[It's only out of surprise that Lobelia meets Vergilius' gaze. He expected an outward display of anger, disgust, and while he knows Vergilius hasn't been left unaffected, he had expected a strong response. Violence, maybe another death, cold words to remind him of his greatest mistake in life, lest he ever forget it.
There's some irony in it, really. Only in learning what happiness truly is has Lobelia realized that everything that came before it was nothing close. No matter how far his violence escalated, those moments of "happiness" were always fleeting. More importantly...
I'm not fulfilled yet... No matter whose sounds I listen to, I'm not fulfilled at all. The only two who could make me happy... were Papa and Maman.
On that day, Lobelia made a dire mistake. He understands what happiness is well enough to know he robbed himself and his parents of that very thing, and now? Well, he understands his hesitation from before. Understands what kept his hand on the knob in an effort to keep this door from ever being opened.]
...Regret. I miss them every dayβ all the more now that I can no longer hear them.
[He steps closer now. Of course, he has those urges. To rip off Lobelia's head. To denounce him as an animal, a creature, a void. He's done harm to this man before, he could do so easily again, even if he knows he'll simply come back. A monster must be culled.]
[So easy. So very easy.]
[I've destroyed too much.]
[Instead, he reaches out slowly, lets his fingers curl around the other's rob in a tight, white-knuckled grip. His eyes are like vicious lighthouses at the end of the ocean, ready to make sure ships dash themselves into a cliff.]
[He would not begrudge Vergilius the opportunity to rip his head off, denounce him as an animal, a creature, a void... and he deserves that much, doesn't he? Just as he is undeserving of a happy ending after all the pain he's caused in his life, he deserves to suffer every misfortune he's brought upon others. With that thought in mind, Lobelia hollowly laughs.]
I experienced Papa and Maman's deaths with my own body, my own soul, and countless others... but even a thousand deaths would not be atonement enough. They cannot be brought back.
[Is that why you're denying me yet another death? If it's Vergilius' aim to be cruel, Lobelia certainly knows he's deserving of cruelty, yet even that may be too good for him.]
But you've said as much before, Vergilius. If you were hoping for a different answer, I'm afraid I can't provide you one.
[No amount of repentance can, can it? Even in his own journey to bring a certain someone back, he still thinks that might be a distant light of hope, a star, that may not be realized.]
[He still keeps holding Lobelia. His hand shakes a little.]
I know. [I know.] Whatever punishment I can give you will never be on the same level as what you will give yourself.
[He'll spend the rest of his existence regretting his own folly. That isn't "good enough," won't bring back the lives he's stolen away, but it's as fitting a punishment as he will receive for a life spent destroying others.
This is what he deserves, but what of Vergilius? Lobelia feels that tremble in his hand before he sees it, considers leaving it wrapped into the fabric of his robes to shake and shiver. He could refuse him his touch again, and yet Lobelia doesn't.
Both of us, unto hell.
There's no going back the way they came. With nowhere to go but forward into the hells of their own design, Lobelia's hands come up to curl around Vergilius' fist. That fist is warm, so unrelentingly warm, even at a time like this. Death is too good for a person like him, but so too is Vergilius.]
Then let us continue our descent together, mon Γ’me soeur. Show me the past that shaped you into the monster you are today.
[Heavens know Vergilius wasn't born this way. Not as Lobelia was.]
[A bit of reluctance creeps in - not because, like Lobelia, he's worried about what the other might think. If this is some kind of hell which relives their worst moments, then he doesn't want to go through it. He already relives them in his own mind and soul on a regular basis.]
[He lets out a short exhale of breath, shuddering, his fingers releasing one by one, but still held firm by Lobelia. This man, his own personal trap.]
[It wasn't that long ago that he would have charged on ahead, heedless of Vergilius' reluctance, and delighted in his past steeped in tragedy. Vergilius can draw his own conclusions as to why Lobelia neither rushes ahead nor leaves his side, dutifully cradling that trembling hand.
Rooted to the spot, he won't move forward so long as his guide remains still, but alas, it doesn't seem as if the choice here is theirs to make. Lowering their joined hands, Lobelia closes his eyes, listens to the silence that surrounds them. If he had to hazard a guess, whatever memory awaits them next neither needs them to move forward into it or desire to have it play out before them. By his estimation, he'll see Vergilius' memories whether he wants them to be seen or not. Sorry, wifey.]
