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penofdamocles · 9 months

Text

> Confront yourself.

Much to the god's chagrin, it's finally time to head out, as many times as he'd tried to have more of a good time here again and again in the same few minutes. Madison Aurel hugs and waves farewell to his beloved friend and closes his eyes to focus on home, conjuring a vivid image of his bedroom in his mind to direct his divine power towards. He feels the intensity of his soul's energy within him focus, draw him forward, in a single step through space and time.

But something stops him mid-step.

Less like a pull of his strings and more like having a fall stopped dead in a surface of gelatin, Mads finds himself stuck for a moment, until he steps back physically and opens his eyes. He's astounded to see..nothing. A familiar nothing. It can't possibly be the /same/ nothing, but the endless white void surrounding him on all sides, a smooth surface below and an equally endless empty space above, is far too similar to the Astral Plane he had called home for so long to be coincidental. Mads Aurel realizes in a flash that there's a chance the god who made him could have somehow dragged him back there while he doesn't have his halo, but the fear that thought would prompt doesn't come. No, right now, specifically, he could fight them. He knows it. Maybe not at first, but he could try again and again forever until he finally got it right.

But those thoughts go unproven, no other gods appear, and when he pays closer attention Mads realizes that he doesn't resonate with this matter like he does with the substance making up the Astral Plane. Probably because it /isn't/ matter; as he tries to move, Mads Aurel realizes how off his sense of bodily space awareness is, he can definitely still feel but this space has nothing to touch, not even air, and yet the motions of breathing continue out of habit. His skin tingles oddly, though, and looking down at himself, Mads realizes his clothes are gone; but that's fine, because so is his skin, his form still humanoid and semi-defined but solid glowing purple, traced with gold and with blazing, star-bright eyes. His exposed soul throws anxious sparks, in what he realizes is a place far beyond physics, much less solid corporeal forms, a Cloud on the edges of Hermes' universe that he must have gotten caught in. But he can leave, right? Another 'step' forward meets the same resistance, and, beginning to panic, pulse thudding in his soul, the god looks around, unsure if he's missing something important; of the various wild supernatural shenanigans he's kept up with Hermes describing, the Cloud had not been a subject he fully understood.

But as he turns, Madison Aurel sees a navy blue shape huddled on the approximate 'ground'. He starts moving towards them, floating more than moving his legs, and as he grows closer, jolts at a sudden voice in his head.

(You've been cruel, lately, haven't you?)

The slightly accented voice is familiar, bearing no accusation, but Mads can hear the sad smile and gentle understanding of Mikael Lindquist, the man he had been, his mutually assigned twin brother, half feeling the gentle touch on his hand he associates with this tone, these kinds of conversations. The god lowers his head, nodding reluctantly..they know what he refers to, and there's never been a point in defending a falsehood to the compassionate human who had been part of Mads' own soul for so long. He doesn't know why he hears this voice, but doesn't try to understand, he'll just give himself a headache.

Arriving a few feet away, Mads raises his head and recognizes the shape at his feet. A broad-shouldered, blonde angel, in a blue suit and red tie, a long, pointed nose visible in profile. But it doesn't look real, the lifeless, staring eyes and stillness more reminiscent of a mannequin than a corpse. And yet, the slight movement of its chest shows that this thing is, in some sense, alive.

The sight of it sets off golden bursts in Madison Aurel's aura, like flares on the surface of the sun. Hatred. Disgust. Anger and pain, blame, violence, all ignited by and centered on the pathetic thing he sees before him. A burning in his chest feels about to explode, like he can vaporize the angel with his own rage, before he feels that touch again, more material, on his shoulder, a soft squeeze.

(But…why is he so different from the others? Why does he deserve to be thrown away, and no one else?)

He looks over his shoulder in surprise to see nothing, but when he looks back towards the body, his extremely figurative stomach drops at the sight of Seculus now at his feet, equally lifeless, and half-transparent.

(You would give them another chance, wouldn't you?)

Mads opens his mouth but hears his voice in his head the same as Mikael's, with no space to carry the sound.

/Of course. As many as it takes. They don't deserve to disappear, I don't want them to hurt more than they already have./

(She's assigned themselves many of the same sins and flaws you accuse him of. They believe them thoroughly, and know themselves better than others possibly could. They were both made the same way…they were hurt alongside each other. As hard as it is for an angel to be truly understood, the similarities were ever present and undeniable. They see him as just like them. They see him as someone who matters. Why do they not deserve that same cruelty?)

