[The shade watches them back, though he has no face to study in return, as much as he might like to. His eyes narrow as he listens to that claim, though not out of anger. Merely—considering.
Unbidden, unwanted, a smile twists the corners of his lips.]
Heh.
[The laughter that falls out of him then is helpless; he covers his eyes with shadow that's slow to become a hand, but it does little except mask the terrible look in his eyes. It goes on just long enough to be uncomfortable—if the situation wasn't already.
When he finds his voice again, it's much stronger than before, more forceful than he's ever been with Dante. There's no denying the edge of bitterness to his reply.]
You're right. I'd hoped—that you'd truly understand. Ridiculous, isn't it.
[They can only stare back at him in silence at first. They've never seen Altius like this before, and they wonder if they've made a mistake. Maybe doing so was inevitable.
Still... Still, they can't give up.]
< No, it's not ridiculous. I didn't-- I wasn't trying to say it was. >
[The smile that might be more accurately called a curl of his lip remains as he removes his hand, and he shifts backwards the space of a step as he raises his glowing gaze to them.]
It's alright. [There's no happiness in his expression when he says,] I'm glad you've taken the time to say all of this to me. I needed to hear it.
[The shade turns to watch one of the towering heads of the beast in the distance.]
[Some part of them is aware of how pathetic they must sound. Some part that discards the thought as soon as it can come to mind. Deep down into the gap that the part that would have been shamed by such a thing left when it was taken from them.]
[His smile fades as Dante's words draw his attention back to them. Even now he struggles to ignore a direct plea, if just because of how long as he's taken them all into account, silently promising them salvation even when he could offer nothing in the meantime.
When he speaks, it's to address what he can only assume is the reason Dante is trying to stop him.]
What I've taken from you—I don't know what will happen to it.
[It's said frankly; he hasn't had the time or chance to test, as would have been his instinct. Besides, all of that would mean planning for the future, for the long term.]
Perhaps it will return to you in time. Or perhaps you'll come up with a kinder way of thinking about yourself.
[There's no hope in the mention of either of the possibilities. They're simply two of who knows how many. Even so—he doesn't wish further pain upon them, so he won't speak it into existence.]
[Though he's half turned away, Dante doesn't lose his attention as they speak. For several moments of silence after that, the catlike eyes continue staring, uncomprehending even though he's heard the words loud and clear.]
... for me.
[There's little in his monotone, but what is there implies more than it's so absurd he didn't even consider the possibility, rather than disbelief. The only reason anyone would be there for him is if he'd manipulated them into the position. With the same straightforward voice as before, he says,]
You shouldn't. You wouldn't, if you...
[The shade trails off, the focus of his gaze on Dante changing as if he's looking through them, drawn into his thoughts with his mouth still slightly open like he simply forgot to continue. His brow comes together, and he remembers.
Maybe, like with a certain young man, maybe that's not true—
A wisp of shadow rises from his shoulder, and underneath it for just a moment, there's the olive of his skin instead of the nothingness that embodies his wish.]
[Yellow eyes snap back to Dante, an expression on his face somewhere between horror and desperation. Knowing what he does of Dante and their home, it might even be true that they'd be willing to stand by him, even if they did know all the horrible things he's done in the name of his goal. If he even could change.]
No.
[Just as with anything that reaches down to his core, he can do nothing but reject it, especially now when all he wants is to give up. (Isn't it?) Dark energy like a spark crackles briefly away from him as he raises his voice, almost commanding.]
There is no forward! [Weaker, halfway to a whisper as his shoulders shudder,] There can't be. I can't—
[He grasps his head with the semi-formed shadow of one hand and the visible flesh and blood of the other, the cloud of his lower half starting to melt away into the ground as if to escape the prospect while he can.]
[He sees the offer from under his palms. His living hand twitches, almost like he's thinking of moving it from its place where his fingers are threaded through tendrils of shadow. In that same whisper, with a denial that's much less certain:]
No—
[Zekarion flees. As he turns, he dissipates into mist and seeps into the shadows between every paving stone and in the holes his presence has left in the concrete.
The weight of the darkness and in the air belongs only to the Black Beast then.]
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Unbidden, unwanted, a smile twists the corners of his lips.]
Heh.
[The laughter that falls out of him then is helpless; he covers his eyes with shadow that's slow to become a hand, but it does little except mask the terrible look in his eyes. It goes on just long enough to be uncomfortable—if the situation wasn't already.
When he finds his voice again, it's much stronger than before, more forceful than he's ever been with Dante. There's no denying the edge of bitterness to his reply.]
You're right. I'd hoped—that you'd truly understand. Ridiculous, isn't it.
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Still... Still, they can't give up.]
< No, it's not ridiculous. I didn't-- I wasn't trying to say it was. >
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It's alright. [There's no happiness in his expression when he says,] I'm glad you've taken the time to say all of this to me. I needed to hear it.
[The shade turns to watch one of the towering heads of the beast in the distance.]
I've just been wasting time.
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< Altius... Please. >
[Some part of them is aware of how pathetic they must sound. Some part that discards the thought as soon as it can come to mind. Deep down into the gap that the part that would have been shamed by such a thing left when it was taken from them.]
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When he speaks, it's to address what he can only assume is the reason Dante is trying to stop him.]
What I've taken from you—I don't know what will happen to it.
[It's said frankly; he hasn't had the time or chance to test, as would have been his instinct. Besides, all of that would mean planning for the future, for the long term.]
Perhaps it will return to you in time. Or perhaps you'll come up with a kinder way of thinking about yourself.
[There's no hope in the mention of either of the possibilities. They're simply two of who knows how many. Even so—he doesn't wish further pain upon them, so he won't speak it into existence.]
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[Though they won't deny that it was a concern of theirs.]
< I just... What I wanted to do... >
[How to put this...]
< I don't want you to give up. You've been there for me, so I wanted to try and be there for you. >
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... for me.
[There's little in his monotone, but what is there implies more than it's so absurd he didn't even consider the possibility, rather than disbelief. The only reason anyone would be there for him is if he'd manipulated them into the position. With the same straightforward voice as before, he says,]
You shouldn't. You wouldn't, if you...
[The shade trails off, the focus of his gaze on Dante changing as if he's looking through them, drawn into his thoughts with his mouth still slightly open like he simply forgot to continue. His brow comes together, and he remembers.
Maybe, like with a certain young man, maybe that's not true—
A wisp of shadow rises from his shoulder, and underneath it for just a moment, there's the olive of his skin instead of the nothingness that embodies his wish.]
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Recent memory guides their words.]
< No matter what the past holds, as long as you have the will to change, to move forward, I will be there. >
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No.
[Just as with anything that reaches down to his core, he can do nothing but reject it, especially now when all he wants is to give up. (Isn't it?) Dark energy like a spark crackles briefly away from him as he raises his voice, almost commanding.]
There is no forward! [Weaker, halfway to a whisper as his shoulders shudder,] There can't be. I can't—
[He grasps his head with the semi-formed shadow of one hand and the visible flesh and blood of the other, the cloud of his lower half starting to melt away into the ground as if to escape the prospect while he can.]
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< It's up to you. I can't make that decision for you--I won't. But I'll help you carry that pain until you feel you can walk on with it once more. >
[They hold out their hand. He could take everything from them now, but it's a risk they're willing to take.]
< I'm here. >
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No—
[Zekarion flees. As he turns, he dissipates into mist and seeps into the shadows between every paving stone and in the holes his presence has left in the concrete.
The weight of the darkness and in the air belongs only to the Black Beast then.]