Your success in retrieving Knuckles has brought your three colorful allies back together, thus marking it a resounding success. Still, it's highly unlikely Eggman is going to overlook the destruction of his robots at that base or Knuckles going missing... But strangely, it seems as though life goes on as usual in Chicago.
The patrolling robots have had their numbers cut; a sign that you're doing something, at least. Unfortunately, the humans of this world still don't react to your presence at all, and there's no stopping the chroma slowly overtaking the city. More buildings and wildlife have been affected this week, even though Eggman hasn't set foot here. It's not exactly the most encouraging thing even if this weekend was a success.
THE CITY
Now that you're familiar with Chicago and how to find your way back to the base, you're free to explore as you see fit. You want to venture out into the suburbs? You want to take a day trip to wander even further out? Sure thing! Just be sure to let Tails know where you're going so he doesn't have a heart attack if someone goes missing.
While you're out exploring, you'll likely run across Knuckles or Sonic - both of whom will immediately beeline into the nearest robots to smash them with extreme prejudice. Regardless, they'll gladly help you if you need a hand with anything, or will otherwise carry out their tasks for Tails.
Unfortunately, the rest of the city is as lifeless as it was last week. The humans will scarcely pay attention to you, wildlife will go about lifelessly, and Eggman's unique white chrome slowly overtakes more of the city. In fact, some buildings seem to have been entirely renovated from last week - you'll find more and more "Eggman" versions of stores, attractions, and landmarks.
NIGHTMARES
The biggest difference this week has nothing to do with the world around you at large, however. Instead, you'll find your nights are far more difficult - for absolutely no reason that anyone can pinpoint. If you're lucky, you'll have unsettling dreams that leave you feeling a little worried when you wake, but otherwise fairly well rested.
If you're unlucky, you'll have horrific nightmares.
You may dream about an unwinnable battle - is it against hordes of robots? is it against your enemies back home? - where you simply don't have any choice but to fight, even though you know you can't win. The odds are stacked too high against you, no matter what you do. Will you give in? Will you fight?
You may dream about your fears - the things that threaten to seize you in a vicegrip and never let go. Are you scared of failure? Then you will experience your greatest failures in detail. Even the simplest, most mundane fears will be wildly twisted out of control - and you're powerless to wake yourself up, trapped within the dreams until the night is over and you finally, finally wake up.
You may dream about your past - whatever horrible incidents that haunt you or frighten you to think about will return in full force. These are never perfect recreations of the past, instead twisted facsimiles that only make those thoughts worse. Reliving it is one thing, but having the experience changed on you may be even worse.
Regardless of your dreams, you may find that you're not alone. Others here can be pulled into these dreams - trapped with you until either the dream ends and you wake up... or you die in the dream. Those seem to be the only ways out, no matter what you do. Still, having a buddy with you to help fight might help, right?
When you do wake up, you'll see blood red and you'll feel tired no matter how long you slept. Perhaps a nap is in order - but these dreams are just as likely to infect your naps as well.
SHARDS
You should feel fairly comfortable with using your shard power by now. You may also find that the more you use it, the more things you're able to do with it. Starting this week, your shards' powers are more pronounced, allowing you to do more with them than you could before.
As you fight with your allies - particularly those you have a close bond with, positive or negative - you may feel the tug of something in the back of your head; it tells you that you can do more. Together, you can become more powerful. You can use your shards together. Doing so will grant you a new power, or strengthen the one you already have. The more you trust one another, the easier this power will be to use.
It might be good to experiment with these new powers; after all, you never know when you may need them.
TAILS' TASKS
As mentioned to some of you, the rings that Sonic and friends use to hop between worlds have been dwindling in number, given how many were used to visit all of you and bring you in to begin with. Your job - should you choose to accept it - is to track down more rings. Tails will grant you with a tracking device that will allow you to find the exact locations of these rings. All you have to do is figure out how to get them.
Rings, as it turns out, are not quite as easy to collect as one would expect. They can appear anywhere throughout the city or the surrounding areas, but they always appear in some sort of frustrating place. Perhaps one has manifested at the top of a tree, or on top of the bean. Maybe it's hiding behind rows and rows of items in the W*lmart. Maybe you'll have to break into an employees' only room or a restricted area for one. Regardless, no ring is going to be simple to collect, and it's up to you to figure out how to get it. Every single ring counts, after all.
ENEMIES
This week's enemies are the same as last week's, though lesser in number. Like last week, you shouldn't let them escape, but you're growing stronger: they should be easier to beat than last week.
Badnik Surveillance Units are primarily made for reconnaissance. They can be found flying overhead, observing the people go about their lives and following scheduled flight paths and patterns to ensure every inch of the city is being observed. Well, mostly. You can find some back alleys and hidden spots here and there, and these Badniks usually won't go into buildings or out into the woods. They will immediately try to flee upon spotting you. They're easy to take down, though a bit more durable than one would expect, given Eggman's designs. If cornered, they are capable of shooting a simple laser beam that will hurt and possibly leave a burn.
Badnik Drones are the most common combat robot you will find. Small chrome white orbs with red eyes, they are capable of scanning and detecting abnormalities. They are not quite as common as the Badnik Surveillance Units, but you'll still spot several of them floating through the city at any given point in time. Unlike the Badnik Surveillance Units, these come ready for combat. They can fire lasers as well as shoot small homing missiles. The homing missiles thankfully aren't very fast and can be outrun or otherwise blocked, but they pack a punch if they do hit! These robots will stand their ground and fight if they spot you, but they will call for backup - if you aren't fast enough, you'll find yourself facing many of them!
The Badnik Transformer Model B33, more affectionately called Buzz Bombers by Tails and friends, is... well, it looks like a bee. A hornet, rather, as that stinger is actually a precision laser that moves fast. These robots typically look like Badnik Drones, but are capable of shifting and uncoiling themselves to become the B33 units. They are fast, they hit hard, and they are relentless, pursuing you nonstop until they've been destroyed. They will not call for backup, which is possibly the only saving grace about fighting them. Unfortunately, it's impossible to tell if a Badnik is a Drone or a B33 until you're actually in combat - and by then it may be(e) too late.
Badnik Tanks are mini... well, tanks. They stand about the size of a large dog and roll around on treads through the city. They're much rarer than the other robots, but it seems some have been sent to Chicago after the destruction of the base. These tanks are capable of shooting a large laser that deals significant damage to anyone it hits, and they're quite durable. When severely damaged, they start sparking - they'll explode when hit, and you probably don't want to be in melee range!
[Viktor flinched at the sudden jolt, bringing a hand up--to his forehead, specifically. No, not the same pain--too close, but no monstrous transformation took hold this time.]