/Because, they're..they're a person. They're good, and kind, and so important. But they've been hurt. They should be allowed to try again without being. Punished for it..again. It wasn't their fault that they acted the way they're ashamed of./

(And what of that is untrue of him, from their perspective?)

Seculus disappears, blinking back into the body's previous visual. The expression is identical, the details are just as realistic, and yet. Mads Aurel doesn't know if this is an illusion, mental projection, psychic intervention, or what, but Mikael's voice and gentle pressure keeps him bold and in the moment, unquestioning for now. He stares down at it with still-smoldering hate, but he really can never argue with Mikael. Not now, especially, without accusing Seculus of cruel opinions they shouldn't be given credit for..or accusing them of wholeheartedly presenting the other angel something they were too foolish to know a lie. They're not a fool, and would hurt for being thought 1.

(Of them, you see a person, damaged and hurting but not beyond repair. Of him, all you see is a broken object, meant to be thrown away. Is there really a reason, beyond what he was made for? They were made for it too.)

Before Mads can even try to answer, an attempt that would have failed, the voice changes slightly, to match his own, deepening in distaste, and the grip tightens.

[It can't escape what it is, right? It's inherently worthless, unlovable and not useful for enough to deserve the space it takes up. There's /never/ been any way to escape or tolerate itself. It can't suddenly gain innate value out of nowhere, that's impossible. That's why it doesn't deserve any more chances. Because it's useless and unsaveable. It'll never be a person..it's just not built for it. There's no hope, and no place for it in that empty shell.]

Madison Aurel nods along, immaterial fists clenched as he glares blazing bright daggers at the thing being described. He can't argue with /this/ either, and doesn't want to. He feels disgusting for his anger, and he blames the angel for it.

[If all of that is so fucking unchangeable then how are /you/ feeling what's impossible for him to experience? The only change was superficial. All of that is still the same, isn't it? Haven't you allowed yourself so much grace for your mistakes and room to recover that he never once deserved? Shouldn't you be just like he was before? Why are /you/ different? Why are you /better/?]

The momentary burning confidence from having his beliefs confirmed, even by his inner psychic Cloud self, crumbles as the voice drags him back down to its level..no, that's not what's happening. That's not what the point of this is. Mads Aurel's recent feelings weren't fake. He hasn't secretly been a mannequin this whole time, but this /is/ just a change like any other, no matter how hard he tries to deny it, to claim a fresh identity free of what he'd dragged so far with him. His soul is still the same, at base, as it ever was, unmovingly structured, broken, worthless..he tries to still believe that. It makes so much more sense to believe than this crossing of wires. He's believed it for so long, it's a fact of life. But there's too many holes to deny.

Arms wrapping tight around a soul that's starting to buzz with sparks from this deep internal conflict, the lights swirling and curling in the space he's in as if moved by a delicate breeze that /definitely/ doesn't exist, Mads squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he weren't here, but the resistance remains. There's no escaping himself. When he opens them, he jolts, another flare spiking from his aura in response to the body's movement.

The blue-suited angel pushes itself weakly onto hands and hands and knees, and, head rising, meets eyes with Madison Aurel. Madison Ruarc's eyes shine like stars too, sans the gold halo rim of the god's divine features, but still bright pinpoints of essence no mannequin could be given. They shine with passionate life, love and excitement and joy and deep, deep pain, wrapped in a fear of losing it all, that Madison Aurel feels projected all throughout his soul, immediately familiar as any pain from another can get, from a view outside of what it had made the angel believe about how much it mattered. All those feelings are very, very real, despite the shell that contains them, and they're exactly the same as the god has been able to enjoy with less weight on his shoulders since convincing himself he could leave them behind. Sparks cloud around him, dissipating off into the non-space reaching into his mind for this confrontation.

(Are you really as different as you are sure of?) Mikael's voice softly questions to the god currently struggling with stubborn, long-term beliefs.

[Do you think you deserve to hurt like that too? Does he deserve to keep suffering, until he's gone for good, given up on and thrown away? /Nobody deserves to hurt like that/, and aren't you supposed to be better than this? Doesn't /everyone/ deserve another chance to heal, time after time until it works? And you're just going to /make him disappear/?] His own voice criticizes his hypocrisy, Mads Aurel's ridiculous exception to his entire self-assigned responsibility to the multiverse.

