#Erik rambles about things that isnt galactic but that still is connected to the path he takes towards galactic for twenty hours straight

[obliviouskind]

The Infancy of Galactic, Its Leader – and What Was to Come

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Cyrus had the idea of Galactic within his mind at the tender age of seventeen, a concept more than anything else. A fickle imaginary position that could, or would, bring him the godhood he thought himself worthy of (deserving of, and perhaps even destined to gain) within the realm that currently was – before he could take his place within the new one that need be created.

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--That the world was at fault, with its spirit for strife created at the humans bare hands, was a matter that had always been known to him in some manner. His family aided perfectly in fostering his view of humanity. His father, in his eyes shown through actions that would befall him in its entirety, was a vile human being. Stealing and lying to get to where he found himself within the elite – to his mother, who sought company with unfamiliar faces in broad daylight yet could not find it in herself to spare a moment in her time to ask her son how he was doing.

She wouldn’t have gotten an honest answer, he would admit. So perhaps it was fruitless to dwell on such matters…

(That he would come to mimic his father’s ways as he grew in age was a thought he didn’t dwell on, nor did he feel connected to the idea. For when he lied, when he stole – it was justified. Can’t you see? He did it all to reach his goals that would make the world better.

--That the one that already existed got destroyed piece by piece meant little. It need not exist, nor will it be around once he was done…)

His one escape at this early age, his one light through this troubling revelation and realization – was at the guiding hand of one man alone. The designated youth pastor in training, only known to Cyrus under the name of Father Orlov. The youngest within the church, barely above the age of twenty – yet to Cyrus it made no difference. He held the authority over himself and the others of the group, he was the adult. Heaven-sent for him and, perhaps, him alone. He did no wrong, for he followed the ringing bells of the church as Oración played in almost unrecognizable tones within the tower looking skywards, took strides across stone floors as his baritone voice echoed off of pillars keeping the canopy above him supported and Orlov? He always smiled, even when wrong had been done. Would hold a grin that distorted once smooth skin with wrinkles, aging him beyond his years. And as the evening sunlight shone behind his towering frame, the singsong tones of children spewing choir songs line for line for all to hear – the feverish vigor that Father Orlov had shown him behind closed doors in his attempts to show Cyrus that he, and no other, had a purpose, got lost in the shape of a man that in the eyes of all others could be described as normal.

In those moments, even as a young boy, Cyrus had contemplated if there was a truth to either personality that the pastor showed – or if everything about him was theatrical and false. --He was merciful, until he was not. He was your guiding light, until his thumbs pressed into the hollows of your cheeks hard enough to leave bruises – leaving tears you swore to never shed at the corners of your eyes for him to judge.

As though he was Arceus himself.

… If he had deserved the hours upon his knees, his neck craned to the point of lasting damage before limber fingers found their way into his light locks to keep him steady – he did not fully know. For what he did wrong, was minor such offenses. Inconsequential and meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

(Yet now, looking back, he found that had it been him in Father Orlov’s shoes, then he most likely would’ve mimicked the act on his own accord. Punishment, as it were, hurt more if something that deeply mattered to you was questioned. Cyrus may have grown out of the physical punishment his father dished out towards him once he hit teen hood – but the punishment of being shunned for his actions within the church stung all the more the older he became.

--If he didn’t belong in the church, then he truly was a lost soul.)

Father Orlov had been the person to put the idea within his mind. That he, Cyrus Akagi, needed to be set right – for he would one day bring forth greatness. Eventually, as more doors opened than closed for him within the religious scene of Sinnoh – stories locked away were brought before him. And the spark to actually do something with the station he held began to manifest into something more…

Something menacing, some might have said.  

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… Cyrus had the idea of Galactic within his mind at the tender age of seventeen, a concept more than anything else. A fickle imaginary position that could, or would, bring him the godhood he thought himself worthy of (deserving of, and perhaps even destined to) within the realm that currently was – before he could take his place within the new one that need be created.

In his early youth, the promise of greatness had not been one of selfish desires – for to be equal with the Creation Trio and their Father had been his goal. However, as the years passed, as he aged from fourteen to fifteen, from fifteen to sixteen – the matter that he, unlike the claims of the priests, had never had his prayers answered became harder and harder to ignore. For, certainly, if this was the path that was created for him and him alone – then Arceus should speak to him as he does those below him. Yet he did not, would not, and eventually Cyrus decided that he could not.

And thus, to be an equal no longer was his desire. --Cyrus wanted to bring forth those that had ignored his calls, and show them what a mistake that had been.

He would become God. He would replace the one that was, aged and blind to the world he once created – and he would rise above and destroy it all to begin anew. When the world has nothing but evil, a flood must be brought forth to cleanse the grounds.

