“I don’t remember a lot of things about my youth.” The Batter paused, taking the question into consideration. “Or I just block it out so I don’t have to remember it. But there are nicer things I choose not to forget.”
“It was back in the summer I had just turned 13 and it was my last year of playing in the minor leagues. It was hot. Like summer always was. But even if it was like hell fire temperature outside, the sweat and burn while I played baseball is something I’ve always enjoyed. It made me feel alive and made playing the sport that much more fun to me.”
“I remember being particular about keeping my uniform clean for my debut… Even if my parents or anything weren’t watching. It was the last game of the season, so I wanted to leave an impression there. The next years of my life I’d be preparing for the big leagues, so I had to show my value as a player. I remember how heavy my whole body felt, pacing up to the plate. Gripping the bat so tight I could hear the strain on my gloves. And then I brought it back, and the faceless pitcher threw the ball.”
“If you haven’t played the sport, it’s an impossible feeling to describe. Moving your body with all the force you can must, arms swinging the bat and cutting through the air. And when it connects with the bat you can feel every vibration and the force of the strike. Your power in your hands as the ball is forced into the air with your own human strength. The ball flew out of sight in no time, and I ran as fast as I could. I had barely even gotten a look at it as I started to push off the earth and run the bases. Next thing I knew I was at third base, running for home. No one was stopping me. The ball was already out of the park.”
“It was the first over the fence home run I’d ever hit in my life. And I don’t think I’ll ever forget it. Everyone in the stands was stunned to silence I guess, because no one applauded when I went across the home base. I remember looking at the crowd. Like I said, all I can remember is everyone being faceless. The only one there with a face was that kid… The kid with the red shirt. He was smiling and clapping and looked almost proud.”
The Batter paused, glancing off to the side in silence. It’s obvious by his expression he’s shuffling through his memory, shoulders shrugging slightly as he resumes speaking.
“Now that I think about it I guess he came to all my games. I’ll always remember that smiling kid with the red shirt. He’s in a lot of my memories.”
"I'll ask you one more time, mister man of steel." Standing straight in front of him, he tapped the bat repeatedly into his hand, each soft pat into his palm making the bound general before him flinch. It was almost a pathetic sight, seeing a great powerful man like Dedan entirely at the mercy of another; particularly someone not nearly as high ranked as him. Or nearly as big as him.
"Where are the rest of your men? I was sent here to get information out of you, and I'm not parting until I get it."
They called him the Batter, and he had been given such a title for good reasons. He was an interrogator and a destructive lone working force, tasked with removing enemies out of eyesight and spilling information from those put under his care. And right now was such a case-- sitting in front of him was General Dedan, so commonly known as the Man of Steel for his brute ways. Where others might have feared, the Batter laughed. This was just another day at work for him.
"Fuck you, I'm not telling you anything." The general protested, immediately regretting his choice of words as his captor responded by striking him brutally in the side with his bat. Another bruise to add with the collection it seemed, as the Batter gave him another twisted cruel smile. "If you want to play hard to get, sir, I can play harder." With his statement being said he drove the blunt end of his bat into one of the bruises at his chest from an earlier punching, twisting the wood weapon into the darkened flesh.
"I have an eternity to go at this. And you... You only have until your last breath." The interrogator rose his foot up high and slammed it on the edge of the chair jutting out from between Dedan's spread legs. Pressing the toe of his boot forward, he drove it into his crotch mercilessly while his eyes went wider, his intimidating daze now visible under the curve of his hat. The man was getting some kind of of high off his torture as he removed his foot, pointing the bat forward and raising Dedan's chin.
"Be as stubborn as you want. I will get my information."
[Just a little something on my mind I thought would be cute to write.]
Sitting down in a quiet place he carefully used the sharp point of his burnt claws to open the notebook to the first page, skimming across it slowly. He took in every note and each word written, imagining the text in his mind spoken in the little elsen girl's voice. It was almost soothing to read her work; it was almost as if he had company even though he was sitting alone. Turning another page he slowed down when he came across some lyrics, staring thoughtfully.
Tapping his foot slightly Nicolas could easily imagine a melody with it, his fingers itching to grind a bow across violin strings. Scratching lightly at the edge of the page he left a streak of charcoal-like markings as a thought came to mind. If he couldn't play an instrument there was always other ways to make musical sounds. It started out with a soft hum in his throat, and then he began to sing.
