I Have a Special Plan for This World
Who: he has no name Legato Bluesummers
What: A glimpse of his time in the Labyrinth.
When: Time is irrelevant
Where: The Labyrinth
WARNINGS: This goes into both anime and manga canon: it includes violence, sexual abuse while in slavery, and eventually major spoilers.
Notes: This is only the very first part of this narrative: more will be added over time in comments. (This part could almost be considered a prologue. 8|)
He remembered falling. Not what came before, not what led to the fall, but the fall itself remained clear. He'd been pulled down, down and down into the dark, black pressing against wide golden eyes that could see nothing beyond its grasp. There was no trace of fear; he remembered that clearly. There was only surprise and confusion, as though this fall was not what he had intended to be doing. As though something had gone quite wrong.
If he concentrated hard enough, closed his eyes in the darkness, he could feel something tugging at the edge of his memory. Waves ... something of waves. Waves, and following the ideas of another. A familiar thing; something he had done for all of his life. Was that what had gone wrong? Was he meant to be carrying out the desires of another, yet was falling instead? The harder he grasped for the memory, the quicker it slipped away, until he was left with only grains of sand.
It was unimportant, he decided. It had nothing to do with his Master; of that he was certain. Therefore, it mattered not at all.
The ground was cold when he found himself upon it, though he couldn't recall when he had landed. Cold and dry.... When he pushed himself up onto his hands, it slid beneath his fingertips. Sand, stretching out beneath him in the dark. But it wasn't dark anymore, was it? Stars flickered into existence overhead, followed by the moons he had seen for all his life. The night sky of the planet he had lived and died upon. The desert wasteland. The world he had attempted to purge of humanity.
He pushed himself upright and began to walk. There was no real direction in mind, and no landmarks to be seen. But perhaps if he walked long enough, he could find something. Perhaps if he kept on moving, he could find a way out of this place.
This place...? What place was that? This desert planet? But he had always been here; he had lived and died on its surface, and would have it no other way. No human deserved to leave this hell. They would all die chained
to the metal surface, wrists shackled and spread above his head, like some mockery of a holy image. He stared down at the man's swollen face through his own beaten one. His plan had failed. Their end was meant to be brutal, horrible; they would rip the skin from each others bones and scream for it all to end. The ones who used him for their own twisted satisfaction. The ones who did nothing to stop it. They were meant to learn that there was no mercy.
But he had failed. Controlling a thousand people at once had been too many, and he had been shot. So there he hung by his wrists, staring down at the man who mourned the loss of such a pretty face. To be killed by such a pathetic leader.... He remained silent as his legs were spread, made no sound as the man began to take what he wished. This was his end. He had failed, and he would die.
He should have died. He would have died, had the man between his legs not suddenly been cut clean in two. One half slid to the side, another slice of meat being cut from it as it fell; the metal he was shackled to was cut in turn, quickly being reduced to little more than scrap. It was flawless. Beautiful. Such skill, such talent. Each and every thing, living or not, was sliced to pieces in moments. Everything but him.
In the ruins that remained, he pushed himself up to sit on his knees; the lone survivor of the cesspool he had attempted to destroy. The man who'd been sliced in half between his very legs lay before him, only barely conscious. Just enough, that he could look into his eyes and watch the last bit of life fade from them.
He wept with joy before spotting his savior. And he knew, without a shred of doubt, he wanted to be like him.
Questions, a blade against his throat: how did he survive? But the blond man already knew. And so he only asked to serve his savior. Just to serve. He had no reason to live beyond serving this man.
His name? He had none. But he was born anew under a new one, given to him by his Master. He would be known as
Legato Bluesummers opened his eyes, staring down at the sand beneath his hands. Cold. When had it become so cold? The dry desert air seemed to constrict around him, pressing in on his nude form; he coughed, felt long hair brush against his back as he tried to push himself upright. But he quickly found that he was completely unable to move. His body remained frozen, shivering in the blistering cold.
Movement on the sand; a tall shadow fell across him. Then a voice, so familiar it may well have been within his own head.
"Do you intend to die?"
He felt his neck slowly loosen, just enough for him to tilt his head back. Just enough to stare up, and see himself staring down. Older. Shorter hair. Legato Bluesummers, as he would become; not the newly-named teenager kneeling in the sand.
"You know that there is still much to do. Our Master still has use for us."
His elder held out no hand to aid him. He would either rise on his own, or he would be unworthy to serve.
He must serve. His Master ... his Master still had use for him. Human as he was, flawed as he was, he must....
Gritting his teeth, he slowly began to move, forcing numb limbs to respond by sheer force of will. He would stand. He would rise up, and he would serve his Master. He would become the man he saw before him. One day ... one day, he wanted to be like his Master. He wanted to be like Knives.
Naked and shaking, he stood before his elder, who looked down at him without a hint of emotion.
"Are you prepared?"
