05-15-2015, 04:24 PM
there's no religion that could save me
no matter how long my knees are on the floor
i'll pick up these broken pieces 'til i'm bleeding
if that'll make it right
With his next breath, the ash clears from his lungs. With his next journey through time, space, and eternity, he finds himself at the End. With the next opening of his eyes, he sees it all, and all he sees, is nothing. The radio static is both in his ears and before his eyes, like the waves of the ocean or the crackling of wildfire.
The End.
He appreciates it, for a moment.
Stunning.
He thinks about staying, about replacing Carnage, about dying with Gail instead of returning her home.
I can’t.
He can’t. For all of his morbidity, for all of his sinster ways, Nihlus longs for life. For Daemron, for Cerva.
The sea drips from his blackened hide; where once diamonds grew, fur has come once more, alabaster bark upon his legs. Memories of shifting into a horse do not exist to him; nothing exists to him, save Gail, save the Langoliers, save the life he must return to, with Gail. Thick, black water drops from his skin; the wind should have dried him off by now, but the wind no longer exists. Perhaps the Langoliers have taken that, too. They’re voices seem to be of it, of the wind; but the wind has never sounded so catatonic, so immobile, so constant.
She stands before him, plain, simple, the disjointed reflection of Carnage in the House of Mirrors. Nihlus wonders if perhaps there is more to her; he wonders if asking would be inappropriate in this situation, in the End.
Like Cordis, like Spyndle, like Noori, she is not mine to have but rather mine to reawaken, mine to save.
They come together slowly, and all at once, for he runs to her and she simply stands. Her words don’t reach his ears the way words reached his ears in Beqanna; her small voice is like the static, empty, full, alive, and dead. The wailing of the langoliers ring in his ears, yet instead of turning to run, he listens to her, to the way her lungs shrivel and the way her eyes taste like agony when he looks to them. As the timekeepers of eternity consume what little is left of this place, of this world, of this existence, Nihlus concentrates on her.
Nihlus glares into her, blue eyes glowing, the only patch of colour in this empty, desolate land.
”Why? Because Carnage lied. No one was supposed to die here, except everyone. Why do you think he left you here, the world on repeat, the static jumping from closer to further like a skipping record player? He lied, Gail.
"He’s kept you here for eighty four years, Gail. The little black boy you knew growing up has been fucking half of Beqanna in the white skin that only you truly know. In fact, he shed that skin for a season and turned into the stars, because maybe, just maybe, it would bring back some long forgotten memory of all the indefinable things you have done together.
“For eighty four years, Gail. He’s been thinking for all that time only of you; when seldom he did return to Beqanna, it was not to distract himself from the loneliness, but to scope out the horses who would be most able to finding you for him. Carnage can’t come here himself, Gail, but he also could never let you go. His magic was always weak here, but he’s kept you safe – stale, useless, and safe. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?
“He doesn’t fucking want you dead. If he did, why do you think he left? Why do you think you’ve been caged here for eight four years? If you leave him now, the paradoxes will be of an imaginable magnitude; if you don’t come with me, Carnage is going to end the world in Beqanna, the world where you are supposed to be, with him. If you let the world end here, the world will also end a million years ago. We do not want that.”
In Beqanna, the boy would have been out of breath. Here, it is as though he needn’t his lungs, for the langoliers have taken them, too. They have taken everything, it would seem. And the static – it only comes closer. He hopes it is enough.
Oh god, it has to be enough.
The End.
He appreciates it, for a moment.
Stunning.
He thinks about staying, about replacing Carnage, about dying with Gail instead of returning her home.
I can’t.
He can’t. For all of his morbidity, for all of his sinster ways, Nihlus longs for life. For Daemron, for Cerva.
The sea drips from his blackened hide; where once diamonds grew, fur has come once more, alabaster bark upon his legs. Memories of shifting into a horse do not exist to him; nothing exists to him, save Gail, save the Langoliers, save the life he must return to, with Gail. Thick, black water drops from his skin; the wind should have dried him off by now, but the wind no longer exists. Perhaps the Langoliers have taken that, too. They’re voices seem to be of it, of the wind; but the wind has never sounded so catatonic, so immobile, so constant.
She stands before him, plain, simple, the disjointed reflection of Carnage in the House of Mirrors. Nihlus wonders if perhaps there is more to her; he wonders if asking would be inappropriate in this situation, in the End.
Like Cordis, like Spyndle, like Noori, she is not mine to have but rather mine to reawaken, mine to save.
They come together slowly, and all at once, for he runs to her and she simply stands. Her words don’t reach his ears the way words reached his ears in Beqanna; her small voice is like the static, empty, full, alive, and dead. The wailing of the langoliers ring in his ears, yet instead of turning to run, he listens to her, to the way her lungs shrivel and the way her eyes taste like agony when he looks to them. As the timekeepers of eternity consume what little is left of this place, of this world, of this existence, Nihlus concentrates on her.
Nihlus glares into her, blue eyes glowing, the only patch of colour in this empty, desolate land.
”Why? Because Carnage lied. No one was supposed to die here, except everyone. Why do you think he left you here, the world on repeat, the static jumping from closer to further like a skipping record player? He lied, Gail.
"He’s kept you here for eighty four years, Gail. The little black boy you knew growing up has been fucking half of Beqanna in the white skin that only you truly know. In fact, he shed that skin for a season and turned into the stars, because maybe, just maybe, it would bring back some long forgotten memory of all the indefinable things you have done together.
“For eighty four years, Gail. He’s been thinking for all that time only of you; when seldom he did return to Beqanna, it was not to distract himself from the loneliness, but to scope out the horses who would be most able to finding you for him. Carnage can’t come here himself, Gail, but he also could never let you go. His magic was always weak here, but he’s kept you safe – stale, useless, and safe. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?
“He doesn’t fucking want you dead. If he did, why do you think he left? Why do you think you’ve been caged here for eight four years? If you leave him now, the paradoxes will be of an imaginable magnitude; if you don’t come with me, Carnage is going to end the world in Beqanna, the world where you are supposed to be, with him. If you let the world end here, the world will also end a million years ago. We do not want that.”
In Beqanna, the boy would have been out of breath. Here, it is as though he needn’t his lungs, for the langoliers have taken them, too. They have taken everything, it would seem. And the static – it only comes closer. He hopes it is enough.
Oh god, it has to be enough.
Nihlus
rain manipulating, rabbit shifting son of Sinder & Noori
Ooc – sorry for the confusion about the setting himself on fire bit. I really need to be clearer about that. It’s just my interpretation of how shapeshifting works, since he can shapeshift into a rabbit. That’s all (: