Mikh'tan Moshroca (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
darlingdatura) wrote2020-11-08 12:29 am
darlingdatura) wrote2020-11-08 12:29 am
I left a rose at the bottom of the big black sea
The Scions wouldn't have agreed to this. Barely tolerated the presence of the Ascian, certainly didn't like or trust him speaking to Mikh'tan. Not that this ever stopped the little Keeper from seeking Emet-Selch out to talk whenever he showed his face. If he was ever bothered by the man's barbs and smart remarks, he was especially good at letting it roll off his back. Seemed earnest in trying to bridge the gap between them, to find some common ground. Held a hope that they could find some third option between the idea of one or the other. Something. Anything.
It wasn't such idealism that had him sneaking away from the Crystarium in the dead of night though. He'd kept a brave face on things, but it was impossible for him not to realize what was happening to him, long before anyone actually admitted it to him, long before he was starting to crack apart ilm by ilm under the strain of the glut of Light Aether. If any of his companions had any idea, they'd surely stop him but no one was expecting him to leave, to slip away to Amaurot.
For all he wasn't a creature of darkness, there was some semblance of relief in the malms of ocean water above blocking out the Light he knew stained the skies, all but prickled up the back of his neck. The Miqo'te managed several steps away from the aetheryte before he felt a surge that had the white creeping in at the edges of his vision, that searing cold all but carving it's way through him, sending him stumbling hard as he dropped his bag, grabbing for one of the railings to at least avoid hitting the ground. Tail frizzing as he let out a low, distressed noise of pain behind his hand, fingers quickly stained with the glow of liquid aether as the air positively crackled with the same energy making more of that awful white and gold creep over skin like a poison.
It would take him a moment to be able to go looking or call out, if Emet-Selch wasn't already aware of his presence. He held no real illusion that this wasn't exactly what the Ascian had been planning, but at the same time...
He didn't see a way to make this stop. Didn't want to be alone in what he was afraid would be the final days or even hours he had left as himself before the Light subsumed him.
He'd spent too much of his life alone.
It wasn't such idealism that had him sneaking away from the Crystarium in the dead of night though. He'd kept a brave face on things, but it was impossible for him not to realize what was happening to him, long before anyone actually admitted it to him, long before he was starting to crack apart ilm by ilm under the strain of the glut of Light Aether. If any of his companions had any idea, they'd surely stop him but no one was expecting him to leave, to slip away to Amaurot.
For all he wasn't a creature of darkness, there was some semblance of relief in the malms of ocean water above blocking out the Light he knew stained the skies, all but prickled up the back of his neck. The Miqo'te managed several steps away from the aetheryte before he felt a surge that had the white creeping in at the edges of his vision, that searing cold all but carving it's way through him, sending him stumbling hard as he dropped his bag, grabbing for one of the railings to at least avoid hitting the ground. Tail frizzing as he let out a low, distressed noise of pain behind his hand, fingers quickly stained with the glow of liquid aether as the air positively crackled with the same energy making more of that awful white and gold creep over skin like a poison.
It would take him a moment to be able to go looking or call out, if Emet-Selch wasn't already aware of his presence. He held no real illusion that this wasn't exactly what the Ascian had been planning, but at the same time...
He didn't see a way to make this stop. Didn't want to be alone in what he was afraid would be the final days or even hours he had left as himself before the Light subsumed him.
He'd spent too much of his life alone.
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The fate of the Ondo, the Light-stained sky enough to spur everyone else into action for all there was little to be done. Evacuations organized when the Lightwarden's path was known, utter devastation left in the creature's wake otherwise. Stories flying about who, how, but only those who drew close enough could say for sure the identity of the new doom of the First, and any who got that close didn't tend to survive long enough to tell. Nor to tell about the vague oddities in behavior- the way the porcelain figure would balk on occasion, recoiling before the brambles twining around them would tense, seeming to steer the Lightwarden back on the attack.
The Scions knew. The Exarch knew. Doing their best to keep that knowledge from becoming better known to stave off what despair and panic they could while they tried to find some way, any way to put a stop to the former Warrior's rampage. Killing them was out of the question, would just create a new Lightwarden. The idea raised to trap them somehow, but the problem of the Light would remain. Some arguing on the back of Vauthry's former existence that he could potentially still be in there somewhere. That maybe if they could get through to him somehow it might make coming up with a solution easier.
