♠ { THE FINAL BATTLE } ECHO OF GRIEF (CONCLUSION + ???p .7

[PhiferWolf]

Post 1 - Death Solo

He could not recall the times he ever looked himself in the eye. He only ever glanced at mirrors or surfaces to ensure that he was okay and presentable, perhaps a habit that hasn't died from being raised as he was. He shouldn't really care what people thought of him, and yet he felt like he should. But here, this was different. He wasn't staring at a reflection of himself, these were the eyes of his own; gold and blue. While he stared at himself, cool, collected, and stoic, he felt panicked and absolutely lost.

His Treble Clef-blade fell to his side. He felt paralyzed as he watched himself approach from the army of others. He did not speak, he made a gesture as if to wait, holding his hand up, palm toward him as he moved slowly with his other arm. He moved slowly as if to say 'I'm doing something, so don't be afraid', and yet he wasn't. He wasn't afraid. He felt the replica's hand slip over his own, his body tensing and visibly flinching from the touch. His fingers slipped over the hilt as he pulled it free from him.

"Thank you," it was his voice. It was definitely his voice. He turned the blade in his hand, his brows up to his hair line as he glanced at Epithet. The cheshire closed his eyes, letting his breath exhale. He realized what was coming. It was better this way, he imagined. He could fight it, but what was the point? The insanity of this place was all consuming. The grief was rotting him away. If he was going to go down... why not by his own hands? Or some resemblance of it. The replica nodded as he raised the blade high over his head. "And good-bye."  

[PhiferWolf]

Post 2 - Replica

The blade stayed clean into the shoulder's cleave, waiting for the soft rise and fall of the cheshire's chest to finally cease. Withdrawing it, he brandished it clean before plunging into the ground with a thud. For a musical-like instrument, it had no tone. He scoffed as he turned to watch the white queen, her voice echoing inside his head. He was perfect now, he was Uru'baen. This was meant to be this way, it was why they existed. At least now, they could do what they were meant to do. To be the perfect artificial copy made of dreams and memories, and to be the perfect sacrifice.  

[DarkHeartedSorrow]

He was disappearing, slowly, slowly. He could feel it, mentally and physically. She was pulling at his mind and at his body, and he was coming undone.

There was nothing he could do. Nothing. She was just going to take every piece of him until he had nothing left to give.

A few small tears streaked down his cheeks, though whether they were from the massive waves of grief washing over him or just the strain of disappearing he didn't know. They left hot wet paths and reminded him of crying when he left. Crying when he left for good, ******** up so bad, left Chel, left-

What had he done? He couldn't remember.

Snap.

Fragments everywhere, like the ones that had built her. The white queen came apart and Chris put himself back together. He remembered why he was crying, what he had done. But he also remembered the good, and what he had left to do. He couldn't be caged.

The doors creaked open with a rumble and Chris, like many others, turned his head in confusion. Like an army marched dozens, hundreds, thousands of puppets, searching for something among the crowds. He was positive he saw Chel and even Dory march past, but when he called their names they didn't respond.

"Chris."

He turned his head, and saw himself. After all the s**t he'd been through, it didn't really surprise him. Except this one seemed more real than the rest. "I know everything," it said, which creepy by the way, "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."

Chris made a face at it, probably not so dislike his im-going-to-vomit-on-your-shoes-face. "I'm not so sure I want to be contained."

"No, no," it insisted. "I am your container. I contain what's you. Replicated." It looked hopeful, bright eyed, as it stared into his eyes almost reverently. "Thank you."

It took out it's chakrams, just like Chris's own, and before he could even been concerned for what that meant it sunk them into him. The blades sliced into him smooth and clean, like he was made of nothing but water, but he couldn't feel them. He didn't feel anything. He just...

Disappeared.  

[chiickadee]

Grief. So that was her name. It was oddly fitting, considering Chel was feeling an overwhelming amount of regret right now. The cold ache that crept through her body- undoubtedly sourced from the queen- was a sure sign she was going to die. She understood. She'd completed her purpose.

When they said pills were hard to swallow, they never mentioned that death was the ultimate medication bomb. Everything seemed to swirl around her at once, all the things she hadn't done. All the people she hadn't done met. It was a goddamn pity.

But then, that was Chel's whole life.

Being in the wrong place at the wrong time always had been her forte. She would win the oscar for being out of place, always.

