✧ ----- 𝑂 𝐻𝑂𝐿𝑌 𝐴𝑃𝑂𝑆𝑇𝐿𝐸.

HE ;   WHO   IS   JUDGMENT !

[executionrr]

𝑂     𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐿𝐸𝑆𝑆     𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸 ,     WHO     PUNISHES     THY     WICKED     SIN !

                                                                 WORSHIPPED     BY     COYOTE.

temp.  /  psd.

[executionrr]

SH2 REMAKE HELLO?

[lobselvitha]

@executionrr​​ // LIKED FOR A STARTER

`AND IN PRESENCEwas allowance of norm snapped. Slightest of ease and TAPER of frames typical presentation (TWITCH DULLED // POSTURE A TAD MORE RAISED). The Metatron ambiance of nature still of wet clicks and groans, but it did not disrupt the vocalization he gave towards the other.    “And to what do I owe visitation?”     Direct not in tone, but INTEREST in knowledge.

[executionrr]

❛     MUST     THERE     BE     AN     OCASSION ?     ❜

𝑵𝑶𝑻     𝑻𝑯𝑨𝑻     𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹𝑬     𝑾𝑨𝑺𝑵’𝑻     𝑶𝑵𝑬.                                                                           𝑜’    𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒    𝑜𝑓   𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑑    𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑎𝑙    𝑎𝑛𝑑   𝑔𝑜𝑟𝑒,    𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑    𝑏𝑦     𝑚𝑎𝑛,    𝑎𝑛𝑑    𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑    𝑏𝑒𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑑     𝑓𝑙𝑒𝑠𝘩.   executioner    carries    with   him    a    weight   of    mans    guilt   in    form    of   holy    blade,    before   he    stills    his   movements.    form    rigid,   in    spite    of   the    twisted    way   he    holds    himself   there.    the    groan   akin    to    that   of    metal    accompanies    him   as    he    finally   heaves    a    sigh.   body    afforded    a    small    reprieve,   awakening    &    the   task    of    judgement   was    no    easy   feat    for    the   red    god.

❛     MOTHER    GODS’    RETURN   DRAWS    NEAR,    VALTIEL.   I    AM    MERELY   HERE    TO    SEE   HER    ARRIVAL...    BEFORE   I    AM    LAID   TO    A    REST,   ETERNAL.      ❜

𝐹𝑂𝑅    𝑁𝑂    𝑆𝐼𝑁,   𝑁𝑂𝑅    𝐺𝑈𝐼𝐿𝑇,    𝑊𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷   𝐸𝑋𝐼𝑆𝑇    𝐼𝑁    𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇   𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐿𝐷.                                                                         𝑎𝑛𝑑    𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑏𝑦    𝑛𝑜   𝑛𝑒𝑒𝑑    𝑓𝑜𝑟    𝑜𝑛𝑒   𝑡𝑜    𝑐𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑒    𝑡𝘩𝑒𝑚.   perhaps    it    was   his    fate,    to   be    marred    so   by    the    sentimentality    that   exists    in    all   things.    try    as   he    may    to   deny    it,    to   hold    fast    to   all    the    divinity   he    was    gifted.   yet    if    it   as    so,    that   he    was    simply   a    holy    judge   and    executioner    ------    why   then    would    he   seek    out    this   hallowed    place,    to   savor    in    the   company    of    the   closest    he    has   known    to    familiarity?

[executionrr]

guiltridden​:

𝙷𝙾𝚆   𝙸𝚃   𝙷𝙰𝙳   𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴   𝙵𝚄𝙻𝙻   𝙲𝙸𝚁𝙲𝙻𝙴,     James’  heart  could’ve  burst  at  the  seams.     All  of  this  had  been  conjured  from  his  flaws.      The  wretched  SUFFERING  that  tethered  him  between  the  lines  of  life  &  Purgatory.      Callous;     Cold  like  the  mist.      What  the  hell  is  this  all  for  he  cried  in  his  soul  —  radio  silence  from  above.      The  pain  of  mourning  amidst  the  tragedies  that  lurked  in  waiting  beyond  foggy  gates,     he  found  himself  too  mourning  Angela,    Eddie,     and  what  could  have  been  a  LIFE  with  Mary  &  Laura  .  .  .  Now,     he  mourns  for  the  Angel  whose  purpose  was  blackened  by  something  NOXIOUS  and  malevolent.      More  so  than  the  sacred  evils  of  Silent  Hill.      Can’t  help  but  feel  his  already  fractured  heart  break  once  again  like  shattered  stained  glass  in  a  chapel  lost  to  time.       How  long  must  this  go  on?      𝙃𝙊𝙒   𝙇𝙊𝙉𝙂   𝙈𝙐𝙎𝙏   𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙎   𝙋𝘼𝙔   𝙁𝙊𝙍   𝙈𝙔   𝙎𝙃𝘼𝙈𝙀? It  is  true  that  only  HE  knew  of  James’  transgressions  to  the  extent  of  which  they  flecked  his  soul  with  guilt  like  a  cancer  .  .  .  how  they  shackled  him.      If  this  was  some  form  of  sick  symbiotic  NEED  to  be  understood  by  the  ‘ Angel ’,     he  didn’t  care  about  its  nature   ( dysfunctional?     he  didn’t  know  nor  did  he  fret  about  those  minute  details )    only  that  it  reminded  him  he  did  not  shoulder  this  burden  alone.       Yet  something  struck  a  chord  —  𝙸𝚂   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙰   𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵𝙸𝚂𝙷   𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳?      Every  plead  the  ANGEL  bemoaned  to  something  James  could  not  see  nor  sense,     was  his  own  mental  weight  sapping  Pyramid  Head’s  lifeblood  to  such  a  degree  that  even  this  DIVINE  BEING  could  not  break  free  of  the  cycle  damning  them  to  the  darkest,    most  forlorn  corner  of  Hell?       𝙄   𝘿𝙄𝘿𝙉'𝙏   𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝘿   𝙁𝙊𝙍   𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎.     He  can’t  be  SELFISH  anymore.           The  RED  PYRAMID’S  demeanor  matched  his  pitiful  shape.     James  struggled  to  see  the  same  beastly  form  as  before,     the  one  who  would  have  surely  cut  the  cord  between  James  &  his  life  given  the  opportunity  had  that  presaged  SIREN  not  called  upon  his  name  to  summon  him  elsewhere.       There  is  no  malice  in  his  intent  now.       No  strength  in  his  hold.       Delicate  but  still  capable  of  DEATH  .  .  .  The  same  way  James  held  Mary  in  her  final  days.      He’s  never  felt  so  close  to  actually  dying  —  James  sucked  in  a  sharp  inhale,     playing  with  fire  yet  trusting  the  flame.      He  gripped  Pyramid  Head’s  wrist  still,     both  hands  now,     as  though  he  CLINGED  to  rope’s  knot  while  standing  at  the  gallows.

           Guiding  the  once  judge  &  executioner’s  hands  closer  to  his  throat  James  braced  himself.      He’d  lost  hope  for  a  happy  ending  LONG  ago.       𝘼   𝙏𝙔𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙏   𝙄𝙉   𝙏𝙃𝙀   𝙃𝙀𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙉𝙎   𝘾𝙐𝙍𝙎𝙀𝘿   𝙈𝙀   𝙁𝙍𝙊𝙈   𝘽𝙄𝙍𝙏𝙃.       And  as  a  byproduct  of  himself  Pyramid  Head  was  too  damned  and  destined  to  an  unsavory  end.      𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴   𝙸𝚂   𝙽𝙾   𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝚃𝙾   𝙱𝙴   𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳.      𝙽𝙾   𝚁𝙷𝚈𝙼𝙴   𝙾𝚁   𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽   𝙵𝙾𝚁   𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂   𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙾𝚂   𝙾𝙵   𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳𝚈.      Perhaps  that’s  why  to  be  here  at  his  mercy,      felt  like  a  home  that  had  been  calling  to  him  for  months.       Months  spent  toying  with  SUICIDE  and  ensconced  in  catatonic  inertia.      James  could  do  naught  but  shake  his  head  weakly,     beaded  tears  falling  from  the  curve  of  his  cheekbones  as  if  it  was  all  the  energy  he  had  left  in  his  body  —  Crying  not  for  himself.      His  offering  to  Pyramid  Head;      I’m  as  sorry  as  I  was  sorry  to  Mary.            ❛ This  isn’t  fair. ❜       Spoken  like  this  was  no  revelation  but  a  terrible,    somber  truth.        One  he’s  accustomed  to.       ❛ I  didn’t  think.      It  was  hard  for  me  to  comprehend  that  there  was  anything  else  in  the  world  that  knew  how  I  feel.      Why  does  it  have  to  be  this  way?       You  know  this  pain  in  every  part  of  me!      I  feel  it  in  my  body,     my  heart,     my  soul  .  .  .  I,     I  can’t  even  tell  if  I’m  alive  anymore,     if  you’re  really  here  in  front  of  me. ❜     𝙊𝙁   𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙍𝙎𝙀   𝙔𝙊𝙐   𝘼𝙍𝙀.      𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍   𝙍𝙐𝙄𝙉   𝙄𝙎   𝙏𝙊𝙊   𝙈𝙔   𝙎𝙄𝙉.      ❛ But  all  of  this  is  my  cross  to  bear.      Your  purpose  was  to  judge  me  .  .  .  ONLY  YOU  Pyramid  Head.      It’s  how  things  have  to  be.      I  don’t  want  to  call  the  shots  anymore,     I  did  that  once  before  and  now  we’re  both  here  .  .  .  Cause  of  that.     Cause  of  me. ❜ James  swallowed  the  lump  in  his  throat.      Felt  it  against  the  behemoth’s  grip,     hesitant  to  apply  pressure.       He  let  his  arms  fall  to  his  sides  to  show  that  he  would  not  fight  JUDGEMENT  —  wouldn’t  escape  what  manifested  atonement  decides  for  him.       ❛ Let  me  give  you  your  purpose  back.      Take  what’s  left  of  me.      Earn  your  right  just  like  I  earned  death  like  you  told  me  to.      Don’t  allow  me  to  control  my  death,     Mary  couldn’t  control  hers,     even  Eddie  or  Maria  too  .  .  .  Have  your  freedom  back.      The  difference  between  you  and  me;       You  were  made  to  uphold  justice.      You  didn’t  make  a  choice.       I  did. ❜

