Name: Ocypete (oh-seh-peat-ee)
He looks back, to sitting at that table with the other Harmonics and Chaotics - meetings to discuss the health of their world, entrusted to them by an even stronger god. And, without fail, someone would get in a snide jab or a radical idea or roll their eyes, and the room would descend into chaos and arguing. He'd look to the head, at Phosphorus, and watch as he would massage his temples, expression irritated, waiting for the cacophany to quiet so he could return order to their council.
The idea that it could all disappear... it wasn't fathomable. That was life, that was what life was, all life could be. And it didn't seem real, even when they started getting reports of lesser gods disappearing. It only became cold, stark reality when they heard about Ysaase's fate, and looked at the executive who had drank of her magic, and they realized that it was already too late. Everything blurred after that; vestiges of memory unsharpened and unfocused. The only grounding thing was the fear, the adrenaline, the panic that came to govern his haphazard actions, his terror when he heard the announcements of more and more of his peers disappearing... and then looking up, and seeing the so-called Godscourge, heavensunder knife and all.
He doesn't know how he survived, though many of his mortals ask of it. He shakes his head, he gives them placating answers. But he doesn't know. He woke up after the world had ended, years after his supposed death, and spent months just wandering. Looking at the skeletons of cities. Staring out over ashen, salted fields. Watching raw magic gush into oceans and the corpses of fish float to the surface. The absolute decimation of everything they'd known. What was once beautiful landscapes, filled with the myriad creations of their highest god... were nothing more than decayed ghosts.
But - well, he wasn't the Harmonic of Hope for nothing, was he? So he pulled himself up by the bootstraps and harnessed the magic left in him and made a safe haven. Stabilized it. There's no end goal in sight. How can there be? There's nothing left. But maybe, at least, he can give the mortals a little peace as their world slows and rots and dies.
Click on the headshot to be taken to their profile (if it exists).
It's never going to end. They both know that. Their lives are intertwined forever, and he'll never forget the look on Godscourge's face when they arrived to the Standing City and he grinned up at them, alive and well. What would they even have left to live for if Godscourge finished the job, or if Ocypete broke his will? Nothing. Nothing at all. Don't look at him. You wouldn't understand.
♥♥♥♥♥ The Standing City
Relationship: Charges, Purpose
It's all he has left. Some tiny semblance of normalcy in a world that isn't his own anymore. Everything he does, the reason he breathes now - it's for them. How many innocents were caught up in the rush of it all, who protested to no avail, who grew to regret their hand in the world's decimation? They need him, they cried out for him, and it was their love and pleading that brought him back together, piece by piece, and he owes everything to them.
For all the gods' stupid bickering... Phos knew what was coming. It kills him to think how right they were, and how badly everyone failed them when they tried to call attention to the trouble brewing. They'd all been so selfish... and Phos, of course, saw right through all the bullshit... the true mark of a leader. He's so sorry, though he knows that word isn't nearly enough.
The rage at his abandoning the other gods has long since faded. Sometimes it flares in the quietest nights, in the loneliest nights, but what's replaced it in Ocypete's chest is the tentative hope that maybe... maybe Celena is still out there, somewhere. After all, the moon and the sun have remained in the sky, ever-turning their dutiful path, unchanged by the apocalypse. So... is it wrong for the god of hope to hold out a little more?
Click to View Minor Relationships ⮟
She died in his arms, having limped away from her attacker - though she knew Godblood Leech was only a few minutes behind. He held her, and she told him to abandon her and flee - to press forwards, to keep hope alive, to avoid his own senseless death. She begged for him to go, if not for the sake of hope, for the sake of her child - a word that haunts Ocypete to this day. She bade him to find her child and protect him, for she'd given almost all her magic to him, and maybe they could rebuild something with it when this was all over. He's ashamed to say that he still hasn't... there's just no leads... he's sorry.
You held out so long. Maybe if he'd held out, he would've been there at your side, and together maybe it would've been enough... it's wishful thinking, but maybe... he doesn't know. It isn't fair that he survived and Satetwer didn't. He didn't even really try, he didn't put in the effort and determination that Wer did, and... ugh. He needs to stop thinking about this.
♡♡♡♡♡ Godblood Leech
Relationship: Hated Enemy
No one's seen hide nor hair of them. With any blessed luck, the world took out its killer in its last, heaving breaths. If only it'd done so to the rest of the hunters. It's pitifully ironic how many have survived.
It would be easy to hate him, the man who discovered heavensunder. But Ocypete just can't. Helasahr was at the forefront of the protests, of the guerilla tactics. Denounced the blood money that the corporations paid him, and put it towards the resistance. He was arrested how many times? And, he'd shown up to the Standing City, too. Not to seek asylum... but to apologize, in private, to Ocypete. To cry in relief and guilt, and hug him, and offer assistance any way he could. Ocypete let him stay, and he forgave him, but he's still not sure if he actually forgave him in his heart or not. If nothing else, he doesn't hate Helasahr.
♡♡♡♡♡ View of the Sunrise
Relationship: Hated Enemy
Even after they took everything from him, the hunters still want more. They copied his city, his ideas, his hope itself - copied it and made a disgusting fascimile out of the blood and bodies of his peers, his friends, and his world. The very idea of South Coast City disgusts him, and if he weren't more disciplined, he'd be tempted to level it to the ground and bring the mortals to the Standing City. But he's no god-hunter, killer in cold blood.
- Used to have huge multicolored wings. They were corrupted in the apocalypse, and what remains of them is his shawl. Still misses them. :(
- Does think it's funny and ironic his stupid crown got melted to his head, though.
- Literally doesn't sleep; is too busy and paranoid to. Lies to his mortals and says he does, though, when they express concern.
- Terrified of consuming anything that could impair his reactions/thinking (like alcohol) for fear that it would give Godscourge the upper hand. Don't talk to him about sleep deprivation.
- Only ever leaves the city to help escort immigrants through secret tunnels, portals, and paths so they can avoid Godscourge, but normally sends a blessed high-ranking motal in his stead for safety's sake.
- Enjoys surrealism, especially surrealistic literature. Avoids stories or paintings or photos of the pre-apocalypse world.
- The Standing City has become fairly self-sufficient, but Ocypete is always volunteering his magic to create food or water or resources if they start to run low.
Click the reference image to the right for fullsize.
- Can't remove the "crown" on his head; won't remove the shawl-thing.
- Patterns on the clothes don't have to be exact, just get close.
- Tail is short and has no markings or hair on it.
- Headwings can't emote; they basically don't move.
- Probably physically incapable of frowning nowadays.
Generic Anatomy Notes
- Muzzles are small and boxy, and they don't have a kitty or dog nose.
- Eyes can be stylized as you'd normally draw.
- Please note that they have four fingers and three toes.
- If the character has glasses, don't omit them!