Post by Khaos on Mar 15, 2021 19:36:17 GMT -5
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The Story So Far...
The Story So Far...
Damien stumbled backwards off the dais, nearly falling to the ground. It seemed that the longer he looked within the reflective waters of his past; the more digging he did to discover just what – exactly – had caused his untimely demise, the greater the toll it took on his body. He leaned over, his hands placed firmly on his thighs, trying to steady himself from the disorientation. It took his eyes a few minutes to adjust to the darkness once more, the solid blackness looming all around him. Feeling her fingers on his shoulder nearly made him jump out of his skin, her touch as cold as death.
“You’re back,” the woman-in-white remarked, almost in a way that indicated she thought he had been lost to his memories forever.
“How long was I gone?” Damien asked, almost out-of-breath.
“Time… what an interesting concept,” she responded, her finger tapping on his shoulder as if she were counting down the seconds herself. “Things work differently here, Damien. There is no past, no future – no time… just the In-Between.”
Damien tried to make sense of all of this but the further he delved into all of this, the more it confused him. Watching these “memories” play out before him, it didn’t give him any such clarity. He tried to convince himself that what he was witnessing couldn’t be real, even though he could feel the truth in his bones. He had killed that man, stabbed him right in the eye. Sure, the man was an evil son of a bitch, but did that give him justification for doing what he did? He had saved that girl though, so maybe the scales balanced themselves in the end? And him taking the old man’s truck, that was like the cosmic balance, rewarding him… right? Damien began to wonder if he was as evil and dark as his victims.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you… why did you do it?” the woman-in-white spoke up, breaking Damien’s concentration.
“Do what?” Damien responded, perplexed.
“The girl… you saved her,” she stated. “Why?”
Fuck, was she in my head now too… reading my very thoughts!?
“Honestly, I don’t think she was even a factor in my decision” Damien recalled, thinking back to how he felt standing in that alley. “It was him… the evil within… I could feel it, almost as if it was my own. That darkness inside, for some reason… I’m drawn to it. But I don’t like it; how it twists my insides, makes me feel nothing but rage. So I try to snuff it out but…”
Damien tried to find the right words to say. It was true; he really didn’t like the feeling of someone’s sins washing over him, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. But when he took a life, there was a sort of peace that came with it… a numbing sensation that allowed him to quiet the voices in his head and to just be… free.
“This is a waste of time,” Damien responded, looking over his shoulder. “None of this is showing me what I want to see.”
“What you want to see…” the woman-in-white repeated, gliding around his back, her fingers tracing their way from one shoulder to the other. “No, the Crucible does not always show you what you WANT to see but, rather, what you NEED to see.”
“Enough!” Damien dared glance at her, her face still concealed by that veil. “Are you going to send me back or not?”
The woman cackled then, her laugh loud enough that it echoed off walls hidden within the darkness. Damien cringed at the sound, the noise reverberating within his head.
“What’s so funny!?” Damien demanded.
“Do you really think I’m capable of such a thing?” the woman-in-white asked, doing her best to stifle her amusement. “I’m not some Archangel of Redemption, Damien. I’m the Charon; your guide to the afterlife.”
Damien tried to process all of this, somehow believing that if he did as she had asked – if he were to look back into the reflective waters of his past, solve the mystery of his death, that he would be rewarded with a “second chance”.
“So that’s it then,” Damien responded, defeated. “There’s no going back.”
“Does that really surprise you, Damien?” the Charon mockingly questioned. “Look around us, at all of these souls. Do you really think that you, more than any of them, deserve to return to the land of the living?”
Damien noticed that the boats had resumed their journey across the River Styx, no sign of any type of fire, smoke, or destruction having previously been witnessed. Maybe he had imagined it? As the apparitions passed by him, they showed no fear – no worry. What if he lost control again; what if he destroyed all of these souls? Damien wasn’t entirely sure that he had started that boat ablaze to begin with, but something about the way that she had looked at him – accused him – made him doubt himself.
“What happened to those that drowned?” Damien forced himself to ask, realizing he would need to make that journey himself sooner or later.
Though he couldn’t see her face, not truly, he could tell that her expression had changed dramatically.
“They become revenants,” she solemnly stated, turning her gaze to where the boat had lit a fire. “Without a way to put their soul to rest, they remain caught between worlds. Sometimes they will bleed through into the land of the living, unaware that they are even dead. Most times, they remain stuck; an endless existence of nothingness.”
