This time, you do not dream. Or rather, you were always dreaming, you now realize. That peaceful, happy life as a student—surrounded by family and friends, with a sport you were passionate over, where your greatest worries were getting into university, dates, or competitions—never existed.
You don't know why you dreamed of such a thing, when it's always been beyond your grasp, but it's time to wake up.
You are lost souls in Hell, bound here by your inability to find peace while alive. Driven by despair and fear, your desperation was twisted by power, your forms distorted into monsters that had to be slain. And now, you wander in limbo, still haunted by your regrets.]
[Arthur, you were a soldier of Edoras, your heart torn by war, needless killing, and deaths of your allies. All you wanted was to be free of that life and live in peace. You found someone you could trust in Opal, you found people who accepted you—and yet your past chased you down. How utterly unfair that is, when you asked for so little.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Your role in the house, and your years of isolation. Your parents' deaths; the time you had to pick which lives to save, and which ones to leave for dead because you couldn't help them all. Your weakness, and the people who've gotten hurt because of it.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
[it's coming across his parent's bodies, again, at first. after all, that was the first time he'd really grasped what his selfishness would (had) cost. they'd tried to tell him, his entire life - what a pity that the lesson didn't sink in without such direct, horrible proof.
he remembers, later, coming across the news that four other people had died that night as well. he remembers the cold realization that he does not even have ownership of his own trauma, and that every single regret that wakes him up at night extends far beyond him. that his life no longer belongs to himself, but to the people around him, people who will never know him.
and he remembers that night at the river, the aching cold from the rushing water that set into his bones and the fact that he could barely swim but he didn't care, it didn't matter, because he had failed again. he thought he had learned, had improved, but when he dragged her barely breathing body onto the bank, struggled to keep her warm and stop her heart from failing, he knew that being someone different was a vain hope.
he does not think of the things that have been taken from him - rather, he thinks about the things he's taken from others. you are more than your failures, someone had told him once, but he never really believed that was true. he believes it even less here as all these moments of selfishness and cowardice play over and over again, reminding him exactly who he is.
he doesn't try to run from it - it feels right and correct. this is what he deserves.]
[This is what Arthur deserves, in his eyes. His mental prison shows him Opal—Opal, whom Arthur has hurt. Surely, he remembers what he's done to her, how he's wronged her.
Though in contrast to whatever memory Arthur is reliving, one of bitterness and grief, Opal's tone is oddly soft, gentle.]
[he almost doesn't answer. she would certainly be better off moving on, letting go, not knowing that the answer is yes. after a moment, though - there's still something he should say to her, he thinks.]
[Arthur apologizes, and for a moment, Opal looks cold. And then, perhaps surprisingly, her expression softens. In fact, she reaches out to stroke the top of his head.]
I'm sorry. I'm not the one you want to apologize to...
[Whether or not her words make sense to Arthur, she continues.]
I'm not who you want to talk to at all, but no one here is, so let's get you up, okay?
[In spite of everything, there is something warm and familiar in her voice—whether or not it's but a drop in the dam of his guilt.]
[This might seem completely baffling to Arthur, but Opal pulls out a cane, lightly hitting him on the head with it, before holding it out for him to take.]
I meant you have to wake up, silly! But you should really stop being on the ground, too.
[Wake up? Perhaps Opal is right, and this isn't the real world that he sees, playing his worst memories and regrets for him—but does he want to wake up? If he deserves to, or if the world out there is any kinder.]
[Gregor, you were a soldier of Riven, originally from a country then conquered by the military giant. Time spent in poverty convinced you to join with those who invaded your land to begin with, if it meant a better life for you and your sister. All you wanted was some stability, for your family to be happy. And yet, your simple wish was taken advantage of.
As you remain blind to your surroundings, trapped within your own mind, scenes play out over and over again. Losing your home, being driven to banditry to survive. Being manipulated by someone you trusted into killing Ichiban, fleeing as a fugitive with your sister held hostage against you. Almost dying, and losing control of yourself.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Being experimented on and receiving the bug gene augmentation, now serving as a permanent marking you can never hide and are ostracized for. The Smoke War in which your side lost and was discarded, the treatment of your fallen G Corp afterwards where people wish you dead even for existing. Hermann, who has always controlled you, who sees you as her prize experiment.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
like the one he used to live in, then-- but everything after the nightmare feels so far away, right now. the hope he used to cling to in his life in riven, of a better future with yuri; the liveliness and humor he clung to in his life in the city, craving it after so long spent in that awful waking dream... with all of this in his head, they're not things that he can reach. not anymore.
mostly, what he sees is the mark on his arm. he looks down at himself, unsure what he'll even find when he does, and there it is like always, tattooed there.
ungeziefer. vermin.
