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 Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2022 8:46 am
Faustite remained still against the bars. The metal felt cool against his forehead; his aches didn’t complain any louder here than they did against the wall.
“She didn’t know what she was saving me from. Thought it was the Negaverse, or being part youma. Like those were the worst dates Someone could endure.” He snorted, a soft sound against the dolorous din about them. “You’re right about her, always trying to save someone. Saving others to fill a hole in herself.”
They might’ve been alike for that — having a hole in them. Right in the center. Difference was, his was full of fire. His wanted food, not friends. Not family.
“Doubt Malus is any different. Or you.” Everyone was full of holes, always looking for a way out or a way in or something to take away from something else.
He sat quiet for a moment. Tried again to become fire, and again the manacle restricted him. Caught the glows on the wall. Little for it, then.
“Wouldn’t surprise me if she already left it. Implied she would do it, last we spoke. Tried to get me to come with her.” That was – when? Hours ago. Felt like days for how it aged him. Michel was right; she wouldn't regret leaving him behind. Perhaps she would forget him altogether, the way she'd forgotten everything when her outfit stained black on that hill. "Half a person isn't enough for anyone."
The tension in his posture shifted as he grew more aware of Michel's approach. His inquiry was spoken with the same muted tone as his other comments: "Are you going to kill me now?"
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Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2022 8:46 am
Michel was tired. The soreness of his earlier fight with Faustite had left him singed and sore. He had injuries he hadn’t yet taken care of. Thoughts to ignore. He wiggled his weapon just a bit to loosen it from the ground.
Was he going to kill Faustite? It seemed a waste. He could have done it while Faustite was sleeping. The information he got was minimal at best. Maybe that bit about Ilse was worth something, if they hadn’t both forgotten all of it. Assuming it wasn’t a lie. He didn’t have the luxury of trying to piece that together, he knew it would just drive him insane.
But then, what else was he supposed to do while he was up here?
Get cleaned up. Let Faustite stew for a bit. Figure out the rest later.
“No,” he finally answered. “Not right now. You don’t deserve the easy way out.”
Maybe, he remembered how they held Jet captive, and how stupid he thought they’d been for keeping him alive for so long. This was different, though. They were on his Wonder. He had all the power. There was no escaping from it unless he wanted to allow it. There wasn’t as much risk.
He didn’t have anyone here to hold him back, only the soft whisper of Lysithea in the back of his mind.
He needed to make sure she was out. He wasn’t going to risk that something had gone wrong.
He had Faustite, he had leverage.
He had a lot of anger.
Faustite wasn’t going to get off easy, and even if Michel wasn’t going to kill him yet, he was going to give him a taste of it. He looked at him, for only a brief moment, and then turned away. He had already begun to channel his magic before he’d reached the door.
Quote: Targets caught in the magic are trapped in an illusion where they are forced to watch the world around them wither and die; in the illusion, any biological creature rapidly age until it dies, at which point it will appear to crumble and decay. Inorganic objects, such as buildings, will appear to dilapidate as the magic progresses. The magic appears in the target’s head rather than the environment. This can cause a sense of fear or anxiety; the illusions may cause an extreme disconnect and be mentally jarring. The illusion may also make the target physically feel as though they are dying. The magic can be channeled for 45 seconds and there are no lingering effects unless the player wishes to have residual flashes or hallucinations of death and decay throughout the rest of the battle.
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Posted: Sun Mar 06, 2022 8:47 am
"You want to, but she'll cut you out forever. Pity, that." Faustite drew a sigh, and the smoke of it obfuscated Michel momentarily. When it cleared, he saw that the dungeon began to groan and crumble as its Knight left that sanctum.
The stone grew old, brittle, cracked. Walls buckled and heaved while thick sheets of dust ad crumbled mortar cascaded from the ceiling. Great stone blocks fell inward, piling up on the faltering floor. A hole opened up on the opposite side of his cell; the sea spilled inward, washing away grime and muck and detritus with each sweeping wave.
Faustite startled, and turned to drag himself away from it, but fell backward. The back of his head struck the floor; he winced, bit back a strangled sound.
In his incredulity, he looked at his right arm. Watched each finger ravel out in a wisp of pure magic. He sucked in a breath, something swift and uncertain. "No," he whispered to it, "nonononono." He reached for those murmurs of magic, but the shock of pain from his battered, broken hand paralyzed him for trying. Soon, his arm spooled away, left him with that selfsame stump he remembered from the battlefield.
Each breath came quicker, deeper. He told himself to look straight ahead. Told himself, but the sea had rolled in, threatened his fire. The ceiling fell in, great chunks thudding against the decaying floor with deep booms. With each, he startled terribly, until a ringing sound overtook his hearing.
He looked down.
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