the foolish | anaxagoras
disclaimer, context - angst. spoilers & added theoretical assumptions (since this was written before the finished entirety of amphoreus arc). taken inspirations from his trailer. quite lengthy…
“The blasphemous shall burn in hell!”
“He shan’t be forgiven, shan’t be allowed to taint the land further!”
The ignorant cries of the fools barely bothered the man who’s sole drive only was for the sake of uncovering the truth. Anaxagoras, it was he who challenged the Titans of this land, the one bold enough to proclaim the falsehoods in their beliefs, the one to criticise their knowledge of the rulings of this world.
To him, those foolish enough to be blinded by inferiority over a higher power, could never uncover the truth of this world they lived in, where humans were ruled over by the twelve Titans of Amphoreus. Thus, he has developed the natural habit to block out all these ignorant fools away from hindering his search.
‘…What a waste of time.’ He scorned their useless chatters and gossip internally, thinking it would be better if they actually used their time for good. He couldn’t care less even when they reported his (in their words,) ‘blasphemous’ behaviours to Kephale’s believers and the authorities, yet he shut them up only for the sake of continuing his research.
Though, it did take him by mild surprise when you had echoed their words similarly one night—when you were next to him, pausing from reading through his scribbled notes to speak,
“Anaxagoras, don’t you think…this has gotten a bit too far…?”
His head whipped to glance at you with his red eyes squinted slightly in displeasure, offended by your audacity to even humour such a thought. It was the first time he actually felt something more than annoyance by the criticisms of others towards his actions. Coming from you, that had been supporting his ideas and helping him progress, he was irritated.
He thought you of all people would understand.
“…Too far? Are you insinuating something, (Y/n)?”
The unfamiliar feelings inside him boiled up from irritation to anger, facing with your unexpected betrayal. His hands slammed on the desk as the research papers flew about, veins popping in his arms while he curled his hands into fists. He spat out in anger, demanding clarification from your bold question when he saw the way your expression morphed from surprise to panic.
“Spit it out, (Y/n)! What are you trying to say? You’re doubting my—,” He cut himself to correct himself, “—no, our findings now?”
Seeing his reaction, you knew you had to clear the heavy air before even convincing him of your point of view. Sweat trickled down your skin in concern as your eyes shifted away to avoid his hardened gaze, a sign of your nervousness. This, however, only worsened Anaxa’s interpretation of your answer whilst he had strong judgemental bias.
“I didn’t mean to negate all our efforts, Anaxagoras, you know that. What I mean to say is…” You couldn’t bear to meet the scorn in his eyes and the hurt expression beneath his angry facade. “…To take it this far…I can’t simply agree to you carelessly throwing away your mortal body, if even for the sake of proving the soul transfer theory.”
He scoffed at your explanation, mistaking your concern for cowardice and insult. He reached for your robe collar, pulling you in with a maddened glint in his red eyes, his judgement clouded by your ‘betrayal’. His lips curled up in a sickened grin, chuckling as he scorned you.
“Ha, careless? Don’t insult me. Our research is the pinnacle of truth—I know for a fact, that this ‘death’ will finally move my conscious through the cycle! There is a sure reward, and that alone justify the risk, (Y/n)!”
Faced by the dramatic change in his usual stoicism, a shrill shiver ran down your spine to see him act out. His grip on your collar was tight enough that the fabric dug into the skin of your neck, nearly choking you. You were forced to see the angered craze in his gaze that now shone with disdain towards you instead of the usual warmth. No words could leave your quivering lips as your heart raced from both fear and concern, while you were forced to listen to his hurtful assumptions.
“And here I truly believed were different than those ignorant fools, but it seems you are just the same. Hell, you are worse than them. For at least those fools actually believe in their false prophecies with conviction, and yet here you are—Years of hypothesising and experiments until we can conclude with enough evidence that we are correct and you still pathetically doubt.”
Shoving your fear for a moment to defend yourself, you tried to calm him down, “A-Anaxagoras! That’s not it, that wasn’t my intention! I’m just…!” You couldn’t even tell him about your true feelings in the argument, since he cut you off coldly before the message could be conveyed.
