*
The ever present hustle and bustle of the crowd slows to a crawl, an uncanny silence takes hold on the street as if blocking out her ears and constructing her neck. Her throat grows parched as she swallows the last bit of alive, her fingers tensed up and her eyes tore its gaze away from the ground.
What was once a vibrant tomato red, wood brown and chalk grey had all of its life sucked out. As if vibrancy was a prize to be stolen, the world drowns in ubiquitous white, black and lifeless grey. Even a stone would look more colourful in comparison.
Yggdrasil also notes that no one is around her. Not the strangers, the classmates, nor her two companion magical girls. Is this a realm in someone's memory? Of course not, it was another Trace encounter. The long standing wheels of fate are turning once more, the defeat of the super satellite was a temporary seal, these lifeless lesser minions are once again going to spawn and wreak havoc onto the world.
Where is it? She stood still on an empty street, silent as can be. Her eyes glanced over every nook and cranny, not having transformed yet. She was Yggdrasil, not Lastia. While she couldn't use {Feed} as Yggdrasil, she was capable of using magic as Yggdrasil to some extent. It's how she possessed and preserved this body, after all. She was a spiritual entity without a physical body, she was also formed from {Feed} and operated with the master's conceptual permission and directive.
Through these combined factors, she was smoothly allowed consent to possess the body, even if by technicality. Like how the rain will always fall downwards even without anyone's actual consent, she will slip in and possess Lastia's body as if it were natural, it was a natural law determined by her directive, and her existence's compositional makeup.
1000 years, 2000 years. 11000 years. Wall, height, castle. Plan, fool, success. Deceit, wish, granted. Tick tock, time never stops.
Hundreds and thousands of whispers assault her ears all at once, like a storm of locusts bearing an age old curse. Crops will not grow, the fruits of her efforts will never be born, the world will be drowned in futility. The second heavenly king was enough to kill Lastia, the path has already deviated. The world is on a straight path towards its end. Or at least these were what the whispers and curses tried to convey. An assault on the mind, stripping of any form of self protection. Vulnerability bare, ego consumed.
"... Enough. Transform." (Yggdrasil)
A blinding light flashes and fills the world in a deluge of blinding radiance for a moment. A wisp of smog fluttered over her peripherals before dissolving into the skies, ever expanding until it no longer could be observed. Returning the silence all at once, her aura crackles like ember, faint crimson light contrasts against the infinite dimness of this temporary world. A transition between the ordinary and supernatural, an 'Event' from cherished Eterna. This was a Trace attack, it didn't make sense for her to start hearing voices with no clear origin.
No clear tracking. She couldn't make sense of the phenomena, it would have been convenient if it was. She could defeat the enemy and all these 'debuffs' would go right away. Reality isn't so forgiving, these voices were all a product of her own making. There's no running from that, she's Yggdrasil, she would be extra sensitive to magical phenomena, extra conniving with and analytical of magical energy structures.
Her dream. 'My dream'. Lastia's memories, she has had an unprecedented access to them ever since Lastia died, it was too ironic. Her life flashes in small unrecognisable bits, images she cannot decrypt, words she can't piece into a sentence. She sees someone familiar, her voice gentle and warm, contrasting against a backdrop of cold blinding white. They were sat together, at a distance where whispers could be heard. She can't see that person's face, the one sitting next to her. But she can somehow tell that she was smiling with affection.
Is that... Stone brick walls? They are consistent with the other dreams, an imaginary vision of a time that did not exist in her heart. A story of a world entirely disconnected from her own, something she could never empathise with. After all, she was Yggdrasil, and not anyone else. She couldn't be Lastia, she's afraid of being found out. She experiences fear.
These data sets are not mine. These feelings targeted at 'her' are not for me. I could never be 'her'. She interrupts the day dream, a swift stroke of her hand and a characteristic great sword of black appears in her firm right grasp. Streaks of blood red spread outwards from the guard, akin to pulsing veins.
Trace, a manifestation of ardently violated laws. An inversion of order to birth power, a short cut to life and ambitions. Yet they exist on a different higher dimension, one confined to 'Event's set by Eterna. They are promptly noticed and imprisoned, a force that opposes humanity. There are other observations she could conclude, loose theories as they are.
Could Traces be a scheme to harvest energy? Grand plots always envision a wish granter powered by sacrifices, why? Because these are the shortcuts that are commonly taken. As opposed to getting energy the normal way, or perhaps it's such that there is no normal way and wishes aren't meant to be in the hands of mortals. Does slaying these things benefit humanity? In the short term it eliminates any damage whether it'd be to property or human lives. In the long term, there must be some higher purpose or scheme being pulled.
If it's energy harvesting like Yggdrasil predicted... Then she'll stand in its way as the perfect interloper. She can absorb its magic energy after defeat, preventing anyone else from taking it. It was the true reason why she grew stronger faster than anyone else. Every Trace she fought led to her own evolution, like experience points raising a level in a game.
"... How cheaply unfair... But this is my role. It's not for anyone else." (Yggdrasil)