#ive left a horrible imprint on the world. nothing but harm

[parasiticallamb]

i wish i had a choice. i wish i could rot. i dont want to be alive. i dont want to be alive. i dont want to be alive. i dont want to be alive. why cant it ever be my choice

[maximus-bruin]

Event One: Ambrosia

tw: blood, abuse, suicide mention, death, rape, self-harm, drowning, burning I. Principia 

Maximus sat with his back against the wall, watching carefully as he was handed his golden chalice. The young man eyed the contents of the drink carefully, swirling it around as he listened to the offered proposal. He wasn’t exactly sure if he was going to drink just yet. Being more observant and cautious, he was unsure if this was the best move. Just to save for any side effects that happened, other than the aforementioned pain and immense suffering. All parts of it spoke of poison to him, but at the same time, he wasn’t exactly sure there was much left for him. Hopes of returning home while he was stuck in Norway seemed unlikely, and it was either play along with this or suffer something probably worse. Still, the prospect of this being covered as poison and possibly killing him didn’t exactly calm him in the slightest. 

Staring at the liquid in the chalice, only illuminated briefly by the candles in the hall, Maximus steeled his nerves and drank away, letting the cool liquid slip past his lips and down his throat. It was mildly sweet to him, not overpowering or bitter. For something that was supposed to have such horrible effects, it wasn’t bad tasting at all. He drank it all in one go, not bothering to prolong it any longer. If this meant that he was done and could go back to sleep, then he’d much rather do that, instead of sitting around and waiting to see what other lectures he was about to receive. Whether or not he lived to see tomorrow, Maximus figured he’d find out the next morning. 

II. Semper Fideles 

There was this funny thought that kept running through his mind, the thing about if a tree falls in a forest but no one hears it, did it really fall? But replace all that with screaming, and that was how he felt. And what were they doing, but just staring at him. Letting it happen. Holding torches and walking up as a crowd to throw in onto his pyre. The young man thrashed at the vines that dug into his skin, but he was tied up tight, a point that was taken very clearly. Prickly points caused little rivulets of blood to trail down his skin, but it didn’t stop him from trying. Tied against the post as he heard their low, arcane chanting. But they were people that he knew. People he went to school with, teachers, neighbors. Mouths were covered, and yet it felt like they were drowning out his scream and pleas for help. And still, the fire grew closer. 

It was licking at his toes now, and Maximus was trying his best to not be another reenactment of the witch trials. But all he heard was the thumping bass of their chanting. Cast him out. Cast him out. What did they nickname in high school again? Right, the Outcast. Fitting. He wasn’t the conventional pretty boy or the athletic boy or even the indie boy. He was the poor boy that got bussed in early mornings, lived off hand-outs and worked in his spare time. Not the richy rich or even the middle class. And if they saw him now, drinking chalices and having hallucinations like this, maybe they were right to burn him at the stake. Was he a witch? Going insane? The fire grew higher, continuing to consume his legs with this all-consuming hellfire. Tears streamed down his face as his voice grew hoarse with his screams. The pain was unbearable, slow and painful, yet searing hot and inflammatory all the same. He wished, as it rose up to his chest, the tips of the flames encroaching his neck, that it happened all at once. A flash fire, or even the grease fires he’d seen before at work. Nothing like this. This… was pain. Agony he was unfamiliar with. And Maximus’ eyes closed for his last, he thought. 

III. Vero 

He awoke with a start, clutching at the blanket that laid over his body. A dream. Nightmare. That was… reassuring, Maximus supposed. It felt so… realistic though. The way his skin felt heated, the way the burns were almost traceable on his body, even if they weren’t there. Glancing over, he saw that the candle by his beside had burned out, and perhaps the hot wax had dripped onto his hand. That must have been what woke him up. Rubbing his head, the dark-headed boy chuckled softly to himself. Right. Ambrosia. Poison. Sure. Just to be sure this wasn’t some other dream and such, he pinched himself hard on the back of his hand. You know, the whole pain to wake you up, to make sure it was real. And sure enough, it hurt like hell. Ouch. Worth it, he supposed as he adjusted his bed to sleep once more. But there was soft voice, this calling. It sounded like… “Mom?” 

