that form around it are hardly recognisable, bearing only the scars of which the battles of good and evil are measured, as the angels continue its holy crusade, almost on its edge and at a loss. The mystery of what ignited Marta's fury remains a question, and one that initiated many missions and deaths, met with swift repercussions.
At the side of a pillar is a blood offering, fresh and stout, its smooth hide bearing the mark of innocence. Its eyes still wide open however lifeless, showing no signs of constraint. The smokes that engulf Marta like a shield creeps up to the body and lifts it up, dragging it towards a square. In each edges of the square burns candles, vaguely illuminating the pillar. The smoke enters through orifices and feeds off from its pupils, sucking it dry like a lost reflex.
Marta raised her right hand to lift the body to her command. This zombification of an organism was clearly imminent. One of her first creations borne from her abilities of darkness. This creature's will to find life slowly begins to awaken, and its once-bright pupils now turn to black, gazing at Marta's eyes with confusion. A puppet given a very limited sense of understanding, lacking even the ability of speech and arithmetic. She released it from its breezy bondage and crashes to the ground. This put a smile on Marta's face, acknowledging her satisfaction, and all the while increasing her desire for achieving more.
She turns to her back, walks away, and immediately kills her smile. A small gust of fresh wind slaps her face. To her, the breeze of fresh wind that reminds her of life and vibrancy is overpoweringly rancid. With a wicked smile on her face, she explodes on a rupturous rampage that nearly destroys the entirety of the pillars while completely eliminating the sacrificial cadaver leaving nothing of its trace. This sudden estrangement defines Marta's unpredictable character. As she levitated at the effects of the spell she steadily brings herself to the ground and smiles once more. These little moments left her unsatisfied as the sudden decrease of her streaks of doom threaten her reputation. She pulled out her tongue with her right hand, pinches it hard, hisses loudly with her breath. Marta was planning to cut a part of it out for some apparent reason unbeknownst to anyone. After she successfully managed to do so, her tongue continually bled dripping through her neck down to her naked breasts. That small chunk of meat that she held wiggled with her touch. From the smoke that surrounds her she formed a solid glass phylactery. She kept the meat trapped within and she warped to seaside view where she threw the small glass. It sunk well to the sea floor untouched by creatures out of sheer fear, swimming away from it as much as possible. That small part of sea grew darker and smoke floated above ground, guarding the artifact with its spiky edges that resembled those that attempted to corrupt Marta of old.
Marta would never ever be seen again, even forgotten was her existence. Life has since then prospered and found a way to persevere, continually shadowing the unpredictable character that served Marta well. The world was neither good nor evil, for it was already inherently both.
Marta was a personification of this paradox, and she was neither alive nor dead.