*
THEY WILL ABANDON YOU.
Darkness consumes me. The light is gone, enveloped by the cold night. Alza. Kingston. Maloch. Terra. Ion. Spectre. All are connected to me, but all have their own goals. Alza seeks purpose, but is held by the memories that elude her. Kingston seeks repentance, which drives him towards self-sacrifice. Maloch desires freedom, but is chained by logic. The Avatars have their entangling plans, with us as the pawns.
THEY WILL HURT YOU.
And me? What do I want? I used to desire a place to belong. Then I wanted to return to where I was sheltered. Now? I just want to protect those around me, no matter the cost. These people, and their goals, are all important to me. To fail one would be to fail them all, and I will not let that happen.
THEY WILL KILL YOU.
My father. My mother's unseen face. My friends, and those who have fallen by my side. Too many memories, too much pain and sadness. How can I help those around me when I can't even help myself!
I AM YOUR ONLY SALVATION.
I hate thinking like this. I can bear strange, horrifying dreams, and yet I am terrified of simply being alone with my thoughts. Give me another blood-soaked, maddening dream where I kill people with a smile. Give me another confusing vision in which Alza kills me, again and again. Give me the glade, the desert, the city… anything! Just please… help me escape from these horrible thoughts. Please! Give me something, anything... just please distract me from myself!
I AM YOUR ONLY HOPE.
I can feel the darkness here, waiting in my mind. I can feel the violence, the anger that will destroy me. It hurts me to admit it, but when I gave in to the rage... when I let the anger take over... It made me feel so... alive. I crave the destruction, yet at the same time I know that I cannot have it. I am conflict unbecoming.
KNEEL BEFORE ME, AND YOU WILL NEVER DIE.
I feel self-disgust. I am tired. Tired of having to grow up too fast. Tired of having to face death again and again. I'm tired of Alza, and Kingston, and Maloch, and having to do the bidding of false gods. I just want to return to the innocence of my childhood, when nobody ever asked me to save the world. When things were simple. When death was a far-off dream, and adulthood an unavoidable future.
GRASP MY HILT, AND LET THE WORLD HEAR OUR ROAR.
Oh please let the dreams come, so that I can escape from myself...
WE ARE DEATH. WE ARE CARNAGE. WE ARE LA-
“Rise and shine sleepyhead. Fate doesn't wait for the dreams of men.”
The melodic voice was better than any cold bucket of water, and Barsch was awake and scrambling to his feet in seconds. His thoughts, which had been wrapped in the imitation of a dream, faded from his mind. Sitting in his iconic throne of earth sat Terra, though his relaxed pose suggested that his visit was anything but official. He wore a contented grin, seeming to be utterly at home in the shadow of the overhang.
Barsch looked around to see if the others had noticed the Avatar, but all three of his companions were still wandering the dreamscape. His searching glance also brought his attention to his right hand, which had felt oddly heavy when he had leapt up. Lanista lay there, tightly wrapped up in his grip. He could not remember fetching the blade in the night, and he was sure that the last he had seen of it was shortly before his unintentional swim.
He moved to drop it, but for some reason his fingers refused to open.
“I am you only salvation.” The strange thought blazed a path across his mind, leaving chaos and doubt in its wake.
“Can you hear its voice yet?” asked Terra, who had been entirely forgotten in the confusion.
Barsch looked up sharply, searching for the tell-tale signs of mockery in the Avatar’s face. But there was only concern, with a hint of pity.
“Yes… What is it? Some kind of spirit?” he asked, after taking some time to choose his words.
A look of sadness crossed Terra’s face, and he said, “I wish it were that simple. Spirits are easy, compared to Souls. No… it’s not a spirit. Think of it as… an old friend… who has suddenly found a way to speak. Believe me, the blade is nothing but metal and oil. The voice does not come from it.”
“Then where does it come from? And why does it sound so… angry?”
Terra did not reply, only staring mournfully at Barsch’s chest. At his heart. At the source of the voice. At the beast’s nest. At Barsch, the bloodied madman who had killed dozens of cóyotl with a screaming sword.
“What am I?” asked Barsch, softly. The Barsch that he knew, the one who had awoken on a barren hill, detested violence. The Barsch that he knew could not possibly have killed all those creatures, even if they were trying to kill him. The Barsch that he knew… was dead. Perhaps he had died the day his hands had first closed around Lanista’s hilt. He thought that he had lost his innocence in Wareven… what a fool he had been.
“You are… what you choose to be. Rule the beast, or let the beast rule you. That is your choice. That is your burden. Choose wrongly, and you will end up hurting a lot more than a few cóyotl.” For a moment Terra’s gaze found Alza, Kingston and Maloch. They were still asleep, oblivious to the existential crisis happening a few feet away. Without another word the Avatar began to fade back into the muddy earth, a solemn look on his face.
“Wait!” cried Barsch, but there was no one there. The Avatar had disappeared as quickly as he had come, leaving him confused and irritated. After a moment he remembered himself and managed to pry his right hand open. With effort he managed to fling the detested blade down, but a small part of him –which was growing bigger every day- knew that he would pick it up again. Clenching his hand into a fist -mostly to stop it from touching the chainsword- he sat down, and waited for his companions to awaken.
Until they did, he was alone, just him and the blade. “I am your only salvation,” said someone, and then he realized that he had said the words himself. “And so it begins…”
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