Hey guys...been a while, huh? Sorry for the four month gap between updates: The Spider-Man fic took a lot of my attention, and I had to take a break from that to come back to this.
So...not sure if people are still reading this at this point, but here's the next chapter. A word of warning, though - This chapter is focused on introspection, meaning that there's going to be a lot of whiny dialogue and narration. That and as a sort of testing run Raziel has very little dialogue in this chapter - you can probably count the number of times he talks with one hand - which explains the slightly shorter length of the entire thing.
Well, hope you guys like it.
Ever since he'd arrived in this place it'd been one disaster after another. The theft in the academy, dealing with that noble who'd attempted to recreate Seath's experiments, the assault of Newcastle, the sacking of Tarbes, the war in Albion, finding out about his true nature, that everything was supposedly predetermined, that he had a 'sister'...sometimes it was hard to remember that it had only been one year since he'd been rescued from the kiln. After everything that had happened it felt like he'd spent a lifetime and that Lordran was nothing more than a distant memory.
By now Raziel had learned to stop being surprised by anything...but seeing Chester and Rhea in front of him again was something that still gave him pause.
"Hm, I think he's ignoring us. How droll...I expected him to be better, though I suppose he did murder me for trying to tell him the truth. He's not exactly what I'd call a reasonable one, is he?"
Raziel's mouth twitched, but he continued to stare down at the dirty floor of his cell in silence. He'd woken up here hours ago with nothing but the darkness for company. He traced a hand across the dirt-caked stone, trying to ignore the smell of blood that surrounded him along with the incessant screaming and crying that came in through the narrow bars of the doorway. The last thing he remembered had been nearly escaping that mortuary and then...
"He hasn't changed at all...still the same man who couldn't save me despite his promises."
Then he'd been driven insane.
The Undead finally looked up and threw a withering glare at the two specters in front of him. Chester and Rhea...he'd killed them both, albeit under different circumstances. Rhea after she'd been driven Hollow by Seath's experiments and Chester after he'd tried to tell him what he now knew as the truth back in Tarbes. He still remembered the the guilt from long ago, the regret when he'd ended the maiden's liffe even if he already knew there was nothing else he could have done, but Chester's death gave him nothing but apathy.
His reasons might have been wrong, but it didn't mean that Raziel felt any condemnation. One act of goodness towards his family did not redeem him...even if he wasn't the right person to judge.
He could have escaped long ago. The door in front of him was nothing more than a crude mix of metal and wood; nothing he hadn't bypassed before. Even the enchantment fortifying the would-be barrier was lax; enough to hold any human without a doubt but easily broken by someone like him. In truth nothing was physically keeping him here...
"Forgetting something, aren't you, old friend?"
He was quickly reminded of the tight feeling that surrounded his neck and he grimaced. Right, how could he forget the collar slapped around his throat? His right hand reached up and he traced a finger through the length of the leather binding. It's grip was tight, enough that he had consciously stopped breathing due to the discomfort he felt with every tug of air to his lungs. Whoever had taken him here had a sense of ownership, it seemed.
Rhea...the specter appeared in front of him, kneeling almost demurely while her hands cupped both sides of his jaw, "You need to calm yourself, Sir. Raziel. Resorting to violence now will not save you." Her smile was sweet, worried almost. It made him sick.
Raziel didn't reply, nor did he make the effort to shake her off. She wasn't real...even now all he felt when at her touch was an empty chill. Right now he could reach a hand out to snap her neck, but what would that do? She would come back, as would the thing that masqueraded as Chester. They'd shown themselves ever since he and that Vampire had been taken from the mortuary and they never disappeared despite the silence that usually surrounded them.
The sound of footsteps jolted him out of his thoughts. The door across his cell opened with a loud creak, the figure of a well-dressed man striding in confidently and closing the door behind him. Confident posture, calm steps and his attire reminded him of the regalia donned by the king; impractically decorated and extremely out of place in this dark prison. At first glance he looked like he didn't belong here, but the subtle smile on his face gave it all away.
This was his jailer, the one who'd taken them here and trapped him in this room.
His first instinct was to stand and attack, but before he could he felt a weight on his limbs and his mouth parted in a growl, "Now, now. Let's not be hasty." Chester held onto his left arm, the chain feeling heavier at his touch, while Rhea held onto his right. His legs felt heavy, and even his eyes began to drop in a haze of fatigue. Something was wrong, and he had a good inkling on what it was.
Raziel's gaze drifted from the man's face to the ring on his right hand. With every second that passed he felt his fatigue worsen and the grip of the specters at his side growing stronger. He'd felt something similar long before: When he fought that impostor that perverted Wales' corpse to trick the deluded monarch to giving up her life. It was weak then, easily ignored in the heat of the moment, but this one felt almost overpowering and in his weakness he could do noting more than sit here like a helpless infant.
"Apologies for making you wait," the elderly man said, a hand running through his well-trimmed beard. His voice was affable, almost jovial despite his surroundings. Many others would have perceived it as genuine, but he knew better by now than to trust a practiced smile. Both here and in Lordran he'd seen people beam and profess friendship before turning around to stab him in the back.