I do not know. This...can not be real. I am no longer connected to a space like this.
Connected... [A parroting, rather than a question. Viktor had never spoken of such things. So why...
...]
I'm sorry. This... this is real. It always is.
[But his expression twists with strain as he reaches for Viktor's hand, eyes spotting the brace and his grip tightening all the more at the sight of it. He... remembers this. But there's nothing he can do.
--Nothing nothing nothing nothing---]
C-come on. Follow me... we can't stay here.
[He'll start to tug, at whatever pace he can force Viktor to move.
White starts to flake away to metal streets, though the sides of your vision never get any clearer. The smell of smoke and molten metals thickens the air with warmth, the lighting going red and dark under towering cylindrical buildings, walkways that stacked on top of one another, foundries and conveyors, shipping and processing yards fenced up several stories, smokestacks that seem to stretch far off into the sky.
The district is cramped, but empty. Quiet.And every few steps, that pain flickers, and with it, so do the surroundings. Darkened skies. Destroyed catwalks. Enormous towers split down the middle and spilling their molten contents over miles and miles of buildings, the roar of fires and failing structures groaning like the cry of some far off dying animals, all as the sky rumbles.
Every flicker gets worse, like a warning bell in the mind, and it only seems to stop if Vakama halts completely.]
[There wasn't much point for secrets now, realizing with faint horror that Vakama knew the scope of the Herald's work. He let himself be pulled along for only a few steps, tugging his hand back as he fell into step with Vakama's pace. Stifling a cough into his hand at the smell--a forge of some kind, he would recognize that anywhere--gold eyes darted over unfamiliar scenery as he tried to ignore that contnuing pain andd flickering.]
[Signs of life echo like whispers of ghosts in admist the foundries and rubble; nameplates and personal touches, well worn metal underfoot, paint on bars worn down from constant usage, hundreds of carved tablets hung with everything from workman's lists to accolades, banners hung with the district colors, monumental screens that once might have displayed something important for a huge crowd, now cracked and blackened. Enormous support rings, once holding some sort of transportation chute system that stretched in every direction, now lay empty and cracking.
The more they walk, the more the rubble fills in. Wildlife making nests. Webs stringing together broken pipework. A deep, poisonous fog of green.
The voices twist, a mocking tone that is hard to pinpoint as genuine or not.
--you should not blame yourself
you are a mask maker
matoran in armor
let us praise these jesters
imposters
you are a mask maker
not a--
The ground snaps forward as though being yanked through space by an invisible hand. You feel unsteady and will need to catch yourself.
You can hear the echoes of reaction as you do so - warbled, confused, distant. Someone, somewhere, elsewhere.
"Is everything alright?"
"What's with him?"
The space you raise up into has has the ceiling and one of the walls completely blown out, revealing the darkened sky and smoke filled walkways trailing up and up into forever. It's a foundry, an enormous forge set in the center with equipment and tools strung from every available piece of metal, parts and craftings and molds and masks scattered like so much debris.
At the foot of the ruins lies a sphere. The hatch is open, with red lights blinking on and off. But the sphere itself looks empty.
Vakama's exhausted demeanor only deepens at the site of it, choosing to ignore as he tries to get a better view of his bearings. But surely it would be fine to take a closer look.
Surely you would trust your h̴̠̣̪̊̊e̸̯̚r̷̢̬̹̾o̷̻̭̭̾͑͂̓̋e̴̢̡̪̋̂̇̓ͅs̷̛͉͖̥̬̯̈́̓]
[He caught himself cursing in his native language more often lately, but things kept unpleasantly shocking him. Viktor stumbled and barely steadied himself with both hands gripping his crutch, getting his feet back under him with a scowl. This was...different. This was more than just others' minds open to his own, it was disorienting in a way that had never quite been.]
[...Was this what it had been like, for another's mind to overpower theirs?]
[Shaking his head to dismiss that thought, Viktor instead elected to look around--taking a curious and unsteady step towards that open sphere.]
[The closer he walks towards it, the harder it is to step away.
"What are these?"
"Storage containers, but most odd-looking."
A sound thumps in the ears.
Loud, but slowing. Slowing. Slowing, as your limbs start to grow cold and weak. Your memory starts to blur at the edges, as though something is crawling in and eating away at the inside of your skull.
"Matoran of Metru Nui.
Rejoice.
For today will be a momentus climax to your history."]
It's a sudden flash of an image, another flash of that vivid pain. Storage containers for miles and miles, up and down into infinity, sealed up tight, filled with
curled limbs
dim heartbeats
cold bodies
--
"Nothing. Nothing, sister.
Nothing at all."]
Viktor, no, this wasn't meant for you--!!!
[Who was responsible?
(3)
Though in a mental fatigue that will be hard to shake, Viktor will still get a nice visual head-start of the enormous, twisted tendril of shadow and plant matter that rises from the rubble and immediately snaps forward to grab at him, and only him.]
[This was not the first time an object's strange compulsion had gripped his mind and refused to let go. A similar feeling, something quiet and insidious that he had craved like an addiction and seeped into his blood like a poison.]
[Unfamiliar voices overlaid in his head with the memory of spinning, pulsating magic, chaotic violet pattern that stretched out like a spiderweb with him fully in its grasp, whispering livemoveViktorbreatherun--a woman screaming his name in pain and fear with her last breath as that same force consumed her--failing to destroy it and only angering it, the sharp and agonizing jolts of pain along his leg and through his mind-]
['You have to destroy it. The Hexcore. I...I can't do it.']
[Because he was weak, and it wanted him. Everything that happened was his fault; a world of silent metal and cold husks, all because he couldn't pull himself free of his own selfish ambitions, and maybe this would be wht finally put an end to-]
[There is always a choice. His own words, echoed back at him in the voice of a friend.]
[No. No, this would not happen again. No one could carry the weight of so many lives on their shoulders, even if it was their responsibility. No mtter how many of them came from dead or dying worlds, was that truly theirs alone to shoulder? Was it meaningless to wish to atone for one's failures and missteps?]
[His right hand gripped the crutch at his side tightly, and a sudden burst of magic sprang forth; a circular shape swirling in incomprehensible layers of living webs, shifting and changing in every color and yet none all at once.]
That is enough. This delusion ends now.
[An unrecognizeable voice reverberated from him in a terrible echo, and the Anomaly gave way to the Herald; floating just off the ground with furious eyes in the same shifting colors as the magic he had been created from. The Hexclaw at his shoulder came to life in a glow of incomprehensible runes, charging and firing a tremendous beam of purple light at the rubble he had foreseen the attack coming from.]