[And that's the truth of the matter. At his core, Vergilius is a good personβ at the very least, he's capable of being one. Lobelia never stood a chance.]
[He doesn't feel like he was made. As much as he has tried to keep his head above water, he feels he like he was always destined to drown.]
[But still he persists, still he moves on. Why...? Why.......?]
[For others. For her. Perhaps for Lobelia, too, even if they are going towards a place no good soul should return from. Ah, dutiful Lobelia. At his side, ready to brave the horrors with him.]
[He grunts, his lips pulled back in a mild grimace, before he moves to turn towards the vast void in front of them. His hand is starting to pull away, though his palm is open.]
Allons-y ensemble. The sooner we do, the sooner we can depart.
[Lobelia doesn't let go of that hand. There's no place to go but forward, nowhere to go but further into the void, and Lobelia won't leave Vergilius to brave it on his own. As he trudges forward, so too does Lobelia, time and space warping around them to reveal Vergilius' memory to them both.]
[And so, the guide moves to pull them along. The area moves, and shifts, and Lobelia becomes someone different.]
[As your eyes open, you can clearly see the streets you're walking down are decorated, festive, with a bustling and happy crowd. The bright, cheerful lights, the vivid green of pine, the stars, the ornaments.]
[It's Christmas.]
[There's a sack of goodies slung on your shoulders, a merry red hat perched on your head - gifts of your Office members, who had done their best to contribute to a good cause. It's all for the children, of course. Goodies, candies, anything a young eye and bright heart would enjoy.]
[Even with the sword harnessed to your back, it doesn't feel like this is a day for anything dark. Christmas is a day of light, and merriment.]
[Soon you'll exit to a familiar road, and make it to the orphanage. Your weary heart feels light.]
[...Ah. This is a much more pleasant memory than his, isn't it? At least it seems that way, the festive atmosphere of the season is familiar to Lobelia as well. Was Vergilius a good enough boy to have had the honor of meeting with Santa? No... it seems he's playing the role of santa this time. With much curiosity, Lobelia eagerly awaits what comes next. Given whose memory this is, he doesn't expect it to remain warm and pleasant for long.]
it's going to be fine! also cw: fleshy body horror, gore, death, blood
[The air is cool - you don't shiver, but you blow a little exhale into the air, watching it dissipate. The guard lets you out of the main center of the Nest with the show of your ID, and you step into the quiet backroad to the orphanage that has always been so familiar to you.]
[It's quiet. And though it usually gives you relief to get to this part of the road...]
[This time, there's a sense of unease.]
[The snow crunches underneath your feet. You notice something along the road. Random, rough-looking chunks of concrete, with exposed pipes and wires, strewn in front of you, like a crime scene. It looks as though they have been ripped from a building. You step closer.]
[The stains on them are...]
[Blood.]
[You already feel yourself moving. One foot forward. Another. There's no thoughts. The augmented muscle fibers of your legs tighten, crack-]
[And you skyrocket forward like a bullet, covering a great distance in an instant. The ground cracks as you land directly in front of the orphanage.]
[What's....left of the orphanage.]
[There's a wild inhuman wail in the frosty air, the building torn, burning, a bloodstained husk of the lively place of children you once knew. ]
[A horrifying monster of sewn flesh, in a flimsy apron. The human-like faces growing from its mass have tears strewn down their misshapen cheeks. From what you can see through the smog are the sewn words on the apron clumsily sticking out like a sore thumb:]
["LOVE <3 TOWN".]
[And in its giant paw is one of the residents of the orphanage, lifeless, bloody, her hand loosely holding an axe. She must have tried to attack it. She must have tried to do her best to save the others.]
[But as you watch, your breath caught in your throat in shock, the monster lifts her...]
[...It's the sort of scene Lobelia is intimately familiar with. On any other occasion, he would be the monster standing on the roof, waiting for the nascent traces of despair to rise on Vergilius' face to shred that woman to pieces. Now, trapped in the man's memories, Lobelia is the one who knows what it feels like to be on the other end of such agonizing, utter destruction.
It hurts. What a horrible, sickening, pointless feeling. Never make him feel this way again, thank you.
More importantly... it's not over, is it? So this is how the grink stole Chrimnas, but Lobelia can easily imagine what comes next. Regardless, he's as eager to see the events play out as he isn't. Anxious and excited in equal measure.]
[As long as you have breath in your body, it never is.]
