Chara Dreemurr (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_obedient_servant) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
deernet2022-08-04 01:27 am
the_obedient_servant) wrote in deernet2022-08-04 01:27 am
Entry tags:
- akira kurusu: rei,
- albert wesker: ref,
- anna amarande: celene,
- ariadne: wizera,
- beatrice: mila,
- chara: kai,
- darth maul: shade,
- echo: kaito,
- falco grice: owlie,
- frisk: jude,
- goro akechi: kei,
- johnny lawrence: josh,
- kainé: ava,
- kaworu nagisa: ru,
- luca: robin,
- luke skywalker: skyla,
- paul atreides: beth,
- pyrrha dve: silyara,
- sharon da silva: lunare,
- tory nichols: lex,
- uchiha sasuke: simcha,
- usagi tsukino: jax,
- vira-lorr: latroma,
- willow rosenberg: lucy
video | un: NOMERCY - backdated to July 25th
CW FOR MASS MURDER OF UNARMED CIVILIANS, RELIGIOUS FANATICISM, THEMES OF NIHILISM AND UNREALITY, GASLIGHTING, "MERCY KILLING", THREATENED HARM TO CHILDREN, CHARA IN GENERAL, MOTHER MERCY IN GENERAL
[The video starts from a low point, broadcasting only Chara's feet. They have their omen doing the recording, after-all. Or did he decide to do it himself, because he thought the world needed to see this? Regardless, all that's currently seen is a collection of corpses on the ground.
There's two sets of shoes, nearly identical in size, though one is perhaps a bit bigger. One of the few living bodies (* 4 Left) slumps to the ground as the smaller of the pair sinks a knife into his chest. Trenchies. The kind that die permanently.
The video cuts then, to Chara sitting alone on the stump of what used to be a statue of Mother Mercy, better known to the inhabitants of the dream that came before as Mother Superior. Splattered on the walls in many different kinds of blood are the words NO MERCY.
They clear their throat, their face chalky and their eyes a dull lifeless black.]
Greetings. I am Chara. [Their voice perfectly polite, their smile perfectly pleasant.] I am here to show you something. No doubt, a lot of you are already familiar with my work. Oscar Pine, Ezra Bridger, the "Clockhouse" as I believe it was called, Professor Ozpin... Others were killed under my direction, of course, and I take responsibility for all of them. If you want revenge, I'm here to receive you. In the last day or so I have killed approximately forty eight of the inhabiting NPCs in this world. Trenchies, as I believe they're called.
[They fish out a bag sitting next to them, concealed by their clothing. They unfasten it and pour them out into the palm of their hand. Small silver crystals of light, and a fair few of them too, at least ten, maybe fifteen.]
Moon Drops. I think the Reckoning likes me. If you needed proof that the rulers of this world do not care for the people within it, let this be it. I will not be punished for my crimes. Everything I have done has been according to the Reckoning's wishes. Everything I have done has been, in some way, in the name of justice. The most broken motivation of all.
I am here to prove Mother Superior a fraud. I am here, to make it known that any attempts made to revere her by the local inhabitants will be met with death. I am here, to preach the opposite of her pretentious self-serving drivel.
There will be no mercy for this world, or those responsible for creating it. Not from her. Not from anyone else. I reject her forgiveness, because I will never allow myself to be forgiven by someone so weak and pitiful. Others have preached this - no mercy - without truly knowing the meaning. No mercy is the relentless pursuit of power. No mercy is the destruction of civilizations. No mercy is the complete and total annihilation of your enemy. No mercy is embracing the path you were always meant to walk, no matter how high the ocean of blood may grow.
You do not understand what it is to live without mercy. So I am going to show you.
And now. I am going to demonstrate the broken mercy of this false patron. Don't worry. I'm not under the impression that any of you believed in it to begin with. This is for the NPCs of Trench to see. [They smile, and the black inky substance of their eyes begins to drip down like tears, like their face is melting. And they reach into their bag and pull one of the moon drops out.
