he continues through the town - there are more of these broken vessels, standing around. some of these speak. they mutter the same phrases over and over. some of them look at him with a stricken look, like he's stabbed them. like they're scared of him. but none of them get close or dare look for more than a few seconds.
until he gets to the stairs of the castle. and there is a woman at the bottom. unfamiliar to you. she's emaciated. barely alive, on the verge of death. she hiccups, and then:]
she looks like she might try to answer, but instead, her eyes roll back, and she coughs weakly, slumping back against the wall. there's a mumble - and then nothing. no breathing, nothing at all. just a body.]
he'll close her eyes, if they're left open, but that isn't the kind of dying wish he can grant. whatever happens to that kid, though-- it probably shouldn't stay in a place like this.
he's gonna try to follow the sound of the wailing.]
the wailing is easy to follow. he winds his way up the castle, through it. there's a presence with him that is absolutely fucking terrified. it doesn't want to know what is waiting, but it does. whatever is there - whatever is at the end of this, it has your key. you want freedom. you want out, so badly.
eventually, he reaches the end. a man stands in the rubble, rocking a baby to sleep. he glances up at you.]
So... you've finally come. I was hoping to see you, Throné.
[put that baby back where it came from or so help me
there's a voice in the back of your head - something surprised, sick. pirro? but that can't be possible. and the man looks back down at the baby, rocking it back and forth.]
Oh. He's finally cried himself to sleep. [the man says, with a little hum.] Isn't he adorable?
[the voice in your head insists - who are you? who are you? you look just like pirro, but something's... different.]
I'm not Pirro. I'm his father. [...] You truly are the best to have made it this far.
Will you tell me? What is it you want, Throné?
[the voice inside you says: freedom. you want freedom. desperately. you came here to win your freedom from the blacksnakes. that's all you've wanted since you started this journey.]
[he says it along with that voice, just-- lets it say what it wants. give the answer that it needs to give, the one that he feels maybe needs to be heard.]
[he walks across the ruined floor, rocking the baby gently. he glances at you, with a placid little smile. it - reminds you of temenos, and you don't like that. you don't want that association. it's just... hm.
he speaks. like he has an audience, like he's on stage.]
For reasons I wont get into, I've been alive for a very, very long time. But eternal life is too much for any one person to handle. So... I decided that I would die.
[a little flourish.]
But before that, I wanted to leave a legacy in this world. A child. [...] Children are incredible, aren't they? They're like... another self. They live on in the world their parents leave behind.
I wanted my legacy to be great. I wanted my child to be the best. Thankfully, time was on my side. So I impregnated countless women, and had countless children. I think you may have even met a few.
[the association is definitely uncomfortable. that likeness-- it doesn't sit right.
and as for the rest-
a child, huh. but countless of them created, in the pursuit of- what? vanity?
(there's a little whisper of his own, in the back of this, a second voice remembering: 'how are you treating your present, my son? i didn't invest in you just to see you in such a mess.')
it makes his blood boil, a little.]
...but only one of them was supposed to get to count as your other self, huh? So what about the rest? Aren't they reflections of you too?
Oh, you're all my children. [as if that's an answer.] Pirro. Scaracci, Donnie. Mother. Father. The Blacksnakes. And you, Throné.
[there's a gutpunch - something awful and sick in you, something too shocked to reply. all of those people. pirro, your best friend, dead, his empty eyes staring at you, scaracci and donnie face first and dead on the roof nearby. Mother, with your dagger through her throat. Father, smiling up at you as you slit his throat.
and claude just continues. like nothing is wrong.]
Your mother was a wonderful woman. You should be proud.
... After I planted my seeds, it was time to let the garden grow. And once it did... it came time to prune. But not by my own hands - I let my garden tend itself and weed out what wasn't strong enough to make the cut. I created the Blacksnakes to be that garden.
