towerofanimus | Dark Knight of the Soul...

Entry tags:

Dark Knight of the Soul...

Characters: Zero Lancer and anyone else!
Setting: Various locations throughout the week focusing on the ones listed below.
Format: Action brackets to start, but whatever you want after.
Summary: It's been hundreds, if not thousands, of years for Zero Lancer. That is, if there is enough left of the knight of old that he can even be called the same person.
Warnings: Okay, things have gone downhill enough in some of the threads that I'm completely revamping the warnings on this. So New Warnings/Potential Triggers on: Language, Suicide, Violence, Blood, Psychological Abuse, Depression, and Mental Self-Harm.

Room 4-16:

[He stretches, shoulders rolling and bringing life to the large bird of prey tattoo that covers most of his back. Black and brown feathers glisten, but seem dim when compared to the glow of the bird's golden eyes.

It's late by Lancer's internal clock, but considering when he'd come to bed, late is really a relative term. Still, he doesn't rush to get up and moving. Why should he? It's not like he has any plans for the day. Nothing new anyway. Just the same pattern he's followed for the last...

A sigh slips from his lips. How long doesn't matter anymore. He just knows it's been far too long since he's found something able to keep his attention. Even sleeping is more interesting sometimes which is why he's started doing it regularly when he doesn't actually have to.

Lancer runs a hand through his now very white hair and finally slinks his way out of bed. Much like the tattoo, he doesn't actually remember when his hair changed. Honestly, he doesn't care. There's nothing interesting in pondering the whys after all.

He gathers his clothes from the floor and slides back into them. Long gone is the armor he used to constantly wear. Instead, Lancer's outfit consists of a black halter top given to him by...someone who had once said it was a shame to cover up even a small portion of the work that had been done on his back and a pair of black pants that fit much better than they have any right to. His feet remain bare, though. For a servant such as he, shoes are hardly necessary and he enjoys the feel of the floor against his skin.

Another sigh slips from lips that curl into a slight smirk. The tower feels slightly different today. Maybe...just maybe he'll find something interesting out there after all.]

The Restaurant (Floor 21):

[Golden eyes watch as people move in and out of the restaurant. While there is a slight smirk on his face, Lancer's eyes show nothing but boredom. There had been a time when he had found some joy in this place. He had purposely eaten there so that he would have the chance to go hunting. There had been a thrill--a hope--that sometime they might actually give him an item to find he wouldn't be able to.

That thrill hadn't lasted long. Even once he had added in his own rules to the hunt, he'd never once failed to find what they wanted in the time they wanted it.

Though...he's almost tempted to try again. It's been a long time since he's gone on a hunt and the excitement of even a bad hunt at this point would be welcome.

And so he stands there and ponders just how bored he truly is...]

The Gymnasium (Floor 39):

[At times, he's moving so fast that all a normal person can see is a blur. Those who are better at following fast movement or just have advanced eyesight will see much more--a man practicing a complicated series of strikes and parries with his spear. Each motion flows flawlessly to the next and the next with no sign of slowing down or stopping. Most of the time, his feet have a very loose relationship with the ground.

Then. there is a break in the flurry of motion as Lancer launches himself into the air and comes to light on the tip of his spear, bare feet resting far too comfortably on its sharpened blade. While he balances there, his face for the first time loses its bored look--he can, after all, do these practices with his eyes closed he is so used to them--and gains a satisfied smirk. How many men had foolishly died trying to mimic this trick? Too, too many.

Lancer flips himself forward off the spear point and drops right back into his practice though a bit of warmth fills his heart at the memories. They had been stupid enough to try and mimic his walk across Moralltach's blade as well. How had Fionn ever believed that these fools could have brought him down?

He laughs and flips himself to rest on the top of the spear again arms out and head back. It had been glorious if he gave himself the credit he should. He had defeated most of their army with just a few measly tricks and they had not even known it was him until he told them.

Fools all they were and better off dead for it.

Lancer flips backward off the spear this time desummoning it as he falls. One hand drops to his waist and pulls the short sword bound there free. It had taken him quite a bit of time to fashion it in the workshop, but after how long he has finally managed to make something that is both strong enough to survive being used by a servant and well balanced enough to strike true when needed since the last thing he wants to do is be stuck fighting a monster that can nullify his abilities for very long.

Okay, that is a lie. Now that he has such a trustworthy non-magical blade, fighting these kinds of monster has become a game for him just like fighting anything else in this place.

A smirk slides across his face as he starts into another set of strikes and parries, this time with the blade. Perhaps tonight he needs to test it yet again--play the game yet again.]