They hold it against their chest, letting it fill them with it's warmth, and the black in their eyes fades, leaving only a normal human child with a dull stone. Other things seem to fade along with it as the video (and reality) flickers. The harsh emptiness in their eyes is gone, replaced only with a wide-eyed fear and horror. Their mouth twitches into a shocked laugh.]
...You'll even use yourself, won't you? [They wipe the ink off their face with their sleeve.] We're so fucked up.
[There's another cut. And in the next video, Chara is not alone. Standing before them, looming over their tiny stature, is a pale woman in a dark veil. A mourning widow, looking down at this child, lost and pitiful. They look up at her, their eyes filled with anxiety, determination, and to some extent the loathing remains just as strong.
The woman places a land on the child's head. Standing here amid a hall dedicated to faith in her cause, faith in her kindness. Standing amid the corpses of those who died for no reason other than a bad choice in gods, she speaks, quietly, but loud enough for the omen to pick up, at least a little.]
...Forgiven.
[And in just a moment, she turns to the bodies. To a group that aren't quite dead yet, but rather tied up and bound in their injuries, kept alive by Chara's blood magic. They could be saved, if taken to the ministers. They might even want to be saved, unlike Chara.
But the woman approaches them, and kills them in an instant, kneeling down to mourn their loss. She weeps over their corpses, before disappearing in black smoke, leaving only the dead people and the ghost of a child that sits atop her statue of vanity like it's a broken throne.
It leaves Chara the last in this room alive, baffled, shocked. For all of a moment until their mouth twists into a vicious smile, and they begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. It's difficult to tell if they're back to the way they were. Or if any forgiveness or LOVE lost won't change the fact that this is who they are.
The video feed cuts for the last time.]
[The video starts from a low point, broadcasting only Chara's feet. They have their omen doing the recording, after-all. Or did he decide to do it himself, because he thought the world needed to see this? Regardless, all that's currently seen is a collection of corpses on the ground.
There's two sets of shoes, nearly identical in size, though one is perhaps a bit bigger. One of the few living bodies (* 4 Left) slumps to the ground as the smaller of the pair sinks a knife into his chest. Trenchies. The kind that die permanently.
The video cuts then, to Chara sitting alone on the stump of what used to be a statue of Mother Mercy, better known to the inhabitants of the dream that came before as Mother Superior. Splattered on the walls in many different kinds of blood are the words NO MERCY.
They clear their throat, their face chalky and their eyes a dull lifeless black.]
Greetings. I am Chara. [Their voice perfectly polite, their smile perfectly pleasant.] I am here to show you something. No doubt, a lot of you are already familiar with my work. Oscar Pine, Ezra Bridger, the "Clockhouse" as I believe it was called, Professor Ozpin... Others were killed under my direction, of course, and I take responsibility for all of them. If you want revenge, I'm here to receive you. In the last day or so I have killed approximately forty eight of the inhabiting NPCs in this world. Trenchies, as I believe they're called.
[They fish out a bag sitting next to them, concealed by their clothing. They unfasten it and pour them out into the palm of their hand. Small silver crystals of light, and a fair few of them too, at least ten, maybe fifteen.]
Moon Drops. I think the Reckoning likes me. If you needed proof that the rulers of this world do not care for the people within it, let this be it. I will not be punished for my crimes. Everything I have done has been according to the Reckoning's wishes. Everything I have done has been, in some way, in the name of justice. The most broken motivation of all.
I am here to prove Mother Superior a fraud. I am here, to make it known that any attempts made to revere her by the local inhabitants will be met with death. I am here, to preach the opposite of her pretentious self-serving drivel.
There will be no mercy for this world, or those responsible for creating it. Not from her. Not from anyone else. I reject her forgiveness, because I will never allow myself to be forgiven by someone so weak and pitiful. Others have preached this - no mercy - without truly knowing the meaning. No mercy is the relentless pursuit of power. No mercy is the destruction of civilizations. No mercy is the complete and total annihilation of your enemy. No mercy is embracing the path you were always meant to walk, no matter how high the ocean of blood may grow.
You do not understand what it is to live without mercy. So I am going to show you.