“And there’s no way…” Damien began.
“Do you really care?” the Charon interrupted, turning her gaze back to him. “Or do you simply still hold out hope that there is some way that you can escape destiny?”
There it was again, that damn word. It seemed that the Nightshades had been right after all; his fate was sealed. All roads lead here…
“I still don’t understand how I did that,” Damien honestly stated.
“YOU didn’t,” the Charon retorted, pointing her finger at the mark over his heart. “THAT did.”
“You belong to me…”
“What is it?” Damien asked, looking down at the brand of a six-pointed sun star encircled by three symmetrical barriers directly over his heart.
“Power,” the Charon responded. “Pure… endless… power. It is old magic, ancient even, long since forgotten… and for good reason. That kind of power, left unchecked, there’s no telling what kind of damage you could do.”
“Wait,” Damien began, confused once again. “You’re telling me that this symbol that was seared into my flesh, that seems to burn hot to the touch even now, is somehow protecting me from… myself?”
“You truly don’t know what you are, do y-?” the Charon paused, sensing something amiss.
Though he could not see her face, he sensed that underneath the veil, her mouth was agape. Damien followed her gaze to the souls that surrounded them, all of them motionless. This wasn’t that uncommon to see them all standing listlessly about, waiting their turn to embark into the “Great Beyond”. What was abnormal, however, was that every last one of them did not stare straight ahead into the River Styx like they had before. Something else had drawn their attention away from the Eternal Light that acted as their guiding beacon into the afterlife. No, not something… someone. Damien felt their lifeless eyes on him as an unsettling sense of dread coursed through his veins.
“What is this?” Damien asked. “What are they doing?”
“They’re looking at you,” the Charon responded, just as in shock as Damien.
“I thought you said that they couldn’t see me,” Damien retorted, his skin beginning to crawl.
“They can’t,” the Charon answered, her head looking from one sheep to the next.
Every fiber of his being was telling him to run, but where would he go? He was utterly and completely surrounded by the walking dead. Maybe he could push his way through, make it to one of the boats. But what if the boat lit ablaze like before… what if he were lost to the darkness forever? Or worse yet, a Revenant of his own device; forever doomed to walk the world. Damien’s gaze went to the Crucible, maybe he could escape back into his memories once more. Would that fix everything, though? What would happen to him if he was caught unawares while peering through the looking glass? He was already dead, right? Could he truly die again?
“Damien!” the Charon practically shouted, drawing him from his haze.
So lost had he been in trying to figure out what was happening that he hadn’t realized she had been calling his name. Through the veil, he could see her eyes laser-focused on his. Was that… fear, he saw?
“What is it?” Damien managed to choke out. “What’s wrong; what’s happening!?”
“I know what this is,” the Charon declared. “You’re not safe here, we need to get y-“
Her voice caught in her throat as she exhaled sharply, clutching at her chest. Damien’s eyes dropped to see what appeared to be a series of bone fragments, crudely linked together in some sort of blade, sticking out of her sternum. The Charon stumbled back a few steps as Damien rushed to her side, catching her just as she began to fall. He gently glided her down to the nothingness that served as their foothold on this reality, the darkness swirling around her. Her white silk gown was stained with a dark crimson as Damien looked from the wound to her face, the veil having lifted back enough that he could see her lips moving. He strained to hear her words of warning as he leaned closer, her voice nothing more than a whisper. What she said made no sense to him, just like the rest of his life – or afterlife, as it were.
“Lich?” Damien repeated her words, shaking his head. “What’s a Lich?”
He heard it then, the grinding of bone-on-bone. Damien twisted his head back towards the River Styx, watching a creature of the dark step through the silhouette visages of the dead – the souls nothing more than audience members to all that was about to transpire. Damien squinted his eyes against the never-ending night that enveloped them, barely making out the man’s features. His hair was short, brown, and wavy. His beard was kept trimmed clean to the skin, little more than a five-o-clock shadow. He might’ve been considered a handsome man, were it not for the gaping hole in his eye. As Damien looked upon the Lich, he watched as the man extended his arms out, his hands facing upwards. In grotesque fashion, the man’s wrists suddenly bent further than should be humanly possible as bone shards began to form from the fissure of his flesh. Slowly, fragment by fragment, they slid out of his wrists, until he was holding two more of these “bone knives” in his hands.
