Dear gods above, I had to. I’m legit in tears right now, and I have to write the pain away. Just doing a moodboard wasn’t enough. I have a happier (well for these guys, anyway) piece I was in progress with earlier in the week, and I’ll get back to that. But I have to slough off these feels first.
This is NOT a part of the Darkness-verse, as that verse has zilch to do with the Who Killed Markiplier? finale we just saw earlier today. This is NOT the Hellgod you’ve come to know through my previous fics, but the broken and angry semblance of a man we saw in the mirror.
(Image created by lum1natrix on Tumblr.)
He stared into the mirror. The reflection was drained of all colour, the light suddenly too bright. Pain lanced through his body, and he snapped his neck from side to side to re-align what had been broken in the fall.
With that motion, the anger in him took its hold, and the mirror cracked. He could feel as if there were bile rather than blood coursing through his veins, the seething darkness that had spread through the house now bound inside of him.
Amid that black empire of the mind, he could still feel remnants of Celine, of Damien, of… himself. The man he had been, before death had taken him into its cold embrace.
And he felt cold indeed. He knew, with the calm certainty of those so close to death, that he would never be warm again.
Mark. Mark was to blame for this. He had used the powers of this house, to take what had never been his to claim.
The man kept staring into the mirror, saw himself snarl and loathed the very sight of the expression. Longing to feel nothing at all, even as the rage continued to rise, he stormed away from the mirror.
The ghosts of those who would never breathe again called to him, begged him for release. To find justice for them, so they could have peace. He dropped his walking staff, instinctively but ineffectually slapping his hands over his ears. So many voices, so much pain. Too much noise!
Was pain all there was in this world? In any world at all? Would there never be silence?!
He took a sharp breath, feeling the pain in his head, in his body. A never-ending fire of agony that only fueled his fury. He picked up the walking stick and began to use it as an impromptu truncheon, battering anything that was not nailed down.
So consumed was he in the act of destruction, that he failed to notice the limping gait coming towards him. “Damien? Celine?” William’s voice called.
The angry man continued to hammer away at the inanimate objects, a poor substitute for the flesh that he wanted to rend and bones he desired to break. There was a furious screaming, one that sounded both masculine and feminine at the same time, with something… other, something inhuman layered beneath. But he was too consumed by the fire in him to realize that strange voice was his own.
“Damien?” the Colonel called. “Damien!”
The man whirled furiously, and struck without thought. William dropped to the floor, clutching at his jaw and giving an inarticulate moan.
“NEVER SAY THAT NAME AGAIN!” the angry man roared, his vision suffused in red, even as his multi-layered voice audibly cracked with sorrow. “That man is dead! They’re all dead!” He panted as adrenaline left him, casting his walking stick aside. When he composed himself, he then said, “I am all that’s left of them. I can hear their voices, and they cry out for revenge.
“This world is a stinking pit of suffering and pain. Only in the empty void of death’s embrace did I have a moment of peace, a moment when I felt something other than this.
“Who speaks for the dead? No one, because Man builds his ambitions over their coffins without a thought for their eternal rest. There is no good in this world, and there is no god. All there is, is power. Those who have it, have control of the world. Those who do not, suffer and die in the muck with the rats.”
He glanced up along the stairwell, up to the upper rooms. “There is still power left in this house. I will take every last drop, every remaining atom of it into me… and I will tear the world of Man down brick by cursed brick.”
He turned back to the Colonel, kneeling down and gently taking the other man’s face in his hands. “Forgive me, my friend.” With only the faintest of effort, he snapped William’s dislocated jaw back into place.
William’s voice was too slurred to understand. The other man took a steadying breath, and tried to calm himself for a moment. To use the power he felt in him now for some good.
But nothing happened. The man who had once been Damien, Celine and many others sighed. The power in him was an inferno that could harm, but it could never heal.
He lightly patted William’s shoulder, in a second apology. “You will be able to speak plainly, in time.”
He stood, moving away from the Colonel to the stairs. Glancing over his shoulder, he added, “You may come with me, if it should please you.” When he heard the Colonel get to his feet, he allowed himself a small smile.
“Come along, Will. We have work to do.”