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑆𝐸𝐷    𝑈𝑃𝑂𝑁   𝑇𝐻𝐸    𝐴𝐷𝐴𝑀𝑆    𝐴𝑃𝑃𝐿𝐸,   brushed    lovingly    the   thumb    along    the   ridge    and    swell   of    his    throat,   he    is    breathing.    for   now,    he    is   breathing.    and    what   swells    in    him   at    the    thought   at    how    it   would    change,    what   barbed    wire    and   brambles    find    their   way    to    tangle   him    deep    and   tear    him    down,   down,    down.    this   etching    of    mercy   and    love    felt,   a    strand    between   them    that    bemoaned   the    weight    of   it    all    but   refused    to    snap   by    will    alone.   𝐇𝐄    𝐖𝐀𝐒    𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓.   𝐇𝐄    𝐖𝐀𝐒    𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐊.   what    judge    to   be    found    guilty   of    such    a    crime    as   favoring    a    soul   meant    to    be   lain    to    rest.   a    noose    tied   lovingly    but    hesitate   to    pull    taut   along    that    collar   of    his.

o’    but    the   way    it    moves   when    he    swallows,   no    pressure    applied   until    the    wrights   of    his    moral   failure    were    read   upon    and    taken   to.    tended    to   generously    by    the   creature    with    the   scarlet    crown,    but   selfishness    had    seeped   unto    his    very   core    in    the   way    he    wished   for    more.    everything    ringing   out    like    the   blistering,    deafening    call   of    the    clock   tower    bells    :    𝘐𝘛’𝘚    𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎.   𝘐𝘛’𝘚    𝘈𝘓𝘓    𝘌𝘕𝘋𝘐𝘕𝘎.   𝘛𝘏𝘌    𝘞𝘈𝘠    𝘛𝘖   𝘚𝘈𝘓𝘝𝘈𝘛𝘐𝘖𝘕    𝘐𝘚    𝘏𝘌𝘙𝘌.   burdened    upon    gloved   hands    the    nails   of    his    lover’s   sin,    crossed    deep   through    flesh    and   bone    and    remains   unseen.    he    is   the    cross    he   bears,    heavy    and   loving    and    destroying    him   all    the    same.   twisting    forever,    cruel   insides    turned    out   and    laid    bare.   𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒    𝐖𝐀𝐒    𝐓𝐇𝐄   𝐄𝐍𝐃.

❛    𝙼𝙰𝚈   𝙸    𝚂𝙴𝙴    𝚈𝙾𝚄   𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽,    𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁    𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶    𝙾𝙵    𝙸𝚃   𝙰𝙻𝙻.    𝙼𝙰𝚈    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁   𝚂𝙾𝚄𝙻    𝙱𝙴    𝚆𝙸𝙿𝙴𝙳   𝙲𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙽    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝚂𝙾   𝚃𝙾    𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙴    𝙰𝙽𝙳   𝙸𝚃    𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻    𝙰𝙻𝙻   𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽    𝚃𝙾    𝙳𝚄𝚂𝚃.   𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳𝙱𝚈𝙴,    𝙼𝚈    𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁.   ❜

𝐶𝐻𝑂𝐾𝐸𝐷    𝑈𝑃𝑂𝑁    𝑇𝐻𝑂𝑆𝐸   𝐹𝐼𝑁𝐴𝐿    𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐷𝑆,    the   behemoth    struggling    in   strength    to    manage   like    barbed    wire   and    venom    in   its    throat.    a    bittersweet    goodbye   long    overdue,    perhaps   that    is    why   it    burned    in   his    mouth.    heresy   upon    the    tongue   of    a    creature   who    had    lost   itself    to    sorrow.   but    divinity    did   not    taste    so   sweet,    and    neither   did    his    sin.   presses    slowly    unto   his    throat    as   he    rises    to   his    feet,    as   if    recalling    himself,   and    stands    upon   trembling    legs.    boots   spattered    with    gore   and    rising    ---   curling    o’er    him   as    he    feels   the    light    return   to    his    form.   gentle    and    adoring   and    possessive    in   the    way    he   snuffs    out    the   night    that    lived   forever    in    james.   held    dear    and   close    (    𝐀𝐍𝐃   𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆    𝐈    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄   𝐋𝐄𝐓    𝐆𝐎    𝐎𝐅   𝐈𝐒    𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃    𝐈𝐍   𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊𝐒    )    comfort   given    in    the   way    his    towering   form    overcomes    him,   the    last    sight   to    be    seen.   but    sought    not   to    terrorize,    a    twisted    form   of    tenderness    to   his    last    breath   as    the    mirror   of    the    past   fractures    and    breaks   further.    a    voice   calling    out    from   the    dark    :    𝐁𝐄    𝐍𝐎𝐓   𝐀𝐅𝐑𝐀𝐈𝐃,    𝐅𝐎𝐑    𝐈    𝐀𝐌    𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇   𝐘𝐎𝐔    𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘    𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏   𝐎𝐅    𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒    𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄   𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇.    

his    last    act   of    selfishness    found   in    the    way   he    bows    o’er   top    him,    sweeps   down    upon    him   and    held    close   in    those    final   moments.    sought    to   end    his    suffering   soon.    though    every   part    of    him   baying    for    the   opposition,    a    tender   voice    gentle    and   wounded    :   𝑛𝑜   !    𝑛𝑜    !    ℎ𝑒    𝑤𝑎𝑠   𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒    !    -----   the    bells    ring   out,    and    he   feels    it    coming.   deafening    and    written   over    the    sound   of    that    guttural   breathing    the    behemoth   heaves    out,    its   own    sputtering    breath.   it’s    spoken    in   some    odd    way   there,    an    ending   of    a    life   his    own    confession    :    𝐼    𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒   𝑦𝑜𝑢.    𝐼    𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒   𝑦𝑜𝑢.

[executionrr]

i’m so sorry i’ve disappeared lately, life got really wild and I’ve been all over the place i feel so bad for neglecting my interactions and threads here weeps

[timhortons]

I think I'm falling for you😳

get up

[executionrr]

𝙅𝘼𝙈𝙀𝙎   𝙎𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿:

𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙳𝙸𝚂𝚀𝚄𝙸𝙴𝚃𝚄𝙳𝙴  𝙾𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝚁𝙴𝙳  𝙿𝚈𝚁𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙳'𝚂  𝙶𝚁𝙾𝙰𝙽𝚂  was  akin  to  a  requiem.     The  pain  swarmed  them  both,     a  shroud  of  shame  they  both  wore.     James’  heart  was  overcome  by  agonized  pangs  that  ate  away  at  him  much  like  the  GUILT  he  could  never  shed.      Tiny,    insidious  &  hateful  insects  invading  their  conscience  intertwined  .  .  .  Watching  the  way  Pyramid  Head’s  anguish  thronged  and  belittled  a  once  FEARSOME  being  made  James  feel  like  a  child  again,     helpless  and  unable  to  do  a  damn  thing  about  it.     [ 𝗕𝗨𝗧   𝗪𝗛𝗬  .  .  .  𝗗𝗢   𝗜   𝗪𝗔𝗡𝗧   𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧? ]      Why  does  empathy  ravage  him  so?      Why  yearn  to  help  a  creature  who  had  threatened  his  life?      𝘿𝙄𝘿   𝙔𝙊𝙐   𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍   𝙍𝙀𝘼𝙇𝙇𝙔   𝙄𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝘿   𝙏𝙊   𝙃𝙐𝙍𝙏   𝙈𝙀?       If  he  were  to  remove  the  pyramid - shaped  headcage  he’s  certain  now  that  in  some  human  reflection  he  would  see  only  himself.          The  EXECUTIONER  and  the  hanged  man  .  .  .  One  cannot  exist  without  the  other.      What  a  crude  cosmic  joke.

What  ails  him  James  pondered;     This  agony  nestled  deep  in  his  chest,      perhaps  it  drove  the  Pyramid  Head  insane,     perhaps  they  both  had  a  taste  of  madness.     James  was  drunk  on  it.      He  knew  now  that  DELUSION  beckoned  him  as  a  siren  seduced  mariners  and  trauma  cradled  his  mind  like  a  doting  lover.     He  also  knew  that  he  is  equally  powerless;    utterly  at  the  mercy  of  his  own  sickness.      Guilt  did  not  end  with  Mary  —  He  felt  responsible  for  this  ANGEL’S  torment  too.      Ripped  at  his  mind  like  razor  wire.      When  taking  his  hand  James  could  have  instinctively  pulled  away  in  surprise;      Such  an  interaction  felt  inconceivable.      Their  pain  collided,    a  CATACLYSMIC  shockwave.     𝘽𝙐𝙏   𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙇𝙇   𝙃𝙀   𝘿𝙄𝘿   𝙉𝙊𝙏   𝙇𝙀𝙏   𝙂𝙊.

