Honorable Monster

'___' marks transition from RP to RP.
'---' marks a divider in the RP itself, used for Arsenic's inner thoughts as well as his flashbacks.
'-' marks where italics were used in Eternia. ie. 'I can't -believe- you would do that.'
_______

The birds were chirping. The grass was green. The sun was shining so bright, so high in the sky.

It was a terrible day to die.

Arsenic's comrades surrounded him and each looked fairly menacing, threatening, some obscuring their appearences and some not. He was of the latter party- who he was was evident to those on the opposite side that knew him, beyond a doubt. He appeared altogether lacksadasical about the entire affair, to an absurd degree, really, seeming entirely aloof while various dramaticism appeared rampant on the field.

He even digs his pinky finger into his nose, other hand in his pocket, looking at the gathering of people he didn't know and people he did, seemingly without a care in the world. He wasn't particularly worried about any who'd showed- nah, it didn't seem like it'd be that bad, really. He was actually completely convinced in their incoming victory, although the other team'd likely score some pretty solid victories.

The boy saw the probability of his own capture in a rather detached light- it didn't particularly bother him much. He hadn't cared about anything but a worthwhile fight in so many moons now the prospect of death had settled in his mind long before he'd ever stepped onto this field and looked at those he'd called friend.

Those to whom he genuinely cared for, those he'd strived for and with, and that to which he owed everything...they stood aside and behind him, and, with that in mind, there were no worries.

Just that insufferable smile.

The same he'd had asking about birds knowing damn well no one had cared.

Arsenic's rabbit bolted off, and into the distance, but only at his insistence. Energy crackled around him, electricity shooting off from his body...a manifestation of his chaotic mindset, shape given to the many conflicting thoughts waging internalized war. His eyes closed, his perception of reality slipped, the voices chimed, everything became loud, too loud, he was falling...

He caught himself.

His eyes snap open, and, despite the deep rings, the heavy bags underneath...he looks more alert, more focused than he'd ever displayed. Arsenic hand rises, rather slowly, and one pointer finger outstretches. His eyes had remained shut this entire time, as if he were living in this moment, taking in all there was to take...and then his pointer finger outstretched. Skyward he pointed, and stationary he remained, until the point where lightning encompassed every fiber of his being, radiant, cascading electricity emitting from his every pore as he willed magic into being, augmenting his physical parameters.

He leant low, like a sprinter at the block, eyes locked dead onto Kalti, heart hammering in his chest so loud one might swear it'd burst free from it's confines...and he does not speak, not for a long while, does not move, does not even dare to think, lest he lose focus, lest he lose everything.

"...In this world lie sleeping gods, and they will not rest until they become sovereign of their own souls."

There was no sense in it. There was no sense in anything he did.

---

-Impossibly fast, Arimanes bore down on him, swatting him like a fly. He skipped through the cliff-face, and, by the time he'd reoriented himself, she was upon him again, goliath-sized fists larger than his entire body. He'd skip like a stone.-

---

I worked so hard.

He shot forward then, alongside one he barely knew and, well, one he didn't know at all. The boy moved like a breath shot forward from the earth, expecting colossal damage, expecting immense danger, expecting capture, death, injury...

None of it mattered.

---

-Virgil believed in him.-

---

Upon reaching range, he swings that sword with all of his might, and moves with the ferocity and blinding speed of the blitzkrieg fighter he has always been. No matter how powerful their adversary, no matter the cost, the siege at Byson could not be allowed to fail- the Republic would fall, and this was the greatest milestone yet.

And at it's forefront, he would carve his name into the tapestry of fate, with his own hands.

Showtime.

___________

Arsenic and his teammates, despite having never worked together, cleaved through Kaiti with the unholy wrath of those who believed themself righteous. There simply was no putting an end to their onslaught, their accelerated movements and in-and-out tactics liquid smooth.

