Post by Quirbles on Mar 18, 2023 16:28:10 GMT
The tackle connected with a sickening crack; Emryk was too far enraged to properly appreciate the pain of his rib-cracking charge, his capacity for empathy having been set aside for brutal efficiency. The man would be winded; if his chest was injured, leaning on it would incapacitate him further. Enough to debilitate-- enough to make him suffer. If he wished to act like the savage mongrel that he was, then he would die the death of a dog. Whimpering, pleading-- carnal and quick. It was the barest hint of mercy that Emryk was willing to afford.
The marksman fell, and Emryk descended with him, straddling the man's tall frame with brawn and size of his own. One hand gripped the collar; the other reared back, a piston of force that contracted muscle and talons into a single fist meant to slam into his skull and neck. How many strikes would it take, he wondered--
-- until his eyes caught the glimmering gem that clattered along his chest. It hung off of the Baron's body from gravity, his hunched posture placing it between himself and the downed shooter. The light of the cave caught its reflection and its luster was enough to halt his hand, at least for a moment, as his gaze fell from necklace to man, eyes wild with a fury that held the strength of a dammed fjord. His teeth grit; his hesitance cost him. The marksman pulled a piece of ammunition from his hand and struck it across his face, leaving the Baron to recoil from the sting with a groan of horror. Not again. Not--
"... what?..."
"... how. How did..."
The ice shifted. The light faded; there was no island. No cave. No lakeside cavern, though the gemstones glittered fierce in tight candlelight. Somewhere, close, there was a shifting creak of knotted wood and falling rock-- it was only a matter of time before it all collapsed upon their heads. They had been sent in for failure, after all. The rage in Emryk's eyes was joined with mottled confusion-- and horror. Slow, agonizing horror as the memory numbed his cheek and crept along the mind, so close and so poignant and so familiar. So, so familiar.
His fist rebounded from the marksman's face. "HHRH-- HH-- HHHHOW-- DID--"
"-- HOW DID YOU GET THIS, HOW DID--"
"HAUGH! HHNHH. HHRH..."
His fist paused. It was agonizing, not to kill him. Not to hurt the man who had hurt him so much, who had hurt her so much, who had so many memories locked in that pouch of souls just like his, just like--
"You... you."
His grip tightened around the man's collar, pulling his bloodied face up from the snow. Breath still wheezed from his lungs. He was still alive. There was still work to be done. Earth below, he wanted to--
-- kill. Kill him. His mind screamed the thought, but his hand was stilled by the memory. By a better man than he, and his fingers tightened, tears falling along blood-coated scales as he looked away, trying to find a way out of this damned darkness. There had to be a way. There had to be-- they had been lying to him.
A sob escaped his lips in a deep growl, and he pulled the man up from the snow again-- fist rearing back. Again, that pull. Again, the hesitation.
Kill him.
Kill him.
"I... need to. Please. Y-you can't-- hh-hhrh..."
Slowly, his hand dropped.
"... you." He did not know who he spoke with, now. His eyes seemed to stare through the man, and he likely was in no shape to heed Emryk's words. Still, his hand lifted the collar once more, and he leaned down, tears falling upon the snow. "You knew, you knew and you never helped, you knew he was trapped and you knew he could get out and you didn't do a thing and I begged and I pleaded and I wailed and you just, you-- you just stood there, and--"
The Baron stopped. He gazed up at the ceiling as the rock began to melt away to stagnant permafrost, and he let out a noise of reprieve-- an agonized sound of horror and pain and fear that rattled from his throat in a dry hiss, as if he had been stabbed in his back and the air had been driven from his lungs.
"... I hated you. For so long, I hated you and despised you and I still do but I--" He breathed, sucking in air in a stuttered gasp. "-- need to leave, you are a ghost that I will leave. You are nothing. You are gone. I despise you, but I forgive you. He dropped the man's collar, letting his brutalized form fall into the snow. He moved to lay the man's jacket over the chest. He had no use for it. "... that is why I let you live. Do you understand? Because I am not like you. Because I must be good. For them." For his people. For Juniper, for Leo-- for Alys, for Ciaran. For Emer. For Nessa. For the rest of them, who doubted his words and intentions-- for the moment he gave into their doubt, the prophecy was fulfilled. "... hnnnh."
His hand unclenched, fingers touching upon the gemstone-laden snow. Emryk gazed up at the whirling storm of harpies, his expression pained-- but true. He leaned back upon his knees and breathed a quiet sigh, his chest falling with a soft heave.
Your mother would not have wanted to see you like this.
The marksman fell, and Emryk descended with him, straddling the man's tall frame with brawn and size of his own. One hand gripped the collar; the other reared back, a piston of force that contracted muscle and talons into a single fist meant to slam into his skull and neck. How many strikes would it take, he wondered--
-- until his eyes caught the glimmering gem that clattered along his chest. It hung off of the Baron's body from gravity, his hunched posture placing it between himself and the downed shooter. The light of the cave caught its reflection and its luster was enough to halt his hand, at least for a moment, as his gaze fell from necklace to man, eyes wild with a fury that held the strength of a dammed fjord. His teeth grit; his hesitance cost him. The marksman pulled a piece of ammunition from his hand and struck it across his face, leaving the Baron to recoil from the sting with a groan of horror. Not again. Not--
Again. Again, and again, the hours dragged on as he toiled. And for what?