[god. if not for the shock, the rock sitting in the pit of his stomach at that knowledge...
so it was all just-- a part of this insane plan of his. (if there's anything to be proud of, it didn't come from this freak.) all part of this 'pruning' he talks about as if it isn't just death.
they're all the same. they're all the same, all like this, all high and mighty and acting like they're doing the world some kind of favor when nobody ever asked.]
...yeah, of course not. Why use your own hands for your dirty work when you can make other people get you what you want.
[he says, taking a step down the stairs, towards you.]
Did you enjoy yourself, my daughter? [he croons.]
This fight has continued for generations. You are the fourth of my children to come this far. The other three perished here by my hand.
[you. you. you will kill him. you want to kill him. the moon is so, so bright, so full. you can feel the power of it under your fingertips. the shadows - dark magic. it almost reacts to this place, thriving. you know claude has it. just like you.]
[blood, in cases like this, doesn't mean anything. true father. as if just contributing genetic material is enough to say that. as if any kind of actual father would do this. this guy, more than just about anyone else, needs to get kicked out of the gene pool.
he's not leaving here alive if there's anything to be said about it.]
[-damn. he swears under his breath, briefly, mostly because-- listen, after seeing the bullshit this guy came up with, he'd have been pleased to see him die.
gregor breathes, though, lets it go. separates himself a little, like shedding the memories and experiences of one of his alternate selves. sometimes you're just weirdly fucking prepared for memshares, is the thing. and as soon as he has...
[she's holding her knife in one hand, very, very tightly.
and it takes her a second to tear her gaze away from where claude just was, somewhere in the rift, but she looks at gregor with a wild look in her eyes. a pause.]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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that cry seems like it's the only sign of life, here; he's drawn to it, following after the sound.]
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he continues through the town - there are more of these broken vessels, standing around. some of these speak. they mutter the same phrases over and over. some of them look at him with a stricken look, like he's stabbed them. like they're scared of him. but none of them get close or dare look for more than a few seconds.
until he gets to the stairs of the castle. and there is a woman at the bottom. unfamiliar to you. she's emaciated. barely alive, on the verge of death. she hiccups, and then:]
P-please... My baby...
[she says, desperately.]
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Hey-- hey, what's going on here?
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she shudders, looking up at him.]
Please. [she says, and then:] Kill... kill my baby.
[in the distance, the wailing child gets louder.]
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[-no. his kneejerk instinct is just, no. absolutely not.]
Why?!
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she looks like she might try to answer, but instead, her eyes roll back, and she coughs weakly, slumping back against the wall. there's a mumble - and then nothing. no breathing, nothing at all. just a body.]
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he'll close her eyes, if they're left open, but that isn't the kind of dying wish he can grant. whatever happens to that kid, though-- it probably shouldn't stay in a place like this.
he's gonna try to follow the sound of the wailing.]
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the wailing is easy to follow. he winds his way up the castle, through it. there's a presence with him that is absolutely fucking terrified. it doesn't want to know what is waiting, but it does. whatever is there - whatever is at the end of this, it has your key. you want freedom. you want out, so badly.
eventually, he reaches the end. a man stands in the rubble, rocking a baby to sleep. he glances up at you.]
So... you've finally come. I was hoping to see you, Throné.
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that helps. it's something to hold on to in order to keep pushing through this, keep walking, following that sound, and at the end...]
...what did you want with it.
[yes sure hi but what is going on that is so bad that woman wanted her child killed. put that baby the fuck down.]
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there's a voice in the back of your head - something surprised, sick. pirro? but that can't be possible. and the man looks back down at the baby, rocking it back and forth.]
Oh. He's finally cried himself to sleep. [the man says, with a little hum.] Isn't he adorable?
[the voice in your head insists - who are you? who are you? you look just like pirro, but something's... different.]
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Who are you?
[there's something he can't place, here, that isn't falling into the picture, but-- maybe with this.]
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and almost like he knows what you're thinking:]
I'm not Pirro. I'm his father. [...] You truly are the best to have made it this far.
Will you tell me? What is it you want, Throné?
[the voice inside you says: freedom. you want freedom. desperately. you came here to win your freedom from the blacksnakes. that's all you've wanted since you started this journey.]
