Chapter 37: Mirror Image
The likeness was uncanny, it was a perfect reflection, an exact copy. The double moved exactly has he did, right down to the slight limp whenever he stepped with his left foot. The way his hair parted on the right side of his scalp, the slight incline of the chin when he spoke, even the curious spark in his eye that appeared whenever he saw something interesting. It was all there, right down to the smallest detail. The only difference, the only way one could tell that they were not twins, was the cadence of the double's voice. While the original's had dulled and flattened, this newcomer was the precise opposite; upbeat, singsong, lively to the point whereupon hearing its voice the hairs on the back of one's neck would stand up.
The smile was wrong as well, it was too bright and expectant. A Cheshire grin of uncomfortable proportions that made bile rise in the back of his throat. Whatever was going on here, it was clear that this imposter was dangerous.
"An imposter!" The copy wailed in mock agony, "How could you be so cruel? And here I was, thinking that we had been getting along so well! Oh, the humanity! Your cruelty knows no bounds indeed!"
The original grit his teeth, "Who are you? What is the meaning of this?"
"Well, that wasn't too bright a question at all, no sir, not one bit." His face opposite twisted into a frown, "Isn't it plainly obvious? I'm you, of course!"
"No, you're not." He growled between clenched jaws, "I am me! Whatever you are, you aren't anything like me!"
Clear eyes narrowed to playful slits, "Oh? Care to make a wager on that?"
Warning signals flashed through his mind, "Don't answer that! For some reason, I feel like that…thing is trying to get something out of me."
The other chuckled, "Why would I want to get something out of myself? I already have everything, after all." He wagged his finger at the astonished face opposite him, "Now now, don't be so shocked. We don't need to hide anything here. Besides, I much prefer having everything…out in the open, shall we say. I hope we don't mind!"
"Stop that. We – I – mind quite a bit! You aren't me! I am me! Nothing is going to change that!"
"Oh? Is that so? Then what are you?"
He was taken aback by the sudden reply, "What kind of question is that? Of course, I know what I am! These asinine remarks are only making me angrier, so cut it out!"
A thin smile formed on the other's face, "Why, it's the only question that matters anymore. Surely, one such as myself would realize that by now. Or, maybe we do understand, but refuse to acknowledge? Aha! That must be it! How very much like us! We have quite the gall, to refuse so much even at this stage! Hehehehe, why, it's almost too funny!"
"Shut up! I can't stand to hear that laugh from my own face! It's wrong, all wrong!"
The other him wiped a tear from his eye, "Aww, we thought that we had a good sense of humor. Don't tell us that you seem to have lost it along the way? That's too bad, it was a great part of us."
"Me! A part of me! Not you, whatever you are! Stop this madness at once! I know what I am, I know that I'm me, not you!"
"Why would we stop any kind of madness?" The other purred in a sultry tone, "Madness is what sets us free, lets us see what we really are beneath all that flesh and sinew. Madness is the key that unlocks the very essence of humanity; unravels us right down to the dark, chewy center." He began to slowly circle in a wide arc, as a predator might do against a lone piece of prey, "So, we think we understand ourselves? Tell us then, which of these are we?"
He stopped precisely parallel to him, "Are we a scholar?"
The landscape suddenly warped and cracked as a new visage overtook them, showing a third copy of themselves, only this one was clearly more of an image. It showed them deep in stacks of tomes and books within a magnificent library, containing all the world's knowledge and wisdom. Such a treasure trove that only a true lover of learning could appreciate, one could spend ten lifetimes here and never run out of material. This researcher's heaven did speak to the mage within him, but he found the setting enclosing and limited.
This was no paradise to him.
He who was opposite to himself gave a bemused chuckle, "Not much of a scholar then, hmm? I don't blame you. Books are so stuffy and cramped, being trapped in one is almost…nightmarish! We wouldn't want that for ourselves, no, not at all! Shall we try something else? But what? Hmm…aha! We have just the ticket!"
Before a protest could escape his lips, the ground inverted and warped in impossible ways, sending his body careening through nothing before landing hard on soft ground. Sensation exploded in his mind as the vertigo faded; shouts and screams echoed above the din of colliding metal and flesh. The air was thick with smoke and cinder, blotting out the dim sun that rose far above him. His vision as suddenly filled with the image of a face, it belonged to a man, and yet lacked humanity. It could have been anybody, but he knew this face as well as his own.
The man yelled down, "Brother! Are you alright? That was a terrible blow you just took, but you must stand! If we do not fight now, then all is lost!"
The figure reached down to haul him up, only to be transfixed by an arrow to the throat. He fell away, blood spilling onto his front and staining the grass. He should have been horrified by the violent death, but instead of revulsion, he felt only rage. He felt the hilt of a blade fall into his palm, and a familiar sensation began to roll through his limbs. Leaping to his feet, he sighted the man with the offending bow across a field of rolling hills, despite the teeming horde of men who scattered the ground. He was in the midst of some massive campaign, where or between who did not matter. All that mattered was the man who had just lain his brother low.
Strength surged in his limbs as he dashed forward, leaping and dodging all who got in his way. Nothing mattered except reaching his target. The bowman sighted him and turned his arrows on his attacker, loosing arrow after arrow in a desperate bid to ward him off.