'you're... no different from us. in the end, we're... nothing but... disgusting pests.'
his old manager's last words echo along with the rest of it. that's how the world has always seen him, isn't it? it doesn't really matter who he is. it only sees what he is. created, invested in, trained and used and then tossed aside like he was worthless.
maybe he is. what good has he ever done in his life, anyway?]
[In Gregor's eyes, he's led a worthless life, and perhaps others around him might agree. His mental prison shows him Yuri, whom he could not help in perhaps more ways than one.
[Something about Gregor's words causes Yuri's demeanour to shift, from gentle and kind to—determined? And yet, there is something warm and familiar in her voice, if it can at all penetrate the wall Gregor's putting up.]
Idiot. I'm not leaving without you.
[And with that, she will reach out to grab Gregor's non-bug hand.]
[He doesn't fight her, and sow—with perhaps surprising strength, Yuri scoops him up, now carrying him bridal style.
If Gregor won't move on his own, it seems she's decided to do it for him. Holding onto him like this, she walks forward, through the scenes of destruction. The war wages on around them, but she continues to stride with him, steadfast.]
[When Arthur and Gregor wake up, they will finally see their surroundings in Hell. They are in separate areas—an area that will be familiar to them, whether from home or in the Eudora. It's tinged with an eerie vibe—this is Hell. Any injuries you gained during your life on Orsterra (i.e. the Night segments) remain on your body, though none of them hurt or hinder you right now.
But perhaps more noticeably, an azure flame hovers in air near them individually, shining brightly and filled with warmth. Intuitively, they will understand that this flame has been reaching out to them, pulling them out of the torment of their own minds.
And now that they're here, they should probably regroup with the other.]
[equally exhausted, but-- he's also slightly distracted by the injuries just Being There but not hurting. man. shouldn't he be bleeding a lot right now? this should hurt. he doesn't think his legs are supposed to be working. this is a new one on him, usually when he wakes back up he's been healed... ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
N̴I̵G̵H̶T̵ ̵4̶ HELL
This time, you do not dream. Or rather, you were always dreaming, you now realize. That peaceful, happy life as a student—surrounded by family and friends, with a sport you were passionate over, where your greatest worries were getting into university, dates, or competitions—never existed.
You don't know why you dreamed of such a thing, when it's always been beyond your grasp, but it's time to wake up.
You are lost souls in Hell, bound here by your inability to find peace while alive. Driven by despair and fear, your desperation was twisted by power, your forms distorted into monsters that had to be slain. And now, you wander in limbo, still haunted by your regrets.]
ARTHUR
As you remain blind to your surroundings, trapped within your own mind, scenes play out over and over again. The war, Throné dying to protect you. Being caught as a deserter in the village, watching Opal nearly die. Turning on her, and almost killing her yourself.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Your role in the house, and your years of isolation. Your parents' deaths; the time you had to pick which lives to save, and which ones to leave for dead because you couldn't help them all. Your weakness, and the people who've gotten hurt because of it.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
no subject
he remembers, later, coming across the news that four other people had died that night as well. he remembers the cold realization that he does not even have ownership of his own trauma, and that every single regret that wakes him up at night extends far beyond him. that his life no longer belongs to himself, but to the people around him, people who will never know him.
and he remembers that night at the river, the aching cold from the rushing water that set into his bones and the fact that he could barely swim but he didn't care, it didn't matter, because he had failed again. he thought he had learned, had improved, but when he dragged her barely breathing body onto the bank, struggled to keep her warm and stop her heart from failing, he knew that being someone different was a vain hope.
he does not think of the things that have been taken from him - rather, he thinks about the things he's taken from others. you are more than your failures, someone had told him once, but he never really believed that was true. he believes it even less here as all these moments of selfishness and cowardice play over and over again, reminding him exactly who he is.
he doesn't try to run from it - it feels right and correct. this is what he deserves.]
no subject
Though in contrast to whatever memory Arthur is reliving, one of bitterness and grief, Opal's tone is oddly soft, gentle.]
