[ the screams are awful, reminiscent of the trial, but he can't - he can't let that stop him, can he? rondo swings when his mirror self does, and manages to block the blade, but the great axe is heavy and the reverberation rattles through his hands, and he's not ready for the feral desperation of the back end of the handle, either.
it works - it connects with his gut and rondo flies backwards, slamming back into the dark nothingness of this awful room and choking as it temporarily knocks the window out of him, drops him to the ground. he sees stars, and the thing is, he's always been tenacious. rise, damn you, rise, damn you -
unfortunately, his mirror self is probably just as tenacious, and the other rondo has the advantage. ]
[ other rondo burns with it. the flame. inner strength and fortitude and--
it's used to a sword, and not an axe. it slams down the end of it against rondo's chest - more blunt instrument than killing blade, but probably hard enough to crack ribs. ]
[ crack. rondo chokes - the pain is brilliant, immediate and sharp, and he sucks in a horrible breath, hearing the crunch before he feels it. he's not nearly fast enough to get out of the way of the direct strike, and this stupid axe is a two handed weapon, so he can't even swing, either. no light, no fire, just three cracked ribs and no help from god.
blindly, out of instinct, he reaches out one hand and tries to grab his other self's ankle to yank him, blade and all, down to the ground, to level the playing field. maybe literally? ]
[ a slightly dirty play, and maybe one the mirror rondo isn't expect. he goes down with a crack as his head hits the floor, the axe spilling out of his hand and scatters off to the side. just out of reach.
they can grab it in a short moment, but in this beat - this breath between gasps - they are unarmed and on the ground. vulnerable.
[ it's another lesson from sazantos, and one rondo rarely utilizes. you can't always fight clean and fair. your enemy won't care about your sword training. this is it - that's the chance. the adrenaline coursing through his blood, rondo grabs the great axe and swings his weight up, scrambling, absolutely flinging himself across to tackle his other self, throwing all of his weight into pinning him into the ground, axe in hand.
he lifts the greataxe, and -
and in his own bright blue eyes, rondo sees cordelia ravus. and he freezes, axe in the air, held aloft, breathing hard.
the mirror-rondo is easily pinned, starting to struggle against the weight but unable to throw him off, the fear turning to almost a panic. he cannot die here. he has to-- this person will kill him. this person will kill them and go to hurt the others, and he must protect them. If he dies here, he has died for a worthless cause.
I suppose then, it's not the world's biggest surprise that the mirror rondo in reaching to stop the axe swinging down also hesitates. ]
the blue, blue ravus eyes. defenders of the weak, protectors of the treasures of the continent. of the people they care for. he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this. in the trial, the answer was the opposite. maybe that's the worst part of all of it, is that staring down at himself, he knows, he knows the answer to this shouldn't be violence. it wasn't before. this isn't who he is. rondo's pure blue heart is what guides his every motion. surely it guides his mirror's, too.
his hands are shaking, he realizes, belatedly. of course they are. they were then, too. ]
I'm sorry. [ rondo manages, his voice tiny. i can't just... i can't just kill someone i care for. this isn't aelfric's fiery trial, this pit of hell the difference between the one he found himself in before. ] I don't - I don't want to do this.
[ his fingers flex around the shaft of the axe. can't he just knock himself out? can't he just - isn't there another way? ]
[ isn't there another way? he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this.
mirror rondo breaks the eye contact first, casting about for something. anything. a solution. what guides the heart of a mirror? what is it protecting at the heart of it? it's only a reflection of resolve.
and then it sees the hesitation grow in Rondo. surely it cannot kill the other. but maybe
it reaches with a hand, slightly shaking, up and then - grabs itself by the front of the throat and digs its fingers in. hard. harder than any natural human would be able to, until the skin tears and sunders, blood pouring out of his mouth as he begins to choke on it and pulling until it has finished ripping out its own throat.
it's - it's the most bizarre feeling in the world - a mix of agony and horror and - and the tinest bit of awe and pride. the actual rondo makes a noise, choked off like he might stop it but he can't, he won't - he won't stop his own decisions, his own strength.
i'd rather die than hurt the people i care for.
he'd said it to aelfric, too. one hand drops - the greataxe he holds clunks to the other side of the other rondo's body, and he reaches up to touch his own throat, where his sacred flame was choked out of him before he even arrived. he swallows. hard.
