For probably the thousandth time, his eyes rest on Valo from where he's sitting in his corner, back pressed against it and knees pulled up to his chest. It seems whatever book the man has gotten his hands on is intriguing enough for him to not notice the gaze, or perhaps he just doesn't care enough to spare the former musician a single glance.
Slowly does Sielu lower his head, hiding the inevitable onslaught of tears from the rest of the world.
It isn't like he has much to offer in terms of conversation. His voice has less patience for him than even Herba did, so it's probably really stupid to even desire such a thing.
He doesn't know if it's bravery, desperation, selfishness, or pure idiocy that makes him finally cave into something he wants, but if he has to guess it's the looming fear that he'll die without making himself at least somewhat clear.
His days are surely numbered if how horrible and deeply exhausted he feels physically is any indication - it's part of the reason that there now rests a gem of blue on Aamunkoitto's wrist - and really he thinks just needs to tie up his loose ends. Just in case.
He waits until he hears the book close. He wants to believe he still has some decency, even if it feels like an eternity before there's space for him to speak.
"Valo?" he starts, face still buried so at least he won't have to look at whatever disgust may or may not be directed at him. "You'd... at least believe me if I said I'm trying, right? And... that-"
His arms pull his knees closer to his body. He'd had it all planned, yet he feels like he'll be punished somehow. It doesn't matter, he supposes, because he can't in good faith use a tainted phrase towards someone undeserving. He simply has to speak Misterican again, despite the fact it feels strange on his tongue after so long, like it's been banned because it has.
"That... rakastan sinua. You believe that, right?"
·:¨༺ ✩★✩ ༻¨:·. The sound of his voice never gets any easier and it's not because the historian doesn't want to hear it. It's because he can't begin to imagine the pain that his friend is in and has been in for only the Celestial Mother knows how long. He can't begin to imagine what was done to him or what he's been through and he doesn't feel like he's been empathizing that well enough. He doesn't know how.
Everything he says and does brings a foul look into blue eyes and it only makes mint green sink to the floor wondering how he's supposed to reach him when there are so many walls around the musician's heart. It feels as though whatever or whoever put Sielu in this position has full control over his body and heart. No matter what he says, his words don't reach him.
They get twisted somewhere along the way like an invisible translator that warps the Misterican of orange's words into some vile message he didn't even say. He may as well just be blowing his mist in the man's face every time he opens his mouth. Even if his mask remains firmly on the effects of it's power still seem to be felt.
Sielu won't set in chairs with them. He won't sleep in the bed with them and he won't allow them any where close enough to touch him. It's all so concerning. He wants nothing more than to help his friend so, his eyes are rising in the direction of the small scratchy sounding voice the very second his name is spoken.
He wants to know if he believes him. He wants to know if he believes that the man of the ocean waves is trying and that the musician still loves him. He wants to know if he believes and the historian and feel his heart shatter in his chest at the very notion. His eyes downcast as his brows upturn and the man of orange is doing the only thing he can think to do in that moment - all while wondering if he's just about to make it worse.
He has to try. For Sielu, he has to try whatever he possibly can.
He needs the man to know that his heart swells for him. He needs the man to know that what he sees before him is someone still worthy of all the love in the world. A blessing even. A blessing that the Celestial Mother managed to protect his life so that he could survive and they could find their ways back to each other.
After everything they've been through and all they've experienced. They survived and they found each other again. That was all that mattered. They were here in this moment, together again after all this time. Celestial Mother be blessed. Being able to see those blue eyes again made it all worth it.
Does he know how much of a blessing he was?
Precious like a treasure. Beloved and cherished. He would do whatever he needed to in order to protect that man. To make sure he never needed to suffer again. Even if the man continued to reject him and refused to believe their own words of affection.
"Yes, I believe you." He sounds resisting the urge to speak in a much more familiar tongue as the historian allows his form to lower down to the floor so he can set at the same level just before the musician. He's careful not to slide into a tongue much more comfortable despite both of them knowing it since birth. He's taken notice to the way it makes the other's skin crawl and the way he shifts uncomfortably when it is spoken.
Who harmed you so thoroughly they ripped your heritage right out of you? Of all the Mistericans I knew you were the most proud of who you once were.
No matter, I'll love you as you are now.
"I know you're trying, Sielu. I see it in you every day and I see it in you right now. You can speak with me any time you like, my friend."
Mint green keeps staring down at his lap as he finds it difficult to look up at ocean blue if only because he doesn't want to upset the man further than he already is. He doesn't want to fumble the wind with him now as he seems to keep doing over and over in all these past weeks.
"I know you do, Sielu. I know you mean that, when you say it. I would never dare question those words from you. I know you never speak them lightly. I just - "
He's sighing again as the hands folded in his nap start to push against themselves and the historian finds himself picking at his nails as he does so.
" - I see all your efforts my friend and I understand that it is going to be some time before you feel comfortable again. I acknowledge that you have had events occur I cannot even begin to imagine. I am sorry for that. Both in sympathy for what you have experienced and in sorrow for my complete lack of understanding. I apologize for any discomfort and trouble I might have caused you. I have not been a very good friend to you Sielu and for that you have my sincerest apologies."
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He doesn't understand why his hair is getting stroked so lovingly but he also doesn't know why he's finding it so hard to pull away. There is a small hand brushing through white locks over and over and he doesn't quite know how he ended up leaning his head up on His Excellency’s chair like some kind of lounging cat but here he is doing just that nonetheless.
His stomach twists in disgust as he realizes the true stakes of the situation and now if he moves wrong that hand in his hair will turn into a variable claw in the matter of a few moments. He hates how he can't remember ever laying down like this and quite frankly he can't remember waking up this morning either.
It's becoming more and more frequent in recent days. He's missing entire chunks of time and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. He's missing chunks of time and he can't remember when was the last time His Excellency killed him. Somehow this seems like more of a bad thing than a good thing for as strange as that sounds. Shouldn't one want to be spared the pain of death? Well yes, and of course he does too but this also means that when the time comes that he inevitably messes up again, when His Excellency makes a move for punishment it will be the most severe one he's received to date.
He's not stupid. He knows how this game works. Praise and Punishment walk hand in hand with this little beast and right now those same hands are in his hair and he can't move. He can't pull away no matter how much he wants to and he can't even flinch or breathe wrong unless he wants those small but deadly fingers ready to tear snow colored locks right out from his head.
It's always such a wretched sensation.
Nothing is worse than the feeling of his hair being pulled. He hates it. He hates the feeling and he hates the way it makes him feel so vulnerable. How the pain of it will bring him to his knees and have him fighting back the tears at the sensation. You would think one who has died as many times as he has would have more pain tolerance for something seemingly so simple but the sensation of even the root of his hair going taunt is enough to send his nervous system into overdrive.