[The snaps of the bones in her spine come quickly, but you're quicker. Before the monster can complete the maneuver, your sword has already had itself a taste - you've already grabbed her body as the monster's severed arm goes flying into the air. It bellows and shrieks in pain, a horrific noise that pierces your ears. As you land, and look the girl over, your worst fear is realized - she's already dead.]
[In fact, as you look at your surroundings, at the rubble, familiar shapes come into vision. The battered, broken bodies of the ones you loved, scattered, bloody, unmoving. Many of whom are small children, some as young as four and five.]
[There is hope among the wreckage though - signs of life, a few terrified children huddling in the shadows. But as much as you want to go and comfort them, you have another matter to deal with.]
[The voice comes out of your mouth like a snarl.]
[Who, then, gave you the order? What now...just what is your business...was this your job?]
[A long-haired woman with a purple coat, scaled like a serpent, leaps out of the shadows to parry your drawn sword with her own, easily. She leaps backwards onto a pile of rubble. Iori. The Purple Tear.]
[A Color like you.]
[But you ask how she's here - shouldn't she be dead? But she replies coolly that the world is full of miraculous things. As she goes on, it seems that monster is key to her plans. Her search for her son, who you know and she knows is long dead. And yet, you are just one more piece in her game.]
[A shame about those children. You'd agree, no? Red Gaze. That's one less pretense for you to wear.]
[You protect the children. She sends a building crumbling on the survivors and you parry it. But the fight is wearing down on you. You're bleeding. In the end, you collapse to the ground, your body shaking from fatigue.]
[Come now, junior. There's no point dragging this out.]
[And your vision finally goes black.]
[Vergilius is on his knees in the void. He stares at nothing.]
[...Ha. Maybe he really has changed. There's nothing but destruction abound and Lobelia can't delight in a single moment of it. Would he feel any differently were he not viewing these events through Vergilius' memories? He's not sure. He's genuinely not sure.
The memory fades into black and Lobelia is left standing in that vacuous void, but the man to whom that very private pain belongs to has been toppled by it. Understandably so, Lobelia thinks, stepping over to his side and offering nothing like pity when he winds an arm around Vergilius' back to support him and tug him upright.
There's a weight to Lobelia's voice that stands at odds with his usual cheerful calm. To say he wasn't affected by Vergilius' feelings would be an understatement, but this moment isn't about him. He'll move on from it, forget those agonized cries in time, but Vergilius never will. Not for as long as he draws breath.]
C'est fini.
[It had better be over. Lobelia keeps a tight hold on Vergilius, refusing to let him succumb and crumble to his knees once more, but the air around them buzzes oppressively. Lobelia whistles, actively trying to tear through the void with his audiomancy, having seen more than enough. Anything more would run counter to his promise to make Vergilius happy, and so he'll do as he does best and destroy even this.]
[He had always expected his sins to catch up to him. The children discovering the truth one day that their parents, their families, loved ones had all been taken from this world by his own vicious hands. Sure, it was for jobs. But it didn't change the fact that the orphanage had existed out of his own spilled blood.]
[Lobelia comes to him, and as he's shaking his head out of the moment, blinking away the horrible scenery, he's leaning into the other man. His arm snakes around him, keeps him close. Vulnerable. That bleeding heart in full force.]
...This damned place. [He's gaining some strength back, pulling himself up - his head presses against the other's. Don't go. Don't go.] Let's get out of here.
[The last thing he'll do is let go of Vergilius now. Lobelia's arm remains firmly wrapped around him, the other positioned at his lips where he whistles on his fingers, but the magics surrounding them are stubborn, refusing to yield. With his powers as severely restricted as they are in this place, Lobelia is forced to acknowledge that escape may not be possible. Until this place has shown them all it deigns to, it isn't going to let them go.
Regardless, Lobelia isn't waving the white flag and giving up. Nestling a kiss in Vergilius' hair, Lobelia ceases his whistling when the void around them refuses to yield, instead clicking his tongue and listening for where the sound echoes. Most of it is swallowed up by magic, but there is a path forward. Unfortunately, he believes he knows what awaits them ahead, and so he doesn't set their feet into motion just yet.]
It seems we aren't out of the woods just yet. We can remain here until you've caught your breath, but unfortunately, it seems the only way to exit is to proceed forward.
[That means struggling through more of those terribly painful memories. If Lobelia regrets anything now, it's that his magic is no longer powerful enough to destroy a place like this.]
