[ He doesn't want to do this. He had always, always wanted to be a good man. A man worthy of the life, the privilege and all the blessings he had been granted. He'd wanted to serve as the guard, to make better life in this miserable place, because there had to be something better.
Something wonderful, warm and full of love. He doesn't care for wealth, power or prestige, he had only wanted—
It's strange to hear Scien apologize. ]
No—
[ His darts forward with his sword, the blunt edge aimed toward Scien to knock the matches from his grasp.
(He wanted so badly to be a good man, but most days he can do little but choke on all the blood he's spilled. He cannot let Scien suffer the same.)
And then he'll pivot on his heel for a second strike with the butt of his sword, this one aimed at Scien's head. ]
[scien simultaneously doesn't like to be underestimated, and yet, he invites it. he's a man who's survived countless assassination attempts, day after day (is he?) and so there's something in the muscle memory that makes him harder to fight than one might expect. he loses the match that he'd pulled apart from the set but the batch of them are in his other hand. if he could just light one, then it'd be over.
doesn't he want this to be over?
there was another good man who sought to stop him, before his own choices and actions destroyed his principles. when desperation overruled his logic, and he thought that he was just so close to salvation, just one more almost for the pile.
he thinks of that good man again, his scarred face, his monstrosity, his ruinous pursuit of love.
he doesn't completely dodge the strike, but it doesn't draw blood. it doesn't hurt enough to slow him. he moves to close the space between them so it's harder for dion to swing, and again aims the gasoline to splash onto his face]
[ Scien doesn't hesitate, and he thinks that's for the best. He should want to live, and to survive. Not just because there's still much left to do, and so many lives left to save, but because he's—
He really doesn't want to do this.
The gasoline splashes in his face, stinging in one eye where he's too slow to protect himself. The stench of it is suffocating, and for a second he thinks to retreat, but any time he gives Scien is an opportunity to light a match.
Frustration wells. Frustration that quickly ignites into fury, all else giving way to a desperate desire to—not live, exactly, but win. To wrest some control for himself.
He fixes his gaze on Scien again, in a second correcting his stance to strike forward with the sword, double handed as he seeks to cleave him in two. ]
[vengeance sits oddly in scien's chest. vengeance implies that there's something that you want, that you cherish so dearly, that you find yourself torn asunder when it's taken from you. scien wins so very often, but sometimes he loses. sometimes his life's work is ripped from him, destroyed past the point of recognition, and the one thing he has for himself is gone. even then—whenever that was—it never occurred to him to seek revenge.
but now there is the love of a family on the line. his little brother, who was cut down just as he was learning his alphabet. his darling, sweet sister who gave him the world's brightest smile just before she said, "how could i possibly share blood with such a monster!"
he locks eyes with dion and feels that fury. takes it on for himself. human malice means nothing to me, he'd said so many times (when?), so why does it make him falter to think of a world in which dion wants him to die?
scien dodges, but just barely. his right arm is lopped off again, by a very, very good man.]
[ Blood splashes across his blade and his hands, and in an instant horror cuts through his rage. It is his father's blood again with Dion's lance through his chest, Nodd and Yuri who were left charred by Bahamut's anger, Shoma who the royal guard (if only his body weren't so weak) had failed.
It's Scien, whom he'd told: there is someone who feels pain when you feel pain.
He reels back, speechless at the sight of the blood and the arm on the ground, and for a second his vision goes hazy, grief tight in his chest. ]
I'm sorry. I—
[ Again, and again. He said he would atone, and again it's the same.
... But he grips the sword. He should at least finish what he started. ]
[scien falls to his knees, and fragments of memory cut into his sanity.
to the last man who'd defeated him, scien had dared him to end it. goaded him on. it didn't matter when everything he'd worked on was already falling—when his family was already dead and gone long before they could revive. what is just one more person's rage to fall upon scien as the target?
he spits out blood, derisive. to so many, he would encourage them to assign him the sole source of their problems. here, he is the one getting in between dion and escape. if scien were to die, then dion could live. something in his brain tells him that's wrong, that there's something fundamentally incorrect about that plan, but he can't quite place what it is. from whose hand is salvation delivered?
whose hand?
a twist of his wrist is all it takes, splashing the last contents of the gasoline on himself instead. it stings against the blood, the open wounds, the phantom torture that wreaks havoc against his body.]
I will not become another burden for you to carry.
[not another life on dion's long, long list of regrets. if there is something insane and absurd to be done, scien will do it himself. his fingers find the singular match he'd dropped early on, striking it against stone before setting himself aflame.
hadn't he made a promise? regardless of what you ask of me, i would always choose to save you.
but there is something so spiteful in these memories that linger—so he also flicks the same match right back over in dion's direction. justvirchethings: burning in hades together.]
[ His apologies, as ever, mean little in the face of what he's done. No amount of guilt or regret could ever bring back the lives he's taken, the homes he's destroyed, and the people he's betrayed. And neither should it. He doesn't deserve- he doesn't deserve—
He had said that he would no longer seek death. That he had made memories and bonds so precious that he wouldn't let them perish with him in Origin. It was impossible to imagine waking up after that final battle, and facing another day among the ruins of his country. It was impossible to imagine taking another breath with all the grief in his heart.
He had said that he would try to live.
—But at what cost?
