The Untold Story of Texas and Lappland (Arknights)

Crying, Contemplation, Carnage

At an Unspecified Time . . .

In the city, there was so much noise.

But up on the rooftop, the wind drowned out everything. Up so high in the clouds you could hear your heartbeat more than anything else. The thump, thump, thumping was like a angry drum. Blood splattered from battle. It decorated the damaged roof just as the many dents did from the excess fighting that had taken place. The two young men had grown so much since Tallulah had found them those many years ago.

And some would say that was a good thing.

But as the bowmen peered up at his friend from his crouched position, fringe cutting off some of his vision, he suspected that this was not the case for the smaller of their little duo.

"Soon we'll take them down. Very soon."

There was a prideful smirk on Mephisto's face. Whenever he got like this, Faust found himself calling the other by this longer name. He would not call this person Eno. This monster was something else, someone else entirely.

He feared what this person was becoming.

But as Faust was never one for words, a simple twang of a bowstring would have to do.

Twang.

"We'll see." The short reply was all he offered.

Sharp eyes regarded Faust then, devious in their intent. For who? Well, Faust had his suspicions. After living with a person long enough you understood their habits; you were able to read them like an open book. So Faust knew what the smirking and narrowed gaze meant, knew all those hidden meanings. Sickness washed over with its decisive tendrils. They yanked at his heart. Years went by with a hope to save themselves fading like a mirage whose illusion was uncovered.

"Come on Faust! You should be happy! Not all grumpy."

He grunted, averting his gaze.

There was a sigh that might have been the chasing wind. Mephisto was beside him then, a hand placed on his shoulder to squeeze gently. The reassuring touch received a nuzzle in return, nose brushing up along the cold shell of the other's ear. Their habits were like clockwork.

"Can't help who I am." And how I feel the breeze caught at his thoughts and took them away.

"Sasha. I want you to be happy."

There.

That was Eno.

The smirk turned into a smile, combined with the lighter tone of voice which left something in him oozing with relief. Every little glimpse of this person who he would do anything for was worth the world. All of Terra could burn if this one would stay for good.

"And I want you to be happy too."

But not the kind of happy you want now. After enough time anything could become warped. The same could be said for Sasha. He was well aware of how Faust took over, the more observances of Mephisto's mania past the further he slipped away. There was an emptiness sweeping over with its darkened shroud. Both of them were Infected; both of them went through unimaginable horrors.

But while one chose to react with an excess of emotion, the other lost expression.

The imperceptible smile felt half of its former self on his face.

Eno however did not seem to notice.

No, for he was too busy looking at all the corpses littering the roofing around them.

Faust felt nothing, but Sasha felt retched.

Blood crusted around his fingertips, bright red instead of the burgundy black of infection.