Any floor/hallway where monsters can be found at night:

[Lancer leaps backward slightly opening the distance between himself and the monster. He doesn't know what it's called and doesn't care other than it's one of those who are able to cancel out abilities. And this particular monster has a couple of friends who aren't too far away and are closing in on him pretty quickly.

The smile on his face is entirely too happy for the situation he's in. Most people would be terrified. Him...he's just waiting. Waiting for them to gather all in one place. Waiting for that moment...

He suddenly dashes forward. A quick set of twists and slashes later and the monsters are dead at his feet, their blood dripping down his face and staining his hair.

Lancer is quiet for several moments before throwing his head back and beginning to laugh. The laughter is sad, though. Even without his powers they were no challenge. None at all.

So much for having chance to play tonight. Perhaps if his is lucky on the way back to his room he'll find someone interested in a different type of game entirely...]

Anywhere else:

[During the day or night Lancer can be found prowling around the tower just about anywhere looking for something--anything--that might spark his interest.]

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Yes, Master.

[Lancer shakes off his pain and instead focuses on the order he's been given. This, at least, he can do. This is why he loves having a master. If he has an order to follow, he doesn't have to worry about anything else.

He disappears in a flash from where he's kneeling and is off to start checking on people. The eternal child he finds sleeping peacefully in the lounge on the 38th floor. Lancer drops a blanket over her and then leaves her to her slumber. Several people in the tower watch over her and he knows one will be by shortly to take her back to her room.

The dark king, he doesn't find so much as sense. She is spending time with her beloved and he knows better than to interrupt them.

The light king is setting up for one of the weekly card games she so enjoys with the many other inhabitants of the tower. For a few moments, he's tempted to stop and talk with her, but in the end, he resists the temptation and continues on.

For the next hour or so, he roams the tower from its very top, to its depths, and back again checking on those he and his roommate know, but also noticing those who seem to be new and in need of help.

Once he's done, he returns to his and his master's room to report his results.]

[By now, Lancer has returned to the room that the two shared. Like Diarmuid, he had peeked into a couple of spots during that hour. He had seen quite a few entertaining and strange things. He gives Diarmuid a lazy nod when he sees the other Servant returning.]

So...how was it?

[Lancer crosses the room and kneels at his master's foot, head bowed.]

It was mostly as I expected. The same as it has been for hundreds of years. The dark king keeps court with Catarina; the light oversees her game of chance; the eternal child sleeps and waits for her prince to come.

What exactly did you expect to have changed?

[He shrugs.]

Nothing, really.

[His fault for knowing a bunch of people who weren't very prone to change. And hey, no change was better than some catastrophe. Like what had happened to Diarmuid.]

But it's good to see they're alright.

[A moment of silence.]

So, how'd you feel looking at them?

[Saber, either version of her, had been a good friend of Diarmuid before his change. Illya was a child. Maybe watching over them might help him rediscover his spirit as a knight?]

[Lancer looks up at his master and blinks in confusion.]

H-how I felt? I don't understand. Was I suppose to feel something? Y-your order didn't say anything about that.

[He pauses a moment and then adds quickly.]

The child was cold, so I covered her with a blanket. Both of the Kings were busy, so I didn't bother them.

[Though, he had thought about talking to Arturia...]

I can't tell you what to feel, Diarmuid.

[He smiles as he hears about Illya.]

Good job! See? That was pretty knightly of you.

[Baby steps, but an improvement nonetheless.]

Knightly?

[The confusion drains out of his face and is replaced by anger so strong that he has to fight to keep himself from striking out at his master.]

Is that what this is all about? Some kind of test to see if I would do the right thing or not? She was cold. I put a blanket on her. It means nothing! She means nothing to me. I've never even talked to her!

[But suddenly, the pain is back as something in his mind tries to push itself forward. The child... He'd had a child once. Several. And one had been a daughter. So precious... So very importan--

He bites back a gasp and curls his hand against his chest as the pain tears threw him.]

S-stop trying to make me remember. It hurts!

[Lancer freezes when he sees Diarmuid's pained expression. Then, he rushes forward and tries to support the other Servant. Yes, it was a sort of test to see if Diarmuid had any of his old knightly impulses left. Or if placed in a situation to stimulate his knightly feelings, whether or not he could feel them again.]

It hurts physically?

[Not even Saber seemed to experience this sort of pain.]

[Lancer somehow manages to turn his eyes toward his master, but it does him little good. Everything seems to be swimming in a red haze.]

Y-yes, like a knife. T-twisting. C-cutting. Cutting what isn't there anymore to cut!

[He squeezes his eyes closed again, curling in on himself and rocking as much as he can in his kneeling position.]

P-please, master. Make it stop!

