LuxTop
Legend of Altera
Somber attic was lifeless - specs of dust didn't waltz in the stale air, any insects or mammals, or any creature whatsoever, were long gone from the space. Absolute stillness was in the room. All remained the same for what felt like eternity if there was an observer, all until the metal screeched from the doorway - the dormant air was rekindled by a light draft from it, the changes started. One by one, the flecks were carried away by it. Few forceful thuds, and the door gave in, parting with the doorframe with a loud snap that filled the room. Quietness retreated. Swirls of air carried up more dust, clearing the path in the sea of specks that painted the floor grey. The saturated chestnut was stripped of layers of dust that hid away its beauty, the path became more and more apparent as the drafts of air passed from the opened entrance. Light was still avoidant of entering the attic - it kept itself shyly by the doorway, only daring to gloss over the old, but magnificent in its ancient beauty flooring with the sanded scratch marks left from the faulty door. Specks of dust finally found their companion - they played with the light, waltzing in it one by one, they all wished to play with it. They swirled in and out of it, trying to stay in its blissful warmth for one more time, sparkle brightly like it was their last and only chance to be alive, to be in spotlight. Sounds slowly dissipated, the echo almost died out and quietness perhaps would had taken hold of attic once again, if not the creaking of the planks. Metal thudded against the wood, boots were click-clacking. Cashmere cape subtly billowed behind, further raising dust in the air. The ambling on the surface was assertive - but the prolonged stops at the corners indicated creeping hesitancy, a restless caution. At one of the stops of scouting the attic a bang resounded from the entrance. Something claw like stomped the surface - blasting dust across the impact. The noise was loud, it disturbed the pace at which life was filling in the room - now it was a hurried one, rapidly changing the attic. Deep inside the attic, to where life had reached, leather squeaked - the right glove turned into a fist, but its sound was canceled out by the successive and erratic clomping in direction of it. Clumsily the noise maker made its way to the disturbingly still figure, that remained pinned to the ground - awaiting for the contact. The loud hopping abruptly ended once the target reached the awaiting one. Steps ceased - their place was taken by the previously silenced squeaking of leather. A sudden seize around the neck and a lift to above the ground was all that it took to bring a fleeing moment the silence. Temptation to end the annoying noises - the gasps for air - entered the troubled mind. The impling was spared - thrown aside into a darkness. Its master shook off from attire the dust brought by the minion, catching his breath out of frustration. Silence peeked in, but it was prevented from reigning by the continued gasping of air by the imp and master's voice.
"Stay out of my sight!" - scoffed the man, he stared at his gloved hand that twitched from anger before taking hold of it with his other around the wrist to halt it. Eyes lifted up and stared at the veiled object in the distance - his muffled steps to it continued in muteness. Once it was reached, he pulled down the curtain that hid behind it a wide mirror mounted on a wall. It was perfect. He admired it, it thrilled him, it banished the annoyances he was poisoned with into the forgotten crypts of the mind. Gaze trailed the surface of the mirror, trying to notice any imperfections on it - scratches, chipped surfaces, opaqueness. Imp recovered from a toss, fleeing, rapidly scratching away polish on the floor while its master obsessively examined the mirror. The golds glinted in the mirror, the reflection was immaculate, it had drawn him into the reflections, the depths of his mind that were awakened from slumber.
His reflection spread out hands, the arms were flexed with no visible pain in facial expression. It irritated him - for he was recovering from broken arms.
"Power, it is all about power, isn't it?"
"Always was, always will be - he was right." hand hardened once again, wrinkling the gloves.
"Why do you say he? It was an eternal truth and you do not need to fucking attribute it to a piece of shit like him. He missed on attaining power with you, you heard him confess it long time ago - he envies you. You have the flame, he doesn't. He is a miserable, pathetic, unhappy man, always was and always will be." reflection was grinding teeth, exposing them stuck together every now and then - it was aflame with anger.
He chuckled. "As simply as that, staying truthful to oneself, not fearing one's own emotions. You and I, we both know the suffering of putting on smile, pretending. At least I can give it to him - he didn't hide emotions since the sparking. But you... You had been."
"A dirty, shriveled, anemic lad that mewls for approval and recognition, and love, by running head first into the same brick wall. How could they recognize your qualities when they see a monster in you, when you spread thin, when you are stressed out, paranoid, exhausted, hurt, fearing to show your emotions as they will get you in trouble, muzzle you, or they will find them ingenuine, and put words in your mouth? Like the rest do. Only difference between them and the strangers - is the matter of time of when they recognize the cost of being with you."
"True bonds aren't built in a day."