Climbing out of his cot, Maximus walked over to the closet, where the sound was emanating from. As he popped it open, he met the gaze of one of his earliest crushes. Someone who he adored, who he couldn’t ever bring himself to tell that he loved, because how could he. But the sounds they made, they felt like his mother calling out to him. Asking him for help, yet at the same time, reassuring him that things were fine. His mother’s voice, but his love’s face. It should have clicked for him, but it didn’t. As the young man reached down to help them up from the floor of the closet, the other person grabbed his wrist. Tight. Too tight, in fact, where he heard his bone practically crack. Crying out, the dark-haired boy fell to his knees, trying to dull the pain of the broken bone. 

Useless, it hissed, shoving him down onto the wooden flooring. With a grunt, Maximus reached up towards the other with his other hand, watching in horror as it gripped his wrist with a clawed grasp. The creature wore a face so familiar to him, so recognizable that he wanted to trust it. But the eyes, those beady black eyes almost glowed in the darkness of his room as it pried away his hold. “W-Wait…” he stammered, but it slammed the closet door shut on him. And there he was in complete darkness, feeling the walls of the closet slowly compress and move in on him. At first he was sprawled on the ground, and the next instant, his limbs were pressing into his chest as the closet boxed him up. The clustering pain, the enclosed space was encroaching him, forcing him into more and more uncomfortable positions. Trying to push back against the trap, he knew he was fighting a losing battle from the moment it began to close on him. Maximus began tumbling, as if his box was falling down an endless flight of stairs. One bump after another, bouncing him continuously away into the dark void below that seemed to swallow him whole. 

IV. Corpus 

The water he splashed on his face seemed to jolt him, washing away the remnants of such a horrid dream. Maximus shivered, the cold water enough to keep him going he thought. He scrubbed his face, trying to rub down the weariness that seemed to seep out from his skin. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five fingers on the left, good. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Five fingers on the right. Not a dream. He counted his fingers over again, just to be sure. Double check his work, right? The nightmares were excessive at this point. It was getting too much, blending together in a way where he wasn’t even sure anymore if he was asleep or awake anymore. But he learned about this trick. This should work. This was reality. 

And as if to prove him wrong, the walls around him began to shake, and Maximus began sliding. It was as if the whole place began to turn, rotated on a wheel. The walls slowly merging and blending together, until he was rolling around in this tube. There was nothing for him to grasp, everything around him crashing down and tumbling just like him. Maximus gasped, trying to avoid begin crushed while making it to the end of the curved hallway. Just to stop the spinning for a second, to grab onto the edge and hang if he had to. Pushing his way through, the young demigod lunged forward, fingers grasping tightly to the edge that seemed to drop off into darkness. What happened to the world he knew? To the water that he was just splashing on his face? But the rumbling failed to cease. In fact, it only got louder. Maximus’ face paled as he saw an enormous head rising before him, bloodshot eyes all too familiar. That face, that sneering expression. It carried so much weight behind it. Power that he had difficulty overcoming, a control that seemed to have a hold over him. It spoke of lust, of anger, of that… man. Every bit of him was just so familiar, so realistic, it was hard to believe he was even here. Maximus had thought he had gotten away. 

Suddenly, the tube began spinning quicker, shifting and morphing into a sphere. The edge he once grasped melted away, and Maximus was tumbling head over heels once more. It was like he was in this snow globe of horror, that face imprinted everywhere he saw. And he could hear it too, with his large hands clasping either side of the globe. You’re so perfect. So pretty. Don’t worry; I’ll make you feel good. You’re mine. All mine. Forever. 

V. Hereditas 

Bursting out of that room, the young man shut the door behind him tightly. His chest was heaving, eyes widened in fear. He needed this to be over, he wanted it all to stop. He needed a break, just to breathe. Sliding down the door, Maximus reached into his pocket, clutching onto his keepsake. It was a trick his mother had told him her family passed down through the generations. Some object that kept you grounded, and if you focused on it long enough, all dreams faded away. Knowing it like the back of his hand, Maximus traced the small outlines of the leather keychain, the end of it a feather. The mini dreamcatcher was his only father’s gift to him, or so his mom had said. He never knew him, so the young man could only take what his mother said at face value. 