The worst part was the immobility granted to her by the queen. She wanted to at least turn to the others. Shun, Uttam ... Chris. Maybe they were okay at least. Maybe they were even fighting to cut her loose from this hellish staring contest she'd been caught in with the queen. She would never find out.

A door burst open, but by then Chel's vision had gone too blurry to really focus on the enemy. Perhaps, the ally. She wasn't sure which noun was a better descriptor.

"I know everything. All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."

Chel, delirious and cold as she was, heard nothing. The voice was a honey substance, sweetening the cold that threatened her death. "No ... I can't we- Penumbra we-"

"Thank you. And goodbye."

The claymore ripped into her flesh, but it felt like feathers against her weightless skin. Her consciousness seemed to drift, disappearing into nothingness. The one known as NotAllan was gone.

Though perhaps not completely.  

[chiickadee]

[ REPLICA VERSION: ]

The sound of slick blood and sliced bone ensured that the task was completed. Utter eradication was the goal, and it was now completed.

"In dreams, new memories are created. You are these new memories, the container for the old. You were created just like me. Perfect containers, one day to be used and then discarded. It is okay to be a toy, we are all toys here. We all exist, just pieces of us, just barely enough. We are the sacrifice."

She didn't understand, but she didn't have to. "Oy, shut the hell up." Even as a replica, Chel was still ... well ... Chel. "Seriously, ******** chatterbox over here."

Even with all the fancy talk, the replica knew exactly what she was here for. She didn't need some omniscient all powerful creepy thing telling her exactly what she already knew.

"This is the end of your-

"YEAH OKAY, I GOT IT. MORE LONG SPEECHES." The voice droned on and on and she nearly sat down and let it play out.

Maybe her abrasiveness was a defense mechanism- that was what a psychologist would probably say. A method with which she could cope with death. It was difficult, and somehow easy to acknowledge that she was created for sacrifice.

She tried to let herself go peacefully.

It was the brave thing to do.  

[Kaiyumi]

It felt like she was suffocating as she strained weakly against the cage that was closing in on her, her movements growing feeble as she felt a heavy sorrow overtake her heart. This was the end, wasn’t it? Her attempts to fight the inevitable slowed and then stopped completely as she felt a sort of wary resignation settle over her. Xiu could only stare out through the bars at the Queen as she was slowly dragged towards it. This was it, this was--

--her heart fluttered in one last burst of fear and panic, one thought loudly crossing her mind: I can’t die now. Despite the conviction behind said thought, the ghoul found her worries—followed by her thoughts and herself as a whole—rapidly starting to fade away. She felt heavy and numb, but even so, she make one last weak kick at the cage bars.

And then it shattered.

But that, she quickly came to realize, had not been of her own doing—in fact, her foot hadn’t even managed to make contact with the bars when her prison abruptly exploded. Hastily pushing herself up onto trembling legs and backing up quickly, she watched in a mix of hopefulness and fear as a door behind the Queen suddenly swung open.

She began to back up even further as a stream of puppets suddenly surged forward, her pink eyes going round as she took in both familiar and unfamiliar faces. Immediately, she felt a sense of dread settle in the pit of her stomach: if her friends’ replicas were here…then did that mean her own was also…?

Xiu didn’t have to wait long for an answer, letting out a cry of alarm when someone abruptly grabbed her and pulled her to the side. Jerking free as soon as they came to the stop, the ghoul eyed her mirror image with wide eyes, noting that the other ghoul was staring back at her with an unreadable expression. If she were to look closely, however, there seemed to be some kind of…sad acceptance lingering within her so very lifelike eyes. Finally, she spoke.

”I’m you, and yet not you. I have all your memories, your feelings, your hopes and dreams—but unlike you, I was created to follow a very specific path.” She smiled then, though it didn’t reach her eyes, her tone growing softer as she lowered her head in a shallow bow, ”But thank you, for allowing me to have a spark of life—for letting me live through your memories and your past—and…I’m sorry.”

Xiu didn’t even have any time to react—she wouldn’t have even known that she had been struck had she not seen the weapon in her replica’s hand, her quickly-fogging mind making out what must have just happened. As she opened her mouth to speak, her other self shushed her softly, her expression soft.

”Rest well.”

Consciousness fading, the ghoul found herself plunged into darkness as she disappeared.  

[Kaiyumi]

[ REPLICA VERSION: ]

She couldn’t will herself to feel any sort of regret for what she had just done, because even if the real Xiu didn’t realize it yet, she was saving her. She—or rather, they, for she was not the only one doing this—were doing this to fulfill their duty. They had been born with the intention of becoming sacrifices, and now that the time had come, there was no choice but to fulfill what they had been created for.