But what he hates the most is how he can feel himself start purring. He doesn’t know why he does it. He tries to tell himself to stop but he can feel those fingers grow softer as they stroke through snow. The louder he purrs the softer they get and he hates himself for finding so much comfort in the sensation. He hates himself for finding peace in this. He should be running away from this beast as quickly as his body would carry him. He should be fleeing at any chance he gets but instead he allows himself to sink into his place on the arm of this chair as that little monster continues to comb through fluffy spikes with a gentleness that could only be described as care.
That can’t be right.
That’s just not possible, and he hates how many times he feels like he’s had this conversation with himself as of late. The beast does not love him. The demon does not care. The little devil felt nothing for him but yet those lips part and purr out affections of their own.
“You’ve been so well behaved as of late, Precious.” The small emperor sounds as his hand continues to work. “You’ve done your tasks so well. I’m proud of you, my Little Cloud. You’ve been such a good pet. Perhaps you deserve some time out of the castle? I think you’ve earned it.”
He only increases the volume on his purring in response as if doing so will show his gratitude for such a notion but his lips are hanging in a frown behind the thin metal covering his face as the boy of pink continues.
“You can go with Herba the next she leaves.” The Tyrant offers as he finally pulls his hand away and out of the Misterican’s hair. “But when she leaves you know the rules. Her word is as good as my word and you are to do whatever she asks of you. You understand, don’t you Precious?”
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
“That’s my good boy. You’ve become so well behaved. I’m so proud of you, Makenshi.”
His purring only grows louder as those hands return to his hair and he doesn’t know how long he stays like that but it’s long enough that he doesn’t remember falling asleep. Did he fall asleep? He doesn’t know. He does know that he woke in his own quarters the next morning and he was met with Herba throwing her arms over his shoulders to bring him into a very tight and very unwanted hug and she leaned to try to push a kiss to his cheek and he could only lean himself the opposite direction so far to avoid contact.
“Makenshi.”
His name was trumpeted in his direction in a small but authoritative voice and it has the Misterican standing up straight giving this damnable woman the space she needed to push those poison painted lips directly to his cheek even if it was covered in metal. Dull jade is looking forward into the main hall with the entirety of his form tingling to both get away from this woman and get off the ground. The place just above the little demon’s head is calling his name because then he is both in eyesight but at the same time away from this gaggle of absolute morons.
If he could never associate with any of them for the rest of his life ever again, he’s sure he could find a way to be happy. If only Rorahm could finally wake up - but - jade moons downcast at the thought because at this rate his sun would never rise and he was going to be stuck here for the rest of said life. Should he make the most of it? Should he adjust?
No. No. Listen to yourself Makenshi. You’re falling for that monster’s tricks!
But are they tricks?
It’s been too many years and he doesn’t know anymore. He doesn’t remember the sound of his Mother’s voice and he can hardly remember his Father’s face. He tries not to think about them too much because he doesn’t want to get himself all upset and then in turn upset His Excellency. The Tyrant isn’t exactly one to be any form of comforting if he were to simply explain that he was thinking about home. In fact, he doesn’t want that little monster anywhere near anything to do with Misterica in the first place, so it would probably be for the best to simply forget it all anyway. If he can’t remember then the little beast can manipulate it against him.
He can’t seem to remember most things lately anyway.
He can’t remember going to sleep the night before and he hardly can make sense of the morning. He just wants this woman to get off of him but instead she lets herself sink down to wrap her arm around his and lean herself up against him like they were anything that could be considered close - which was comical in his mind when the closest he would like to be to this
woman would be to watch her burn.
Still he just adjusts to the feeling of her hanging off his arm as he focuses his attention on His Excellency instead because the only thing he ever needed to do was to keep the little gremlin happy and as long as he did that he’d keep his head. Why was the beast smiling at him the way he was? He doesn’t like it. It’s making his skin crawl almost as much as the feeling of the plant witch hanging off his arm is.
“Makenshi, I am assigning you to assist Herba today. I expect you two to cooperate while you’re out in the field. Herba knows what needs to be done, so you simply need to follow her lead, and I shouldn’t have to repeat myself with what we discussed yesterday, do I?”
“No, Your Excellency. I remember.” He sounds, raising his free arm to cross it over his chest to give this pink haired abomination a half bow. What he was saying he remembers, he doesn’t know. Quite frankly, he doesn’t even even the day before. Yesterday? He couldn’t tell you. Herba’s face was where his memory picks up and he hates that too because there is something about thinking about yesterday that is turning his stomach but he couldn’t tell you why.
So now they’re returning to that damnable airship and he hates being on it. It’s nauseating and the amount of pollen in the air is enough to make him sick. His stomach is twisting in knots As he takes a seat. He doesn’t feel well but there is the sound of jingling chimes in the air as he looks over to the open deck just to the right of him. Chimes blowing in the wind and it's enough to tell him to just focus on the sound of something pleasant for once as he lays his head down and tells himself to just go back to sleep. She’ll wake him when they get there. She always does.
And he’s sure it’s for something nasty. It always is.
He won’t do it this time though. He’ll never kill again and he doesn’t care how badly His Excellency beats him to death for disobeying orders. He will not stain the Holy Blade with yet more blood of the innocent… He just needs to not think about it and sleep. He’ll fight with her when he wakes up. His Excellency might be able to get the better of him but Herba won’t. He will never let that woman -
“ ‘kenshi-darling? ‘Kenshi-darling, wake up you silly willy. If you told me you were tired, I would have gotten you a blanket, lovely.” She smiles at him with a face that is possibly dripping with more venom than it ever has before. Her smiles are always fake and they turn his stomach, but she is taking him by the hand and he’s letting her. He doesn’t feel like fighting with her.
It’s a quiet town they’ve found themselves in this time. It’s closer to the outer reaches of Wonderland but not quite all the way out. A town that has larger than normal buildings built up and a large building he wonders if it is a church of some kind on the other side of town. She has him by the hand as they walk, and the people of this village don’t seem to be paying them any mind. Children are laughing, the smell of fresh bread is in the air and the city itself seems at peace.
Herba is leaning herself in to cling to his arm as if they were some sort of couple and it is taking everything in him not to shake her off. She just seems to be happy to take a stroll with him and he doesn’t understand what the catch is. Why did His Excellency let him out of the castle if there was nothing wicked for him to do? Why let him just come take in the sights of Wonderland if they didn’t mean for him to cause some kind of havoc?
She’s strolling through the local bazaar with him as his nose catches the smell of sugar and it’s been so long since he has got to eat anything truly sweet. He sniffs once and then again and she’s making an Oooh? Sort of sound that he doesn’t like as she takes him by the hand to lead him towards the source of the scent.
“You like sweets, don’t you, ‘kenshi? I’ll buy you something. I’ll buy you something nice, for how good you’ve been lately. Tell me what you want. Anything and you can have it. We all deserve a little treat every now and then.”
Is she serious? She can’t be.
The Church bell is ringing in the background as she pulls him along. A grin slipping on her lips as she pulls him into the middle of the marketplace, only to look back at the Misterican with bright eyes and a poison purple smile.