The words barely register before Scien goes up in flames, and for one, terrible moment, he is the Royal Guard desperate to live, and he is elated that he's won.
Just a moment, and then horror fills every part of him. He's frozen, terrified to move lest the sight of the flames become real. ]
You would never—
[ you could never be a burden. you could never be a burden.
Don't show consideration for him. He doesn't want mercy because of all the mistakes that he's made.
The flames are hot before the fire even reaches him, the smell of burnt cloth and flesh, charring and painful where it sears through him. But still his skin is cool against the fire where tears track down his face—one last kindness.
He wishes that the fire could swallow him whole. Burn out his eyes to spare him the sight of Scien falling to pieces in the flames, but they don't get the chance before the cloaked figures arrive, and he's taken from the cell, victorious. ]
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no subject
Something wonderful, warm and full of love. He doesn't care for wealth, power or prestige, he had only wanted—
It's strange to hear Scien apologize. ]
No—
[ His darts forward with his sword, the blunt edge aimed toward Scien to knock the matches from his grasp.
(He wanted so badly to be a good man, but most days he can do little but choke on all the blood he's spilled. He cannot let Scien suffer the same.)
And then he'll pivot on his heel for a second strike with the butt of his sword, this one aimed at Scien's head. ]
no subject
doesn't he want this to be over?
there was another good man who sought to stop him, before his own choices and actions destroyed his principles. when desperation overruled his logic, and he thought that he was just so close to salvation, just one more almost for the pile.
he thinks of that good man again, his scarred face, his monstrosity, his ruinous pursuit of love.
he doesn't completely dodge the strike, but it doesn't draw blood. it doesn't hurt enough to slow him. he moves to close the space between them so it's harder for dion to swing, and again aims the gasoline to splash onto his face]
no subject
He really doesn't want to do this.
The gasoline splashes in his face, stinging in one eye where he's too slow to protect himself. The stench of it is suffocating, and for a second he thinks to retreat, but any time he gives Scien is an opportunity to light a match.
Frustration wells. Frustration that quickly ignites into fury, all else giving way to a desperate desire to—not live, exactly, but win. To wrest some control for himself.
He fixes his gaze on Scien again, in a second correcting his stance to strike forward with the sword, double handed as he seeks to cleave him in two. ]
no subject
but now there is the love of a family on the line. his little brother, who was cut down just as he was learning his alphabet. his darling, sweet sister who gave him the world's brightest smile just before she said, "how could i possibly share blood with such a monster!"
he locks eyes with dion and feels that fury. takes it on for himself. human malice means nothing to me, he'd said so many times (when?), so why does it make him falter to think of a world in which dion wants him to die?
scien dodges, but just barely. his right arm is lopped off again, by a very, very good man.]
no subject
It's Scien, whom he'd told: there is someone who feels pain when you feel pain.
He reels back, speechless at the sight of the blood and the arm on the ground, and for a second his vision goes hazy, grief tight in his chest. ]
I'm sorry. I—
[ Again, and again. He said he would atone, and again it's the same.
... But he grips the sword. He should at least finish what he started. ]
no subject
to the last man who'd defeated him, scien had dared him to end it. goaded him on. it didn't matter when everything he'd worked on was already falling—when his family was already dead and gone long before they could revive. what is just one more person's rage to fall upon scien as the target?
he spits out blood, derisive. to so many, he would encourage them to assign him the sole source of their problems. here, he is the one getting in between dion and escape. if scien were to die, then dion could live. something in his brain tells him that's wrong, that there's something fundamentally incorrect about that plan, but he can't quite place what it is. from whose hand is salvation delivered?
whose hand?
a twist of his wrist is all it takes, splashing the last contents of the gasoline on himself instead. it stings against the blood, the open wounds, the phantom torture that wreaks havoc against his body.]
I will not become another burden for you to carry.
[not another life on dion's long, long list of regrets. if there is something insane and absurd to be done, scien will do it himself. his fingers find the singular match he'd dropped early on, striking it against stone before setting himself aflame.
hadn't he made a promise? regardless of what you ask of me, i would always choose to save you.
but there is something so spiteful in these memories that linger—so he also flicks the same match right back over in dion's direction. justvirchethings: burning in hades together.]
no subject
He had said that he would no longer seek death. That he had made memories and bonds so precious that he wouldn't let them perish with him in Origin. It was impossible to imagine waking up after that final battle, and facing another day among the ruins of his country. It was impossible to imagine taking another breath with all the grief in his heart.
He had said that he would try to live.
—But at what cost?
The words barely register before Scien goes up in flames, and for one, terrible moment, he is the Royal Guard desperate to live, and he is elated that he's won.
Just a moment, and then horror fills every part of him. He's frozen, terrified to move lest the sight of the flames become real. ]
You would never—
[ you could never be a burden. you could never be a burden.
Don't show consideration for him. He doesn't want mercy because of all the mistakes that he's made.
The flames are hot before the fire even reaches him, the smell of burnt cloth and flesh, charring and painful where it sears through him. But still his skin is cool against the fire where tears track down his face—one last kindness.
He wishes that the fire could swallow him whole. Burn out his eyes to spare him the sight of Scien falling to pieces in the flames, but they don't get the chance before the cloaked figures arrive, and he's taken from the cell, victorious. ]