“I’ve heard enough, (Y/n).” Releasing his grip on your collar with a harsh shove, you stumbled back on your feet as your breath hitched from surprise. His height towered over you as he observed you with a condescending expression, his glare mixed in with hurt from being in disagreement with you. “I should’ve known that I was correct from the start. The pursue of my beloved sister, it doesn’t concern you.”
He ended with a huff before turning on his heel, and you were met with his cold back facing you. Tears stung at your eyelids at being so misunderstood, your concern for his sanity and well-being overshadowed by his accusations. How could he? To lump you in the same category as those other scholars whom you hated just as much, those you hated because of your belief in him and his ideals. Yet even at his cruelty, you couldn’t bring yourself to hate him back, not when you saw the underlying pain beneath his facade.
And it tore you apart to be unable to save the scholar from his pain.
Months pass as Anaxagoras buried himself in his research, his sanity fleeting rapidly towards ruin while he kept perfecting his body—sculpting his skin and bones to be a perfect vessel to host a new soul. He was doing it for his sister, he convinced himself. To bring her back to life—even as Kephale’s followers tied him up at his ankles and wrists above the flames for execution, he was determined to follow through with his mission.
“Anaxagoras!” He heard your distraught cry from the benches, your body desperately pushing through the crowd of people cheering for his death. Arms flailed out as you begged them to call off the execution, with those pathetic tears streaming down your flushed cheeks. “He has done no wrong! Knowledge is free for all!”
He glanced at you from his restrained body above, his eyes still devoid of warmth for you after the ‘supposed’ betrayal. He couldn’t care less that you were defending him and pleading for his freedom, not when his research has built up to this point. The point where he will silence all these ignorant fools down, with his claim,
“This body…has long been tempered to ruin…And to prove that the Titans are inferior to mortals like us, I shall be the one to cheat death and prove the theorem of this world’s limbo!”
Blue flames enveloped him from his hollow chest—enveloping the tainted human body he possessed, burning it before the red flames casted beneath him could even reach the chains. He maintained his cocky smirk even as the smoke of the flames burned the remainder of his lungs, leaning back with his head falling to the side. In the drifting consciousness of his burning body, his hazy eyes landed on you for the last time in this life—seeing the way you screamed out for him, hands reached out in futile as those pretty tears stream down your cheeks. In those last moments, he finally noticed your face was overwhelmed with anguish rather than the contempt he had accused you of.
“Ana—xa—….!” The voices grew fainter as he felt the life dissipating out of his form, until all he saw was black in a long slumber.
But he was Anaxagoras, the blasphemer.
He awakens in the nether realm, where souls of the departed sway languidly through the grassy plains. He wasn’t like them, for he had casted away his mortal body for this tampered one that had managed to host his departed soul. From this sea of souls, he was sure he’d be able to find his departed sister’s from his cycle era, yet without a perfect vessel to host her rebirth, it was as good as nothing. His new goal was set; to rebirth his sister in an era where they both could live forward. To do that, he had to first conquer the art of transfusing a dead soul into a perfect living vessel.
And so he spent years, wandering the nether realm and passing through the changing cycles of Amphoreus with his memories conserved through alchemy.
“…Still…imperfect…” He ruined himself through trials of insanity—chasing that perfect vessel of creation of which he was just barely out of reach, every single time. And with each failure, with each shatter of test tube glasses on the floor in his lonely pursuit, even the great Anaxagoras couldn’t help but reminisce over what could have been.
Only now that his mind was clear, he finally understood why she was adamant on stopping the research short. Be it instinct or theories; perhaps she had predicted all along, how maddening this path was.
“…Tch, what a fool.” He directed his words no longer to the girl he had resented for the ‘betrayal’, but to himself. The haunting nightmares of her crying face just before his ‘first’ death like a constant reminder of his sin. It wrecks him, forcing him to feel that yearning urge to see you again.
If only…If only he had rethought it over, and maybe brought her with him through the ever-changing cycles. If only he had made time to understand her concerns. If only he had took the time to actually focus at the living girl too, instead of solely on his deceased sister.
For if he had just realised sooner of this lonely regret—perhaps he would have chosen to end it differently.
Yet he was Anaxagoras, the foolish.