Ashes to Ashes // Kirito & Teddy
Sept 3, 2018 14:34:11 GMT -5
Post by Arrows on Sept 3, 2018 14:34:11 GMT -5
"Stop!"
A spiderweb splinters into an array of red. A hundred reflections remain staring from beyond the break. In the epicenter of the shatter blood burbles from the force of his fist. It's a scene familiar to anyone who has seen within the walls of the tribute who waged war under the direction of an atrocious inner demon. Again beyond the boundaries of the battle in an instance of sweat stained clothing and wild eyes, hands claw into his scars blossoming from his cacophonous center. A typically reserved and respectful man reduced to primal protective instincts against a phantom foe.
Tension transfigures into weakness as muscles reduce into water. Kirito's steps slip away from the mirror and his back slams without warning into the wall of the bathroom. Like a line of rust, blood born from the trauma to his hand leaks down the teal paint pooling in a scarlet sea on the marbled floor. Kirito's eyes watch the surface of the sea tainted by a layer of vacancy, the stare of a soul lost somewhere within a non-material mental reality. Slowly real existence begins to bend further into the darkness of the cold room.
Bubbles begin berating the pool of Kirito's creation spewing red embers into the room to dance through their welcomed darkness. Their demonic dance does not last long though. Soon shape starts to materialize out of combing embers, a ghost coming out of the the gates of death and into the living land they once departed. The false entity's identity is without question, her blonde hair is identical to the illumination of the fire from which she emerges. Upon her entrance, the sound of a ruined Clock Tower can almost be heard seeping softly through the cracks of the mirror.
"I don't recognize you."
Her hand somehow still soft despite demise trails chillingly over the shuddering curves of one of Kirito's cheeks. Her skin is in sync to the snows of winter, yet her eyes are lucid with life. Even her smell is present among the metallic tang of the gruesome scene. There is no doubt that Rhyme Morales is sharing the same space as her broken friend, yet despite such certainty Kirito is well aware that it can't be possible. But here she is, a warning sign of a terrible turn of fate to come undoubtedly soon.
"You look like the boy that you became in the arena. Are you even Kirito? Or has he taken over again?"
The shadows surge as screams come from beyond the real yet false gates to the dwellings of the dead. Fear seeps into the features of Rhyme's face as with urgency she turns towards her fallen friend one last time.
"You have to stop him, he's only getting stronger. Figure it out, you've already done it once before. Find the source Kirito."
The door creaks open and the layer of lost focus fades swiftly from Kirito's eyes. Small steps reveal a face of innocence cradled by branches of blonde. Her eyes startle at the sight of the bloody bathroom. Shaking Kirito quickly stands and runs his hurt hand under the running water of the sink.
"Daddy? Why are you hurt?"
His face fakes a smile not tainted by the chorus of whispers still singing in his ears.
"Just a little accident, don't worry Daddy is just fine."
Am I though? His thoughts question as he stares at the real carnage he caused to himself. No, the chorus answers sending ice down his spine in a waterfall of worry.
Following a few stitches and wrapping, Kirito leaves Ana in the care of Harbinger while he heads towards the Mentor viewing area on the first floor. Quiet sobs shake Kirito's fragile figure while his own words repeat over and over in the speeding space of the elevator.
"It's fake. They're fake. It's fake. They're fake. You're safe now. You're safe now."
The words of his wife to be when his dreams and delusions dip too deep into waters he can't swim in alone. Yet somehow even the factual structure of reality no longer can steady his anchor. He feels like a ship already with a leak heading towards stormy seas.
"It's been a while Kirito."
Kirito's eyes flash up in fright towards his own reflection. He manages to catch just a second of his sinister smirk before the elevator doors open providing escape.
Above the symphony of slaughter playing on the countless screens, a loud set of train horns blare through the building. Amid the sound of their crumbling tracks Kirito requests a drink from the bartender and rejects his attempts at conversation. Kirito opts for other company, for someone who may perhaps provide a harbor of focus on something other than the rising waters.
