[Warning! This solo contains heavy religious references. Viewer discretion is advised.]
How many nights had he lay awake, staring silently at the crucifix as it dangled from the rosary clasped between his hands? How many times had he wept and prayed for salvation from the pain of his sins that he bore? The dark blotches on his soul eating him alive worse than any cancer could contrive. How long had he sat, wondering if his cause was truly as righteous as he espoused? The Holy Mother had brought him no peace, nor any the saints salvation. The son was nowhere to be found and the father had forsaken him to his lot. Bitter tears and pain were all that remained of a faith that had been on shaky ground to begin with.
He had killed a man. This in and of itself was not unusual, he had killed many men in the past. Women too. But, none of them rankled and tore at his soul as much as this one had. He had done something beyond mere killing. Something that no amount of begging could forgive.
He had consumed the man’s soul. He had taken the starseed - the essence of the man’s life, and he had shoved it down his own throat.
He had done so to survive, to get himself and Stibnite out of a dangerous situation. One he had inadvertently gotten them into. But still, this did not forgive the fact that he had taken all that was the man he had killed and absorbed it into his being. His soul was tainted with that of another’s.
He’d been feeling off recently, aggressive and angry to a point that he’d very rarely ever been before. Once with Stibnite he’d let himself go too far. After that he’d held tight leash on his temper to avoid potentially harming another ally. But after the starseed.
He’d become intolerable. He’d grown surly and aggressive and liable to snap at the smallest of things. How many allies had he gone to blows with? How many had he gotten to the point of ready to killing them, when it had been a simple trial of strength and skill?
Too many. Even one was too many. Stibnite had been too many. He was a danger to the organization as he was now. Unable to contain the rage and the guilt and the anger that boiled in his soul. So desperate for salvation he was ready to baptise himself in blood.
Casting aside the rosary, Leucite also cast aside the form of Mathias. He needed time to gather his wits. He needed a place to seek solace. Metalia was a living saint, and her domain was the Rift. It was there he must go. Perhaps she would grant him solace for his soul. Perhaps some time with the guardian angels of the earth - the youma - would help him understand the pain and darkness on his soul.
He did not know how long he would be away, how deep he might venture, so he put together a bag of water bottles for his trip. He did not pack food. A good pilgrimage was best committed fasting in his mind.
Teleporting to Negaspace as near to the Hall of Shadows as he dare, Leucite took a few moments to gather his wits and contemplate what was about to occur. He had told no one of his plan. He did not know how long he would be away. In his heart, he knew there was only one person right then that he worried would think the worst.
Laughing a bit, he doubted she would really care. He knew her stance on where they stood, and he supposed that was that.
Taking a deep breath, he ventured forth, finally arriving at the Hall of Shadows. He was never fond of walking its length, but it was the only way into the Rift, and for the sake of his immortal soul he needed to find the answers he sought.
“Why have you forsaken me, Father,” Leucite muttered to himself, stepping foot into the hall and walking along it, eyes locked forward so as to not gaze at the wrathful “angels” that made up its walls.
Once within the Rift, he let out a long sigh and set off in search for something. What exactly, he was unsure.
He spent most of his first day in the Rift aimlessly wandering, avoiding roaming youma and just generally taking in the bleak atmosphere. He was still at a loss for what it was he was searching for. Growing tired, and frustrated, Leucite finally decided to bed down for the evening.
Running his hands along the ground, he absently picked up a few smaller rift crystals, rolling them around in his hands, he muttered quietly to himself.
“I believe in Jesus Christ, God’s only Son, our Lord,” he said, his voice soft and quiet as he rolled the crystals in his hands, calmed by their rough angular surfaces against his bare skin.
“Who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died, and was buried; he descended into hell,” he continued, soothed by the feelings of the crystals as they rolled against his palms. In a way they reminded him of his rosary, now lying forgotten on his bed at home. But their rough angular shape and their weight, sung to him more than the smooth wooden beads of the rosary had.
“On the third day he rose again; he ascended into heaven, he is seated at the right hand of the Father, and he will come to judge the living and the dead.”
He took a breath, closing his eyes and relaxing in a way he had not in a very long time. He wondered then, if maybe he could… Yes… He was sure he could. He would just need to find the right amount of Rift Crystals and something to act as the cross… No Crucifix, for he doubted he would find a crystal that would work.
“I believe in the Holy Spirit, the holy catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and the life everlasting. Amen,” he said, his voice growing louder in its conviction as he knew. He KNEW, that he could do this.
He would make himself a rosary, one that would soothe his soul and bring him that much closer to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. It would allow him to feel the warm embrace of the Holy Mother, and seek the patronage of the Saints. Including St. Metalia.
Yes. That is what he would do.
He settled into his rocky perch to rest. He would have a long time ahead of him.