"Listen to yourself, excuses after excuses, after excuses... You know when you and Ice man lost the bond? It wasn't when you locked him up in jail, it was when you were on your knees at the hospital, when he saw what a weakling you are. You gave away the secret desire of yours, the one you had ever since you lost him... Say .. it .. now."
"I wanted him to sacrifice himself for my life, be just like him - ready to die for me."
"You had been chasing people, trying to please them, listening to their sorrows when they were broken, drowning in despair, showering them with gifts, guiding them when they were rookies, fighting for them, taking tasks like a squire at stables ready to filth himself deep in horseshit for a thumbs up. Look where it got you - nowhere. You won't find selfless friend who will sacrifice themselves to satisfy your ego - that idiot of course wanted to die. Not for you - for himself. What did he have left? No relatives, tarnished reputation, collapsing estate, a mob of angry peasants, a broken heart and mind, and you, who should had died. Even the concept of justice, you think he had pity for tormented you? He died for the concept - not for you."
"I would never..." the voice was interrupted once again, the reflection was inflicting excruciating hurt
"You know it - you can't equally love all of them. --- ... -.. Tell me, why did you act as a bravado when you were a guard? Rushing in to fight the crime, risking your well being, your dreams." he furrowed, demanding the answer, but only silence followed
" Why you buzzed around like a little fly, galloped like a horse from one place to the other, caring for whoever the hell there was. Wanted to be loved by the public? Wanted to uphold justice, in this selfish, growling in hunger for power, drenched in blood world? Unrequited servitude, what a fucking joke! You can't be the Conqueror of Hearts and Minds while admitting you are selfish to the others, while you lack power. The first rule of this world is to never let others know you are selfish, pretend to be selfless. Look at the Illustrious Rangers, who fucking threatened you over the Cloak, over the power, promised to inflict unprecedented fucking pain if you didn't accept the offer, in front of the Guardhouse, in front of the Cathedral, threaten you, a fucking hero that didn't slack it off like them. Remember Laicelem, this revolting self-contradictory buffoon, the turncoat? He wanted to take it to them the moment it was brought into your sight, you think why he stuck around for so long? Raelur, who started to take action against Branko after only you made him imagine his painful fall from the pedestal of fame and wealth, all the scandals of a lazy, fake, not upholding his oaths councilors. Aleksei, who took all the junk for himself of a demon you had sweated and risked your life for, and as thanks for Lodestar's defense or the siege didn't turn you in to the ferocious blessed. Athryl, who didn't care about truth and justice, dismissing your confessions to Ignis or whoever the hell there is to determine your innocence, and contradicting himself by kicking you out based on a letter, rumors, that accused not just you but his own circle of a crime. You think any of them cared about justice, about doing the right thing, about anything other than their own position, power, and reputation?"
"That's... Right."
"Yattzy! Finally! Now, the second rule - is that you can be openly selfish, so long as you got power. You think why they had done just fine, despite being true to themselves? It was power. And you lack it. Your efforts are not enough, you need more of it."
"Power may protect me from injustices, but I still will be lonely. Look at Branko, the public hates him."
"He isn't lonely, neither are you. The fact public alienates you for your horns as equally as him for fucked up shit he did - mutilating people, stealing from them, forcing people in faith conversion or mutations - is a fucking joke."
"But they are scared, demons had destroyed Altera before."
"They are shills, self-contradictory reactionaries. Altera is always in threat. Spiritlbessed, Vyres, Skraagites, Jishrimites, Visagites, Know's lunatics, inquisitors, archaeologists poking around for another trophy for a shelf with risk of awakening a titan from slumber. You think how they survived? They banded up. They have strength to keep them alive, shielded from prosecution and injustices, they silence annoying voices by shear volume of their cries. And scared? Fucking scared? They are armed to the teeth, they control everything. They control you. Because you enable them. You did work for them, you allowed yourself to be treated like a toy that they can toss around and neglect. So, why do you care what a bunch of mud people think? Come on, you won't be lonely without them, lad. Man up. Look at yourself, you do just fine, all you need is to take hold of yourself. Who needs them? It doesn't depend on you, you had given your best, and you know it. Be vulnerable, be truthful with them? No, they won't understand that language - we had been told nothing but lies, inconsistencies, hypocrisies. I had been caring, I felt remorse over mistakes, I was not callous to them - they isolate, they prosecute me, they deprive me of the support that we need. Instead, they push us over the edge. All because of horns, all because of power, the potential we hold."
he sniffled, shutting eyes.
"Say it, who do you want to be?
"I want to be the Conqueror of Hearts of Minds, I want to be loved."
