ɪ. ʀᴇᴍɪᴛᴛᴇɴᴛ ʀᴏɴᴅᴏ
𓄿: tags/notes . . . obey me, gender neutral mc, mainly Nightbringer focused, forged timelines and descriptions of lacking autonomy. Much older one from a personal drabble challenge
𖤛: synopsis . . . | What matters to the being of Night and scale, to narrate the usurper of a wise sorcerer with bare hands, clawed and unearthly, or to reign in his incomparable veins — and watch your magic from afar?
“How long do you plan to use me?”
The question ringed out into the hollow carapace of a space. A void dimension. A pitch in between all three worlds, opening its bottomless maw once upon a many unnoticed eons. It doesn't bow down to the laws of physics, it doesn't waver in its desired path —it is uncontrollable by all but its own host.
The host in question, Nightbringer —who has puppeteered you right into his palm, once again.
You're tired. And most of all, you've come to realize, utterly helpless. No matter what path you take, you know it's what he had wanted. If you act out of character —conveying a half-truth that is colossally dangerous across both worlds —you're promptly taken back in time with a quiet “tut” in your ear that has become increasingly, gratingly familiar to your senses.
Still, you've yet to see his face, all this time. He speaks in cryptic words, not necessarily malicious —but you know and you can never pretend that you don't know the fact that the being, the father of all demons himself —could easily turn your entire life upside down. You are but a mortal among billions. But are you expendable?
His honeyed words do nothing to quell that deeply rooted fear within you, whenever in one of his rarest moments of gracing you with his unperceivable presence.
Still, your question remains unanswered. After all, you did nothing wrong this time. Everything was going forward, wasn't it? It was a day like any other. You routinely woke up, freshened up and made a hearty breakfast that'd be enough for you and your housemate. As dawn laid into noon and you settled down beside Solomon in an engrossed study session, something hit you.
It wasn't a thought. It wasn't physical, either. It didn't hurt —yet, yet —as you soullessly stood up from within your seat, and flashed Solomon a reassuring smile (“I forgot something in my room, I'll be right back.”), you knew it was from none but your own will when your head turned just briefly by the door, eyes stinging, guts lurching —but there he sat. He sat with his back facing you, unperturbed by the unnatural set of hands that rose you up and away into the fathomless.
Please look at me, you thought to yourself with limbs that disregarded your outputs. Don't let me go again. Not again.
Alas, you were never in control to begin with.
“What a curious question.” Nightbringer finally answers. You sit, but feel nothing underneath that holds your weight. You can't see anything, either. Still, you keep your eyes open: searching. “It sounds more akin to a statement. Quite a bold one, at that..”
“Is it not?” You press on. “Weaving events into your sole ideal. Pulling my existence like a trump card at every opportunity to polish.”
“Such strong distrust. I have to wonder where that harbors from.”
“You don't have to wonder anything but answer one thing. It's not that impossible of a request, that I can assure you.”
“Hehe. How demanding,” as if teasing, a faint warm air hits your cheek —alarmingly gentle, like the soft puff of a breath. “You're smart, [Name]. You've proven that time and time again. I'm sure you already know the answer to that.”
Fine. That is just fine (it's anything but fine.), you can move this one-sided conversation into the inevitable topic of discussion.
“What is it this time, then?” You try to get up —hands momentarily flailing to grasp onto all unseen to your temporarily blind eyes. “Why have you taken me away again? What did I do wrong this time?”
“For now, you've done nothing wrong —”
“I've done nothing wrong,” you parrot, the pitch and bitterness in your voice swirling into one and many unrecognizable things. “Yet you punish me, all the same.”
“......”
For once, without being granted even the grace to observe a face that doesn't exist —you know you've stunned him into silence. It's a pointless triumph. What does your monumental bites matter in the face of a life without autonomy waiting for you behind that sacred door —countless nights gazing, clawing at thoughts and possibilities you can never fight against?
That is what kills you, day by day; to be so inconsequential a existence, that you were never designed to win this —never meant to possibly even fight it—deemed to have not a power of your own. Your ‘power’ lies in your deific, ancestral blood, it lies in a single word and seven marks etched on flesh invisible to the eyes of all except your own to agonize over.
How much longer can you last —ignoring the silent terror that's made home deep in your bones and vertebrae— living with the threat of being tossed into another time again, and knowing you'll be just as helpless as the first time?
“Punish you?” He says, eventually. Quieter. Curious. “I…”
Did he truly think it wouldn't cause you grief? Or is he acting —to set a faux narrative into play?
Still, something shifts in the air.
“I don't care what you think you're doing, Night.” Yes, you simply couldn't be bothered to use that mouthful name. “Not at this point. Not anymore. The first two times were understandable — if vague, still. Now send me back.”
A faint shuffle of cloth. You can feel eyes peering into your soul. Then you focus a little harder, and — a pair of white eyes glow into view, though still obscured in a heavy, dark fog. You almost gasp.
That just makes it — he? — squint at you. You suspect Nightbringer to be smiling right now. How shameless of him, really.
“[Name], [Name], [Name]....” He singsongs, a quiet rhyme. “Despite what you must be thinking of me, I must make it clear that you are not simply a pawn to me. Your happiness is as valuable as mine.” He speaks again, still holding that curious but sure tone.
“That is exactly what someone who thinks of the other as pawn would say. But sure.”
“I've led you this far, [Name]. Do you truly think that if I held such little regard for you, that I wouldn't simply dispose of you at whim?”
“And you think that not doing so makes you any less dangerous?” You scoff. “Whatever. Just send me out of your pocket dimension.”
The being of night hums, tapping a long-nailed finger where their mouth should be. “I must say, this temper of yours is new.” Then, mocking, “no less adorable than the rest of you, of course.”
You stare into the void, exasperated. A quiet chuff of laughter resounds.
You blink — and all is white — a foggy stratosphere you cannot quite identify. Then, you're falling again — just as you had parted your lips to speak.
“I will keep this in mind — apprentice of Solomon.” Nightbringer's voice resounds with a distant lilt. “You need not worry so much. Our goals will always align with one another.”
You're in the kitchen of Purgatory Hall again.
Stumbling briefly against a counter, you clutch your head, then turn around —
“Ah, [Name]!” Solomon's cheery voice carries itself to you, appearing unkempt and…? “Hey, where'd you disappear to?”
“... Would you like to tell me why half the building is destroyed?”
“Aha, that!” He scratches his head. “You see, Beel was dropping by to carry back some desserts Simeon ordered in Barbatos’ name to the demon Lord castle, so I wanted to add a gift of my own.”
“Did you, now..?”
“Beel couldn't help himself and dug into one of them.. He started crying tears and — this — so I'm inclined to believe it was simply that superb.” He chuckles, then, donning a thoughtful expression. “Good thing you left when you did, though. The ground here fell apart in a single go…”
You sigh and look away, gazing out the window and the starry-lit streets. This needlessly complicates the narrative you've survived within.