The blade sang in his hands, deflecting each of the buzzing wasps as he closed in. Within moments, his target was within reach and he lashed out with vengeful force. The bowman attempted to block the blade, only to be surprised when the wood bow shattered into splinters under the weight. Surprise turned to shock, shock turned to panic, and panic turned to nothingness as the blade bit deep into his neck, killing him outright.
As the body fell away, bereft of its head, he felt triumph and vindication flow through his veins. As he turned to look over the endless sea of warring bodies, a smile began to creep its way across his face. He could make a difference here; of this he was certain. The men below lacked a certain quality, a particular fighting spirit and a desire for victory that only he possessed. If he plunged into that fray, none would be able to stand before him. To carve a bloody swath through his enemy, to hear them wail and cower before him, to watch as the hope for victory died in their eyes. That, that could be a paradise.
He took a single step towards the downwards slope, and then stopped short in a moment of wonder,
"What are they fighting for?"
It was a brief moment of thought, a simple question that led to an instance of hesitation. But in that hesitation, the overwhelming bloodthirst faded into clarity. While he loved a good fight, of this he could not deny, there was no fun in fighting just for the sake of a fight. He was not a savage; he did not kill for the sake of killing. If he was going to fight for eternity, he wanted to do so for the right reasons. Just swinging a sword for no reason felt empty and purposeless, not something that he truly wanted.
This was not a true paradise.
The severed head of the archer suddenly regained its spark, speaking in a haunting echo of his own voice,
"My my, we are being quite picky today, aren't we? But we wouldn't have it any other way! A hollow purpose is no purpose at all, after all! If you're going to sink your teeth into something, better put your own heart and soul on the platter! Hehehehe!"
"What are you trying to pull? Why are you putting me through these things?"
"Hahaha! Because we want to help ourselves! It's very important to be comfortable! You should trust yourself more."
"We are not the same!"
The smile on the dead face turned cold and knowing, "Aren't we?"
Before he could protest, the ground once more gave way and he tumbled onwards into darkness.
He fell once again through the hissing void, through sheets of freezing wind and burning colors that assaulted the senses and dizzied the mind. When solid ground met his feet once more, a blinding light encompassed him, causing him to recoil and cover his eyes in shock. A low rumbling could be heard all around him, a deep drone that drowned out all the rest of the world and isolated the individual in its ferocity.
Shying away with small steps, his retreat was stopped by a firm hand placed in the small of his back, "Do not leave yet, sire!" A strong, jovial voice boomed in his ear, "This day is for you, and it would be poor showing to your people if you were to leave them now!"
Enticed by the encouraging words, he slowly blinked in the noonday sun, only to be astonished by the incredible scene that played out before his very eyes. He stood at the top of a large veranda, jutting out from a beautiful keep made of white marble and gilded to such an extent that it glimmered in the sunlight. Banners bearing his family sigil fluttered in the warm breeze beneath a perfect sky. Below and beneath him, he discovered the source of the rumbling sound; a massive crowd of people, uncountable in their number, who all chanted his name.
His personage was cloaked in the utmost finery; robed in the finest silks and adorned with jewelry that only the greatest of persons could ever hope to lay their eyes on. A gilded blade of the highest quality steel was belted upon his hip, and a long scepter fell into his left hand. Beyond the teeming crowd lay an army comprised of glittering steel and silver, a river of men and women prepared to fight and die upon his word. All eyes turned up to him with hopeful expectation, ready to enact his every word as divine law. Everything he laid his eyes on belonged to him, even the distant horizon and the heavens themselves, they too, might be his.
Drawn in by the wondrous spectacle, he stood at the precipice and looked down upon the land that belonged to him. He raised his scepter and the crowd's adulations increased tenfold, causing the air itself to shudder under its enormity. Drawing his blade, which shimmered with energy and power, he pointed it towards his waiting army and watched in amazement as his soldiers likewise drew their weapons to raise them in salute. Sheathing the blade, he extended a hand and gestured downwards, and in a great wave of motion, all knelt before him, bowing low in their deference.
Satisfaction filled him at the sight of his willing subjects. Here, he was regarded as lord and master, the arbiter of their lives and his word was law. At a single flick of his wrist, he could command his armies to conquer the world and amass all of its riches at his feet. There are no gods but him, there are no laws besides his.
Here, he is supreme.
"So…this is what he feels…this…this is marvelous!"
Actually, wouldn't this make him superior to that man?
A low chuckle slowly worked its way from the depths of his throat as he imagined himself lording over that pompous, arrogant man. With this much power, with all that belonged to him, he could finally show that man his true place!
The chuckle soon erupted into laughter that echoed across the silent, reverent crowd. He could! Of course he could! This place was his, this world belonged to nobody but him! All would soon bow, every man, woman and child would come to know him as king!
And of course, every king would need a queen. Would he settle on just one? Or perhaps he might arrange for a more…populous inner chamber? The possibilities were endless!
The advisor nearest him seemed to understand his intentions, and interrupted his musings with a suggestion, "If I may, sire, perhaps I might interest you in some options for you to consider?"
He responded in what was likely a very lordly tone, "Very well, I will permit it."