❛ PYRAMID  HEAD  .  .  . ❜      Never  knew  what  else  to  call  it.     No,    him.      ❛ Is  this  my  fault  too? ❜     A  single  mournful  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek.     UNWORTHY   ;    ATONEMENT.     He  knew  these  meanings  well  but  not  how  they  pertained  to  the  Angel.      ❛ My  failures  have  become  yours  haven’t  they. ❜        It  would  be  the  most  natural  assumption  for  the  most  unnatural  of  circumstances.       𝙰𝙵𝚃𝙴𝚁   𝙰𝙻𝙻,     𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶   𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃   𝙷𝙰𝚂   𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙳   𝚆𝙰𝚂   𝙼𝚈   𝙵𝙰𝚄𝙻𝚃.      The  defeat  in  James’  inflection,     hanging  his  head  like  funeral  etiquette  conveyed  his  REVERENCE.      Something  about  Pyramid  Head’s  cries  tugged  at  his  heartstrings  in  such  a  way  that  turned  his  stomach  with  anxiety.      Their  prior  encounters  were  dangerous,     VOLATILE,    but  this  .  .  .  James  wanted  to  run  from  his  emotions.       Run  like  always.

But  he  couldn’t  nor  would  he.     Before  him,     kneeled   (  and  ROBBED  of  his  dignity )   was  the  sole  being  who  could  understand  him.      Knew  him.      Felt  like  he  grabbed  a  fistful  of  James’  guts  and  strung  them  out,     all  terrible  and  COLOSSAL  emotions  on  display  in  the  form  of  his  own  torture.      Expected  Hellish  vultures  to  emerge  on  cue  to  finish  them  both  off  while  still  breathing.         𝙄𝙉   𝘼𝙇𝙇   𝙔𝙊𝙐𝙍   𝙎𝙏𝙍𝙀𝙉𝙂𝙏𝙃   𝙎𝙏𝙄𝙇𝙇   𝙔𝙊𝙐   𝘼𝙍𝙀   𝙒𝙀𝙄𝙂𝙃𝙀𝘿   𝘿𝙊𝙒𝙉.      That  is  their  curse.      James  tried  in  lieu  of  Pyramid  Head’s  strength  to  use  his  own,     tugging  at  the  gloved  hand  capable  of  so  much  POWER  reduced  to  a  weakened  clutch.     Tried,     but  failed,     his  weight  was  far  too  much  for  one  man  —  and  upon  this  sad  truth  James  began  to  bawl,     falling  back  with  a  thud.      He  didn’t  care.     All  he  could  do  was  sob.

❛ I’m  so  weak  .  .  . ❜      [ 𝗪𝗛𝗬   𝗔𝗠   𝗜   𝗔𝗟𝗪𝗔𝗬𝗦   𝗦𝗢   𝗪𝗘𝗔𝗞 ?! ]      Hearing  his  judge’s  apology  only  caused  a  greater  pain  in  his  core.     Why  the  hell  was  he  sorry?     Brow  furrowed  he  shook  his  head,     jaw  setting  to  bite  back  the  anger  he  felt  towards  himself.      ❛ You  can’t  be ! ❜     James  snapped,    voice  broken  in  pitch.    A  tourniquet  of  sorrow  entrapped  his  throat.     ❛ I  understand  now  that  you’re  a  part  of  me.      You  were  manifested   because  of  me  and  you  were  there  to  judge  my  sins.      𝙔𝙊𝙐   𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿   𝙃𝘼𝙑𝙀   𝙆𝙄𝙇𝙇𝙀𝘿   𝙈𝙀   but  you  didn’t.       It’s  because  of  you  that  I  was  able  to  continue  and  find  the  TRUTH.      Now  I  live  with  the  consequences,   Hell,    they  punish  me  every  moment  I  take  a  breath.      That  animosity  I  felt  from  you,    I  thought  it  was  cause  you  were  bloodthirsty  and  wanted  me  out  of  your  way,     but  I  know  what  it  meant  now. ❜ Again  he  grabbed  hold  of  Pyramid  Head’s  hand,    and  wrist,    his  flesh  corroded  and  weeping  with  blood  .  .  .  Grotesque.      GROTESQUE.      He  mused  such  a  sinful  thing  of  Mary  once.      James  winced  at  the  thought  and  PULLED  with  every  ounce  of  strength  he  could  accumulate.      ❛ Get  up  !!      Just,     just  get  up !!      I  brought  you  here,     don’t  you  hate  me  for  that ?!       I’m  no  match  for  you  —  You  could  break  me  in  two  like  it  was  nothing  so  do  it  now  while  I’m  right  in  front  of  you! ❜       Whether  the  executioner  could  stand  on  his  own  two  feet  or  whether  he’d  merely  given  up  was  not  viable  to  James.      𝙏𝙃𝙀   𝙊𝙉𝙇𝙔   𝙊𝙉𝙀   𝙒𝙃𝙊   𝙈𝙐𝙎𝙏   𝘼𝙏𝙊𝙉𝙀   𝙄𝙎   𝙈𝙀.                ❛ PLEASE !!      Don’t  leave  me  alone  like  this  again.      I  know  you  feel  what  I  do.     Please  .  .  .  We  both  know  how  this  needs  to  end.      My  blood  .  .  .  It’ll  make  things  right. ❜

𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇    𝑊𝐸𝐼𝐺𝐻𝑇𝐸𝐷    𝐺𝑈𝐼𝐿𝑇    𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑆𝐸𝑆    𝐹𝑈𝑅𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅    𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑁,     breaking    upon    the    bended    knees    of    a    creature    whose    halo    had    slipped    down    to    smother.    something    to    be    suffered    by,    shifting    upon    the    ache    of    lost    divinity.    a    creature    beyond    redemption    known    inside    and    out    by    the    one    before    him.    and    then!    ---    and    then!    ----    a    drop    of    something    else    into    soured    sea    of    guilt,    comes    the    gentle    hunger    to    silence    it.    lost    in    the    meaning,    head    swimming    in    a    fog    of    what    is,    what    was,    and    what    will    be.    he    cannot    find    the    edges    to    trace    where    he    ends    and    sunderland    begins.    though    he    adores,    anyhow,    tracing    fingers    upon    the    final    understanding    of    being    known.    heartbeat    felt,    every    breath    from    sorrowed    lungs    rhythmic    like    it    was    his    own.    [    𝐖𝐀𝐒    𝐈𝐓?     ]    a    connection,    some    red    string    of    fate    tangled    and    torn    asunder.    leading    back,    always,    to    him.    a    breath    out    as    if    he’s    seen,    a    single    thought    at    his    solicitous    ministration    being    known    :    finally    ...    finally.

❛    𝙸    𝙰𝙼    𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙺𝙾𝙽𝙴𝙳    𝚃𝙾    𝚈𝙾𝚄,    𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂.    𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃    𝙾𝙵    𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙴    𝙸𝚃𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵    𝚆𝙴    𝚆𝙴𝚁𝙴    𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙴.    𝚆𝙴    𝙰𝚁𝙴    𝙾𝙽𝙴    𝙸𝙽    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝙰𝙼𝙴.    𝙸    𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙴    𝙼𝚈𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵    𝚃𝙾    𝚈𝙾𝚄,    𝙸    𝙰𝙼    𝚄𝙽𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴    𝙱𝚈    𝚈𝙾𝚄.    ❜

               𝑦𝑒𝑡    𝑠𝑜𝑜𝑛    𝑡𝑜    𝑠𝑛𝑎𝑝    𝑠ℎ𝑢𝑡    𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑒    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑗𝑎𝑤𝑠    𝑜𝑓    𝑎    𝑚𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡    𝑡𝑜𝑜    𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑒𝑟    𝑡𝑜    𝑏𝑒    𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑣𝑒𝑑    𝑏𝑦    𝑒𝑖𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟.     to    be    severed    from    him    was    a    torture    all    its    own.    holds,    still,    the    hand    of    another    he    once    tormented,    with    such    tenderness,    genteel    in    his    words    and    movements    as    if    threatened    by    the    idea    he    may    break.    wondering    who,    for    a    moment,    he    feared    would    shatter    first.    a    being    of    his    ilk    should    know    better    than    to    relinquish    the    façade,    to    reach    out    to    the    hand    offered,    stinks    of    poison    but    tastes    like    honey.    could    not    care    how    many    ways    james    could    betray    a    moment    like    this,    if    only    he    was    granted    the    moment    to    linger    within    his    grip    for    these    few    moments    ---    it    would    be    worth    an    eternity    of    suffering.    𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄    𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘    𝐔𝐏𝐎𝐍    𝐇𝐈𝐌,    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓    𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘    𝐇𝐄    𝐅𝐄𝐋𝐓    𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃    𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘    𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍    𝐇𝐄    𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒    𝐇𝐈𝐒    𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄    𝐀𝐍𝐃    𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒,    𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐘,    𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓    𝐇𝐄    𝐈𝐒.     challenged    in    his    softness    by    the    inquiry    of    blame    suddenly    thereafter.    like    the    bitter    aftertaste    of    some    sickening    sweetness.    quickly    found    by    sharpened    ridge    that    dug    upon    tender    flesh.    this    guilt,    no,    this    was    not    his    own.    some    kind    of    guttural    noise    with    a    slight    but    abrupt    snap    of    head    as    great    weighted    burden    upon    shoulders    shifts    to    tilt.    a    response    quick    and    sure    as    it    was    firm.            q    :    is    this    my    fault    too ?

❛    𝙽𝙾    ...    𝙽𝙾.     ❜

                                                                       𝑦𝑒𝑡    𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑠    𝑡ℎ𝑒    𝑚𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.     the    sincerity    felt    but    unknown    if    what    he    says    is    true.    was    it    his    doing?    [    𝐀    :    𝐈    𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓    𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖    ...    𝐈    𝐃𝐎𝐍’𝐓    𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     ]    speaking    firmly    without    a    doubt    and    yet    filled    to    the    brim    with    them.    had    he    not    already    surely    been    damned,    he    would    question    so    vehemently    is    piety.    wondered    silently    if    ever    his    nature    was    to    be    known    by    another,    before    he    came    to    his    hallowed    grounds.    his    will    righteous    and    steady,    unwavering    before    ...    before    james.    his    call    was    the    ethereal    invocation    to    the    mad    and    the    lost.    a    firm    but    gentle    hand    upon    the    chest    of    another    when    defiance    ignites    in    reply    to    relinquishing    to    peace    far    past    due.    free    hand    rises,    trembling.    only    to    fall    upon    the    hand    of    the    man    stood    before    him    pulling,    held    fast    but    quivering,    akin    to    praying    to    another    for    his    other’s    salvation.

