No, I'm not fucking okay. Some of you need to shut the Hel up once in a while. I would be more okay if you stopped asking.
My sister is dead and I watched it happen. I was eleven. I raised a sword, I tried to do something, and the man actually laughed. He didn't even bother to kill me. It pisses me off just thinking about it.
I work with a lot of people who have a tendency to lose themselves, sometimes. One man in particular- who I believe is spending these days playing pretend and drinking himself into a stupor- presented things in a way that makes a lot of sense, in retrospect. The world, in essence, is ruled by fortunate sons and daughters, people with way too much power and no connection to the impact it has. Civilians die over their petty drama.
None of us are civilians in the face of the beast, not anymore. We're all soldiers in a war we never signed up for.
For a while I simply hated all magi, all those fortunate ones. Imagine how I felt when I found out I was likewise cursed? And it still hadn't been enough to save her.
So many of them are so fucking blessed it makes me sick. It comes naturally to them. They didn't have to spend hundreds of hours up at four AM trying to figure out the simplest of tricks. They didn't have to get beat until they were numb, within inches of their life, to obtain scraps of metal they then had to cobble together with no guide, no instruction, into something halfway useable as a focus. I used to think if I saw a Nephilim in person the first thing I'd do is stab a knife into their godsdamned wings. But it'd be no use, would it? They'd still annihilate me without a second thought.
What kind of 'captain' can't win a battle? How are they supposed to win a war with the deck stacked from the start?
It took me a bit to realize they come to the same conclusion, too. That I'm a non-threat. On their stage I'm a nobody. On their stage I don't warrant a footnote. None of them even know my name.
That might be the only advantage I have going for me. That, and the fact that unlike them- I don't rest on my laurels while the beast sneaks and snakes about from city to city, home to home, picking off people indiscriminately. I know what real hard work looks like because I have to. I don't get easy wins.
I've seen a few about with particular promise, in the meantime, of wildly varying disposition. All of them lacked a certain direction, their senses failing them. It took me some effort, but I've made up for the difference, like I have with my own Eye of Curse.
It's so hard to speak in a way that makes them understand. They're all so brainwashed. But I have to try, right? Everyone else has given up on the world. Everyone else is content to let the beast run rampant. The end of the world isn't coming, it's already here, and so many of them refuse to see it.
I wonder if my soldiers spend as much time thinking about me as I them. A pink haired giant with both emptiness and passion at once. A wayward traveler made to leave it all behind. A curious chronomancer that shares the same drive I do, to protect. A happy-go-lucky bard with maybe too large an abundance of enthusiasm. A color-clad synthetic with a bigger heart than any of the rest.
As much as I hate to admit it - I don't really know where to go from here. I know the beast is counting on that hesitation, that uncertainly, so I keep doing things in hopes that one of them makes the way forward clear.
My dread power was always to know how it all ends. It was never the ability to change it; that lies in them. I'm a sort of spectator, in that; I can't take the center stage.
I can just adjust the script.
Some people think me too extreme; above my station. I think anything that's necessary to prevent that which intrudes from continuing its apocalypse until there is not an Eternia left to destroy is something that should be done; that, morally speaking, must be done. Make no mistake, I am not happy with the state of affairs. But if this is the dark fate I have to accept as the last captain, then so be it.
I haven't had much time to practice with my flute again. Every time I raise it I think of her again. Of course the songs all sound so incomplete; they're only half of a duet.
I'm going to see the beast dead or die trying.
My sister is dead and I watched it happen. I was eleven. I raised a sword, I tried to do something, and the man actually laughed. He didn't even bother to kill me. It pisses me off just thinking about it.
I work with a lot of people who have a tendency to lose themselves, sometimes. One man in particular- who I believe is spending these days playing pretend and drinking himself into a stupor- presented things in a way that makes a lot of sense, in retrospect. The world, in essence, is ruled by fortunate sons and daughters, people with way too much power and no connection to the impact it has. Civilians die over their petty drama.
None of us are civilians in the face of the beast, not anymore. We're all soldiers in a war we never signed up for.
For a while I simply hated all magi, all those fortunate ones. Imagine how I felt when I found out I was likewise cursed? And it still hadn't been enough to save her.
So many of them are so fucking blessed it makes me sick. It comes naturally to them. They didn't have to spend hundreds of hours up at four AM trying to figure out the simplest of tricks. They didn't have to get beat until they were numb, within inches of their life, to obtain scraps of metal they then had to cobble together with no guide, no instruction, into something halfway useable as a focus. I used to think if I saw a Nephilim in person the first thing I'd do is stab a knife into their godsdamned wings. But it'd be no use, would it? They'd still annihilate me without a second thought.
What kind of 'captain' can't win a battle? How are they supposed to win a war with the deck stacked from the start?
It took me a bit to realize they come to the same conclusion, too. That I'm a non-threat. On their stage I'm a nobody. On their stage I don't warrant a footnote. None of them even know my name.
That might be the only advantage I have going for me. That, and the fact that unlike them- I don't rest on my laurels while the beast sneaks and snakes about from city to city, home to home, picking off people indiscriminately. I know what real hard work looks like because I have to. I don't get easy wins.
I've seen a few about with particular promise, in the meantime, of wildly varying disposition. All of them lacked a certain direction, their senses failing them. It took me some effort, but I've made up for the difference, like I have with my own Eye of Curse.
It's so hard to speak in a way that makes them understand. They're all so brainwashed. But I have to try, right? Everyone else has given up on the world. Everyone else is content to let the beast run rampant. The end of the world isn't coming, it's already here, and so many of them refuse to see it.
I wonder if my soldiers spend as much time thinking about me as I them. A pink haired giant with both emptiness and passion at once. A wayward traveler made to leave it all behind. A curious chronomancer that shares the same drive I do, to protect. A happy-go-lucky bard with maybe too large an abundance of enthusiasm. A color-clad synthetic with a bigger heart than any of the rest.
As much as I hate to admit it - I don't really know where to go from here. I know the beast is counting on that hesitation, that uncertainly, so I keep doing things in hopes that one of them makes the way forward clear.
My dread power was always to know how it all ends. It was never the ability to change it; that lies in them. I'm a sort of spectator, in that; I can't take the center stage.
I can just adjust the script.
Some people think me too extreme; above my station. I think anything that's necessary to prevent that which intrudes from continuing its apocalypse until there is not an Eternia left to destroy is something that should be done; that, morally speaking, must be done. Make no mistake, I am not happy with the state of affairs. But if this is the dark fate I have to accept as the last captain, then so be it.
I haven't had much time to practice with my flute again. Every time I raise it I think of her again. Of course the songs all sound so incomplete; they're only half of a duet.
I'm going to see the beast dead or die trying.