This revelation was kept to himself, until the day that it wasn’t. Past the age of seventeen now, within the later months of what one may have called a try at normality – Cynthia was the first to hear of his plans, his thoughts, of how there were many troubles youths out there searching for a light to follow and that he, Cyrus, could be just that. A noble proposition at first; one she could not deny. But as details of his inner thoughts spilled forth past tight lips – feeling as though perhaps, within her whom he had given so much of himself to willingly or not, there could be understanding of his ideals – but the matter that he thought of the world he inhabited as less than desirable became all the more apparent. Something terribly hard to ignore and look past.

--They were already forsaken, he would argue. Youths who cast away their humanity the moment they left the church. Useless, unless their potential was brought forth under the guiding hand of someone who knew what he was doing… and I can do just that.

(Once within his embrace, tucked underneath his chin against his chest – now, the young girl distanced herself from his person. As though being near him, as though touching him, would burn her.)

--It would do the world a service, rather than scar it further. For if I led them, then they would work towards a goal that held an ultimatum worth striving for.

(Denial, rejection – and her fists slam against him as though harming him would change his mind. Would right him as she saw fit, for her way had always been the path most traveled. Most desired. With her seated on her knees before him, he would to stand. To tower over her through a growth spurt that came later in life than he would’ve liked it to.)

--… What do you mean, that’s insane? It’s the right thing to do, can’t you see that?

(Let it be known that, though Cyrus was anything but pleasant towards her in this moment – he never came to hurt her. Even in this moment, as his hand cupped her chin and his fingers pushed their limits against the hollows of her cheeks – he never left bruises upon her skin.)

--I thought you were smarter than that, Cynthia. But you’re just a stupid ordinary girl… Aren’t you?

(He had always been more verbal about his distain, after all.)

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Upon turning eighteen, after what some might consider heartbreak (a sentiment that truly did not connect with him, for losing Cynthia was not as upsetting as one might have thought), Cyrus entered a new chapter of his life in more ways than one. Though still feverish about his ideals, his views and his goals – the matter that he now in the eyes of the law was an adult did not pass him by. --Neither did his father. Quickly, Mr. Akagi brought his only son forth onto a meeting within the company he held power within, seeking a station for Cyrus to take over.

That it was a minor such position for the first upcoming months, was inconsequential. For perhaps, had Cyrus not been the type of man that he was, then he would’ve stuck to such simple tasks as file organization and receiver. But, as it were, the young man quickly managed to enter the competitive ranks as the year went by. If it could’ve been done quicker is up for debate – although having a high work ethic, Cyrus stalled within each position.

--Being forced out of church duty had done well for him, as well as worse. Now lost from the community that once had held him stable, the thoughts festering within his mind like thorns within his throat were hard to ignore. And so, to linger within each station he entered, was a move that was rather conscious. For if you move too quickly, you might miss out on something precious.  

In his teens, days felt as though they took an eternity to begin anew. What time he wasted could be amounted to lingering outside his house after three hours of extra lessons, dreading to return home to a house that most likely stood empty. If not that, then skipping those very classes had become a habit hard to break – all with the consent of his teacher, mind you; she knew he did not need them as badly as his father thought him to.

Now, within the working man’s schedule – it truly felt like there was not enough hours in the day. Still, Cyrus took care in filtering things through a day-by-day approach, seeking out information that he may need for the future while also manifesting a personality of sorts that would aid him in his given task. Stoic, quiet – not so terribly different from how he had come to be within his teens, yet more pronounced and certain. --Stuck up, would be a comment coworkers eventually would hand out as though it was a compliment to take kindly. And mostly, Cyrus did as such. Not because he didn’t know it was meant as banter – for he did; but because it had become a goal of his in the later months of his twenty-first years.

Within his station came privileges not before known to him. That the company he worked for had reach – being one of the leading offices for all transports out of Sinnoh, as well as for those that entered – was not unknown… However, how much he could gather had become a surprising item. Specifically, the inner workings of Sinnoh’s closest neighbor.

Johto, but more prominently – Kanto.

Files upon files had been brought to him about a ‘company’ going under the alias Rocket. A small such business, seemingly, yet ordering more supply than it rightfully should be able to use. Suspect, if nothing more. And so, eventually, a folder filled with given names (or most likely codenames, considering many lacked an attached family name at the end) came upon his request, all thanks to some connections he managed to get a hold of. Pay for, and leave with promises for a later date.

The reason why? Well, though a family mafia concerned with fame and fortune more than change was disappointing to say the least – the matter that such an organization came to fester and, as it seemed – prosper – within Kanto was a marvel to study. Take cues from, if given the chance. --Cyrus did, after all, have something similar in mind for himself and his future.

Though limited in his reach, what he gathered was enough for minor such decisions to be taken. One such thing, leading back to mischievous ‘compliments’ spoken between office corridors. Stuck up, was really just a word for cold. Soulless. How could he deny them their opinions, when it had been his goal to portray himself as such? To ignore his emotions, good or bad, for the sake of staying focused on what needed to be done before change could truly be birthed from ashes.