Whoever he was he seemed to take Raziel's silence as acceptance. With no hint of shame or hesitation the noble sat down in front of him, his legs crossed and a hand reaching out to offer a handshake.
The specter's hold on his right hand loosened just enough for him to shake the other man's hand, his grip looser than he would have liked. His fingers brushed against the ring that was almost shimmering in the dark cell and he felt a sense of revulsion. Voices whispered at the back of his mind, their words unintelligible and speaking out over one another in an ungodly cacophony.
Andvari's Ring...the same revolting magics that Sheffield had used, if he remembered correctly. He must have picked her corpse clean; given that state she was left in it was doubtful anyone would have recognized her as the King's aide rather than just another corpse to add to the piles in the mortuary...he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised the ring had survived. That water spirit undoubtedly built its artifact to last.
He released his grip and immediately the voices were silenced, replaced with the stifling silence of the cell for a brief moment before the aristocrat spoke once more, "Well then..." He coughed, likely more out of habit than anything else, "I had a talk with your master upstairs. I apologize once more for the poor first impression I must have given you both, but in my line of research you don't much find willing contemporaries."
Research? Judging by the screams he still heard coming from outside the cell's door he had the feeling 'contemporaries' didn't come with much willingness with whatever it was he'd hoped to find. Already he felt a sense of foreboding, that he'd seen this all before. Maybe there really was something to everyone's ramblings of an eternal recurrence, or perhaps he simply had the rotten luck to run into those whose senses had taken leave of them.
"Quiet, aren't you?" He raised an eyebrow, his smile wavering slightly. Raziel internally smirked; silence served him well many times in his stay here and this was clearly one of those times, "Your Master - she introduced herself as Daphne, if I recall correctly - is upstairs. I wish you to know that she is under no harm and shall receive the best of care so long as she stays under my care. I do not know if your loyalty to her is genuine or induced, but I thought you would like to know."
He raised an eyebrow for a moment before nodding. The aristocrat seemed to be under the mistaken belief that Daphne held dominion over him. What it was that drove him to such thoughts he knew not, but any shred of falsehood he could maintain was something he would not give up easily. Despite his affable behavior the old man wasn't his friend; that much he was at least certain of.
"I must say you seem almost docile, far beyond the behavior of the rest of your kind. Most ghouls are feral, even if they hold loyalty to their sire above all else." The fingers of his right hand twitched and Raziel felt a tug at the back of his mind once more, "Andvari's ring does not seem to affect you as well...you are not dead yet, it seems, but you've survived far longer than most ghouls. Fascinating..."
Ghoul? He'd heard that term before; the thralls Vampires created to do their bidding. Most didn't last more than a day, their bodies unable to handle the strain of the 'gifts' they'd been infused with. The twins had made it clear they'd never partaken in such a practice, but the way Amethyst had described it had led to some doubt. She spoke with far too much confidence for someone who'd only heard of the practice second-hand.
"Tell me, creature, did she gift you with a name?" Oh, he was a 'creature' now? That politeness had faded quickly, it seemed, "She's clearly controlled the infusion of abilities given to you, else your body would have broken from the strain." He looked down his left arm, grabbing the wrist containing the persistent chain and tugging at it, "This chain...a sign of your servitude to her? Does some Firstborn magic keep it bound to you?"
Raziel shook his head. Whether the aristocrat took it as an answer for his first or second question he didn't know, but it didn't seem to matter given imperceptible whispers he continued to give as he looked down at it. Unseen to the older man, the Undead's lips dipped into a frown and his right hand shook. He was vulnerable; it would have taken no effort to reach out and smash his head against the floor hard enough to crack his skull or gouge his eyes out and leave him bleeding out on the floor.
"Is more violence truly what is needed?" Rhea whispered, her breath - or whatever passed for it when it concerned these specters - chilling his ear, "Would you not consider the idea that there may be other options that do not lead to death?"
"You're wasting your time, my dear," Chester chimed in, the laugh that came afterwards doing little to calm him, "He's a brute, a hypocrite who condemns others while making no effort to change his own actions. How many times has he blamed the beast inside for the way he acts, excused his brutality because of the influence of his progenitor? He's mad, but he doesn't even know it. It's almost pitiable."
Again he felt a sense of irritation wash over him. These specters weren't real, nothing more than a projection of the ring to erode his mind, and yet he couldn't help the bursts of anger that threatened to almost overwhelm him. The way they talked about him, as if he was nothing more than an animal that needed to be caged, was far too familiar for his own liking. He was more than Manus-
"Are you now?" Chester asked, his tone taunting, "You were meant to be nothing more than a mask, a little placeholder for the true owner of that body to use while it recovered. And now you claim to be more than what you are?" He laughed, the sound almost deafening in the small confines of the cell, "You, who latch onto a girl so fervently even if it means becoming her slave? Are you truly more than a pet or do you just wish to ignore the truth of what you are?"
