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Entry tags:
week 1 execution
W1: EXECUTION
In the morning at 12:30pm sharp, you hear the intercom speakers blare loudly across the entire airport, perfectly audible no matter where you are.
Hopefully that’s not quite as long a trek as Saturday for you. All the same, you are propelled by that same sensation to come to the Flight Deck. Your feet carry you past that glass doors onto the outdoor terrace, where the benches and quaint planters await. Why, it’d look almost serene if not for the fact that one of you appears to be missing. There’s really only one place they could be, isn’t there? Your gaze might eventually settle over the runway you can see out below—the view is great from up here.
While you're not forcibly rooted to your seats, there's no way out. The glass doors close behind the last person and refuse to budge, and the viewing glass is just as unbreakable. As for any open areas, the invisible forcefield is working so very hard on this Sunday.
Oh, and because I’m sure this is the most pressing question on your mind: yes, Allstars Coffee is still serving hot beverages and small baked eats, even during execution. That’s what you need during stressful situations, right? More commemoration ASS caffeine? Yes, we thought so. You’re welcome.
In just a few minutes, the combatants approach, as helpful screens light up to further help you understand today's proceedings.
CULPRIT
EXECUTIONER
Allstars——prepare for sendoff!!
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[she tsks in annoyance as her blast is diverted by that barrier, but-- you know what they say. if at first you don't succeed, blow it the fuck up again.
a deep voice echoes from seemingly nowhere at first, identifiable after a moment as coming from the launcher itself. "Impudent child! Wield your supposed justice, then!"
then the launcher whirs into action, its component pieces shifting together to form what looks like a giant sniper rifle. it settles into her hands, and she takes aim, firing at different points of the barrier-- higher up, lower down, dead center, tossing a quick shot in there that uses the surrounding barrier to try to ricochet into kaworu's back.
around them, the shadows of the furnace form vague, wispy shapes, their whispers echoing in an ancient language that is still somehow understood:
Our eternal... too long... scorch... ...-ing....]
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[The only way to balance the scales. The loss of Anders would come to equilibrium with the execution of Wiš'adel. His pain would settle from the her suffering upon delivery of the final blow.
The blows ricochet and his AT Field deflects them regardless of direction with crushing force that seems like it could topple buildings.
Except one breaks through and grazes him across the leg causing him to stumble forward as blood splatters the runway.
"Wield your justice".
Fine. Fine! If she wants to fight before he kills her then, fine! He reaches into the air for something and reality glitches around his fingers to deliver a lance. Kaworu grabs it and holds it with both hands to his chest. It's clear that he has no idea how to actually use it beyond raw instinct.
In his eyes there is no sense of duty, just fury.]
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[the fury, the lance. that's what he needs. he wouldn't outlast her if he tried, and his barrier's not infallible; he's going to have to do something, to lash out, and it's no fight at all if he doesn't want it.
her ancestor's voice scoffs, "He is a child with a toy, Wis'adel. This is what we face for the Sarkaz?"
the whispers are indistinct once more, but the murmur is louder.]
Oh, shut up, you old farts, I'm trying to aim here-- hey, do you even know how to block with that thing?!
[she hefts the launcher, fires another explosive blast.]
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But I don't need to know. I'm going to kill you. With this lance or with something else entirely. It doesn't matter. It will end because I am going to kill you.
[There's a strange glitching around Kaworu too. He stands up straighter almost as if puppeted by an invisible force. Like she's not the only one being commanded by forces greater than she. Not the only one trapped in lineage and destiny.
There's a flicker of white wings, grotesque and adorned with eyes that have witnessed every outcome and version of this fight.
At the same time she fires the sniper, he throws the lance towards the weapon.]
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[she mutters as those wings flicker into view, brow furrowed. oh, of course. he might not be what she's familiar with, but isn't it just fitting (in a way she hates) for a devil like her to face off against this.
the shadows' voices around them briefly clarify at the sight of those wings, too. Enemy of the Sarkaz, traitor of our kind! You are unworthy of our flames!
there's no attempt to avoid the lance, really. she figures she'll simply blast it away, and it seems like that's exactly what's going to happen as his lance approaches the launcher...
it connects. both weapons flicker, staticky, then blip out of existence and leave her empty handed. her ancestor's angry shout is cut off abruptly.]