“Hello Damien,” the Lich’s voice was deep, dark, and he spoke through clenched teeth, his lips twisting upward into an evil sneer. “So good to see you again.”
“You’re back,” the woman-in-white remarked, almost in a way that indicated she thought he had been lost to his memories forever.
“How long was I gone?” Damien asked, almost out-of-breath.
“Time… what an interesting concept,” she responded, her finger tapping on his shoulder as if she were counting down the seconds herself. “Things work differently here, Damien. There is no past, no future – no time… just the In-Between.”
Damien tried to make sense of all of this but the further he delved into all of this, the more it confused him. Watching these “memories” play out before him, it didn’t give him any such clarity. He tried to convince himself that what he was witnessing couldn’t be real, even though he could feel the truth in his bones. He had killed that man, stabbed him right in the eye. Sure, the man was an evil son of a bitch, but did that give him justification for doing what he did? He had saved that girl though, so maybe the scales balanced themselves in the end? And him taking the old man’s truck, that was like the cosmic balance, rewarding him… right? Damien began to wonder if he was as evil and dark as his victims.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you… why did you do it?” the woman-in-white spoke up, breaking Damien’s concentration.
“Do what?” Damien responded, perplexed.
“The girl… you saved her,” she stated. “Why?”
Fuck, was she in my head now too… reading my very thoughts!?
“Honestly, I don’t think she was even a factor in my decision” Damien recalled, thinking back to how he felt standing in that alley. “It was him… the evil within… I could feel it, almost as if it was my own. That darkness inside, for some reason… I’m drawn to it. But I don’t like it; how it twists my insides, makes me feel nothing but rage. So I try to snuff it out but…”
Damien tried to find the right words to say. It was true; he really didn’t like the feeling of someone’s sins washing over him, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. But when he took a life, there was a sort of peace that came with it… a numbing sensation that allowed him to quiet the voices in his head and to just be… free.
“This is a waste of time,” Damien responded, looking over his shoulder. “None of this is showing me what I want to see.”
“What you want to see…” the woman-in-white repeated, gliding around his back, her fingers tracing their way from one shoulder to the other. “No, the Crucible does not always show you what you WANT to see but, rather, what you NEED to see.”
“Enough!” Damien dared glance at her, her face still concealed by that veil. “Are you going to send me back or not?”
The woman cackled then, her laugh loud enough that it echoed off walls hidden within the darkness. Damien cringed at the sound, the noise reverberating within his head.
“What’s so funny!?” Damien demanded.
“Do you really think I’m capable of such a thing?” the woman-in-white asked, doing her best to stifle her amusement. “I’m not some Archangel of Redemption, Damien. I’m the Charon; your guide to the afterlife.”
Damien tried to process all of this, somehow believing that if he did as she had asked – if he were to look back into the reflective waters of his past, solve the mystery of his death, that he would be rewarded with a “second chance”.
“So that’s it then,” Damien responded, defeated. “There’s no going back.”
“Does that really surprise you, Damien?” the Charon mockingly questioned. “Look around us, at all of these souls. Do you really think that you, more than any of them, deserve to return to the land of the living?”
Damien noticed that the boats had resumed their journey across the River Styx, no sign of any type of fire, smoke, or destruction having previously been witnessed. Maybe he had imagined it? As the apparitions passed by him, they showed no fear – no worry. What if he lost control again; what if he destroyed all of these souls? Damien wasn’t entirely sure that he had started that boat ablaze to begin with, but something about the way that she had looked at him – accused him – made him doubt himself.
“What happened to those that drowned?” Damien forced himself to ask, realizing he would need to make that journey himself sooner or later.
Though he couldn’t see her face, not truly, he could tell that her expression had changed dramatically.
“They become revenants,” she solemnly stated, turning her gaze to where the boat had lit a fire. “Without a way to put their soul to rest, they remain caught between worlds. Sometimes they will bleed through into the land of the living, unaware that they are even dead. Most times, they remain stuck; an endless existence of nothingness.”
“And there’s no way…” Damien began.
“Do you really care?” the Charon interrupted, turning her gaze back to him. “Or do you simply still hold out hope that there is some way that you can escape destiny?”
