Fic: Theolepsis - Chapter Two
This is Chapter Two. Chapter one can be read here:
Theolepsis: Chapter 1 - Erosion
Anyway.
Title: Theolepsis: Chapter 2 - Psycholysis
Author: Locust of Eschaton
Rating this Chapter: R for drugs because Dethcarraldo.
Pairings: None.
Warnings: Violence, drugs, blah blah.
Summary: My account of General Crozier's gradual descent into supernatural mindfuckery. Starts right at the beginning of S2, will continue onward from there. This chapter covers Dethcarraldo. Stuff starts gettin' weird.
The next few months were not that much better. Sure, Crozier hadn’t been feeling quite as awful as he had during the months immediately following his mission, but he still wished he knew more about the circumstances of that mission’s interception and the subsequent death of his colleague. After having a brief meeting with Orlaag that cleared up absolutely nothing that had been on his mind (All Crozier got out of it was a creepy insinuation that Ravenwood’s death had somehow been his fault, and the whole conversation only served to add to the all-pervasive confusion he had been experiencing), Crozier had made a few more casual attempts at making sense of what had happened on that mission or what the long-term plans were for this organization. Eventually, he realized he would not get any answers about the true nature of the Tribunal, at least not by talking to anyone else affiliated with it. Anyone actually worth asking anything was terminally incapable of giving a satisfying answer; Salacia would either stare and blow him off or go on some sort of cryptic and heavily-convoluted tangent. Orlaag would act vaguely polite, almost even warm and empathetic until Salacia or prophecies were brought up in any way, at which point he’d shut down entirely, giving Crozier a look that could level cities. Stampingston seemed to know a lot in general, but everyone knew he was only with the Tribunal because he was promised that certain scandals of his would be covered up in exchange for his allegiance. There was no way the Senator would endanger his reputation just to help a colleague who, if rumors were to be believed, had been on the verge of a mental breakdown since the strike on Dethklok's concert.
All of these elements were things Crozier was beginning to grudgingly accept, as he believed his own intentions to be cosmic and pure - for the benefit of the greater good. He still believed his position remained the best vantage point from which he could enact those intentions, despite the fact that the position affiliated him with individuals who were suspicious by his standards. Now, however little sense anything around him made, he would try his best to do things his way as much as possible. Hopefully, the outcomes would reflect his efforts, and not go horribly wrong as they did last time he decided to do things his way.
One morning, following a brief meeting in the main hall of Tribunal Headquarters regarding Dethklok’s most recent endeavor to take a trip to the perilous Amazon jungle, he was paged into Salacia’s quarters. Vater Orlaag was standing beside Salacia, as was usual any time they were not in the main hall. As he entered the hallway leading into the room, he heard Salacia’s soft, raspy voice mutter something unintelligible, to which Orlaag replied, “He’s here.”
Orlaag stepped forward to Crozier with a friendly greeting, but Crozier was in no warm and friendly mood. “What’s this all about?” He rasped flatly, wanting to get directly to business, and inwardly hoping it had nothing to do with the various questions he had been asking colleagues the past few months. Were he anywhere else, he’d have allowed himself a sigh of relief - they just wanted to give him an assignment. He was to track Dethklok through the Amazon, keeping an eye on them and “taking action in case something out of the ordinary were to occur,” in Orlaag’s words. Sounded dangerous, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
However, Vater Orlaag seemed very adamant about having his own personal soldiers accompany Crozier. He tried not to think too hard about the idea of a guy who wears monastic robes commanding his own personal army and how bizarre that seemed; again, he would just try to do things his way as much as circumstances would allow. Still, that sick feeling he had been experiencing ever since the attack resurfaced when Orlaag gave him his reasoning - “Surely you understand the importance of keeping an eye on you, too, General Crozier.” It was as if the man knew of his intentions to act independently within the group; extrapolated from some non-verbal cue or another that Crozier intended to use his tasks to benefit his own goals - the goals he understood. There was a part of him that felt somewhat violated by this man’s sharp insight, but he wasn’t about to dwell on something like that. Before Crozier could think about it any further, Salacia narrowed his steely-grey eyes and whispered, “Prepare to leave at once.” With that, Crozier returned to his quarters and began making his preparations.
