Now the time has come to talk of other things, like rage and hope and royal courts. Of vendettas and bards. And why the scales are tipped which way, and what the gods will say.
Cause some things are meant to happen, ordained as if by fate and kept by time.
This timeline was doomed to fail, running all on borrowed time made when the game’s code was unlocked and rearranged. As the win conditions had, technically, once been met, and there was no protocol for such an underhanded method of success, the denizens had given it the chance to see if it could pull itself from the mire and right the wrongs that doomed it in the first place. Perhaps it could have, but the Prince and Bard stayed at odds, and the two of them tore the timeline apart. To the Denizens, it was neither right nor wrong that things happened this way, merely an inevitability.
To restore a proper balance, Abraxas and Hephaestus would require the Witch, the Knight, and the Maid, and for the Prince or Page to rally them. The Page of Hope, however, would have to intervene to give the denizens another option. They couldn’t force the Page’s intervention any more than they could prevent the Prince and Bard from fighting.
Gamzee and a handful of other purples stole onto Eridan’s land. These other purples were ignorant of the history between Gamzee and Eridan, as there was never any reason to tell them. They never asked, it wasn’t important–it wouldn’t change their minds or hearts. Eridan had no business taking his anger out on an entire caste that had nothing to do with their quarrel, and as far as Gamzee was concerned, in so doing, Eridan was as disgraceful as his ancestor. But that was neither here nor there. These other purples were hungry for revenge for their brothers and sisters, and he would allow it.
Ouroboros and Alderbaran sat up, ears pricked when the air turned on in the house. There were scents in the home not meant to be there. As they stood and huffed, Eridan looked up from the file cabinet he was hovering over, and raised a brow.
They rumbled with threats and paced once or twice between the door and Eridan, and he knitted his brows, glancing quickly at the lions before his stare flickered up towards the door.
His lower eyelids pulled tight and he stared hard at the door frame. The seconds ticked by as the lions stood close to Eridan, watching alongside him and breathing out raspy growls on each exhale, until all three pricked their ears when they heard a soft thump.
He pursed his lips and tilted his head, and leaned forward just so, as if to hear better, but his concentration was broken by Jarvis chiming in.
‘Sir, my sensors are detecting activity in the ceiling, moving down the main hall.’
He pushed past his lions to head for the foyer, and Alder and Ouros stayed close at his sides. Someone was in his house. He didn’t know who, or how they got here, or why they broke in, but they would be removed with extreme prejudice. And maybe a little fun. They did break into his office, after all.
“Jarvis, message Basil and alert him. Evacuate staff on the second story.” He assumed it to be bold thieves–certainly not the first thieves to accost his home, but lucky ones in that the lions had been indoors when they breached the walls to his property. Or. Unlucky that they now had to face Eridan.
A gasp, a yell, and a crash of shattered glass later, a few servants can bolting for the grand staircase, yelling for Eridan. He could already hear a couple of others leaving the rooms they were cleaning, but on seeing the first two servants’ hysteria, they ran along with them, confused and panicked and scared.
He pulled his wand from an inner pocket of his vest, and skipped the ritual of tapping the tip of it to his palm. But it was only staff, so he stood upright again, allowing civilians their due upset. They were younger, and not as accustomed to these things as himself and more senior staff members.
They started to run down the stairs, babbling through tears that one of his servants was dead. They yelled for Jarvis to engage security protocols over top of Eridan, who had to take a minute to yell for them to shut up and leave through the nutrition block. A firm hand on one’s back guided them along in the right direction–he didn’t need them shivering behind him and getting in his and the lions’ way and making liabilities of themselves, or getting harmed in whatever crossfire.
“Jarvis, that’s so sad, play Despacito.” He stood upright, arms folded over his chest as electrified roombas slithered out of every conceivable cranny in the hive and swept the upper floor.
When he heard the first squawks, he huffed with a laugh through his smirk. Like bombing fish in a barrel.
“On 'em!” The lions’ claws dug into the rug, and they took off up the staircase, roars echoing off the walls. Eridan started calmly up the steps behind them, ready to be the final nail in these intruders’ coffins for daring tk break into his office.
The first intruder that came snarling out of a room, shrieking at and smashing one of the fortified, ruthless little roombas in the pack giving them chase, was a purple-blooded heathen. Eridan’s smirk vanished, giving way to outrage and shock, instead. He whipped his wand back to position, and a bolt of hope incinerated this one just as hundreds of others before him had been.
He clenched his jaws and snarled through locked teeth. Smoke kicked up around his wand, and a pillar of white rose under him like a platform elevator to rush them upstairs.
“Jarvis, update Basil, evacuate the hive.” He snapped with the authority of a Lieutenant, swiping his wand aside, ready to take aim.
Ouroboros and Alderbaran were charging into the gang running down the hallway.
