lonesome brilliance [arknights]

lonesome brilliance

"How long has the city held up? A few days, a week, or a month? Things are getting worse and fewer people are around. The communication squad failed to return, and their communications equipment was brought back by the dying Inquisitor. The final report was stored in the shredder, and a brief, calm farewell was recorded."
- Thorns's Memory Section, Part 03

"This shall be the last time i will light up thy path. Saveth thy drops of sorrow, my dear. Weepeth not for me,"
"I has't chosen this path of mine own free will. Forget everything thou hasn't seen here. Live on and grow old. For thy sake, and mineth as well."
- The Inquisitor's parting words

-

It was dark, as if the sea had swallowed the entirety of the sun. There was no way to tell the time. How many days had it been? Two days? Three? Honestly, Thorns already lost his sense of time since the first 48 hours have passed. He could care less, if he could say so. His main priority at the moment was buying more time for Mizuki.

Thorns swept the horizon with a careful gaze, past the heaps of dead seaborns who had tried making their way into the small patch of land he was currently standing on. The rain had stopped. The dark clouds were still rolling.

The Aegirian allowed himself to think about a certain land-ship owned by a pharmaceutical company. The departure from Rhodes Island had been accompanied by a heavy rainstorm and he wondered if it had stopped raining at their place. Did they managed to pick their clothes from the rooftop wash line in time? Heh, they probably had to make do with the limited dryer in the laundry section. Thorns let a part of his mind occupied by these countless mundane thoughts as he pulled out a bottle filled with golden liquid. He inspected it for a bit, watching the liquid swished around in the tube.

He almost smiled as a memory began to resurface: a certain man who once claimed himself as a once-in-a-lifetime "hottie" had to use his Originium Arts to broadcast an emergency announcement to everyone in the land-ship to collect their clothes in the wash line area due to an unpredictable violent weather. Elysium had stirred quite a ruckus, even roping some operators to help usher the others to fetch their clothes quickly, including Thorns! They were barely spared from the wrath of Madam Kal'tsit that day.
A few casualties had occurred that day in the form of missing clothes. Some of the operators were unable to recover their undergarments and socks no matter how much they searched high and low. This led to an emergency meeting (bless CEO Amiya's heart) which resulted to Rhodes Island having to make a pit stop to the nearest big landship so the operators could buy new clothes.

Elysium. Elysium.
Lumen.
Weedy.
Whisperain.
Irene.

Thorns repeated their names in his mind again and again while trying to keep the grief way from creeping into his heart. Not now. After all of this is over, of he can make it alive from this hellish situation, he will grieve for them properly. As of now, his work wasn't finished yet.

The dead seaborns appeared to come back to life again. Their forms gurgling with such alien endurance. Thorns slipped his hand back into position and delivered a powerful blow, splattering the darkened masses everywhere. The Aegir man realized something as he moved near the carcasses; they did not come back to life (thank God) but an army of what looked like someone had mutated these creatures into something visually incomprehensible had began making their way from sea to his patch of land.

Thorns ran a logical assessment in his head for the nth time: he wouldn't make it alive this time.

He wasn't giving up, no. He realized this after an unexpected reunion with his teacher, the one who he had followed as a child in Iberia, the priest who had taught him what would become his main skill today: medicine, toxicology and Destreza. His teacher had revealed that he had left a 'beautiful gift' in him when he was younger.

Thorns held the bottle tightly, swinging his sword at the seaborns who crept close into his vicinity. He didn't want to be a part of them. He didn't want to give himself up into their disgusting one-minded consciousness! Thorns had witnessed how the lights had faded away in Irene's eyes when she had fallen in battle, succumbed to death and reborn anew as a seaborn.

What cruel fate.

The creatures writhed away, hissing in their cryptic language and keeping their distance only for a short time, before inching closer and closer to the Aegirian. They didn't attack him, despite the countless slashes he had delivered to them. Despite the 'advantage', Thorns didn't stop. Refilling his sword with his golden potent toxins, he swung around, decimating hundreds of seaborns and making sure they were nothing more than horrid lifeless lumps. The alienatic whispers grew more erratic as he continued the slaughter. It was killing his ears.

Bedamned them!

Thorns took a deep breath.

He breathed out a hum, a soft hum. A hum that was the ghost of a song he had carried from his childhood. A hymn about a future as bright as the sun. A hymn about the morning sky that warns of the threatening seas. A hymn about the the returning of the Golden Age. It was his dream to bring it back, to see Iberia rising up from her slumber and shake the dust that blanketed her buildings. It was his wish to see Iberia shine once again like the olden days, before the curse of the Great Silence. After that, maybe he could go back to Aegir. Back to the sea. Back to where he thought he was meant to be, to call it his home.

Maybe.... maybe some dreams are meant to be achieved by someone else.

Thorns fixed a needle on the end of the bottle and held it to his arm, pressing the plunger lightly, just enough for the tip to touch his skin. He knew the consequences of taking this chance, the risk he had to swallow for reigniting the 'gift' inside his body. If he lost himself to the seaborn blood, if he could no longer tell the difference of a friend and a foe, Thorns was sure of the Doctor' decision. If the Doctor chose to strike him down, he must have a very good explanation for that. But if the Doctor chose to spare him...

The needle pierced through into his bloodstream, pumping the damned toxin into his veins. The Doctor also knows mercy. Thorns hoped the Doctor will be kind enough to grant him that.

The hymn gradually died down, opening the curtains for the concord of the lonesome brilliance.