"Not all will love you, but you do not need these bugs. Be selective of who matter to you, and bring to smithereens the rest. And then, well, then my boy you can finally be who you always were meant to be. Authentic. Happy. Why paint yourself in your own blood, when you can paint it in blood of unjust ones, of the self-righteous pricks that turn everything upside down? Wear Incarnadine armor proudly." reflection had a cocky, obsessed smirk that slowly was lost in bitterness.
"Fuck Bennett for mocking it - fucking goofy looking - watch your tongue stutterer, - and lying about appreciating your service as a dumb selfless guard, fuck all who look down at you, who lie, pretend they are the righteous ones." hand slid along the pitch dark horns, an unmasked grin appeared
"I am done. I am done apologizing. I am done being prosecuted for my strength, for my possession. You zealots, you should be thanking gods that I am who and what I am because you need me! You need me to live in delusion that you are not selfish, unjust, power hungry. I am better then you think. I am better! I am not some weak-kneed crybaby that can be fucking bullied around to make you feel better. Doing the right thing - eradicating corruption, fucking caring about me? I hadn't done a single thing, hadn't asked for your shallow, fake aid, and you fear me already so much, that you treat me inhumanely?"
"You are not the real heroes. I am the real hero.
I am the real hero."
he stared into the darkness of the mirror until he was interrupted by a scratching sound against the glass. His infuriated eyes stared down at the impling, shivering in fear. It looked anxious.
"I fucking told you!" teeth grinded against one another, blackened smoke was left out of the mouth - it clouded his face, but the eyes shined through it right into the startled being. It was climbing, crawling, jumping, hanging - doing all possible tricks to avoid master's eyesight, and when it was ready to hurry away - trying to shrink its hideously inflated body into a speck of dust - it got snatched by neck and uplifted. Gloves squeezed the neck, pressing into leathery skin the fingertips "Say it, Your Incarnadiness, Conqueror of Hearts and Minds, say it!" but the imp was mute. At points of contact flesh hissed, releasing smoke that was joining the dark breath of the man. Throttling was unrestrained, sadistic. The frozen hesitancy was long gone. Life fizzled out of imp's eyes, but glow of master's animalistic, ticked off eyes, and the glinting of metal on gloves, remained, driving attention away from the lifeless husk that fell to the floor after it was released.
A huff followed, as the man slid cautiously hand along the mirror, sensing the scratch left by the minion. Gloves produced squeaking sound again. They found themselves drifting away from the mirror, shaking in fury, to the manuscripts laying on floor. He obsessively combed manuscripts, craving for an answer within them, finally founding it, and relaxing his hands. They were painted blood, from fingers pressing in too hard and for too long into palms.
"It's all about power, always was and always will be." he repeated to himself, before enacting the ritual.
Inspired by Homelander scenes from the Boys.
"Stay out of my sight!" - scoffed the man, he stared at his gloved hand that twitched from anger before taking hold of it with his other around the wrist to halt it. Eyes lifted up and stared at the veiled object in the distance - his muffled steps to it continued in muteness. Once it was reached, he pulled down the curtain that hid behind it a wide mirror mounted on a wall. It was perfect. He admired it, it thrilled him, it banished the annoyances he was poisoned with into the forgotten crypts of the mind. Gaze trailed the surface of the mirror, trying to notice any imperfections on it - scratches, chipped surfaces, opaqueness. Imp recovered from a toss, fleeing, rapidly scratching away polish on the floor while its master obsessively examined the mirror. The golds glinted in the mirror, the reflection was immaculate, it had drawn him into the reflections, the depths of his mind that were awakened from slumber.
His reflection spread out hands, the arms were flexed with no visible pain in facial expression. It irritated him - for he was recovering from broken arms.
"Power, it is all about power, isn't it?"
"Always was, always will be - he was right." hand hardened once again, wrinkling the gloves.
"Why do you say he? It was an eternal truth and you do not need to fucking attribute it to a piece of shit like him. He missed on attaining power with you, you heard him confess it long time ago - he envies you. You have the flame, he doesn't. He is a miserable, pathetic, unhappy man, always was and always will be." reflection was grinding teeth, exposing them stuck together every now and then - it was aflame with anger.
"I..." he was startled - how could one show all these emotions, how could one not hide them?
He chuckled. "As simply as that, staying truthful to oneself, not fearing one's own emotions. You and I, we both know the suffering of putting on smile, pretending. At least I can give it to him - he didn't hide emotions since the sparking. But you... You had been."
It felt reflection read his mind. It understood him. Like no other.
"But I was myself, I meant it, every single word I spoke."
