superhell | WEEK FOUR: EXECUTION

Entry tags:

!execution

WEEK FOUR: EXECUTION

Hello, deadlings.

Well. You caught one person. That's something, isn't it? Lucky you, the weekend "fun" isn't over just yet.

On Sunday morning, you'll soon hear a sound coming from the dock. There's a large ferry waiting for you, and even if you resist you'll eventually find yourself compelled to climb aboard and set off on a short voyage. The islands around you look fairly blurry, but you don't go very far before you stop at a slab of land with two large buildings stationed. You won't be able to look at the one on the right now, the one you've come to know as the trial bar. Instead, your feet navigate you to the building on the left as the door creaks open. On your way in, you notice some posters hung beside the door, advertising today's event.

Inside is a bar. It's pretty swanky in comparison to the others you've seen, tables and chairs arranged comfortably for everyone to have a seat and spread out however they'd like. The bar is fully stocked with all kinds of alcohol along with an arrangement of bar food for anyone who's feeling a bit peckish. At the head of the room, there appears to be a stage washed in red lights with a wide area for performances.

At a table in the corner all six demons are gathered around.

-Bloody Mary and Midori are seated together, staring intensely at the stage.
-Blue Hawaiian and Malibu Sunset are draped over each other, phones in hand and slightly covered by Cosmopolitan.
-Rosé is seated nearby, looking impatient.

As you find your seats and get yourself something to drink, darkness begins to fill the bar and a banner unfurls over the stage.

TODAY'S PERFORMER:
SCARAMOUCHE
10AM
Enjoy the show

No matter where you look, you will find that Scaramouche is not amongst you. But there isn't time to look further before the lights dim and the curtains draw.

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[why are you like this.]

[ parks. help the mall is so busy. anyways.

damb

she will simply hold one of yoru’s hands. comfort the baby. kon is probably fine. ]

This could go so many ways.

[ the two binches that don’t usually even watch execution, up there, what will they do?? ]

[it's fine it's fine it's fine.

he'll just be here watching quietly, hood pulled up.]

[IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN FILBO... HELP.

He watches with a mild sort of interest as the shadow begins to change shape behind Ryo, and thinks that if he were in the audience, he might watch just for curiosity's sake. But an upfront seat is just as fine, he guesses. He raises the blade, one hand butting up against the hilt and the other holding it at an angle, grip steady and unyielding.]

Things often are, aren't they?

[A simple statement, the tone of which implying that there's something private in the words.]

But that's something I have no intention of discovering.

[Because he's sick of playing by rules that others set before him, and he's sick of being here, sick to death of people getting in his way and sicker still of himself.

With a single, lightning-quick motion, he brings the blade toward his own body rather than to Ryo, the flat edge of it turned to his throat with a clear intention to slice through it. There's not an ounce of hesitation in him, and his expression is defiant rather than exhausted. If nothing else, he's refusing to go out on anything but his own terms.]

[But right as the edge of the blade pierces the skin at his throat, his hand seems to seize, and there's a split-second where his expression also freezes - stuck in that defiance, before before his gaze shoots upward almost instinctively.

The rolling shadows behind him have extended silently to the ceiling above, manifesting as he watches in an elegant hand wearing a similar sort of guard to himself. Stretching down from the hand are glittering, thin threads. They're so thin that it's hard to see exactly where they end, but as his arms and legs jerk back in an awkward, stilted way in tandem with the movement of those fingers, it's clear that they're attached to him in some way.

He curses under his breath, but that's about all the time he gets before he's sent sprawling forward and toward Ryo, blade turned outward now in an uncontrolled, arching slash. HI.]

... but not the way that gives him his choice.

[ there's something wry in his voice, when he says that. puppet on a string.

yoru goes from holding dva's hand to curling up around it. he's still watching, but. :( ]

[ haha lmao

despite everything, lu bixing's usually pretty good about watching these with a steady face, in the way his work requires. but - when scaramouche attempts to take his own life, he visibly flinches and grabs lin jingheng's hand, sucking in a short, sharp breath.

and then exhaling, when it fails, mouth drawn into a line.]

...of course.

[... WELL, NEVER MIND??? He was about to leave for a second there, but then the shadows interrupt Scaramouche's attempt to bounce out of the execution, and — well.

Softly:]

Oh, no.

