Silver Warning wags his tail, looking adoringly up at Lukas. He doesn't know him with this face, this smell, but he knows his eyes and his soul. They were brothers once -- as far as Silver Warning is concerned, they are brothers now. Whatever has happened to his mind in the interminable years he has survived in this prison, it has made him incapable of understanding what is at stake. Above and beyond all other concerns, his pack is together. The pack he has been bound to in spirit for lifetime upon lifetimes. His soul's pack.
Red Vengeance is much the same. With Silver Warning in her arms she is quickly laying down all armor, all defenses. In the end, what has kept her going for all these years has been this mission, this need. Some part of her is willing to simply put down that burden, close her eyes, and become mindless and silver-shackled, if that's what it takes. If that's what it means for them to all be together again, maybe it's worth it. It would be easier than another hundred years of torment, loneliness, desperation. She looks back at Lukas, shame widening and darkening the eyes she has borrowed from his wife, and hopes he hears her apology. She, like their brother, has simply run out of strength.
The Sphinx turns, and walks with him toward her couch, toward the gate beyond it. The snake, that enormous python, waits for him to pass its head. Only when he walks by does it turn its heavy body and follow. When they reach the couch, Lukas can glance down and see the middle -- not even the end -- of the snake's body still pressed against the couch's legs. Maybe it goes on forever. Maybe it encircles the roots of the world.
She puts her hand in front of the swirls of gold that make up the gate, palm forward and arm straight. They swing open. They walk through into white.
It sears his vision like looking into the sun. The sounds of music and chatter fade, as does the knowledge of his spirit-pack and his soulmate. There is the clank of the gate closing behind him, latching just like it would in the 'real' world.
There is no mist here. It's much darker, though there is still some faint light to see by. As before, it comes from nowhere. Everything looks dull gray, 'everything' being the area around himself and a matter of several feet in front of him. All else is shadow. There is nothing to see. He is alone.
Black WindIf Lukas could, he would tell Red Vengeance she has no cause for shame. None whatsoever. She's borne this burden alone, and for so long. Borne it so that he and White Vision could be reborn, could go into the world, could forget, could find each other, could be happy. Borne it so that he wouldn't have to.
She has no cause for shame. She has no cause for guilt. He understands why she lays her burden down, finally: he wishes he could tell her that. It's his turn to bear the weight -- and the responsibility. And the guilt, should he fail.
He says none of this. He passes her, and his adoring, happy, poor, mindless brother. He doesn't even reach out to squeeze Red's hand, which is really Danicka's hand. Nor does he look back.
The gates close behind him. It is as it was before: they don't know what happens after that.
On the other side, it is darker and duller. Lukas is not surprised. Here it is then, he thinks. The truth of it, here in the dimness. He looks about, but there's nothing and no one to see. After a moment, he kneels down. It is a calm motion, efficient. He takes his coat off and folds it beside him. He takes his wife's ring off his finger and,
absurdly,
he begins to go through the ritual of dedication. He has no idea if it will work here. He has no idea what he should be doing right now. This seems as good a task as any.
The SphinxSomething heavy moves against Lukas's left foot, sliding past. He will know it for what it is that instant. He may not know this about himself: may only see the scar on his abdomen and the nightmares Danicka had for months and the loss of Mrena and the failures, god, the failures, but his packmates know the sharpness of his mind. He was a Philodox in the last life where his entire pack was together. He was their leader, and not because he was perfect. But he saw farther than they did, even White Vision. Not always deeper. But he knew things for what they were. He knew where they would end up.
The snake does not shy away from him, as most real snakes would. As he is dedicating his wife's wedding ring to his body, creating a bond between it and his own spirit, it simply passes by him, rubbing against the outside of his leg, and slithers ahead. Even when it reaches the farthest visible distance from him and begins to draw its body into coils, he cannot find the end of it.
It waits for him. The ring cleaves to his soul. When he slides it further down his finger, it grows to accomodate the size. It hugs his finger, nestled next to his own wedding ring, and begins to warm to his body heat. The snake watches him, head just a few inches from a nonexistent ground, and tastes the air with a flickering tongue. Still it says nothing.
Black WindThe hairs on the back of his neck stand upright when that snake slithers past. There's so much length there; an endless sinuous dryness that just keeps sliding on. The cuffs of his pants ruck up a bit. He feels it against his shin, and he has to fight a shudder.
He finishes what he's doing, though. And when the ring slides easily to rest beside his own, complements in dark and bright, he gets to his feet. He begins to walk toward where the snake is coiled. Which is to say: he walks toward its head. He doesn't know where the tail is. Perhaps it has none. Perhaps it's as eternal as this realm seems to be, and as endless.
