An angel's predilection towards a devil's heart. The darkness of your hatred guides your body and mind into submission.
Often to forget what led to hate, as a coping mechanism of a disturbed mind.
There is great beauty to be found within and at the precipice of death and demise.
So why this need—no—why this desire to grow yourself based on someone else's preconceptions?
What differs the world from your mind? A simple turn of events where they couldn't become complacent?
Do you believe that we only allow ourselves to be chained by what gives us purpose, and nothing else?
Sometimes that which others judge seems petty, or of a matter so tiny.
Hideously distorted as each of the individuals involved have their own motive.
Every decision I make, all this megalomania and canted expressions will grow—are you of my mind, or are you of theirs?
Our senses are too dulled. Perhaps all we know of that is the waltzing rules of this putrescent plane we call life?
Somewhere, a devil dances. At the edge of his gaze, his own twisted form finds itself scatheful and bound.
What good does that do to the angel? They dance on tiptoes around the truth which lies beyond our comprehension.
None might dare learn the ways of a fallen angel, nor the risen devil, like one believes; they all are.
—The Second Anarchist
The last few moments blurred like the past two incarnations he had been a part of. There was no consistency in those times of his past, and now, the present.
Coalescing together, as if in his very first moments, coming about the world—again.
A lot of things happened. Seeing these memories of humiliation and indifference—Oh the indifference that he could not understand. His soul sullied by these emotions that he could not yet grasp, not a single inkling of a why, why would this happen?
For what reason would he feel a connection to this woman? Was it her pitifulness? Her innocence? That he and this woman are one of the same, treated as outcasts and left to be lone figures standing by themselves, watching over the horizon for millennia- perhaps longer than this lifetime he experienced, longer than the memories that he holds.
Not a friend, a kin, a nemesis, a companion, sibling, lover—no. Perhaps...
He was now, nothing but one part of who he was, the kind of kinship that changes your form—only he was a devil, and she, an angel.
It was the only notion which made sense at this moment... He felt it, like an answer, as though he just solved a part of him once again that which remained like a blister on his brain, that he could not get rid of, no matter what he tried. It hurt him, it pained him, it enraged him; All of his dark and sinister sides understood that the world was not all war. The world was at the edge of his grasp, but it only slipped away because he only thought of himself. It was not till recently that he learned of friendship, and now, he learned of understanding. The sort of kinship that transcends time, space and this world.
Involuntarily grinning, though with no intent in his heart, he clutched his heart tightly in his right hand, feeling a pain unlike no other.
All the sounds and beats of his surroundings.
In this instant, as he looked over to his right, Phronta sat opposite of him; only four paces separated the two. She looked down, her hands, or what seemed like two hands, where on the ground flat, open, and faced up, like a devout. And as the girl let out a sob, tears streaked down her face.
Slow, heaps of droplets crashed from her high cheekbone into her knees. He wondered, if he loomed tall enough, would he be able to see them shine in the lights, like that of the reflection of the sun on the lake's surface?
"Allow me to help you," he said, 'gazing' downwards towards her pure expression. "I will put back together your crumbled heart. Your fallen sisters' soul aids me to understand you, would you accept my words?" He didn't understand himself at the moment, simply doing what his soul told him to do.
It was as if Zabulus was no longer there, but something else became him. Usurping Reiah's soul, shattering the inner hatred he held for all beings. This wasn't new, his pride couldn't stop this force of will. It came again and again and again—Again, and again, and again, and again.
The way she trembled and wept made his core tremble and in turmoil, for he needed no control over anything. Just acceptance.
"Why?" Phronta replied. Looking at him from a glazed visage, a red rimmed-puffy face from crying too much. She was probably going to wear that the next few days until she completely understands that Reiah is no more.
"Why what? I cannot answer questions that may or may not be."
"Hic! Hah... Sniffle... You're... confusing... What.. What did Sister want of you...?" She continued in sobs, eyes slightly shuttered.
At the same time, he looked at her with consideration. First, 'Was she even the same person without her sisters, or could that be that her isolation meant loneliness and helplessness was the only thing known to her?' he wondered. It was still only him and her. All he wanted was her acceptance—Acceptance of an angel was something he didn't quite expect.