[Something in his chest flutters like an impatient butterfly. He listens as the man moves from a whistle to a click - he's really trying his best, isn't he? For his sake, too.]
[That kiss feels so soft against him, yet at the same time it feels like a pleasant burn, filling him with a new warmth. To think that Lobelia of all people would be doing something like this - if he told the Lobelia of the past that something like this would be shared between them, would he have laughed in his face?]
[He nods dimly, starting to extract himself away from the other, but not before a kiss is placed at the junction of Lobelia's jaw over a cheek. His voice sounds renewed, though gravely as always.]
Then let's go. Hell or high waters. Which direction should we take?
[If this place were tormenting anyone but Vergilius, Lobelia would be delighting in every moment of it, but he's promised to spend the rest of his existence repaying Vergilius' favor. Letting this place agonize him runs counter to that, so naturally, the best thing he can do is lend the man his unyielding support. Overbearing as it is, Lobelia's loyalty does have its upsides.]
Par ici. It's a bit of a walk, so mind your step!
[That returned kiss is all the motivation Lobelia needs to keep trudging forward, though he does peek over his shoulder at Vergilius every so often to ensure he isn't straggling. Vergilius is strong, but none of this is particularly easy to endure.]
[One step after another. No matter what happens. He might not be in the best mental state right now, having to relive horrific memories, but he's not one to be cowed. He stares straight ahead, focused, hoping this will be over soon-]
[And within Lobelia's grip, with the change in scenery, Vergilius disappears.]
[The magician will find himself in a strange auction room. The walls are covered in off-putting surreal paintings, many of stylized eyes, and....actual eyes, it seems, staring from small holes in the wall. They shift and move, gazing over the crowd of auctiongoers. At the head of the room is a stage, a curtain, and a feminine person with a veil covering their eyes, chatting with someone who looks like he's staff.]
[Ah... Perhaps he simply has poor taste, but Lobelia finds the pieces on display quite fascinating in their own morbid way. Naturally, he recognizes his wife beside him, but also the nature of their surroundings: this is another memory of Vergilius', one he is now a mere bystander to.
As such, he doesn't make any attempt to interact with Vergilius or the timid young man beside him, but he does glance between the placard in those scarred hands and the feminine figure heading the auction, waiting anxiously for what's to come. What will go wrong this time? Intervening won't change history and rewrite an old, bitter memory, but Lobelia's fingers itch with the urge to snap regardless.]
[There is a bit of chatter among the staff from the front it seems they're ready to get it started. Before it gets rolling, though, the young person bends in, anxious, to whisper to Vergilius:]
["Sir..."]
[But Vergilius is as calm as ever, only his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the feminine Maestro of the auction.]
[Don't worry. We don't have to bow down. Rather, they'd be honored to see their works frayed by my gaze.]
[The Maestro steps forward, their voice light, airy - the curtain is drawn back on the first item.]
[A member of the audience raises their placard. Then another. Yet another. 35 million. 40 million. 40 million going once, will anyone give me 45-?]
[Vergilius and the young man don't move. Lobelia should notice that Vergilius isn't staring at the urn, but at a man sitting closer to the front, who also seems to be as still as a statue - his red glasses can almost be seen through the veil.]
[Whatever they're both waiting for, it isn't this.]
[How dreadfully morbid, and yet Lobelia doesn't see so much as a muscle twitch in the audience, nor any gasps of revulsion. The City truly is different, isn't it? A den of hedonism and wanton violence. Lobelia can imagine himself slotting into such a society with ease... but that's not the point here, is it?
His gaze follows Vergilius' to the veiled man some rows ahead, and it's on that man his focus remains. Did Vergilius know what horrors were due to unfold here, unlike before?]
[More items are put up. One of note is a man dancing like a ballerina in a glass box - Mr. Stroud, the Maestro announces, going on for dancing for 3 years now. More bids are made. But still, Vergilius, the young man, and the one he's staring at still do not move, still do not make a bet.]
[We've already reached our final item of the day. It's my favorite one, and one I will expect will sell the highest. I am overjoyed to present this piece to you.]
[Heretofore, an infamous Syndicate known for its brutal reign was wiped out in a single battle. All of its members, including its leader, were annihilated in that carnage.]
[Vergilius notably tenses as the curtain is raised.]