“Anything you want, ‘kenshi-darling. Name it, and it’s yours.” She pauses to look towards the church and watches as the streets seem to fill as if the building is emptying further with each chime. “Must be noon.” She sounds returning her gaze to her companion only to watch as a pale hand reaches back towards the hilt of his blade to rock it free with a single click.
“ ‘kenshi-darling?” She sounds but still just continues to watch the man move. The swordsman takes his blade up into his grip and it is held out towards her at length as if extending the tip in her direction. Mist rolls out from behind bared teeth in plumbs when the devil growls. He’s pushing off a foot to take off in a dead lunge in her direction but instead of striking at the object of his absolute hatred, the man of white races past her directly towards that of an older man down the way of the lane of the marketplace and cleaves the poor soul clean in two.
More Mist rolls out from parted pale as his blade is swung to send a flood of white colored energy racing through the stalls like a spark on a wick until it reaches its destination and half the bazaar goes up in a massive explosion. Screams fill the sky as citizens start to scurry and scatter.
“The White Devil!!” They cry. “The White Devil has come for us all!”
Red stains window panes and runs along the cracks of the cobblestone as the carnage continues. The man of snow does not cease his hellsent symphony even as men and women alike fall to their knees to beg for their lives. Their lights are snuffed out regardless. Children struck down with little concern and explosion after explosion brings building of stone tumbling to the ground.
Before long the symphony of sayonara falls silent and the Maestro of the Massacre stands center stage, crimson dripping from the Holy Blade stained with sin once more.
Only one other life remains and a dangerous gaze of dimmed jade is turning to glare daggers at the plant like woman. He’s raising his blade and taking stance to charge her when she merely raises her hand in his direction and snaps her fingers together.
Jade eyes go wide before they start blinking rapidly and soon their owner is looking all around him with horror etching itself into his features. Anger overcomes him as he refocuses on Gaudium’s Lord of Plants and Potions only to scream.
“What did you do?! Answer me! You didn’t have to kill them!”
But he only gets a small laugh in response as she floats over to him to rest just over his shoulders.
“What did I do? I didn’t do anything. You did this, ‘kenshi-baby. This was all your work. You killed them all gracefully and you didn’t leave a single one alive. Truly expert skill.”
“You’re lying!” He hisses as his mind starts to reel at the possibility. Her lungs didn’t sound like she was lying.
“Am I though?” She asks coyly. “Look at your sword.”
And her hand is pointing a finger down causing jade eyes to drop along with it even if he’s scared to do what she’s asking. The Maken is in his hand and it is covered in blood. He’s covered in blood.
His hand is trembling as the Maken is released and a deep guttural scream escapes him from down in his belly as the Holy Blade clatters to the ground. His hands are flying up to slip into white locks in between his horns only for the scream to get louder.
What was going ON?!!!! This wasn’t right!!! He doesn’t remember ANYTHING!!!!
His entire body is shaking as his knees hit the ground. All he can do is scream. He killed these people. He slaughtered an entire town and he doesn’t even know how or why. He can’t remember their faces. He never knew their names. He slaughtered these people and -
Herba is wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she hovers there next to him for the moment, nuzzling her face in close to his own.
“ You did so good today, ‘kenshi-darling. Let’s go home and tell, His Excellency, about what a good job you did. I’m sure he’ll reward you. Oh and !” She’s letting her feet hit the ground to shuffle over to the now destroyed stand of the vendor from earlier that had been selling all sorts of sweet treats and she picks up what appears to be some sort of hard candy on a stick and extends it out to him. “I said I’d get you anything. A treat for doing such a good job.”
But he couldn’t eat anything now. Now it would only taste bitter.
“Maybe you don’t want to hear what I have to say but you need to hear what I have to say:
My precious…Little. Cloud. Things were simpler when you were with me. How troublesome it is when you start thinking for yourself.”
On anon, tell my muse what they need to hear || Accepting
⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆ He knows full well that if he puts his hands over his ears that will not stop the sound. Besides the sound has already reached them so what was the point of trying to block it out? Master has come to call again when the only thing he did was step outside to clear his lungs. It's been a moment since he cycled them, and he needed to get the old Mist out to make room for the new. He needed to clear out the old before it could infect.
But that voice is ringing in his ears again and it is taking everything within him not to fall back to old habits and panic. The voices in his mind stir. The spirits within him rustling awake as he can feel a rumbling growl start to form in the back of his throat that he does not know if he should release or not because the difference between hearing the voice now and hearing it then was he could only assume that the eyes peering down at him were that deathly pale blue.
Now - oh now - he knows exactly what they look like and he can see the Cheshire's grin at the mere idea of the collar around his throat getting tugged by the chain. An invisible rope fastened around such a delicate appendage and no one else ever seemed to see it.
Not even Black Wind.
No one seemed to truly understand how damned he was because it doesn't matter how far he runs. There was a predator hunting for him no matter what he did. He was a feast either way and it hardly mattered which one laid claim to him. Both were torturous and seemed to find some sort of divine satisfaction in his pain.
One was just much more subdued about it most days.
But no matter what he did there were claws sunk deep into his flesh. One just preferred his back while the other - oh the other held much more favor for his neck.
It's funny in a strange way. How he can understand why it would be troublesome if he were to do something so bold - so unruly as to think for himself. He was a puppet. A pet. The perfect little prophecy. Birds do not think for themselves nor do swords. Birds only sing on command and sword need only cut what it placed before them.
Free will was never in the cards and he's always been lousy at poker.
There is a whisper on the wind
Anonymous asked:
You could have avoided it, you know. If only you weren't so selfish, all those people could have lived. But you had to fly free, little bird. You didn't care about the consequences, you just wanted away from your problems. And so, you were more than happy to make them others' problems. You knew this would have happened, the rules were clear from the start. Really, you were more than glad to condemn them to death. Twenty lives for every time the clock's hour hand moved one space. Maybe more. A bargain you happily struck, and now you wallow in self-pity when it is your hands that are stained in the blood of the innocents. Even now, selfish as ever. You, your freedom, your disappointment, your pain, your fear. An egocentrical little prince. But it's okay. I love the way you hate yourself. It doesn't make you unwanted in my eyes. Quite the contrary, in fact. You need a guiding hand just like always and you cannot escape it. You never could. Swords are meant to be wielded. Especially selfish ones like you....
You just can't be trusted with yourself, can you? Just can't resist the temptations? Maybe you should just come back and let me make it all better, hmm? Consider it, I am in no rush.
How long have they been out in the wilderness now? How long have they been avoiding all forms of civilization if only because they couldn’t drag innocents into their problems? They couldn’t drag innocents into their problems and they couldn’t risk their new friend firing on them while they were in a city and causing outright panic over a monster that was only ever sent to kill them. Was it them or was it Black Wind? That really didn’t change things now did it? It only changed which one of them was getting shot at.