One shadow streaked down, past everyone else, almost too fast to be seen by the naked eye. Everyone else was a inconsequential. The beasts Eridan had wouldn’t last long, but neither would most of the purples that had to deal with them.
Eridan couldn’t get the last words out before he was snatched up by the throat, but it didn’t matter. Basil, while trying to get the servants out of harms way, had issued the correct protocols and notifications.
Eridan’s teeth gnashed as he was lifted off the floor. His arms were smoking white as he held onto Gamzee’s wrist. He tried to get a good hold with his legs, but his body stopped responding. He only watched, absolutely violet in the face, screaming with obscenities that he couldn’t force past his lips.
“Haha–” That stupid behemoth’s laughter was light and airy as his eyes started to flash–pushed out on the tail end a breath, but still jovial as it was dark.
“What’s the matter, meowbeast got your tongue? Well shit, you better all find it and tell that friend of yours to chill out.”
Alder and Ouros were trying to turn and get back to Eridan–to close ranks and break him free, but the others kept jumping on them and throwing them around. They had no choice but to fight for their own lives and thin the crowd.
Eridan couldn’t feel his body responding to anything he told it. His wand fell to the ground, bouncing with a clatter as Jarvis sent out status updates to certain numbers and digital addresses:
@vwig @archanarchists @huesofjadeharley @violaceousvanity
His body just hung limp, and all he could do was feel himself start to gasp for air. His head started to ache, and at first, he could only see Gamzee staring lazily at him–somewhere in there was a sharp focus he couldn’t place, but it all started to melt away. His head swam, and for a second, his eyes rolled, but he gurgled with a growl and snapped back to try and focus his stare on Gamzee.
“We’re just here for you, bro. Don’t go and make this be harder than what all it’s gotta be about.”
“Jar–vis.” He eked out, whether because he could barely suck down air, and was on his last breaths, or because he couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t tell.
Gamzee, of course, was the whole reason Eridan couldn’t command himself to move and retaliate. The whole reason that, in the crushing grip he had on his throat, Eridan fought to speak. It was almost satisfying that Eridan couldn’t even fight back against him–Vriska could never get a hold of his mind as he just did. Couldn’t render him helpless and aware of it.
Eridan’s arms billowed with white smoke. He was screaming and pleading for his body to move, but he just hung there like a limp noodle.
“Cancel–” Game loosened his grip just enough, pushing Eridan to keep talking. Being able to breathe just a little easier didn’t stop the way his head swam and blanked. “Cancel emergency procedures, disable the transportalizer.”
'Are you sure, sir?’ Jarvis could prompt Eridan, but he couldn’t take matters into his own hands. He wasn’t as independent or developed as programs engineered by some Striders.
'Yes, Sir…’ And the messages cut off. Jarvis stopped responding, and no ports could be made. Basil was alerted to the update in orders, but Eridan had final say. Basil could, however, get access to manually respond to messages.
“Shit, I knew you all had it in that salty motherfuckin’ pusher of yours to think of everyone else!” Gamzee’s smile was too lazy for what was happening, but just like that, his hand tightened again, and there was nothing he could do but watch and panic and scream all alone in his head.
As it got harder to breathe through his esophagus, his body assumed it was submerging, and so the gill plates on his body opened up. Those on his neck tried, but the soft cartilage plates were digging into his throat from being squeezed so tightly, and the crushed filaments were starting to bleed all down Gamzee’s hand.
His gill plates pumped under his shirt, trying desperately to push water over the surface, but there was none to be had.
Gamzee watched eridan’s eyes roll back and heard him sputter and gasp, felt his body involuntarily convulse. His body tried to swap back to breathing thin air, but by that time, his vision was going black and he couldn’t hold on to a single thought–not that he could hold onto anything but 'no,’ 'please,’ 'stop,’ or 'help’ for more than a few shaky seconds. His lungs were on fire, his heart was thudding in his chest, he wanted to throw up and scream to make his throat stop hurting, but all he could do was try, desperately, to squeeze what little air he could down a collapsing windpipe.
His vision went black, and for a few more seconds, his body convulsed going slack, and there was nothing there left for Gamzee to supress or control.
Behind him, the lions had fallen in a pile of reg, violet, and purple. Alder lain under a body with a sleek axe lodged in his skull, and Ouroboros with a few daggers through his ribs, the both of them surrounded by at least a half dozen carcasses.
What purples were left gathered around Gamzee.
“What do we all and do with wicked fish?”
They all cheered all in unison, brandishing their weapons: “off with his head!!”
“You heard em, bro.” Gamzee opened his hand and let the body flop to the floor, Ouros behind him chuffing with a weak wheeze. “WHAT GOES AROUND, MOTHERFUCKIN’ COMES AROUND!”
And like that, one of their blades came down like a guillotine, and they dispersed with the Prince’s head en towe.
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