[Since this battle, their names and records have been expunged. Who they were, what they did, whether they deserved their fate....everything about that Syndicate and its members remains a mystery. This painting is painted from the consciousness of the sold survivor unto death after onslaught...]
[A vicious, frenzied painting with thorns, burning red dashes of paint rising from it like fire.]
[The placards are raised, one after the other. Vergilius's eyes narrow. Yes. 1.2 billion. 1.25 billion. 1.3 billion. We have 1.4 billion over there.]
[And then suddenly-]
[The man with the red glasses stands up, his tone stern, serious as anything.]
[10 billion.]
[The audience clamors at the large bid. The young man at Vergilius' side murmurs, looking more nervous - "Is it possible he's after the same thing as us?"]
[And a murmur from Vergilius in return. The corridor of the Ring, access granted to those who win the meister's most cherished work. He's determined to go there no matter what.]
[Vergilius's expression seems especially tight, but the Maestro is already calling for final bids - something must be done.]
[Lobelia's eyes alight on that painting, tension setting into his every muscle. Something about its frenzied design sets a flame alight in him, nerves abuzz, but he can't pinpoint why he feels as if he's been strung up on tenterhooks.
The reason why hardly matters when he's sure to see it with his own eyes, no longer focused on the painting but on Vergilius. Red eyes, red gaze, apprehension in his stare moments before disaster. Surely Christmas was worse?]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
There's some irony in it, really. Only in learning what happiness truly is has Lobelia realized that everything that came before it was nothing close. No matter how far his violence escalated, those moments of "happiness" were always fleeting. More importantly...
I'm not fulfilled yet... No matter whose sounds I listen to, I'm not fulfilled at all. The only two who could make me happy... were Papa and Maman.
On that day, Lobelia made a dire mistake. He understands what happiness is well enough to know he robbed himself and his parents of that very thing, and now? Well, he understands his hesitation from before. Understands what kept his hand on the knob in an effort to keep this door from ever being opened.]
...Regret. I miss them every dayβ all the more now that I can no longer hear them.
no subject
[You did it. You beget your own sin.]
[He steps closer now. Of course, he has those urges. To rip off Lobelia's head. To denounce him as an animal, a creature, a void. He's done harm to this man before, he could do so easily again, even if he knows he'll simply come back. A monster must be culled.]
[So easy. So very easy.]
[I've destroyed too much.]
[Instead, he reaches out slowly, lets his fingers curl around the other's rob in a tight, white-knuckled grip. His eyes are like vicious lighthouses at the end of the ocean, ready to make sure ships dash themselves into a cliff.]
Death would be too good for you, you know.
no subject
I experienced Papa and Maman's deaths with my own body, my own soul, and countless others... but even a thousand deaths would not be atonement enough. They cannot be brought back.
[Is that why you're denying me yet another death? If it's Vergilius' aim to be cruel, Lobelia certainly knows he's deserving of cruelty, yet even that may be too good for him.]
But you've said as much before, Vergilius. If you were hoping for a different answer, I'm afraid I can't provide you one.
no subject
[No amount of repentance can, can it? Even in his own journey to bring a certain someone back, he still thinks that might be a distant light of hope, a star, that may not be realized.]
[He still keeps holding Lobelia. His hand shakes a little.]
I know. [I know.] Whatever punishment I can give you will never be on the same level as what you will give yourself.
[...]
I told you. Both of us...unto hell.
no subject
This is what he deserves, but what of Vergilius? Lobelia feels that tremble in his hand before he sees it, considers leaving it wrapped into the fabric of his robes to shake and shiver. He could refuse him his touch again, and yet Lobelia doesn't.
Both of us, unto hell.
There's no going back the way they came. With nowhere to go but forward into the hells of their own design, Lobelia's hands come up to curl around Vergilius' fist. That fist is warm, so unrelentingly warm, even at a time like this. Death is too good for a person like him, but so too is Vergilius.]
Then let us continue our descent together, mon Γ’me soeur. Show me the past that shaped you into the monster you are today.
[Heavens know Vergilius wasn't born this way. Not as Lobelia was.]
no subject
[A bit of reluctance creeps in - not because, like Lobelia, he's worried about what the other might think. If this is some kind of hell which relives their worst moments, then he doesn't want to go through it. He already relives them in his own mind and soul on a regular basis.]
[He lets out a short exhale of breath, shuddering, his fingers releasing one by one, but still held firm by Lobelia. This man, his own personal trap.]