Neither of them can sleep even though Black Wind has offered (demanded) to take the next (all) watch(es). He’s always the one being told to sleep. Black Wind next to never does and the prince isn’t in much of a mood to fight him about it either. He’s busy scrounging through their supplies looking for something to eat - for both of them to eat since Black Wind seems to think he’s immune to all the things that come with being a living mortal. Sleeping, eating, proper maintenance of one’s body - all the things that normal people did.
He’s scrounging around for food because he wants to do more than fill his empty stomach. He wants not to think about it. He wants to not let his mind linger on the memory of the whispers in that last town. He wants to not find himself stuck on the words that escaped the lips of the men and women around him speaking of the dangers of the Mist that rolls in during the night and the White Devil that lurks within it. It was always random and always without warning but throughout the years of the Earl’s reign over this patchwork of worlds would people - no entire towns - go missing. He doesn’t want to think about what he was made to do.
He doesn’t want to think about .... The wind blows through their makeshift campsite and he can feel the sensation of a voice buzzing against his ear.
“You could have avoided it, you know.”
It’s like every muscle in his body locks when he feels those words purr against his ear. It’s back again... the voice... but not just any voice - it - it’s whatever form Chaos has come to assume now. Whatever visage the beast has twisted itself into and he doesn’t need to meet them to know that there are pale eyes framed by pink hair looking down on him from wherever they currently roam. They’re so far away - no where near where he currently he is but he may as well feel that sickly touch running against his chin as if it’s given a silent command to it’s pet to look up and face them.
Oh and does the prince do as he’s silently commanded, whatever was in his hand clattering down to the ground as they tremble while the voice continues to speak. While that voice purrs out it’s arrogance as it continues to scold. Twenty lives for every hour - yes he knew the rules. He knew them well. Twenty lives for every hour and sometimes he was made to take them himself. How many times have his hands been forced to swing his blade to cut down the innocent as if doing so was the only way he could properly repent for disobeying his master.
His Master.
His Master has come to call again and he can feel the leash at his throat being pulled a bit harder this time. Selfish. Arrogant. Foolish. Ignorant little Prince. What an egotistical life he lives. How easily he throws away the lives of others if only for a taste of what he was never born to have. He was never a bird meant to survive on his own. He was never a bird that was meant to fly freely amongst the clouds.
Emerald eyes are looking down as pale hands tremble violently while the Prince proceeds to start trying to count on his fingers.
Twenty lives for every hour but it’s been months... No.... It’s been over a year... I’m a year older now so it’s been... it’s been well over a year... maybe... yes....perhaps then... a year and a half... so that’s ... twelve months... plus another six and that makes ... no no it must have been more than that.. plus the spare days... and today’s hours have been...
He’s struggling to follow his own equations as his hands tremble more violently by the second. His breathing is erratic and the sound of it only grows louder as every breath practically strikes against his mask from the parted lips that hide behind it. He can heart his own heartbeat thudding between his ears and it’s drumming is blocking out the sound of the world around him. His chest hurts. His chest hurts and everything is growing so hot.
The Prince begins to sway where he stands as rambling starts to replace the thudding of his breath. Rambling begins to leave those lips coated in a Mist language the younger Unlimited hasn’t spoken in fluent in years.
“I can’t do it.” He sounds with trembling words practically falling out of him. “I can’t go back. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t go back but ... “ There’s a groan of frustration as the Misterican gives up on attempting to count it out and wraps his arms around himself only to dig his hands into the fabric on his upper arms with fingers turning into variable claws.
“I have to. I have to. I don’t have a choice. I don’t. He’ll kill me. He’ll kill me. He’s going to be so angry. He’s already angry. He’s angry and he’s going to kill me....” Jade eyes are staring ever forward, blank and terrified.
“But they’ll die if I don’t. He’s screwing with me. There’s no time left. There’s no time. I can’t keep running. I can’t keep running. There’s no where to run. There’s no where to run.”
Hands are raising as those same eyes screw themselves closed and fingers are twisting themselves into snowy locks and pulling. He can’t stop shaking. He wants to scream. There’s no where else to run and he’s not safe. He’s not safe. No one is safe and it’s ...
“It’s all my fault. It’s all my fault. This is all my fault. What have I done? What have I done? Stupid Stupid you screwed up again. You screwed up again. You know better. I can’t go back. It doesn’t matter what you want. You have to. I don’t want to. You have to. But I don’t want to. You have to Pilvi. Get over yourself.”
The Prince’s voice keeps changing, the words of a scared boy being countered by a scolding reprimand at every turn while that body of pure while can only shake and tremble. Hands still dig against a horned skull. He’s overheating and he can’t stop shaking. There’s tears building along jade moons unbeknownst to the one who’s shedding them. He can’t take it anymore. He can’t take it anymore.
No where is safe. No where is safe. No where is safe. No where is safe.
What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?!
His breathing is erratic and loud. His chest hurts and he feels like he’s burning. He feels like he’s burning. The world around him is moving and he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Those hands dig into his hair and pull harder as a low scream leaves Tiamat’s chosen one. His Master has come to call on him and now....
He doesn’t know how to do anything else but mourn his freedom. He’s mourning so much now and he hasn’t tried to leave since it happened. He hasn’t tried to leave since the deal. Not without strict permission and accompanied by someone else. If he’s in the presence of one of that vile little monster’s Lords then he’s safe. No one else has to die. If he just keeps his head down and does the work then he can spare the lives of innocents by simply keeping his mouth shut and obeying the lessons that were taught to him.
But not everything is that simple, and not everything is black and white.
A hand hasn’t been raised to him since it all happened. A hand hasn’t been laid on him either - not unless you count that disgusting woman putting her hands on his person whenever she so pleased. Not unless that. He’s stuck with her again, because she got sent out on an errand for their “ever beloved” Tyrant and he was told he better go with her if he wanted to get out of the castle for a while. There’s been little half smirked comments like that floating his way ever since.
Ever since that monster dropped his own name on him like a ton of bricks and disclosed that this beast does in fact know it’s prey better than said prey could have ever dreamed. It’s like the most Intimate parts of his life have been exposed for this serpent to slither in close to coil and strangle him from the inside out. It’s a whole new choke hold on him now and his sielun värit has never felt tighter.
So now he gets sent out on missions like this. He gets sent out with Fungus or Oscha or Herba - whomever has been sent out to patrol the area and make sure there aren’t any uprisings. As long as he’s in the presence of one of that monster’s underlings he’s safe, but something about this time made his skin crawl.
He hardly wanted to go along with her and and he hardly wanted to be in her presence but he didn’t have a choice. He was stopped before they left, letting Herba go along ahead of him when Earl Tyrant simply raised a hand and beckoned him backwards.
“Makenshi, a word.”
He froze in place and turned upon command. It wasn’t even a command really but the prince of Misterica knew far better than that. Anything that came out of this little devil’s mouth that came in his direction was a command and he was painfully aware of that. Tone meant nothing. It was all wording that was important. Just as important as to what name he was being addressed by. They all held purposes and the prince was just as painfully aware of that too.
