Dyrage 1
Summary: Long has Dyrage split off his attachments to the face you wore. As long as he is here, it must be kept that way. His job, at the current moment, is just to question you, to see if you have memories other than the one you have consumed.
(Ooof, been a while huh? Anyways, no clue if I want to make this character canon or not, but he's been on the brain so I wrote about him anyway. And also because these are literally my little brain creations, I can make anything or nothing canon as I wish. So... yeah!)
And in all your gross and pulsating meaty mass, you closed the distance, getting right into his face with the one that haunts his dreams. This part was human, but that's about as far as it goes. Only skin deep.
And yet, there was something in Dyrage that just… hopes that there was something else in there, that you didn't just copy the genetic and memorial make up of a person. That, somehow or another, you were the soul who's face you were. And that, if it's true, then surely there should be more. You were cut off from a bigger mass, from a red deeply red moss that grew on that divine tree.
A tree that made itself a forest out of Dyrage's own home.
"Does Serenity Hill seem familiar to you in any way."
All of this could've been done behind glass or even thousands of feet above, Dyrage knows that, but he, to an extent, also knows this creature. He knows you, and he knows that you have a particular diet. Or, rather, you know what it is he white coats want.
Stubborn. So stubborn that you would rather eat foods that disgust you. You're starving yourself and you don't care.
Dyrage want to pretend he doesn't know why he tries, but he hates lying to himself. Delusions were a color he'd much rather leave far behind him.
You tilted your head then leaned back, the membranes above his head twitching and turning with your every thought.
"Serenity Hill…" you reached both hands high above you, as though you were reaching up for the sun you're never allowed to see, "The village of white peaches and stagnation. The flavor was always stale upon the tongue, no matter how much effort was poured into the yield. And the texture… it was like biting into a ball of moss."
…The face that you wear and the voice that you speak with. He can't speak of purity, he can't say anything about tarnishing, but he wishes you were nothing more than a monstrosity. Back to that flesh being that was simply that, inhuman flesh in a tube. At least then you wouldn't be able to extract things from his most precious memories.
You speak of his home, of those white peaches as though you were actually there.
But that is all he can do. His thoughts are his alone. He can throw any number of insults within and not worry of what will happen outside.
"And where does this memory originate from?" Dyrage had to grip his pen just so nothing shows on his face. The things he has seen and done, he can't falter. He won't falter.
Your torso twisted around with rubber elasticity. You bowed and were back in front of his face once more.
"You should know well where the memory comes from," Bored. Dyrage allowed himself to entertain your request and already you were getting bored of him. Of course. Of course! "I didn't know you to be one to ask redundant questions. Is there something you're hoping for?"
"It's all standard procedure."
"Liar."
"Simply answer the question and I won't lie to you anymore."
"Hmm," you eased back and settled into the wall of flesh that consumes half the room, as though reclining on a sofa, "Well, it's not as though I truly hate lies."
Dyrage knows that. That man, your pet as he's been called, is still alive to this day. Resting from the strain of fusing a strand of yourself into his spine, but resting and alive nonetheless. He remembers the recordings, about how he was fine and that he’ll be back shortly.
That man, Ash, was also full of lies. No matter the face, no matter the authority, he will lie to them if it means he will not be thought about. Like he wants to disappear and not matter to anyone.
"Don't lie anymore for today," you said with a smile that simply didn't belong, "Tomorrow you can lie as much as you like. I want to see them all one day. There's only so many one can wrap themselves around in before they're nothing more than a suffocating bug."
"The question. I’m still waiting for an answer."
"From this one," you pointed to your face, "Serenity Hill comes from the memories of this one. Nothing more, nothing less."
"…are you sure? Nothing beyond… this?"
Was there truly nothing? Nothing within that collective memory? Nothing from when you were nothing more than a part of a red mass nesting in the bark groves? Was your head truly that empty of anything?
"Nothing beyond, you weird little seeker you. I don't hold any other origin point to draw from. I only have one well. A well that I can peek into to gather all your secrets. Though… well, that doesn't matter now does it? My words hold no power to anyone besides you."
Because you are a,
"Monster. You are right to know your position here. Your awareness makes you all the more precious. And as precious of a being you are, you will be kept safe in mind, body and soul."
A soul that belongs to no one else but you. A soul that Dyrage will not recognize. A soul with no hope in it.
"And for that safety, I'm glad," you snuggled in deeper, smiling wider, "surely this status will apply to my extensions, to my other precious limbs?"
To that man. To one who named himself Ash.
"Of course, we can't very well afford to lose such precious things."
"Who's to say what would happen if they were cut from me. I can't very well control the muscle memory within if that were to happen. After all, my priorities have evolved past instincts, but that's not to say they don't exist anymore."
There is a base and it must not be forgotten. Dyrage will never forget the bloody pedestal you built yourself upon. Your interests are odd, but your instincts remain.
"I will keep that in mind."
But such threats have never held power over him anyway. If you don’t have even a single secret regarding your true origins, about that white tree that has sprouted and laid its roots over the roofs and soil of his homeland, then you held little power.
Your words mean nothing. They have to mean nothing. They must continue to mean nothing.