The aide snapped his fingers and from behind them stepped a small group of women, beautifully adorned and dressed to perfection. Their appearances and skin tones varied to cover the breath of human beauty. Each curtsied low and intoned greetings of deference and respect; their grace and posture indicated that each had been trained rigorously for this very moment.
Each was perfect in her own way, he doubted that even if he inspected and tested each one of them, he would find any flaws or imperfections. They were, quite simply, absolutely flawless in every way. He would have a hard time deciding, so why should he? Just take them all! There's nothing wrong with that, because he was king of this land and these people! He turned back to the edge of the veranda and admired all that was his as he overlooked his people.
But something was missing. He couldn't quite understand what, but it all felt just a little hollow. This frustrated him, why wasn't he satisfied with all of this? What more could he possibly want?
"Ahhh…so that's it, isn't it?"
It was the advisor, but also no longer the same person. It spoke with an eerie voice full of miserly contempt, one that dripped with venomous intent. He whirled around to face him, and realized that the women had frozen in place, their eyes a glassy reflection of adoration. Far below, the crowd had become statuesque, their cheers dying upon still lips.
The other man slowly approached him, his eyes glinting with predatory light, "Even now, you are still not satisfied? Truly, we have not experienced greed such as this in many, many years! But perhaps, just perchance, we now understand each other. Yes, yes yes indeed! We have the perfect hell planned out just for you!"
The figure cackled in glee as the castle stone became molten, cascading downwards in a wave of destruction. The people, too, they began to melt into pools of flesh and cloth; their unblinking eyes seemingly screamed in untold agony and pain, despite the twisted smiles upon their lips. He backed away from the nightmare scene towards the edge, aware that there was no escape. If he could not leave, then he would lash out the only way he could,
"Why are you doing this?! Answer me! I command you!"
The advisor's neck twisted impossibly around, their pupils flaring a deep yellow that hid untold jubilee, "Why? Why we ask? Well, that should be simple! We're getting to know each other! And finally, at last, at long, long last, we have come to just that! Do you feel it? We do! The precipice of the heart, the edge of the tattered soul! Go on! Go on and show us! Tear it all apart and reveal your greatest, deepest, blackest desires! We're so close, we can almost taste it! Hehehe hahaha HAHAHAHAAAAAA!"
The slurry of stone, cloth and flesh dissolved into one, melting the earth and sky along with it. for the briefest of moments, he had a moment of understanding; that he could exert a modicum of control over what was about to occur. But before he could envision a way out, a different sensation overtook his heart.
My greatest desire…I wonder…what could that be?
As if in response, a new mold emerged from the incandescent ooze of the last world and reformed anew. This world was, by far, the strangest in comparison to the previous iterations of his desire. It was strange for its plainness, how vastly ordinary this new reality seemed to be, it was slightly unnerving.
It was a modern visage; surrounded by green hills and valleys as far as the eye could see, ringed by a tall mountain range in the distance capped with snow-covered peaks. A lone, but spacious homestead loomed just before him, it appeared to be sizeable enough for several people to live comfortably. The door was already before him, compelling him to take hold. And yet, he was filled with terrible trepidation, the likes of which he had never experienced before. Something within him resisted that handle terribly, begging and pleading with himself not to enter.
But his curiosity was a powerful force, one that reason alone could not overcome. Though his hand trembled ever so slightly, he nevertheless gripped the handle tight and turned, gently creaking the door inwards as he stepped into the threshold.
A warm scent wafted down a gently lit hallway, long and colored slightly in a way that calms weary emotion. Two racks hung nearby where visitors and residents might hang their hats and coats, and a place near the door for shoes to be placed in order to prevent mud from being tracked indoors. From deeper within, he could faintly hear the sounds of activity within; gentle voices talking and laughing, while pots and pans clinked together in an unseen kitchen. He allowed himself a quiet breath, and his trepidation melted away. There was no danger here, it would be impossible to expect such things within a setting like this one.
No sooner had he finished that thought, there came a series of pounding footsteps filled with purpose and excitement. They weren't the heavy treads of an adult; however, they were lighter and far quicker than most people could manage in the confines of a house. He turned to investigate the sound, when the source quite literally hit him. Two small blurs of motion crashed into his midsection at high speeds, nearly sending him reeling and knocking him to a knee. He was moments away from reacting violently and shaking the objects off, when he realized with a start that what clung to his legs weren't mere objects.
They were children. Two of them, a boy and a girl, probably no more than six or seven years old. The boy clung to his left side, while the girl hung on to his right, both giggling at their successful ambush. Too amazed by the moment to push them away, he studied them a bit closer.
The boy was on the lean side for his age, but without any signs of illness or malnutrition. Judging by the strength of his grip, and the set of cleats on the shoe rack nearby, his muscles were likely already developing well. His hair was a golden blonde with eyes the color of the sea, and his smile was wide and broad. In time, with the right attention, the odds of him growing into a strong man were quite high.
Across from him sat the girl, her hair was the color of midnight and her eyes gleamed an amber hue. Slender and petite, she exuded a mischievous air beneath an outward grace and gentleness. One day, so long as she was guided and protected, there would never be a more beautiful woman.
They had both been talking the entire time, wide eyes upturned alongside cheerful smiles that paired well with their obvious joy at seeing him. It was only now that he began to finally hear and understand their words,
"Daddy, Daddy! You're home! We missed you lots and lots!"