He glared at the specter, his arm nearly wrenching itself from the nobleman's grip before he spoke once more, "The ring's magics are at work, and yet I cannot feel your will being subsumed." He looked right at him, his eyes narrowed, "Whether it's due to your own will or that of your master, I know not. The memory of ghouls has always been unknown to us..." He looked away for a moment and nodded, "Do you remember parents? Any family?"
Raziel shook his head. It wasn't a lie, not truly; he had no recollection of parents because they did not exist. He was 'born' in that cell at the asylum, and his first steps were marred by the screams of his fellow Undead and the Hollows that littered the halls of the madhouse. Most infants had the safety of their mother's bosoms while he could only cling to the rusted blade of a bonfire...perhaps it wasn't normal, but it was undoubtedly his.
As for Alsanna...he still had his doubts on her claims of family and siblinghood. He knew the truth, that she was one of the four shards that had wrenched itself from Manus' dying carcass, but that did not make her his sister any more than the shard's presence inside him made him the progenitor of man. She may have honestly believed in a bond or wished to forge one anew, but the closest thing he could consider family in this entire land was Louise...
"You overestimate how much she cares for you," Rhea whispered, "She wouldn't hesitate to throw your life away to save her own. Surely you know this? How many times has she put you at risk, placed you in danger solely to achieve her wants or those of the monarch she pledges loyalty to?"
"You do not recall your family? Hmm..." The aristocrat's voice cut in, thankfully causing the specter to become silent. He didn't seem to know of their existence, but they deferred to him regardless, "I wonder, how far does your loyalty to your master go? Would you do whatever it is she asked of you, regardless of your own thoughts on it?"
He nodded. An actual lie this time; he held no loyalty to Daphne, and she held partial blame for them being trapped in this place as far as he was concerned. He didn't know what gambit she was attempting with this falsehood of hers, but he could only hope that whatever it was that it was worth it. He did not come this far to become an experiment for some twisted madman that held far too much interest in Vampires.
The questions came and went, each more fervent than the last: Did he remember anything else about his life? Did he have his own opinions that contrasted against Daphne? Did he hold any 'love' for his master? Honestly he seemed to find it particularly frustrating that he didn't talk, which he wasn't ashamed to admit he found just a bit satisfying. The specters might have kept him from fighting back completely but his mind was still his own, he could take some measure of pride in that.
He left eventually, mumbling something about having 'another chat with his master'. Raziel watched him go through narrowed eyes, counting the number of footsteps before the sounds eventually faded. It was only after the sounds finally disappeared that he felt the specter's hold on him loosen and the weight on his limbs pass. His suspicions were right, then; it was that ring, and closer proximity meant a higher sense of control.
That aristocrat...he had a fascination with immortality. He frowned; why did everyone obsess over it so much? Even mortal life was long enough that he couldn't fathom the idea that one would lose themselves to madness simply trying to stave off death's embrace from taking them peacefully in their sleep. He wanted to know if he could attain immortality, become a thrall of a Vampire without losing his will, damn the consequences.
The Undead debated internally on whether to stay or try and find an escape before he heard it: Soft whispers that merged together into an unintelligible song. It was difficult to make out over the screaming, but it was definitely there. He felt almost drawn to it-
He had to leave. Now.
Raziel stood and made his way to the door, ignoring the empty stares of the specters at his back. Locked...his eyes narrowed and he tightened his hold on the knob. Daphne was up there, but he couldn't rely on her to rescue him. He'd never been one for sitting down either way. He pulled back and shoved his shoulder through the wooden surface, the door collapsing into a heap after the shove.
Right, now he just had to-
He'd only managed two steps out the doorway before he felt an extreme heat engulf his neck. He opened his mouth and managed to force out a croak before he fell on his knees, hands grasping the collar as the fire continued to burn at his flesh.
"You shouldn't have done that." Chester squatted in front of him, the smile on his mask manic, "I was right. You never stop to consider the consequences of your own actions, always content to blunder and stumble your way through till you can find the light at the end of the tunnel." He clicked his tongue and traced a hand through the dirty floor in front of him, "This won't kill you, but the suffering you undergo now is needless. If only you'd been a little more patient-"
That was as far as he got before Raziel pried the collar off with a hiss, the rune-inscribed leather burning his fingers before he threw it against the opposite wall in frustration. He let out a hoarse cry of pain and traced a hand through the burnt flesh. He could feel the skin underneath his fingertips, red and raw and moving just a bit too much for comfort. A normal person would have been dead, a fatal punishment for those who tried to escape.
"You need to rest." Rhea placed a hand on his shoulder, the chill returning, "Whatever that man's intentions for you it cannot be worse than stumbling through the darkness blind and helpless. Come, we must-"
He stood and forced himself to walk to the opposite door. The screams had suddenly gone silent; not a good sign in a place like this. The dungeons - at least he assumed this place was a dungeon - reminded him far too much of the butchery underneath Count Mott's estate. A part of him knew he should have left well enough alone but as he peeked through the bars of the cell he couldn't stop the feeling of shock from rushing through him.
