I spoke to God today and she said she's ashamed.
Yuri stood in front of the statue of the goddess, eyes, swirling with emotion like grey stormclouds inside of a orb, inside of a pearl. He met the statue's emotionless stone eyes, holding the capturing gaze as if he were afraid if he looked away, the statue may come alive and strike him down. He swore the goddess's stony gaze was looking down upon him with disapproval, cold and lifeless and disgusted by him.
Yuri was not a religious person. But for a moment he wondered if the goddess walked the heavens, and gazed upon him, and shook her head in a despairing manner. If the goddess did, Yuri knew he did not walk in her light.
What have I become? What have I done?
The swordsman lowered his gaze to his hands, outstretching them a little before him. If he squinted, he swore he could see phantom blood dripping from them. He swore he could see the crimson liquid staining his pale skin and swiftly he lowered his hands again, wiping them on his pants. There was nothing on them, though, and he left nothing on his clothing but slight sweat from stress.
"I need some sleep," he murmured, and turned away from the arresting, lifeless gaze of the winged goddess.
I spoke to the devil today, and he swears he's not to blame.
The vigilante hesitated on the battlefield. It was just a thief, a highwayman, and he hesitated, sword hitching and halting before he landed a killing blow. He hesitated, and the hesitation nearly got him killed; a moment later and he felt a knife sinking into his side, crying out and dropping his sword. He remembered seeing fire and then the thief fell away, skin blackened and the smell of burnt meat in the air.
That didn't matter to him very much at the moment, because he could feel so much blood pouring away from his side and then he collapsed upon the ground. He heard an angel's voice, or perhaps it was just Estelle's. Or maybe it was the goddess's.
And I understood, 'cause I feel the same.
The young man usually never hesitated within a fight like that before; why had he this time? What had made him stop, pause, and what had caused him to get nearly killed? Yuri shook his head to clear his mind. Perhaps someone else's face had flickered upon the highwayman's face, or maybe his subconscious mind had been wandering, and connected the enemy to someone else.
Either way, he was not in the mood to think about it. His hand lowered to the bandage on his side, slightly red, and he swallowed. He was thankful Estelle had been there, then smiled softly. He had friends to protect him. He could afford to mess up sometimes, couldn't he?
Arms wide open.
No, of course not. Why could he think something like that?
I stand alone.
He had to shoulder the burdens himself. He could not let the darkness of the world purify his friends' purity; Yuri would fight off as much of it as humanly possible.
I'm no hero.
Yuri's mind turned to the angel in a mortal's place, with blond hair and sky blue eyes. He thought of the innocence in someone else's pink hair, the gaze that held so much compassion. Then he thought of the warm brown eyes and hair that greeted him with awe. Of fiery red and green. Of blond and blue, like the first, but this on a young girl. But then he thought of old, dark hair and stubble and turquoise eyes. Of long blue hair and captivating red eyes. Of aqua fur and a single, piercing eye. They were not innocent, not so much as the others. Then he almost laughed. The first was no more innocent than the latter few, and yet he seemed so pure.
And I'm not made of stone.
But they all had innocence in their own way. Leading for justice, one who sought the best for the world, and two with undying loyalty. He was the contradiction. He was the darkness, he was the shadows. Not evil; shadows did not know what evil was, but it made no difference. The shadows held the corrupt, but the shadows also devoured the corrupt, but they gave way to light. Shadows and light could never coexist without clashing.
Right or wrong, I can hardly tell.
Shadows did need the light to exist, however. And light needed shadows to exist, else there be no comparison, else there be no way to describe the light. They were hand in hand, but they were unequal. The world needed so, so much good. But the blackness and swirling darkness of a shadow covered, corrupted, changed so much of it. A terrifying amount, but shadows could never drive back light. It would always prevail.
I'm on the wrong side of heaven.
He honestly didn't belong with the ones he stayed with. He was afraid to taint them, he was afraid to drop some of his burden and allow them to pick it up and help him. So he acted normally, smiling, laughing, joking. Typical Yuri, typical Yuri. Perhaps their light brought the load a little less on his shoulders, though. Perhaps, as he played a game of checkers with Karol, or sparred with Flynn, or listen to Rita, drink with the old man, tease the Krityian woman, spoke to his dog, deal with the pirate's flirting, whatever, perhaps it helped, made him forget about the weight for a little while.