Approaching his twenty-second year, Cyrus had fastened himself in his role as moderator of a company he would drop the second the chance was given to him. However, the matter that he had invested so much time into this very work… It had halted the creation of what needed be done. Handling so many different sides of the same coin within his own two hands was a task seemingly impossible – for when he should seek out those that followed him, he instead had to build up a foundation for what would support his endeavors in the first place.

Locked in place, it seemed like a goal difficult to reach in the near future. And time, as it was created, was fickle and unstable. When he needed it the most, it might give out on him. --What, or rather whom, allowed Galactic to take its first steps towards something more clear – was by the help of no other than Josefina Yartsev. The new, young secretary stationed for him to manage as he pleased. But one year younger than himself, her reserved and quiet nature was a pleasantry he hadn’t known he had been without before it was given to him.

He came to learn about her background as time went on. As one month passed after another, their companionship worked like fine clockwork. When he needed her, she was there – what he asked of her, she delivered. No questions asked.

Cyrus came to enjoy her in ways he never thoughts himself capable of. For up until now, every person upon this earth (save for Father Orlov, his mind always nagged at him – don’t forsake those that fed you what you desired most) sat vile within his throat. To speak with them, a task rather than pleasant socialization. However, Josefina was different – as different as humans could be. --It would eventually lead him to confess his wants and goals to her, after indications that she, too, was unhappy with the state of her life in this given moment.

Under the guiding light of the late evening sun, Cyrus would call to her from within his office to propose his set conditions to her. If she truly desired to move past the life she now had, to become her own – to find meaning within herself and what her purpose may be – then he could give her just that. She just needed to be ready to give part of herself back in return, unquestioning and faithful as can be.

That she answered with a heated ‘yes’ almost immediately, was worthy of the smile that tugged at his lips. He let himself have this one moment of weakness, this one moment of honest emotion.

--I knew I could trust you, he would offer – rounding his desk to meet her where she stood. You always carried yourself as a woman who knew she deserved better than this.

(He stood closer than need be – his presence, taking all the air out of the room. Enough so that her breathing came in shallow breaths that rose her chest momentarily, before it once more sunk. A tall woman clad in heels, she stood close to him in height yet not enough to meet his gaze without craning her neck ever so slightly.)

--You will hold a very important position, one that will take up your time. Enough so that I would advise against keeping this job. You don’t need it.

(Just as he knew with Cynthia – dearest Cynthia, whom held a gaping wound filled with nothing but filth and a fickle heartbeat within her chest towards him – he knew the same applied to Josefina. For when she looked at him, in this moment, there was honesty within her gaze. Something akin to devotion, to love, that he could not return. Not now.

Perhaps, never.)

--What I need of you is not an easy task. I will help you as much as I can, but for the most part you will have to manage on your own. At least, for a little while. I know you can manage such a thing, can you not? You are, after all, no ordinary girl…

(Breathless, broken. And thus, as her lips parted and something that tasted of promise brushed against his own – Cyrus knew that she would travel to the end of the world and back for him if given the order. If given the chance.

Just as it should be.)

--… Are you?

“No.”

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Galactic was given its name by the mother who nursed it in its infancy, for Josefina held an interest in all things outlandish. And Cyrus held no protest against this name – for it would not stick around forever, nor did he hold the desire or need to think of something himself. --That Josefina would come to be known as Jupiter, however, was a suggestion of his own. Something she found to be delightful.

Just a few months past his twenty-third birthday, the organization he had sworn to himself to build at the age of seventeen was under his guiding hand. First, distant – though his rare visits to those underneath him had seemed to only heighten the devoted following his commander had managed to gather. It was for the best, in the end, that a mothers children would liken themselves to the present parent, rather than the absent one.

It was as it should be.

Saturn, as well as Charon, were additions to their goal early on – while Mars was a child who came to hold her station from cheer luck alone. Not a bad choice, though a hasty choice all the same.

Leaving his station at the company he had once called his fathers, Cyrus took up the work as messiah for the first time in his life. Properly, with the power to back him up – and years’ worth of research to lead him down the path of godhood.   --The hindrances that would come his way, could not have been seen by anyone.

For truly, what can a child really do against a dynasty ready to take over the world?

#(ooc - mun) #(ic - muse) #-drabble- #world building #galactic #cyrus #cynthia #jupiter #idk #team galactic #all in relation to his blog of course #(hi this has taken me pretty much two weeks and it leaves a lot of things unanswered that i will get to at a later time #I JUST NEED TO GET THIS OUT OF MY SYSTEM #Erik rambles about things that isnt galactic but that still is connected to the path he takes towards galactic for twenty hours straight #plz this is so long im sorry klfkdshls #screams into the void)