And now. I am going to demonstrate the broken mercy of this false patron. Don't worry. I'm not under the impression that any of you believed in it to begin with. This is for the NPCs of Trench to see. [They smile, and the black inky substance of their eyes begins to drip down like tears, like their face is melting. And they reach into their bag and pull one of the moon drops out.
They hold it against their chest, letting it fill them with it's warmth, and the black in their eyes fades, leaving only a normal human child with a dull stone. Other things seem to fade along with it as the video (and reality) flickers. The harsh emptiness in their eyes is gone, replaced only with a wide-eyed fear and horror. Their mouth twitches into a shocked laugh.]
...You'll even use yourself, won't you? [They wipe the ink off their face with their sleeve.] We're so fucked up.
[There's another cut. And in the next video, Chara is not alone. Standing before them, looming over their tiny stature, is a pale woman in a dark veil. A mourning widow, looking down at this child, lost and pitiful. They look up at her, their eyes filled with anxiety, determination, and to some extent the loathing remains just as strong.
The woman places a land on the child's head. Standing here amid a hall dedicated to faith in her cause, faith in her kindness. Standing amid the corpses of those who died for no reason other than a bad choice in gods, she speaks, quietly, but loud enough for the omen to pick up, at least a little.]
...Forgiven.
[And in just a moment, she turns to the bodies. To a group that aren't quite dead yet, but rather tied up and bound in their injuries, kept alive by Chara's blood magic. They could be saved, if taken to the ministers. They might even want to be saved, unlike Chara.
But the woman approaches them, and kills them in an instant, kneeling down to mourn their loss. She weeps over their corpses, before disappearing in black smoke, leaving only the dead people and the ghost of a child that sits atop her statue of vanity like it's a broken throne.
It leaves Chara the last in this room alive, baffled, shocked. For all of a moment until their mouth twists into a vicious smile, and they begin to laugh, and laugh, and laugh. It's difficult to tell if they're back to the way they were. Or if any forgiveness or LOVE lost won't change the fact that this is who they are.
The video feed cuts for the last time.]
no subject
[she doesn't really know what else to say. objectively, that's horrifying. objectively, it doesn't excuse anything. and she knows they know that.]
So you're taking it out on people who haven't done anything to you? What, because you really think it's human nature to be that way?
You can stop whenever you want.
You don't have to keep the cycle going.
cw for apocalyptic ideation, again suicidal ideation and misanthropy taken to extremes
They get that privilege. The ticket out of this world's disturbed cycles.
What would any of their rich meaningful lives have come to in this world ruled by monsters that don't give a damn about any of them, that forces the worst out of them at every available opportunity?
This was never about them, and yet they are collateral for the whims of the patrons and the sleepers. That is the unfortunate truth of their existence.
I do not claim to be above that truth.
no subject
[this is starting to sound more familiar. and she said that she wouldn't get involved, but she can't stop herself.]
Maybe they do have a miserable life here. Maybe they are just at the whims of beasts and gods who don't care about them.
But they have lives and families and loved ones all the same. The same as each of us do.
If you saw a buttercup in the desert, would you punish it for finding a way to grow?
cw for past child suicide, unsanitary,
was it, though?), the sheets drenched in filth.What gives Chara the right? It's a good question. In this world, they have no such thing. In their own, they have the approving hand of something akin to a god, something from reality reached into the illusion and spurred them to wipe the world out. (But of course even they were not free of human weakness.)]
How else would I know if it LOVEs me or LOVEs me not? Just kidding, I already know the answer.
By the tenets of their little cult, the right thing to do would be to pluck the fucking flower from it's miserable half-existence lingering in the world as a mistake of nature made by the careless hands of morons messing with things beyond their comprehension. By my own principles, mistakes need to be corrected. So yes. I'd pick the flower. I'd rip it to shreds, even, no matter how hard it begged, or the faces it might wear when it's back is against the wall.
You saw how "Mercy" reacted to her wounded followers. Perhaps they weren't begging her hard enough. They were not innocent. None of them are. Nobody is. You certainly aren't. Their little cult had their own nasty practices that would have disgusted you, all in the name of granting mercy to those beyond saving. The collective in the building that I filmed this from wronged me specifically. It doesn't matter, of course. They don't matter. When I killed them, I felt no relief beyond the increase in numbers.