Edited (repeated myself because of the tired sleepy) 2025-01-29 06:11 (UTC)
[The entire space twists in immediate defiance. The edges crack with cacophony.
Vakama stumbles back at the change with his hands pressed against his skull, tools clattering against the grates behind him. The laser flies true and the tendril flails with an unholy screeching, a burning that smells like rot and rubber. But just as it withdraws, a second tendril whips up and around the forge to snake around the Matoran's ankle. He's lifted up with a yell of alarm, whipped and slammed hard against the top of the forge.
Delusion indeed.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Break the delusion.
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Viktor's hexclaw winds down from its attack, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With another whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama weakly struggles to his feet, his form flickers to normal -- stumbling towards Viktor, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire.]
Viktor -- together, I told you, I'm not going to l--
[But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist before his thought finishes, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Viktor will find his limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to anchor his feet back to the floor, to wrap him still and drag him to his death.
No matter whether Viktor acts or stays still, he will feel his power is draining without replenishment.]
[Voice still metallic from stress but losing the abject fury, he could barely hear himself so much as think. The Hexclaw moved more on instinct than anything else, firing on every one of those plants it could manage to hit in a flurry of light and motion. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long, but he was damn determined to try.]
[The more that arm works, the more that Viktor will find himself weakening - like a battery losing its charge, lower and lower and lower. Any movement through the growing sea of vines drags like quicksand, the heat sweltering.]
Y-yes... Yes, I c-can, I...
[He's trying to press, to get some kind of leverage. But diminished as he is, he's powerless.
Powerless.
It's getting hard to breathe. Suffocating, suffocating.
Powerless.
--Vakama, are you sure about this--]
I did the--- the best I could, I-- w-we had t-to do--- something--
[You're exhausted. You're beyond exhausted. An echo of Vakama's voice rings like a memory. Pushing. Pushing.
"Keep going! Together, at its heart! We will win!"
You don't have much more to give. But you're running out of time.]
[The form of the cybernetic Herald flickered like a glitch in reality with that same eldritch webbing of magic, threatening to give way to the mortal he had once been at the concept of weakness, of helplessness, of limitation-]
[But you were never broken, Viktor.]
[...Ah. Maybe that was it. They were, in some way Viktor could not possibly fully grasp, similar. If he had to burn out every last bit of his power (again) to help another, then he would fire again and again until his every last function shut down.]
You are not powerless. If you have done your best in the past, then do it again. Progress is to fall ten times and still stand for an eleventh, even if it means being pulled by another's hand! No matter if it kills me, I will not allow anyone to fall and bear the pain of faltering alone-!
That pain jolts as the floor dips out beneath them both, vines vanishing as the surroundings snap to black in a free fall.
There is no time to catch their breath. Both Viktor and Vakama's bodies will both ricochet off repeated hard surfaces of metal, off grand flooring split into hexagonal shapes; shooting up rapidly in columns, tossing them about like dolls, slamming them into high stone walls under the jeering boos of a crowd.
--The heart of Metru Nui, do you have it safe?--
You're too exhausted to do anything but withstand it. Your powers spark but no longer answer. Ghost-like forms of your fellow shard-carrying teammates pick themselves up off the floor, beaten and barely on their feet.
Someone high above you laughs.
"Let us praise these jesters. Perhaps they sought to entertain us during this difficult time.
Or, are they imposters? Responsible for our true Toa's demise?"
The sounds of the unseen crowd roar in fury.
What progression does one see in this, Vakama?
All the effort to be made a fool.
Half your teammates go flying backward to vanish into an unseen space beyond, pulled by the wind itself. The rest scramble for one another, for their weapons, for an escape, as an enormous swarm of robots marches in advance on them.
For people saw true colors, not your empty attempts.
You can do nothing but run. Run. Run, hide, search through muddied dark spaces with your bare hands. You're exhausted. You're all so exhausted.
Empty attempts. Misguided efforts.
The jeering echos of the crowd slowly die to eerie, unnatural silence. The clicking hiss of a hatch unlocks in the outstretched darkness. An empty sphere, mocking, as lightning starts to crack overhead.
--Tell me, Vakama. The heart of Metru Nui, do you have it safe?--]
I... I thought it our only choice... [His eyes fall to the ground, as though he can't bear to answer the voice that asks so gently.] I saw no other way, and yet...
["I failed you
chasing my dreams
wasting everyone's time
I told you
I'll never be a--"
The stars of the sky overhead seem to black out in response, two glorious suns eclipsing as though the universe has shut its eyes to their efforts.
Vakama's fists tighten at his sides, voice breaking.]
I tried.
[You fled.
The sound of a violent sea crashes in their ears, surrounded by darkened rock pitted by centuries of waves. A body, golden and feeble and frail, ricochets past them in the dark with a trail of dark energy, immediately drawing Vakama's attention with a choke of distress.
To the ends of the silver sea, leaving your people behind. Suffering for sake of your cowardice.
Through the crashing of the waves and the darkness that descends like a curtain, Viktor will see an enormous claw of shadow reaching out beyond the sea like a giant swatting a fly, intent on smashing them against the sea wall.]
[Pain was an old companion, had been so in varying degrees all his life. The impacts sent flickering violet shockwaves across his body, snapped the Hexclaw's arm in a metallic cry of pain and burst of rune-shaped sparks, leaving the iron taste in his mouth of blood he no longer had to shed.]
[This was the weight of guilt, shame, hopelessness--all of which he knew well. Too well, enough to know this was an insurmountable enemy, a tremendous shadow that would drown them both in misery and death that was perhaps deserved.]
[Hands that were too rigid to be organic and too warm to be machine gripped Vakama's shoulders, the swirling anomaly in Viktor's eyes burning a deep red-orange.]
Wake up-! Do you want to atone for your failings? Do you think yourself better served dying and proving yourself a hypocrite in denying me the sane? Do you want to live, Vakama?!
[It's hard to see if Vakama has even heard Viktor's admonishments at first. He stays frozen under that desperate grasp, eyes still stuck on the maskless body lying broken and barely visible in the darkness. But there's a flare of anger, of deeply seeded pain, as he tries to shove away from Viktor's grip.]
No-- No, I wouldn't-- I can't just waste everything. Never.
[The sacrifices that kept piling up for him to take such unsteady steps.
The body that sits cold in his place.
"That was meant for me."
--Do you want to live, Vakama?-
Do you want to atone?
Murderer.
His breath catches.
And the blow hits them both hard.
Deep, thundering arcs of foreign energy immediately crack through every part of the body on contact. You cannot struggle, and can barely watch, as you're slammed headfirst into solid rock.
Viktor is now alone.
The rock starts to dissolve into itself, a dizzied run of spiraling tunnels.