He flipped out of the fray after the brutal kick he'd launched that'd sent the occultist flying, after remaining stationary in that position, foot extended, for several seconds. Arsenic rolled his neck, rolled his arms, hopped on the balls of his feet, stretched his torso from side-to-side...and then stood there.

His hands slid back into his pockets.

"You should be grateful."

The hands, already, left his pockets. Lightning balled in them, bright enough to blind, and then suddenly extinguished. He was entirely stationary for a few long, long moments, as he was at the onset of last fight...and then he hurtled them, exploding grenades that'd go off in hellish electric lights that sparked red for the briefest of instants.

He was already in motion again, ungodly fast, employing occult magic with the ease of someone who had been doing it all his life. The whispers grew louder, the world grew more distant, but he focused on what he could, clung onto a planet that became smaller and smaller as his perception unraveled, as he succumbed to madness during the heat of this very important fray and had to apply every bit of his mental faculties to not only remain in control, but remain focused.

"You can tell them...we freed your soul."

Arariel wasn't taking this fight too seriously. It'd always been apparent the older boy was in Levi's league...a league far past Arsenic's.

For the moment.

Such thoughts would only hold him down.

He had to remain focused.

The last roll of the dice counts for all.

____________

Arsenic cared not for the fate of the damned past the victory they'd earned. He considered what he could do:

He could exit the vicinity in a flash of lightning, bounding from tree to tree, body occasionally shifting into a bolt of artificial lightning. He could then resume the fray, diving into combat with all still remaining on the other side, likely having to face Aules and Emmet...

Nah.

Levi had it.

He rears back his foot and, as Beatrice goes to bite into Kalti, his foot comes up and aims at her mouth, the boy seeking to give her one hell of a kick. If this wasn't enough to pry her off, a burst of electricity at short-range would subsequently follow, and the boy would stand there, one hand in his pocket and the other simmering with smoke from the sudden blast.

"...You're not devouring a damn thing." He sneered in disgust.

This man had waged his ideals against theirs', and fought with all of his might, and were he to have any death at all, it'd be a warrior's. Not something this disgusting, this pathetic, something so completely and totally beneath a warrior of this level, who had stood against three and never folded.

Arsenic looked at her with all the venom in the world.

He would not allow Beatrice to proceed with this course.

___________

some time after the invasion, but not too long later:

____________

Arsenic stood there, staring at what may as well have been- what was- his genuine brother, a man who he had idolized and fought alongside and fought for for so many years, and, eventually, untied the blood-stained headband that'd marked his commitment to the fight. It is placed in his back pocket, and on his head lies the bright pair of red goggles he'd donned since he were a little boy.

His first and favorite gift.

"I don't think so early about what happens next...I'm on the here and now, y'know? You gotta wonder. Members o' Highwind who fought against us with all their heart...are things still the same?"

The unease he'd felt regarding the entire situation had mostly dissipated when aware of who on his side stood along with him, with Arimanes(for now), with the goal of tearing the Republic and it's faux-idealism to pieces. The oppression and persecution of a people group just for who they were, the questionable 'ethics', and the general concept and execution- he just did not like the Republic. Not in any way, shape, or form.

"We're taking out the idiots who ripped out that guy's tongue out anyway though, even if we have to do shit with just a few of us."

That was a given. It was how both of them are.

The mark of conquerors was that whether one or many, they'd continue pushing their ideals all the same.

_______

some time after:

_______

Arsenic looked down at the children wandering Nostvale with his oddly glazed over, heavily worn eyes. He looked on the verge of passing out any minute now, deep bags lining his skin underneath, but the boy continued to drag his feet alongst the ground like a man possessed, both hands in his pockets all the while.

"...So many kids."

He muttered that under his breath like that hadn't been him and his friends only a few short years ago, droves of children roaming towns unsupervised. It all just seemed so lamentable to him now that the shoe was on the other foot.

His eyes flicked to Beatrice in particular.