Y'shtola pointing out grimly though that it was questionable at best. And even if it were possible, with the utter slaughter at his hands, would Mikka be in any state to help? Or would it just be a final cruelty on top of making things worse?
god I'm so sorry for delay orz
Such is what Emet-Selch told himself as he lurked behind the scenes, watching the people of the First launch futile resistance against the greatest Lightwarden to ever walk their land. In the end they could do nothing of course. The Warrior had become an inexorable, monstrous force with the power of so much Light.
The Scions' time was coming to an end as well - he could see how they faltered here and there, the way their souls flickered vainly in their temporary shells. Whether they found a way home or not, their time on this shard would soon be done. They had managed to make a mess of his plans on the Source in the little time they had, but without their strongest piece to play, the Eighth Calamity was all but guaranteed.
He ought to be pleased. So why wasn't he?
Again, he found himself paging through the Warrior's journal. This was why. This damned thing. Had he, in fact, been too hasty to dismiss their potential? No. No, they had surely been dying then. So what if they remembered bits and pieces of the past? It wouldn't have saved them.
He took himself to where the Lightwarden had last been sighted. It would be the first time he had tried to approach it since watching its birth. As ever, it was surrounded by a host of lesser sin eaters. He kept his distance in case the beast chose to attack him, calling out to get its attention.
"Hail, sinner," he says sardonically. "I see you've made some new friends."
No worries, it's all good 8)
The Lightwarden had taken to the desert when not actively hunting. The area it had 'claimed' plain enough in the twists and tumbles of gold and white blossoms and vines spreading undoubtedly from places where it's own 'blood' had spilled, creeping across the sands and twisting up stone and along cliff faces. Easy enough to tell where it spent the most time from the sheer density of the plant life, to say nothing of the lesser sin eaters who stayed near.
The call predictably drew it's attention- several of those eye-bearing blooms twisted in their palms towards Emet-Selch, before the creature's head turned as well. Again not looking to attack once it recognized the sort of aether Emet was full of, not nearly as starving or agitated to try such a foolish thing. Brambles shifting around pale limbs, sending drops of gold to splatter into the sand, a shift almost like the Lightwarden was going to retreat deeper into it's territory before the two hands empty of blossoms tightened their grasp on the stone it was perched on as if resisting the movement. Difficult to say why, but the Ascian had it's attention, and for the moment at least it was still.
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He would put aside the matter of 'how' and focus on the fact that it could.
"Quite the territory you've staked for yourself," he begins conversationally. Middle of the desert, plenty of open space for the Light to reach. The sort of place he preferred to avoid as a servant of the Dark. "I don't suppose there's any trace of your host left in there, hmm?"
He expects the answer to be no. Or, rather, he expects the lack of an answer to indicate much the same.
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Not that the creature spoke- it was likely that it couldn't, not as it was now, but there was a shift in stance, a slight hunker down before it was slowly slinking down from the stone onto the sand. A soft noise slipping from it not entirely unlike the sound made from a bow harshly run over the strings of a violin, something about it sounding distressed under the discordant echo of it.
I keep forgetting to use past tense oops
Something their sundered members never could quite grasp. He sighed, gazing up at the creature. Seeing them reminded him of Mitron's twisted form, lying somewhere out in the Light-blasted plains beyond the frozen wall.
"...Hero, can you hear me?" he called, hating how hesitant his question sounded. "Azem?"
Fool. As if anything of them remained.
XDDD tenses are Hard
That it sprouted into a flower was not a new thing- the area around them was thick with blossoms and vines undoubtedly started from such simple beginnings as well. What was different was the type. Vines curling around fingers, and the flower was not gold, instead a pale lavender. Perhaps it was a strange thing for a creature of Light to create a moonflower, but it had been Azem's- Persephone's favorite.
If Emet was watching, he might see the way the creature seemed to wilt slightly when the lavender color bleached almost immediately to that cold white of everything else, a soft, mournful rasp slipping from it in response to the shift.
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On impulse, he lifted a hand and focused, snapping his fingers to produce a larger field of the selfsame flower. These ones would not bleach. They were a Creation not unlike his (their) city. As they materialised all around them, he found himself watching the Lightwarden desperately for further signs of recognition.
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A shudder running visibly through it as it's unseen gaze turned towards Emet, another of those strange noises made, though from the way it's lips curled to a frustrated sort of frown, fingers touching the corner of it's mouth consideringly, it was clear that wasn't the sound it had wanted to make.