"And where did it get you? They neglect you, they turned their backs to you. They do not care about you. They do not try to understand you."
"But they do, not all of them... Some do - Nilsa, Matt, Erwin, Vowrawn, Fjord. They had been fine with my state - they didn't..."
"Do not be naïve. They didn't give you away yet. And you heard them - they won't listen to you when you try to speak to them. They will attribute your imperfections, and the situations you are forced in, to your horns. --..."
"They supported me one way or another unlike the rest, it is something." the reply was haste and desperate, . . .
. . . but he continued "They are as busy or lazy, or uncaring, or selfish, as all the others to try and understand problematic you. They have predisposed opinions about you just like the rest - it's only the matter of time before they join the cold to you strangers, or it dawns your naïve, too good, mind, that they already are among them. They won't care about you. Your horns, don't you see how they hate with all their guts you for having them? How they fear repercussions for being associated with you? Nilsa was spot on - it costs too much being around you. It is not worthwhile. As for the rest... They got gods, not you, not an imitation of one that could lead them, or provide power every being hungers for. You have none of it to keep them, neither as friends nor as subordinates."
"But they found in me something, didn't they? They stuck around, I had been..." he got talked over by reflection
"A dirty, shriveled, anemic lad that mewls for approval and recognition, and love, by running head first into the same brick wall. How could they recognize your qualities when they see a monster in you, when you spread thin, when you are stressed out, paranoid, exhausted, hurt, fearing to show your emotions as they will get you in trouble, muzzle you, or they will find them ingenuine, and put words in your mouth? Like the rest do. Only difference between them and the strangers - is the matter of time of when they recognize the cost of being with you."
"True bonds aren't built in a day."
"I wanted him to sacrifice himself for my life, be just like him - ready to die for me."
"He was my friend!" meekly voice squeaked, faltering from built up emotions.
"Was. Not anymore. He is dead! No one to replace him. And think about it - what did you do for him to earn the sacrifice? It is mindboggling how you managed to bond with him after all the shit you had been through, and you are driven mad not knowing how you did it. You can't replicate it despite you running around like a dog with rabies, doing anything possible to make a friend just like him. Luck isn't on your side."
"I do not want to lose hope. "
"You already lost it. By hiding from the most tolerant people towards horned, poor, estranged you. You do not fear just the masses of strangers with forks and torches- you fear them too. Just admit it, the truth. Everyone is selfish, and you should stop pretending you are not. Carla and Iris, you eloped with one or the other just because you want to be happy and saved from the burden of uncertainty, desperate to have a breath of happiness you long for. If you came to conclusion - cured yourself of doubt of who is the One, which is unlikely, but still, - will you turn the other one into a friend you long for? Let them die for you and your wife, to ensure yourself a happy ending at a cost of another's fate?"
"I would never..." the voice was interrupted once again, the reflection was inflicting excruciating hurt
"You know it - you can't equally love all of them. --- ... -.. Tell me, why did you act as a bravado when you were a guard? Rushing in to fight the crime, risking your well being, your dreams." he furrowed, demanding the answer, but only silence followed
" Why you buzzed around like a little fly, galloped like a horse from one place to the other, caring for whoever the hell there was. Wanted to be loved by the public? Wanted to uphold justice, in this selfish, growling in hunger for power, drenched in blood world? Unrequited servitude, what a fucking joke! You can't be the Conqueror of Hearts and Minds while admitting you are selfish to the others, while you lack power. The first rule of this world is to never let others know you are selfish, pretend to be selfless. Look at the Illustrious Rangers, who fucking threatened you over the Cloak, over the power, promised to inflict unprecedented fucking pain if you didn't accept the offer, in front of the Guardhouse, in front of the Cathedral, threaten you, a fucking hero that didn't slack it off like them. Remember Laicelem, this revolting self-contradictory buffoon, the turncoat? He wanted to take it to them the moment it was brought into your sight, you think why he stuck around for so long? Raelur, who started to take action against Branko after only you made him imagine his painful fall from the pedestal of fame and wealth, all the scandals of a lazy, fake, not upholding his oaths councilors. Aleksei, who took all the junk for himself of a demon you had sweated and risked your life for, and as thanks for Lodestar's defense or the siege didn't turn you in to the ferocious blessed. Athryl, who didn't care about truth and justice, dismissing your confessions to Ignis or whoever the hell there is to determine your innocence, and contradicting himself by kicking you out based on a letter, rumors, that accused not just you but his own circle of a crime. You think any of them cared about justice, about doing the right thing, about anything other than their own position, power, and reputation?"
"That's... Right."