If the snake remains as it is, he eventually catches up to it. And then he too sits, crosslegged this time, facing it. Waiting.
The SphinxNo hiss or strike awaits him. The snake does not send its length out to coil around him, press in on him. He walks toward it and it merely watches him.
Still: it says nothing.
Black WindSo they wait there. Minutes past. Perhaps hours. Time flows strangely here. There are no suns, no stars, no sky to track its movement by.
At length, Lukas moves again. His hands, which were previously at rest over his knees, turn palm-up. He extends them toward the snake, like a martyr showing his stigmata. He waits to see if it will strike him. Perhaps he expects it.
Black WindDice: 7 d10 TN8 (1, 3, 5, 6, 8, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Black Wind[it is 1 succ if that was a frenzy check!]
The SphinxIt does not grow weary.
It does not grow bored.
It does not grow angry.
There is no pride here, nor demand. Attempts by the mind to understand this place or this creature as beautiful or ugly, comforting or frightening, begin to melt together. Disgust flows together with tenderness. In the darkness he begins to hear nothing but his own breathing, which keeps slow time with the snake's sides. Coiled as it is, its breathing pushing its sides out and then pulling them back in, the snake seems to ripple slightly.
His palms extend to the snake, an offering. And in time, after a long regard, the snake moves its head forward. It rests the bottom of its head on top of his hands. Its tongue flickers out, and the fork dances across the thin flesh over his wrists.
In that heartbeat, rage roars through him. The desire to grab the snake and squeeze until its eyes burst, until its flesh rips, until he tears its head from its body, is almost too much to resist. It has taken his mate and his brother and his sister. It has denied him the wholeness of his pack for generations. It cast his brother in silver. His mate is trapped inside of his sister now because of this thing. It takes the form of a serpent; surely it is of the Wyrm.
It would be right to slaughter it. Just. He will protect the weak. He will slay the Wyrm. He will use up his anger on this thing, as he is meant to.
The longing passes. The red haze shivers and dissipates. The snake watches him, resting its head so trustingly in his palms. Time goes on, though not as much. A voice whispers in his mind, struggling and weak, sounding faraway and half asleep:
whyyy
Black WindMore than half a lifetime living with his rage, and somehow the abruptness and potency of its rise can still surprise him. He is not an arrogant man, but perhaps he possesses a form of hubris after all: to think he can ever truly control his rage. To think he will ever truly master the beast within.
The snake dances its tongue over his pulse. Rage nearly consumes him. It is whole and it is complete, it swallows his mind. He gasps with the force, or perhaps he pants. There's something strangely, revoltingly intimate about this promise of violence. The pain he wants to inflict is deep and visceral and lingering.
It lingers;
it passes.
And then a voice not his own makes its way into his mind. His pupils constrict a little. There are so many whys he could answer. He seizes the first, the freshest:
"Because you've taken what is whole and sundered it to pieces. Because you've taken my mate from me. Because you've taken half my pack from me and left them suspended, half alive and half dead. Because I had to come here to fix the mess. Because if I don't, I'll never get my pack back. I'll never get my mate back. Because your motives are a mystery to me, and you don't seem to care at all about what we think or feel or need, and I hate you for it."
Beat.
"That's why I wanted to kill you. But -- "
There it is, that treacherous word. But. Because he is not perfect, but he sees far. Because he is not merely his scars and his wounds and his strength and his teeth. Because he is not a dumb beast, a simple brute:
" -- I know none of that is true. It's cowardly and selfish to shift the blame so completely. We came here of our own volition, lifetimes ago. We agreed to your rules. And then one of us failed, and then we broke the rules we agreed to, and that's why Silver Warning had to stay, and that's why Red Vengeance died, and that's why I died, and that's why White Vision went mad.
"That's why I'm angry at Silver Warning. Because he failed.
"But that's cowardly and selfish too. Because I was the Alpha. I was responsible. And in the end I have no one to blame but myself, for coming here in the first place. For leading my pack here. For leaving one behind to be ... subjugated in such a way. I should have killed him rather than let him suffer that fate. But I didn't, and I ran, and then I died, and then I let my sister bear the burden that should have been mine. For centuries. Because I was cowardly. And selfish. And if only Red Vengeance had not found me, had not spoken to me through my mate's form, I wouldn't have had to remember any of that. I wouldn't have had to confront it.
"That's why I'm angry at Red Vengeance. Because she reminded me of what I wanted to forget.
"And that, too, is cowardly and selfish. Because she did the right thing. Because it's right that I should remember. It's right that I should take responsibility for what happened. Atone. Set things right, if I can. Because ... I don't want to be a coward anymore. I don't want to be selfish. I want my mate back. I want my pack freed. I want to set right what I made wrong."