Solaire...he was in the cell. The knight looked up at him, his armor in tatters and his face hidden underneath the helmet he always donned, "Ah, my old friend," he said, his voice. Even now Raziel felt a sense of comfort at the sound of it, "What are you doing here? Were you taken by this madman as well?" He shook his head, "I must admit I find myself in a bit of a bind. Would you perchance unlock this door and come to my aid? Then we can engage in a bout of jolly cooperation."
His hand drifted the handle of the door before he paused. He'd killed Solaire before, there was no doubt about it. That bug had latched itself onto his head and he'd been driven insane, no better than a Hollow such as the likes of Laurentius, Griggs or Siegmeyer, "What's the matter, old friend?" Solaire...the imitation asked, his voice growing a tinge uncertain, "I've been taken to this wretched prison, same as you were. Now come, let us leave this place so we can return to that Louise girl you love so dearly."
Raziel's eyes narrowed. Solaire would've needed no help escaping this prison - his strength surpassed his far more than he cared to admit - and his words...there was no possibility of him knowing about his relationship with Louise, let alone her existence to begin with.
It wasn't him...
"Are you not going to release him?" Rhea asked, her voice almost pleading, "Sir. Solaire is a man of honor, surely you will not abandon him to this prison." He pushed past her and walked down the right of the hall, ignoring the sound of her feet padding after him. "Will you truly leave him to die after all he'd done for you? If it were not for him you would have never survived your struggles! Will you fail him as you failed me?"
He clenched his fists and bared his teeth in a scowl. Before he could think better of it his hands lashed out, one grabbing hold of her arm and the other on her neck. The specter's eyes widened just before he slammed her against the wall, choked cries emanating from parted lips as she tried to pry his grip off her, "S-Sir. Raziel, please..." She shut her eyes tightly, tears slipping through the closed lids, "...Please don't kill me."
Kill her.
"No use pleading, my dear." Chester chuckled, slipping to the wall next to her, "Look at his eyes. Black as night, nothing human in them." He clapped his hands slowly, "That's what he does, after all. When he doesn't understand something or the outcome isn't to his satisfaction he beats it to death his bare hands, refusing to accept that sometimes there are other outcomes than the ones he wishes."
She wasn't real.
"After all, remember what he did to that knight? The one that rescued him from the asylum?" he continued, ignoring Rhea's choked cries of pain, "Gave him the key to escape his cell, gave him a purpose to strive for even, and how did he repay that kindness?" He brought his pointer finger across his neck in a slicing motion, "Didn't even hesitate to end his life...or whatever counts for life in you corpses.
He had no choice. He was Hollowing, it was a mercy.
"Didn't even wait for him to finish his plea." Chester shook his head in amusement, "As soon as he'd heard that the poor fellow was going to Hollow, out went the sword and..." He made multiple stabbing motions and laughed again, "He'd asked why, but of course we all know the reason: He was an inconvenience, an obstacle to be surpassed as far as dear Raziel here was concerned. After all, he was the 'Chosen Undead'. He could do no wrong, isn't that right?"
It wasn't his fault. That was before he...before he truly became more than an empty mask.
"Oh he was all smiles after that. Joking with the giant, claiming friendship with the Pyromancer or that washed-up knight, but only after. Did you truly feel guilty when you took their lives, or was it just a facsimile? Grief is the natural reaction one feels at the loss of a friend, but how much of that grief was genuine? After all..." He clapped his shoulders, "Here you are again, killing a friend without any hint of regret."
"Please, don't..." Rhea's voice had become nearly inaudible.
"You'll blame the beast again when you finish, of course. Say it drove you to madness. But even if you don't?" He clicked his tongue, "Ah, an honest monster is still a monster. To those you murder there's no difference whether you do it of your own free will or you delude yourself into thinking that you were driven to it by the one who truly owns that body. So go ahead, snap her neck. Just one more body to add to the pile, isn't it?"
Raziel shouldn't have let it bother him, he knew that, but he couldn't deny the bite the words held. Slowly he felt his grip loosen and he tossed the specter onto the floor, his hands shaky. It was ridiculous; she wasn't real, and he'd already killed the real Rhea before. There was no sense in feeling guilty now...
"My, my. A bit of restraint from our dear Undead?" Chester said, looking at the coughing specter on the floor, "Do you think this changes anything? That one show of restraint erases all the lives you've taken, some of them with nothing but your two hands? I thought you'd be a bit less naive than that, though I've missed how you've been this past year. Perhaps that girl has deluded you into thinking you can change, Robin."
He'd nearly snapped back at him. That wasn't his name; it was the name of a foolish child that believed he could hide away from his problems and play house with Tiffania and the children even as the world burned around them. Robin would never have been able to survive, he would have died along with Tiffania and the others if the witch ever decided to come back and finish the job.
Retaining his silence instead, he chose to walk to the other doors instead. Truth be told he didn't even know if he was going the proper way, but the whispers were growing louder, almost drowning out the sounds of screaming that came from the doors.