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[he says it along with that voice, just-- lets it say what it wants. give the answer that it needs to give, the one that he feels maybe needs to be heard.]
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[he walks across the ruined floor, rocking the baby gently. he glances at you, with a placid little smile. it - reminds you of temenos, and you don't like that. you don't want that association. it's just... hm.
he speaks. like he has an audience, like he's on stage.]
For reasons I wont get into, I've been alive for a very, very long time. But eternal life is too much for any one person to handle. So... I decided that I would die.
[a little flourish.]
But before that, I wanted to leave a legacy in this world. A child. [...] Children are incredible, aren't they? They're like... another self. They live on in the world their parents leave behind.
I wanted my legacy to be great. I wanted my child to be the best. Thankfully, time was on my side. So I impregnated countless women, and had countless children. I think you may have even met a few.
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and as for the rest-
a child, huh. but countless of them created, in the pursuit of- what? vanity?
(there's a little whisper of his own, in the back of this, a second voice remembering: 'how are you treating your present, my son? i didn't invest in you just to see you in such a mess.')
it makes his blood boil, a little.]
...but only one of them was supposed to get to count as your other self, huh? So what about the rest? Aren't they reflections of you too?
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Oh, you're all my children. [as if that's an answer.] Pirro. Scaracci, Donnie. Mother. Father. The Blacksnakes. And you, Throné.
[there's a gutpunch - something awful and sick in you, something too shocked to reply. all of those people. pirro, your best friend, dead, his empty eyes staring at you, scaracci and donnie face first and dead on the roof nearby. Mother, with your dagger through her throat. Father, smiling up at you as you slit his throat.
and claude just continues. like nothing is wrong.]
Your mother was a wonderful woman. You should be proud.
... After I planted my seeds, it was time to let the garden grow. And once it did... it came time to prune. But not by my own hands - I let my garden tend itself and weed out what wasn't strong enough to make the cut. I created the Blacksnakes to be that garden.
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so it was all just-- a part of this insane plan of his. (if there's anything to be proud of, it didn't come from this freak.) all part of this 'pruning' he talks about as if it isn't just death.
they're all the same. they're all the same, all like this, all high and mighty and acting like they're doing the world some kind of favor when nobody ever asked.]
...yeah, of course not. Why use your own hands for your dirty work when you can make other people get you what you want.
[let him at this guy. let him at him.]
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he smiles at you. pleased. yes - you follow his plan just so.]
Throné. You killed Pirro. You killed Mother and Father. And then came here.
[no. NO.]
The fact that you're alive is proof that you're the best of them all. Your journey was all part of the process... my little seed.
[something inside you screams.]
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so it'd all be part of this process. this plan of his. the endpoint of that journey being here, directed by what he intended to happen.
(be it the nightmare or the road-)
so this was all just--]
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[he says, taking a step down the stairs, towards you.]
Did you enjoy yourself, my daughter? [he croons.]
This fight has continued for generations. You are the fourth of my children to come this far. The other three perished here by my hand.
[you. you. you will kill him. you want to kill him. the moon is so, so bright, so full. you can feel the power of it under your fingertips. the shadows - dark magic. it almost reacts to this place, thriving. you know claude has it. just like you.]
Let's see if you can kill your true father.
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he's not leaving here alive if there's anything to be said about it.]
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and then - abruptly, without any sort of fanfare, as you throw yourself towards him -- the memory ends.
you are thrown out of it just as quickly as you were ensnared, and this time? this time, throné is there with him in the void, gasping.]
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gregor breathes, though, lets it go. separates himself a little, like shedding the memories and experiences of one of his alternate selves. sometimes you're just weirdly fucking prepared for memshares, is the thing. and as soon as he has...
his attention turns to throné, concerned.]
Hey-- hey, it's over.
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and it takes her a second to tear her gaze away from where claude just was, somewhere in the rift, but she looks at gregor with a wild look in her eyes. a pause.]
It's not. Not yet.
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[that fucker.]
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