“When you leave you are to stay in Herba’s presence at all times. Understand me? If you venture out of her sight I’ll start the clock and you’ll start racking up a debt and you don’t want that now do you?”
The prince could only drop his head with down cast eyes that were more focused on the floor than the beast that was looking him over.
“Do you?” The demon chimed again, disappointed almost that the white clad swordsman had failed to answer him the first time.
“No.”
“No, what....”
“No, Your Excellency.”
It was a tone of defeat. It was a tone of a broken dog that was sick of taking a beating from the being that dubbed itself his master. It was the tone of resignation, knowing that no matter what he did - he was trapped here now. Twenty lives for every hour he’s missing and he couldn’t risk the lives of the innocent being sacrificed just so he could have some space to finally be able to breathe again.
“You are to do everything she tells you. Her word is as good as my word, and if you disobey her, I will find out about it. So don’t try to get smart. Disobey her, and you’ll be racking up a debt. Do you understand me, Makenshi?
“Yes, Your Excellency.”
Jade can only fall to the floor, even if he knows this tiny demon hates it when he does so. It is his one defiance left. His one act of free will. He’ll withhold his gaze for as long as he’s able. He, quite frankly, never wishes to look into those pale blue eyes ever again - but it seems the fates have other plans for him. If only he could be so fortunate.
He’s always riding hated riding in her airship if only because flying was far more efficient, but then he’d get stuck carrying her in his arms and he could hardly say he ever wanted her that close to him. She’d be forced to touch him and she already does quite enough of that. She doesn’t need an excuse to put her hands on him and he wasn’t about to give her one, so here he sets in this airship that is always absolutely saturated with the scent of the most disgusting perfume he has ever smelt in his life.
It’s always nauseatingly overpowered. Sometimes he wonders if he’ll get sick on the smell, but today it is a much different scent but just as disgusting as the other one is. Today it’s a smell that makes him dizzy and he is quick to make sure that his mask is properly placed on his face but even taking in a few breaths of that awful smell leaves a horrid taste in his mouth and has his lungs tingling with an uncomfortable burn.
He swears the whole space rocks to the side for a moment as he raises his hands to wipe at his eyes and attempt to find his balance. He really does hate flying in these damnable contraption, and for a moment he ponders over the name of such a thing and how it is perfectly fitting because that is exactly what they are - a trap for all poor souls that are stuck inside of it should something in it’s machinery fail and bring about it’s untimely downfall. He does not trust these things, and he probably never would.
But he can’t just leave because as he pondered before - then he would be carrying her with him. He can’t just leave because that little devil was clear in his words that the cloud prince must remain in her presence at all times and that was the current price on his freedom. He could leave if only when there was someone else firmly holding the leash to the collar fixed around his throat.
The vertigo that is quickly infecting his system forces the prince to take an unwilling seat. He doesn’t even know where she’s going, and he can only assume he wasn’t told on purpose. It’s not often that he’s allowed outside of the castle and when he is, it’s for some nefarious plot. He has no doubt this time will be no different and if the burning sensation in his chest tells him, he’s sure she drugged him with something again.
“Oh? ‘kenshi-baby, you don’t look so good. Close your eyes and take a nap if you need to. I’ll wake you when we get there. Are you going to be alright? You’re not motion sick are you?”
He doesn’t even know what that means. Motion sick? Is she referring how he can feel every motion in this damnable ship as it moves through the air? Is she referring to how it’s making his stomach twist and the vibrations of this metal beast’s engines were absolute murder on his ears even with his mask drawn? If she’s talking about that, then yes, he is absolutely motion sick. How does one cure such a thing? She’s suggesting that he sleep but he hardly trusts her not to pull something on him while he does so.
But even as he forces himself to stay awake out of his sheer distrust of her, his body disagrees and that smell continues to somehow force itself through the filtering system on his mask. So jade eyes find themselves fluttering closed only to jerk back open again - once and then twice. He can’t let ... himself.. fall... aslee -
There’s a hand on his shoulder and it’s lightly shaking him.
“Wake up.” The voice above him says and the prince groans. “Hey, wake up.” It sounds again and the prince groans again lifting a hand to try to shush the offender away while jade eyes refuse to open.
“Usva lemme alone. Lemme sleep.” He sounds in a half tired daze, as yet another groan leaves the warrior adorned in white.
“Usva?” The voice above him chimes and his mind hears it decidedly more feminine. “Who’s that? ‘kenshi-baby it’s me. Wake up, darling. We’re here.”
There’s yet another groan as hands raise to rub at closed eyes and when the prince opens his eyes he’s met with the blurry image of too much green and pink where red and pale should have been. As his sight clears, he’s met with those deep red eyes and painted lips curled up into a disgusting smile. Lady Tiamat blessed in heaven, he hates her.
Forgive me Celestial Mother, for I wish not to take your name in vain.
He feels groggy and he doesn’t want to get up. His body feels heavy and he doesn’t like it. Part of him wants to simply keep sleeping, while the rest of him is screaming at the part that does that he’s not safe, and he shouldn’t have been doing so in the first place, but at the very least he can say that this damnable ship has finally stopped moving. Thank Tiamat. He did not think he could bear the sound of the engine chugging along any longer. It was making his head feel as though it would split in two.
But stepped off that ship is a nightmare all over again.
A familiar sight of a small village tucked away in seemingly nowhere, and he can already feel himself dig his heels into the ground because he knows what’s coming and that she did something while he was sleeping. She did something to alter his senses and to force his body to act against him. She did something. It’s a nightmare all over again because he knows she’s about to ask him to kill.
He can’t panic. He can’t panic and it’s in his attempt not to do so that he notes that those same heels that were digging in as soon as his vision laid on this remote little village, were actually doing as he asked. His body was responding to his commands. He wasn’t just a screaming voice in the back of his own mind, begging his body to cease it’s assault on the innocent and undeserving.
She’s shifted closer to him and taken his hand into her own as she leads him forward with a wicked grin curved up on those poison painted lips all the while. He wants to wrench his hand from her grip but he can hear a voice in the back of his mind reminding him that he needed to do whatever she asked of him, so for now he’ll just deal with this small inconvenience. Even if the feeling her skin against his makes him want to wash his hands in scalding hot water if only to burn away the sensation of her ever touching him.
They walk and they walk to a place at the back side of town where they enter a building and soon he’s met with a room that looks like its filled with what could be the entire town. There’s fifty maybe no at least eighty or ninety people here. Other lives, even if their race is different from his own and they are hardly humanoid. A race of animal like people all gathered together and looking back at them.
That’s when she speaks and he feels his heart stop.
“I believe the other day when you ran off, you were gone for - how long would you say? Six hours? Six hours sounds right. It did take us a minute to find you. You’re getting better at hiding, even with all that white. Six hours is one hundred and twenty according to the agreement you now have with His Excellency. Isn’t that right?”