Dammit!

[Lancer swears as he kneels next to Diarmuid, trying to pull him up, trying to get him into a bed. He had always thought that Diarmuid's issues were mostly psychological. That if Lancer talked to him for long enough or tried to get him back in the habit of doing the things he used to do, then Lancer could somehow bring Diarmuid into an approximation of himself.]

[He hadn't expected literal, physical pain, especially not one this intense. What was even more disturbing was that he was finding out just now. Be it ten or twenty or hundreds of years, he had never noticed, never tried to find out, even though the two lived in the same room.]

Stop think about it if it hurts you, alright?

M-master...

[The word is weak, but the best response he can give at the moment. His head falls limply against the other man's chest while his hands shift to curl too tightly around his arms. Lancer allows his master to pull him toward the bed, though how they get there doesn't record in his mind. All that registers is the pain. The waves of it washing over him. Blood red. Thick. Heavy.

He shudders, his breathing becoming ragged. Stop thinking about it. Had that been an order? Had he missed it?

Blindly, Lancer reaches out to mentally wrap himself around that order. He has to obey his master. He can't fail another master. Not this master...

Another shudder tears though his body and then he falls still. Even his breathing is silent. He is much too silent for someone who was just in so much pain only scant moments ago.]

[Lancer gently helps Diarmuid onto the bed. He steps back for a moment, but leans over the other Servant again when he notices that Diarmuid had gone silent.]

Hey! Oy! Are you alright?

[He throws out a trail of Gaelic swears as he tries to check for Diarmuid's vital signs. If it got bad enough, he'd try to use his runes to do something, but he has no idea if Diarmuid's magic resistance would keep it from working.]

[Without anything to hold onto, Lancer's hands curl in on themselves, settling against his chest. It's the only outward sign of him still being alive he gives for the longest time, though. This kind of fit has taken him before, but it's been a while...

...and it's never been in front of another person.

As his mind clears, he starts to realize this. To realize who just saw it.

And he goes stiff with a very different emotion. Shame.

Fear.]

I-I'm sorry. Ma--

[No, he can't even say the word. He has no right to. This game...it's over. And he's lost in a way worse than he could ever imagine.]

[Lancer places a hand on Diarmuid's brow, first feeling for his temperature (even if Servants didn't get fevers like humans), and then sliding his hand back to Diarmuid's head and ruffling the other man's hair awkwardly.]

Nah, I'm the one who should be apologizing.

[He was the one who neglected Diarmuid's condition as well as the one who triggered it just then. Honestly, right now, he would rather see Diarmuid blame him than turn away in shame.]

Hey, can you...can you let me take a quick look at you? Nothing much. Just make sure your body is working correctly.

[It's a request, not an order. Any bets have been forgotten in the wake of the other Lancer's fit.]

Y-you don't need to. It's not necessary...

[Lancer tries to pull himself up on the bed, but it's been so long since he had such a fit, that he forgets how much it wipes him out. His arms refuse to hold up his weight, and he falls back against the bed again. Even so, he just sighs and shakes his head.]

I'll be fine in a little while. It's not like this is the first time this has happened.

[His voice drops to an almost inaudible whisper.]

Or the worst it's been...

[It's not like he's lost several days at a time before... And there was a week once... Fortunately, no one had been around for those times, though he always knew his luck would run out sometime and someone would see him. He just wishes that someone had been anyone but his hero.]

...

[He really has no excuse for not knowing, does he?]

Just let me take a look. If it's anything I can fix, then it'll never have to happen again.

[Already, he's sketching the kenaz rune to enhance his sight.]

All right...

[The moment he sees that rune flare to life, Lancer knows arguing will be a waste of energy he really doesn't have, so he closes his eyes and tries to relax. He's not really sure what the other man has in mind, but it's not like he really has the energy--or the will--to stop him at this point.

He actually would be really easy to kill if his roommate decided he wanted to for whatever reason.]

Hey, did I ever tell you I ran into your master for the first time the other day?

[The Kenaz rune allows Lancer to look through Diarmuid's body, to perceive the other Servant's organs. It's both relieving and confusing to see that Diarmuid's organs, and especially the heart, is in perfect working order.]

[So why had he suffered through so much pain?]

You seem fine.

[He mutters, focusing on each inch of Diarmuid's inner workings in hopes of finding something out of place. Finally, he has to concede that there's nothing wrong and wipes away the rune.]

So...you ran into that little lady? How'd it go?

I told you. I'm fine.

[He doesn't open his eyes, though a smirk curls the corners of his mouth. Yes, he's fine. Just fine. If failing at all you ever do is fine. If not caring about anything at all is fine.]

