[After a moment of quiet laughter echoing and scratching at the edges of the dream:]
That's what this one said, too. Once upon a time.
[The figure clenches his fists, tense, as he recalls the shared history. A drawn out fight. The war won, but so many battles lost. So many lives ended, most of all hers.]
I was fooled. We all were... it wasn't worth it...
[Even if Octavian had been completely invisible in the darkness of the space, the way Chaos spoke made it clear enough:]
You—how did you die?
[Manners? Please. He's a desperate man on the edge of a cliff, mind trapped in a swirling void with one of the beings that ruined his life. A ghost's feelings are the last thing he cares about.]
[Octavian hums lightly; that sounds like a skill issue, but luckily no one has taught him that phrase yet, so he can only make little judgmental sounds. Either way, he's confident in his ability to say no to overbearing... entities. He thinks he's doing great so far.]
Why? I was murdered. My skull crushed.
[Does that matter? Why does that matter. Please share.]
[Like, it's very simple, and he honestly assumes vengeance is implied and so doesn't mention it specifically. He just wants to get back to work, why is this hard for living people to understand--]
"Allowed." Please. No cosmic force hit me in the head. Only a man.
[Skill issue, again, if this person can't understand the beautiful gravity of discovery— although Octavian would absolutely defeat death to finish a knitting project, too, if he had that kind of hobby. Details.]
We all die. I will do so on my own terms. To succumb to the paralysis of fear is the real death.
Why should you be the only one to get to choose...?
[It's a rhetorical question, half whispered. There is no good answer, nothing that would convince him that Octavian's path is correct in any sense. Nor does he think the suffering left in the ghost's wake will be worth whatever discovery or success he achieves. There are consequences to breaking the laws of nature after all, though he's only been witness to a few of them, and not in regards to overcoming death.
Beyond that—why him, and not her? How could that ever be fair?]
I will hesitate no longer. [Paralysis. As though accepting a proper rest, the embrace of emptiness, could be akin to a flaw. But for now he is here and alive despite everything, driven forward by anger and grief, and he will do what must be done until his time comes.
The figure lifts its yellow gaze to the swirl of energy hovering over and around them, observing them with interest.] Chaos.
[Blandly said, because he neither knows nor particularly cares what this figure's problem is with it. The thing--Chaos--too, from what it was talking about before. Why should he be personally responsible for anyone's life or lack thereof but his own? The discoveries are there to be made by anyone, after all.
But whatever. Things are happening. He looks up in turn, though he's not sure where precisely he should be looking.]
[Sparks flicker towards the figure's outstretched hand: promises of connection that draw light out of its shrouded form, only to be snuffed.]
With your power and mine, we will tear apart the seal keeping you here...
[The singular voice joins with the many:]
And everything else.
[The dream cracks—shifted sideways and askew, a mind broken by a vow that can't be taken back with a being that never intended to leave him in one piece. But still, there remain large enough pieces to hold onto, the dream not collapsing just yet.
The figure disappears, such as it was ever perceptible in the first place, its edges no longer discernible through the shifting flow of power. A scream crashes through the fragments.]
[Oh, that's not very reassuring. Octavian steps back and looks around, like perhaps a convenient door with an EXIT sign will pop up just for him, but no-- in the absence of anything better to do he takes another step and then simply gets knocked down by the shifting of the dream. Being on, hm, the floor? Whatever passes for floor, now? Being down feels the slightest fraction safer than being an upright target for whatever is going on, so.
He'll stay down here, arms covering his head. And he doubts he has to raise his voice and so doesn't, simply speaking out into the collapsing nightmare:] Hypocrite.
[Destroying everything? At least Octavian only ever intended to inconvenience himself with his little goals.]
[The echo of the scream is still reverberating when that pair of gleaming yellow eyes reappears, looking down (or up?) upon Octavian's attempt to steady himself in the ever-moving space. There's intent in them now, fixated on the ghost. Its unsteady outline sweeps off of it like a flickering cape and a pair of horns.
The voices proclaim their judgment:]
Your time has long passed, phantom.
[This entity, whoever or whatever it is now, will not have any trouble grasping Octavian should it get its claws into him—and it reaches for him now. Breaking souls into pieces is one of its many abilities.]
[Ah, well, if that isn't a warning to get out of there he doesn't know what is. Even if he can't see anything coming for him, those words are pretty clear. He doesn't like to do this but he likes being threatened less, so as the entity-figure-whatever reaches for him he lets himself fade, just enough to be intangible.
Well, he thinks so— this being a dream may not operate on the same logic, but he's... more slippery than usual, at the very least.
And crawling his way towards something else to grab onto...]