What reaches for atonement have benefited?
Would you twist them in your hands with delay?
Would you twist your heart once more?
Your confines feel claustrophobic and foreign from all sides, smelling of earth and ocean, horrifically dark. And while the comments have been mocking, now they grow genuinely angry.
--who died and made you Mata Nui anyway--?
--you're not the only one trying--
--maybe if this wasn't coming from a leader who doesn't know when to quit--
--we can't keep going like this, Vakama!!--
Arrogance.
Recklessness.
Foolish, childish decisions.
The poisonous fog that had laid out in that cityscape returns, thick and suffocating, before Viktor drops straight into the depths of an angry, stormy sea, the battered parts of a craft pushed too far sinking slowly into the rocking depths beyond them.
And where did that lead you?
Atonement.
Guilt disguised as bravery, your chest raised with eyes blinded.
Claiming atonement.
Another jerking lunge, and Viktor will be washed on the shore of a beach filled with nothing but rubble. A skyline that criss-crosses with thick webs. A stillness broken only by the deafening roars and cries of wildlife that had not been there before.
And Vakama sits, at the precipice of the nearest hill, looking down towards Viktor with an expression of nauseated regret that can't bear to keep the eye contact, even as his own voice echoes, unattached, off in the distance with an almost pompous arrogance, the voices mumbling constant and increasing disapprovals through the air.
As though you could drown it all out.
As though your bold words could change any of it.
"Are we going to stand around all night? Nothing changes! We go to the Coliseum, we rescue the Matoran, and we leave!
[It was uncomfortable, how much of this was familiar. This was not the first time Viktor had felt a sudden all-encompassing pain, heard indistinct sounds and voices as existence faded--except this time, he was not met by oblivion.]
[His head pounded in a way he hadn't believed it still could, with the rhythm of a phantom heartbeat and the force of unfamiliar thoughts. Slowly, he picked himself up with the staff at his side, forcing himself to keep going. Giving up now would be a terrible betrayal, cowrdice of the highest order.]
[So he took a breath that whirred like air through metal, and followed.]
Vakama looks shaken at the choice. But as soon as Viktor reaches the threshold, Vakama is forced to stumble to his feet. It seems there is no stopping either of them.
You follow, past the lingering ghost of a figure who does not listen; every step unsteady, on a path crumbling underfoot, as the fog grows denser amidst the buildings. A monument, a grave, more than a city.
Vakama tenses, a choking sound and a curling of his fists as though he's trying to say something. But it's robbed of him.
You follow.
You see energy crackle forward through the bare air to hit the ghost of your leader.
And only a moment later, your own body is hit, going completely rigid against your will.
Paralysis.
You crumple. All you hear is an absence. Too silent. Far, far too silent.
--everyone okay--
right behind you, fearless leader... literally--
bickering won't get us out of this--
noooo, but think-talking before charging straight into a TRAP might have--
Your eyes scan frantically. You see the bodies of so many of your fellow shardbearers.
Nothing.
You can't do anything.
The swarm quickly overtakes you.
It overtakes all of them.
Not even willing to face the consequences, even now.
Teeth bite, webbing pulls, tighter and tighter until every surface both metal and organic starts to give, starts to prick - barbs, hundreds upon thousands, sinking into every inch of you with the burning rush of venom.
Every pounding of your head riles you up. Panic, that grows, less like yourself, less sentient, less in control, and more like--
The change happens without warning. A ripple effect, in one limb, that rapidly moves down the body you cannot see in the tightened trapping of your cocoon. Metal and muscle suddenly twist. Crack. Bending out of shape to reform to another. Bulging, adding, changing. Armor merges with structure, masks sinking to join with faces, chest expanding as limbs outstretch and your mind twists ferally within your skull.
Your mouth opens to scream. A strangled roar rips from your throat instead.
Your cocoon rips to open air. You free fall, from the highest point.
You hit the ground, somehow not dying from the impact. Your body moves awkwardly. Primal. Unbalanced. Instinct over your mind. The tunnel vision can't be ignored.
But Vakama is there. Still a Matoran, with his hands held in front of you placatingly, as though trying to prevent you from running.]
Not... not again. I won't do this again. N-no.
[He exhales. You feel the growl in your throat against your will.]
Please, my friend. Please. Are you--
[Are you still you?]
1/2 cw more of that, loss of humanity, machine body horror
[He didn't understand, then. Why he'd been killed by the person who mattered above all others, had he not been doing what they always wanted? Hadn't he been helping others and changing the world as the pair of them had always dreamed they would? nd oh, of course, the answer was that single critical failing, that flaw inherent to all humanity. The source of conflict, that which inspired greatest good and greatest evil.]
[You can save him. You can save everyone. Their exalted Herald can free them from the weakness of emotion.]
[The blood of a beast that was once a man--Vander, a beautiful dream of a loving family, worth the risk of burning yourself out to save from the monster he had been turned into--courses through you, and the primal scream of anguish and heartbreak and rage tearing itself from your throat now was then echoed between the pair of you with minds connected. The shattered bloodless hole in your chest stitches itself back together, metal frame elongating in creaking noises of blazing agony. Humanity is flawed, and must evolve past their weaknesses.]
[You must evolve.]
['Viktor' was meant to die, and had to die now for the Machine Herald to save this world. To release that one person from his own anguish and torment.]
[A thin frame of steel and organics crashed to the ground, staff landing nearby in a clatter of metal. Curling in on himself, thin hands grasping at his head as if in rction to an indescribable pain threatening to rip it apart. Blinding, white-hot like a brand pressed into his forehead, violet light sparking along his body like a massive short circuit.]
[In shuddering hesitance, skipping and cracking like a shattered machine, a voice rose from the wreckage:]
The final--glori-i-ous evolution--
[Weak. Broken. Humanity aches for better lives, peace that can only be found without...without...]
[But you were never broken, Viktor.]
[Again, a voice from his memories.]
[There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are.]
[No. No. No, this was wrong. This was wrong, thousands and thousands of golden threads each leading to a person he was all but strangling to death with it. That was...that was why he was here, because Viktor had to kill the Herald permanently. He had to atone for the damage he had done and the lives he had ruined, exiling himself from his own world to save another.]
S...stop--I am not--I want to re-re-remain Viktor-
[Pain was his oldest companion. It was human, and the intense agony now was almost a reassurance. A metal fist slammed into the ground, heavy breathing amidst modulated and reverberating words whirring and screaming like gale force winds threatening to rip apart a steel structure. His head was burning, but the pressure was...retreating. Slowly, the sparking lights running along his body began to calm to a less frantic glow, leaving a thin form like a broken doll struggling to pull himself off the ground.]