Meanwhile, Salacia remained in his own quarters with Orlaag.
“Master, this mission is an excellent opportunity to prime the General’s mind for a…deeper understanding of our goals...Of his purpose.”
Salacia moved his eyes toward Orlaag. “How do you mean, Vater Orlaag?”
“The Amazon jungle houses a wide variety of psycholytic compounds, Master. These are used freely by the tribes inhabiting it; particularly the tribe Nathan Explosion identifies with and intends on encountering. The soldiers I will send with General Crozier know precisely where this tribe congregates for ritualistic drug use. This ritual is a custom for all new-comers, and Dethklok should be no exception. Now, one of my soldiers can communicate with these tribesmen. They will be following Dethklok there, lurking in the shade, and they will also be bringing the General with them. If everything goes according to my plan, the General will be distracted by the task of keeping his watchful eye on the band while one of my soldiers alerts the natives to their presence. They will all fall under the temporary influence of this psychedelic, the General included.”
Salacia looked down and shook his head slightly. “And how exactly will this help him understand our goals? I do not consider the General to be fully ready to understand our goals, particularly not if they are muddled by alkaloids that infect the soul.”
“That is the point of this, Master. This is part of the preparation - psycholysis; a loosening of the rigid structures of the mind. His mind must be made more… flexible before we enlighten him, otherwise, our efforts to do so may not take and he may turn on us even more. The man is of a stubbornly earthbound temperament. Very resistant to our idea of enlightenment, Master. But I am certain you know this most of all.” Orlaag muttered, something akin to a genuine, almost apologetic smile crossing his face.
Salacia’s facial expression was unchanged and he said absolutely nothing, but he seemed to exude an understanding of Orlaag’s explanations non-verbally; he sat upright in his chair with a bit less stiffness, and his arms folded slightly toward his chest rather than tensely grasping the arms of the chair. Orlaag moved closer to Salacia, and idly placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to get him to say something. He certainly felt more relaxed; certainly not as tense and uneasy as he usually was with hearing other peoples’ ideas. Salacia’s face moved quickly in the direction of Orlaag’s in a way that would have startled most, but not him. His eyes were relaxed, his brow was unfurrowed, and he nodded deliberately.
“I commend you for this foresight, Vater Orlaag. I do hope all goes accordingly. Thank you…”
Outwardly, Salacia’s facial expression did not change, but based on the tone and cadence in Salacia’s voice, Orlaag understood his words to be sincere.
The next day, General Crozier and Orlaag’s soldiers were set to follow Dethklok into the Amazon jungle. As soon as their helicopter drew close to its destination, it was suddenly missiled by another craft, which could only have been one of Dethklok’s military-grade helicopters. Crozier had to act quickly in order to get out of the crashing craft safely - thankfully, his reaction time had not suffered much considering the funk he’d been in for the past six months or so, and made it out safely, he did. Thankfully, most of the other soldiers did as well (And thankfully for Orlaag, they did not lose the soldier who could communicate with the Yannemango). They had lost some valuable supplies in the crash and would have to use extra caution while tracking Dethklok on foot. Crozier hoped to God they would all be able to conserve food and water considering they would be walking much more than initially expected.
Crozier and the soldiers continued following Dethklok even when they decided to drag their boat over a mountain. They calculated where they believed the boat would land, and camped out closeby. As it turned out, this was the place where the Yannemango would congregate. Crozier and his troops found a safe, secluded place from which to watch and wait for Dethklok’s imminent arrival, as well as the Yannemango's.
A chorus of screaming drowned out by the sounds of tree branches cracking and heavy machinery skidding unceremoniously down a slope of dirt and rocks alerted the men that something was about to begin. Shortly after, Crozier spied the five members of Dethklok being escorted by natives in front of a campfire. He could hear them talking to one another in the distance, and what he couldn’t hear, he could see in their body language; stupid, childish, inane arguments. Were these…men (Crozier hesitated to really call them men by his standards after a few brief moments of what he was observing) really the greatest danger to the world? And why, exactly? Sure, they were unpredictable and had a long track record of chaos, and then there was that prophecy - that was enough for him to continue keeping an attentive eye on them, even though at this very moment, he was frustrated enough to throw his binoculars on the ground and go find a place where he could get some much-needed rest. Clearly, these men were in more danger of destroying themselves than the world, right?