"... what?..."
They were angered at him. Hated him. And when tragedy struck-- when the walls came down, and his men were trapped--
"... how. How did..."
Was it me, Emryk? Did I fail you? Is that why you are so determined to act like this?
The ice shifted. The light faded; there was no island. No cave. No lakeside cavern, though the gemstones glittered fierce in tight candlelight. Somewhere, close, there was a shifting creak of knotted wood and falling rock-- it was only a matter of time before it all collapsed upon their heads. They had been sent in for failure, after all. The rage in Emryk's eyes was joined with mottled confusion-- and horror. Slow, agonizing horror as the memory numbed his cheek and crept along the mind, so close and so poignant and so familiar. So, so familiar.
"This is a pirate ship, Emryk. Everyone's expendable."
It should have been only him to go in. The others came along with the orders from the Fae; he would have been fine to do the dirty work himself, if it meant sparing the rest. The caverns were trifling things, after all-- the earth wept at their intrusion, and she sought to pay back in blood what they had taken from her. They were trapped; the wall was foregone. Worse still, what remained of their safe haven had begun to close in.
It pains me to see you like this. It would have pained her.
KRAK.
His fist rebounded from the marksman's face. "HHRH-- HH-- HHHHOW-- DID--"
And so they awaited rescue that would never come. Despite the commotion upon the other side of the wall, so dimly muted it might have been worlds apart, he knew. He knew that they had been sent here to die.
KRK.
"-- HOW DID YOU GET THIS, HOW DID--"
The light grew dim. The rustling grew louder. The walls fell; they huddled for warmth as leadership abandoned them to their fates. He was angry-- he was furious. Then, he was in agony--
KRK. KRAK. KRNK.
-- so much agony --
KRNCH.
-- until his mind turned to his son, and he was at peace.
"HAUGH! HHNHH. HHRH..."
His fist paused. It was agonizing, not to kill him. Not to hurt the man who had hurt him so much, who had hurt her so much, who had so many memories locked in that pouch of souls just like his, just like--
His son would be strong. He would need to be, now.
"You... you."
His grip tightened around the man's collar, pulling his bloodied face up from the snow. Breath still wheezed from his lungs. He was still alive. There was still work to be done. Earth below, he wanted to--
The rage he felt. Would he rise above it, he wondered? Or would he fall?
-- kill. Kill him. His mind screamed the thought, but his hand was stilled by the memory. By a better man than he, and his fingers tightened, tears falling along blood-coated scales as he looked away, trying to find a way out of this damned darkness. There had to be a way. There had to be-- they had been lying to him.
"I've many greivous errors in my life, Ciaran. Perhaps more than you."
A sob escaped his lips in a deep growl, and he pulled the man up from the snow again-- fist rearing back. Again, that pull. Again, the hesitation.
No. He would be good.
Kill him.
His love was a flame.
Kill him.
And though the pain would be overwhelming-- he knew that, from her passing-- his son would know better.
"I... need to. Please. Y-you can't-- hh-hhrh..."
A heart of loam. A hand of stone.
You do not gratify them with pain. You defy them with strength.
Slowly, his hand dropped.
"... you." He did not know who he spoke with, now. His eyes seemed to stare through the man, and he likely was in no shape to heed Emryk's words. Still, his hand lifted the collar once more, and he leaned down, tears falling upon the snow. "You knew, you knew and you never helped, you knew he was trapped and you knew he could get out and you didn't do a thing and I begged and I pleaded and I wailed and you just, you-- you just stood there, and--"
The Baron stopped. He gazed up at the ceiling as the rock began to melt away to stagnant permafrost, and he let out a noise of reprieve-- an agonized sound of horror and pain and fear that rattled from his throat in a dry hiss, as if he had been stabbed in his back and the air had been driven from his lungs.
"... I hated you. For so long, I hated you and despised you and I still do but I--" He breathed, sucking in air in a stuttered gasp. "-- need to leave, you are a ghost that I will leave. You are nothing. You are gone. I despise you, but I forgive you. He dropped the man's collar, letting his brutalized form fall into the snow. He moved to lay the man's jacket over the chest. He had no use for it. "... that is why I let you live. Do you understand? Because I am not like you. Because I must be good. For them." For his people. For Juniper, for Leo-- for Alys, for Ciaran. For Emer. For Nessa. For the rest of them, who doubted his words and intentions-- for the moment he gave into their doubt, the prophecy was fulfilled. "... hnnnh."
His hand unclenched, fingers touching upon the gemstone-laden snow. Emryk gazed up at the whirling storm of harpies, his expression pained-- but true. He leaned back upon his knees and breathed a quiet sigh, his chest falling with a soft heave.
And then there was a bright light-- a blinding light-- and he returned to the earth, thankful he was of use. One final time.