[As Viktor's peripheral shudders and shifts from the change, the Matoran keeps his hands up -- a slight give of relief in his expression when he hears the push back, that same flicker back to Toa, on his knees in front of a suffering Viktor.]
You will. You... have worked too hard for this to end here, my friend.
...It will be all right.
[--how are we supposed to--
--you call THIS all right???--
The sounds of others crawling to unsteady feet seems to echo. In pain. Confused. Horrified.
Furious.
Moving away, further and further.
Not from Viktor, for Viktor will find that foreign hands twist against his pale frame, urging him backwards. Stay with the group. Stay together.
It is Vakama that is left to stand alone.
As his form flicks back from Toa to Matoran, he still tries to break the distance, a sharpness in his distress as he scrambles to try and grab for Viktor's arm.]
No - No, I won't repeat this. I can't. Not like this.
[The hold reaches. But something gets to Vakama first.
You know that isn't how this works.
The pain flashes. A twist of the space, the light, and a disformed figure drops down from the webs with frightening speed, snapping gnarled fingers onto the Matoran's skull, hoisting him up off the ground as he yelps.
[His head shrieked and ground with the noise and pressure of misaligned gears, Viktor reaching back in hope to see this nightmare reach its end--then everything burst in motion and chaos, in a snarling voice that mocked him just as much as it did his companion.]
[So that's what this is. I see it now--you inflict your own punishment just as I do.]
You are right. [His voice scraped on modulators of steel, worn by pain and exhaustion as Viktor forced himself to stand with both hands gripping his staff.] Clarity at the end of all things...is no comfort for the lives ended. There is no true way to balance the equation, not even in death.
[The joints in delicate metal hands creaked in a tightening grip on what had once been an immaculate crutch, Viktor forcing himself to stand straighter.]
But the attempt must be done. Even if true atonement is an impossible task, the effort must be made. Even if it should mean dragging oneself inch by inch out of hell.
There will always be those willing to forgive. The only way to bear guilt is to let them. If your hands find only destruction...let them be guided by others.
Always the others. Always what's BEST for the OTHERS--
[Spitting, snarling, from a different shadow than before. Circling.
The air starts to blur with shadow.
You are being hunted.
A deliberate self-isolation.]
The others show their hands soon enough. What would they possibly understand?
[Flashes plague your peripheral.
-skies with spiralling stars blotting out like ink to paper- -angry seas swallowing the streets- -the press of a cold sky with the earth shuddering like the final breath of a corpse-
hauntings, without clarity
forever]
Belief runs dry. I will not be a waste again!
[With a crack of heat, Viktor will feel the slash of a weapon that just barely misses him from behind (7) as Vakama slams back to the ground in a furious hail of sparks. He pivots, snarling with sharpened eyes tinged the same sickening green as the fog, launching himself bodily to try and tackle Viktor to the ground.]
Edited (oh my god nik read dicebot correctly) 2025-01-30 15:22 (UTC)
[Before he could think of an argument, there was a flurry of heat and motion, Vakama crashing into him (5) and metal or not, he was still both snaller and slighter. Desperation sparked along with pain as the pair of them collided with the ground, and he debated with himself for only an instant before his eyes burned a solid glowing white, thin hand shooting upwards to grab Vakama with fingertips burning opalescent marks into metal-]
[Flashes in return, each instant and fleeting as the power of the Herald struggled against an overpowering resistance. Forcing clarity, pushing back with the concept of compassion and forgiveness-]
[In the pursuit of great, we failed to do good. We have to make it right.]
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no subject
[Viktor flinched at the sudden jolt, bringing a hand up--to his forehead, specifically. No, not the same pain--too close, but no monstrous transformation took hold this time.]
I do not know. This...can not be real. I am no longer connected to a space like this.
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...]
I'm sorry. This... this is real. It always is.
[But his expression twists with strain as he reaches for Viktor's hand, eyes spotting the brace and his grip tightening all the more at the sight of it. He... remembers this. But there's nothing he can do.
--Nothing nothing nothing nothing---]
C-come on. Follow me... we can't stay here.
[He'll start to tug, at whatever pace he can force Viktor to move.
White starts to flake away to metal streets, though the sides of your vision never get any clearer. The smell of smoke and molten metals thickens the air with warmth, the lighting going red and dark under towering cylindrical buildings, walkways that stacked on top of one another, foundries and conveyors, shipping and processing yards fenced up several stories, smokestacks that seem to stretch far off into the sky.
The district is cramped, but empty. Quiet. And every few steps, that pain flickers, and with it, so do the surroundings. Darkened skies. Destroyed catwalks. Enormous towers split down the middle and spilling their molten contents over miles and miles of buildings, the roar of fires and failing structures groaning like the cry of some far off dying animals, all as the sky rumbles.
Every flicker gets worse, like a warning bell in the mind, and it only seems to stop if Vakama halts completely.]
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[There wasn't much point for secrets now, realizing with faint horror that Vakama knew the scope of the Herald's work. He let himself be pulled along for only a few steps, tugging his hand back as he fell into step with Vakama's pace. Stifling a cough into his hand at the smell--a forge of some kind, he would recognize that anywhere--gold eyes darted over unfamiliar scenery as he tried to ignore that contnuing pain andd flickering.]
What is all of this? Where are we?
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Broken apart by cataclysm.
[Signs of life echo like whispers of ghosts in admist the foundries and rubble; nameplates and personal touches, well worn metal underfoot, paint on bars worn down from constant usage, hundreds of carved tablets hung with everything from workman's lists to accolades, banners hung with the district colors, monumental screens that once might have displayed something important for a huge crowd, now cracked and blackened. Enormous support rings, once holding some sort of transportation chute system that stretched in every direction, now lay empty and cracking.
The more they walk, the more the rubble fills in. Wildlife making nests. Webs stringing together broken pipework. A deep, poisonous fog of green.
The voices twist, a mocking tone that is hard to pinpoint as genuine or not.
--you should not blame yourself
you are a mask maker
matoran in armor
let us praise these jesters
imposters
you are a mask maker
not a--
The ground snaps forward as though being yanked through space by an invisible hand. You feel unsteady and will need to catch yourself.
You can hear the echoes of reaction as you do so - warbled, confused, distant. Someone, somewhere, elsewhere.
"Is everything alright?"
"What's with him?"
The space you raise up into has has the ceiling and one of the walls completely blown out, revealing the darkened sky and smoke filled walkways trailing up and up into forever. It's a foundry, an enormous forge set in the center with equipment and tools strung from every available piece of metal, parts and craftings and molds and masks scattered like so much debris.