So why did she feel so sad? So…empty?

Eyes fluttering shut, the replica lift her hand and clutched at her chest, directly over where her beating heart would have been had she had one. Whenever she closed her eyes, she would find herself witnessing one of the many memories that she had received from Xiu. Happy memories, sad ones, scary ones—she had such a vast variety, and although they were not all pleasant, the replica couldn’t help but lament that she would never have the same experiences. She would never see Amityville with her own eyes, or feel the satisfaction of baking a perfect cake, or simply hang out with her friends.

The corners of her lips pulled upwards in a weak smile. Did she even have friends? The people in Xiu’s memories—Lizzy, Levi, Shun, Mitsu, Vaith and others—were not her friends. Even if she felt like she had known them for years, they didn’t know her. Not unless…unless…

She found herself searching the crowd for any of these faces, knowing full well that similar thoughts must have been running through the rest of the replicas’ minds. Were they scared too? Although she loathed to admit it, she was trembling at the knowledge that this was the end for her.

But it was inevitable. This much she knew, as it was finally time to travel to the end of the path that had been laid out for her.

And so when she felt the Queen suddenly grasp at her, the cage closing around her tight, the replica simply allowed herself to relax. Eyes fluttering shut, she did not resist as she felt herself fading from the world, bits of her breaking away at a time.

I wonder…why my cheek suddenly feels damp. Was she crying? Could a puppet even cry? Or perhaps she was just pulling up one of Xiu’s memories--a memory of what it felt like to hurt, to shed tears.

As she slowly reached up to touch her face, the replica disappeared into nothingness.
 

[medigel]

[ piper 1 ]

If you close your eyes and cover your ears and ignore thoughts, it will eventually go away. If you show no reaction, there is nothing it can take from you, right? Her legs won't work but she can hide under the cloaked wings, she can pretend that this too would pass like a prolonged storm and hide in the shadows until there is light again.

There is no hiding from what already knows you more than you know yourself.

It gets colder and colder nevertheless, and she realizes that there's nothing she could do. She is not Aylen, she is not comfortable with something so frigid; she is not Dhatri, she has no willpower to laugh it off; she is neither Tallulah nor Tallutah, she is very, very alone and very, very powerless, the youngest, the weakest, the loudest, the black sheep who will be consumed by a colorless cage.

She wonders if something like this happened to Aylen. She wonders if that is why she has been gone for so long, that something just as ancient took her.

Maybe she will be as blessed with an adventurous death and have something to her name.

It seems to grow brighter when the door opens and a copy steps out. Piper wants nothing more than to sass her out, but her lips are sealed together with disgust as the thing walks towards her. For all the symbols of this bizarre little hellhole--the queens, the cards, the borrowed memories--perhaps the worst offender in this whole game is herself. A puppet.

"I know everything," the copy states with confidence, a hand on her hip as she smils. As if this is comforting. "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I'm your container."

A jar, a jug, something to be put in and then sealed. She bristles at the idea that she is not unique, that she could be remade like a damn minipet over and over. Her featherstaff weighs in her hand like a stone.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. This sucks. At least you get to live," the copy sighs.

For a moment Piper wants to scream; but thoughts and the energy to will them to life do not connect. She is tired. She wants to go home and forget this whole thing ever happened. "That a promise?"

Her own grin is mirrored back at her as the clone gives a wink. "Please. Who you talkin' to? I got you, ghoulie, so just relax."

It is instinctive not to, though, as she watches herself come closer with that weapon in hand. She wants to curl up or strike back, she wants to rebel because that is her nature when she isn't in control. But.

Then.

Maybe she shouldn't be.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I'm not." They are one and the same: she understands Piper's fears acutely and gives her a sympathetic look. "This has to happen so you can be safe. Ready?"

Never.

She opens her mouth to try and negotiate this, but the staff pierces her before a word gets out. Pen through paper, knife through cake. Everythign is so cold already, she barely feels it.

"Thank you," Q says with a sad smile. "And goodbye."
 

[medigel]

[ piper replica "Q" 2 ]

Attitude was easily replicable. Memories were not. She struck the ghoul with cold precision, but she couldn't help but feel sorry. As more and more of what was Piper came into her possession, she could trace lines of desperation, love, greed, hope, and fear under the brightness of her smile. There was life in these recollections: painful, joyful, colorful life. This was what she needed to remember.