❛    𝙾    𝙶𝙾𝙳,    𝙷𝙾𝚆    𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵𝙸𝚂𝙷    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝚆𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳    𝙰    𝙲𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴    𝙸’𝚅𝙴    𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙴    𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃    𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶.    𝚃𝙾    𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙶    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃    𝙸𝙽    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝙸𝚂    𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃    𝙰𝙻𝙻    𝙸𝙽    𝙵𝙰𝚅𝙾𝚁    𝙾𝙵    𝙼𝚈    𝙾𝚆𝙽    𝙿𝚄𝙽𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃.    𝙸    𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙿𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙴    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝚃𝙾𝚁𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃.    𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚁    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙶𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃    𝙾𝙵    𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁,    𝙸    𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳    𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁    𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆    𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝙸𝚃    𝙸𝚂    𝚃𝙾    𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴.                ----        𝙾    𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁,    𝙸    𝙰𝙼    𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚈.    𝙳𝙾    𝙽𝙾𝚃    𝙳𝙾𝙾𝙼    𝙷𝙸𝙼    𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷    𝙼𝙴    𝙵𝙾𝚁    𝙴𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙸𝚃𝚈,    𝙻𝙴𝚃    𝙷𝙸𝙼    𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝙰𝙽𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚈    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝚁𝙰𝙿𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴    𝙾𝙵    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳    𝙸𝙽    𝚆𝙰𝙺𝙴    𝙾𝙵    𝙼𝚈    𝙵𝙰𝙸𝙻𝚄𝚁𝙴𝚂.    𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙶𝙸𝚅𝙴    𝙼𝙴,    𝙼𝚈    𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁.    𝙸    𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴    𝙸    𝚆𝙰𝚂    𝙱𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃    𝚃𝙾    𝙵𝙰𝙸𝙻,    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙸𝚃    𝚃𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂    𝚄𝙿𝙾𝙽    𝙼𝙴    𝚂𝙾    𝚃𝙾    𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆    𝙸𝚃.     ❜

𝐴𝑁𝐷    𝐻𝑂𝑊    𝐶𝐿𝑂𝑆𝐸    𝑇𝑂    𝐴    𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺    𝐺𝑂𝐷    𝐻𝐸    𝐹𝐸𝐸𝐿𝑆    𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁    𝐻𝐸    𝑆𝑃𝐸𝐴𝐾𝑆,     relays    to    him    the    truth    of    their    convictions.    the    connection    strong    and    stubborn    finally    spoken    of    before    him    in    the    light.    yet    sobs    ignite    something    within,    such    desperate    howling    and    pleading    that    sink    into    him    and    felt    anew.    a    swarm    of    thoughts    that    crash    down    upon    him    and    pull    him    under    until    he’s    fumbling    for    semblance    of    self,    as    if    disoriented    by    his    will    but    he    tries    anyhow,    he    tries,    for    him.    an    uneasy    tremor    through    exhausted    limbs    as    barbed    wire    tears    upon    them,    a    blood    soaked    boot    upon    the    floor    as    the    sound    of    groaning    metal    blots    out    the    sound    of    sirens    howling    in    the    distance.    he    breathes!    he    grieves!    [    𝐈𝐓’𝐒    𝐓𝐎𝐎    𝐌𝐔𝐂𝐇.    ]    rises    to    his    feet    if    not    only    by    the    virtue    of    james’    own    pleading    demands.    though    legs    tremble    like    newborn    fawn    before    him,    barely    able    to    keep    himself    up  

❛    𝙾    𝙹𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂,    𝙸    𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳    𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁    𝙻𝙾𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚈𝙾𝚄.    𝙰𝙻𝙻    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁    𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴𝙳    𝚆𝙰𝚂    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝚁𝙴𝙳𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽.    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴    𝙾𝙵    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝚃𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷.    𝙸    𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻    𝙽𝙾𝚃    𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝚈𝙾𝚄    ...    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽    𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷    𝚈𝙾𝚄,    𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂.    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙸    𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶    𝚃𝙾    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴    𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝙸𝚂    𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃.    ❜

𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑆    𝑈𝑃𝑂𝑁    𝐻𝐼𝑀,    𝑊𝐼𝑇𝐻    𝐸𝐴𝑆𝐸    𝐶𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷    𝐻𝐸    𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐾    𝐻𝐼𝑀.     gloved    digits    upon    either    side    of    his    face,    peering    deep    with    eyes    that    could    not    be    seen    --    yet    wither    did    many    beneath    the    weight    of    the    eyes    of    the    executioner.    no    wrath    in    his    movements,    though    fingers    twitch    at    the    thought    of    what    little    strength    he    would    pull    from    in    order    to    end    him    here.    yet    something    aches,    some    pang    in    chest    of    a    harsh    thrum    across    heartstrings    at    the    thought    of    his    soul    freed.    𝐋𝐄𝐓    𝐇𝐈𝐌    𝐆𝐎.    𝐋𝐄𝐓    𝐇𝐈𝐌    𝐆𝐎.    𝐈𝐅    𝐘𝐎𝐔    𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄    𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆    ...

❛    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙳𝙴𝙴𝙿𝙴𝚂𝚃    𝚂𝙸𝙽,    𝚆𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙴𝙳    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳    𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙷    𝙾𝙵    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙶    𝙷𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳.    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙷    𝙰𝙽𝙳    𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳    𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁    𝙶𝚄𝙸𝙻𝚃.    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽    𝚈𝙾𝚄,    𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂,    𝙹𝙰𝙼𝙴𝚂    𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙳.    𝙸    𝙰𝙼    𝙲𝚁𝚄𝙴𝙻    𝚃𝙾    𝙲𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶    𝚃𝙾    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝙸𝙽    𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈    𝙰𝚂    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴.    𝙸𝙵    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷    𝚃𝙾    𝙱𝙴    𝙵𝚁𝙴𝙴,    𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽    𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷    𝚃𝙷𝙴    𝙻𝙰𝚂𝚃    𝙾𝙵    𝙰𝙽𝚈    𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙶𝚃𝙷    𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃    𝙸    𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴    ---    𝙸    𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻    𝚁𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝚀𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙷    𝚈𝙾𝚄    𝚃𝙾    𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃.     ❜

𝐻𝐴𝑁𝐷𝑆    𝑆𝐿𝐼𝑃.     gloved    digits    soft    in    their    movement    to    be    placed    around    his    throat,    yet    hesitate    to    add    weight.    lingering    there    for    a    sign.    halo    to    noose.    one    in    the    same.    if    you    love    something    ...

[executionrr]

𝙅𝘼𝙈𝙀𝙎   𝙎𝙐𝙉𝘿𝙀𝙍𝙇𝘼𝙉𝘿:

𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝙽𝙾  𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙳  that  had  the  power  to  depict  what  James  carried  with  him  like  sickness  more  virulent  than  a  parasitic  stupor.     It  eroded  him  just  as  Mary’s  illness  eroded  her,     perforating  their  hearts  and  their  marriage.     He  walked  in  a  daze.      Faint,    nauseous.     Glimmers  of  light  flickered  dismally  like  himself  grasping  onto  what  little  he  had  left.      Corridors  snaked  and  twisted  and  had  he  not  been  so  exhausted  by  bitter  regret  he  would  yell  until  his  lungs  COLLAPSED.      A  ringing  in  his  ears  was  the  only  symptom  of  James  still  being  alive.     𝙱𝚄𝚃,    𝙰𝙼  𝙸  .  .  .  𝙰𝙻𝙸𝚅𝙴?     He  can’t  tell  anymore.     This  wretched  fog,     this  wretched  world,     for  days  and  nights  he  begged  the  old  gods  to  return  what  he’d  lost,     and  now  he  begged  to  lay  cold  beneath  frigid  waters,     nothing  but  a  FORGOTTEN  MEMORY.     𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙸𝙵  𝙼𝚈  𝙱𝙾𝙳𝚈  𝙸𝚂  𝙰𝙻𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚈  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴? So  terribly  he  longed  to  be  rid  of  himself.     Now  that  the  truth  had  reached  its  zenith,    there  was  NOTHING  left.     A  hollowed  out  shell  of  a  man  that  once  was.     He  traipsed  through   [ 𝗦𝗜𝗟𝗘𝗡𝗧  𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗟 ],     as  if  he  were  a  phantom  like  all  the  rest  searching  for  purpose  long  since  forgotten.     But  oh  how  he  wished  to  forget.    James  was  utterly  consumed  by  bereavement.     The  day  Mary’s  condition  was  diagnosed  as  terminal  was  the  day  his  HUMANITY  fled  his  vessel,    doomed  to  wander  in  desolation.     𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙸𝙵  𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴  𝚆𝙰𝚂  𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴  𝚆𝙰𝚈  𝚃𝙾  𝚂𝙰𝚅𝙴  𝙷𝙴𝚁  .  .  .  𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙸𝙵  𝙸  𝚁𝙾𝙱𝙱𝙴𝙳  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙾𝙵  𝙷𝙴𝚁  𝙾𝙽𝙻𝚈  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙲𝙴.     Palm  to  his  forehead  and  malformed  GRIEF  across  James’  face  he  limped,    clutching  the  wall   ( his  makeshift  crutch )   with  his  idle  hand.      Then  came  the  deluge  of  tears.  𝙃𝙊𝙒  𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿  𝙄  𝘿𝙊  𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏  𝙃𝙊𝙒  𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿  𝙄  𝘿𝙊  𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏  𝙃𝙊𝙒  𝘾𝙊𝙐𝙇𝘿  𝙄 𝘿𝙊  𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏  it  swirled  around  his  brain  rousing  aches  beneath  the  skull,    pulsating  like  a  fevered  infection.      He  was  his  own  worst  enemy  and  there  is  NOTHING  he  despised  more  than  himself.     The  last  time  James  felt  HATRED  of  this  caliber  .  .  .  was  in  the  presence  of  the  [ 𝗥𝗘𝗗  𝗔𝗡𝗚𝗘𝗟 ].     But  hatred  did  not  reside  without  remorse.      Made  the  allegorical  NOOSE  tighten  around  his  neck.     To  be  between  rage  and  sorrow  .  .  .  Too  much.      Too  goddamn  much.     If  this  was  his  punishment  then  he  has  more  than  atoned.      𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴  𝙳𝚁𝙾𝚆𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙼𝙴  !! Silent  Hill  had  intended  to  instill  a  lesson  within  James  but  he  turned  his  back  on  its  counsel.      What  he  hadn’t  learned,    was  that  his  TORMENT  was  not  his  to  keep.     Yet  he  wore  it  like  deep  cuts  from  flagellation.     [ ❛ 𝗜𝗙  𝗧𝗛𝗔𝗧  𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘  𝗧𝗥𝗨𝗘  𝗧𝗛𝗘𝗡  𝗪𝗛𝗬  𝗗𝗢  𝗬𝗢𝗨  𝗟𝗢𝗢𝗞  𝗦𝗢  𝗦𝗔𝗗? ❜ ]      A  groan  more  akin  to  that  of  a  behemoth  echoed  within.      It  could  have  been  his  own  but  it  wasn’t.      Or,    had  he  become  a  monster  after  all  .  .  .  ?      Had  his  ill  deeds  reforged  him  in  their  image?     No.     James  knew  that  sound.     That  Hellish  sound.      The  RED  PYRAMID  was  nigh.    Sounded  wounded;   a  hideous,   dying  animal  could  only  sound  that  pitiable. It  called  to  James.     As  if  FEELING  and  resonating  with  his  pain  it  really  called  to  him.      And  in  some  sick,    co - dependent  way  James  felt  relief,    hoping  that  the  PYRAMID  HEAD  would  claim  his  soul.     Lay  him  not  to  rest  but  to  forgotten  silence.      He  knew  not  where  the  fog  carried  him  but  soon  the  terrible  familiarity  took  shape,    its  body  convulsed  in  jarring  movements  as  its  groans  SURGED  like  the  tide  before  a  tsunami.     James  watched.      His  vision  blurred  with  grief.     Why  grief?      𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙸𝚂  𝚆𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙶.      Something  is  wrong  .  .  .  Not  a  thought  of  his  own.      The  Angel  is  aware  of  him  now  and  is  enraged  by  this. Foolish  to  take  another  step  forward,    James  thought.     But  he  must.      Gazing  upon  the  RED  PYRAMID  seemingly  tortured  he  spoke  in  turn.      ❛ Why  are  you  still  here? ❜      Another  roar.      ❛ I  .  .  .  Didn’t  think  I’d  see  you  again.      I  know  the  truth  now,     Pyramid  Head.      I  know  what  you  were  trying  to  tell  me  back  then.      What  I  did  was  unforgiveable.       So  why .  .  .  Are  you  here  before  me?       Are  you  .  .  .  Dying? ❜      Dying.      Something  as  STRONG  and  driven  by  rage  as  he,    was  dying.      𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙉  𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙍𝙀  𝙄𝙎  𝙏𝙍𝙐𝙇𝙔  𝙉𝙊𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂  𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙎  𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙇𝘿  𝙒𝙊𝙉'𝙏  𝙏𝘼𝙆𝙀.      He  couldn’t  help  but  empathize.      They  were  one  in  the  same,    tied  by  the  red  string  of  fate.       James  felt  like  he  was  witness  to  his  own  downfall;     So  with  arm  outstretched  he  offered  his  hand.      Indeed  .  .  .  his  actions  were  ever  foolish.      ❛ I’m  sorry. ❜      I  forever  will  be.

𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆     𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐿𝑀     𝐻𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸𝑅𝑆.     greedy     and     voracious     in     its     hunt     for     more,     always     [     MORE!     MORE!     MORE!     ]     the     behemoth     could     not     supply     and     when     it     couldn’t,     hunger     turned     sour     to     starvation     and     some     ill     fated     form     of     torture     ---     a     world     without     rest     for     how     long?     𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆!     𝐸𝑂𝑁𝑆     𝐼𝑇     𝐹𝐸𝐿𝑇     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐻𝐸     𝑊𝑂𝑅𝐸!     and     now,     once     more,     he     was     certain     it     attempted     to     twist     the     vision     of     one     he     knew     through     the     thick     of     the     fog     and     demand     him     to     stand.     yet     with     every     step,     lurches     closer     the     feeling,     something     that     couldn’t     be     mistaken     or     imitated.     [     𝐈     𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒,     𝐈     𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     𝐘𝐎𝐔     ]     some     subtle     recognition     that     gives     the     strength     to     look     upon     him     again     as     great     rusted     helmet     shifts     upon     his     shoulders.     some     twisted     effigy     of     worn     muscle     and     smock     adorned     soaked     ---     soaked     with     gore     of     the     innocent.     𝐈     𝐖𝐀𝐒     𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃,     𝐎’     𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑     𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄     𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘!     no     more     worthy     to     wield     his     blade     than     any     other,     yet     grips     the     hilt     tight.     a     lifeline,     the     thing     to     keep     him     in     place.     some     final     strand     of     his     duty     remained     tied     deep     and     pulled     taut.     straining     to     keep     in     place     the     final     tether     of     who     and     what     he     is,     what     he     was     made     to     be     when   shaped     by     her     hand     long     ago.     and     yet...     𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓     𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄,     𝐈     𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓     𝐕𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄.     the     sickening     sound     of     his     suffering,     the     ichor     of     hysteria     and     delusion     that     seeps     deep     within     and     runs     beneath     paled     skin.     a     passage     spoken     by     another,     whose     face     he     could     not     recall     but     the     words     rang     out     without     hesitation     in     his     mind     :         “  I     could     recognize     him     by     touch     alone,     by     smell;     I     would     know     him     blind,     by     the     way     his     breaths     came     and     his     feet     struck     the     earth.     I     would     know     him     in     death,     at     the     end     of     the     world.  ”           and     how     odd     it     was     to     be     seemingly     haunted     by     the     memory     of     another,     was     it     some     divine     plan     in     the     making     that     he     would     have     bayed     to     be     within     his     presence     once     more?     𝙷𝙴     𝙼𝙾𝚄𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳     𝙷𝙸𝙼.     𝙷𝙴     𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳     𝙵𝙾𝚁     𝙷𝙸𝚂     𝚁𝙴𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙽.     𝙷𝙴     𝙽𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴𝙳     𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳𝚂     𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼     𝙴𝙾𝙽𝚂     𝙰𝙶𝙾     𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃     𝙸𝙽     𝙷𝙸𝚂     𝚆𝙰𝙺𝙴.

                         𝑎𝑛𝑑     𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛     𝑖𝑠     𝑎     𝑚𝑎𝑛     𝑛𝑜     𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟     𝑎     𝑚𝑎𝑛?     what     made     him     change     so     abruptly?     there     was     truly     nothing     special     of     him,     nothing     that     the     fallen     one     had     not     seen     before.     his     voice     soothes     like     some     sweeping     kiss     of     waves     upon     shore,     familiar     and     warm.     shoulders     shake,     o’     atlas     do     not     forget     your     purpose.     he     was     not     built     to    seek     the     comfort     of     some     mutual     mourning     and     desperation,     he     was     not     made     for     him     ---     [     WAS     HE?     ]     but     if     he     wasn’t,     then     why     did     be     feel     a     part     of     himself     returned,     born     anew     in     this     place.     grief     struck     as     it     always     had,     strong     like     a     blade     in     ribcage     causing     the     coiling     of     fingers     upon     the     blade’s     handle     once     more.    

Q     :     WHY     ARE     YOU     HERE?

❛     𝙸     𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴     ...     𝙵𝙰𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙳     𝙼𝚈     𝙳𝙸𝚅𝙸𝙽𝙴     𝚃𝙰𝚂𝙺,     𝙸     𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴     𝙵𝙰𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙳     𝚈𝙾𝚄.     𝙸     𝙼𝚄𝚂𝚃     𝙰𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙴.     ❜

𝐶𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐺     𝑇𝑂     𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇     𝑌𝑂𝑈     𝐾𝑁𝑂𝑊,     𝑆𝑂𝑀𝐸     𝐹𝐼𝑁𝐴𝐿     𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑂𝐹     𝐷𝐼𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐼𝑇𝑌,     𝐿𝐸𝑆𝑇     𝑌𝑂𝑈     𝐵𝐸     𝐿𝑂𝑆𝑇     𝐶𝑂𝑀𝑃𝐿𝐸𝑇𝐸𝐿𝑌.     was     this     some     sort     of     test     of     faith?     to     atone     for     the     sins     he     wrought     unknowingly?     and     how     cruel,     how     cross     his     mother     must     be     to     wound     him     so.     a     hand     outstretched,     temptation     felt     anew     like     he’d     never     known     it     before.     a     test     before     him,     the     line     between     eternal     peace     and     torment     :     if     he     were     to     be     damned     for     taking     his     hand     ...

Q     :     ARE     YOU     DYING?