All he can hear is his heart thudding between his ears because this cannot be happening. No. No this isn’t right! That rule wasn’t put into effect until after she drug him back to that little monster. That rules wasn’t in effect yet. He hasn’t left since. He’s been good. He’s behaved. He’s clung as close as he could to that damn prison while still finding a way to retain some sense of prison. He’s stayed on castle ground. He hasn’t left. The last time he left was before that rule went into effect.
“His Excellency wants you to clean up this unsightly place and in turn pay back your debts. You’re the one who left unannounced, Makensh- Baby, so really you chose this for yourself.”
“I won’t.” His voice hasn’t been stripped from him this time and his words crack like a whip snapping back at its master. “I won’t kill them. That rule wasn’t even in effect yet.”
Painted lips push out into a pout as red eyes look at him with a glint of disapproval.
“So you’re saying I should tell His Excellency that you refused me?” She sounds and the tyrant himself is echoing in his mind.
Her word is as good as my word, and if you disobey her, I will find out about it.
No. He doesn’t care. Let that little monster break him half. Let that little beast snap his neck and rip the mist from his lungs. He doesn’t care what that monster does to him. He just doesn’t care.
“I’m going to be honest with you for a moment Makenshi. If I were you, I’d do what I was told because he’s giving you a pretty nice show of mercy right now. Why? Because if you don’t do it, I will and I will make sure every last one of these ingrates suffers in the longest more excruciating possible. I know you knightly types, don’t think I haven’t noticed. We’ve all noticed. You’re honor bound. So either you give these people a quick and near painless death or you leave it to me and I’ll make them suffer. Like the dogs they are. You wanted something you could control didn’t you? This is it. You get to control how much suffering these people experience, because they’re going to die whether you like it or not.”
He swears he can’t breathe while she’s speaking and he hates that while she does so, he’s mentally calling the Maken up to his grip.
A audible click and she’s smiling wider. Red eyes all a sparkle as the blade floats away from the belt that keeps it and the white clad warrior is raising his hand to retrieve it from the air. His mask flows back to reveal the youthful features hidden beneath and his lips part to release a thick white misty cloud that has been releasing deep within his lungs.
From this day forward he would be nothing but a devil in their eyes, but so be it if it spares them from the torture and suffering they would otherwise endure.
He doesn’t know how he managed to leave but he’s not about to waste his time thinking about it when really the only thing he needs to focus on right now is getting as far away as possible.
It’s been a year since he’s come to this place, to this Wonderland as they called it. He didn’t understand it at first. He didn’t understand how this place worked or functioned. He didn’t understand how Wonderland came to be but soon it was all made clear. There was a promise that if he behaved himself and helped that damnable child keep order here in Wonderland then his own piece of Misterica could be restored to him. There was a promise but the crowned prince of the promised world wasn’t about to fall for such a blatant lie. All of resided in Misterica had been swallowed by that damnable darkness and his world was reduced to... well he doesn’t know what it was reduced to but he knows it was no more.
He kept his head down regardless. Even if this world was made of lost souls who still remained within the remnant of their previous world. Even if this world was stitched together like the fabric of the universe with one world added at a time. Even if that were so, that doesn’t means Misterica was a part of it. Much less Windaria for that matter. Both places he called home were gone now. He couldn’t be bought so easily. There was a way to buy the prince however. A way to his ever bleeding heart. A heart bred to lead. A heart raised to serve his people above all else.
If these souls were lost then they were his people now, for he was just as lost as they were. In turn he would protect them. He would protect them however he could and if that meant trading his pain for their safety then he would do just that. He would submit to that monstrous child if only to spare one mother, one father, one sister, one brother, one child. If his own agony could spare one life, then it would be worth the pain. He could withstand it. He would learn to withstand it. He would force himself to bear it. He would become stronger than he’d ever been in the past because he would learn to swallow his fear.
He had to. He had to do that if he were to survive. He had to swallow the one thing that motivated this monster if he were to keep on living. But he would always keep on living. While he was caught here, a bird in a locked cage he learned another thing. While he learned of the world around him, he learned of himself as well. He learned one very important thing. He cannot die. No matter what that beast did to him, he still woke up there after. No matter how cruel that monster was. No matter how much he felt like that demon was going to break him in half. No matter the punishment, he would wake there after. He would lie gasping for air in a pile of his broken body on the floor until his frame had healed enough that he found the strength to lift it. No matter how the session ended, he would wake there after.
Even when that vile monster wrapped his neck and pulled just a little too hard. Even when he swears he felt his neck snap. He doesn't remember anything after that round of punishment. He doesn't remember because the world suddenly stopped when the pressure became too much. He was screaming out in agony when his tremolo suddenly ceased without warning. It took him a while to realize what happened. It took him awhile because he still hasn't quite figured out what that word meant yet.
But when he woke that strange man, with that strange mask was over him with an unreadable expression but far too much glee in his tone for his words.
"Oh?" He'd sounded. "It seems my assumption was correct. Lord Makenshi is unlimited."
He could only stare at him with confusion in green eyes when the man, Oscha, leaned in close - too close -up and sounded again.
"Lord Makenshi, are you not aware of what happened?"
The prince shook his head.
"You died. How many other times have you cheated death I wonder? The power of an unlimited is truly an amazing feat."
He knew. He knew in that moment. He doesn’t understand how he became to be one of these unlimited or how many of them there were but he knew one thing. It was a curse.
He was raised to believe he was special because he was Misterica’s White Prince but that prophecy failed to tell them all the truth. Their precious White Prince was not special he was cursed. How was he supposed to bring about salvation when everyone around him were fated to do nothing but die when he himself could not.
He’s lost them all. He’s lost his mother, his father, his brother - and Tanári Szél and Tanári Aura too. Such a strange family for Misterica’s White Prince but it was his family just the same. He loved them and he missed them every day. He just needed to get out. It seemed impossible to do so. He needed to get out and get as far away from this place as he could. It was impossible however when that strange masked man and that annoying plant like woman seemed to watch his every move.
He needed to get out. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t take it one second more. He couldn’t take being called by that pint sized demon for only Tiamat knows what.
He just needed to bide his time, and bide his time he did. He played dead. He played dead this time and let that beast think he’d killed him again. He cut out his screams. He ceased moving. He swallowed down his agony and made his frame drop limp. He let the mist build in his lungs until it burned.
He forced himself to bear the pain like an unmoving doll. He faked his death this time and he let that masked man drag him out of the room only to be throw wherever while his body worked to repair the damage. He bided his time and he waited until they thought he was good and dead for several days and that was when he ran.
Fled in the night under the cover of darkness. He may have been a pure white soul but still the darkness could dampen his glow. He thought it stopped a year ago. He thought he stopped when... they died. No longer was he a little moon in the night. He just needed to get away. He needed to be moving as fast as possible if only to spare himself from the devil incarnate.