As soon as these thoughts were formed, Crozier was suddenly ambushed by a Yannemango with a tube of powder, which he blew directly into his face. The man had literally come out of nowhere, but Crozier could no longer wonder how he could have been found as his conscious thoughts suddenly sprawled into a bloody, humid, primordial haze in which all objects became incomprehensible symbols. He felt unfamiliar, terrifying forms seizing his body and merging into him; powerful antlers protruding from his head as the figure of an unfamiliar animal (a sable antelope, as he would find out later) filled his vision. Whatever comfort, stability, and emotional freedom the sensation of this creature could have given him was obliterated by a second image; Ravenwood, flanked by the soldiers that accompanied the two of them on their mission. As in the nightmares Crozier had been having, the Cardinal’s eye sockets were bloody and hewn, and viscera adorned his brittle neck. The soldiers in this vision appeared faceless; only as skulls beneath helmets. Amidst this morass of unconscious imagery and sensations of all kinds, Ravenwood spoke up: “Beware, General. General Crozier, you are dead.” In his suggestible state, these words hit Crozier hard, and he was flung head-long into a fully blown panic attack. Without paying much heed to what he was doing, he screamed out frantically for anyone who may have been able to help him, clutching his head in an effort to reassure himself that he was still present within the physical world.
His senses were briefly able to tune outside of his own addled psyche - he was able to hear music. Wait, was that Dethklok’s music? It didn’t much matter whose music it was at this point. It could have been rising up from the ground itself. He may have even been hallucinating it. In any case, he was hearing something other than the screams and groans of the dead and dying, and it helped to center him. He felt strangely safe, even as he watched the other soldiers get shot, carried away, and eaten. Those sounds he heard made him feel strong and centered in a way he had not ever since his mission. He would make it out of this ordeal fine, as long as he could concentrate.
Also, mods, guys, if it's not too much to ask I would like a contributor tag for my work :3
Theolepsis: Chapter 1 - Erosion
Anyway.
Title: Theolepsis: Chapter 2 - Psycholysis
Author: Locust of Eschaton
Rating this Chapter: R for drugs because Dethcarraldo.
Pairings: None.
Warnings: Violence, drugs, blah blah.
Summary: My account of General Crozier's gradual descent into supernatural mindfuckery. Starts right at the beginning of S2, will continue onward from there. This chapter covers Dethcarraldo. Stuff starts gettin' weird.
The next few months were not that much better. Sure, Crozier hadn’t been feeling quite as awful as he had during the months immediately following his mission, but he still wished he knew more about the circumstances of that mission’s interception and the subsequent death of his colleague. After having a brief meeting with Orlaag that cleared up absolutely nothing that had been on his mind (All Crozier got out of it was a creepy insinuation that Ravenwood’s death had somehow been his fault, and the whole conversation only served to add to the all-pervasive confusion he had been experiencing), Crozier had made a few more casual attempts at making sense of what had happened on that mission or what the long-term plans were for this organization. Eventually, he realized he would not get any answers about the true nature of the Tribunal, at least not by talking to anyone else affiliated with it. Anyone actually worth asking anything was terminally incapable of giving a satisfying answer; Salacia would either stare and blow him off or go on some sort of cryptic and heavily-convoluted tangent. Orlaag would act vaguely polite, almost even warm and empathetic until Salacia or prophecies were brought up in any way, at which point he’d shut down entirely, giving Crozier a look that could level cities. Stampingston seemed to know a lot in general, but everyone knew he was only with the Tribunal because he was promised that certain scandals of his would be covered up in exchange for his allegiance. There was no way the Senator would endanger his reputation just to help a colleague who, if rumors were to be believed, had been on the verge of a mental breakdown since the strike on Dethklok's concert.