"Yeah, yeah! Did'ya bring us anything?! Where were you? Was it lots of fun? Can I come next time!?"
"Hey! No fair, I wanna go with Daddy next time! I'm lots more fun than you!"
"Nuh-uh!" "Yeah-huh!" "No, you aren't!" "Yeah, I am!"
The boy stuck his tongue out at the girl, at his sister, "Be quiet, or I'll tell Daddy what you did to his study room!"
His sister's eyes went wide with horror, "N-no you wouldn't! That's tattling, and Daddy said that he doesn't like tattling, so you'll get in trouble too!"
Gazing down at the bickering siblings, an indescribable sensation began to well up from within the depths of his heart. It was a terrible and powerful emotion, one that compelled him into action. In absence of thought, he raised both hands and gently placed them on the sibling's heads, bringing their argument to an abrupt end. They both looked up at him with quizzical expressions, but neither seemed to mind the affectionate gesture. Their hair was silky smooth and warm to the touch, and when he moved his fingers, the pair giggled in delight. Though the boy shied away slightly in characteristic fashion, the smile on his face spoke of his internal contentment. The strange sensation in his heart slowly spread the more he held the pair; like a warm sensation of needles working their way through his muscles, strange but not wholly unpleasant.
An odd thought occurred to him in the middle of his reverie, "If I'm these kid's father…then…who…?"
"Hey! You two!" A brisk feminine voice called out from around the corner, "You two better not be fighting again! Your father is going to be home…very…soon…"
He knew that voice, no matter the time or the place, he would always recognize that bossy, yet caring tone. Every fiber of his being turned to ice as a figure had just turned the corner to now stand at the end of the hallway. The worming sensation now raged within him, and a mighty pressure crushed his chest with such force that he could scarcely breath.
The woman at the end of the hallway put an exasperated hand on her hip, "I figured it was you when the kids charged off on me. I thought you were going to call when you got close? Wait, let me guess…your phone is out of battery? Again?"
She was a bit taller than he remembered, but not by much. In fact, not much about her figure was different than how he had last remembered. Raven-black hair was now tied up in a practical ponytail rather than being allowed to hang free, and she was clothed in a slightly oversized shirt with painted handprints that messily spelled out "MOM." Baggy sweatpants covered her down to durable and comfortable slippers, and she held a book under one arm.
And she was still the most beautiful person in the world.
She brushed an errant strand of hair out of her eyes, "Honestly, you could've given me some notice. I could've at least put on something more appealing for when you got home.
"Mama!" The girl suddenly shouted, pointing at her brother, "He was gonna tattle on me! And you said that we can't tattle anymore!"
Now it was her brother's turn to look scared, "N-no! I-I wasn't gonna do anything like that! She's lying!"
"No, I'm not! Daddy heard everything! Tell her, Daddy!"
It was all too much for him to bear, and the fragile lines within his heart cracked open and spilled forth. None of this could be real, for he deserved not even a second of this paradise. Pain stemming from an apparent lifetime of regret choked the very life from his breath as hot tears began to slowly spill from the corner of his eyes. This wasn't right for a lowlife like him, this was for a better man than himself.
He never should have been allowed to walk through that door.
The children took notice and immediately reacted with concern and fear,
"Daddy! Daddy are you okay?! Is something wrong?"
"We're sorry we were fighting! We won't do it again, promise!"
"Come now, both of you, give your father some space. He's had a very long journey, so why don't you go set the table. I'll be right there, okay?"
The children quietly agreed and left his embrace to go and carry out their chore, leaving him cold without their warmth. He continued to stare at the floor while the tears continued to silently roll down his face, not looking up though he could hear soft footsteps approaching. There was the rustle of clothing as she knelt down in front of him, but still, he would not look. He could not, he dared not raise his head and face her.
She reached out and took one of his hands in both of hers, eliciting a shaky sob from his airtight throat. Her hand was warm; it was small and calloused, yet gentle and inviting. Slender fingers wrapped around his in long strokes, lingering for but a moment on a golden band on his ring finger, and when she spoke at last it was barely but a whisper,
"You've been fighting for so long, haven't you, dear?"
The vice closed around his heart, threatening to break him down to fragments at hearing those gentle words, meant only for him. There was no derisiveness, no mockery and no anger in her tone, there was only love and concern.
"Are you tired? You must be after going for as long as you have."
He couldn't stop himself from a stilted nod, still desperately struggling to maintain a sense of manly composure. But he was losing ground fast. He needed to get out before he forgot himself.
She, his wife, whispered through a smile, "It's okay. You don't need to fight anymore; your place is here now, with me."
He broke there and poured out his laments, which were accepted without question or judgement. There, in her embrace, he decided that he could stay here. In this moment, in this place, he would gladly stay forevermore. It was where he truly belonged.
This, at last, could be his paradise.
Her embrace offered comfort and respite, a place of solace reserved for him and him alone. She was right to say that he was exhausted, she was right to offer him rest, and he was in the right to accept. He could leave his trials and suffering behind, leave whatever purpose behind and remain whole. Perhaps, even, he could find redemption here and start over. This life could be the real thing, that which he chose to believe would become reality.