How far did he fly? How much land did he cross? He hadn’t seen Wonderland with his own eyes because he was trapped in that castle from the moment he arrived. He was trapped and held prisoner. He didn’t know the terrain. He didn’t know the land or more over, the lands. He didn’t know anything about this place except for what he’d been told. The people of these lost worlds that he’d traded his life for more times than he cared to admit in this past year. He’s lost it all, so he’ll be lost with them. If he can be with them, then he can protect them and he can do so at the full scope of his wrath.
The Earl will know true fear because he will stand against him, Maken drawn and ready for war. He will go to war with the devil, himself, because what else does he have to lose?
There’s a body in his vision. There’s the form of something black in the corner of his sight and there’s pull in his chest that’s begging him not to ignore it, even though his mind is screaming that he needs to find safety above all else. He needs to find safety first - red hair. That person had red hair. His breath hitches in his throat and he’s bringing himself down to land. Words escape him the closer he gets to the ground and the dark form’s details are made clear.
“Tanári Szél!”
It’s a sense of relief and worry all at once. His feet are on the ground by the collapsed form. Jade eyes are taking in the sight of that face. A face he knew so well and before he realized what he was doing, his hands are at the other’s shoulders trying to shake the other man awake with a desperation he hasn’t felt since he told himself he needed to kill his own heart to survive.
“Tanári Szél wake up! Wake up! You need to wake up! I need you to wake up! Please wake up. I can’t take being here alone anymore.”
There’s a hard shake from Misterican hands and a desperate plea from their own. Jade eyes are pleading as the prince tries again to no avail. Again he shakes his would be family, desperate to see any kind of life. There’s a groan. A groan and for the first time since they were last together, there is hope reviving in long since dull green eyes.
Slowly the Windarian in front of him began to stir and Valkoinen Pilvi sat hopeful in front of him, waiting to see the blue seas he missed the way the Moon missed the Sun. But where there should have been deep blue there was only red. Deep, blood like crimson and Windarian fangs bearing from parting lips. A growl, and a hand swiping forward as if to claw at the one who woke him.
The Prince could only move backwards so fast, and narrowly does that hand miss him when it lashes out. What’s happening to him? What’s wrong? He’s acting possessed like something is controlling him - like that blood red Gun Dragon. Like Bahamut himself is still tainted.
He thought he killed them. He thought he killed Tanári Szél if only to release him from this torment but it seems that in all the time he spent trying to save the lives of the people here - all his pain and all his torment weren’t enough to save his only remaining family. Tanári Szél was still trapped in that hellish torment and there was nothing he could do about it.
A growl, a snarl - like a wild animal - a hand clawed in his direction and the prince moves backwards again to get out of the way. What does he do? He can’t leave him like this and he can’t go back. He most certainly can’t go back. That same hand is reaching, moving down towards the holster on his teacher’s hip and the swordsman knows he has to act and he has to act now. Hopefully, he’ll forgive him when he wakes.
He’s moving in a flash, mask flooding away as he closes the gap between then to hug the man as close as possible while using that dragon like strength of his to pin the elder’s flaring arm to his side. There’s pain in his voice as he speaks. He knows what he has to do but he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want ...
“Tanári Szél I’m so sorry. Please forgive me.”
A deep breath and a low exhale. The space around them filled with mist so thick there was nothing else to breathe and all the prince could do was wait. Wait as the elder took in several breaths and soon crazed red eyes closed and he collapsed in the Misterican’s arms.
... to be alone again.
He was alone again. He had no one all over. Now he needed to find a place where he could sleep. He needed to find a place where they could hide. He just needed Tanári Szél to rest and then he would be better, right? But for how long? He needed Tanári Szél to sleep and then he would be well again, wouldn’t he?
“Have you seen him?” A voice sounds off in the distance. A village perhaps? His ears can pick up the sound from much further than his eyes can see. “A young man. White hair, dressed in pure white.”
His face pales. He knows that voice. He’d know her voice anywhere. He can feel his heart racing in his chest as he pulls his comrade close. He doesn’t have time. If they find them... if they .... The Earl knew....
He should have known that viper wouldn’t let it’s prey get away so easily. He should have known. He should have known that he’d send them out looking for him. His precious Lords of Gaudium.
Pilvi can only scramble so fast as he lifts his Teacher from the ground and flies. His eyes are looking for anywhere he can hide him, so they don’t get their hands on them both. That monster can’t have them both. He won’t let that monster have them both. He’s panicking and he’s not thinking straight.
A town of buildings made from roots and branches, over grown trees? He can hide him there for now. He can hide him there where there seems to be no one else around.
“He’s a very important comrade of ours and we just want to make sure he’s safe.”
He can hear her in his ear no matter how far away he gets. She’s closing in on him. Lying to the people to find him.
Gently does his land, and gently does he place his counterpart against a tree. Another deep but worried breath before the prince exhales for a final time. A blanket of mist to make sure the other stays in a deep deep slumber for a long time. He can hear her voice still. He can hear the chattering of the people from what he assumes is the next town over.
“Rest now, and I’ll come back for you. I promise. I’ll come back for you, Tanári Szél ... For now, sleep.”
He won’t let that monster have them both so he must make sure she can never find him. He must get as far from here as possible. He must....
"If you can’t tell me where he is, then I’ll just burn this place to the ground.”
His heart bleeds for them when he hears her threat. His body is moving before he can reason with himself to stop. What was he going to do? Attack her? Cause a scene? Go to war for this village and possibly get more people killed?
He’s sinking down from the sky as he feels her eyes on him. He returned to her without even putting up a fight.
“Oh there you are ‘kenshi darling.”
His mask is enough to hide his disgust for her overly affectionate nature, as he allows himself to hover over to her.
“Come along now, we must go back home. His Excellency is quite upset and wants you home as soon as possible. So let’s go darling.”
He’s trapped. He’s trapped again as he returns to the halls that have become intimate with his screams. He’s trapped again and he’s returned to floors that know the taste of his blood. He’s trapped again as he’s sent in alone to face the devil with pale eyes and pale skin. Alone, he stands before that child again. Alone.
He’s alone again.
“Oh. There you are.” The boy sounds as he turns to face the White Prince. “Welcome home, Little Cloud.”
It’s something that gives him pause. It’s something that makes him stop for a moment to look over his shoulder and stare at the traveler with raised brows of snow and wide eyes. His mouth hangs slightly agape for a moment before he pulls himself back into perfect posture and folds his hands together as they hang in front of himself.
“Of His Excellency? Ah - yes - certainly...”
He shifts for a moment, and holds his hands firmly together in front of himself. They twist and grip at themselves. His nails dig into his skin but the tension never once shows on his face. He’s free. He’s free of that monster, but is he really? When it dies it is only reborn again, so will he ever really be free of it? Will he be free of it when he wears it’s damage upon his skin? Will he be free of it when he can still feel his breath on his skin and his fingers ghosting over his face?
That demonic child’s voice haunts his every waking moment so how could he ever hope to truly say he’s found freedom? He’s a thing of unexplainable power because despite the fact that this demon has rendered his body to lifelessness time and time again - this demonic beast still manages to haunt him. Haunt him his every waking moment, even when he, himself, has become nothing more than the walking dead.