"I cannot answer a question that may or may not be," His answer unchanging, he was looking at the remains that spewed across the wall behind her. His old remains. "But, I don't think you'd want to hear the truth."
"W-why not?!"
She was still acting defiantly, in the end, she was conflicted between her neglectful sister's death and finding fault in herself for allowing it to happen.
Why, is only ever a question everyone asks. However, he understood full-well that nobody ever needs a reply. They wish for people to answer regardless.
In actuality, 'it isn't a question of why, only that of 'will it,' that one asks,' He knew.
And so, he approached, rather gently. He held his hand out, and said, "Your sister, Reiah... She..." he held his breath and pushed his hand out further, closer to the teary-faced girl.
Unsure of what to do. Yet slowly, she outstretched her arm into the air in response; the air inside the room filled up with uncertainty. This lasted a few seconds as their finger finally touched, the both of them.
"It'll be alright. She's within me, I assure you that."
"D-Do... Y-you mean you will fix her..?! P-Please! T-tell me t-the truth, F-fix her. R-Reiah didn't need to die that-that way... h-hic!"
Seeing her sorrowed expression again, even while a little closer, he couldn't bring himself to answer her, clearly. There was a point in telling her, and another point in not telling her the truth.
Was it worth the consequences? Perhaps it was.
"No. I'm afraid her soul is gone, the entirety of her soul was lost." He put forth in a rather decisive answer. He wasn't lying, he couldn't succumb to his nature.
Those words alone forced her into another tearful fit, despite them containing the truth she sought after. "Then... tell me, in all honesty... Why... why are you holding my hand? W-why would you ask forgiveness f-from me? Of all people..." She took hold of his hand and clenched. Her trembling breath was now under control. The pain lessened, but seeing her expression made him unsure.
He answered her honestly, like a fool, he went to say, "I do not know the reason, but it isn't forgiveness. It is acceptance that I seek. I do not understand this very moment, but whatever it is, I feel your turmoil within my soul. The things your sister felt, those I understand."
"H-how do you know how my sister felt? H-her soul is lost.. So w-why?"
Her constant questioning was something so childish- No, almost as if they were alone in some corner of the world where nobody could intrude on them, but he was intent on answering each and every question, not so much because he could not find any faults in the flaws of the logic and reasoning of them, but because his emotions allowed him that. These new emotions drove him to become more of a creature, rather than a warring dance machine.
Calmly, patiently, and somewhat irrevocably, he assured her, "When... Your sister initiated my soul into the depths of death, perhaps she saw some imagery, or I did. And... in a blurry instant her soul became one with mine. Perhaps a rebirth, or maybe a new existence, only together with us do I now understand some things I might've never in a thousand years of living."
"You lie." She let go of his hand.
"Ask yourself the question: why am I saying and thinking what I think and say? Am I a liar, or have you yourself not known true sincerity besides me?" He began to clench his hand shut, slowly closing it, the way a flower folds in its petals when being submerged in water.
"..."
"Can you ask that question a second time? Please?"
Silence. Not a sound graced her mouth, nor were her eyes lowered. Just the sound of dripping tears from her chin was all he could hear. Only for a moment was it all they both endured.
So, again. Zabulus did not waste a single opportunity to make the most of this fleeting one.
"Phronta."
Sudden. He should not have known her name—not in a million years.
"Where... W-where did you-"
"Your sister's memories. Do you believe me? Will you accept me?"
Phronta thought about her reply to no end, and then, slowly, but surely, almost as if the gods were playing a cruel trick. It was all he could hope for, yet, Phronta finally uttered the few sweet words of acceptance he could scarcely hope to ever hear. "...I... do."
Their hands once again touched, it seemed awfully inappropriate, like lovers touching hands instead of two acquaintances who just happened to share some mutual understanding of the lost. Yet, they touched. They touched, knowing full well what would happen.
"Thank you... Phronta."
"...It's not an i-issue... After all, S-Sister is already gone. And... I thank you for that."