And the righteous side of hell.
But if one thing was true, blindingly obvious, he knew he did not belong with the ones who were felled by his blade. Faces, ones he detested and felt like retching upon their memory, flashed across his mind. They had burned brands into him, and he could hear each of their voices, each of their last words.
I heard from God today. She sounded just like me.
The ex-knight slept quietly, outwardly, at least. Inwardly, he was facing a dream, a nightmare. He stood in front of himself, but this version of himself was different. His hair seemed lighter, his skin a bit darker. His eyes were greenish, glowing softly, and he wore a comfortable smile. He was wearing white instead of Yuri's usual black, but the golden bracelet remained. This dream self was the opposite of his very being.
"Yuri." His voice was lighter than he imagined, less worn and more soft, peaceful and calm. "You needn't burden yourself with all of this. You can have help, you know. That's what people do, Yuri. They get help when they need it. You are wearing yourself down."
What have I done? And who have I become?
"No." This was his voice. Yes, it was him speaking, not this strange contradiction of himself. It was not this being who caused him problems, it was not this strange being he had never seen, never heard before. "It is mine alone to carry. Leave me be; I am not going to bother my friends with my problems."
And then he awoke.
I saw the devil today, and he looked a lot like me.
The guildsman stood in front of a mirror, face dripping with frigid water. His thin lips were parted and he stared questioningly into his own gaze, expectant, as if he were hoping his reflection would begin moving independently of himself and tell him what he should do. And then Yuri thought not, because the almost heavenly, holy version of himself had done just that, and it was not what he wanted.
But when he looked into the mirror, he did not see the holy figure. He saw himself, but that did not comfort him.
I looked away. I turned away.
Yuri swiftly turned away from the mirror, shaking his head and then covering his face in a towel to rid himself of the final drops of water that clung to his pale skin. Ugh, what was he doing? He had changed lately. Ever since he had been captured in the eyes of the goddess, he had been feeling off and strange.
"Religion is not for me," he thought aloud, and walked out of the bathroom.
I'm not defending; downward descending.
He didn't have another dream for a few months. When he did, it was himself again, but instead of a holy figure, it was a demonic one. Horns were atop his head and a barbed tail curled around his ankle, fingers red claws instead and eyes black instead of grey. His teeth were sharpened to a fine point and he spoke with an air of smugness and carelessness around him.
"Keep your burden, Yuri." His voice was higher, and it hurt Yuri's ears to listen to. Mockingly, he hoped he didn't actually sound like that. "You're the only one who can. What happens if you just dump it off on someone? They'll break; they'll be tainted. They touch your burden and they are blackened."
Falling further and further away.
"I know that. You don't have to tell me." It was him again, he was speaking. "I'm not going to let them have it; I'm not going to let them know. I won't."
And he didn't, even years after his dream.
Getting closer every day!
He fought in a battle. His blood was pumping with the adrenaline of the fight, with the instinctual excitement of bloodshed. He did not smile or grin or smirk, though, holding a careful, calculating look as he sliced through his enemies. They were no match for him.
I'm getting closer every day to the end.
But for one, he was no match for them. He did not hear their approach, high on the scent of battle. High on the fever of victory. He felt the sword pierce his heart.
To the end, the end, the end.
He heard a cry, he heard voices, and he heard himself fall to the ground. His last thought was of his burden. He had never told anyone about it, just as he'd promised the devil that looked like himself.
Closer every day.
The burden that was shouldered even in death.
I'm on the wrong side of heaven.
The burden that he only felt lifted when he opened his eyes again, finding they were meeting eyes of silver, similar to his own. But this time it was a woman with brilliant wings. She spoke, and her voice was a comfort to his dead ears.
And the righteous side of hell.
"Welcome, Yuri Lowell."
Lyrics: Wrong Side of Heaven - Five Finger Death Punch