[rip in shit, angry cat pinnochio.]

[ things really are never that simple, are they.

it's fairly rare for ryo to be genuinely surprised, and this manages to do it. his eyes widen, and he moves to take a step back. they were standing so close to each other though, which may have been a poor choice to begin with. he hastily moves, but as he stumbles, the shadows alongside him seem to burst out of his back.

twelve wings, formed of shadow, now sprout of of them. they help his movement, letting ryo create more space between the two of them in order to dodge the initial attack. and as he moves back, a voice starts to speak:

"once upon a time, there was a fierce god."

the voice is unfamiliar to all, and difficult to decipher what the gender could be. but it rings out with a commanding might that is hard to ignore. ]

Shit...

[ there's not much time to think, though, so ryo will suddenly spring forth, using his wings to gain speed as his hand reaches for scaramouche's throat. ]

[ yeah...

yeah, that's... he just holds tightly to his hand, strokes at his arm quietly and continues to watch, unflinching for the most part and just willing to be stone. ]

[Oh. He frowns so deeply.

He's about to get hit with so many stray bullets today, Lord.]

[He's barely even focusing on Ryo for a few precious moments; the first thing he does after shaking out of his temporary stupor is to strain against the binds, snarling with a renewed fury.]

I refuse—!

[But like, damn?? When has life ever listened to his ass??? Obviously it's not going to start now. He's not focusing on Ryo, but he barely even has to; his body bends to a will outside of his own as he fights back against it futilely but fervently, dodging out of the way in jerky, staccato bursts, exactly like a puppet being yanked back across the stage. The hand remains everpresent overhead, dictating his movements so easily as his arms fly up to block the hand coming at him. Behind his own body, the shadows take another shape - mirror-like objects, each larger than Scaramouche's own torso, circled like a halo behind his back, moving in slow rotation.

The voice that had been speaking shifts as the blade in his hand does, taking on the form of an uchigatana, which he uses to strike out again, aiming for Ryo's torso. It's a voice that some may recognize, equally commanding and carrying the weight of divinity as it continues:

The fierce god crafted many in their image, but one creation stood out above the rest. What a fine creation it was, built in a way that would far surpass any human that came after it.]

[ refusing does nothing, apparently. wow.

he moves to dodge, and the wings all flap in unison. ryo's feet leave the ground as shadow trails after him, pieces of it falling to the ground almost as if the wings are shedding feathers. whenever a piece lands onto the floor, that spot turns dark, as if the stage is slowly being taken over by shadow.

up above, though, ryo stares intently at scaramouche. his expression is one of neutrality, for now, as he tries to think of what to do next. as he tries to ignore the words that continue on, this time with the voice of someone that a few might recognize:

but the creation did not surpass anything. instead, it fell from the fierce's god good grace and protection. abandoned, alone, and without the divinity that was once promised to it.

ryo raises his hand, and a burst of shadow comes bursting out of it-- there is no distinct shape of it, it's just a straight blast headed right to scaramouche. ]

[ boy this really just hits right in the specific trauma, huh.

...he won't look away, though, either. if you're going to be there at all, then i want your eyes on me. ]

[Nooo, the bullets.

The voice on Ryo's end makes him flinch slightly and tense.]

[Hearing the voices only seems to stoke his ire further, but he's been a big ol' ball of impotent fury for days now, so really, what's a little more fuel? He shouts in wordless frustration as even his head moves against his will, snapping after Ryo's movements as though he has any desire to watch them, or any other desire than to be free of this nonsense.

He doesn't attempt to block the blast of shadow, but his body still jerks to the side, a narrow miss. The discs behind him begin to rotate at a faster clip, soon firing off a shadowy burst of their own, streaks of starlight glittering from within.

As the voice continues, it shifts to something that everyone here will certainly recognize. Rynlan's narration lacks the commandeering divinity, but speaks with an authority all the same.

Without the guiding hand of its fierce god, the creation wandered, lost and without purpose. No matter how many houses and hands it passed through, it could never find itself at peace.

Another shift. Hunter's voice rings out, familiar in only tone, the mete of it much more regal and demanding of attention than what anyone's likely heard from him.

Years passed, and the creation found itself thinking resentful things. "Why would you cast me aside?" it wondered, gnashing its teeth and trying to find something to ease its heart.]