Nothing gives me the right, Amaranth. I am not better than Superior. I am not better than humanity, or the Patrons, or you, or The Necromancer. I am not better than a weed growing in the desert, or deep underground, or wherever the hell he grows next. But I exist to extinguish life, to destroy worlds in the pursuit of power, to keep walking the path set before me no matter how high the tides of blood might grow. I did not choose to be reborn a demon. I did not choose at all. Not then. But I do now. And I choose to proceed.
no subject
[this is going to become a bigger problem before it gets smaller. and she doesn't have the strength to fight it right now. she's recovering from one mistake. she can't get involved in another.]
[well. at least this one can't explode her heart over the internet.]
Why is this what you're choosing?
Do you remember what things that aren't vengeance taste like anymore?
[her thumbs hover over the keyboard for a moment. she types something else quickly, out of some sense of... having fucked up, or something.]
You don't have to answer that. I don't really know if it matters.
You've made your choice. And I've made mine -- I'm not coming for you over this.
I should've just left this at gb2reddit.
no subject
I just can't get the taste of buttercups out of my mouth.
But we can leave it at that. And at me restating that I'm more of a Club Penguin type.
Except I can't go back there, obviously.
[They smile at their own clever little metaphor, turning Club Penguin into a metaphor for home. Not real, but gone all the same.]
no subject
Could always make a new Club Penguin here.
no subject
[Of course, they know what she's saying.
They reject that too. If this is their new home, then that leaves everything they sacrificed as nothing but a footnote. Of course, it never mattered either, just like this world.
But the destruction had to mean something, even if it never meant anything while it lived and breathed.]
no subject
The source code is still out there for anyone to stumble on.
With a little work, you can build a new one whenever you want.
If you really do want to.
[this is stupid. and she's stupid for hoping she can get through to them like this.]
I don't know, kid.
Just think it's a shame that you don't have it anymore.
no subject
But instead.]
Who owned Club Penguin, Anna?
no subject
Uh. Pretty sure it was the mouse?
Not sure where we're going with this anymore.
no subject
Disney. A corporation that feeds on it's own corruption and defaces art with it's every waking breath. Every dollar spent on that site went right to them and their evil frozen overlord.
You could make a new one, yes. Create a new monument to the greed of humanity, but do it right this time. But at some point you have to ask yourself.
Wouldn't it be better to just let it stay dead? Before it festers into another parasite feeding on the naive exploitable innocence of those who flock to it?
I'm an excellent example of what happens when you rebuild something out of a rose colored memory and ignore the horrible truth of it's true nature.
no subject
Chill out, comrade.
If you're planning on flipping the iceberg of this metaphor, then let me give you a hand.
I've heard enough about leaving dead things dead when it's obvious that nobody's actually ready to do that, and I'm sick of hearing it.
What you are is an excellent example of a kid who got dealt the worst fucking hand imaginable and doesn't know how else to handle it. But you don't need me to tell you that.
I don't have an answer for it, but I'm not all the way blind yet.
no subject
When I kill something, I don't puppet it's corpse because I'm feeling nostalgic.
You aren't the only one to see it that way. It doesn't matter. You can see me as a villain or victim, or neither or both.
It means nothing to me. I'll still have the honor to be your obedient servant.
no subject
Not content being a ham OR a burr, huh?
Well.
[she doesn't exactly know what to say next. she wants to have that faith, but she's not sure if someone so aberrant is worth investing the time in. still, she's made worse choices.]
I'm willing to wait for it.
no subject
Well. If you insist. Your choices are your own, at least in this world.
We'll just have to see who lives, who dies and who tells our story by the end of this.
I hope you stop staring into the cauldron, Anna Amarande. It might all end happier if you do.
[The sentiment is sincere, at least. As hard to decipher as it is.
As lonely as they are, they wouldn't wish the void they occupy with the likes of Satoko and the Necromancer on anyone else.]