(Hasn't he already been through enough? The damage that made him this way you despise wasn't his fault.)

Madison Aurel still stares into the bright eyes of Madison Ruarc as they start to shed golden tears. The Cloud-made copy stands up, and there's a moment where the void has a feature, a deep, circular pit of water positioned behind the angel, that he starts to back up toward.

[Don't you remember how much it hurts to vanish?]

Of course he does. A horrible, vivid memory comes directly to mind, at the sight of that blue suit and the endless pit, his soul aches to the core recalling the agony he'd been in, believing he had no other choice to keep out of his oldest abuser's hands but to disappear, alone, in pain, 1 spark at a time. Madison Ruarc had wanted to live so desperately, but the hopelessness and fear ate away at him until existing wasn't worth the risk. ..He'd been lucky to have a second chance then, too. Madison Aurel grips the hilt of the golden sword suddenly in his hand and stands stiff as he realizes what it's for.

[If you want him gone properly, do it yourself. Or he'll just go away until he's wanted, someday. He's good at that.]

Tears flow harder in golden rivers down the angel's face. The god can see it, he can /feel/ it, it's his domain and his memory and his pain, in the end. It's such hopeless pain. And all he'd ever done was drive the sword in deeper. Madison Aurel stares, overwhelmed, at what he'd convinced himself for weeks was a fully separate, fully disposable being, unmoving as he tries to struggle through what he needs to do now through his logic, his self esteem, and the urges of his divinity.

(Doesn't he deserve a second chance too?)

It takes too long. Madison Ruarc gives the god the saddest smile he's ever seen, his matching starry eyes dimming as he takes a final step back into the pool.

The sword is tossed aside with a hurried clatter as in a flash of immaterial golden wings, Madison Aurel tackles his nearly abandoned self across the pool and on his back into the empty space on the other side. It was an instinct that proved stronger than all of his old, ingrained doubts, overpowering them enough with a compassion he's grown so familiar with that he knows it was the right choice. The god looks down at his angelic self, his dissociative view of a different person layering over the perception that now runs so deep of someone else in pain who should be given another opportunity to break free, no matter how many times the strings have caught up to him again. But it's not a different person. It's Mads. It's a face and personality and entire life he'd so carefully put together as best he could out of reach of immediate danger. He'd worked so hard and gone through so much to keep that tightly-clutched self from flickering out under years of conditioning emptiness. How could he put all that effort purely to waste? He doesn't want to give up. ..He wants to try again.

Matching tears drip down his own soul-glowing face as the pieces of himself he'd desperately torn apart come back together. Madison Aurel isn't his second chance. He's more than a mask, but less than a brand new person that could possibly replace Madison Ruarc fully among his friends in the way he'd wanted. He doesn't know what to do with both faces in the immediate future..but as he sits up with the angel, hugging him tightly, a warm glow emanates from them both, fading into just 1 man with blinding bright eyes, a vibrant soul, and a refreshed attachment to the past self he'd so despised.

He doesn't find a need to stand up in this non-physical space, but still steadies himself internally, listening for the voices that had pushed him through this decision he'd been putting off for far too long. But they seem satisfied with his actions, the water and sword have disappeared, and all there is now is a shining soul in a void. Taking a deep, meaningless breath, Madison Aurel presses on towards his destination and finally slips free of the Cloud, the self-conflict he'd challenged his domain with unsticking from the conceptually manifesting force of unreality he'd passed through on his way out.

The god feels empowered, having finally given a chance and compassion to someone he'd considered truly unfixable, and comforted from a great despair, as the someone who'd finally been shown the mercy he'd been so sure he would never deserve.

Then, once he corporealizes again, he just feels naked; the Cloud very much shredded his clothes into individual atoms. That's mildly okay; after that experience, Mads thinks he needs to rework his expression a bit, anyways, since he's no longer actively avoiding any similarity to the self he's brought back from the brink. He thinks he'll be able to look himself in the mirror when this is over, too, and feel okay. Until that point in a few hours, though, the god of second chances has more people to help, and more chances of his own to work out what he wants to do with his now mostly resolved identity crisis.

#No Strings (ic)#action #M!A: The Holiness of Trying Again #((this is what i have been Building Up To #suicide ment #ooc save #saintworks #((slightly

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