________

He turned to Beatrice and regarded her with similar disdain, having found her earlier attitude nothing short of utterly disgusting. While they served the same cause, even remained close to the exact same 'mother' figure(while he'd never call her as such, their bond was...complex, and that was the most apt of summarizations he could think of,) he couldn't think of a farther off code of ethics than hers and his.

"Oh. It's you." He deadpanned, and his voice seemed three octaves deeper than usual. The teenager'd wave his hand dismissively, and then place in it's usual resting place...his pocket. The boy'd roll his shoulders, yawn, and smack his lips, rather audibly, all the while keeping his eyes shut after realizing who it was he was dealing with here.

"...You run away too?"

You know, as moronic as she seemed, she was still young, and something told him...

Her story might be similar to his.

_______

He ignored her question, for she had ignored his, and that was his way. Unflinching. No compromise. The boy turned to her, asserting what he had meant, making it more clear, so as to obtain his answer, and for no other reason.

"...From home."

He was asking if she had ran away from where she had came from, from the loving, tender care of a mommy and a daddy to the wretched arms of a yokai that'd turned a sweet little girl into a monster. His eyes didn't hold any traces of pity, however- he was beyond that. The boy was wholly aware he had never really been right in the head, and the darkness hadn't helped. Oh no.

Surely not.

_______

He didn't empathize with that.

There was a disattached feeling to it all. What she'd said was horrible- but he did not know that pain, did not know the suffering of one who had never had a home. He only knew what it was to be born to a loving, hospitable mother and father who expected entirely too much of you, out of your best interests. He only knew a household that had clothed him, fed him, loved him, yet carried with it a number of expectations he very well and could have met, if not for one simple problem...

He hadn't wanted to.

And in that, they were entirely different, and there dropped most of his interest in the child. A pitiable specimen she was, tragic past and all that he was forced to admit had had it rough. Her goal was admirable, her path fairly clear, but...

That just made her, to him, one of many. She was not one kin to him, but another one of several magi who aspired to mold their ideal world with the glory of their blessed gift. Only time could tell if she were worth regarding as anything more than another commoner, it seemed.

"Mm. Got lives in you though. Hard to kill. Woods are tough, the ones I think you're talking about. Kids don't usually make it out alive. Ones that do? Never the same."

He spoke from experience.
_______

Arsenic quirked his eyebrow. Human and monster? Interesting uninteresting prospect. Something about the entire thing seemed dreadfully far-fetched, and he was wholly aware this was a little girl he was speaking to, so he was mildly dismissive in light of her claim. He wouldn't let this on though- rather, he'd just look at her in an altogether inexpressive, blank kind of way, which was a cue he might've been getting bored. Or his sleep deprivation was finally wearing him down. Either or.

"It was three on one. I'd never let someone be killed in such circumstance." His tone was cutting, severe, as if the very thought of such a thing boiled his blood. "We won. It took the three of us. He earned an escape. What you did was for someone weak."

And that was all there was to it. Were Beatrice of a mind to charge at him, or whatever she might do, Arsenic was generally apathetic to such an assault. Dropping other magi in the middle of towns was pretty standard fare for one of his days. His body tension does not increase...if anything, it slackens, his posture as relaxed as imaginable.

"Pride is a luxury of the strong."

_______

Whatever she wanted.

He didn't particularly care. He'd be forced to interact with Beatrice again, he was sure of it. Their fates were connected through their mutual proxy, a looming shadow that invaded everyone of his interactions with others. He just left, not having time for silly little children and the games they played, her conviction that she was equivalent to him despite her lack of pride, that his ideals were for naught...

Subjective. It was all subjective. He opens his mouth and laughs, a loud, shrill thing; It resonates throughout the clearing, almost deafening. His laugh can be heard the entire duration of his exit, gradually quieting until he was out of sight. He doesn't even say anything to Beatrice; it's apparent that something, whether her or something he said, had him in hysterics.

There was one last guffaw by the town gates before he became a blur, violet and black melding into a streak that shot to the north too fast for the untrained eye.

Arsenic smiled all the way.