At the foot of the ruins lies a sphere. The hatch is open, with red lights blinking on and off. But the sphere itself looks empty.
Vakama's exhausted demeanor only deepens at the site of it, choosing to ignore as he tries to get a better view of his bearings. But surely it would be fine to take a closer look.
Surely you would trust your h̴̠̣̪̊̊e̸̯̚r̷̢̬̹̾o̷̻̭̭̾͑͂̓̋e̴̢̡̪̋̂̇̓ͅs̷̛͉͖̥̬̯̈́̓]
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[He caught himself cursing in his native language more often lately, but things kept unpleasantly shocking him. Viktor stumbled and barely steadied himself with both hands gripping his crutch, getting his feet back under him with a scowl. This was...different. This was more than just others' minds open to his own, it was disorienting in a way that had never quite been.]
[...Was this what it had been like, for another's mind to overpower theirs?]
[Shaking his head to dismiss that thought, Viktor instead elected to look around--taking a curious and unsteady step towards that open sphere.]
1/2 cw: mild body horror to be safe
"What are these?"
"Storage containers, but most odd-looking."
A sound thumps in the ears.
Loud, but slowing. Slowing. Slowing, as your limbs start to grow cold and weak. Your memory starts to blur at the edges, as though something is crawling in and eating away at the inside of your skull.
"Matoran of Metru Nui.
Rejoice.
For today will be a momentus climax to your history."]
/2
[Vakama will sound distant.
"--No-- t-the Matoran, they're in danger--"
"What? What do you see--"
It's a sudden flash of an image, another flash of that vivid pain. Storage containers for miles and miles, up and down into infinity, sealed up tight, filled with
curled limbs
dim heartbeats
cold bodies
--
"Nothing. Nothing, sister.
Nothing at all."]
Viktor, no, this wasn't meant for you--!!!
[Who was responsible?
(3)
Though in a mental fatigue that will be hard to shake, Viktor will still get a nice visual head-start of the enormous, twisted tendril of shadow and plant matter that rises from the rubble and immediately snaps forward to grab at him, and only him.]
1/2
[Unfamiliar voices overlaid in his head with the memory of spinning, pulsating magic, chaotic violet pattern that stretched out like a spiderweb with him fully in its grasp, whispering livemoveViktorbreatherun--a woman screaming his name in pain and fear with her last breath as that same force consumed her--failing to destroy it and only angering it, the sharp and agonizing jolts of pain along his leg and through his mind-]
['You have to destroy it. The Hexcore. I...I can't do it.']
[Because he was weak, and it wanted him. Everything that happened was his fault; a world of silent metal and cold husks, all because he couldn't pull himself free of his own selfish ambitions, and maybe this would be wht finally put an end to-]
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[No. No, this would not happen again. No one could carry the weight of so many lives on their shoulders, even if it was their responsibility. No mtter how many of them came from dead or dying worlds, was that truly theirs alone to shoulder? Was it meaningless to wish to atone for one's failures and missteps?]
[His right hand gripped the crutch at his side tightly, and a sudden burst of magic sprang forth; a circular shape swirling in incomprehensible layers of living webs, shifting and changing in every color and yet none all at once.]
That is enough. This delusion ends now.[An unrecognizeable voice reverberated from him in a terrible echo, and the Anomaly gave way to the Herald; floating just off the ground with furious eyes in the same shifting colors as the magic he had been created from. The Hexclaw at his shoulder came to life in a glow of incomprehensible runes, charging and firing a tremendous beam of purple light at the rubble he had foreseen the attack coming from.]
cw fires, tentacle/snake imagery just to be safe
Vakama stumbles back at the change with his hands pressed against his skull, tools clattering against the grates behind him. The laser flies true and the tendril flails with an unholy screeching, a burning that smells like rot and rubber. But just as it withdraws, a second tendril whips up and around the forge to snake around the Matoran's ankle. He's lifted up with a yell of alarm, whipped and slammed hard against the top of the forge.
Delusion indeed.
It's a voice that echoes from nowhere, piercing but echoing. A reverberation, not a source.
we're wasting time--
--hunting down just because of--
--so sure about this--
Break the delusion.
Who is responsible?
The heat starts to rise suddenly. Drastically.
As Viktor's hexclaw winds down from its attack, the surroundings morph again - the wreck of an enormous open furnace almost unfathomably tall, s̸͕͓̄ǒ̴̱̪͈̠͌͐ṁ̸̛̠͌̑ḙ̷͍̺͂̿̕͝ť̶̫͌̊h̸̛̛͓͓͈̾̒į̵̘͙͉̀̈n̴̢̩͉̺̏̎̀g̵̨̙̎ boiling in its catastrophic flames.
With another whipping snap, Vakama is fully thrown across the room like a ragdoll.
What time was wasted in your incessant searching?
What lives brought to suffer?
For a split second, as Vakama weakly struggles to his feet, his form flickers to normal -- stumbling towards Viktor, a hand outstretched that wraps with building, swirling fire.]
Viktor -- together, I told you, I'm not going to l--
[But that same shadowed tendril grips him tight by the waist before his thought finishes, and his form changes right back, yelling and shoving for purchase as he's lifted right back into the air.
Viktor will find his limbs drawn down on the spot in a rain of unavoidable projectiles. Hundreds of thousands of seeded capsules fall from the ceiling; cracking open where they land, growing quickly like a mass of writhing, multiplying snakes of rot and plant and darkness, grasping out to anchor his feet back to the floor, to wrap him still and drag him to his death.
No matter whether Viktor acts or stays still, he will feel his power is draining without replenishment.]
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[Voice still metallic from stress but losing the abject fury, he could barely hear himself so much as think. The Hexclaw moved more on instinct than anything else, firing on every one of those plants it could manage to hit in a flurry of light and motion. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long, but he was damn determined to try.]
That voice, what--do you hear it too?!
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Y-yes... Yes, I c-can, I...
[He's trying to press, to get some kind of leverage. But diminished as he is, he's powerless.
Powerless.
It's getting hard to breathe. Suffocating, suffocating.
Powerless.
--Vakama, are you sure about this--]
I did the--- the best I could, I-- w-we had t-to do--- something--
[You're exhausted. You're beyond exhausted. An echo of Vakama's voice rings like a memory. Pushing. Pushing.
"Keep going! Together, at its heart! We will win!"
You don't have much more to give. But you're running out of time.]
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[But you were never broken, Viktor.]
[...Ah. Maybe that was it. They were, in some way Viktor could not possibly fully grasp, similar. If he had to burn out every last bit of his power (again) to help another, then he would fire again and again until his every last function shut down.]