Nic of course didn't consider himself a singer, even if he carried the lyrics in a nice baritone voice. Legs crossed under him with the notebook in his lap, Nic hardly noticed the minutes going by as he sang Miriam's carefully written lyrics to himself until he ran out of pages to read from. After such a thorough reading of the notebook he closed it quietly, smiling to himself. Miriam seemed like a lovely, talented girl. He certainly hoped he could speak to her again beyond looking for lost objects.
He used to be an outstanding Batter. His file had been played many times by the same faithful player who had brought him to the ending again and again. It had gotten to a point where the Batter took a delight in every time the switch was set to off and a new file began. He had become decent friends with the Judge although they still had their disagreements; and overall he had become closest to Zacharie than anyone else. Every file Zacharie greeted him with the same wide smile behind his mask, and always assisted him along the way. Every new file might have been a fresh start, but certain memories simply weren't forgotten. The Batter always knew when he spoke to Zacharie before the Queen wasn't a final goodbye. They'd see each other again in another life, in a new game.
But there was a day everything changed.
A new player started the file, and the game play was different. He didn't visit Zacharie as much this round, and the battles were more frequent. The Batter's deaths were constant, and he was always urged on by a Joker and the saves were less and less. His tired broken body was grinded out until he had reached a rather astounding level 46 before he finally got to reach the Queen and end his file. His final meeting with Zacharie was even brief; there were no time for spare words as he took on the best of equipment and was suited up for his battle.
It all went by smoothly. Being so powerful it took little effort to kill his wife and son for the nth time, but when it came to that room where he got to put everything at rest things did not go as planned. They didn't pick the ending he was so accustomed to. They picked the other ending.
Everything moved and happened so fast that the Batter almost feared this change in script. He had no control over the dialogue he spoke, and he didn't like the cruel look in his human Judge's eyes. The Judge was smirking though, despite the angered detesting look he was giving his former friend. It was almost as if he knew all too well that this ending would take place, and some day he would get back at him. It was as if he knew this day would come and he had simply faked that smile with every encounter until there was this moment. Batter's stomach was in knots.
The Batter wasn't himself any more. His hands were elongated and tipped with sharp edges, his face had changed and was now filled with a number of sharp teeth that bled in his own mouth. This was terrible, this was not his ending. This was not the way it was supposed to be. And then the Judge took his part, initiating the battle without giving the Batter so much as a choice to the matter. It was the way the game was scripted, and it was the way it was going to be.
The fight was pathetic; the Batter was put out of his misery in a matter of minutes. Laying face flat on the floor in a mess of blood, he shifted his head just barely to catch a view of the Judge's backside as he proudly strut away whilst licking his claws clean. The Batter sulked for a moment, and tried to fight it. He didn't want the game to end like this. With what strength he had left he scrapped his claws across the ground beneath him to the point where the code was breaking in great streaks. At this point the Batter's anger was over-powering and consuming him, giving him the strength to rise up to his feet. Much to his surprise Zacharie was standing there close by him, admiring his powerful form.
"You aren't supposed to get back up, friend." He commented as he tossed a piece of Abaddon's meat the creature's way, helping restore his negative hit points. He watched as the monster of a Batter rose up back to life, eyes full of rage as he looked down the path which the Judge had gone. "What do you plan to do now? The game is over now. We can't start anew until you are dead." Which of course wasn't a lie; this was the part where the Batter did not get up, the Judge went on a walk, and everything was restored via the game's mechanics.
"I'm going to kill the Judge."
He said as if it were a solid fact of the matter and he started to step forward with a fresh surge of power in his body. Just as he went to pursue his enemy he felt hands on his thick forearm, tugging at him to keep him from advancing. Looking down he saw Zacharie gripping at his arm, his mask the same as usual while he pleaded for him not to go. "You can't kill him, compadre. We aren't like you-- if we die without it being written, we can't come back with the new game."
The Batter replied with a snarl, his arm shoving full force against Zacharie with his beastly dead eyes narrowed. He needed to kill Judge, and that was final. He wasn't going to let anyone get in his way, not even his long-time friend. His eyes seemed somewhat surprised when he saw Zacharie get back up slowly, drawing a sword out of his bag. Even if he couldn't see his expression, he could feel the regretful aura emanating from the merchant. Shoulders slumping somewhat the man took on a stance, staring at his corrupted friend.
"I didn't want to do this. But I can't let you kill him. Je suis désolé."