There it is, the beating heart. He pauses a moment; lets the notion linger in his own mind until he can recognize it for the truth. The snake's head is in his hands. A symbol of evil, of corruption, of cunning, of wisdom, of healing, of fertility, of truth. The fruitbearing tree of knowledge; the closing gates of eden.
"That's why I'm here," he finishes softly.
Black WindDice: 7 d10 TN7 (1, 2, 2, 3, 9, 9, 10) ( success x 2 )
Black Wind[ERK! *WINCE*]
Dice: 7 d10 TN4 (4, 5, 6, 8, 8, 10, 10) ( success x 7 )
Black Wind[NO WHYYYYY]
The SphinxHe almost kills the snake. It trusts him anyway.
Finally, then, comes the question he had to know was coming. The question it asked him in another life, the question it asked Silver Warning and Red Vengeance and White Vision. It was an exchange, wasn't it? Some secret to help end the war. They could have walked away with that precious knowledge, intimate to each of them, and left Silver Warning forever. They didn't.
All the creator of this place wanted was an answer: why?
So Lukas answers.
The snake rests against him, surprisingly warm for a reptile, and there is only silence. No gate appears, no lights illuminate the darkness, no escape makes itself known. No insight blossoms in his mind. And no strike comes. He opens his heart, spills it all out, and
there is only silence.
Everything is cold around him. Quiet. Terrifying, in a way, making this island of even dim light all the more appealing. Making the warmth of the snake all the more comforting. Only its eyes see him, and its eyes do not judge him. Staring at it, being stared at by it, Lukas can only sense that he is not alone, and it is because of this creature here. He is not seen as a coward or a hero or an Alpha. He is not called selfish or self-sacrificing, truthful or honorable or brave. He is just Lukas. Without his pack and without his family and without his mate he is still himself, and that is all he has ever needed to be and
it feels very much like being loved.
The snake begins to move, as though it can tell he will welcome it now, and it begins to run its head further up his arms. Its tongue flickers across the inside of his elbow. Its body is heavy when it begins to pull it across Lukas's lap, but that strength and weight is oddly gentle. When the rest of the snake's body begins to encircle him, not pressing but merely surrounding him where he sits, it is enough to make a part of him tremble. The snake's upper body rests over his chest, against his shoulder, as though embracing him.
whyyy
it whispers then, shattering that warmth, that intimacy, that love with the word. So: he is not enough. He is a coward and he is a hero and he is an Alpha. He cannot ever just be himself, his soul, alone and accepted. He is the stupid scar on his belly, he is Mrena's death while he was spiraling into self-pity, he is Danicka's blood on his hands, Danicka's children despising him, Red Vengeance's lonely eternity, Silver Warning's shackles. He is every failure he has ever had. None of it is ever enough. Could he start this life over, begin again, protect Danicka from childhood, it would not be enough. Could he go back ten lives, a hundred lives, the beginning of time, he would still fail.
A howl boils up from his gut. A grief-stricken fury knots his muscles and his joints and tears open his mind. He wants to rip the snake from his very body, end that lying embrace, shake it til it snaps, punish it for this, for how it makes him feel, for what it is doing for no damn reason, but
that, too, passes. He has some control still. But not his heart. His heart is breaking. Still he has to answer this question.
For the second time, words pour out of him. Again the snake listens in silence, wrapped around him. It has draped itself across his shoulders, holds its head to one side, swaying, watching him, only inches from his face this time.
Again, the depths of his heart opened up, and it is not enough.
whyyy
The answer is simple this time. His mind does not go white. It does not go red.
It goes black.
The part of Lukas that knows glory, honor, or wisdom escapes from his body for a time. The part of him that is soul and mind, love and pride, simply shuts its eyes and ears and hides. Frenzy is a sort of cowardice and a sort of mercy, in one. The part of him that knows and remembers and feels is permitted to sleep, while
the rest of him
destroys.
Vision returns to his eyes and sensation returns to his flesh. He has not lost Danicka's ring again. He feels blood all over his body, already cooling. He tastes something in his mouth, bitter and brackish and oddly compelling, oddly satisfying. His belly is stretched, heavy, with meat. He is in crinos still, his physical self clinging to the madness, to the savagery.
He loved and hated this creature. Pieces of it still remain all around him. Some of those pieces bear the marks of his teeth. There are scales stuck to his fur, particularly around his jaw. He has given it every answer so far, he has never held back, he has not lied, he has not pretended. He has been as brave and courageous as his will can bear -- and his will is great. He has been as truthful and honest as his mind can bear -- and he has a clarity of thought few Ahrouns can match. He has given it everything he can, every answer he knows, and one of those answers was his own rage. It is the last thing he had left.