And the doors themselves...weren't any better. Each one contained another old friend, another person he failed to save: Laurentius, Siegmeyer, Oscar, Anastacia...all of them were there, each pleading that they were trapped in this prison as he was and that they needed his help to escape. Some begged, others renounced friendship when they saw his hesitation, and he left them all the same.
There was something wrong with them...with him. He needed to cure himself of his madness before he could even think about mounting some kind of rescue. Once he no longer saw them as his deceased friends he could judge correctly if they were safe to release or not, but until then it was safer for them all if they stayed in their confines...at least, that's what he said to himself as justification for leaving them to their fates.
Until he saw her.
Dark hair and a maid uniform in tatters, her hands gripping shards of broken glass even as her palms bled. She looked up when she heard him, bloodshot eyes looking right at his before she looked back down without a word.
Siesta...memories of Count Mott's dungeon came back despite his best efforts. His hands gripped the bars tightly. Even from here he could see the wounds covering her body, the gashes, dried blood and bruises marring the dirtied skin. He opened his mouth, but no words came. Was it truly her, or just another hallucination he was suffering from this induced madness? He didn't know...
She didn't beg. That caused him to hesitate more than the others; all the others had pleaded, cursed, offered whatever they could so he would open the doors to their prisons, but she continued to drag the shards of glass down at the ground and scrape the stone with barely a glance back at him. If she'd said something he might have been able to keep going, justify it as another fit of madness, but her silence choked him more than any pleading word could.
Shutting his eyes tightly for a moment, he gave a subtle nod - more for himself than for her - and pulled the wooden door off its hinges with a powerful tug. She looked up at him, eyes widening ever so slightly as he stepped into the cell. Now he could determine whether-
She charged at him, a deranged yell escaping from wounded lips. His eyes widened and he raised his arms to defend himself just before she stabbed makeshift knife through the sides of his wrists, the cuts quickly accumulating as she continued to attack him frantically, "You won't take me again, you won't!" She stabbed it through his palm, and he let out a muffled scream of pain.
This wasn't Siesta.
The prisoner went to pick up another shard, but he was faster. Pulling the glass from his hand, he dodged her clumsy strike and stabbed the shard into her stomach. Her mouth quivered and she backed away, looking down at her profusely bleeding stomach before sinking to her knees. She would die soon; already he could hear her breaths growing more shallow and it wasn't long before she fell on her side and the life faded from her still-open eyes.
Raziel looked down at his bloodstained hands. The chain on his left wrist blunted most of her stabs, but his right didn't fare so well. Apart from the numerous cuts now lining his wrist there was a deep wound on his palm. The Undead grimaced and untangled Cattleya's favor, quickly wrapping it around his hand pulling at one side with his teeth to tighten it. It would hopefully stem the tide of blood until his body healed itself.
"Hmm, fascinating," Chester drawled. Raziel glared at the specter as he trudged into the room, stopping only when he was beside the prison's bleeding corpse, "You abandon the friends you knew in Lordran even when they begged for aid and yet you barely hesitated to try and save my great-granddaughter. As her family I'm torn between appreciation and a certain sense of disbelief from it all. Right now I'm wondering what your reasons are...whats going on in that little head of yours?"
He looked down at the prisoner. Even now the hallucination persisted and Siesta's face still remained, the blank stare doing little to calm his already shot nerves. He would have been lying if he said that it didn't bother him, even if he knew it wasn't real: Siesta was back in Tristain. Last he'd heard the Charming Fairies had returned to Tristain a week prior and Siesta was among them. Evidently she'd chosen not to return to her old job in the academy, but that was none of his business. In the end she was safe...
...So why did he open the cell?
Raziel held in his words and trudged out of the cell, ignoring Rhea trying to reach out a hand for him. He needed to be rid of this place and he'd rip that ring and the finger containing it off the aristocrat's hands if that was what it took. He just needed find the stairway up, get Derflinger (and Daphne...) and then he could make it back home. He had not come this far to become the next experiment for another madman that held a fascination with immortality.
"...lp...s..."
The whispers were becoming close to deafening now. Raziel traced a hand through the wall to help steady himself and walked closer to the source. There was something in this place...he could feel a sense of fatigue washing over him, his every step becoming heavier the closer he drew to the end of the hall.
"...om o...u..."
The darkness was doing little to help. Though he could see perfectly well despite the lack of light he couldn't deny the feeling of futility that threatened to overwhelm him. The halls seemed to span on endlessly, each twist and turn leading to another part of this depraved maze. Was this supposed to be a mansion or an asylum? There must have been dozens of prisoners in this place, each of them segregated into their own cells.
He didn't know how long he stumbled through the stone labyrinth, but eventually he saw what appeared to be a door at the end of the hall. An exit or something else? Either way the voices were becoming more audible...though whether that was a good or bad thing he still had no idea as of yet. At the very least it was drowning out the specters that continued to hound him, so that was something he could take some relief in.
"Come...to us..."
Raziel pushed open the door and stumbled inside, his legs finally giving way to the unnatural exhaustion he was suffering. Shutting his eyes tightly, he let out a frustrated growl at the sound of the ungodly cacophony and forced himself to stand. Just before he closed his eyes he saw traces of light seeping in through high windows. This was a way out, it had to be. It wouldn't-
"...Here...now..."