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"Why didn't you say something earlier you thrice-damned fool?" he shouted at the Lightwarden. All his pent up frustration, disappointment, anger - he let it spill forth as he continued: "I would have done things differently. We could have changed the world! Yet you remained silent until it was too late and now look at you..."
He gestured up at them in disgust before the arm fell bonelessly back to his side and he slumped.
"You never tell me anything," he muttered resentfully. "Always running off to take care of matters on your own, letting me find out only after the fact. How many times do you think I covered for your antics?"
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Keeping low, as if to ensure he was aware that it wasn't attacking, the creature crept closer again, head tilting as it's mouth twitched, as if uncertain what to say- or in this case how to say anything at all. One empty hand lifted and reaching cautiously, fingers twitching in sudden discomfort as the brambles wound around the arm tensed and tightened, thorns digging in as if in protest of getting any closer to a creature so full of Darkness. But that didn't seem to stop it, fingertips moving to brush ever so gingerly against the back of one of Emet's hands.
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He gritted his teeth and clenched his fist. "Look at you... Pathetic. Were you whole, you would never let your soul become corrupted like this. You could have taken the aether and shaped it to your will. In this state you are no better than Mitron..."
He sucked in a deep breath and stared up bitterly. "What was I meant to do?" he whispered. "You kept undoing our work. I had no choice. I...I had no choice..."
It sounded like words he had repeated to himself often in the past. He did have to though, didn't he? To see their people returned. To see their star whole once more. They were a necessary sacrifice. Necessary, like those lives given to bring Zodiark into being so, so long ago.
Stretching out a hand, he tried to reach out to touch the Lightwarden in turn. He was glad there were none to hear how his voice quietly broke when he next spoke.
"Azem, please forgive me..."
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Something about that bitter misery resonated. Something about it made the creature want to edge close, for all the brambles twining around his limbs tensed around them again as if to protest the idea. It was momentarily distracted by trying to swat them back like some manner of disobedient creature before the movement of the hand drew it's attention, that soft break in tone as it tilted it's head towards Emet again. A soft huff of breath before it leaned to press the side of it's face against the man's palm, mouth twisting faintly as if it were seeking something to say. If it even could- the almost guttural noise that it managed seemed to frustrate it more than anything, ears lowering faintly as it tried to focus to try again.
"Hk-" Again not right, but at least there was a recognizable sound in there this time.
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He strokes the side of its face gently, careful to avoid the brambles that bind the Warden like so many chains. Lips twisting bitterly, he shakes his head.
"Always full of surprises," he says quietly. "Vauthry could speak but he was half-man, half-eater. Do you even possess a tongue...?"
The Echo would surely let him understand without the need to verbalise. But touching their soul now would be tantamount to suicide.
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"Hk...haahh..." Another soft huff, an uncertain air to the almost featherlight brush of porcelain fingers over the back of Emet's hand, the Lightwarden murmuring quietly to itself before it seemed more certain of what it was trying to say. "Hades?"
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He bites his lip, hands trembling as he gazes at the monster he's created. Why do you only remember my name now? He never had a chance to tell the Warrior his true name. Which can only mean that they remember.
All of a sudden he's seized with a desperate desire to reverse things. Surely...surely with all his vaunted power, he can do that, can't he? He can find a way without threatening the tilt of Light on this shard--
"...Azem?" he voices hesitantly. How conscious was this creature? Now that it had learnt to speak, what more could it say?
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It was more complicated than that, and the creature had to stop and think about how to express that, limited as it currently was. It didn't entirely understand it in this state after all.
"M-Mikka... Pers-" A grimace as the creature had to pause again, experimenting with the sounds it could make versus the ones it knew made up the name it was trying to say. Tripped up on the extra syllables, hands fidgeting in uncertainty as it focused on the task.
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Was it the overweening Light or despair that caused him to sink slowly to the ground and bury his face in his hands? Every time he thought he had mourned enough for his long-lost friend, something or someone came along to remind him of them. In his less gracious moments, he had found himself wishing they had forced Azem to stay and help so that their soul might also be touched by Zodiark's Dark hand, so that he could raise them (if they were sundered like the rest) and spend the rest of eternity by their side.
"...I cannot stay," he said finally.
The Light was beginning to itch at him, seeking to pry away the Darkness suffusing his soul. He raised his head and stared tiredly up at the Lightwarden's masked face.
"I will come back for you. I..." He really shouldn't. What would Elidibus say?
After struggling with the words, he repeated, "I will come back."
That was all he could do in the present circumstances.