Paradox: The Last Day - Seymour's Story

by Rachel Charman

  |Experiments? For what?|

  Nothing that you need to concern yourself with.

  |I.. see… So, where is this place that you say you saw her last?|

  Near The Clock Tower.

  Under the fiercely hateful glares of the deathly, desiccated people, young and old, the pair make their way towards the giant white tower protruding from the very heart of the city, its zenith rising into the great black sun, which hangs low in the sable sky. While he and the hooded man wander further through the decimated streets, Seymour finds it increasingly difficult to focus on his surroundings, as his stigmas begin to bleed afresh, painfully beckoning him back to his existing plane. Eventually, under the enormous shadow of the looming, ashen tower, Seymour and the man branch off down a side street, away from the lofty edifice, and soon arrive at the charred, collapsed ruins of a once-gigantic skyscraper. The pair step inside the empty vestibule, and find the only thing intact within the devastated building is an immaculate, ornate wooden door with the words “Ezekiel 18:4” carved into the faded chestnut, standing peculiarly upright and unscathed amid the destruction. Seymour looks questioningly to the hooded man, who glances at him with unseen eyes, and he kicks the door down, which lands hard on the ground with a dull thud, throwing a cloud of ash into the air. The man pulls the shiny gold doorknob, and opens the door slowly. Instead of simply opening to the debris-covered ground, it opens to a cascade of feeble-looking wooden stairs beneath the floor, which lead down to a pit of shadows. The hooded man descends the creaky stairs without a word, and Seymour hastily follows below the ground, despite his confusion. As the two descend the gloomy staircase, they suddenly emerge into a vast, brilliantly-lit, high-ceilinged cathedral, studded with ancient pews, which are constructed of the same purplish glass of which the hooded man’s bridge was made. They sit, scattered and empty beneath the ominous shadow of a massive, rather charred crucifix hanging lopsided from behind an overturned altar. The stone body of a young man hangs from the crucifix; his cracked, chipped face sports a look of pained shock, his body is tightly wrapped up in thick black chains, and beset with deep gouge marks. The glass on the walls is cracked, and stained with vestiges of black blood. Looking around the spectacular cathedral with awe, Seymour searches for the familiar sight of long blonde hair shining beneath the lights, but there appears to be none.

  |I don’t see her… She is here.. right?|

  Mm..

  The man in the hood proceeds down the main aisle slowly, searching for Elena, and Seymour catches up to him reluctantly, a million questions eating away at his mind.

  |Hey.. Why is there a church in a place like this?|

  … Hm.. Well.. I suppose everyone needs a bit of hope, Seymour. Whatever form it takes, somebody has to provide it… even if it may be someone else’s nightmare.

  Through his sheer amazement, Seymour suddenly notices a solitary man sitting bent forward, his head bowed, at the very front of the overturned and strewn pews. He is completely naked, his long, unkempt black hair hanging in tangled, greasy sheets in front of his hideously skeletal face, and is missing quite a few of his fingers. His dirty, chipped, sickly yellow nails manically claw at what remains of the flesh on his bony, wasted arms.

  |Wait.. Who is that? That’s not Elena..|

  Oh.. Him.. Just ignore him.

  |Er.. okay..?|

  As the hooded man and Seymour tread lightly upon the faded red carpet, which is buried beneath a layer of dust and ash, the withered man turns his wasted head slowly at their approach, his bright green eyes alight with fervor behind the greasy cascade of his tousled black hair, shining vividly amongst the gaunt canvas of graying flesh stretched thinly across his skull. The man’s alarmingly skeletal figure greatly disturbs Seymour as he slowly passes by, unseen by the wasted being. Somehow though, something in the man’s shriveled, emaciated form seems slightly familiar to Seymour. He and the hooded man overhear snippets of words the man is muttering crazily to himself. Seymour looks to the man in the hood in confusion, but he simply shakes his hooded head wearily, and continues down the dusty aisle. Seymour turns his gaze back to the pitiable creature before him, who is clawing his flesh down to the bloody bone, and mumbling to himself. The man’s eyes lock with Seymour’s, and the creature suddenly calls out to the hooded man in an hysterical, erratically tone-shifting voice –

  Seymour?

