focusedvoid: (free from shell)
the knight ([personal profile] focusedvoid) wrote in [community profile] boxfullofzeroes 2022-12-22 07:06 am (UTC)


--they hear singing.

Barely. Broken words, mostly hums. They believe they're imagining it. They must be.

Their legs lead them past the bench. Around slumped warriors. Through the cells.

Metal clangs. The sound falters. Their pace does not.

Myla.

Myla. Alive.

Myla notices them when they notice her.

Everyone notices them when they notice her.

Every once-Infected, every touched by Her, every scoured through by Void when She was devoured in Her whole. Myla is there, cowering behind bars, clutching the dented mess that remains of her helmet to her chest, failing to hide discolored patches on her body.

She.

All of them.

Every single one feel the moment the Knight comprehends what they're seeing.

There was a little bit, inside of every one. A little bit of dark. A little bit of Void.

The Knight grips it, drags it, feels it tear through shell after shell after shell. Myla screams. Grimmchild screeches. They're not them. They're all of them. They're howling, raging, towering fury, tearing through the bars to clutch her as their head shatters the ceiling, shatters the body of the thing that the Colosseum was built within. The world is black, the world is nothing, the world is falling into fragments of itself, Myla, Myla, how dare they, how could they, they never would have known--







From the elevator outside Lemm's shop, someone hums an unfamiliar tune.



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