Mutely, he nodded, and the world disappeared in a flash of white.
What: A glimpse of his time in the Labyrinth.
When: Time is irrelevant
Where: The Labyrinth
WARNINGS: This goes into both anime and manga canon: it includes violence, sexual abuse while in slavery, and eventually major spoilers.
Notes: This is only the very first part of this narrative: more will be added over time in comments. (This part could almost be considered a prologue. 8|)
He remembered falling. Not what came before, not what led to the fall, but the fall itself remained clear. He'd been pulled down, down and down into the dark, black pressing against wide golden eyes that could see nothing beyond its grasp. There was no trace of fear; he remembered that clearly. There was only surprise and confusion, as though this fall was not what he had intended to be doing. As though something had gone quite wrong.
If he concentrated hard enough, closed his eyes in the darkness, he could feel something tugging at the edge of his memory. Waves ... something of waves. Waves, and following the ideas of another. A familiar thing; something he had done for all of his life. Was that what had gone wrong? Was he meant to be carrying out the desires of another, yet was falling instead? The harder he grasped for the memory, the quicker it slipped away, until he was left with only grains of sand.
It was unimportant, he decided. It had nothing to do with his Master; of that he was certain. Therefore, it mattered not at all.
The ground was cold when he found himself upon it, though he couldn't recall when he had landed. Cold and dry.... When he pushed himself up onto his hands, it slid beneath his fingertips. Sand, stretching out beneath him in the dark. But it wasn't dark anymore, was it? Stars flickered into existence overhead, followed by the moons he had seen for all his life. The night sky of the planet he had lived and died upon. The desert wasteland. The world he had attempted to purge of humanity.
He pushed himself upright and began to walk. There was no real direction in mind, and no landmarks to be seen. But perhaps if he walked long enough, he could find something. Perhaps if he kept on moving, he could find a way out of this place.
This place...? What place was that? This desert planet? But he had always been here; he had lived and died on its surface, and would have it no other way. No human deserved to leave this hell. They would all die chained
to the metal surface, wrists shackled and spread above his head, like some mockery of a holy image. He stared down at the man's swollen face through his own beaten one. His plan had failed. Their end was meant to be brutal, horrible; they would rip the skin from each others bones and scream for it all to end. The ones who used him for their own twisted satisfaction. The ones who did nothing to stop it. They were meant to learn that there was no mercy.
But he had failed. Controlling a thousand people at once had been too many, and he had been shot. So there he hung by his wrists, staring down at the man who mourned the loss of such a pretty face. To be killed by such a pathetic leader.... He remained silent as his legs were spread, made no sound as the man began to take what he wished. This was his end. He had failed, and he would die.
He should have died. He would have died, had the man between his legs not suddenly been cut clean in two. One half slid to the side, another slice of meat being cut from it as it fell; the metal he was shackled to was cut in turn, quickly being reduced to little more than scrap. It was flawless. Beautiful. Such skill, such talent. Each and every thing, living or not, was sliced to pieces in moments. Everything but him.
In the ruins that remained, he pushed himself up to sit on his knees; the lone survivor of the cesspool he had attempted to destroy. The man who'd been sliced in half between his very legs lay before him, only barely conscious. Just enough, that he could look into his eyes and watch the last bit of life fade from them.
He wept with joy before spotting his savior. And he knew, without a shred of doubt, he wanted to be like him.
Questions, a blade against his throat: how did he survive? But the blond man already knew. And so he only asked to serve his savior. Just to serve. He had no reason to live beyond serving this man.
His name? He had none. But he was born anew under a new one, given to him by his Master. He would be known as
Legato Bluesummers opened his eyes, staring down at the sand beneath his hands. Cold. When had it become so cold? The dry desert air seemed to constrict around him, pressing in on his nude form; he coughed, felt long hair brush against his back as he tried to push himself upright. But he quickly found that he was completely unable to move. His body remained frozen, shivering in the blistering cold.
Movement on the sand; a tall shadow fell across him. Then a voice, so familiar it may well have been within his own head.
"Do you intend to die?"
He felt his neck slowly loosen, just enough for him to tilt his head back. Just enough to stare up, and see himself staring down. Older. Shorter hair. Legato Bluesummers, as he would become; not the newly-named teenager kneeling in the sand.
"You know that there is still much to do. Our Master still has use for us."
His elder held out no hand to aid him. He would either rise on his own, or he would be unworthy to serve.
He must serve. His Master ... his Master still had use for him. Human as he was, flawed as he was, he must....
Gritting his teeth, he slowly began to move, forcing numb limbs to respond by sheer force of will. He would stand. He would rise up, and he would serve his Master. He would become the man he saw before him. One day ... one day, he wanted to be like his Master. He wanted to be like Knives.
Naked and shaking, he stood before his elder, who looked down at him without a hint of emotion.
"Are you prepared?"
Mutely, he nodded, and the world disappeared in a flash of white.