[Sleep just doesn't come all that often for Dave. He didn't care for it. All that waited for him when he shut his eyes was a red path traced by his sword as he cleaved through flesh and bone. The screams of thousands being murdered at once and space cracking would come next and he'd stare at his smirking blood-splattered visage. He'd jerk awake, and go wash his hands until they nearly turned red.
Every time.
It never changed.
Until tonight. The lights shut off and everything is plunged into darkness. Dave draws his sword, ready to defend himself from whatever the tower is about to unleash, when the voice rings out.] Glamour system?
[The countdown is as loud as thunder in his head. Dread makes acid coat the back of his tongue but he doesn't move.
Click.
Red radiance that he's so used to being a sign that he's calling to time, manipulating the seconds to do what needs to be done, shatter his reality. He stares at the film that coats the harsh metal that is the real walls, and follows the electricity as it dances down through the substance with his eyes.
That's when he gets an eyeful of what he really looks like behind the glamour. The wires vaguely create the shape he knows because he sees it every day in the mirror.
Only.
That was never true since he woke up in the tower. Was it?
His attention travels down to the sword in his hand. It isn't real. Just a construct.
He continues to study himself and finally gets a glimpse of the glimmering ball at his center, the real him.
This version of him.
Alpha, doomed, Godtier, there never was a difference between us. I was just the one that survived until now. The echo of his voice...no, the real Dave's voice echoes in his mind. He tips his head back and just laughs.
There's no joy in it. There's nothing broken in the noise, but all the same it's like it tore out of him. He puts a hand over his face and fff, he can see through it. He lets it fall. But the laughter doesn't end.
Open | Warning for: Swearing, body horror, talk of character death, murder, and oh yeah swearing.
Every time.
It never changed.
Until tonight. The lights shut off and everything is plunged into darkness. Dave draws his sword, ready to defend himself from whatever the tower is about to unleash, when the voice rings out.] Glamour system?
[The countdown is as loud as thunder in his head. Dread makes acid coat the back of his tongue but he doesn't move.
Click.
Red radiance that he's so used to being a sign that he's calling to time, manipulating the seconds to do what needs to be done, shatter his reality. He stares at the film that coats the harsh metal that is the real walls, and follows the electricity as it dances down through the substance with his eyes.
That's when he gets an eyeful of what he really looks like behind the glamour. The wires vaguely create the shape he knows because he sees it every day in the mirror.
Only.
That was never true since he woke up in the tower. Was it?
His attention travels down to the sword in his hand. It isn't real. Just a construct.
He continues to study himself and finally gets a glimpse of the glimmering ball at his center, the real him.
This version of him.
Alpha, doomed, Godtier, there never was a difference between us. I was just the one that survived until now. The echo of his voice...no, the real Dave's voice echoes in his mind. He tips his head back and just laughs.
There's no joy in it. There's nothing broken in the noise, but all the same it's like it tore out of him. He puts a hand over his face and fff, he can see through it. He lets it fall. But the laughter doesn't end.
Because nothing matters.]