You are not powerless. If you have done your best in the past, then do it again. Progress is to fall ten times and still stand for an eleventh, even if it means being pulled by another's hand! No matter if it kills me, I will not allow anyone to fall and bear the pain of faltering alone-!
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That pain jolts as the floor dips out beneath them both, vines vanishing as the surroundings snap to black in a free fall.
There is no time to catch their breath. Both Viktor and Vakama's bodies will both ricochet off repeated hard surfaces of metal, off grand flooring split into hexagonal shapes; shooting up rapidly in columns, tossing them about like dolls, slamming them into high stone walls under the jeering boos of a crowd.
--The heart of Metru Nui, do you have it safe?--
You're too exhausted to do anything but withstand it. Your powers spark but no longer answer. Ghost-like forms of your fellow shard-carrying teammates pick themselves up off the floor, beaten and barely on their feet.
Someone high above you laughs.
"Let us praise these jesters. Perhaps they sought to entertain us during this difficult time.
Or, are they imposters? Responsible for our true Toa's demise?"
The sounds of the unseen crowd roar in fury.
What progression does one see in this, Vakama?
All the effort to be made a fool.
Half your teammates go flying backward to vanish into an unseen space beyond, pulled by the wind itself. The rest scramble for one another, for their weapons, for an escape, as an enormous swarm of robots marches in advance on them.
For people saw true colors, not your empty attempts.
You can do nothing but run. Run. Run, hide, search through muddied dark spaces with your bare hands. You're exhausted. You're all so exhausted.
Empty attempts. Misguided efforts.
The jeering echos of the crowd slowly die to eerie, unnatural silence. The clicking hiss of a hatch unlocks in the outstretched darkness. An empty sphere, mocking, as lightning starts to crack overhead.
--Tell me, Vakama. The heart of Metru Nui, do you have it safe?--]
I... I thought it our only choice... [His eyes fall to the ground, as though he can't bear to answer the voice that asks so gently.] I saw no other way, and yet...
["I failed you
chasing my dreams
wasting everyone's time
I told you
I'll never be a--"
The stars of the sky overhead seem to black out in response, two glorious suns eclipsing as though the universe has shut its eyes to their efforts.
Vakama's fists tighten at his sides, voice breaking.]
I tried.
[You fled.
The sound of a violent sea crashes in their ears, surrounded by darkened rock pitted by centuries of waves. A body, golden and feeble and frail, ricochets past them in the dark with a trail of dark energy, immediately drawing Vakama's attention with a choke of distress.
To the ends of the silver sea, leaving your people behind. Suffering for sake of your cowardice.
Through the crashing of the waves and the darkness that descends like a curtain, Viktor will see an enormous claw of shadow reaching out beyond the sea like a giant swatting a fly, intent on smashing them against the sea wall.]
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[This was the weight of guilt, shame, hopelessness--all of which he knew well. Too well, enough to know this was an insurmountable enemy, a tremendous shadow that would drown them both in misery and death that was perhaps deserved.]
[Hands that were too rigid to be organic and too warm to be machine gripped Vakama's shoulders, the swirling anomaly in Viktor's eyes burning a deep red-orange.]
Wake up-! Do you want to atone for your failings? Do you think yourself better served dying and proving yourself a hypocrite in denying me the sane? Do you want to live, Vakama?!
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No-- No, I wouldn't-- I can't just waste everything. Never.
[The sacrifices that kept piling up for him to take such unsteady steps.
The body that sits cold in his place.
"That was meant for me."
--Do you want to live, Vakama?-
Do you want to atone?
Murderer.
His breath catches.
And the blow hits them both hard.
Deep, thundering arcs of foreign energy immediately crack through every part of the body on contact. You cannot struggle, and can barely watch, as you're slammed headfirst into solid rock.
Viktor is now alone.
The rock starts to dissolve into itself, a dizzied run of spiraling tunnels.
What reaches for atonement have benefited?
Would you twist them in your hands with delay?
Would you twist your heart once more?
Your confines feel claustrophobic and foreign from all sides, smelling of earth and ocean, horrifically dark. And while the comments have been mocking, now they grow genuinely angry.
--who died and made you Mata Nui anyway--?
--you're not the only one trying--
--maybe if this wasn't coming from a leader who doesn't know when to quit--
--we can't keep going like this, Vakama!!--
Arrogance.
Recklessness.
Foolish, childish decisions.
The poisonous fog that had laid out in that cityscape returns, thick and suffocating, before Viktor drops straight into the depths of an angry, stormy sea, the battered parts of a craft pushed too far sinking slowly into the rocking depths beyond them.
And where did that lead you?
Atonement.
Guilt disguised as bravery, your chest raised with eyes blinded.
Claiming atonement.
Another jerking lunge, and Viktor will be washed on the shore of a beach filled with nothing but rubble. A skyline that criss-crosses with thick webs. A stillness broken only by the deafening roars and cries of wildlife that had not been there before.
And Vakama sits, at the precipice of the nearest hill, looking down towards Viktor with an expression of nauseated regret that can't bear to keep the eye contact, even as his own voice echoes, unattached, off in the distance with an almost pompous arrogance, the voices mumbling constant and increasing disapprovals through the air.
As though you could drown it all out.
As though your bold words could change any of it.
"Are we going to stand around all night? Nothing changes! We go to the Coliseum, we rescue the Matoran, and we leave!
Follow me!"
...
Will you follow?]
no subject
[His head pounded in a way he hadn't believed it still could, with the rhythm of a phantom heartbeat and the force of unfamiliar thoughts. Slowly, he picked himself up with the staff at his side, forcing himself to keep going. Giving up now would be a terrible betrayal, cowrdice of the highest order.]
[So he took a breath that whirred like air through metal, and followed.]
1/2
Vakama looks shaken at the choice. But as soon as Viktor reaches the threshold, Vakama is forced to stumble to his feet. It seems there is no stopping either of them.
You follow, past the lingering ghost of a figure who does not listen; every step unsteady, on a path crumbling underfoot, as the fog grows denser amidst the buildings. A monument, a grave, more than a city.
Vakama tenses, a choking sound and a curling of his fists as though he's trying to say something. But it's robbed of him.
You follow.
You see energy crackle forward through the bare air to hit the ghost of your leader.
And only a moment later, your own body is hit, going completely rigid against your will.
Paralysis.
You crumple. All you hear is an absence. Too silent. Far, far too silent.
--everyone okay--
right behind you, fearless leader... literally--
bickering won't get us out of this--
noooo, but think-talking before charging straight into a TRAP might have--
Vakama--
---what do we do?]
/2 cw: body horror,
You can't do anything.
Your eyes scan frantically. You see the bodies of so many of your fellow shardbearers.