She was crying for another. I told her she was a fool for not better respecting what she had.

[If there was one surefire way to enrage Lancer in any situation, it was to mention harming Ayaka in any way.]

You...

[The hand that had been tenderly fluffing Diarmuid's hair a second before is now locked around the Servant's throat.]

You bastard.

[No matter how much pity Lancer felt for anyone, they did not get away with hurting his Master.]

[Lancer's eyes slowly open and lock on his roommate's. There. That had been what he'd been angling for when he'd started this game. Not that pathetic end that had him lying in bed being babied because he was just that weak, but this.

The anger. The hate. The violence.

Though at this rate, it will take his roommate a long time to conclude things. One of Lancer's hands slides up over the other man's arm like a caress before coming to rest against his cheek.

Best to keep pushing.]

Doesn't it bother you even a little that she just keeps running? Always away from you and toward another who will never be there?

Damn you.

[Lancer hisses. His sentence ends in a growl as his hand tightens around Diarmuid's neck. He can feel the other Servant's windpipe crumpling under his grip. His nails are digging into Diarmuid's flesh, making bruises if not drawing blood.]

What she wants is none of your business!

[Even as he chokes the other Servant, he knows he can't kill Diarmuid this way. Servants didn't die from just strangulation. And that was fine with him. He doesn't want to kill the defenseless man. Just teach him his lesson and leave him be.]

[It's. Not. Enough!

How much harder does he have to push to make his roommate understand it's the right thing to do? Just kill the failure. Remove his presence from your sight. Even if it's not permanent.

It will be enough. Enough...to kill whatever good is left in him.

It takes a bit of focus because he's still emotionally scattered from the fit, but Lancer manages to twist just enough to get his legs wrapped around the other man. He then suddenly rolls them both to the side, off the bed and onto the floor where they come to rest with him, temporarily he's sure, straddling his roommate.

Lancer bends forward, not caring about the damage he's doing to his own throat.]

But she's so interesting and you know how I crave the interesting...

[His eyes narrow and his voice is low and ragged.]

Stop me. Rip my blackened heart out. It's the only way to protect her.

You...

[Gae Bolg forms in Lancer's hand. The red spear's form had not changed throughout the years. He glares up at Diarmuid, aiming the tip at the other Lancer's heart.]

[His impulse right now is to stab Diarmuid and get it over with. Keep him from harming Ayaka any further.]

[But living his entire life with his warp spasm that activated when he was angered past a certain point and knowing that his temper was horrible gave him enough awareness to fight against his impulses. It let him keep up some sort of rational thinking even as he was being consumed by anger.]

[Right now, he knew that even with all the garbage that Diarmuid was spewing or the aggressive facade that he was putting on, the other Lancer was a pitiful existence. He could remember at least one fight on this note, and how he had stopped himself back then partly because how tragic Diarmuid seemed to be even in his fallen state. And now, he could see how all this pained the other Servant as well.]

[With a sigh, he lets his spear vanish, but keeps his hand locked around Diarmuid's throat.]

...You're an ass, but not one that deserves death at my spear.

[Let him interpret that whichever way.]

No...

[The denial slips from his mouth before he can stop it. It had been so close. To feel that spear so close to his heart. To know that it would find what was left of him and destroy it so much more quickly and efficiently than anything else could...

...That would be too easy, wouldn't it? There were other ways, More painful ones.]

No, you are right. Something so noble should not be so stained. It would be an insult to your weapon.

[He's tempted to manifest his own weapon. To let his roommate use it instead. It would be fitting to die by its blade again. It would be familiar even. Comforting in a way.

No...he wouldn't force a weapon that had been so loyal to him to do such a dishonorable thing. It didn't deserve it anymore than his roommate's spear would have.]

So you are only left with one choice then. If you don't want to become as much of a failed servant as I am...

[His eyes narrow, seeming to drill into the eyes of the man below him.]

Protect her with your own hands. Use them. Rip my heart out. Destroy the useless thing before I take away what is so dear to you and destroy it myself! I will! I swear to you by all that is sacred from our homeland, I will!

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Welcome to guilt trips are us. We.....

Lancer's good intentions always fall flat

It's not his fault. The pain IS psychological. It's just Lancer's felt it so long, it's become real.

This Tower needs a shrink

A shrink? It needs an ARMY of shrinks!

Quick! Get Rider to use his Ionioi Hetairoi

I don't think even that would be enough...

Not with these issues

Oh man...can this get worse?

It's Animus. Why do you ask?

Just...checking...

Re: Just...checking...

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I'm so sorry, ProtoLancer. This is so cruel to you...

It's cruel to both of them

Got that right....