She would not live long, but she would live long enough.

Q felt a little resentful nevertheless--such was one of the few rights granted of any puppets who knew they were doomed to die, never knowing themselves, only the selves of another. But then, what good was a empty vessel anyway?

(She wouldn't have minded having the time to figure it out, even with this impetuous persona inside her.)

This one had goals and a variety of paths waiting for her. It was better that she be protected and live to see them. It was good. It was good.

But the steps taken towards the White Queen made her wish, briefly, that it weren't so. She had Piper's fears just as much as she had her courage. She did not want to die. She did not want to die. Not when she had just been granted a taste of life. Was this existence? A creation set on a path in hopes of suceeding and leaving an impact on the world?

If so, then maybe that was more comforting to keep believing. Maybe that was the very definition of life. But she finished her journey with closed eyes nevertheless, immersing herself in vivid, wonderful memories while she still could. Music, laughter, family, friends, the better parts of Piper's life. And one by one they were taken from her. One by one, her own memories of experiencing them were snatched.

She was nothing. In the end, she was absolutely nothing against the queen.

But perhaps in her memories, Q would still exist.
 

[Seiana_ZI]

[ ROUND 2 - 10 HP / 40 HP ]

His eyes managed to catch one more glimpse.

Ignatius had done a lot of things in his lifetime.

Consequently, that included a lot of mistakes.

Some were more egregious than others, but none were quite as egregious--in Ignatius' opinion--as the time he had ruined a formal ceremony by his own antics. Coming of age was tainted by him being unable to stay still, looking around, questioning everything, and then promptly knocking something over admist all his bouncing.

... A lot of somethings.

It took years, but now, as a fresh graduate of Amityville, the elder shook his head and shook Ignatius' hand.

"I'm just glad you learned."

That was ... strange. And a little more peaceful than the idea of him going insane. It was something at least comforting while he felt his body continue to grow stiffer by the second, unwilling and unwanting to move.

CARD I ROLLED ON ROUND 2 HERE

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My Stats

My character's username: RoyalBlightning
My character's level: 44
Character's HP: 40
Current party: n/a
Current Guild: n/a
Location:
Small IC description of character:

Tall, with dark skin and dark hair. His eyes glow faintly, and parts of his skin do in the same color, blue streaks and freckles throughout. He seems fairly athletic. He wears the clothing of the Insane Mad Hatter, but in bright blues and bright purples, looking distinctly mad indeed.

Character journal: here

 

[Seiana_ZI]

[Finale Post #1 - Y. Ignatius Svarog]

At first, it seemed as if the White Queen was falling.

He swore, he had felt no greater relief than he had right at the moment, beaten and petrified and just wanting this all to end. If the White Queen was defeated, perhaps this not-such-a-game game would end, and he could take a long-deserved rest. Even if he was just sleeping outside of this ... he truly felt as if he needed to sleep for days to come.

His body was just so tired, and in so much pain, and just so heavy...

When the cages rose up around them, he didn't notice initially, until he started to feel the cage push in upon his back. That was enough to get his attention, and slowly, he craned himself, seeing the thorns and the vines of the cage surrounding them and yanking them in. Towards the direction he was being pulled, he felt a great sadness almost radiating, overtaking his body and making it weigh much more than a strongman's weights, now. Now, he just felt terrible.

And less and less of him was feeling, until--

There was a light, and the sound of a million feet coming in their direction. The White Queen was stopped, and the puppets he had seen in the room where the AI Alice attacked him and everyone else. Was. .. this why they were cloning them? He looked up to the White Queen, before he was faced with looking up to his own replica.

It was strange, how similar they looked.

"I know everything," said the replica, tone rather sing-song as if they had discovered some kind of secret. "All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."

"So ... you contain me." That made sense, he guessed. "Is this why you were built? To take my place here?"

It seemed so ludicrous, but the replica offered a large grin incredibly like his own that he would shoot off. It was strange to think that they had created something so much like him and were just going to send it ... well. He supposed thinking too hard on it would make him feel odder. Clearly there was only room for one Ign--

"Well. Thanks!"

"Thank... you...?"

"And goodbye."

The words might have surprised Ignatius more if he had more of a chance to react. Like him, his replica struck quickly, punching with blades pointed right at the neck.

Oddly enough, it didn't hurt as he disappeared.  