  The hooded man stops in his tracks angrily, throwing a small puff of dust into the air, and turns to the emaciated man with a frustrated glare, which seems to burn out from the shadows of his black hood.

  How many times do I have to say it, old man? I’ve told you. I’m not Seymour.

  The man shakes his head slowly; eyes wide and unblinking.

  Not you.. Him.

  He gets to his feet, and points with a gnarled finger to the empty space beside the hooded man; the empty space that Seymour ethereally occupies. The hooded man stares at him with mild surprise.

  I-is that him? I don’t remember.. She told to tell the one I couldn’t see…

  … No. Nobody’s here but me, you, and Elena.

  The wasted man’s eyes go even wider at the mention of Elena’s name, and he staggers forward, laughing crazily to himself as he yells fitfully –

  … Elena.. Elena! That was her! Th-the girl I took.. Gone and.. Betrayed.. Left her in the hands of the deceiver..

  He shrinks away under the hooded man’s furious aura as he asks in a voice of deadly calm –

  What are you talking about? Did you do something to the girl?

  She was so desperate to remember.. I was so desperate to return.. She made a deal; the deceiver did. But she lied.. She lied, and, and, and…

  And what?!

  The attenuated man suddenly stops shuddering, and seems to regain a semblance of sanity as he utters quietly –

  … And now she waits. Waits for the one I cannot see. But the one who is here beside me.

  Seymour stares at the crazed being in surprise, and blurts out without thinking –

  |… Is he talking about me?|

  The hooded man bears down on the gaunt man, his teeth bared in anger, seizes him violently by the throat, and shouts at him in a voice that echoes throughout the entire cathedral –

  How dare you touch her with your filthy hands, you dirty fucker!

  P-please forgive me, Seymour! I-I didn’t k-know-

  I SAID DON’T CALL ME THAT!

  The man in the hood throws the wasted man to the ground as hard as he can, causing a large plume of dust and ash to rise up from the faded red carpet, and he forcefully presses his ash-caked foot down upon his throat as he screams to him –

  WHERE IS THE GIRL?! TELL ME NOW, YOU FUCKING DEMON, OR I’LL CUT THE REST OF YOUR FINGERS OFF!!

  … T-the Clock Tower. I-I took her.. to The Clock Tower.

  What?! Why would you do that?!

  He drags his sharp, yellowed nails across the hooded man’s foot desperately, gasping from the pressure, but just manages to choke out –

  … M-my children.. I have to s-see them again.. They need me.. All but the one who I can’t see..

  Suddenly, Seymour recognizes the attenuated man lying unknowingly in front of him.

  |… I-is that.. my father?|

  The hooded man turns on Seymour furiously, and bellows scathingly, his aura of anger becoming terribly strong –

  This man is no father of yours, Seymour! He’s a despicable man!

  The atrophied being manages to squirm out from under the hooded man’s foot, then seizes the hem of his tattered black robe with what remains of his fingers, and begs desperately –

  T-that’s not true… A-all I ever did was try to love him.. H-he would never accept it. … W-why did he hate me? Why does he still?! But the others.. I know there were others.. I-I want to see them… S-She promised me that.. If I bring the E-Elena girl to her.. She will send me back.. She will let me live.. so I could see my children… B-but s-she lied! And he-here I am! W-WHY DID SHE LIE TO ME?!
>
  At that point, the man collapses at Seymour’s imperceptible feet, sobbing uncontrollably in paroxysms of grief and misery. Seymour watches impassively as his father kneels on all fours, his naked, emaciated body shuddering hideously in a fit of wild despair. The hooded man stares lividly at his weeping father, and furiously kicks him onto his back, where he curls up into a wretched ball, and continues to sob quietly, while the large wound on his back leaks blackish ichor.

  TELL ME WHY YOU TOOK HER TO THE CLOCK TOWER, YOU VILE BASTARD!

  S-She promised me.. I could escape from th-this nightmare.. If I b-bring the girl to her.. I brought her th-the girl.. But she lied.. sent me away.. and now she waits.. Waits for the one I cannot see..