All of these elements were things Crozier was beginning to grudgingly accept, as he believed his own intentions to be cosmic and pure - for the benefit of the greater good. He still believed his position remained the best vantage point from which he could enact those intentions, despite the fact that the position affiliated him with individuals who were suspicious by his standards. Now, however little sense anything around him made, he would try his best to do things his way as much as possible. Hopefully, the outcomes would reflect his efforts, and not go horribly wrong as they did last time he decided to do things his way.
One morning, following a brief meeting in the main hall of Tribunal Headquarters regarding Dethklok’s most recent endeavor to take a trip to the perilous Amazon jungle, he was paged into Salacia’s quarters. Vater Orlaag was standing beside Salacia, as was usual any time they were not in the main hall. As he entered the hallway leading into the room, he heard Salacia’s soft, raspy voice mutter something unintelligible, to which Orlaag replied, “He’s here.”
Orlaag stepped forward to Crozier with a friendly greeting, but Crozier was in no warm and friendly mood. “What’s this all about?” He rasped flatly, wanting to get directly to business, and inwardly hoping it had nothing to do with the various questions he had been asking colleagues the past few months. Were he anywhere else, he’d have allowed himself a sigh of relief - they just wanted to give him an assignment. He was to track Dethklok through the Amazon, keeping an eye on them and “taking action in case something out of the ordinary were to occur,” in Orlaag’s words. Sounded dangerous, but nothing he couldn’t handle.
However, Vater Orlaag seemed very adamant about having his own personal soldiers accompany Crozier. He tried not to think too hard about the idea of a guy who wears monastic robes commanding his own personal army and how bizarre that seemed; again, he would just try to do things his way as much as circumstances would allow. Still, that sick feeling he had been experiencing ever since the attack resurfaced when Orlaag gave him his reasoning - “Surely you understand the importance of keeping an eye on you, too, General Crozier.” It was as if the man knew of his intentions to act independently within the group; extrapolated from some non-verbal cue or another that Crozier intended to use his tasks to benefit his own goals - the goals he understood. There was a part of him that felt somewhat violated by this man’s sharp insight, but he wasn’t about to dwell on something like that. Before Crozier could think about it any further, Salacia narrowed his steely-grey eyes and whispered, “Prepare to leave at once.” With that, Crozier returned to his quarters and began making his preparations.
Meanwhile, Salacia remained in his own quarters with Orlaag.
“Master, this mission is an excellent opportunity to prime the General’s mind for a…deeper understanding of our goals...Of his purpose.”
Salacia moved his eyes toward Orlaag. “How do you mean, Vater Orlaag?”
“The Amazon jungle houses a wide variety of psycholytic compounds, Master. These are used freely by the tribes inhabiting it; particularly the tribe Nathan Explosion identifies with and intends on encountering. The soldiers I will send with General Crozier know precisely where this tribe congregates for ritualistic drug use. This ritual is a custom for all new-comers, and Dethklok should be no exception. Now, one of my soldiers can communicate with these tribesmen. They will be following Dethklok there, lurking in the shade, and they will also be bringing the General with them. If everything goes according to my plan, the General will be distracted by the task of keeping his watchful eye on the band while one of my soldiers alerts the natives to their presence. They will all fall under the temporary influence of this psychedelic, the General included.”
Salacia looked down and shook his head slightly. “And how exactly will this help him understand our goals? I do not consider the General to be fully ready to understand our goals, particularly not if they are muddled by alkaloids that infect the soul.”
“That is the point of this, Master. This is part of the preparation - psycholysis; a loosening of the rigid structures of the mind. His mind must be made more… flexible before we enlighten him, otherwise, our efforts to do so may not take and he may turn on us even more. The man is of a stubbornly earthbound temperament. Very resistant to our idea of enlightenment, Master. But I am certain you know this most of all.” Orlaag muttered, something akin to a genuine, almost apologetic smile crossing his face.
Salacia’s facial expression was unchanged and he said absolutely nothing, but he seemed to exude an understanding of Orlaag’s explanations non-verbally; he sat upright in his chair with a bit less stiffness, and his arms folded slightly toward his chest rather than tensely grasping the arms of the chair. Orlaag moved closer to Salacia, and idly placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping to get him to say something. He certainly felt more relaxed; certainly not as tense and uneasy as he usually was with hearing other peoples’ ideas. Salacia’s face moved quickly in the direction of Orlaag’s in a way that would have startled most, but not him. His eyes were relaxed, his brow was unfurrowed, and he nodded deliberately.