[Seiana_ZI]

[Finale Post #2 - RoyalBlightning Replica]

It was strange to watch his original vanish, but he knew for a fact--his original would be safe where he was, and what he did was absolutely necessary. It could not have gone any other way.

Even being aware of this, RoyalBlightning hoped there was some other option for him, glancing to the open door and wondering if he could run through it himself. Unfortunately, he found that the open door had vanished. Of course. He knew this would happen, and even if he wanted to, he could not escape this fate. He was there to die. It was his purpose. The original would live, and the replica would valiantly die so the other may live.

He couldn't help feeling some bitterness run up into his mind as the cage formed back around them, the voice murmuring about how this was their purpose--they were toys, and it was okay to be toys, because this was their purpose. Certainly, he had never truly "lived" himself, but he had felt like he had lived, feeling all these emotions and memories slowly bubbling to the surface.

Emotions of the rush of winning, and the runner's high.

Emotions of friendship, emotions of happiness with others.

Emotions of pride and emotions of promise.

Emotions of shock, emotions of surprise.

Emotions of fear, he even felt, fear of being left alone, fear of being unable to move, fears of suffering the very same fate he was moving towards. The panic--is that what it was to feel like his chest was tight, and his heart was still pounding, to feel like it was hard to breathe, hard to see--though perhaps that was natural. Had he ever really seen anyway? His vision was vanishing, leaving him pitched into darkness.

It was a darkness he would never emerge from, and he knew it. This was his purpose. He was being a hero. He would be remembered, and admired for his sacrifice--at least, that was what he told himself, despite the strangled, panicked gasp the replica let out.

Before that was taken away too.  

[and be blue]

Post one: SpringTooth / Harrow

SpringTooth felt weak, worn-thin by the battering of his fellow players, warriors, teammates -- weakened by smashed mirrors and then all the more so as the cage slithered in around him, emptying him of everything but grief. Grief that sapped him, faded him, made his eyes close, made him shudder, until the prospect of death was an appealing one --

And then the world shattered. He tumbled to the floor in a limp heap, struggling to gather his wits about him again. Clinging to this place that filled him with confidence, even as it fell to pieces around him.

He watched crookedly as the puppets fought the queen, unmoving, dazed and confused. It was all the effort he had to sit up and swipe at his face, and he wouldn't have even been able to stand except that one of them offered him its hand, catching him under the elbow to drag him to his feet. And there he met its eyes: exactly at the same height as his, not the six-foot-plus he had claimed in his profile but on the short side of average, eyes that were dark in contrast to the strawberry blond of his hair, and that looked at him soberly instead of smiling.

"I know everything."

It didn't just look like him, it was him.

"All your memories, everything you've gained in this dream. I am your container."

His mouth shifted a little, struggling for something to say in response, but all he could manage was a soft noise: fuzzy and uncertain, heavy brows knitting in his forehead even as the replica's relaxed.

"Thank you."

He watched in a haze as the puppet pulled a gun from thin air, adjusting it in its hands, and pressed it against his temple. Maybe he should have moved, fought to keep his life here, but he was too surprised -- too alarmed -- too confused --

"...and goodbye."

The gun went off, with no following blossom of pain, just the world starting to melt away around him. SpringTooth opened his mouth at last to say something to his replica, to ask why, what it was, what would happen now, but it was too late. He was fading away....  

[and be blue]

Post two: Replica

The gun was still warm in his hand, and he observed the weight of it -- the feel of it -- unfamiliar but appropriate, a call back to a dream he had once, in a dispassionate sort of way as SpringTooth crumpled and disappeared away into nothing. Almost absently, he tucked the weapon away, spreading his own hands to stare down at them.

There was no grief, here, no regret, no remorse. This had been his purpose all along, the lamb for the slaughter so that his original could slide back into his life, safe and easy and perhaps just a hair wiser.

And yet. As he stared down at his hands, memories trickled through. Ink stains and paper cuts. New gloves and rumpled cuffs. Black-painted fingernails that his father had hated. And while he wasn't Harrow Jude, he could remember what it meant to be Harrow. If he could have fought, he would have.

There was no fighting here, though. Instead, he simply stood still as the White Queen began to take him in and consume him, and as she did, he began to wonder things, hope rising and then being crushed. What did it feel like to put your thoughts into a private journal? To flush at some mindless comment? To smile, and be human, and walk among other people, and learn something new, each and every day?

It was not for him, though. He was all but gone, a breath puffing out through his mouth and he faded away to nothing, just a shadow of someone who didn't even always believe he cast one...