What the-- hey! Hey, old man, get back here!
[fuck!
tail lashing angrily, she braces herself. winces a little as she moves into action. wis'adel runs forward to throw herself at him...
and ducks along the way to snatch up a piece of black crystal, broken off the protrusions that jut through the metal here.]
Fine! I don't need a gun to handle you!
[the provocation's intentional. c'mon, do it. keep coming at her. if he falters and she has to just murder the depressed-ass kid she talked to last night, she's gonna hate it.
the crystal chunk glows in her hand before she throws it, bursts into a large, bright explosion just as it reaches kaworu--
(and through that light, she grits her teeth against a hiss of pain, grips briefly at her right forearm.)]
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[He looks a little smug. Like he clearly thinks he's got her on the backfoot. She needed some sort of external power for her guns and now that's left her. But his AT Field is the light of his soul. As long as he can construct an image of himself, it is a sacred space in which no one may enter without him choosing to allow it.
He raises his hand and once again blocks the blow with that geometric light. The ripple of force ruffles his hair and sparks from the explosion illuminate him in a shower of dazzling light.]
Seems like you've lost your advantage.
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[she laughs a little at that, despite him blocking her explosion, despite her grip on her own arm.
the shadows of the furnace solidify a bit more all around them, forming vague, dark humanoid shapes, each with a faint light within them.
Too long have we suffered, they whisper. Scorching-- burning-- eternally raging!
sparks fly once more as the furnace's flames rage, but she remains unafraid of the fire.]
This is Kazdel. My Kazdel.
[Our Kazdel, our home!]
All those eyes, and you still don't see what you really need to see with them. Shame. Maybe you would've figured me out faster if you did! Maybe you could've even done something before it ever happened...?
[needling him once more, a pointed barb.]
I've had the advantage the whole time.
[she grips a shard of crystal still left in her palm, focusing... and all around her, the originium stalagmites begin to crack, glowing with heat from within. brighter and brighter.
black crystal tears through her right sleeve, jagged points of it growing up her arm, teeth grit against it once more--
and the stalagmites blow.]
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I would have done anything I could have to stop you from hurting him. I would have killed you were you stood without regret.
[Something wavers. Not his resolve to kill her. But the undeniable truth that he had misjudged her. And that perhaps there was a change to prevent what she had done that he hadn't noticed. That he'd let slip through his fingers. That maybe he should have held tighter to Anders' hand instead of letting go, expecting to see him tomorrow as always.
His shield blocks most of the explosion but shrapnel breaches the barrier and shards tear at his skin. One large piece embeds itself in his shoulder with enough force to knock him prone.]
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[the tone he says it in--
good. that's how it's going to have to be, despite everything. stay mad. kill her for it.
wis'adel walks toward his prone form, more slowly this time; she moves with something of a limp, her wounds still sore. as she does, the shadows speak with new voices.
a woman's cool tone: Our time... or rather, all time for these lands, this world, is running out.
her own voice: Why are you telling me all this? Didn't I say I'm not into history?
the woman's again: It's precisely because you're not, W. Kazdel shall be rebuilt, but what will it be rebuilt on? ...Perhaps someone like you would have a different answer than I do.
she exhales. her arm aches. time's always been running out.
in a casual motion, she plants a booted foot on him, holding that jagged piece of crystal like a knife.]
Now what?
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[He doesn't believe that. They're just good words. Words that you can say and people let you do what you want when they believe you have noble cause. That you're doing it for the greater good and things in the name of justice are always inherently right.
But the truth is he doesn't care that Wiš'adel killed someone to save people. Of course you kill one life to save many. Any other choice is stupid.
She just killed the wrong person and he needs some way to make sense of it all.