Taken by surprise, Zabulus asked, rather flatly, "Why thank me?"
"..."
He took the silence as a sign that he should not intrude upon it.
After what seemed a few minutes of her quiet breaths, she finally decided to respond. "Even if I cry and am inconsolable... I know that Sister did not need to die... But I wished for her death long before her cruelty would ultimately doom her." Phronta trembled, the thoughts of her sister still loomed in her head with a certain hatred and sadness. A hatred so strong, a sadness so strong that not a single emotion would stop its tracks.
"But," she added, "What I feared was... The moment of death. The certainty which may follow it of how relieved I'd be. That is why, Thank you. You may still be a stranger to my eyes, to your intentions and what lies behind your words, but if you can play the part of the devil that saved me, then that is good enough."
"Is the act of saving you devalued without the intention of purity? Or would you have me devoid of an answer, a plan, and more besides?"
Her shyness didn't show in this moment, a face which should've been taut by now was now softer by a few minutes, so gentle were the sounds surrounding the two, encompassed in the room.
"Are you going to steal away that special privilege all on your own?" Her voice was just as soft, even growing more peaceful by the second.
"Ah- The privilege of having everything underneath your command and knowledge in order to manipulate a human being into gaining confidence over fear itself; no matter how hollow it might be. I don't think it is something I can put under my control without faltering to myself in time." Zabulus was truly a devil sometimes, but since he knew her so much through the memories of her sister, he needed not to fear for her next action.
"Wouldn't you wish to kill?"
As was her first thought. Like a spider wreathed within a ball of silk.
"I've left those feelings aside now."
"Then, wouldn't you wish to be just like your peers?"
"I have no peers, only a singular friend that I have known for less than a week. Besides her, and even against that, I had no family-" He caught himself in a bit of an error of speaking. His past was blurry, like water pouring across someone's palm. Clear-blue. However, despite that, he knew the color of his memories was becoming faded after so many congested minds. In a way, he found himself fascinated by his own sudden change. Was Reiah's soul simply that significant?
"Had...?"
"I want to abandon that thought, but I can't."
"If you can't," A sigh, "then I suppose there is no helping it. But, I am the same. For my sister was... cruel, yet loving in a harsh way. I never understood her. But she was unlike Tecinrah. One day, I will see to it that her dream becomes true, regardless of my own selfish yearning for hope. For the hope that I might be freed."
Her blue iris meets his non-existent ones.
"Do you really understand such notions so flippantly? Was it I, or was it your sister who should've played the part of human, one devoid of your innocence to find reason within meaningless beings of existence?"
She let out another sigh, deep and concussive; was it painful or was it something else? Nobody really knew. It became obvious that 'Zabulus' was 'altered' by Reiah's emotions. The image of a devil no longer suited his ego, but had it ever? Nobody really understood, because monsters were always misunderstood.
"...They were in there... yes... an Azkite and two of the Forty-Eight sisters. I can't pretend to know why all this is happening..." Kilgore's voice approached closer and closer from beyond the gate door, though it was still shut. There was a sound of weapons creaking and rattling. A plethora of guards ready to rush in.
"HALT! AZKITE!" Kilgore shouted as the door slammed itself open with the impact of his foot. The smell of warm crimson iron and a pungent scent of burnt stone permeated everyone's nose as the sight of... two Zabulus were in the room, one standing in front of Phronta, and the other a cadaver in the right side of the room.
"Ah," was all Zabulus could've said as he spotted the tens of guards that armed themselves with swords.
"S-sir K-Kilgore... Spare him! T-this Azkite was a-attacked by Sister..." Her stuttering and shyness suddenly returned.
Before a single guard could raise their voice in protest, a heavy silence dropped across everyone and everything.
One would have to make a choice, and this choice for Kilgore wasn't clear, he was only standing in shock at the sight of two of the same person, especially given it was the 'same' Zabulus all along, an illusion to the mortal eye perhaps?
He knew not what magic these illusions contained, he was convinced it was all an illusion.
Nobody could answer for themselves before Zabulus, for he simply 'stared' back at the dumbfounded group of guards and their Leader.