[And yet he doesn't pull away entirely.]
[His gaze moves up and away into the void.]
Nothing shaped me. That's how I happened to be.
no subject
Rooted to the spot, he won't move forward so long as his guide remains still, but alas, it doesn't seem as if the choice here is theirs to make. Lowering their joined hands, Lobelia closes his eyes, listens to the silence that surrounds them. If he had to hazard a guess, whatever memory awaits them next neither needs them to move forward into it or desire to have it play out before them. By his estimation, he'll see Vergilius' memories whether he wants them to be seen or not. Sorry, wifey.]
AbsurditΓ©. We're alike in just as many ways as we aren't, Vergilius. I was born this way, but you were made.
[And that's the truth of the matter. At his core, Vergilius is a good personβ at the very least, he's capable of being one. Lobelia never stood a chance.]
no subject
[But still he persists, still he moves on. Why...? Why.......?]
[For others. For her. Perhaps for Lobelia, too, even if they are going towards a place no good soul should return from. Ah, dutiful Lobelia. At his side, ready to brave the horrors with him.]
[He grunts, his lips pulled back in a mild grimace, before he moves to turn towards the vast void in front of them. His hand is starting to pull away, though his palm is open.]
....I want this to be over with.
no subject
[Lobelia doesn't let go of that hand. There's no place to go but forward, nowhere to go but further into the void, and Lobelia won't leave Vergilius to brave it on his own. As he trudges forward, so too does Lobelia, time and space warping around them to reveal Vergilius' memory to them both.]
no subject
[And so, the guide moves to pull them along. The area moves, and shifts, and Lobelia becomes someone different.]
[As your eyes open, you can clearly see the streets you're walking down are decorated, festive, with a bustling and happy crowd. The bright, cheerful lights, the vivid green of pine, the stars, the ornaments.]
[It's Christmas.]
[There's a sack of goodies slung on your shoulders, a merry red hat perched on your head - gifts of your Office members, who had done their best to contribute to a good cause. It's all for the children, of course. Goodies, candies, anything a young eye and bright heart would enjoy.]
[Even with the sword harnessed to your back, it doesn't feel like this is a day for anything dark. Christmas is a day of light, and merriment.]
[Soon you'll exit to a familiar road, and make it to the orphanage. Your weary heart feels light.]
[You can't wait to see their smiling faces.]
FEAR
it's going to be fine! also cw: fleshy body horror, gore, death, blood
[It's quiet. And though it usually gives you relief to get to this part of the road...]
[This time, there's a sense of unease.]
[The snow crunches underneath your feet. You notice something along the road. Random, rough-looking chunks of concrete, with exposed pipes and wires, strewn in front of you, like a crime scene. It looks as though they have been ripped from a building. You step closer.]
[The stains on them are...]
[Blood.]
[You already feel yourself moving. One foot forward. Another. There's no thoughts. The augmented muscle fibers of your legs tighten, crack-]
[And you skyrocket forward like a bullet, covering a great distance in an instant. The ground cracks as you land directly in front of the orphanage.]
[What's....left of the orphanage.]
[There's a wild inhuman wail in the frosty air, the building torn, burning, a bloodstained husk of the lively place of children you once knew. ]
[And on top of the building is a monster.]
[A horrifying monster of sewn flesh, in a flimsy apron. The human-like faces growing from its mass have tears strewn down their misshapen cheeks. From what you can see through the smog are the sewn words on the apron clumsily sticking out like a sore thumb:]
["LOVE <3 TOWN".]
[And in its giant paw is one of the residents of the orphanage, lifeless, bloody, her hand loosely holding an axe. She must have tried to attack it. She must have tried to do her best to save the others.]
[But as you watch, your breath caught in your throat in shock, the monster lifts her...]
[And moves to snap her into two.]
no subject
It hurts. What a horrible, sickening, pointless feeling. Never make him feel this way again, thank you.
More importantly... it's not over, is it? So this is how the grink stole Chrimnas, but Lobelia can easily imagine what comes next. Regardless, he's as eager to see the events play out as he isn't. Anxious and excited in equal measure.]
cw: child death, amputation, violence
[As long as you have breath in your body, it never is.]