And all around him, there was just one resounding click. Like the hand of a clock, but it was. amplified through all-surrounding loudspeakers. Doors appeared all around, shooting down the infinite hallway. The click sounded urgent, demanding. As if trying to force him away from one room to the next. That or an impending monster, clicking its way down the hallway towards him. Not eager to test that last theory out, Maximus opened up the following door, his keepsake still in hand. And there he was, an exact copy of him. Hand where hand was, face mimicking the same movements. He stared on in fascination, because it was just a mirror. That was it. Except mirror reflections didn’t move on their own. It didn’t reach down and grab the knife that was so conveniently there and slice away at his wrists. Maximus staggered back in surprise, watching in horror as blood began to trickle out of his own reflection’s wrists. It was so frightening that he dropped his own keepsake. He could feel something drip down onto his own fingers, and when glancing down, the dark-haired man was greeted with the sight of his own wrists bleeding. Except he didn’t do that. His reflection did that. Not him, not him, not him. He could only do what he did best, which was run. And so, the young man fled the horrifying specter, bursting into another room. The resounding click rang throughout the space as the door opened, just as insistent as the last time. 

And there he was. Hanging. Rope around neck, dangling like a slab of meat he had seen so often in the back freeze of the diner. Eyes unflinching as they held his gaze. There was a tightness around Maximus’ neck unlike anything he had felt before. Gasping for breath, the young man pushed on, one door after another. Drowning. Click. Pills. Click. Falling from a height that left him with a sickening crunch and blood splatter. Click. It was one death after another, and it was too much for him. The rooms were endless, just visions of how he could kill himself if he wanted. Oddly enough, the clicks felt rhythmical, controlled in a way that dictated he remain in each room for a certain amount of time. Just enough to witness the death happen, and to have it happen to him in turn. Perhaps this was the poison that he feared for so long, bubbling up inside of him and spilling out as he lay on the ground, struggling to reach the handle for the next door, as if, by some sheer dumb amount of hope, the next one would be his escape. 

VI. Offero 

He wasn’t sure if he slept at all. The way his body was covered in a sheen cover of sweat, the way his feet crunched against the cold, frost-covered leaves. It was a wonder he was even alive. Why the fuck did he have to come here, of all places? In the winter? So much for the holidays; his feet were so numbed and yet so pained, Maximus was certain he had frostbite. There was no way he wouldn’t. He didn’t even know where he was, only staring out over some lake, where the waters lapped at the shoreline. He would’ve appreciated the beauty if he wasn’t huddled against the side of a tree, arms wrapped around his bare chest as he tried to cover himself and warm himself. Maximus wasn’t sure at what point in the night he had scratched himself, if he did, but there was no way to tell for sure with the dried and frozen blood on his fingertips and the claw marks on his chest. From the way his back stung, he could tell he went berserk there. 

The worst part about this, despite being too cold to really move with what little willpower he had left, was that Maximus wasn’t even sure he was still awake or if he was dreaming. All the tricks he thought he knew, about pinching yourself, counting the number of fingers you had, testing out some mental object that he had traced with such explicit detail, all of those tricks failed. So this, to him, was no less a nightmare. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. He whimpered softly, suddenly feeling the world spin underneath him. And the young man was leaning over, retching again and again with his insides suddenly coming outside of him. There were voices, voices that he wasn’t sure if they were stuck inside his mind or actually voices around him. Could he trust the voices? More tricks and troubles coming his way. His eyes fluttered weakly as he saw a trail of torches cutting through, making its way closer and closer to him. For now, he’d stay here. The pain in his head, the tattered shirt around him, the way the snow could envelop his toes and fingers and numb what he was feeling, even if it was just a dream… Maximus figured he’d just stay a little longer, letting the feeling wash over him and lull him to sleep. Who knew you could sleep in a dream? Just for a little bit; he needed the rest.