[boy if he had a nickel for every time he fucking got hit with stray execution bullets it wouldn't matter because he can't buy anything in hell but it's still weird

ryn just closes his eyes, for a moment, exhales slowly before focusing on them again.]

[ it's fine. ryo continues to keep his expression even, even when the blast comes towards him. he moves to dodge yet again but, this time, he's a little slow-- it clips his shoulder and one of the wings, making him drop in the air a few feet before he steadies himself again.

the voice speaks again, still powerful as it rings out, but now it sounds like kuranosuke.

finally, the creation found a place that made it feel something close to warmth. it thought to itself that, maybe, it didn't need the fierce god on its side if it can have this instead. but like all things, it could not last. how could something without a heart still experience heartbreak, one might wonder?

ryo, trying very hard to ignore the words at this point, lunges out at scaramouche again. shadows form around his fingers to create claws as he tries to slash at him, trying to draw blood. ]

[He's only getting more worked up - over the voices, over things playing out exactly as he'd hoped they wouldn't but knew they would. When do things ever go his way?

The claws slash into him this time, the hand overhead briefly ceasing its constant movements, maybe to let Scaramouche taste a small amount of punishment. Red blood drips from the skin, and a bright, purple liquid oozes from what lies just under: the torso of a puppet. His hands fly up again soon after, the movement still unnatural, as he throws his sword Ryo's way like a javelin.

The voice continues, unfettered, as if the battle unrolling beneath its booming tones is nothing more than a storybook tale winding toward its inevitable conclusion.

Nameless, quiet and nearly gentle, a tone that seems warm despite the continued thread of power that ties each voice together. The creation, seeing the pain that having feelings could bring with it, vowed to never allow itself to be held back by such things again.

Date, who speaks with an edge of something near-flippant in the words. Perhaps the fierce god was to blame for the flaws that lead to this. Even within the scope of their divine knowledge, how were they to foresee its actions?

Harrow, who sounds cold and impartial, like the backbone of a celestial court. But when left unfettered and alone, such a heartless creation would undoubtedly strike like a viper. "I want to break it", it thought. "I want to break it all".]

[ gideon's voice flows after harrow's, the usual emotion gone from her voice, and so the creation decided that it, too, shall be a god. no, more powerful that one. it will break apart everything its fierce god had cared for in a tantrum it believes to be revenge.

the sword pierces through ryo's thigh and he winces, but he ignores it, leaving the shadowy weapon there. instead he flies yet again towards scaramouche, and it's only when he's close enough that he yanks the blade out of his own body to try to stab it through scaramouche.

his expression is no longer blank. he's scowling now, no longer able to visibly hide that the voice is eating at him. it continues, this time reminiscent of lavi, except for the coldness in its regality:

"it's the humans," the creation thinks, "if only they were gone." everything wrong starts and ends with them, from the disasters of the world to the way the fierce god favors them above all. it decided to go on a rampage to create something new. ]

[nyeh. not her voice.]

[ the story wasn't fun or funky fresh from the start, but now - the threads used to weave it being all of them again - kon's jaw works a little.

but yoru makes a small, synthetic noise of distress, releasing dva's hand and moving like he's trying to cover ears he doesn't have. it's what leads his creator to putting him in sleep mode, even if the little robot tries to maneuver out of his hand's reach. ]

[ nyeh. ]

[He flinches, visibly so, at Gideon's voice in particular. There's a wide and wild-eyed sort of mania to him now, and he laughs through the sound of something going crack! as the blade pierces through him.

There's nothing in him to pierce, after all.]

You're going to have to do better than that, Ryo!

[But the hand that's guiding him from overhead stills yet again, the lines holding him upright suddenly going slack, and he drops to the floor.

Lu Bixing's voice, following on the tail of Lavi's, is measured - maybe even a little soothing or calming, to the right ear. Like a scientist doing nothing more than reading data from a lab sheet.

Through its hands alone, it carved a path through the world. It cared not for the bones and backs it broke along the way, or the way that the life so precious to its creator was snuffed out in a mere blink. The heartless, cruel creation relished in the destruction that it wrought.

He laughs again, bright and vivid in his fury, but that's all his immobile body can do, really.]

[ :NYEH: NOT HIS TOO ]

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WEEK FOUR: EXECUTION

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1/2 and also cw for attempted suicide closes my eyes

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