He'd seen a lot of things both here and in Lordran, sights that would have driven most others to madness. The mountains of corpses at New Londo, the demons of Izalith, the darkness of the abyss...too many to count at this point. After everything he'd seen and done it was difficult to experience genuine shock or pause, even when the others continually insisted on some sort of eternal recurrence to which there was no end in sight.
Still, the sight in front of him was enough to make his face twist in disgust. He'd seen bodies piled on top of one another before - even amalgamations such as the skeletons that made up the entirety of Nito's 'body' - but even they had a sense of shape. As grotesque as Nito might have been his structure resembled that of a humanoid shape with arms, a torso and face. It was possible to ignore it for what it truly was.
Not now. The...thing in front of him resembled at best a twisted blob, its entire 'body' pulsing and undulating like a heartbeat. Dotted across its surface he could see what appeared to be arms and legs jutting out of the flesh, each of them grabbing at the floor, the air or even the chains that clamped tightly across its center and kept it in place. Judging by the fact that the chains refused to budge, it was clear that its struggles were fruitless.
More than that, however, was the screaming. It saw him...how it did so given its state he had no idea, but it knew he was there. He saw its struggles worsen, the whispers long since turning to frantic yells and cries. It was almost enough to deafen him, but even now he managed to hear it: Not one voice speaking, but an uproar of what sounded like dozens...hundreds all trying to talk over one another, making their voice was heard above all else.
He had to get closer.
"Don't do it." Rhea grabbed his hand tightly, "It will be the death of you."
Perhaps it was, but he couldn't stand still and be idle. Wrenching his hand away from her grip, he stepped closer and resisted the urge to cover his ears. The voices were growing louder, the words becoming easier to make out.
"It hurts, it hurts!"
"I'm sorry, just please make it stop!"
"I don't belong here!"
One of the hands lashed out and pulled him towards the blob, the tug surprisingly gentle despite his expectation. The rest of the hands joined it soon afterwards. He could feel its...their hands running down the length of his body. Some calm, others frantic...he bit back the urge to scream something out when they continued. The feeling of their flesh on his was warm, a noticeable shift from the cold confines of the dungeon and the chill from the specter's touch.
"Mommy, please help me!"
"I don't deserve this! I didn't do anything!"
"Just...please let it end!"
How many people had suffered to create this twisted amalgamation? He reached out his left and placed it atop the undulating surface gently, its chaotic pulse calming down to a calmer rhythm. Innocent, guilty, child, adult...all of them were sacrificed to create this abomination. And for what? Due to one old man's desire for immortality, because he wanted to stave off death for just a few more years? Or perhaps it was just curiosity and sadism, like the witch and her master?
Either way it changed nothing. They weren't the ones to suffer the consequences of their actions. He closed his eyes and traced a hand through the flesh, the voices growing softer at the gesture. They knew...knew that he could hear them, understand them. To others their screaming would have been nothing more than a unintelligible uproar, but to him it was all too transparent.
"Help us."
"Save us."
"Kill us"
He saw the Humanity festering inside the malformed circle. Each human had a small fragment, just one part of the whole that Kaathe and the Darkwraiths claimed they wished to make whole again. It was what gave them life, allowed them to be human. The Humanity in front of him was twisted, clinging and joining with one another as grotesquely as the 'body' that housed it appeared.
It was agony...there was a reason the Dark Soul had been spread across all of mankind, and despite claims otherwise their salvation did not lie in the joining of 'brothers and sisters' in such a way.
"Avenge us."
"Yes..." he said, the first words he'd spoken ever since he'd been trapped in this prison. Their pulsing stilled, one hand reaching out to cup his face with surprising tenderness. This was what they wanted; an end to their suffering, an end to being nothing more than that madman's experiment. Raziel raised his right hand and placed it atop theirs to reciprocate the gesture before he plunged his right hand through the surface.
They didn't scream, even when a torrent of blood poured out of the wide hole. It was wrong; he'd taken Humanity from others before, pulled it from struggling opponents despite their pleading, but there was always something instinctual about it. Now he felt a sense of revulsion, which only worsened when two of the hands grabbed onto his arm and pulled, helping him get to their Humanity faster.
Eventually he managed to pry it out, stumbling back from the force of the pull. Humanity usually appeared as a black flame, an inverse of those worshiped by Gwyn and his lackeys. Right now, however, the shard in his hands resembled more a misshapen piece of clay; bits and pieces of Humanity sewed together with needle and thread to resemble the shape it was supposed to appear as.
Humanity was never meant to be twisted like this. He could do nothing but give a look of pity to the now-still blob. He could only hope that they had found the peace they sought after so desperately.
Before he could decide on what to do with the misshapen thing the sounds of footsteps reached his ears and the specters grabbed hold of his hands again. Teeth baring in a snarl, he forced himself to turn around and found himself face to face with the shocked face of the aristocrat that had trapped him here, his eyes shifting between his rigid form and the recently deceased flesh golem.
"Wh-What have you done!?" He stomped towards him, his expression morphing from shock to anger, "You impudent creature, do you have any idea of the years it took to even progress this far!? How many sacrifices it took to learn how to tether the human soul to one another in such a way!? Decades of work, ruined! Their sacrifices mean nothing now, don't you understand!?"
He understood perfectly. The old man spoke of sacrifice as if it was his life on the line, and yet all he did was stand aside like a coward and throw away lives that did not belong to him. The aristocrat wanted answers, and Raziel wasn't going to give it to him.
At the sight of his continued frothing rage the Undead's lips quirked up in a smile, which only seemed to enrage him more, "What is it you find so amusing, creature!?" He grabbed his jaw tightly with one hand and looked about a hair's breath from attacking him, "Did your master order you to do this!? Why!?" Again he remained silent, which earned him a strike along his still-raw neck.
"Answer me, creature!" His eyes shifted to his left hand, the malformed Humanity causing them to widen, "That...you took its soul..." He shook his head and muttered something unintelligible for a brief moment before continuing his tirade, "I...I command you to give it to me and tell me how you came upon this!"
The ring shone once more and he could feel his focus weakening. Chester and Rhea were whispering once more, trying to lull his mind to sleep. Outside of his control he felt his left hand rise, offering the corrupted soul to the greedy aristocrat. He forced himself to look back at the twisted amalgamation. He was going to profit off their suffering, turn himself immortal because of a 'sacrifice' he was too cowardly to make himself.
"...No."
He crushed the Humanity in his hand. The old man's eyes widened for the briefest of moments before Raziel unfurled the chain wrapped around his wrist and twisted it around the coward's neck, "It is time you made the sacrifice." He dragged him to the floor and tightened his hold of the makeshift noose, one foot pressed against his back and stomping his face onto the floor.
He didn't look into his face as he died; didn't care to see him trying to stall for time. The choked cries and garbled pleading came as expected, but he paid them no mind. It was nothing he hadn't heard before: Cowards who gave no mercy but expected it in turn. It wasn't his life to take, not truly, but he could only hope that those that had suffered for his ambitions received satisfaction from his demise.
It was only when the old man's struggles ceased that he finally twisted his neck, a resounding crack echoing within the small confines of the room. Taking a deep breath, he returned the chain to its previous place and looked around the room. He was alone...there'd never been anyone else here. Allowing himself a soft sigh of relief, he knelt and took the ring off his rapidly cooling finger.
Andvari's ring...the water spirit wanted it in exchange for its aid. He was tempted to crush the thing right then and there, but eventually he sighed and placed it in one of his pockets. For all he knew destroying this thing would just drive everyone in the country insane - not that it seemed particularly hard from what he'd seen... - and he'd rather avoid trying to make enemies with some other primal being or another.
Now to leave...
Raziel followed the path from where the light came, curiosity biding him to look through at least one of the doors one last time. As expected the prisoners were unrecognizable, all of them barely paying him any mind as they rocked themselves desperately or looked at the walls as if it held the answers they sought. He sighed and followed the path back upwards. There was nothing he could do for them; their minds were gone.
He found the stairway leading up to the exit eventually. Finally he could leave this place...of course he'd have to find the other two then get over the border with someone who couldn't travel in the daytime, but at the very least he wouldn't be trapped in this makeshift asylum. With those 'pleasant' thoughts in mind he took the final steps up and reached out to open the door.
The door opened before he could reach the knob, Daphne standing on the other side with Derflinger in her arms, "Yo partner, we're here to...oh, you're here."
He blinked. The vampire looked none the worse for wear, save her attire shifting from the nearly tattered dress she wore back in the mortuary to something bit more ornate. Likely a gift from that depraved noble, "Raziel, you're alright." She looked at him up and down, her smile straining when she saw the dried blood on how newly healed right hand. Hopefully she didn't attack him again, "I...I thought you'd still be imprisoned...where is he?"
"If you mean the noble who trapped us in this place then he's dead." He saw her wince and he rolled his eyes . The last thing he needed was a lecture from her after the browbeating of the specters. Best he try to put it out of his mind; it would solve nothing if he dwelt on his memories and doubts. Whatever his problems were he could deal with them once they were no longer in danger.
He made his way past her and her hand reached out to tug at his wrist, "Wait, we can't just leave." She looked back at the dungeon, "That man, Cobias, he mentioned other prisoners. Like us." Her hold on his hand tightened, "We have to help them-"
"There is nothing to help, Daphne." He grabbed Derflinger from her arms and quickly fastened him around his back, "He has driven them to madness. There is nothing left of their minds...if you truly wish to try and save them then ending their lives is the best mercy you can give, but that is time we do not have..."
"I put the mansion to sleep. We have hours to spare." She shook her head, "We can't just leave them to their fates. I can try to heal them, see if my Spirit Magic can repair the damage that has been done to their minds." She looked down and bit her bottom lip, considering her next words carefully, "I'd appreciate your help, Raziel. You understand them, this...Humanity more than I could. Please help me."