[The snaps of the bones in her spine come quickly, but you're quicker. Before the monster can complete the maneuver, your sword has already had itself a taste - you've already grabbed her body as the monster's severed arm goes flying into the air. It bellows and shrieks in pain, a horrific noise that pierces your ears. As you land, and look the girl over, your worst fear is realized - she's already dead.]
[In fact, as you look at your surroundings, at the rubble, familiar shapes come into vision. The battered, broken bodies of the ones you loved, scattered, bloody, unmoving. Many of whom are small children, some as young as four and five.]
[There is hope among the wreckage though - signs of life, a few terrified children huddling in the shadows. But as much as you want to go and comfort them, you have another matter to deal with.]
[The voice comes out of your mouth like a snarl.]
[Who, then, gave you the order? What now...just what is your business...was this your job?]
[A long-haired woman with a purple coat, scaled like a serpent, leaps out of the shadows to parry your drawn sword with her own, easily. She leaps backwards onto a pile of rubble. Iori. The Purple Tear.]
[A Color like you.]
[But you ask how she's here - shouldn't she be dead? But she replies coolly that the world is full of miraculous things. As she goes on, it seems that monster is key to her plans. Her search for her son, who you know and she knows is long dead. And yet, you are just one more piece in her game.]
[A shame about those children. You'd agree, no? Red Gaze. That's one less pretense for you to wear.]
[You see red, literally and metaphorically and everything in between. When you both strike again, you're aiming to kill. You will kill her. You have to. Your heart hurts, and bleeds, and hurts some more, and yet, and yet, and yet....]
[You protect the children. She sends a building crumbling on the survivors and you parry it. But the fight is wearing down on you. You're bleeding. In the end, you collapse to the ground, your body shaking from fatigue.]
[Come now, junior. There's no point dragging this out.]
[And your vision finally goes black.]
[Vergilius is on his knees in the void. He stares at nothing.]
[He stares at nothing at all.]
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The memory fades into black and Lobelia is left standing in that vacuous void, but the man to whom that very private pain belongs to has been toppled by it. Understandably so, Lobelia thinks, stepping over to his side and offering nothing like pity when he winds an arm around Vergilius' back to support him and tug him upright.
There's a weight to Lobelia's voice that stands at odds with his usual cheerful calm. To say he wasn't affected by Vergilius' feelings would be an understatement, but this moment isn't about him. He'll move on from it, forget those agonized cries in time, but Vergilius never will. Not for as long as he draws breath.]
C'est fini.
[It had better be over. Lobelia keeps a tight hold on Vergilius, refusing to let him succumb and crumble to his knees once more, but the air around them buzzes oppressively. Lobelia whistles, actively trying to tear through the void with his audiomancy, having seen more than enough. Anything more would run counter to his promise to make Vergilius happy, and so he'll do as he does best and destroy even this.]
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[He had always expected his sins to catch up to him. The children discovering the truth one day that their parents, their families, loved ones had all been taken from this world by his own vicious hands. Sure, it was for jobs. But it didn't change the fact that the orphanage had existed out of his own spilled blood.]
[Lobelia comes to him, and as he's shaking his head out of the moment, blinking away the horrible scenery, he's leaning into the other man. His arm snakes around him, keeps him close. Vulnerable. That bleeding heart in full force.]
...This damned place. [He's gaining some strength back, pulling himself up - his head presses against the other's. Don't go. Don't go.] Let's get out of here.
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Regardless, Lobelia isn't waving the white flag and giving up. Nestling a kiss in Vergilius' hair, Lobelia ceases his whistling when the void around them refuses to yield, instead clicking his tongue and listening for where the sound echoes. Most of it is swallowed up by magic, but there is a path forward. Unfortunately, he believes he knows what awaits them ahead, and so he doesn't set their feet into motion just yet.]
It seems we aren't out of the woods just yet. We can remain here until you've caught your breath, but unfortunately, it seems the only way to exit is to proceed forward.
[That means struggling through more of those terribly painful memories. If Lobelia regrets anything now, it's that his magic is no longer powerful enough to destroy a place like this.]
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[Something in his chest flutters like an impatient butterfly. He listens as the man moves from a whistle to a click - he's really trying his best, isn't he? For his sake, too.]
[That kiss feels so soft against him, yet at the same time it feels like a pleasant burn, filling him with a new warmth. To think that Lobelia of all people would be doing something like this - if he told the Lobelia of the past that something like this would be shared between them, would he have laughed in his face?]