Its head lies, torn off at the neck, a few feet from him. Rolled to one side, gleaming eyes still staring.
In the silence remaining, he hears
whyyy
Black WindA long time ago,
and very far away,
and almost in another lifetime:
he was a boy, and he went to school, and after school he walked home (sometimes with his sister, which was awful because she was a girl and embarrassing and pretended she knew everything) and sometimes he wouldn't do homework, he'd turn on the tv and pretend to be doing homework but he'd really be watching a show. A stupid cartoon, a child's diversion. There was a character in it, and she drove everyone to utter screeching insanity, because she only ever had one line: why? why? why? Everyone thought it was funny. It was supposed to be funny. Lukas never thought it was very funny, though. He was annoyed by the character, annoyed by those sketches, a little creeped out by them, and now he sees
he was right all along. It's not funny at all. It's creepy. It's scary. It's madness to be confronted with that question again and again, forced to delve into the roots of one's own motives, forced to see there's no such thing as a pure motive.
Why, the voice wants to know. And the trembling rage rises in him again, because god damn it, he just told it why, he spilled it all, there's nothing more, it's never enough, he's failing again.
"Because," there's an unsteadiness to his voice this time; a breaking, or a strain, or a quiver of wrath, "I made it wrong, so I have to make it right. If I don't, that's cowardice and irresponsibility and weakness, and I don't want to be weak. Who wants to be weak? Has anyone ever come here and told you they wanted to be weak? I doubt it. I don't want to be weak. Being weak is the easiest way to give in to --
"Being evil. Being bad. I don't want to be bad. A bad Garou, a bad man, any of that. It's there. The potential for evil and destruction and ... all the things I'm trying to prevent. It's always there. When I met my mate I told her I'd beat her if she lied to me. I told her if she did something that I felt like I should punish, I'd beat her, and it wouldn't even be because I lost my temper. I'd just do it. I said that to her, my mate. I thought that was strength, but that's ... twisted. There's so much rage in me. I try to control it. It's difficult. It's a struggle that I always have to be strong enough to bear. Sometimes I don't think I can, but -- I have to. Because if I don't walk the line, if I give in to my weakness, if I'm not careful, I'll fall. I'll fall very far.
"I don't want to fall. I don't want to be a monster. I want to be good, to protect the ones that rely on me, to do what's right. Because I have to. Because if I don't, then maybe no one will. Because I don't want the world to burn, I don't want my loved ones to suffer."
And the snake says:
why.
And that's when he loses control. That's when control slips out of his grasp, whips away from him he doesn't have a shred of hope of containing it. Containing himself. All that potential for destruction he spoke of an instant again explodes into reality. It is dim here, but he is black. Black, black, black as sin: with glittering icy eyes that see nothing but hatred, with flashing teeth that know nothing but violence.
He tears that snake apart, that huge, terrible, lovely thing. There's blood everywhere, scales on his tongue, vertebrae crunching between his teeth. It's not enough. He tears it apart and he eats it, devours it with mindless, thoughtless ferocity, eats and eats and gorges himself, grunting, whuffing, growling at the errant muscle-twitches of dying nerve impulses.
When he comes back to himself he thinks
for a moment
that maybe it's still alive. This thing he hated and loved; this thing that asked and asked and then pushed him to show it exactly what he meant. The eyes still stare. They never did blink. The tongue doesn't flicker, though. The back of the head is attached to nothing. It is ruined,okay,
i love you,
byebye.
Wyrmbreaker retches. He vomits lukewarm masticated chunks of reptile; half-coagulated slimes of blood. He vomits until he's emptied out again, his stomach aching, his shivering withers contracting to shoulderblades, the fur receding to nudity. He is wearing his wife's ring and his own, and perhaps a few pieces of clothing that were bound to his spirit.
Why, asks the Sphinx. It was never the snake after all. He coughs thickly. And he answers; not a torrent of truth this time at all. Not paragraphs and paragraphs of exposition, explanation, peeling away the skins of his soul like a screaming bloody onion.
Just this:
"Because that's who I am. Because that's the only way I know how to be."
The Sphinx
whyyy
Again. Dead and devoured. And, rasping in his mind, more:
you
are
at
the beginning
The snake's tongue slips out, flutters in the air, and recedes.
you
are
new
It sounds like it is dying, but not dead. It sounds like it is straining for him, for his sake, for no reason. No reason at all. There is no more reason, no reasoning. Yet:
tell
me
why
why
why
why
Over and over again now, unbreaking, unyielding, relentless. Breaking him.
Black WindHis hands clench. His nails dig into earth, or stone, or mist, or nothingness. He screams it:
"I DON'T KNOW WHY."
