ORIGIN

Taking into account Leo having been the final battleground in Order's push for expansion, luck must have managed to preserve the titanic chrysalis of Clearstone settled in the sand. Considering who resided within it, however, maybe another force played a role as well in his continued survival; could the magic of a wish provide an additional layer of protection, intent on executing the will of the toothy sword that had harnessed its promise of fulfillment? Either way, stuck in the middle of the beach, Ace was well removed from the lapping waves of the ocean and the shadows cast by the jungle treeline. As the first cracks finally developed in a polished surface, blinding, unfiltered light thrust inside like daggers. The soldier stirred from deep slumber, its fogginess rapidly pushed away by the press of already awake minds and their connecting threads erupting out of the dormancy.

Chief among intrusive thoughts were inquiries of condition and curiosity toward whatever his present state might be. "I'm up, I'm up," he grumbled in automatic response. Cramped limbs straightened, resulting in a chorus of snap as chunks of chrysalis broke off and tumbled onto the ground. Hooked arms, wicked and deadly as ever, finished the job of extricating himself from confinement, quickly cleaving through whatever stone blocked the forward drag of his heavier than normal torso.

Another question from the Hive prodded at Ace. He recognized by the clipped politeness that it must be the Steward, ever dutiful and, at this moment, an ever annoying buzz in his head. The exaggerated flail of an arm grouchily dismissed it but sent him collapsing face first into the scratching grains of sand.

"Ugh," the Drone groused. "Always with the yapping. You're not my Mother. Let me get a grip."

Even without examining himself yet, the flier knew something was very off. Everything was slightly less lightweight than before, and he dreaded discovering if this transformation and supposed improvement in fact hampered his very reason for existence. He huffed, creating irritating sand plumes to cough on, and forced energy into a body momentarily weakened by disuse to stand on shaky feet.

That damned presence better not have been lying. Without his perfection, Order would no longer have his protection from above, a massive blow to their forces. Sure, they had Bone, but she would always be second against someone designed for the job of air support. And it went without saying that two flying menaces, with one superior to the other, was preferable over settling for a single decent attacker at that level.

"Ehhh. Good's up in the air there, sweetheart. Got to see if all that talk about beauty sleep is a sham or not first."

Still very much preoccupied with several inconsistencies cropping up in regards to the mental map of his body, Ace's response shot out quick and thoughtless. Knowing the Drone, though, that wasn't much different from his usual attitude: talk first and regret whatever spills out of his mouth never. He turned toward where the cheeky remark had issued from and discovered after the initial awkwardness of leaving a long hibernation that the motion came easily. Legs decidedly hadn't changed a bit from before; it was everything else that continued to baffle him.

Hmmm.

He didn't remember his mane being so... springy. Quite unlike its typical warmth lying flat against his spine, each individual hair felt like it was standing on end instead. Furthermore, never had those locks ever grown past his horns. Now they dangled strands—uneven ones to his Order-based irritation—right where eyes could witness them in their full crimson glory. Experimentally, he tossed his head back and forth, left and then right. Each violent jerk bounced them around, but not once did they eventually rest upon his back and shoulders.

"Weird," Ace muttered. Then, at last, beady-eyed suspicion was leveled at the stranger standing before him. "Hey, you ever get urges to wreck havoc or mess somebody's shit up? Drool gross black stuff?"

He hadn't forgotten Mir-rotten Loser nor that mouthy stick's obsessive insistence on deeming someone vastly superior to him as his rival. That Oil-spitter could have roped a fellow chump into being his guard detail and assigned them to report when the Skyreaver emerged once more to kick ass and take names. Izote might've not entirely looked the part of a Chaos lackey, his hide earthier tones than the expected pitch black and searing neon, but Ace wasn't taking any chances. Of course, he didn't account much for subterfuge with this line of questioning, always a blunt weapon of destruction compared to the more silver-tongued diplomats of the Hive.

At first Izote's response wasn't given a particularly fantastic reception. Ace kept himself rooted to his place in the sand, his guard remaining up while standing rigid and ready for a fight. A warrior's gaze dissected the calm body language presented to him, every motion picked apart for the possibility of something more hostile lurking beneath the good humor exuded. Then he guffawed, and the tension seemed to melt away under the cave's warm climate. Simple reassurances must've been enough to put a leery attitude to rest.

"Well, you see anyone like that and you run straight the other way. Though," he generously reasoned, "you might be able to take one of those wimps. Just charge for their throat before they can try any of their freaky black magic nonsense."

As he said this, Ace abandoned his stiff pose to circle around, neck craning in strained attempt to observe himself from every angle. A snarl erupted once his face smacked against unknown appendages jutting from his shoulders. Bafflement supplanted wrath, and forelimbs poked curiously for a moment at these strange additions. But just as soon, an annoyed hiss issued forth, a bare stinger noticed where it should've been wreathed by pale flame.

"Shit, where's Darkpiercer?"

Rapid stabs into the ground cast aside the chrysalis shards scattered in a rough ring surrounding him. Flurries of sand gusted wherever hooks plunged in desperate search of a valuable missing weapon. It had to be here amongst this glittering Clearstone mess or somewhere nearby. If an opportunist liberated it from him for their hoard during his period of vulnerability, he was going to track the avaricious little idiot down and gut them for the trouble caused.

"You happen to see anything over there? Shiny, gold, has a winged red thing on it that looks a bit like me?" A realization hit, and he growled irritably upon it registering. "Err, like me but less hair and feathers."