There it was again, that damn word. It seemed that the Nightshades had been right after all; his fate was sealed. All roads lead here…
“I still don’t understand how I did that,” Damien honestly stated.
“YOU didn’t,” the Charon retorted, pointing her finger at the mark over his heart. “THAT did.”
“You belong to me…”
“What is it?” Damien asked, looking down at the brand of a six-pointed sun star encircled by three symmetrical barriers directly over his heart.
“Power,” the Charon responded. “Pure… endless… power. It is old magic, ancient even, long since forgotten… and for good reason. That kind of power, left unchecked, there’s no telling what kind of damage you could do.”
“Wait,” Damien began, confused once again. “You’re telling me that this symbol that was seared into my flesh, that seems to burn hot to the touch even now, is somehow protecting me from… myself?”
“You truly don’t know what you are, do y-?” the Charon paused, sensing something amiss.
Though he could not see her face, he sensed that underneath the veil, her mouth was agape. Damien followed her gaze to the souls that surrounded them, all of them motionless. This wasn’t that uncommon to see them all standing listlessly about, waiting their turn to embark into the “Great Beyond”. What was abnormal, however, was that every last one of them did not stare straight ahead into the River Styx like they had before. Something else had drawn their attention away from the Eternal Light that acted as their guiding beacon into the afterlife. No, not something… someone. Damien felt their lifeless eyes on him as an unsettling sense of dread coursed through his veins.
“What is this?” Damien asked. “What are they doing?”
“They’re looking at you,” the Charon responded, just as in shock as Damien.
“I thought you said that they couldn’t see me,” Damien retorted, his skin beginning to crawl.
“They can’t,” the Charon answered, her head looking from one sheep to the next.
Every fiber of his being was telling him to run, but where would he go? He was utterly and completely surrounded by the walking dead. Maybe he could push his way through, make it to one of the boats. But what if the boat lit ablaze like before… what if he were lost to the darkness forever? Or worse yet, a Revenant of his own device; forever doomed to walk the world. Damien’s gaze went to the Crucible, maybe he could escape back into his memories once more. Would that fix everything, though? What would happen to him if he was caught unawares while peering through the looking glass? He was already dead, right? Could he truly die again?
“Damien!” the Charon practically shouted, drawing him from his haze.
So lost had he been in trying to figure out what was happening that he hadn’t realized she had been calling his name. Through the veil, he could see her eyes laser-focused on his. Was that… fear, he saw?
“What is it?” Damien managed to choke out. “What’s wrong; what’s happening!?”
“I know what this is,” the Charon declared. “You’re not safe here, we need to get y-“
Her voice caught in her throat as she exhaled sharply, clutching at her chest. Damien’s eyes dropped to see what appeared to be a series of bone fragments, crudely linked together in some sort of blade, sticking out of her sternum. The Charon stumbled back a few steps as Damien rushed to her side, catching her just as she began to fall. He gently glided her down to the nothingness that served as their foothold on this reality, the darkness swirling around her. Her white silk gown was stained with a dark crimson as Damien looked from the wound to her face, the veil having lifted back enough that he could see her lips moving. He strained to hear her words of warning as he leaned closer, her voice nothing more than a whisper. What she said made no sense to him, just like the rest of his life – or afterlife, as it were.
“Lich?” Damien repeated her words, shaking his head. “What’s a Lich?”
He heard it then, the grinding of bone-on-bone. Damien twisted his head back towards the River Styx, watching a creature of the dark step through the silhouette visages of the dead – the souls nothing more than audience members to all that was about to transpire. Damien squinted his eyes against the never-ending night that enveloped them, barely making out the man’s features. His hair was short, brown, and wavy. His beard was kept trimmed clean to the skin, little more than a five-o-clock shadow. He might’ve been considered a handsome man, were it not for the gaping hole in his eye. As Damien looked upon the Lich, he watched as the man extended his arms out, his hands facing upwards. In grotesque fashion, the man’s wrists suddenly bent further than should be humanly possible as bone shards began to form from the fissure of his flesh. Slowly, fragment by fragment, they slid out of his wrists, until he was holding two more of these “bone knives” in his hands.
“Hello Damien,” the Lich’s voice was deep, dark, and he spoke through clenched teeth, his lips twisting upward into an evil sneer. “So good to see you again.”