Idiot, [that's for the figure, for allowing this to happen.] You are too small to realize this is fruitless.
[Chaos and its pawns never had trouble taking hold of the ethereal, although the dream appears to be helping Octavian to some extent by allowing him to slip free. A sharp white grin appears as it mockingly answers:]
I won't let the fear of failure paralyze me.
[Perhaps the ghost won't easily stay within that grasp, but he'll nevertheless feel an unpleasant sensation of being eaten away where touched—like acid applied directly to the spiritual equivalent of his skin. It won't leave a lasting mark, but it can certainly hurt.]
[Ah, and he can crawl away hastily enough, but the feeling— the feeling, that is a bit much. Octavian has been without so many feelings for so long, and he enjoys a sort of immunity to the worst ones while in his spectral state, so to feel pain here and now is more terrifying than he'd like to admit.
Still, he crawls a little faster now, and actually manages to raise his voice above its usual low and even cadence:]
Imbecile! Use your own eyes and not the madness of this creature!
[Slippery, this one. Onyx momentarily pauses the endeavor of attempting to crush the spirit; it's no matter, ultimately. It would simply be satisfying.]
Oh? [it laughs.] What is it you want so badly for me to see?
[He's going, he's skittering, behind a more solid piece of this collapsing place that's big enough to conceal him. As much as he can actually hide, considering the thing he's up against. It's the spirit of the thing (hah).
He still has to raise his voice, which is terrible. It's scratchy; he hasn't actually yelled in many years.]
The truth! You are asleep in your bed and your childish fantasies are only that! Useless!
[There's a pause, momentary, where the rasping and snapping of Chaos's energy is the only thing that reaches Octavian's ears.
Then: a single laugh in a dozen different tones.]
If it's useless... then why are you so afraid?
[Onyx reaches in the direction of that "hiding" spot, such as it is, palm up like an offer. He doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's mocking the ghost.]
Why don't you let me test how useless it is, and we can both be enlightened? You can think of it as one of your projects.
[If only he were the type of man who'd take this opportunity to say "why don't you go fuck yourself," that would be very biting, alas he is not legally allowed to swear--
He slouches down in his little spot with a huff.]
Are you jealous? You rely on that monstrosity to achieve your little goals. Like a sniveling child. Too enamored with the false importance of kicking down your own sandcastles.
[He reaches for a... piece? Of this place? The metaphysical nature is getting weird, but it's something he can throw, and so he chucks it around the hiding spot. He isn't much of a shot, but it's the principle of the thing.]
[The piece shatters with a single touch from Onyx, and from there more cracks web through the memory; it's getting even more unstable than it already was, perceptible pieces breaking away, making even the echoing voices blank out in spots before all of them reach the ghost. This memory never was truly solid; more of a strong impression than anything he could feel with his physical senses.]
▇ou think you ca▇▇▇▇tsmart your o▇▇ feeli▇▇▇? ▇ow quai▇▇.
[Despite the missing sound, it remains clear enough that he's not bothering to acknowledge Octavian's words as they are; there's nothing to be said that can reach him now.]
Enj▇▇▇▇▇▇tending you▇▇▇ invulne▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ile you can. It wi▇▇▇▇ll br▇▇k ▇▇wn in ti▇▇.
[Apparently he's decided he's spent enough time with the phantom; a snap of clawlike fingers breaks the rest of it, leaving nothing remaining of the dream.]
Edited (my keyboard likes ws too much) 2025-02-16 04:56 (UTC)
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expiationlogs2025-01-13 12:39 pm
no subject
That's what this one said, too. Once upon a time.
[The figure clenches his fists, tense, as he recalls the shared history. A drawn out fight. The war won, but so many battles lost. So many lives ended, most of all hers.]
I was fooled. We all were... it wasn't worth it...
[Even if Octavian had been completely invisible in the darkness of the space, the way Chaos spoke made it clear enough:]
You—how did you die?
[Manners? Please. He's a desperate man on the edge of a cliff, mind trapped in a swirling void with one of the beings that ruined his life. A ghost's feelings are the last thing he cares about.]
no subject
Why? I was murdered. My skull crushed.
[Does that matter? Why does that matter. Please share.]
no subject
What would you even gain from returning to a world that allowed such an injustice?
no subject
[Like, it's very simple, and he honestly assumes vengeance is implied and so doesn't mention it specifically. He just wants to get back to work, why is this hard for living people to understand--]
"Allowed." Please. No cosmic force hit me in the head. Only a man.
no subject
Your projects.
[Flatly; almost disbelieving. And yet in a twisted way it makes sense to him. Arrogant, selfish, pointless—like everything else.]