Hadn't he earned that much? Was this not his just reward for all of his loss? Was he not owed? This, he thought, was a fine reward indeed.
"Trust nothing while you are here."
A strange phrase echoed softly in the distant recess of his mind, words not of his own making and yet familiar. Though barely just a faint whisper, they resounded with a strange fervor. Steeped in a strange conviction, it was a dire warning from beyond the realm of possibility. But who had said those words? He could not remember, only that, whoever they were, they were beyond his current reach. And yet, he felt a strong connection to those words, even as they threatened to pull him back from this kind and welcoming place.
Indeed, this place was kind and warm, a joyful place where a man such as him could find solace and happiness. There were few among mankind that would turn their nose up at such a perfect ending as this. But this was all dependent on the understanding that the individual in question was worthy of such an end as this. And to that end, he was quite sure that he was not.
Yes, he was unworthy of such happiness. A criminal such as himself deserved no less than the purifying flames of the deepest circle of hell, where he might bathe his sin away and wash the stain of his transgressions in the waters of the Lethe. This paradise was only being tainted with his presence, nor was he worthy to see that face of hers again. To look upon it only caused him unceasing agony, to feel the touch of her skin on his was acrid and her sweet scent choked the life from his lungs.
He could not stay here; this hell guised as a paradise was not for wretched beings such as him. This place, this potential of what might have been, pained him more than anything. It was only now, upon this understanding, did he come to realize that this moment could not possibly be real.
She would never have caused him pain. Not once, not even by accident or by presence would he have been in pain when she was around. Even if she became the sun itself, she would have dimmed so that he might never pain to look upon her. This iteration was naught but poison, and so, she could not be her.
That which held him seemed to recognize the change in his demeanor and strengthened its hold on him, "You must be tense after being away from me for so long." She leaned down so her hair tickled his ear while her voice purred enticingly,
"Don't you worry, I'll be sure to show you just how much I've missed you. Who knows? Maybe you could convince me to have a third, hmm?"
An electric current coursed through his system as her scent overwhelmed his senses. Her desire for him was clear, all he had to do was reciprocate and she would be all his. Nobody would blame him, in fact, he was encouraged to follow her lead. If all she wanted was him, then shouldn't he feel the same?
If that was how it was supposed to be, then why did he feel so empty? Even the lust he might have felt rang hollow in his heart, and the more he considered, the more his attitude soured. Though he knew not what was required of him, all he did understand was that he could not linger here. There was more that he had to do, more to atone for his egregious sins which he could not do here. It was neither right nor just for the sinner to experience such joys, and so he must move on.
At last, he slowly raised his head to take in hers and was struck with a wave of agonizing memory as he looked upon her visage once more. In an instance, all of his suppositions were proven true. For when he gazed into her eyes, he could see none of her characteristic fire, that burning light that was her passion. To the casual observer or acquaintance, it would have been impossible to tell. But to him, the one who knew her the best, it was a clear as day.
He hardened his resolve and met her with eyes bloodshot and tear-stained, "I'm sorry."
At first, his voice came out cracked and hoarse, but he soon found his footing, "I can't stay here. No matter how much…no matter how much I miss you…even if I wanted to, I couldn't bear to stay here. It just…wouldn't be right."
Her shoulders shook slightly under the weight of his sudden rejection and pain flooded her eyes, "What!? Why?! Why are you saying that? No, no you can't! Is it something I did? I can fix that, whatever you need, whatever you want! I can make it happen!"
He slowly shook his head, surprising himself with his own calmness, "No, you can't. Nobody can make my wish come true, not here, at least. Whatever you are, you needn't live for me anymore, because I don't. My life isn't worth you spending yourself over, so you should find another hobby."
Behind her quivering form, peeked the two children that he could have called his own. He smiled in spite of himself; they could have made a picturesque family, if not for the sins of their father. He hoped that they might find their own redemption, whether they knew of him or not.
Gently extricating himself from her grip, he stood on unsteady legs, a leaden weight dragging his spirit down to anchor him in this moment. It still wasn't too late; he could change his mind if he desired to. He could return here at any time and be welcomed, perhaps they would be always waiting for him, hoping beyond hope that their father and husband might one day return to them.
As he turned away to the door, a hand reached up and grabbed him by the wrist in a shaky and desperate grip. A despondent voice pleaded with him one last time, "Please…please don't leave me! Not again! I don't want to be alone anymore! Please, I beg of you…don't abandon me…"
It was one final knife to the heart, a deathblow perfectly delivered to break the will of even the most hardened of men. If he was under any other circumstance, it most certainly would have brought him to his knees. Even as he was, it still took every scrap of mental willpower that he could muster to resist falling prey. He paused for several moments, feeling the weight of her panic through her desperate fingers as she clung to him for dear life.
"This…perhaps, is a proper beginning to my penance."
He flexed his wrist and felt her hand fall away, leaving him empty and weightless. Perhaps he would have shed tears, if he had any left to spare. They had all already been shed for someone else, who was far more deserving of them than he.