“I commend you for this foresight, Vater Orlaag. I do hope all goes accordingly. Thank you…”
Outwardly, Salacia’s facial expression did not change, but based on the tone and cadence in Salacia’s voice, Orlaag understood his words to be sincere.
The next day, General Crozier and Orlaag’s soldiers were set to follow Dethklok into the Amazon jungle. As soon as their helicopter drew close to its destination, it was suddenly missiled by another craft, which could only have been one of Dethklok’s military-grade helicopters. Crozier had to act quickly in order to get out of the crashing craft safely - thankfully, his reaction time had not suffered much considering the funk he’d been in for the past six months or so, and made it out safely, he did. Thankfully, most of the other soldiers did as well (And thankfully for Orlaag, they did not lose the soldier who could communicate with the Yannemango). They had lost some valuable supplies in the crash and would have to use extra caution while tracking Dethklok on foot. Crozier hoped to God they would all be able to conserve food and water considering they would be walking much more than initially expected.
Crozier and the soldiers continued following Dethklok even when they decided to drag their boat over a mountain. They calculated where they believed the boat would land, and camped out closeby. As it turned out, this was the place where the Yannemango would congregate. Crozier and his troops found a safe, secluded place from which to watch and wait for Dethklok’s imminent arrival, as well as the Yannemango's.
A chorus of screaming drowned out by the sounds of tree branches cracking and heavy machinery skidding unceremoniously down a slope of dirt and rocks alerted the men that something was about to begin. Shortly after, Crozier spied the five members of Dethklok being escorted by natives in front of a campfire. He could hear them talking to one another in the distance, and what he couldn’t hear, he could see in their body language; stupid, childish, inane arguments. Were these…men (Crozier hesitated to really call them men by his standards after a few brief moments of what he was observing) really the greatest danger to the world? And why, exactly? Sure, they were unpredictable and had a long track record of chaos, and then there was that prophecy - that was enough for him to continue keeping an attentive eye on them, even though at this very moment, he was frustrated enough to throw his binoculars on the ground and go find a place where he could get some much-needed rest. Clearly, these men were in more danger of destroying themselves than the world, right?
As soon as these thoughts were formed, Crozier was suddenly ambushed by a Yannemango with a tube of powder, which he blew directly into his face. The man had literally come out of nowhere, but Crozier could no longer wonder how he could have been found as his conscious thoughts suddenly sprawled into a bloody, humid, primordial haze in which all objects became incomprehensible symbols. He felt unfamiliar, terrifying forms seizing his body and merging into him; powerful antlers protruding from his head as the figure of an unfamiliar animal (a sable antelope, as he would find out later) filled his vision. Whatever comfort, stability, and emotional freedom the sensation of this creature could have given him was obliterated by a second image; Ravenwood, flanked by the soldiers that accompanied the two of them on their mission. As in the nightmares Crozier had been having, the Cardinal’s eye sockets were bloody and hewn, and viscera adorned his brittle neck. The soldiers in this vision appeared faceless; only as skulls beneath helmets. Amidst this morass of unconscious imagery and sensations of all kinds, Ravenwood spoke up: “Beware, General. General Crozier, you are dead.” In his suggestible state, these words hit Crozier hard, and he was flung head-long into a fully blown panic attack. Without paying much heed to what he was doing, he screamed out frantically for anyone who may have been able to help him, clutching his head in an effort to reassure himself that he was still present within the physical world.
His senses were briefly able to tune outside of his own addled psyche - he was able to hear music. Wait, was that Dethklok’s music? It didn’t much matter whose music it was at this point. It could have been rising up from the ground itself. He may have even been hallucinating it. In any case, he was hearing something other than the screams and groans of the dead and dying, and it helped to center him. He felt strangely safe, even as he watched the other soldiers get shot, carried away, and eaten. Those sounds he heard made him feel strong and centered in a way he had not ever since his mission. He would make it out of this ordeal fine, as long as he could concentrate.
Also, mods, guys, if it's not too much to ask I would like a contributor tag for my work :3