That's it. You'd suffer through another death for your projects...?
no subject
[Skill issue, again, if this person can't understand the beautiful gravity of discovery— although Octavian would absolutely defeat death to finish a knitting project, too, if he had that kind of hobby. Details.]
We all die. I will do so on my own terms. To succumb to the paralysis of fear is the real death.
no subject
[It's a rhetorical question, half whispered. There is no good answer, nothing that would convince him that Octavian's path is correct in any sense. Nor does he think the suffering left in the ghost's wake will be worth whatever discovery or success he achieves. There are consequences to breaking the laws of nature after all, though he's only been witness to a few of them, and not in regards to overcoming death.
Beyond that—why him, and not her? How could that ever be fair?]
I will hesitate no longer. [Paralysis. As though accepting a proper rest, the embrace of emptiness, could be akin to a flaw. But for now he is here and alive despite everything, driven forward by anger and grief, and he will do what must be done until his time comes.
The figure lifts its yellow gaze to the swirl of energy hovering over and around them, observing them with interest.] Chaos.
Are you ready at last?
no subject
[Blandly said, because he neither knows nor particularly cares what this figure's problem is with it. The thing--Chaos--too, from what it was talking about before. Why should he be personally responsible for anyone's life or lack thereof but his own? The discoveries are there to be made by anyone, after all.
But whatever. Things are happening. He looks up in turn, though he's not sure where precisely he should be looking.]
no subject
With your power and mine, we will tear apart the seal keeping you here...
[The singular voice joins with the many:]
And everything else.
[The dream cracks—shifted sideways and askew, a mind broken by a vow that can't be taken back with a being that never intended to leave him in one piece. But still, there remain large enough pieces to hold onto, the dream not collapsing just yet.
The figure disappears, such as it was ever perceptible in the first place, its edges no longer discernible through the shifting flow of power. A scream crashes through the fragments.]
no subject
He'll stay down here, arms covering his head. And he doubts he has to raise his voice and so doesn't, simply speaking out into the collapsing nightmare:] Hypocrite.
[Destroying everything? At least Octavian only ever intended to inconvenience himself with his little goals.]
no subject
The voices proclaim their judgment:]
Your time has long passed, phantom.
[This entity, whoever or whatever it is now, will not have any trouble grasping Octavian should it get its claws into him—and it reaches for him now. Breaking souls into pieces is one of its many abilities.]
no subject
Well, he thinks so— this being a dream may not operate on the same logic, but he's... more slippery than usual, at the very least.
And crawling his way towards something else to grab onto...]
Idiot, [that's for the figure, for allowing this to happen.] You are too small to realize this is fruitless.
no subject
I won't let the fear of failure paralyze me.
[Perhaps the ghost won't easily stay within that grasp, but he'll nevertheless feel an unpleasant sensation of being eaten away where touched—like acid applied directly to the spiritual equivalent of his skin. It won't leave a lasting mark, but it can certainly hurt.]
no subject
Still, he crawls a little faster now, and actually manages to raise his voice above its usual low and even cadence:]
Imbecile! Use your own eyes and not the madness of this creature!
no subject
Oh? [it laughs.] What is it you want so badly for me to see?
no subject
He still has to raise his voice, which is terrible. It's scratchy; he hasn't actually yelled in many years.]
The truth! You are asleep in your bed and your childish fantasies are only that! Useless!
no subject
Then: a single laugh in a dozen different tones.]
If it's useless... then why are you so afraid?
[Onyx reaches in the direction of that "hiding" spot, such as it is, palm up like an offer. He doesn't bother to hide the fact that he's mocking the ghost.]
Why don't you let me test how useless it is, and we can both be enlightened? You can think of it as one of your projects.
no subject
He slouches down in his little spot with a huff.]
Are you jealous? You rely on that monstrosity to achieve your little goals. Like a sniveling child. Too enamored with the false importance of kicking down your own sandcastles.
[He reaches for a... piece? Of this place? The metaphysical nature is getting weird, but it's something he can throw, and so he chucks it around the hiding spot. He isn't much of a shot, but it's the principle of the thing.]
Enlightened. You are weak. Wake up.
no subject
▇ou think you ca▇▇▇▇tsmart your o▇▇ feeli▇▇▇? ▇ow quai▇▇.
[Despite the missing sound, it remains clear enough that he's not bothering to acknowledge Octavian's words as they are; there's nothing to be said that can reach him now.]
Enj▇▇▇▇▇▇tending you▇▇▇ invulne▇▇▇▇▇▇▇▇ile you can. It wi▇▇▇▇ll br▇▇k ▇▇wn in ti▇▇.
[Apparently he's decided he's spent enough time with the phantom; a snap of clawlike fingers breaks the rest of it, leaving nothing remaining of the dream.]