  The hooded man gives the pitiful being one last hard kick in the back, leaving him coughing and quivering in fright while he drags himself under the shadow of a pew, and continues whispering to himself, though his whispers are mingled with sobs. Without a word, Seymour walks past the hooded man, and makes his way to the shadowy stairwell.

  Where are you going?

  |The Clock Tower.|

  And you’re going alone?

  |I don’t think it’d be a good idea to have Nyx see you helping me.|

  Heheh.. There’s not a whole lot that whore can do to me at this point.

  |It’s okay.. I only asked for your help in finding her. I know where she is now, so I’m gonna go get her. By myself.|

  The hooded man stares at Seymour with his unseen eyes, but doesn’t respond. Taking the man’s silence as his dismissal, Seymour turns from himself, ascends into the shadows of the creaky stairwell alone, and emerges back out into the decrepit streets, where, off in the distance, in the very heart of the city, rises the enormous towering spire, ominously framed by the massive black sun. Brands bleeding painfully, Seymour takes a deep, resolute breath, and proceeds down the fractured street, soon arriving at the edge of the road. The gigantic ashen tower protrudes from the very center of a great, cavernous abyss; an enormous archaic clock hangs lopsided on its surface high above, handless, burnt, rusted, its Roman numerals faded, and caked with ash. The chasm surrounding the tower is filled with innumerable piles of twisted, desiccated bodies that writhe and scream together in a horrid chorale of inexpressible agony and terror while they burn within a torrent of black flames. Trying desperately to shut out their hideous refrain of chaos from his mind, Seymour hastily crosses the long whitish bridge stretched out in front of him, which upon closer inspection, he discovers is made of human remains, and arrives at a massive, magnificently decorated, purplish-colored glass door.

  His mind set, Seymour takes a deep breath, pushes the door open, and anxiously proceeds into the lofty tower.

  ~The Clock Tower~

  Inside the Clock Tower’s dim, circular inner chamber, it is completely empty, save for a spindly, ancient-looking ladder, the top of which disappears into the indistinct shadows of the towering edifice; it is surrounded by three marble-like statues of men; one with no face, one with nothing except a pair of eyes, and one with a hole carved into its chest. The statues appear to be reaching for the ladder, their cracked, blemished arms outstretched, their fingers caught in mid-grope. There is a large black blood spatter on the ground near the ladder, and it is quite fresh.

  |This must be where she cast him away.. Damn idiot…|

  With little time left to find any other option, Seymour proceeds to climb the ladder, which is soon completely enveloped in absolute darkness. Unable to see, and the pain in his brands reaching extreme levels, Seymour continues to ascend through the dark, while flickering visions of Solari’s office burn in his eyes, becoming steadily more distinct the higher he climbs. Eventually, the shadows give way to a luminescent azure light, and when Seymour reaches the top of the ladder, he emerges into a large room, which has three walls made entirely of shimmering sapphire glass. The fourth wall is a wide, smashed-out window that opens out into thin air, exceedingly high above the ground. A stale wind drifts though the open window, of which most of its remaining panes are cracked and shattered. On the other side of the room is a massive golden pendulum that slowly sways back and forth, and is surrounded by enormous, stationary, partially melted gears. Behind the hypnotically swinging pendulum, Seymour spots, with immense relief, a familiar blonde-haired girl sitting against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees, crying silently as she whispers –

  Where is he..? W-why hasn’t he come for me yet..? Why…?

  As Seymour takes a step toward her, the pendulum suddenly ceases to swing. Time throughout the world of Paradox seems to stop, as all movement around Seymour is halted, and becomes eerily blurry, with a soft orange glow emanating from every object’s outline. Suddenly, a tall woman of delicate, epicene beauty materializes as if from nowhere, shielding Elena from view, and looks at Seymour with clear, piercing, aquamarine eyes. Her skin is covered in scars, and is so ghostly pale, it appears to glow softly in the gleam of the sapphire glass, and her long black hair, studded with bright white stars, falls delicately to the floor and coils at her bare feet. She is completely naked, though the area where her breasts and privates should be look as though they are made of wind, and can’t be focused upon properly. She beckons Seymour forward with a crook of her scarred hand. Seymour resolutely steps past the colossal aureate pendulum, and approaches the ominous woman slowly.

  |Out of the way, Nyx.|

  Nyx gazes at Seymour stoically, surveying him with an impassive gaze for a time, and steps towards him slowly, her arms crossed, eyes shining like crystals in the sunlight.