It was none of his business. They'd already spent far too much time in this madhouse and he didn't want to see any more, but the way she looked at him made it clear she wasn't going to take no for an answer. Letting out a soft sigh, he gave the Firstborn a taciturn nod and followed her down the stairs. This was likely to be futile, he knew it, but it wasn't as if it was the first bad decision he'd made.
"Once more into the breach, eh, partner?" Derflinger clicked, "Well, we'll have some stories to tell Pinky when this is all said and done."
Done. Sorry again if it seems slightly shorter - I counter a little over 8k not counting the AN's - but because I had Raziel deliberately choose not to talk to antagonize Cobias and not humor the specters that were following him. Also Daphne was supposed to have a segment, but it was cut for disturbing the tone and feeling like one of those easily skippable bits like Henrietta's kidnapping. I'll just have her relay what she found to Raziel later if need be.
Don't worry, we'll see more of the experiments in the next chapters. The Gallia arc is coming and the mad science BS is going to be one of the main points. Think of this like a teaser.
Alright, same deal as before. Last time I asked whether you guys found Raziel sympathetic and I got some slightly mixes responses, all of them valuable :) Now here's the other question: Do you guys find Henrietta to be sympathetic and understandable? I've been getting mixed responses on her for some time now and given her increased prominence it's fair to say that she's shaping up to be the deuteragonist of the story (a role originally played by Louise and I planned to give to Ciaran). Hearing some thoughts on her character would be very insightful and very much appreciated.
Review answers:
Guest - She might not have meant to kidnap them, but her uncaring response to Saito's justified complaints that he wants to go home leave a bad taste. She essentially goes 'Don't know, don't care. You work for me now.' when he says he wants to leave. In TR she did save Raziel, so it explains why he's so loyal to her.
SirSquirtle - Yeah, Cattleya...that's going to be awkward to write. Who knows, I might just go back to ML fanfics for a bit to get a better idea of writing.
Roku - Why would he? He's been losing blood, arms and eyeballs ever since he got to Halk. No point in crying over ravaged organs, as they say.
RPG247 - Good to hear that people can read it mostly blind ;) Anyway, Raziel's intelligence is debatable: As lately as Chapter 61 he calls out Henrietta on wearing make-up to mask her features and that she's obviously fibbing and withholding information, so at least when it comes to her, Julio or Ciaran he still seems to have his intelligence intact.
As for combat that was deliberate. Once he woke up the Lurker his combat traits became more and more brutal and unsophisticated, which Chester called him out on in the chapter. This can also apply to his behavior: In the early chapters he was mostly clueless but still relatively sweet and 'innocent' despite his actions. It's only after Fouqet's attacks where he starts remembering Manus' memories that he becomes generally meaner.
Mernom - Oddly enough I've been getting some suggestions for a romance with Louise, but beyond that I appreciate the review :)
Caios23 - By sympathy I meant how much you as the reader sympathize with him, not how much Raziel's sympathetic to other characters. Anyway, hope you keep reading and reviewing.
Goose Attack - Half and half. While part of his problem stems from other people his own personality and traits means that he's not faultless a lot of the time. He's violent, short-tempered and stubborn; traits like this would wreck many a relationship all on its own.
As for his relationship with Louise, she does show that she cares about him: Tries to release him from his contract so he could leave Albion before her last stand, goes back to Albion just to see if he's okay, does her best to place his happiness (sometimes above her own) as a priority in later chapters etc etc. She's done some bad things certainly, but she's done her fair share of nice things as well.
Boret98 - Been a while since I've had a multi-chapter reviewer. Anyway, I don't mind the complaints so much, though I wonder why you say Raziel turned into a 'good guy'. He was nicer in the early chapters and turned into more of an asshole the longer the story went.
LSPK136 - Huh, always enjoy an opposite opinion; gives a good impression of the character :D As for chilling out, it's kind of hard when his past sucks, his present sucks and he's basically a ticking timebomb that's basically doomed to die given that the seals Derflinger puts in keep getting messed with and he constantly loses control of himself. It'd be pretty hard to be smiles and cheers with that hanging over your head. Ditto for the rest of the characters.
As for other ZNT characters? They just didn't factor into the current arc. Guiche, Kirche, Colbert and Siesta are referred to by the characters, but why would they be involved? Two are untrained students, one's a teacher and the other's a maid. These guys have no bearing on trying to assassinate a king or playing cat and mouse during a ball. Maybe they'll show up later if needs arise.
Stone Dragon and Londo will play in later, but as for Anastacia? She did show up. Look at Ciaran's first ever segment again and check the dialogue. Whether she shows up after that is debatable since as a character she got her happy ending and Cattleya fills the role of Firekeeper now...not that Raziel can even use bonfires properly given that he's now a full-on Manus shard, but hey.
Annoyed Reader (if you somehow got this far) - Why does his power level matter, honestly? This isn't a fighting fic. Also, the reason I used post-kiln is because it affected his character and he refers to the events of DS1 that happened. His cynical personality is a result of said experiences, meaning if he came from the Asylum fresh he'd be a completely different character.