... Can you hear me?
no subject
I'm sorry.
no subject
I'm sorry. I'm not the one you want to apologize to...
[Whether or not her words make sense to Arthur, she continues.]
I'm not who you want to talk to at all, but no one here is, so let's get you up, okay?
[In spite of everything, there is something warm and familiar in her voice—whether or not it's but a drop in the dam of his guilt.]
no subject
Up? I... I can't.
no subject
I meant you have to wake up, silly! But you should really stop being on the ground, too.
[Wake up? Perhaps Opal is right, and this isn't the real world that he sees, playing his worst memories and regrets for him—but does he want to wake up? If he deserves to, or if the world out there is any kinder.]
no subject
[he glances at the cane, hesitating.]
Why?
[why does he have to? what good would it do?]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
GREGOR
As you remain blind to your surroundings, trapped within your own mind, scenes play out over and over again. Losing your home, being driven to banditry to survive. Being manipulated by someone you trusted into killing Ichiban, fleeing as a fugitive with your sister held hostage against you. Almost dying, and losing control of yourself.
At the same time, other flashbacks take a hold of you, of another life. Being experimented on and receiving the bug gene augmentation, now serving as a permanent marking you can never hide and are ostracized for. The Smoke War in which your side lost and was discarded, the treatment of your fallen G Corp afterwards where people wish you dead even for existing. Hermann, who has always controlled you, who sees you as her prize experiment.
These things play endlessly in your head. What is that you see, that you feel?]
no subject
like the one he used to live in, then-- but everything after the nightmare feels so far away, right now. the hope he used to cling to in his life in riven, of a better future with yuri; the liveliness and humor he clung to in his life in the city, craving it after so long spent in that awful waking dream... with all of this in his head, they're not things that he can reach. not anymore.
mostly, what he sees is the mark on his arm. he looks down at himself, unsure what he'll even find when he does, and there it is like always, tattooed there.
ungeziefer. vermin.
'you're... no different from us. in the end, we're... nothing but... disgusting pests.'
his old manager's last words echo along with the rest of it. that's how the world has always seen him, isn't it? it doesn't really matter who he is. it only sees what he is. created, invested in, trained and used and then tossed aside like he was worthless.
maybe he is. what good has he ever done in his life, anyway?]
no subject
She calls out to him, holding out her hand.]
It's alright. We'll get you out of here.
no subject
[not here wherever he is, in the nightmare. she doesn't deserve that. (but she also just shouldn't be here, she died, she was gone, he couldn't--)]
Leave me, Yuri. You'll be better off.
[she'd be better off if they never met. if she never came on the mission.]
no subject
Idiot. I'm not leaving without you.
[And with that, she will reach out to grab Gregor's non-bug hand.]
no subject
[grabbing him like that throws him off, at least. no, no, listen to him, but--
reaching out like that, taking it on herself to take hold of him, makes it maybe a little easier to believe she means it.
he doesn't fight her.]
no subject
If Gregor won't move on his own, it seems she's decided to do it for him. Holding onto him like this, she walks forward, through the scenes of destruction. The war wages on around them, but she continues to stride with him, steadfast.]
no subject
[she scoops him up, carries him onward, and-- faced with this, he can't argue how serious she was about not leaving without him, can he?
it shakes him, for a minute, but when he regains a little more of his mental footing:]
-Yuri. Hey, I can...
[it's not that there's a sense of shame to it, or anything like that. just that if it's her, if she's so determined, then...
ah, he can't leave this all on her shoulders.]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
???
But perhaps more noticeably, an azure flame hovers in air near them individually, shining brightly and filled with warmth. Intuitively, they will understand that this flame has been reaching out to them, pulling them out of the torment of their own minds.
And now that they're here, they should probably regroup with the other.]
no subject
[he sounds exhausted, not to mention his injuries.]
no subject
[equally exhausted, but-- he's also slightly distracted by the injuries just Being There but not hurting. man. shouldn't he be bleeding a lot right now? this should hurt. he doesn't think his legs are supposed to be working. this is a new one on him, usually when he wakes back up he's been healed... ]
Are we dead?
no subject
[rubbing at his face.]
no subject
[he's done this like fifty times, the door is there and you get yanked out of your torment and suffering and]
-oh, hang on, we might've already done that part.
no subject
no subject
[but-]
...stupid question, but... you okay?
no subject
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/
2/
3/3
(no subject)
(no subject)
1/
2/
3/3
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
THE END