  It’s been a long time, Seymour. You’ve certainly grown into a fine man.

  |Shut it. I don’t have time to talk. Just let me take her back with me, and I’ll finish what I started.|

  Without looking at Seymour, Nyx plays with Elena’s strands of golden-blonde hair delicately, watching them remain suspended in mid-air, apparently deep in thought until she says stoically –

  You may as well find someone to replace her. She’s dead, after all.

  |But, I wanted to ask you.. if you could.. bring her back, the same way you did for me?|

  Nyx raises her thin eyebrows slightly in surprise, and asks quietly –

  Seymour… Are you really asking me to bring this young girl back to life, just so you can kill her again? That is the very apex of cruelty.

  |I don’t need to be lectured, I need her to be by my side!|

  If she comes back, it will disrupt the natural order of life.

  |But she’s only been dead on Earth for a couple minutes.. It’s still plausible to bring her back, isn’t it? You made an exception for me, so why can’t you for her? Besides, you owe me. I’m doing all of this for you, remember?|

  I owe you nothing. And I would never make such an exception for her. Why go to these ridiculous lengths to get her back when there are so many others you can use that are still alive and well?

  |It has to be her, Nyx! You don’t understand-|

  Do not tell me what I don’t understand, Seymour. You’re the only one who is clueless here.

  Seymour sighs impatiently, his brands pulsing with pain, and utters resolutely –

  |… Fine. If you won’t help me.. I’ll just take her back myself!|

  Seymour makes toward Elena, and with an icy glare, Nyx reaches out, seizes Seymour’s brand in her scarred hand, and stares piercingly into his ebony eyes. Indignantly, he swipes her hand away from his forearm, and her frostiness is replaced with irritated curiosity as she strides about the sapphire chamber, her long sheet of starry hair swaying in her wake. Just as Seymour picks up Elena’s motionless body in his throbbing, bloody arms, Nyx inquires curiously –

  Why do you want her back so badly?

  Seymour considers Elena’s immobile, tear-stained face for a moment, pondering over Nyx’s question seriously before he answers frankly –

  |… I don’t really know.. I don’t have an answer. All I know is that I can’t complete the task and repay my debt withou
t her..|

  She doesn’t even know you are here. Why waste your time on one who will never truly understand what you do? After all, she only exists so that you can kill her, right?

  |… But it’s not like that. She’s different! She’s the only one who knows who I really am! She stuck by my side, even after everything I made her do… She’s my.. my only real friend… And she kept telling me that she has no life without me, well… I’m the same. I have no life without her.|

  Nyx smiles at Seymour’s words, with a look of comprehension shining in her aquamarine eyes. She drags her long, pale fingers across the golden pendulum delicately, and over her shoulder, says plainly –

  The answer is no, Seymour.

  |But-|

  As he speaks, his brands abruptly burn with the white-hot intensity of a million flaming knives being forcefully driven into his flesh. The pain is so severe, Seymour falls to his knees, dropping Elena to the floor, gripping his bleeding stygian stigmas, as the blurry distortion enveloping his body intensifies, and the image of Solari’s office becomes almost entirely visible. Seymour is caught off guard, too weak to retaliate, as Nyx kicks him onto his back, and he desperately tries to regain his focus. She looks down at him with a callous smirk, grabs him by the arm, drags him to the gaping window ledge, and walks along into thin air, with Seymour in hand. She effortlessly lifts him up to her face level, and turns him to face the city. Seymour looks up weakly, his vision blurry and flickering, straight into the colossal, low-hanging sun, its ebony glow burning in his eyes. Far down below, the gaping, fiery abyss, filled with wailing humans of all kinds, stretches to the edge of the desolate, darkened city. Once again, their anguished cries cut through Seymour’s mind like flaming swords, but he can do nothing to shut their horrid wailing out. Nyx buries her face softly into Seymour’s white hair, and whispers maliciously –