[ matches your fog with more brain soup blonde content
A young man with fine, golden hair and crimson-stained hands crumples to the floor. His breathing comes unevenly, eyes bloodshot, and shoulders straining with every shaking breath. You don’t know him.
You don’t have to. His reputation precedes him. A midnight black coat, hood fallen around his shoulders to reveal his damp, sweaty, lovely face. Who would have guessed that the infamous Bourreau would have a frame so slight? Yet there is no mistaking it: in front of you, an executioner falls apart before his halberd can find its next victim.
On the floor of the Claude manor, he speaks to himself. Or perhaps to some higher power. Someone. Anyone. His voice is as fragile as a butterfly’s wing, still desperately trying to flutter.
“Heh... Why...? What is right, and what is wrong... I don’t know anymore...” His halberd falls to the floor, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Someone, please help...”
You see the opportunity for what it is. You stride forward. “Who is it?”
“Huh...?” The killer startles, those bright, bright blue eyes trying to find the voice despite the fact that with every step, you walk closer.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” You’d rather not waste time. Your voice is demanding as it ever is, uncaring of the fact that this individual was seeking to kill you just hours before. “I’m asking who it is you want to save. Is it you or someone else?”
“Huh? I...”
Slow, this one. All the same, you don’t wish to be mistaken for an altruist or a saint. You are neither, and never have been. To save people is simply incidental.
“I have no reason to help a killer, but at the same time, I don’t want to be reduced to a lump of flesh,” you explain pragmatically. “I can consider offering you help if you come to our side.”
Lucas’s hollow eyes shook as a gasp escaped him. Every word left him in slow, desperate trickles. “Please... help... My young sister... Nadia... has an incurable disease...”
Covered in blood, he bows his head down to you. A devout worshiper at the feet of a god among men.
You kneel to meet him, descending to his level. “Raise your head,” you say, and catch his chin to examine his state.
Lucas’s eyes are unfocused, and he obviously stammers through his speech. It was immediately telling that he wasn’t in his right mind. You come to a quick conclusion: ‘Brainwashed and hypnotized... His eyes are dilated, so I can only assume he’s been badly drugged.’
Lucas was only able to speak by pushing through the last of his sanity.
“Ceres... That young man’s words... I... I couldn’t... give up after hearing them... I... I... I still have much to show and teach my precious younger sister... So, please... I don’t want her to only live, but...” His small frame shivered with his plea, every hope leaving him as he offered his loyalty to the only savior that your island has ever known: you. “I want Nadia to be healed completely... Please give her a normal life, and a reason to smile under the blue sky...!
“That young man said... no matter the miracle... you... Scien Brofiise... With you... He could make it happen...”
Lucas’s fingers dug into his own scalp as he cried out in agony. His sincerest wishes escaped into the space between them. A murderer begging for the salvation of his darling sister. A demon capable of impossible feats, withering away in despair.
And yet, he did not lie.
You, Scien Brofiise, are capable of making any miracle happen. To save a girl is nothing.
“Fine,” you agree. “Stop talking already.”
Lucas looks up at you, just as you take his wrists and pull them away before he crushes his own skull. A detox is necessary. He’s of no use to you like this, but with the proper steps taken? Oh, there would be no greater asset to your steps forward. It does not matter that he did not seek assistance for himself.
For as he’d said, you are Scien Brofiise. And to take a demon’s bloody hand and pull him up from the depths of his own personal hell?
Is that not the greatest act of salvation possible? ]
no subject
But you have to start somewhere.
[ matches your fog with more brain soup blonde content
A young man with fine, golden hair and crimson-stained hands crumples to the floor. His breathing comes unevenly, eyes bloodshot, and shoulders straining with every shaking breath. You don’t know him.
You don’t have to. His reputation precedes him. A midnight black coat, hood fallen around his shoulders to reveal his damp, sweaty, lovely face. Who would have guessed that the infamous Bourreau would have a frame so slight? Yet there is no mistaking it: in front of you, an executioner falls apart before his halberd can find its next victim.
On the floor of the Claude manor, he speaks to himself. Or perhaps to some higher power. Someone. Anyone. His voice is as fragile as a butterfly’s wing, still desperately trying to flutter.
“Heh... Why...? What is right, and what is wrong... I don’t know anymore...” His halberd falls to the floor, and his voice drops to a whisper. “Someone, please help...”
You see the opportunity for what it is. You stride forward. “Who is it?”
“Huh...?” The killer startles, those bright, bright blue eyes trying to find the voice despite the fact that with every step, you walk closer.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” You’d rather not waste time. Your voice is demanding as it ever is, uncaring of the fact that this individual was seeking to kill you just hours before. “I’m asking who it is you want to save. Is it you or someone else?”
“Huh? I...”
Slow, this one. All the same, you don’t wish to be mistaken for an altruist or a saint. You are neither, and never have been. To save people is simply incidental.
“I have no reason to help a killer, but at the same time, I don’t want to be reduced to a lump of flesh,” you explain pragmatically. “I can consider offering you help if you come to our side.”
Lucas’s hollow eyes shook as a gasp escaped him. Every word left him in slow, desperate trickles. “Please... help... My young sister... Nadia... has an incurable disease...”
Covered in blood, he bows his head down to you. A devout worshiper at the feet of a god among men.
You kneel to meet him, descending to his level. “Raise your head,” you say, and catch his chin to examine his state.
Lucas’s eyes are unfocused, and he obviously stammers through his speech. It was immediately telling that he wasn’t in his right mind. You come to a quick conclusion: ‘Brainwashed and hypnotized... His eyes are dilated, so I can only assume he’s been badly drugged.’
Lucas was only able to speak by pushing through the last of his sanity.
“Ceres... That young man’s words... I... I couldn’t... give up after hearing them... I... I... I still have much to show and teach my precious younger sister... So, please... I don’t want her to only live, but...” His small frame shivered with his plea, every hope leaving him as he offered his loyalty to the only savior that your island has ever known: you. “I want Nadia to be healed completely... Please give her a normal life, and a reason to smile under the blue sky...!
“That young man said... no matter the miracle... you... Scien Brofiise... With you... He could make it happen...”
Lucas’s fingers dug into his own scalp as he cried out in agony. His sincerest wishes escaped into the space between them. A murderer begging for the salvation of his darling sister. A demon capable of impossible feats, withering away in despair.
And yet, he did not lie.
You, Scien Brofiise, are capable of making any miracle happen. To save a girl is nothing.
“Fine,” you agree. “Stop talking already.”
Lucas looks up at you, just as you take his wrists and pull them away before he crushes his own skull. A detox is necessary. He’s of no use to you like this, but with the proper steps taken? Oh, there would be no greater asset to your steps forward. It does not matter that he did not seek assistance for himself.
For as he’d said, you are Scien Brofiise. And to take a demon’s bloody hand and pull him up from the depths of his own personal hell?
Is that not the greatest act of salvation possible? ]