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caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 11:43 am
contemptibility) wrote in caughtinanetwork2012-04-25 11:43 am
Entry tags:
dream;
[warnings: spoilers, death, and blood.]
—
In the silence, Tiir wakes up in a pool of his blood, drenched in red—
red, red, the world's always drenched in red
—before he struggles to stand, ignoring the pain that laces his body like fire, against the cool stickiness as his blood-soaked clothes cling to him.
"Monster."
His eyes widen as the voice speaks, and then he realizes that it isn't quite so silent after all. In the distance, three children laugh, pentacles appearing before their glowing red eyes. They laugh, and he needs to save them, before they lose control and fall somewhere he can't reach them—
He has to save them, before they die like all the others.
With the sounds, Tiir becomes aware of the sights as well—the corpses that litter the ground. Forty-three children—he doesn't even need to count them to know—and Lafra, dead from a wound around his waist, and Pueka, blood pooling where her eyes should be.
They're all dead, because he couldn't save them.
So he at least needs to save those three—
"... can't do anything but cause death and destruction."
But he only gets a step further before the other noise resumes. Voices around them, voices without bodies and yet still there, mocking—
but humans are always mocking them, always, always
Their voices rise, almost drowning out the laughter, before adding to it with their own. Unlike the wild laughter of the children, however, theirs is ugly, twisting the world and ruining them—because that's all humans know how to do, isn't it?
And so, Tiir laughs. A third laughter, without the madness of the children's or the cruelty of the humans'—
though perhaps he lost his sanity a long time ago, and perhaps he is the cruellest of them all
—as it's just empty, broken. His eyes flash red, brighter than that of the blood that drenches his clothing.
"I'll kill you," he says his voice rising. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill every single last one of you—"
wretched humans, despicable, the only monsters here
Suddenly, there's an attack, as electricity flickers before Tiir and lightning slams into his body, sending him flying. Wounds that were just beginning to repair themselves are reopened, soaking his clothes in red once more, before he lands harshly on the ground.
"Abomination. This is what you deserve."
Through the blood that streams down his face—the closest thing to tears he'll ever get—he sees.
For a moment, the night turns into day and the world isn't red. His friends are alive, happy—
such a fleeting happiness, so fleeting, why did he hope for it to last
—and humans took that all away from them. It's nothing but a memory. A dream.
And he screams, in grief and anger and frustration, as humans—as they, the humans, say what he already knows and doesn't need to hear:
"Worthless. Why don't you just do the world a favour and disappear?"
He grits his teeth, and he hates. He summons his resentment, until he can nearly feel it coursing through his veins, because he knows that if compassion will not keep him going, then hatred always will.
"You first."
But he can't attack. There's nothing to attack but the voices that cannot be touched—
because they'll never disappear, they'll always be there
—so what he is doing?
"You should never have been born. Good-for-nothing."
And he can't even deny it anymore.
But he has to save them, he thinks. And with that thought, he tries to walk, his legs almost too weak to support his weight.
The children continue to laugh madly, and he can only hope that it isn't too late.
—Except it is, as a light pierces through the eyes of one, gouging them out as she collapses to the ground, dead.
And all he can do is stare, and wonder why—
why is he never strong enough
—does this keep happening?
"Monster extermination almost complete."
How ridiculous those words are to him. Perhaps there's a truth that he can't see with these eyes of his, but all he can see is the unjust slaughter of his friends.
And yet humans would call it this.
This is what his friends all died for—extermination.
"Disgusting, hideous—"
And it doesn't hurt, he tells himself. It doesn't hurt because he's never known a life without these words. They're a dull blade by now—
it's his own despair that's tightening the noose around his neck
—and one that he himself already carries.
He knows and he knows and he knows.
He's not a knight.
He's not a prince.
He's nothing.
—
[... When he wakes up, Tiir admittedly doesn't have much of a reaction. Instead, he merely lets out a deep breath, remaining stoic otherwise.]
The children, brandishing twigs for swords, laugh as they see him, with one running towards him and pointing his twig at him.
"Stay back, dragon! I'll defeat you and save the princess!"
"Stay back, dragon! I'll defeat you and save the princess!"
In the silence, Tiir wakes up in a pool of his blood, drenched in red—
—before he struggles to stand, ignoring the pain that laces his body like fire, against the cool stickiness as his blood-soaked clothes cling to him.
"Monster."
His eyes widen as the voice speaks, and then he realizes that it isn't quite so silent after all. In the distance, three children laugh, pentacles appearing before their glowing red eyes. They laugh, and he needs to save them, before they lose control and fall somewhere he can't reach them—
"No," the girl—the princess, presumably—argues, hands on her hips. "Brother Tiir isn't the dragon! He's the knight."