Nothing.
You can't do anything.
The swarm quickly overtakes you.
It overtakes all of them.
Not even willing to face the consequences, even now.
Teeth bite, webbing pulls, tighter and tighter until every surface both metal and organic starts to give, starts to prick - barbs, hundreds upon thousands, sinking into every inch of you with the burning rush of venom.
Every pounding of your head riles you up. Panic, that grows, less like yourself, less sentient, less in control, and more like--
The change happens without warning. A ripple effect, in one limb, that rapidly moves down the body you cannot see in the tightened trapping of your cocoon. Metal and muscle suddenly twist. Crack. Bending out of shape to reform to another. Bulging, adding, changing. Armor merges with structure, masks sinking to join with faces, chest expanding as limbs outstretch and your mind twists ferally within your skull.
Your mouth opens to scream. A strangled roar rips from your throat instead.
Your cocoon rips to open air. You free fall, from the highest point.
You hit the ground, somehow not dying from the impact. Your body moves awkwardly. Primal. Unbalanced. Instinct over your mind. The tunnel vision can't be ignored.
But Vakama is there. Still a Matoran, with his hands held in front of you placatingly, as though trying to prevent you from running.]
Not... not again. I won't do this again. N-no.
[He exhales. You feel the growl in your throat against your will.]
Please, my friend. Please. Are you--
[Are you still you?]
1/2 cw more of that, loss of humanity, machine body horror
[You can save him. You can save everyone. Their exalted Herald can free them from the weakness of emotion.]
[The blood of a beast that was once a man--Vander, a beautiful dream of a loving family, worth the risk of burning yourself out to save from the monster he had been turned into--courses through you, and the primal scream of anguish and heartbreak and rage tearing itself from your throat now was then echoed between the pair of you with minds connected. The shattered bloodless hole in your chest stitches itself back together, metal frame elongating in creaking noises of blazing agony. Humanity is flawed, and must evolve past their weaknesses.]
[You must evolve.]
['Viktor' was meant to die, and had to die now for the Machine Herald to save this world. To release that one person from his own anguish and torment.]
no subject
[In shuddering hesitance, skipping and cracking like a shattered machine, a voice rose from the wreckage:]
The final--glori-i-
ous evolution--[Weak. Broken. Humanity aches for better lives, peace that can only be found without...without...]
[But you were never broken, Viktor.]
[Again, a voice from his memories.]
[There is beauty in imperfections. They made you who you are.]
[No. No. No, this was wrong. This was wrong, thousands and thousands of golden threads each leading to a person he was all but strangling to death with it. That was...that was why he was here, because Viktor had to kill the Herald permanently. He had to atone for the damage he had done and the lives he had ruined, exiling himself from his own world to save another.]
S...stop--
I am not--I want to re-re-remain Viktor-[Pain was his oldest companion. It was human, and the intense agony now was almost a reassurance. A metal fist slammed into the ground, heavy breathing amidst modulated and reverberating words whirring and screaming like gale force winds threatening to rip apart a steel structure. His head was burning, but the pressure was...retreating. Slowly, the sparking lights running along his body began to calm to a less frantic glow, leaving a thin form like a broken doll struggling to pull himself off the ground.]
no subject
You will. You... have worked too hard for this to end here, my friend.
...It will be all right.
[--how are we supposed to--
--you call THIS all right???--
The sounds of others crawling to unsteady feet seems to echo. In pain. Confused. Horrified.
Furious.
Moving away, further and further.
Not from Viktor, for Viktor will find that foreign hands twist against his pale frame, urging him backwards. Stay with the group. Stay together.
It is Vakama that is left to stand alone.
As his form flicks back from Toa to Matoran, he still tries to break the distance, a sharpness in his distress as he scrambles to try and grab for Viktor's arm.]
No - No, I won't repeat this. I can't. Not like this.
[The hold reaches. But something gets to Vakama first.
You know that isn't how this works.
The pain flashes. A twist of the space, the light, and a disformed figure drops down from the webs with frightening speed, snapping gnarled fingers onto the Matoran's skull, hoisting him up off the ground as he yelps.
Familiar enough, and yet not - twisted painfully, stalking like some great cat against the ground.
With incredible violence, the Matoran is tossed aside past rock and web, rolling to an unresponsive stop against the ground. And the voice that rolls out falls heavy on unnatural breath and predatory rumbling under every syllable, slipping right back into cover.]
You of all people should know.
[It's almost incredulous. So incredibly bitter. Animosity building, amplified.]
Intention. Atonement. [Spat out, pained.] What good does it do when we destroy all we touch? When we're destined to fail from the start?
[--who have you been TALKING to, who's put these thoughts into your head--
A breath rolls out, a rolling growl. Ignoring the voices. Uncaring.]
...Clarity. Things you only see for the truth at the end, with your eyes unclouded.
no subject
[So that's what this is. I see it now--you inflict your own punishment just as I do.]
You are right. [His voice scraped on modulators of steel, worn by pain and exhaustion as Viktor forced himself to stand with both hands gripping his staff.] Clarity at the end of all things...is no comfort for the lives ended. There is no true way to balance the equation, not even in death.
[The joints in delicate metal hands creaked in a tightening grip on what had once been an immaculate crutch, Viktor forcing himself to stand straighter.]
But the attempt must be done. Even if true atonement is an impossible task, the effort must be made. Even if it should mean dragging oneself inch by inch out of hell.
There will always be those willing to
forgive.The only way to bear guilt is to let them. If your hands find only destruction...let them be guided by others.no subject
Always the others. Always what's BEST for the OTHERS--
[Spitting, snarling, from a different shadow than before. Circling.
The air starts to blur with shadow.
You are being hunted.
A deliberate self-isolation.]
The others show their hands soon enough. What would they possibly understand?
[Flashes plague your peripheral.
-skies with spiralling stars blotting out like ink to paper-
-angry seas swallowing the streets-
-the press of a cold sky with the earth shuddering like the final breath of a corpse-
hauntings, without clarity
forever]
Belief runs dry. I will not be a waste again!
[With a crack of heat, Viktor will feel the slash of a weapon that just barely misses him from behind (7) as Vakama slams back to the ground in a furious hail of sparks. He pivots, snarling with sharpened eyes tinged the same sickening green as the fog, launching himself bodily to try and tackle Viktor to the ground.]
no subject
[Flashes in return, each instant and fleeting as the power of the Herald struggled against an overpowering resistance. Forcing clarity, pushing back with the concept of compassion and forgiveness-]
[In the pursuit of great, we failed to do good. We have to make it right.]
[There must be some part of you still in there-]
[Why do you persist after everything I've done?]
[Because I promised you.]
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