eyes closed, rondo mouths a tiny prayer. to aelfric, to the flame, to the conviction he's always held, and reaches out to close his own blue, blue eyes. like he'd done to sazantos, in the other room. he pushes himself up, using the greataxe as a crutch, and he's... mostly okay. his ribs are aching, his back is throbbing from where he hit the ground, but his inside blood is where his inside blood is supposed to be. well. mostly - he spits blood to the side as he stands, rubs his mouth, and starts to look around the room for the others. ]
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it works - it connects with his gut and rondo flies backwards, slamming back into the dark nothingness of this awful room and choking as it temporarily knocks the window out of him, drops him to the ground. he sees stars, and the thing is, he's always been tenacious. rise, damn you, rise, damn you -
unfortunately, his mirror self is probably just as tenacious, and the other rondo has the advantage. ]
no subject
it's used to a sword, and not an axe. it slams down the end of it against rondo's chest - more blunt instrument than killing blade, but probably hard enough to crack ribs. ]
no subject
blindly, out of instinct, he reaches out one hand and tries to grab his other self's ankle to yank him, blade and all, down to the ground, to level the playing field. maybe literally? ]
no subject
they can grab it in a short moment, but in this beat - this breath between gasps - they are unarmed and on the ground. vulnerable.
there's fear in his eyes. ]
no subject
he lifts the greataxe, and -
and in his own bright blue eyes, rondo sees cordelia ravus. and he freezes, axe in the air, held aloft, breathing hard.
he hesitates. ]
no subject
the mirror-rondo is easily pinned, starting to struggle against the weight but unable to throw him off, the fear turning to almost a panic. he cannot die here. he has to-- this person will kill him. this person will kill them and go to hurt the others, and he must protect them. If he dies here, he has died for a worthless cause.
I suppose then, it's not the world's biggest surprise that the mirror rondo in reaching to stop the axe swinging down also hesitates. ]
no subject
the blue, blue ravus eyes. defenders of the weak, protectors of the treasures of the continent. of the people they care for. he has to be strong, he has to be - he has to be able to finish this. in the trial, the answer was the opposite. maybe that's the worst part of all of it, is that staring down at himself, he knows, he knows the answer to this shouldn't be violence. it wasn't before. this isn't who he is. rondo's pure blue heart is what guides his every motion. surely it guides his mirror's, too.
his hands are shaking, he realizes, belatedly. of course they are. they were then, too. ]
I'm sorry. [ rondo manages, his voice tiny. i can't just... i can't just kill someone i care for. this isn't aelfric's fiery trial, this pit of hell the difference between the one he found himself in before. ] I don't - I don't want to do this.
[ his fingers flex around the shaft of the axe. can't he just knock himself out? can't he just - isn't there another way? ]
no subject
mirror rondo breaks the eye contact first, casting about for something. anything. a solution. what guides the heart of a mirror? what is it protecting at the heart of it? it's only a reflection of resolve.
and then it sees the hesitation grow in Rondo. surely it cannot kill the other. but maybe
it reaches with a hand, slightly shaking, up and then - grabs itself by the front of the throat and digs its fingers in. hard. harder than any natural human would be able to, until the skin tears and sunders, blood pouring out of his mouth as he begins to choke on it and pulling until it has finished ripping out its own throat.
Another way to protect them.
Rondo is dead. ]
no subject
it's - it's the most bizarre feeling in the world - a mix of agony and horror and - and the tinest bit of awe and pride. the actual rondo makes a noise, choked off like he might stop it but he can't, he won't - he won't stop his own decisions, his own strength.
i'd rather die than hurt the people i care for.
he'd said it to aelfric, too. one hand drops - the greataxe he holds clunks to the other side of the other rondo's body, and he reaches up to touch his own throat, where his sacred flame was choked out of him before he even arrived. he swallows. hard.
eyes closed, rondo mouths a tiny prayer. to aelfric, to the flame, to the conviction he's always held, and reaches out to close his own blue, blue eyes. like he'd done to sazantos, in the other room. he pushes himself up, using the greataxe as a crutch, and he's... mostly okay. his ribs are aching, his back is throbbing from where he hit the ground, but his inside blood is where his inside blood is supposed to be. well. mostly - he spits blood to the side as he stands, rubs his mouth, and starts to look around the room for the others. ]