"Yattzy! Finally! Now, the second rule - is that you can be openly selfish, so long as you got power. You think why they had done just fine, despite being true to themselves? It was power. And you lack it. Your efforts are not enough, you need more of it."
"Power may protect me from injustices, but I still will be lonely. Look at Branko, the public hates him."
"He isn't lonely, neither are you. The fact public alienates you for your horns as equally as him for fucked up shit he did - mutilating people, stealing from them, forcing people in faith conversion or mutations - is a fucking joke."
"But they are scared, demons had destroyed Altera before."
"They are shills, self-contradictory reactionaries. Altera is always in threat. Spiritlbessed, Vyres, Skraagites, Jishrimites, Visagites, Know's lunatics, inquisitors, archaeologists poking around for another trophy for a shelf with risk of awakening a titan from slumber. You think how they survived? They banded up. They have strength to keep them alive, shielded from prosecution and injustices, they silence annoying voices by shear volume of their cries. And scared? Fucking scared? They are armed to the teeth, they control everything. They control you. Because you enable them. You did work for them, you allowed yourself to be treated like a toy that they can toss around and neglect. So, why do you care what a bunch of mud people think? Come on, you won't be lonely without them, lad. Man up. Look at yourself, you do just fine, all you need is to take hold of yourself. Who needs them? It doesn't depend on you, you had given your best, and you know it. Be vulnerable, be truthful with them? No, they won't understand that language - we had been told nothing but lies, inconsistencies, hypocrisies. I had been caring, I felt remorse over mistakes, I was not callous to them - they isolate, they prosecute me, they deprive me of the support that we need. Instead, they push us over the edge. All because of horns, all because of power, the potential we hold."
he sniffled, shutting eyes.
"Say it, who do you want to be?
"I want to be the Conqueror of Hearts of Minds, I want to be loved."
"Not all will love you, but you do not need these bugs. Be selective of who matter to you, and bring to smithereens the rest. And then, well, then my boy you can finally be who you always were meant to be. Authentic. Happy. Why paint yourself in your own blood, when you can paint it in blood of unjust ones, of the self-righteous pricks that turn everything upside down? Wear Incarnadine armor proudly." reflection had a cocky, obsessed smirk that slowly was lost in bitterness.
"Fuck Bennett for mocking it - fucking goofy looking - watch your tongue stutterer, - and lying about appreciating your service as a dumb selfless guard, fuck all who look down at you, who lie, pretend they are the righteous ones." hand slid along the pitch dark horns, an unmasked grin appeared
"I am done. I am done apologizing. I am done being prosecuted for my strength, for my possession. You zealots, you should be thanking gods that I am who and what I am because you need me! You need me to live in delusion that you are not selfish, unjust, power hungry. I am better then you think. I am better! I am not some weak-kneed crybaby that can be fucking bullied around to make you feel better. Doing the right thing - eradicating corruption, fucking caring about me? I hadn't done a single thing, hadn't asked for your shallow, fake aid, and you fear me already so much, that you treat me inhumanely?"
"You are not the real heroes. I am the real hero.
I am the real hero."
he stared into the darkness of the mirror until he was interrupted by a scratching sound against the glass. His infuriated eyes stared down at the impling, shivering in fear. It looked anxious.
"I fucking told you!" teeth grinded against one another, blackened smoke was left out of the mouth - it clouded his face, but the eyes shined through it right into the startled being. It was climbing, crawling, jumping, hanging - doing all possible tricks to avoid master's eyesight, and when it was ready to hurry away - trying to shrink its hideously inflated body into a speck of dust - it got snatched by neck and uplifted. Gloves squeezed the neck, pressing into leathery skin the fingertips "Say it, Your Incarnadiness, Conqueror of Hearts and Minds, say it!" but the imp was mute. At points of contact flesh hissed, releasing smoke that was joining the dark breath of the man. Throttling was unrestrained, sadistic. The frozen hesitancy was long gone. Life fizzled out of imp's eyes, but glow of master's animalistic, ticked off eyes, and the glinting of metal on gloves, remained, driving attention away from the lifeless husk that fell to the floor after it was released.
A huff followed, as the man slid cautiously hand along the mirror, sensing the scratch left by the minion. Gloves produced squeaking sound again. They found themselves drifting away from the mirror, shaking in fury, to the manuscripts laying on floor. He obsessively combed manuscripts, craving for an answer within them, finally founding it, and relaxing his hands. They were painted blood, from fingers pressing in too hard and for too long into palms.
"It's all about power, always was and always will be." he repeated to himself, before enacting the ritual.
Inspired by Homelander scenes from the Boys.