[He nods dimly, starting to extract himself away from the other, but not before a kiss is placed at the junction of Lobelia's jaw over a cheek. His voice sounds renewed, though gravely as always.]
Then let's go. Hell or high waters. Which direction should we take?
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Par ici. It's a bit of a walk, so mind your step!
[That returned kiss is all the motivation Lobelia needs to keep trudging forward, though he does peek over his shoulder at Vergilius every so often to ensure he isn't straggling. Vergilius is strong, but none of this is particularly easy to endure.]
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[One step after another. No matter what happens. He might not be in the best mental state right now, having to relive horrific memories, but he's not one to be cowed. He stares straight ahead, focused, hoping this will be over soon-]
[And within Lobelia's grip, with the change in scenery, Vergilius disappears.]
[The magician will find himself in a strange auction room. The walls are covered in off-putting surreal paintings, many of stylized eyes, and....actual eyes, it seems, staring from small holes in the wall. They shift and move, gazing over the crowd of auctiongoers. At the head of the room is a stage, a curtain, and a feminine person with a veil covering their eyes, chatting with someone who looks like he's staff.]
[Lobelia may realize that he's sitting amongst the crowd, a veil covering his head. In fact, almost everyone here is in the same position, their heads bowed, their heads obscured by fabric. The only two who have no head covering are directly to Lobelia's right - his wife, with glasses perched on his nose, and a young nervous-looking man.]
[Vergilius seems to be glancing over the auction placard in his hands, with no awareness of Lobelia sitting next to him.]
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As such, he doesn't make any attempt to interact with Vergilius or the timid young man beside him, but he does glance between the placard in those scarred hands and the feminine figure heading the auction, waiting anxiously for what's to come. What will go wrong this time? Intervening won't change history and rewrite an old, bitter memory, but Lobelia's fingers itch with the urge to snap regardless.]
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["Sir..."]
[But Vergilius is as calm as ever, only his eyebrows furrowed as he stares at the feminine Maestro of the auction.]
[Don't worry. We don't have to bow down. Rather, they'd be honored to see their works frayed by my gaze.]
[The Maestro steps forward, their voice light, airy - the curtain is drawn back on the first item.]
[A member of the audience raises their placard. Then another. Yet another. 35 million. 40 million. 40 million going once, will anyone give me 45-?]
[Vergilius and the young man don't move. Lobelia should notice that Vergilius isn't staring at the urn, but at a man sitting closer to the front, who also seems to be as still as a statue - his red glasses can almost be seen through the veil.]
[Whatever they're both waiting for, it isn't this.]
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His gaze follows Vergilius' to the veiled man some rows ahead, and it's on that man his focus remains. Did Vergilius know what horrors were due to unfold here, unlike before?]
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[We've already reached our final item of the day. It's my favorite one, and one I will expect will sell the highest. I am overjoyed to present this piece to you.]
[Heretofore, an infamous Syndicate known for its brutal reign was wiped out in a single battle. All of its members, including its leader, were annihilated in that carnage.]
[Vergilius notably tenses as the curtain is raised.]
[Since this battle, their names and records have been expunged. Who they were, what they did, whether they deserved their fate....everything about that Syndicate and its members remains a mystery. This painting is painted from the consciousness of the sold survivor unto death after onslaught...]
[A vicious, frenzied painting with thorns, burning red dashes of paint rising from it like fire.]
[The placards are raised, one after the other. Vergilius's eyes narrow. Yes. 1.2 billion. 1.25 billion. 1.3 billion. We have 1.4 billion over there.]
[And then suddenly-]
[The man with the red glasses stands up, his tone stern, serious as anything.]
[10 billion.]
[The audience clamors at the large bid. The young man at Vergilius' side murmurs, looking more nervous - "Is it possible he's after the same thing as us?"]
[And a murmur from Vergilius in return. The corridor of the Ring, access granted to those who win the meister's most cherished work. He's determined to go there no matter what.]
[Vergilius's expression seems especially tight, but the Maestro is already calling for final bids - something must be done.]
[The Red Gaze stands to be lost to another-]
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The reason why hardly matters when he's sure to see it with his own eyes, no longer focused on the painting but on Vergilius. Red eyes, red gaze, apprehension in his stare moments before disaster. Surely Christmas was worse?]
cw: death
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cw: implied child death
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pretend i slapped an nsfw warning on this 5 tags ago
also pretends i slapped an nsfw warning on this 6 tags ago
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