❛     𝙸     𝙲𝚁𝙰𝚅𝙴     𝙼𝚈     𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶     𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃     ...     𝙸     𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚃     𝙱𝙴     𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁     𝙹𝚄𝙳𝙶𝙴,     𝚂𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙳.     𝙸     𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚃     𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚁     𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁     𝚆𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃     𝙰𝙽𝚈     𝙻𝙾𝙽𝙶𝙴𝚁.     𝙸     𝙰𝙼     𝙰𝙽     𝚄𝙽𝚆𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷𝚈     𝙹𝚄𝙳𝙶𝙴.     ❜

𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑊𝐻𝐸𝑁     𝐻𝐴𝑆     𝑆𝑈𝐶𝐻     𝐶𝐿𝐸𝐴𝑅     𝑈𝑁𝐷𝐸𝑅𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺     𝐵𝐿𝑂𝑂𝑀𝐸𝐷     𝐵𝐸𝑇𝑊𝐸𝐸𝑁     𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑀?     felt     like     a     gift     to     speak     to     him     now     with   such     clarity,     in     spite     of     the     exhaustion     that     wracks     him.     looks     to     that     hand     awaiting     and     feels     a     tug     of     something     else,     fingers     of     one     gloved     hand     relinquish     the     blade’s     hilt     and     slowly,     almost     hesitantly,     reach     out.     clothed     digits     twitch,     stuttering     as     they     always     did,     before     he     gives     pause.     the     words     that     lingered     on     his     own     mind,     spoken     by     his     other.

                     ‘     i’m    sorry     ’     ?     no     ...     no,     no.     ---

𝑎𝑛𝑑     𝑖𝑡     𝑤𝑎𝑠     𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑛     𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡     ℎ𝑒     𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒𝑑     ℎ𝑜𝑤     𝑗𝑎𝑚𝑒𝑠     ℎ𝑎𝑑     𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑑     ℎ𝑖𝑚     𝑖𝑛     𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒     𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑡𝑙𝑒     𝑏𝑢𝑡     𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑡𝑒     𝑤𝑎𝑦,     some     miniscule     shift     in     his     divinity     that     quietly     made     room     for     something     foreign.     digits     brush     along     the     skin     of     his     palm     with     gentle     intrigue,     showing     clear     as     day     that     the     behemoth     knew     kindness     to     some     caliber,     knew     how     fragile     life     was.     silently     committing     to     memory     the     feeling     of     touching     another     who     understood     ---     and     who     he     understood     in     kind.     for     once,     his     grip     was     not     lethal,     there     was     no     hallowed     meaning     to     his     being.     writhing     in     sin     with     his     other,     the     one     who     broke     and     remade     him     anew     with     flawed     human     mind.     some     sickened     satisfaction     at     the     confirmation     that     he     was     no     illusion     :     [     𝐈     𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     𝐇𝐈𝐌,     𝐈     𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖     𝐇𝐈𝐌     ]                         once     more,     the     thought     returns     to     his     mind     :     𝐈𝐅     𝐈     𝐀𝐌     𝐓𝐎     𝐁𝐄     𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃     𝐅𝐎𝐑     𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆     𝐇𝐈𝐒     𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃     ...     𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍     𝐒𝐎     𝐁𝐄     𝐈𝐓.     𝐈𝐅     𝐈     𝐀𝐌     𝐓𝐎     𝐁𝐄     𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍𝐄𝐃     𝐅𝐎𝐑     𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆     𝐇𝐈𝐌,     𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍     𝐈     𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃     𝐃𝐀𝐌𝐍     𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅     𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘     𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄.     a     silent     sort     of     understanding,     the     cord     ‘tween     divinity     snapped     as     he     releases     the     blade     and     grips     his     hand     ---     carefully.     tender     solidarity     built     between     while     he     remains     upon     bended     knees     before     him.     a     new     kind     of     religion     the     executioner     would     choose.     lapses     to     the     illusions     if     he     must,     he     would     choose     hell     a     thousand     times     if     it     meant     he’d     be     within     his     presence     again.     no     matter     how     his     weighted     guilt     tore     upon     him.     a     low     voice     that     slinks     out,     dripping     with     as     much     softened     anguish     as     any     could     bear.    

❛     𝙰𝚂     𝙰𝙼     𝙸 ...     ❜

[executionrr]

did you own a justine florbelle blog? where's she at, if so?

nah I never had a justine blog. I do have a Alois Racine blog, and a fun little AU in mind for Justine and the three suitors, but I never actually made a blog for her.

[executionrr]

when   i    hold    your   face    in    front   of    me    /    i've    known   you    all    my   life    /    i    can    see   you    miles    away   /    i    can   see    you    miles   away    /    i    can    see   you    only

[executionrr]

@guiltridden​     corrupted     executioner     starter.

𝑊𝐻𝐴𝑇     𝐶𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷     𝐵𝐸     𝐺𝐴𝐼𝑁𝐸𝐷     𝐹𝑅𝑂𝑀     𝐴𝑁     𝐸𝑁𝐷     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝑇𝐻𝐼𝑆?     ----     the     red     god     can’t     help     but     wonder.     some     sort     of     tireless     hunger     wracks     this     place     but     an     angel     so     too     needs     rest.     stumbled     upon     bended     knee,     keeping     only     upright     by     the     will     of     the     grip     upon     great     blade.     and     o’     how     his     muscles     shake,     tremors     so     light     and     tender     you     may     miss     them     if     you     weren’t     looking.     the     sounds     that     erupt     from     his     form     no     longer     forged     in     some     fire     of     screaming     metal     and     divine     wrath.     𝑯𝑬     𝑰𝑺     𝑭𝑨𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑵!     𝑯𝑬     𝑰𝑺     𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑵!     hollow     breathing     accompanied     by     some     uncharacteristically     wounded     noises,     bellowing     low     cries     of     metal     and     detestation     of     the     weight     that     breaks     his     bow,     shakes     the     form     of     his     entire     being.                          𝚘’     𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕     𝚘𝚏     𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚜𝚘𝚗     𝚑𝚞𝚎,     𝚢𝚘𝚞     𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎     𝚊𝚕𝚕     𝚋𝚞𝚝     𝚠𝚑𝚘     𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚜     𝚢𝚘𝚞?     and     there     he     is,     standing     before     him.     perception     lacking     in     how     long     it     took     the     creature     to     recognize     his     “other”     [     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒    𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍,     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒     𝐑𝐄𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐓,     𝐈𝐓     𝐈𝐒     𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄     𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄     𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄     𝐓𝐎     𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐑     ]     quick     but     minute     movement     of     his     great     red     helmet     would     suggest     he     sees     him.     an     attempt     to     stand     quickly     snapped     at     the     heels     of     by     the     weighted     reminder     of     exhaustion     upon     him.     the     tremble     of     his     towering     form,     a     look     unfitting     for     a     god.     and     so     too     does     he     turn     away,     soured     by     the     thought     that     this     realm     further     twists     at     him     by     using     another     to     bait     his     ache     for     redemption.

❛     𝚆𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳     𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶     ...     𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁     𝙸𝙻𝙻𝚄𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂     𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙾𝚃     𝙵𝙾𝙾𝙻     𝙼𝙴,     𝙷𝙴     𝙸𝚂     𝙶𝙾𝙽𝙴.     𝙷𝙴     𝚆𝙰𝚂     𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙳     𝚃𝙾     𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃     𝙱𝚈     𝙼𝚈     𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙳𝚂,     𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁     𝙸𝙽     𝚃𝙷𝙴     𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙲𝙴     𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃     𝙸𝚂     𝚂𝙸𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃.     ❜

𝐶𝐴𝑁𝑁𝑂𝑇     𝐿𝑂𝑂𝐾     𝑇𝑂     𝐻𝐼𝑀     𝐼𝑁     𝑆𝑈𝐶𝐻     𝐴     𝑆𝑇𝐴𝑇𝐸,     even     if     those     eyes     were     merely     an     illusion     of     him.     what     recognition     could     be     found     in     a     place     like     this,     no     redemption,     no     rest.     the     creature     that     crawled     to     him     with     intent     baying     for     savior     and     executioner.     a     passage     he     remembers     in     all     his     eons     that     speaks     their     bond     clearly     :     [     𝐇𝐄'𝐒     𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄     𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅     𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍     𝐈     𝐀𝐌     ]                                             𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒈𝒖𝒔𝒕     𝒂𝒏𝒅     𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒎𝒆     he     wears     like     barbed     circlet     atop     that     crown     at     the     mere     thought     he     would     be     seen     like     this.     understood     now     more     than     ever     what     it     truly     meant     to     regret,     to     be     plagued     with     a     guilt     and     wrath     he     couldn’t     articulate.     holy     apostle,     holy     no     more,     divine     creature     snagged     in     a     snare     and     wrapped     lovingly     in     the     arms     of     despair     and     barbed     wire.     skin     torn,     muscles     quiver     with     every     movement     he     attempts.     𝐇𝐄     𝐈𝐒     𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃.     𝐇𝐄     𝐈𝐒     𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃.     it     speaks     like     a     cry     in     the     dark     from     some     worn     creature,     silent     in     tone     but     howling     as     loud     as     his     rattling     roars     with     how     he     stumbles.     in     a     voice     hardly     sounding     like     it     should     belong     to     such     a     creature,     it     pleas     :

❛           𝙱𝙴     𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈,     𝙱𝙴     𝙰𝚆𝙰𝚈     𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼     𝙼𝙴...     ❜

[executionrr]

i.     HELP ME FAITH !

playlist for james    &    pyramid head.

[executionrr]

𝚃𝙷𝙴   𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳   𝙼𝙰𝙽 :

𝙾𝙵  𝙰𝙻𝙻  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂  𝙷𝙴'𝚂  𝙱𝙴𝙴𝙽  𝙿𝚁𝙸𝚅𝚈  𝚃𝙾  thus  far,     all  the  flesh - like  twisted  mockeries  of  human  beings,     this  [ 𝙍𝙀𝘿  𝘿𝙀𝙈𝙊𝙉 ]  struck  fear  into  his  heart  the  most.     Its  strength  was  uncanny  .  .  .  and  James  knew  this  was  the  end.      The  endeavor  of  finding  again  what  he’d  LOST  was  cut  short  so  pitifully  he  could  weep  at  his  own  failure  as  this  CREATURE  sapped  hope  from  his  dying  body.      𝙸  𝙲𝙰𝙽'𝚃  𝙳𝙾  𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶.     𝙸  𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁  𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳.      As  if  reacting  to  his  own  defeat  the  RED  PYRAMID  emits  a  metallic  rattle  like  roars  of  thunder  from  the  darkness  that  encompassed  them  both  —  As  if  James’  pleas  were  MADDENING.