He has to save them, before they die like all the others.
With the sounds, Tiir becomes aware of the sights as well—the corpses that litter the ground. Forty-three children—he doesn't even need to count them to know—and Lafra, dead from a wound around his waist, and Pueka, blood pooling where her eyes should be.
They're all dead, because he couldn't save them.
So he at least needs to save those three—
"... can't do anything but cause death and destruction."
But he only gets a step further before the other noise resumes. Voices around them, voices without bodies and yet still there, mocking—
Their voices rise, almost drowning out the laughter, before adding to it with their own. Unlike the wild laughter of the children, however, theirs is ugly, twisting the world and ruining them—because that's all humans know how to do, isn't it?
And so, Tiir laughs. A third laughter, without the madness of the children's or the cruelty of the humans'—
—as it's just empty, broken. His eyes flash red, brighter than that of the blood that drenches his clothing.
Tiir blinks, before he smiles, bending down to meet them at eye level.
"Oh? The knight, am I?"
"Oh? The knight, am I?"
"I'll kill you," he says his voice rising. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you, I'll kill every single last one of you—"
Suddenly, there's an attack, as electricity flickers before Tiir and lightning slams into his body, sending him flying. Wounds that were just beginning to repair themselves are reopened, soaking his clothes in red once more, before he lands harshly on the ground.
"Abomination. This is what you deserve."
Through the blood that streams down his face—the closest thing to tears he'll ever get—he sees.
For a moment, the night turns into day and the world isn't red. His friends are alive, happy—
—and humans took that all away from them. It's nothing but a memory. A dream.
The girl beams, and she says what she must believe to be the truth:
"Yeah! You're the knight who beats the bad guys and protects everyone!"
"Yeah! You're the knight who beats the bad guys and protects everyone!"
And he screams, in grief and anger and frustration, as humans—as they, the humans, say what he already knows and doesn't need to hear:
"Worthless. Why don't you just do the world a favour and disappear?"
He grits his teeth, and he hates. He summons his resentment, until he can nearly feel it coursing through his veins, because he knows that if compassion will not keep him going, then hatred always will.
"You first."
But he can't attack. There's nothing to attack but the voices that cannot be touched—
—so what he is doing?
"You should never have been born. Good-for-nothing."
And he can't even deny it anymore.
Another child shakes his head.
"No, stupid! He's not the knight; he's the prince!"
"No, stupid! He's not the knight; he's the prince!"
But he has to save them, he thinks. And with that thought, he tries to walk, his legs almost too weak to support his weight.
The children continue to laugh madly, and he can only hope that it isn't too late.
—Except it is, as a light pierces through the eyes of one, gouging them out as she collapses to the ground, dead.
And all he can do is stare, and wonder why—
—does this keep happening?
"Monster extermination almost complete."
How ridiculous those words are to him. Perhaps there's a truth that he can't see with these eyes of his, but all he can see is the unjust slaughter of his friends.
And yet humans would call it this.
This is what his friends all died for—extermination.
"He's definitely the prince—"
"Disgusting, hideous—"
And it doesn't hurt, he tells himself. It doesn't hurt because he's never known a life without these words. They're a dull blade by now—
—and one that he himself already carries.
He knows and he knows and he knows.
"—because the prince is the one who gives everyone their happy ending!"
He's not a knight.
He's not a prince.
He's nothing.
[... When he wakes up, Tiir admittedly doesn't have much of a reaction. Instead, he merely lets out a deep breath, remaining stoic otherwise.]
voice;
[That laugh is always so unsettling to her. Maybe it's because she never knows what's really behind it, or what he's thinking or what...but heh. It's hardly the point right now, is it?
She concedes with what he's saying easily enough, though; because it wasn't easy for her either, and she imagines it still isn't easy for some.]
Yeah, I know. [Another quiet sigh.] But it gets easier.
voice;
Perhaps, though I would rather avoid becoming too lax.
voice;
Of course, she isn't stupid enough to forget she has the luxury of friends from home, unlike him.
Heh. She presses on a bit jokingly then:]
Does that mean you won't be going back to sleep?
voice;
Well, I'm already awake, so I might as well start the day now.
voice;
In truth, she doesn't even know what time it is now. It's a bit hard to tell when she's not on the island, but if he thinks it's a good time to start the day--
Well, it's a good time to start the day.
Not saying she's going to follow suit, of course, but she does grin a bit. There's a moment of silence, as if she's thinking about whether or not to approve of this, but then she concedes.
Tch--]
...All right. Well, don't let me stop you, then.