"I'm sorry about your tributes," Kirito starts not letting himself sit quite yet without assurance that the struggling younger mentor wanted another nearby, "To have something like this happen three years in a row. I can't imagine."
A spiderweb splinters into an array of red. A hundred reflections remain staring from beyond the break. In the epicenter of the shatter blood burbles from the force of his fist. It's a scene familiar to anyone who has seen within the walls of the tribute who waged war under the direction of an atrocious inner demon. Again beyond the boundaries of the battle in an instance of sweat stained clothing and wild eyes, hands claw into his scars blossoming from his cacophonous center. A typically reserved and respectful man reduced to primal protective instincts against a phantom foe.
Tension transfigures into weakness as muscles reduce into water. Kirito's steps slip away from the mirror and his back slams without warning into the wall of the bathroom. Like a line of rust, blood born from the trauma to his hand leaks down the teal paint pooling in a scarlet sea on the marbled floor. Kirito's eyes watch the surface of the sea tainted by a layer of vacancy, the stare of a soul lost somewhere within a non-material mental reality. Slowly real existence begins to bend further into the darkness of the cold room.
Bubbles begin berating the pool of Kirito's creation spewing red embers into the room to dance through their welcomed darkness. Their demonic dance does not last long though. Soon shape starts to materialize out of combing embers, a ghost coming out of the the gates of death and into the living land they once departed. The false entity's identity is without question, her blonde hair is identical to the illumination of the fire from which she emerges. Upon her entrance, the sound of a ruined Clock Tower can almost be heard seeping softly through the cracks of the mirror.
"I don't recognize you."
Her hand somehow still soft despite demise trails chillingly over the shuddering curves of one of Kirito's cheeks. Her skin is in sync to the snows of winter, yet her eyes are lucid with life. Even her smell is present among the metallic tang of the gruesome scene. There is no doubt that Rhyme Morales is sharing the same space as her broken friend, yet despite such certainty Kirito is well aware that it can't be possible. But here she is, a warning sign of a terrible turn of fate to come undoubtedly soon.
"You look like the boy that you became in the arena. Are you even Kirito? Or has he taken over again?"
The shadows surge as screams come from beyond the real yet false gates to the dwellings of the dead. Fear seeps into the features of Rhyme's face as with urgency she turns towards her fallen friend one last time.
"You have to stop him, he's only getting stronger. Figure it out, you've already done it once before. Find the source Kirito."
The door creaks open and the layer of lost focus fades swiftly from Kirito's eyes. Small steps reveal a face of innocence cradled by branches of blonde. Her eyes startle at the sight of the bloody bathroom. Shaking Kirito quickly stands and runs his hurt hand under the running water of the sink.
"Daddy? Why are you hurt?"
His face fakes a smile not tainted by the chorus of whispers still singing in his ears.
"Just a little accident, don't worry Daddy is just fine."
Am I though? His thoughts question as he stares at the real carnage he caused to himself. No, the chorus answers sending ice down his spine in a waterfall of worry.
Following a few stitches and wrapping, Kirito leaves Ana in the care of Harbinger while he heads towards the Mentor viewing area on the first floor. Quiet sobs shake Kirito's fragile figure while his own words repeat over and over in the speeding space of the elevator.
"It's fake. They're fake. It's fake. They're fake. You're safe now. You're safe now."
The words of his wife to be when his dreams and delusions dip too deep into waters he can't swim in alone. Yet somehow even the factual structure of reality no longer can steady his anchor. He feels like a ship already with a leak heading towards stormy seas.
"It's been a while Kirito."
Kirito's eyes flash up in fright towards his own reflection. He manages to catch just a second of his sinister smirk before the elevator doors open providing escape.
Above the symphony of slaughter playing on the countless screens, a loud set of train horns blare through the building. Amid the sound of their crumbling tracks Kirito requests a drink from the bartender and rejects his attempts at conversation. Kirito opts for other company, for someone who may perhaps provide a harbor of focus on something other than the rising waters.
"I'm sorry about your tributes," Kirito starts not letting himself sit quite yet without assurance that the struggling younger mentor wanted another nearby, "To have something like this happen three years in a row. I can't imagine."