𝙎𝙝𝙞𝙩.     He’s  wanted  this  for  so  long.     When  consciousness  woke  him  at  the  small  hours  of  a  fitful   ’ sleep ’   tears  STUNG  his  eyes,    tired  mind  begging  to  be  relieved  of  life.     𝚆𝙷𝚈  𝙸𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝙷𝙰𝙿𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝙽𝙾𝚆?      𝚆𝙷𝙴𝙽  𝙸  𝙰𝙼  𝚂𝙾  𝙲𝙻𝙾𝚂𝙴  𝚃𝙾  𝙵𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙶  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙼𝙰𝚁𝚈,    𝙸𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂  𝚆𝙷𝚈  𝚈𝙾𝚄  𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃  𝙼𝙴  𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴?     No.     No  he  can’t  give  up  now.     Since  her  passing  three  abysmal  years  ago  the  serenity  of  death  was  a  welcomed  notion  but  since  stepping  foot  into  the  nightmare  that  was  Silent  Hill  the  DESPERATION  within  an  eager,    delusional  heart  kickstarted  his  survival  instinct.

He  pried  at  the  thing’s  hands,    thrashing  with  more  ferocity  like  prey  in  the  MAW  of  an  𝙖𝙥𝙚𝙭 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙤𝙧.     The  more  James  fought  its  threatening  aura  the  more  it  brayed.     And  yet  .  .  .  That  gruesome  BLADE  rusted  and  bloodied  .  .  .  Lugged  with  such  purpose.     Violent  and  impeccable  simultaneously.     If  death  is  what  it  had  planned  for  James;    Why  not  SEVER  him  in  two?      𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴  𝙼𝙴  𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝙼𝚈  𝚂𝙸𝙽𝚂.     No !!     Grimacing  and  afraid  of  his  own  thoughts  James  tried  to  shed  his  self - loathing  without  succession.     Was  it  .  .  .  appointing  its  hatred  upon  him?           Felt  unlike  anything.     Inhuman  anger  twisting  like  a  knife  buried  to  the  hilt  in  his  center.     No  living  person  was  meant  to  witness  immeasurable  RAGE  such  as  this.     James  could  barely  stand  it;    That  drive  to  survive  drowning  in  the  Pyramid  Head’s  RANCOR.     And  then  it  spoke  to  him  —  Unhallowed  whispers  that  sent  a  chill  down  his  spine. [ 𝙔𝙊𝙐  𝘼𝙍𝙀  𝘼  𝙇𝙄𝘼𝙍 ].     His  eyes  widen  with  shock.     It  can  fucking  talk  too ??     No,    it,   that  voice  .  .  .  𝙸𝚂  𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃  𝙼𝚈  𝙾𝚆𝙽  𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴?     It  reverberated  within  the  confines  of  his  skull  like  a  DEATH  KNELL.     James  knew  then  that  it  was  no  demon.     It  was  here  to  exact  vengeance  of  some  sort.     𝘼𝙉  𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙇  𝙊𝙁  𝘿𝙀𝘼𝙏𝙃.     ❛ You’re  right  .  .  . ❜     He  choked.     ❛ YOU’RE  RIGHT !!     I  ADMIT  IT !!     I  am  a  liar,    a  goddamn  liar  and  a  scar  on  the  world,    so  end  me  already  !!     Mary,    if  you  can  hear  me,    I  .  .  .  I’M  SORRY.     I  never  deserved  you.    In  my  end,    I  hope  you  find  peace. ❜     James  released  his  grip  from  the  Angel’s  hands,    his  body  shaken  but  still.     And  despite  the  tightness  around  his  throat  he  tried  his  damnedest  to  articulate.     ❛ Come  on,     Pyramid  Head.     Take  me  with  you.     Make  my  suffering  last  forever  for  what  I  did. ❜

𝑇𝑊𝑂     𝐶𝑂𝑁𝐹𝐿𝐼𝐶𝑇𝐼𝑁𝐺     𝐸𝑋𝑇𝑅𝐸𝑀𝐸𝑆     𝑇𝐸𝐴𝑅     𝑈𝑃𝑂𝑁     𝐻𝐼𝑀,     a     mind     split     in     half     and     he     bears     them     both     to     him     and     with     him.     o’     mirrored     one,     o’     crimson     god,     to     contend     with     the     waves     of     lust     for     a     simple     end,     and     the     hope     for     something     like     mercy.     what     suffering     wrought     from     the     mind     of     a     man     could     break     down     a     creature     of     his     ilk?     voice     cuts     the     shroud     between     them,     a     grasping     hand,     a     blade     in     the     dark.     his     cruelty     knew     no     bounds,     but     do     not     mistake     his     intentions.     for     He     was     a     creature     acting     upon     some     holy     deeds     bestowed     upon     him     long     ago.                                                                     some     hesitation,     like     he     may     have     seen     a     flicker     in     those     eyes.     recognition     perhaps     of     what     this     was,     but     always     and     for     eternity     must     the     red     god     remain     outside,     a     wall     between     them     shattered,     unrelenting     in     this     constant     state     of     perturbation     and     yet     he     falters     for     a     moment     at     the     hands     of     mortal     sin.     𝐒𝐎     𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒     𝐈𝐒     𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓     𝐈𝐓     𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓     𝐓𝐎     𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅     𝐈𝐍     𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑,     some     vile     opposite     of     infatuation     that     loops     around     again.     obsession     in     its     purest     form     reflected     back,     loses     the     lines     of     himself     that     he     fumbles     for     with     gloved     hands.     fog     betrays     him,     his     own     realm     at     his     will     and     yet     he     commands     himself     too     well.     𝚝𝚑𝚎     𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚝     𝚑𝚎     𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚎     ...     𝚠𝚊𝚜     𝚒𝚝     𝚑𝚒𝚜?     ----     𝑵𝑶 !

𝑊𝑅𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷     𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸     𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇     𝐶𝑅𝐼𝐸𝑆     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑃𝑈𝑁𝐼𝑆𝐻𝑀𝐸𝑁𝑇,     warps     his     mind     until     he     is     lost     in     him.     𝐇𝐄     𝐀𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒     𝐇𝐈𝐌,     𝐇𝐄     𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐒     𝐅𝐎𝐑     𝐇𝐈𝐌,     𝐇𝐄     𝐀𝐁𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒     𝐇𝐈𝐌.     all     the     meanings     of     this     world,     the   things     that     remain     in     his     mind,     coalesce     into     a     reality     here     that     even     the     red     god     loses     himself     in.     ne’er     would     a     saint     ask     a     sinner     :     𝐻𝑂𝑊     𝑃𝑂𝑊𝐸𝑅𝐹𝑈𝐿     𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅     𝑆𝐼𝑁     𝐼𝑆     𝑇𝐻𝐴𝑇     𝐼𝑇     𝑊𝑂𝑈𝐿𝐷     𝐵𝐸     𝐻𝐸𝐴𝐷𝑌     𝐸𝑁𝑂𝑈𝐺𝐻     𝑇𝑂     𝑀𝐴𝐾𝐸     𝑀𝐸     𝐹𝑈𝑀𝐵𝐿𝐸.     he     prays     for     his     end,     he     begs     for     it,     his     relinquished     future     in     his     hands     and     the     red     god     could     end     him     so     easy.     but     it     was     not     his     job     to     supply     something     as     such     before     he     was     prepared.     a     quirk     of     great     helmet     upon     his     head     ne’er     gives     way     to     the     dark     beneath,     great     confliction     upon     him     as     though     considering     it     in     spite     of     his     duties     ---     just     for     the     sake     of     rest,     for     the     sake     of     being     free     from     this     ---     𝙽𝙾     !     𝙽𝙾     !     𝙽𝙾     !                                             𝑓𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑖𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑦     𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑     𝑜𝑛𝑐𝑒     𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒     𝑖𝑛     𝐻𝐼𝑀,     the     mirror     losing     himself.     and     angels     would     damn     themselves     for     sunderland     sooner     than     silent     hill     would     reappear     as     the     town     it     did     before     to     him.     [     𝙸     𝙰𝙼     𝙽𝙾𝚃     𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴     𝚈𝙾𝚄     ]    such     vitriol     aching    and     dipping     from    within     and     he    snaps     his     hand    back     from     the    man’s     windpipe.     relenting     only     by     virtue     of     pitted     revulsion     that     forms     in     his     core.     a     drop     of     blood     in     the     water,     minute    ...     but     lingering.     spreading.     𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄.     𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄.     was    it     an     order    to     himself     or    silently     stated     to    the     creature     before    him     baying     for    judgement?     disgust    dripping     from     tone    and     movements     (    as     jagged     as    they     are     )    as     he     continues...

❛     ...     𝙽𝙾 .     ❜

𝑇𝑈𝑅𝑁𝑆     𝐴𝑊𝐴𝑌     𝐴𝑆     𝐼𝐹     𝑇𝑂     𝐿𝐸𝐴𝑉𝐸     𝐻𝐼𝑀     𝑇𝑂     𝑅𝑂𝑇,    hulking     figure     moving    slow     and     uneasy.    reflection     of     the    weight     his     “other”    carries     upon     those     shoulders.     cry    of     metal     is    nothing     compared     to    the     heady     weight    of     the     voice    of     the     executioner.

    𝐋𝐎𝐖.     𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆.     𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍.     𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆     𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐈𝐍     𝐓𝐇𝐄     𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊     𝐇𝐄     𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃     𝐁𝐄,     uncaring     what     the     mortal     did     now.     this     place     would     show     him     the     way,     his     fog,     his     illusions...

