He snorts, not slowing his pace; if anything, he's moving faster now. "We are of similar stuff, these things and myself. The existence of an Avenger is based in how we are named! A man who finds savlation and lives out his days in peace has no need for vengeance; he may let himself be buried in lambswool and be swaddled from the ferocity of the world. But I! I, Avenger! I am well-versed in the fury of hatred, the desire for revenge! And so I name myself kin to these creatures, who tread upon the same paths of Hell as I once have, and will do again!"
He's silent for a moment as he walks, then tips his head slightly back, looking towards the emptiness above.
"Is it loyalty, when you are cut from the same sort of cloth? Once upon a time, there was a man who only thought to live happily with a woman that he loved, in the service of his king and country. Once upon a time, there was a girl who only thought to live her own normal life, untouched by greatness--the good or the terrible. I would not call it loyalty, no."
"What does an Avenger know of love?" It sounds like a genuine question, somehow. "I am what I am, and I cannot be anything else. My existence is based in my hatred. What room is there for love in the very fabric of my being?"
I don't know about that. You might think love and hate are opposite things, but truly they aren't. They weave together quite nicely into one fabric. A man who wanted only to live with the woman he loved . . . yes. That isn't so very different.
"In this place? You cannot." There is something almost like pity in Avenger's voice. "You cannot simply reach in and pull this rot out. The roots go deep, and so long as she continues on her path, there will be no end to the supply."
He finally comes to a stop. There is no light ahead, but he points.
"So if you wish to be of any help at all, keep going. Until the end of the line, and beyond that! Keep moving, no matter if your skin splits, your bones crumble, your body fades to dust! Continue on beyond even that!"
He does not take the hand, a seething and faintly glowing figure in the red-tinged darkness, his eyes glowing. With each passing second, he fades more and more from sight.
"Continue on, then, and see where the path leads you. With luck, it will be what you wish for."
[Thanks for LEAVING ME HANGING, BRO. Saturn shrugs.]
With luck . . . yes.
[He turns in the direction indicated and shuts his breathing off to avoid any recurrence of the smell choking him, and reaches up with one hand to take hold of Crobat's tiny foot and follow her into the dark in that direction.]
Honestly, in spite of what he was told, the remaining walk seems to take an inordinate amount of time. The air is still cleaner than it was, but there are the sounds of voices again--louder now, more openly hostile. He can make out words now, in the mess:
"--no! Stop! No, no, no, no, no... I haven't even accomplished anything yet--!"
"--I can't stand it. I spent every one of those thousand and one nights wishing for nothing more than to not die. Every fiber of my being is terrified of death!"
"This... This can't be how I die! I was... I was going to destroy...this entire world...!!!"
They're getting louder. There are so many of them.
[The curses . . . he doesn't stop for any of them, or call out to answer them. He maybe twitches here and there. But he walks. He just walks, looking straight ahead of him, holding onto Crobat, trusting in her to alert him if anything out there in the dark actually does make a move. Walk forward . . . just keep going.]
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I see how it is. But your loyalty to your fellow sinner is stronger than your kinship with them.
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"Is it loyalty, when you are cut from the same sort of cloth? Once upon a time, there was a man who only thought to live happily with a woman that he loved, in the service of his king and country. Once upon a time, there was a girl who only thought to live her own normal life, untouched by greatness--the good or the terrible. I would not call it loyalty, no."
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[Casually. Conversationally. These are normal things to talk about while you trudge through a sea of putrid blood, surrounded by shadows in the dark.]
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At this point, there is a definite upward slant to their path, getting steadily steeper. Somehow, the blood sloshing at their ankles does not subside.
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[Lightly, and watching him.]
What can I do to help?
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He finally comes to a stop. There is no light ahead, but he points.
"So if you wish to be of any help at all, keep going. Until the end of the line, and beyond that! Keep moving, no matter if your skin splits, your bones crumble, your body fades to dust! Continue on beyond even that!"
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[He turns to him, offering his hand.]
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"Continue on, then, and see where the path leads you. With luck, it will be what you wish for."
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With luck . . . yes.
[He turns in the direction indicated and shuts his breathing off to avoid any recurrence of the smell choking him, and reaches up with one hand to take hold of Crobat's tiny foot and follow her into the dark in that direction.]
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Honestly, in spite of what he was told, the remaining walk seems to take an inordinate amount of time. The air is still cleaner than it was, but there are the sounds of voices again--louder now, more openly hostile. He can make out words now, in the mess:
"--no! Stop! No, no, no, no, no... I haven't even accomplished anything yet--!"
"--I can't stand it. I spent every one of those thousand and one nights wishing for nothing more than to not die. Every fiber of my being is terrified of death!"
"This... This can't be how I die! I was... I was going to destroy...this entire world...!!!"
They're getting louder. There are so many of them.
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And then they stop.