He had no intention of turning back, for to do so would have been to invite his own ruin. Instead, in one firm motion, he turned the handle and yanked the door open to step out into the unknown. The door slammed shut behind in on its own accord, cutting short the cries of anguish and betrayal from within. Turning his head skywards, he called out in a loud voice,
"I call upon the master of this realm, this place of twisted desire and lies! I demand that you reveal yourself to me! Show yourself!"
A strong gust of wind carried with it a sickly-sweet scent, and when he whirled about, he was brought face to face with his copied form. He glared at the doppelganger and pointed an accusing finger at it, "You! You are a foul creature indeed! I dare not even ask who you are, but rather what!"
His opposite chuckled wryly, "Aww, did we not enjoy a journey through our innermost thoughts, hopes and dreams? Was it that we didn't provide any snacks? If only we had asked politely…"
"Silence, you damnable fiend! I'm sick and tired of your witless jabbering!"
"Oh? A fiend, are we?" The other smiled dangerously, eyes narrowed to predatory slits, "Are we perhaps ready to answer our very first question? Or shall we keep playing this game?"
He matched the aggressive pose, "Yes, I am ready. I think I finally figured out what you are…Caster."
A faux sense of shock overcame the double's face, "Oh my, oh me oh my, you knew? For how long, do we wonder?"
"Since this whole thing started, to be perfectly honest. Even in the world of magecraft, there are few beings beyond a Servant capable of such a feat as this. And seeing as there aren't many of those left right now, it was just process of elimination."
Caster slowly clapped his hands, "Bravo, bravo indeed! Impressive as always."
"I'm not finished yet, Caster. Because I think I've figured out your true name, thanks to your antics up to now."
Caster smiled and spread his hands wide in a sweeping and inviting gesture, "If you truly believe so much, then be our guest."
He began to pace back and forth, piecing together the scraps of information that he had been compiling, voluntarily or not, for some time now. "Firstly, if we presume that you are, indeed, Caster, then that would make you a prominent user of magecraft of lore. Casters, as many mages themselves are as well, not conducive to pitched battle. This is perhaps one reason why you have yet to fully reveal yourself to the rest of the Grail War; you have been biding your time and quietly accumulating resources to seize victory at the last moment. To the warrior-minded Servants, that would be cowardly, but to a mage that would simply be pragmatic."
Searching for a reaction on Caster's placid race yielded no results, so he continued unabated, "So then, what kind of mage were you? I am still unsure at this point, because your demeanor and personality are exceptionally mercurial. While there are no end of eccentric mages and practitioners throughout history, you seem to take it an uncomfortable extra mile. Even when mages perform egregious acts against others, they always try to justify themselves with some goal, be it noble or otherwise. But you…I don't get any hint at a greater goal or even scheme. In fact, I don't get any sense of ambition from you whatsoever. And a mage without ambition…well, that can only be described as inhuman!"
The plain smile on Caster's face took on a sinister overtone, despite maintaining his pleasurable demeanor. If he were to be honest, Caster looked nearly ecstatic, which only served to unnerve him. Pausing only briefly to compose himself, he began to close in on his finale,
"Going along with that supposition, that you are an inhuman practice of magecraft with no ambition or desire for anything greater, then that leaves us with a few options. When combined with the last piece of information I have, it seals the truth." He stopped his movements and rounded on Caster,
"You're the one who was responsible for those unholy nightmares, aren't you? You've been watching every participant and influencing them through their dreams! And not just participants, but I bet you've been terrorizing the whole city with nightmares!"
"And? If we suppose that is correct?" Caster replied in a low drawl, savoring every syllable. "Then what does that make us?"
Biting down on his anger, the survivor raged at his double, "Then, that makes you more than inhuman. You are a creature without ambition, but delights in spreading misery and pain. You are a being that exists solely to cause agony and regret wherever you go! Watching us mere humans struggle and fall, only to have you instill false hope and then cruelly take it away! You are no mere creature; you are a demon! And there is one demon, a very particular demon, that exists solely to push mankind to the brink of despair, and laugh at our plight and peril! One so famous, that your heinous acts were immortalized in the written word for all to plainly see! I know you, and so, I will name you! Caster, you are none other than Mephistopheles, the wretched demon of despair!"
Despite the thunderous force of the accusation, there was no apparent impact on Caster. Rather, he appeared quire bored of it all as he sarcastically clapped his hands together,
"Well done! Bravo! Bravissimo! I applaud you for finally figuring out what should have been obvious from day one! You truly are the epitome of mage perfection. I am truly impressed by your powers of deduction. Should we call you Sherlock from now on? Oh! While we're on the subject of names, must you use that archaic nomenclature? How about something more modern, like Mephisto! Or Mephy? We like those quite a bit, yes indeed!"
"Silence, demon! I won't hear any more of your poisoned words!"
Caster slowly lowered his hands and shrugged, "We're offended by such baseless accusations. We have never once told an untruth! If we are to tell the truth, which we are, mind you, we despise liars more than anything."
A shadow sprouted from behind the duplicate, rising high into the swirling void behind it, bearing with it a twisted, ominous shape that towered many feet above both of them. Caster's voice dissolved into venomous barbs which he spat out with every syllable,
"You damned humans, believing yourself so superior to everything. Each and every breath you take is an affront to nature, there is not a single moment that goes by where you do not lie, cheat and connive your way through your petty existence."