He figures she knows he doesn't believe in any of this. He coughs and blood splatters his white collared shirt.]
That's why I'm going to kill you.
[He reaches and something appears in his hand. Without hesitation, he twists his body and stabs her in the leg.]
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well, if that's how it is.
she lashes back, crystal shard meeting that knife wherever he next tries to swing it, but she really only has the one arm at the moment; her right one is too stiff to hold the shard, hurts too much. another slash. another.]
There's no such thing as making shit right like this. Don't get it fucking twisted.
[shit like this? that's not justice, and even if she knows he doesn't truly believe in it, it bears saying.
the shadows echo something again, softer this time. one of them, standing behind kaworu, is the image of a woman with a serene smile--
it makes her pause.
then she steels herself and lunges forward with the shard once more.]
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[He needs to feel better. He can't go on like this. How is he supposed to just accept the world like this? To have to live with this unfairness and this pain that he never asked for? His life could have been different. He could have been an indifferent creature made of instinct but that was taken from him the moment they twisted humanity into his soul and the very fibers of his body.
He thought perhaps it would change when he grew older. But now he's here and this place is full of adults who are beaten and broken by their circumstances, clinging to meager hope they can find. An endless cycle of being hurt and hurting others and seeking comfort from both.
The crystal embeds itself into Kaworu's stomach. He used to be so afraid of pain because it was new to him and now barely feels a thing. The body is repairable. He has other types of pain to fear.
With a bloodied hand he reaches up and grabs Wiš'adel's neck, twisting fingers into her hair, and pulls himself up. The crystal digs in and breaks through, he can feel the tip grind against the surface of the runway below him.
But it's enough to close the distance. He slams the knife into her neck. It takes less force than he thought it might. He pushes until the hilt is against her jaw.
He keeps his eyes locked on her the whole time.]
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(which is good, because he'll need it, considering what they're all here for. he'll probably be fine. if nothing else-- he's survived a fight for his life, and he knows that he can, now.)
blood smears red against the white of her hair, before more of it spills from her throat; her breath catches, a gasp turning to an uglier sound, the pain of it sharp and unavoidable.
it isn't immediate, but it will be fast enough. her grip on the shard loosens, blood dripping from her hand where she'd held it tight.
the figure in the white dress speaks: ''Wiš'adel,' she says. It means to 'Wish'.
there's an echo of her own voice again. To wish... for a home.
the woman nods. Yes. Kazdel's destiny— could you witness it, in my stead?
-But I... you-
-Kazdel's future is in your hands. Not mine, nor Theresis's. You'll understand when the day comes.
kazdel's future. the land's future. what else would anything be for?
she can't say anything; she just closes her eyes, going limp as the rest of her life bleeds from her, before wiš'adel is dead.]
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Did Wiš'adel ever find a home? Or did he tear it from her like everything had always been torn from his hands. Violence upon violence upon violence.
Eventually, he rolls over, not particularly aware of how the crystal still embedded in his body grinds against the concrete as he moves. For a few paces, Kaworu crawls, still gripping the knife, before managing to swing a leg forward and stand with all the strength of a newborn fawn.
He grips the knife tightly against his person as if trying to stop it being taken from him and starts to walk. There's blood in his mouth. Blood keeps dripping into his eyes. He can feel it running down his leg into his shoe. Only some of it is his.
There's so much out in the distance, just beyond the runway. It's so open. It reminds him of first coming to Faerûn and trying to reconcile the impossible amount of freedom at his fingertips. He could walk towards that open space, just try to get there, it doesn't matter if he fails.
But... they won't let me die here. He knows that and he coughs a bitter laugh. So instead, he just keeps walking towards the terminal, hoping he can make it to the First Aid room before he collapses and before anyone tries to help.
He doesn't make it. He knows people will come for him and take him the rest of the way. A part of him wishes they wouldn't but what can he do now.]
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But in the end, she silently rushes towards Kaworu. Let's get you fixed up sweet angel boy]
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anyway yeah he's following other people down just to make sure he doesn't die but also ah??? ahhh!!! ]
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