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Nier (Brother), Nier: Replicant
Faded, dim, lifeless eyes
Shoot Thing - On his person, he carries three dual-barreled flintlock pistols, preferring their expedience and ease of use than any other weapon. They have been magicked and tinkered with in a way that prevents the slowing of projectiles by time-based spells such as his own. Under the belief that six shots is enough to kill anything worth killing, as well as due to his laziness, he does not carry any extra ammo on his person. He could not think of a better name.
Stab - A shiny sabre, thin and curved. Ordinary. He has no idea how to use it, but it slices bread and butter quite nicely.
Noontide - An expression of his corrupting capabilities as the deadly sin of sloth. Made active on his command, an invisible field forms around Simeon, spanning, at most, a 25 feet radius. Within it, time is stopped for all non-living things, and slowed to a fourth for the living besides himself. Even magical spells are halted in their place. Those inside of his field begin to lose all sense of will and motivation at a gradual pace, hopelessness breaching their minds. Should a person surrender totally to apathy, they shrivel and decay to dust, as if time had accelerated completely for their physical forms.
Body of Sloth - Since becoming one of the Sins, Simeon was granted a body with physical ability exceeding the natural peak of humanity. However, he is capable of further strengthening himself by simply remaining inactive, idly feeding on his own laziness and that of others. This is the other reason for his remaining in Alptraum. At maximum capacity, he can level a small stone fortress with a punch requiring all of his might. However, at the moment of exertion, his strength will slowly drain to normal levels over half of an hour. It is a gift wasted on his lack of ability in a hand-to-hand fight.
Non-presence - His very status as a living being can be suppressed entirely, for a man apparently devoid of the drive to do or become anything may as well not be something that exists as a thinking person. Spells and traps that trigger or work upon the condition that the target is a living, sentient being do not affect him. He has no desires, no thoughts, no mind, no body, yet he does. To the world, he is simply a thing that is there.
Idle Hands - By sacrificing a major limb, be it an arm or a leg, he can create another instance of himself through which he can observe and interact with the world. They retain only a fraction of his strength, Noontide only capable of a radius of 10 feet, but retain Simeon's Non-presence. Each of them are armed with a Shoot Thing. However, they are not meant for combat, and are better utilized for information-gathering. If necessary, they can return to the form of whatever limb was given to create them.
Immortal Sin - Simeon cannot die by any means other than his superior, the current Pride. Whenever he is laid low, he returns to Alptraum to recover for a week. Why would he ever put himself in a position to leave, though?
As the very embodiment of the deadly sin of sloth, Simeon is one of, if not the least likely, out of his fellow Sins to ever willingly perform his listed duty of 'destroying and corrupting' outside of a direct command. To simplify his general demeanor towards everything and anything, he'd much rather lay around in the Tower, reading books than to personally involve himself with matters of the mortal sort. For this reason and another, he utilizes his 'Hands' to represent his will, scattered throughout the continent, while he remains within the Tower of Babel. There is no action that is worth the effort for its execution. But, for Pride's sake, he'd at least perform the absolute minimum of what is expected of him.
He subscribes to the belief that humanity is doomed to destroy itself, and that the Poena Damni are only agents to push its self-destruction forward. People are more likely to follow the majority than to embrace the independence granted to them, stupid lambs that enjoy their places within their categorically-sorted pens. Instead of making a direct effect on the world and its populace, he mingles with them instead, spreading hopelessness and apathy to the people through his Hands, hoping that they would see the truth that he sees. Simeon takes no pleasure in the shattering of their hopes, but he absolutely despises the naive notion that true freedom exists through perseverance and dreams. It is simply incompatible with his mindset.
Manipulative and cunning, Simeon is thankful that those qualities rationalize his staying within the Tower, as he believes that he is far more useful in the back lines. Despite the looseness of the organization of which he is a part, he does occasionally attempt interaction with his fellow Sins to point them in one direction or another, while also acknowledging that he is in no position to give orders, so that they might reach a goal that they seek. Yet, he is also quick to dissect people in a metaphorically perverse manner, uncaring for their anger or embarrassment, as a means of understanding. It is more something he does to pass the time than to prod at any emotional weakness.
To mortals, he is quite open with his being the representation of their sloth, apathetic towards their reaction to the revelation. However, he becomes amicable to whomever meets his apathy with their own apathy. They understand meaninglessness, the ephemeral nature of all, and the worthlessness of a single life. The Sin does not actively seek friends, but if one is made, then that is one golden star for both himself and the Poena Damnis. Veg out, man.
It doesn't mean he won't kill this friend when, in the next day, he is ordered to do so, or he is carried upon a powerful whim. Again, he is an agent of sin who must bring about humanity's self-destruction underneath their sins. It is especially so for Simeon, for it is Sloth that is the true absence of all virtue.
There was a time when Simeon Zhirayr possessed the passion of a real person, enough that he dedicated his all to anything and everything that he did. As a child, he would spend so long practicing instruments, studying, learning his words, his numbers, his sciences. He wasn't at all a prodigy, only someone upon whom the idea of working hard to receive true happiness was instilled so early in his life. In time, he had become an officer within the military of his country.
And unfortunately, he was upon the wrong side of history, as he had ended up diligently serving the corrupt monarchy that opposed the Crux Fidelis. Even if it was the wrong side of history, he was still as driven as ever, a losing war not an excuse at all to hold back.
They burst through the door of the fortress within which the young officer gave his commands, and a particularly vicious Hallowed strode towards him, his Bellicosa drawn at his neck. Simeon wasn't at all a match for the trained soldier, having little to no experience fighting in a battle that truly risked his own life. With a face of pure disdain, the Hallowed struck him down, but not before giving into his fury and imprisoned him in a block of everlasting ice. The fortress crumbled down upon him, but the structure of the war room minimized whatever had fallen upon his iced-up head.
For years, he had been trapped inside of his own mind, which, for some reason, continued to function. Within his home of ice, he contemplated, raged at the heavens, raged at the world for the reward that it gave to him for his virtuous dedication to achieving happiness. Was it simply his being unlucky that the man had been so angry? For fifty years, Simeon lived with himself and his thoughts with little hope of escape, and without hope, apathy crept inward. This was to be his prison until the world broke apart at its very end.
Perhaps it was chance, or perhaps it was fate. Regardless of which it was, one day, the rubble was flung from around his prison, and somehow, the ice dissipated around his form. As he looked upon his savior, too weak to even push himself up off the ground, he chuckled. He laughed. He laughed so hard that it hurt. It was when he was finally free that Simeon realized that he'd much rather remain in that ice block, or more preferably, die.
"I am dead. Thus, you must make it so."
And he died. Lucifer killed him. But, waking from the coldness of his demise, he opened his eyes to the Tower of Babel's high ceiling, his form much more youthful, much stronger. It was a body that was more capable than the one he had in his first life. But, that hopelessness and despair remained. More than that, it had festered. He looked up at his savior again, and relented to her authority.
Death was still preferable.
Megalomania was created by the staff team with inspiration from various magic/fantasy series. The skin was coded by Hiraeth exclusively for Megalomania using Merc's push sidebar, Black's formatted code/quote blocks, and posiden5665's default avatar code. The banner was drawn by -2x2-. Icons/macros were provided by FontAwesome. All characters, concepts, and other written works belong to their respective posters. Plagiarism will not be tolerated.