Zacharie readied his weapon and ran forward at the twisted form of the Batter, but he had underestimated just how strong his anger had made him. Letting out a loud angered roar the Batter was in front of in a flash, his claws raking right through the middle of Zacharie's body. The merchant was completely frozen, looking down at the long fingers jutting through his stomach and making his sweater stained red. His hands weakly he dropped his sword and looked up at the Batter in horror, blood dripping from the mouth behind the mask. "Friend--"
Before he could finish the Batter was gripping Zacharie's arm in his jaws and brutally ripping it off with a sickening crack of bones and a scream of pain following it. Blood was aplenty as he broke the arm to pieces between his teeth and swallowed, his white eyes on the broken man skewered on his claws. There was no Batter now; just a creature thirsting for blood. Taking Zacharie apart piece by piece while he screamed, it was a brutal display until there was no more left to eat; and only a mask remained in a pile of leftover entrails and blood.
Now that the Batter's belly was full and his tongue was content with the taste of blood, he went on his pursuit of the Judge. But as he began to chase his scent he found nothing, and his rage settled down with his satisfied bloodlust. He had hardly gotten to the next Zone when he stopped searching, staring down at his own feet. No longer blinded by his own anger he began to realize what he had done. Zacharie was dead. There was no save for him, no Joker to spare on a corpse that was in pieces in a number of places. Now that the game was broken he could no longer return; the Batter had ruined everything. Sinking to his knees he suddenly felt sick to himself as reality seeped into his mind.
He had eaten his one and only friend. The pulp in his stomach was what was once the man he had continually looked forward to every game, and he felt... So wrong. The Batter couldn't bear it; he had ended up emptying the contents of his belly into the flowing plastic sea and staggered around on his own two disfigured feet, distraught and broken and even more panicked he couldn't seem to will himself to cry. He had become the very thing he had fought to save the world from, and there was no way to start over again.
The Batter knew he couldn't stay there if he ever wanted to start anew. His claws began tearing into everything he could while the rain notable to the zone began to soak him, as he tried to escape somehow. Perhaps if he was pure again, perhaps if he could go back... His purity and flip of the switch might be able to restore things. It was a small chance, but by all means he would take it. His own fingers bleeding as he clawed more, he finally managed to tear through the game holding the game together and breathed deeply as he stared into the bleak world of black beyond the seams.
It was time to look for a new file, and maybe even start a new game all together. This file was dead to him much like how he felt inside and he wanted no more of it. The Judge would never tolerate his existence, and without Zacharie there was no point in lingering behind. He needed to become pure again and finish the game right. To the Batter he felt it was the only way to atone for committing what he felt was the ultimate sin.
Stepping through the code wall of his file, he looked back one more time to the familiar landscape of the file he knew best. With a whisper he turned his back to it, ready to start anew.
Chewing on the tip of his tongue the Batter stared down at the empty bag in his hands with his blank expression, letting out a soft growl of irritation. He was out of sugar again, and the craving was starting to crawl under his skin. The desire for sweetness, taste, relief, and... flesh. Dropping the bag he began to breathe heavily, his mind seemingly on the blank white color of sugar. White like clouds, white like innocence. White like an elsen's skin.
Tugging at the collar of his undershirt he tried to push away those thoughts and maintain a solid, pure state of mind. But it wasn't working. He kept thinking of the taste of sweet grainy sugar in his mouth, and he tried to rationally focus on the task of obtaining more. The sugar dealer. What was his name? Right, he didn't have a name. He just called him Buddy. A clammy cold chill was running across his arms now and he nervously rubbed at his own skin. He just couldn't get the guy off his mind.
Twisting a little in place, he firmly gripped at the bat he had resting upright in his lap and tried to stop. But the thoughts wouldn't go away. All he could thing about that sugary elsen, who reeked of sweetness and probably had the taste of it all across his skin. In the form of a monster he could probably effortlessly fit his tiny frame into his mouth, lap across his bare body with his tongue, and even suckle on his--
The Batter grunted and pressed his hand against his burning face, trying to shake his head and make the thoughts go away. He could feel the wet drool from his lips and the mess of fangs sticking out from his closed mouth. Why was thinking about this making him hot and bothered? And why was it making him transform? And why did he have a...
Gulping nervously he brought his train of thought to a screeching halt, blacking out the phantom feeling of the elsen going down his throat and squirming in his empty stomach. This was starting to get out of hand, and he quickly rose to his feet with his sweaty palms loose on is bat, pacing in a random direction as fast as he could. He needed to go purify something and clear his damn mind; this was a little ridiculous.
And maybe... find that elsen and pick up some sugar later too.
