arisen | ⌜ seventy-fourth finale au ⌟ | pillar v. asha

My morning star glints in the sun before my heavy swing laced with one part desperation and two parts rage splits the mind and faith of Ansgar Todd and his body crumples beneath the bloody crown I have anointed him with. I wait an eternity for two seconds to pass on his imperfect clock of mine; not quite broken but never in phase with reality. It slips from my fingers, the morning star, and hits the ground with a sickening thud and I stare at the skull fragments and brain matter staining the weapon and my hands.

An eternity, two seconds, cannon fire.

The silence that should follow is drowned when my head is tilted towards the sky and I fill the air with rancid laughter. I pause, only when I find myself in another mess of broken furniture. not bones and a world that is not monochrome in reality but in concept.

("Where is the method to your madness?")

There is no method to be found in the man who drowns the faithful in a pool their own holy white flood. I my undamaged hand caked with blood through my hair and stare at the peasant with a red crown and spit. "When you see your god, tell him Asha Lumiere is coming for his head next." And it's true, if I could find the entity that cursed me with a lust for blood but no method to see it, I would tear his throat out with my bare hands.

It's strange that this is man who took my ring finger and severed my arrogance with his knives. The man who seemed to move like he was guided by divinity himself, with the pinpoint accuracy of his flaming knives and the way he acted as if he was cloaked in holy veils and white flood. My downfall in this monochrome reality of mine but when I forced a death rattle from his self-righteous throat, his cannon sounded no different from District Four or Sacha Dupont. Just another bloodied addition to monochromatic murder -- ("colors can be differentiated only on the basis of brightness.")

I've anointed him with a crimson crown I can only differentiate on the basis of brightness.

"Be grateful, it was a messy death but a quick one. If I'd had my way, you would've begged for that god to save you from my clutches, Todd."

I'm down to the clothes my body and down to the skin on my torso because of his knives. As I'm rummaging through his belongings I hear a squeak and spot the outline of a tail. I smile, picking up my sword and with a single thrust, I skewer the rat through its spine and body. I laugh as it squirms and screeches as I twist the blade, rotating it left to right until it's struggling comes to a slow end.

("Where is the method to your madness?")

Anything associated with Ansgar Todd's self-righteous divinity must die. Apply pressure to the creed that calls for my blood and the logic that severs my ring finger; there's no commitment to be found in their veins after all.

In the reflection of my blade I spot a rusted reflection in a blade coated with black. Red hair and green eyes. "Desimae?"

Cannon fire.

("You could've made me human.")

Seconds blur to hours on this imperfect clock of mine after her form dissolves and I'm left watching the anthem, Hyacinth Mortuus' face follows Ansgar Todd's and my laughter entwines with the harmonic for the patriotic. "I hope you saw the truth in your final moments." I whisper.

The source of my monochromia; we're all the same shade of darkness here.

When I allow myself to flutter into and out of consciousness, I expect to see Pillar Fray on the horizon. And her head upon a spike crimson spike. Another shade of grief to add to those stained glass windows upon my own alter that spells out the demise of Todd's god. The perfect career girls meets the broken career son but we're all the same shade of darkness in here.

I awake in agony, for the final harmonic lies on the horizon. I hoist myself up, fractured skeleton and all and sling my bag over my shoulder. I claw at my bare back, the granite stains sunken into the skin and clutch my sword into my good hand. I hate counting, yet I still find myself counting the steps until my vision is clouded by a materialization of my own collapsing sanity. Black and white fog enter my vision and I'm surrounded by indistinct figures, shadows I cannot differentiate on the basis of brightness.

I do not call out when I remember his card and see his pale face.

It's a suppressed scream for his throat is intact and the final words of a dead man are scrawled upon the ace of spades. "Don't lose your mind."

One step forwards and this imperfect clock of mine turns backwards; not quite broken but never in phase with reality, how can a dead man be reborn without phoenix flames?

("Don't lose your mind.")

A white flash cleaves through his neck and I'm screaming as my vision is reduced to a cloud of black splatter. I stumble backwards, an explosion of agony whips itself across my forehead and I allow my knee to buckle beneath the pressure of Pillar Fray's career brutality. She asks if I've come to die and in any other situation I would've smiled as blood ran down the side of my head and soaks into my hair.

I do not answer, not longer distinguishing if it's a taunt or question.

And I do not more as her fingers close around my throat, but I use her strength to help me stand. "I want you to be standing, Asha — when I kill you."

I let my fingers close around her wrist and spit, a wave of black iron runs down my chin as I squeeze and throw her arm to the side and step back and gaze into the eyes of Pillar Fray.

There's no family name to protect her here because she's the same shade as everyone else who's dead; the same shade as Ansgar Todd for all his divinity, the same shade as Sacha for all his desperation and the same shade as nameless Four. "It was a mistake of you to split my mind and not my skull, Fray." I step forwards, sneering as I raise my sword and it flashes black and white. "Now I'm going to make you scream."

It sings the harmonic on the horizon when it falls.