The shadow writhed and took on the guise of a multi-armed being with blades in place of appendages that towered dozens of feet into the air. Their eyes raged with unbridled hatred and contempt, "We know your heart, little mage. It has always been known to all except to that which it belongs. We have seen it all, we know you better than you ever will. We tried! Oh yes, we tried so very, very hard to demonstrate the nature of your soul, but you would not listen! You pushed away our gift and refused to hear our message! Oh, the ambivalence! What hubris!"
"You did nothing of the sort! Those nightmares, if I am to take this as your claim to responsibility for them, were nothing but raging hellscapes where no light shown! How could that possibly be –"
"EXACTLY!" Caster roared in jubilation, "Yes, yes yes yes yes! You see! You see but have no understanding! You, you are naught but a blind liar who is incapable of understanding! All this time you had the answer at your fingertips but blinded yourself to the truth written on the heart of all humans! Oh, woe is me! Woe, woe betide me, for I cannot make him see! If only you could see like the other did…"
The mage froze, "What? What was that?! Repeat yourself, demon!"
A devious smile wormed its way up Caster's face, "Oh…oh my. So, you did not know? The other did not believe you worthy for understanding? Heh…hehe…hehehehaha! Oh dear, well isn't that just delicious!"
He advanced threateningly on the demon, despite the shadowy form growing larger with each passing second, "What do you mean? ANSWER ME!"
Caster responded in a tone as smooth and gentle as silk, "Did you truly think you were the only being in the whole world to receive our guidance? My…perhaps you two do share some similarities…how curious indeed."
They were nose-to-nose, perfect mirrors of the other in every way physical and completely contrary in countenance. One seethed and raged, while the other remained calm and collected, if a little giddy from excitement. As they drank in each other's presence, one demanded of the other,
"Speak plainly, and no more of your inane riddles. You did something to her, didn't you!? You did something to change her, I know you did! So admit it!"
The other chuckled, "What did we do? Why, we didn't do anything that we don't do for any other human. We simply held up the mirror. The rest…well…it does not take much wind to topple a house of cards. And between us, one blew much harder than the other."
"Stop saying that! I did no such thing!"
The other retorted in a sing-song voice, "Liar, liar, your pants are on fire! No seriously, you may want to look down."
Begrudgingly casting his eyes down, only to have them widen in horror as he realized that he truly was on fire. Even more so, he appeared to be slowly and methodically sinking into a pool of molten lava that had somehow appeared beneath his feet. In but a few moments, he had already sunk to his calves while his other paced around him,
"Tsk tsk, shouldn't you know that all liars go straight to hell? This is what we truly detest about you humans, you are utterly incapable of admitting your own faults and foibles. Even when doing so destroys everyone around you, you keep sticking to your guns. How pathetic. That meat-headed Lancer has the right idea of it, we say."
He was up to his knees, and now beginning to struggle against the searing heat and unexplainably tough nature of the molten rock that hungrily devoured him. Even so, he caught the tail end of the demon's mutterings,
"Lancer? You mean Scáthach? You know her, are you working together? What the hell are you two planning?"
The demon laughed aloud, "Us? Work with that? Haha! What an excellent jest! Of course we wouldn't be caught dead with that half-breed, well, actually, scratch that, we would be caught dead!"
There was something in the way that last phrase was delivered that sent a current of realization through his numbing mind, so he did what he could to latch onto it,
"Wait…are you saying that Lancer killed you!? That's impossible! Once a Servant is killed, then that's it! They get sent back to the Throne, or whatever hole you crawled out of!"
The other swiftly knelt and brought their faces so close together that they were nearly touching, and in a quiet murmur spoke in such a serious tone that it chilled his bones,
"Rules, tiny mortal, only apply so long as we listen to them. And we have decided to stop hearing them." Pulling back, he walked a distance away and waved a dismissive hand,
"There is no more you can do, and so you will remain here and drown in your sin until you are no more than a shriveled husk. Only then, once you have fully repented and admitted your disgrace, will you be permitted to die. So try not to bore me, if you can."
Desperation kicked in, he had to find a way out and stop whatever plan Lancer had in motion. But how could he get out, as a matter of fact, where was he?
"Not this again," Mephistopheles rolled his eyes, "Are you so brain-dead that you haven't realized it yet? Not just about trying to save your pitiful world, because that's as good as gone. All you have left is a third-rate Ruler with a head thicker than concrete and a dead king who's barely clinging onto life as it is. Give up, I implore you. You can curse anything you'd like here, rant and rave against how unfair the world is, how this was all everyone else's fault! Isn't that so much easier? Won't that be more satisfying? Go on, you can say it. Say, 'This wasn't my fault! I did everything right; it was all the rest of you who came up short!' Go on, we won't mind! Do it! C'mon! Do it do it do it!"
The burning man slipped lower and lower into the molten ground, silent and unresponsive. Losing interest, his other turned away to make his way to the edge of the void space. Before he could cross its threshold, however, a noise from behind gave him a moment of pause. Turning about, an ear-splitting grin crossed his face as he watched the other reach a shriveled, blackened arm from the fiery pit and latch onto the firmer ground. Through a haze of simmering flesh and smoke, the figure still managed to utter speech,
"You know…I'm tempted to take you up on that. I do hate how I got here. I hate that I'm the only one left, that I have to shoulder this burden. I hate that I've been abandoned. But most of all, I hate you."