❛     𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷     𝚃𝙾𝙾     ...     𝙼𝚄𝚂𝚃     𝙱𝙴     𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙽𝙴𝙳 .     ❜

𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐈     𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋     𝐁𝐄     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑     𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑,     𝐎     𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃     𝐌𝐀𝐍!     𝐅𝐄𝐀𝐑     𝐍𝐎𝐓!     𝐈𝐍     𝐌𝐄,     𝐘𝐎𝐔     𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋     𝐁𝐄     𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃.     unheard     promise     that     would     ne’er     leave     his     towering     effigy     as     he’s     wrapped     up,     the     two     of     them     swaddled     by     the     fog.

[executionrr]

@guiltridden​​     CONT.

𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅𝐸     𝐻𝐸     𝑊𝐴𝑆,     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐷𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻     𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀𝐸𝐷     𝑂𝑉𝐸𝑅.     and     what     a     beautiful     sight     he     was     ;     the     holy     apostle’s     lamb.     the     vision     to     his     mirror     of     flesh     and     rot.     sunderland     knows     well     the     screaming     of     his     holy     blade     upon     rusted     metal,     and     the     executioner     knows     well     the     lies     written     by     a     mind     too     soured     with     guilt     to     swallow     them     down.     yes,     𝑯𝑬     𝑬𝑿𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑺     𝑭𝑶𝑹     𝑯𝑰𝑴,     𝑯𝑬     𝑳𝑶𝑨𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑺     𝑯𝑰𝑴,     𝑯𝑬     𝑾𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫     𝑵𝑶𝑻     𝑩𝑬,     𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻     𝑯𝑰𝑴.     and     what     a     fickle     thing     it     was,     the     creation     of     this     purgatory     for     him.     the     things     he     suffers     for     him.     the     folly     of     his     actions     was     never     carrying     out     the     tasks,     but     growing     upon     them     into     one.     (     q     ;     does     he     remember     the     feeling     of     his     boot     upon     ribs?     &     how     foolish     does     he     think     him?     would     he     ever     look     into     those     eyes     and     find     recognition?     )                                                                     o’     mother,     i     beseech     thee,     reach     him     ---     reach     him     still     !     what     fate     would     have     it     that     he     was     to     be     the     shrouded     reflection     of     a     man     who     peered     into     himself     and     saw     none     but     a     monster?     what     horrors     he     held     in     that     mind     that     the     red     god     sated     to     lay     to     rest.     𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘     𝐈𝐒     𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄.     stands     there     before     him     awaiting     for     some     kind     of     miracle     in     this   place.     the     mercy     of     a     mother     long     since     borne     and     gone,     sent     to     rot,     ne’er     to     be     seen     again.

𝑂     𝐸𝑋𝐸𝐶𝑈𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅,     𝑅𝐸𝐴𝐷𝑌     𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅     𝐴𝐼𝑀     𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑆𝑇𝑅𝐼𝐾𝐸 !     -----     holds     with     a     vice     grip     while     crushed     beneath     the     weight     of     another     creatures     anguish     –     loathing     --     𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬 !     ...     a     hollow     sort     of     sound,     new     in     its     nature     of     confusion,     searching     for     something     poignant     in     him     and     finding     nothing.     rolls     his     shoulders     as     if     exasperated     in     some     small     way     by     james’     own     rejection     of     this     place,     of     him.                                                                         𝐼’𝐿𝐿     𝐷𝑂     𝐼𝑇     𝐴𝐿𝐿,     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑌𝑂𝑈,     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑌𝑂𝑈 !     𝑊𝑅𝐸𝑇𝐶𝐻𝐸𝐷     𝐶𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝑈𝑅𝐸     𝐼     𝐴𝑀     𝑌𝑂𝑈𝑅     𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑅 !     inhuman     sort     of     noise     crescendos     from     his     breathing     as     he     throws     him     with     such     force     upon     the     floor,     to     watch     him     struggle     once     more     to     those     feet.     𝑌𝑂𝑈     𝑃𝑅𝐴𝑌𝐸𝐷     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑆𝐴𝐿𝑉𝐴𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁,     𝑅𝐸𝐷𝐸𝑀𝑃𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁,        𝐈     𝐀𝐌     𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑     𝐀𝐍𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐑 !

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙺     !     it     echoes     in     his     mind     like     a     reverb     grown     too     powerful     to     bear     ---     the     cause     for     his     erratic     movements     as     he     fumbles     to     recover.     for     he     was     not     the     only     one   to     bear     the     weight     of     those     sins.     he     was     not     alone     in     the     darkness     of     the     place     that     is     silent.      𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒𝐍’𝐓     𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄     𝐈𝐓,     𝐇𝐄     𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒     𝐍𝐎𝐓     𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄     𝐓𝐎     𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑     𝐇𝐈𝐒     𝐒𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐑     𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊     𝐀𝐍𝐃     𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑     𝐀𝐍𝐘𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 !      rage     dripping     from     his     divine     effigy.     with     every     step     he     takes     towards     him,     slow,     intentional,     𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐒𝐇.     and     there     he     looms     o’er     him,     shrouded     in     some     red     light.     reflects     upon     those     words,     that     plea.                                                 let   ...   go. [?]

you     don't     want     that.   ---   you     don't     want     that.   ---   𝐘𝐎𝐔     𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓     𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓     𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 !

𝑇𝑂𝑁𝐸     𝐿𝑂𝑊,     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐺𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐷𝐼𝑁𝐺     𝑀𝐸𝑇𝐴𝐿     𝐼𝑁     𝑃𝑅𝑂𝑇𝐸𝑆𝑇,      in     misery     and     distain     for     how     it's     torn     and     bent.     growing     loud,     crescendoing     like     something     finally     snapping.

❛     𝙻𝙸𝙰𝚁 ,     𝚈𝙾𝚄     𝙰𝚁𝙴     𝙰     𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑹 .     ❜

[executionrr]

stinky

𝐺𝑅𝐴𝐵𝑆     𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑀     𝐵𝑌     𝑇𝐻𝐸     𝑆𝐶𝑅𝑈𝐹𝐹     𝐿𝐼𝐾𝐸     𝐴𝑁     𝑈𝑁𝑅𝑈𝐿𝑌     𝐶𝐴𝑇 &     𝐿𝐼𝐹𝑇𝑆.

❝     WHY     DOES     VALTIEL     ALLOW     YOU     TO     ROAM     FREE?     ...     YOU     CLEARLY     REQUIRE     A     LEASH.     ❞

[executionrr]

“ i can’t take this anymore. ”

prompt.     ( accepting. )

𝐴𝑁𝐷     𝑂𝑁𝐶𝐸     𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸,     𝑂𝑁𝐶𝐸     𝑀𝑂𝑅𝐸     𝐷𝑂     𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑌     𝐹𝐴𝐿𝐿     𝑇𝑂     𝐻𝐼𝑆     𝐽𝑈𝐷𝐺𝐸𝑀𝐸𝑁𝑇 !      give     way     to     the     weight     of     their     sins     that     he     sung     to     fruition     with     some     divine     brutality.     blade     upon     her     flesh     time     and     time     again,     she     fell     ----     no     more     writhing     upon     her     pyre     of     guilt     for     soon     he     would     lay     it     all     to     rest.     there’s     mercy     in     his     movements,     though     one     wouldn’t     be     able     to     tell.                                                                         ‘     ℎ𝑜𝑤     𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠     𝑎     𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒     𝑎𝑚     𝑖      ---     ’     he     thought     ‘     --     𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡     𝑚𝑦     𝑚𝑒𝑟𝑐𝑦     𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑     𝑏𝑒     𝑎𝑛     𝑎𝑐𝑡     𝑜𝑓     𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙𝑡𝑦     𝑖𝑛     𝑡ℎ𝑒     𝑒𝑦𝑒𝑠     𝑜𝑓     𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒     𝑏𝑎𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔     𝑡𝑜     𝑚𝑒?      ’     thankless     as     it     was     satisfying,     though     centuries     of     bearing     the     guilt     of     humanity     was     what     he     was     made     for.     call     to     him     and     he     would     answer     in     the     place     that     is     silent,     but     he     sheds     no     tears     for     those     who     wind     up     beneath     his     blade.     raised     o’er     her     with     two     gloved     hands,     gives     pause     for     some     words     spoken     ---     a     last     brush     of     kindness     offered     to     her     ‘fore     her     sins     were     cleansed     of     this     realm.

❝     I     KNOW.     ❞

𝑃𝐿𝑈𝑁𝐺𝐸     𝐷𝐸𝐸𝑃,     𝑂’     𝐸𝑋𝐸𝐶𝑈𝑇𝐼𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑅!      scrapes     bone     and     viscera     with     holy     weapon,     spouts     vibrant     the     fruits     of     his     labor     and     pools     ‘round     his     heavy     boots.     marking     them     deep,     stained,     like     the     rest     of     him,     with     the     gore     and     sins     of     man’s     folly.     o’     lamb     with     broken     body,     rest     now.     some     tranquility     offered     in     death     was     known     as     he     looks     over     his     work.     it’s     realized,     slowly,     how     tired     a     creature     he     was.     the     ache     in     his     bones     after     judgement,     the     heaving     of     his     breathing     as     he     drags     along     the     weight     of     that     blade.     and     o’     the     tremors     that     shake     the     very     frame     of     a     being     as     powerful     as     he,     the     hesitation     and     stutter     as     though     he     may     give     to     the     restless     weight     that     bears     down     on     his     body.                                                                         𝑂’     𝐺𝑂𝐷,     𝐻𝐼𝑆     𝑀𝑂𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑅,     𝐻𝐸     𝑃𝑅𝐴𝑌𝑆     𝐹𝑂𝑅     𝑅𝐸𝑆𝑇     𝑇𝑂𝑂...

[executionrr]

POINTS.....

❝     YOU     HOPE     TO     DEFEAT     ME     BY…     SIMPLY     …     STANDING     THERE?     LIKE     A     FERAL     LITTLE     MAN?     ...     JAMES.     ❞