How can a being be so powerful that it can even haunt the dead? He thought the dead were the ones who were supposed to be doing the haunting.
It’s a perfect relationship they have in that way he supposes. A ghost attached to a demon. How does he escape? He doesn’t and the longer he’s away - the longer he’s getting some taste of freedom he understands that. He’ll never not be that useless wretch. He’ll never not be that pathetic mess. He’ll never not be Little Cloud. It’s a mantle that was forced upon him, just as Makenshi was but while he will always be The Demon Swordsman, he can’t seem to find a way that allows him to break the chains Chaos has placed upon him.
That little demon knew exactly what he was. That little demon knew what he was because he was the one who struck the first kill. Were all his own deaths justified in that way? Were they just revenge? He struck Chaos down first. He struck Chaos down with his own blade, when that monster dared to slip inside the soul of his adoptive family. He struck Chaos down with shaking hands when his counterpart, his sun begged the Moon to dampen his light.
So he did as he was told.
He’s always been like that.
From the moment he was born, he’s done as he was told without question, so of course such a symbiotic relationship as the one he held with that thing was only normal. That little beast would drain him of his life in return for the single time the swordsman dared to cut the monster down. A pink haired demon and how natural it was that such a beast gave rise to Wonderland’s own White Devil. They were demonic entities. Should they not stand hand in hand?
He hated him. He hated him for everything that beast has ever done to him. He hated him for every broken bone, every punctured lung, every strangled cry and every single snapped neck. Every skipped heartbeat, and every missing second of his life - he hated that monster - but in return for his hatred - that monster claimed to give him back some twisted form of affection that only made his insides twist and his stomach feel sick.
That beast called itself his Master. That monster called him it’s pet, and he didn’t know how his life had degraded so thoroughly that with time he went from being a person to nothing but an object - and he couldn’t escape it. He couldn’t escape that one truth in life. He was more an object than a person. He was always just someone else’s thing. A tool to be used, or property to be controlled. He was never quite a person and in that right it was much better to be a ghost.
He had more autonomy as a corpse after all, so he would much rather be that.
It was the path of least resistance. No one dares cross your path when you’re a ghost. When you’re dead and this monster - this monster drained the life from him over and over again. It - it hurt too much to fight. It hurt to much to bark back and to growl. It hurt too much and if he had learned anything it was not to bite the hand that feeds you.
Because even in his wretchedness His Excellency never looked the other way. His Excellency made sure he knew that he was his favorite. He was favored. That beast did more than just strangle him so he may drink up his panic like a parched dog. That beast also praised and met him with touches so gentle they reminded him of his mother. That beast in it’s own twisted way attempted to protect him from the outside world. That beast was the firmest hand in his lifetime but it was to teach him a lesson.
It was to mold him into a monster that could survive the world’s true horrors. It was to form the ghost that would haunt Wonderland with nothing but the song sang of a silent specter’s symphony of sayonara.
It was all for his better good and he sees that now. The world would never accept him and now he sees. He sees and he almost misses the taste of the poison he was forced to ingest on a daily basis because even as it damaged him from the inside out, at least he was familiar with the taste. It was always easier to digest the familiar. It was always easier to stay on the path one knew, even if it was killing him. Even if he felt that beast tear him apart from the inside out when their spirits intertwined in that last battle.
He’s shattered now. As final parting gift from his would be master, to leave his impression his pet’s flesh so that the prince would forever remember just exactly what he did and just exactly who he belonged to.
“His Excellency was... complicated. Honestly when it comes to him I don’t quite know what to say.”
What was it like living with the Earl Tyrant and subjects, people that didn't possess the things you value in others?
He tenses at the question. What was it like living with that monster? That demon wrapped in the guise of a child? What was it like living in a place he would only be called prisoner? What was that like? The hell that was inflicted upon him once he realized what the monster he woke up to was?
He woke in Gaudium after the destruction of Windaria. His newly acquired family was dead. He killed them himself. He shot Black Wind down because it was the only thing he could do. It was the only way to release him from the torment of the monster that possessed him. He watched in horror as that thing took a hold of him and soon before he released what was happening his Rorahm-vahree was not the same. No amount of sweet words or calling out to him would bring him back. No amount of trying to get him to remember the past three years or all the lessons he’d been taught. No amount of trying to connect to the Windarian one final desperate time would be enough.
The beast of darkness took him and he had no other choice. Bahamut was tainted. Tiamat would be his salvation. That was what he was supposed to do, wasn’t it? Bring about salvation? He didn’t see how killing his family accomplished that but he refused to let him suffer another second.
He thought it would be the end of them both but he woke up in that awful castle, to a set of eyes peering out from behind a mask and the call to Your Majesty.
‘It seems he has awoken.’
A child came. A monstrous demonic child. A child came and calmly welcomed him into their home. A child came and explained where he was and what this world seemed to be. A child came and pale blue eyes lit when the prince explained that he and the white blade at his side were a matched set.
That was when he was given the title. He was never asked his name but instead he became Makenshi, A demon swordsman for a demon child. Fitting it seemed. Only a demon could kill their own family after all.
He didn’t realize what mess he’d landed himself in until many months after he woke. He didn’t realize until he’d heard that demonic child ask one of his other subjects to go wipe out a near by village. Herba, was her name and she agreed to it gleefully. He acted without thinking. He acted on second nature and sounded with a “No wait please.” and all eyes in the room locked on him with surprise. They locked and stared and pink eyebrows rose over pale blue eyes as the prince sounded.
“Why? These people have done nothing wrong. They don’t deserve this. They don’t deserve to be mascaraed like this.”
There was pause in the other two subjects, Herba and Oscha, who only stared at him in surprise but the Earl however did not react in a tantrum. Lips spread wide and pink brows raised as the child floated over into the direction of the Misterican Prince and smiled.
“You’re very upset about this aren’t you Makenshi?” but there was no concern to his tone. “I can feel it will all my body. I can feel how scared you are for them. Why are you so upset for people you don’t even know?”
There was a hard swallow and as he took a step back. “Because. Because no living being deserves to die so mercilessly. They are but innocents and I - I was raised to look out for all my people. For all living things. It’s a ruler’s responsibility to care for their subjects.”
But the boy only grinned. Like the devil he grinned and got as close to the prince’s face as he could.
“So then Makenshi, Will you give me agony in their stead?”
He cannot count the number of times that demonic child has broke him. He cannot count the number of times that devil has stripped the mist from his lungs. He cannot give a number to the lives he has lost. Not in those twelve years. Not in that hell. Not in that inescapable damnation. He was nothing more than a prisoner. That monster’s favorite toy. Over and over he was told how his fear and his agony was that beast’s favorite feast.
The Prince shifts with slender arms crossed over his chest, metal mask drawn over his face as jade eyes glance to look at the faceless traveler.
