#taking creative liberties with an echo knight’s echo lmao

[floatysparrowthing]

“I need this to be over, or I’ll soon join the dead.” This time his strangled laugh verges on a sob. “For fuck’s sake, that’d probably be a better fate. I’d be born into a different body… a different life.”

Wouldn’t that be so much easier? he thinks. He could start over. Be someone new. At least until he grew old enough to remember this life. And then what? Would he just be sent back here? Or would he run away before anyone of Den Thelyss found him again. But then he’d have to live with himself, knowing he’d abandoned so many people.

The Savior of the Damned

Chapter 4: The Sexterrogation

In which Verin gets creative and takes matters into his own hands.

It’s time, Verin decides, to go on the offensive.

He summons his echo in the cell with Mairon, feeling some dark satisfaction at Mairon’s nervous shift backward and the unease flickering across his face.

“I’ll play your game, Mairon,” he says, directing his echo to advance on Mairon and push him against the wall.

A small part of him wants to hurt Mairon. The part of him that’s grieving his fallen comrades, who just witnessed one of his greenest soldiers disemboweled by an invading monster, and who feels ready to combust at the sight of another demon. He wants to scare Mairon, because he can’t make the other demons flinch. He wants to see him squirm and inflict the same pain he’s been steeped in.

But that’s the part of himself he reigns in and buries deep. It’s a dark, roiling shadow licking at the edges of him that’s been steadily growing over these last few years. Truthfully, it scares him.

So rather than draw its shadowy blade, his echo leans in and kisses Mairon. Verin watches Mairon’s surprise turn into pleasure as his eyes close and he reaches up to pull the echo closer. While it still mostly resembles a shadowy, half translucent version of Verin, it solidifies at each point of contact between it and Mairon.

It’s unquestionably weird watching a version of himself kiss Mairon. His hands are slipping under Mairon’s shirt and his lips are moving to Mairon’s neck, but it’s not really him. If he wanted, he could slip his consciousness into it—he could see the gold freckles up close and hear Mairon’s breathy little exhales—but he doesn’t.

Amused, Mairon’s gaze turns to Verin all while he tangles his hand in the echo’s hair and presses the other against the small of its back.

“You won’t come in here yourself, Verin?”

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