"Ohhhhh?" The other smirked and drew closer, "Are you saying that you detest yourself?"
"Of course. I hate everything about me that you represent. I hate your arrogance, your self-righteousness, your lack of empathy. I hate absolutely everything about you. If this is the me that she saw…then there's no wonder things turned out this way."
With herculean effort, he began to crawl from the pit, inch by painful inch. Below the waist, there was naught but charcoal and one arm had succumbed to the flame as well. And yet, his eyes remained clear and focused, sharpened by rage brought on through intense pain. There was such ferocity in his glare that the other faltered in his advance. Still, he continued to growl his hatred,
"But you know what? None of that matters anymore! You know what I say!? Fuck that! Fuck your War, fuck your plan, and most importantly FUCK YOU! You ask me where we are? I know exactly where we are! You say your dead, and yet you live, so you can only exist in the one place where the dead can walk amongst the living: in dreams! And this dream, belongs to me!"
The void around them trembled and groaned under some unseen pressure as cracks began to form in the blackened, undulating walls. From his prone form, there came a rending of flesh and bone that elicited a scream of unfettered pain. But when the sound abated, the man was rising to his feet on new limbs. The other raised an eyebrow in genuine surprise, but if he was worried, he hid it well.
"So, do you wish to have a contest of wills with us? We are more than a match for ourselves."
The new man slowly shook his head, "It wouldn't be much a contest. You're already out of party tricks, aren't you? You can't actually kill me, because if I die, then so do you. You're just a parasite, feeding off of our worst fears in the hope of sustaining yourself. Sound about right?" As if to illustrate the point, he flicked his wrist and the shape of a curved, half-moon onyx blade dropped into his waiting hand.
That remark got a reaction, and the smile twisted into a thin frown, "I wouldn't act so hastily, human. I could be the reason your soul still clings to this realm, and without me you fade into the abyss alongside my remnants. Best think carefully before you doom us both."
He spread his hands, "Why don't we make a deal? I can get you back to the place where you belong, if you let me tag along with you. And, as a bonus, I'll tell you exactly what that Lancer is planning, and how to stop it. Don't forget, I hate liars, so I would never lie to you! What do you say?"
For a moment, the two selves regarded each other for the first time as the offer hung in the air between them. The recipient of the offer smiled calmly, the rage seemingly diminished from his eyes,
"I believe you, and I'll certainly be taking you with me."
"Phew," the other breathed a sigh of relief, "I always knew we were reasonable. Now then, shall we be – ah."
The words were driven out of his throat as the black blade sprouted from between his ribs, burying itself up to the hilt into his chest. He fell backwards, landing squarely on his back which drove the blade out of his chest.
"I know you hate liars, and so I didn't lie. I will be taking something with me, but not you. I'll be taking this monstrous side of me back, and I won't turn away from it. I will accept you back, not as demon, but as me. Then, I can truly be Alex again. I will accept my faults and my demons, but I won't be bringing along extra baggage. Sorry, Mephistopheles, but this is the end for you."
The bloody reflection slowly dissolved, leaving a new figure to die in the void, and what a ridiculous figure it was. Tall and impossibly pale of skin, dressed in outlandish purples and blues and sporting a series of violet horns atop its head, lay the true form of the demon Mephistopheles. The demon cackled through a burbling of blood,
"Ha…hahahaha! What a fascinating conclusion! Truly…we never saw it coming! My, what an unexpected outcome! I'm sure the Boss will be thrilled to hear about this!"
Alex, for he at last had reclaimed his name, looked down upon the demon with new concern, "What do you mean by 'Boss'? You aren't talking about Lancer, that much I can tell. There's something more going on here, isn't there? Isn't there!? Answer me!"
"Hehehehehehehe! You'll all find out soon enough, but by then it'll be too late! Hahahahaha! I can't wait!"
Alex frowned; he wasn't getting anything else from this dying Servant. He got up and began to walk away, there was somewhere he needed to be, and someone he needed to see again. It was time for the final act to begin, once he could find his way back out of this dream of his supposed own making.
As he was putting a plan together, the dissolving form of Mephistopheles began to hum a lilting, cheerful and somehow haunting tune. The hum grew louder and louder until space itself vibrated with each note. Alex turned to see him raise a lone hand and sing out words brimming with vindictive power,
"Tick, tock, goes the clock.
The seconds are counting down.
Can't you hear the hand of death?
Knock, knock, knock!
Align the spine, the head and neck
And here we go with final breath!
TICK TOCK BOOM!"
A tremendous wave of explosive energy erupted from Caster's body, instantly immolating him. The shockwave shattered the dream world and tore through Alex with incredible force. A tidal wave of fire washed over him, reducing him to cinders before he could even scream.
As consciousness left him, he envisioned, but for the briefest of moments, a shimmering point of glimmering, golden light above him. Perhaps it was naught but a figment of his dying imagination, but he saw a hand extend from the hole and beckon to him.
There was not a moment of hesitation.
He reached out to the hand and grabbed on, knowing in his heart that he would be returned back to where he needed to be, happily bringing along his demons with him.
