(Courtesy of @Deusphage, a Lore-Story stemming from IC events.) Credit to @Bellarmina, @ZiggyStarDusted, @Yurs, @Katiesc, @SorryNari, @Mad_Gadfly, @Wumpatron, @AtticCat, @Deusphage, @_GoldWolf_, @canaaa, @Sozzer and @MippyMoo for some of the little rhetoric Easter-Eggs dropped in. If you read through 'em, there'll be a few unique lines that you'd be able to recognize. These are mostly just references to IC events. DM me if you want the full reasoning behind the story, but some details will remain a Find Out IC. ≫┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈| ☩ |┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈≪ Tendrils. Tendrils, warping around the poor soldier who had found himself prey to something much greater than he- something unknown and unknowable. A motiveless crime, a motiveless stunt and a motiveless struggle. The scene had been set a thousand times before. Braunschweiger, running from daemons, running for his life, what else was new? Dignity thrown to the wind, yet nobody to hear his screaming. Legs kicking out, yet nobody to witness the abomination. And an abomination indeed- a gaping maw rather than a head, a thousand eyes coursing through its veins, curled tentacles that had only barely held form and the shadows that followed swiftly after. Anyone would scream. Anyone would kick. Soon enough, It had devoured him.The greatest fear one could hold. A personalized, specially designed hell- one that awaited in the maw of every unfortunate soul that had found themselves prey. The Devourer of Dreams; a murderer of innocence, a slaughterer born from angst. It was enough to make any sane man mad, and any mad man weep. Perhaps It expected daemons. The Void, the heresy, the witchcraft that had plagued Regalia. The Unknown that had dragged Lazz'riel, the arcanophobia that every Purist carried and every peasant whispered. But It did not see daemons and It did not see Void. Perhaps It expected war. The front, the trenches, the bloodspill that had leaked through sound minds and trampled the consciousness of knights and generals alike. The fear that gripped Nym'vrae, when she had fallen into the maw- the jungles, the deserts, the plains of unending snow. But It did not see war and It did not see bloodshed. Perhaps It expected anything else. Something terrifying. Something horrid. Waldmark, falling into chaos. His mother's final wishes. Drachenburg, losing all power. Maybe even Erwin himself. But It saw nothing of the sort. No, no, in fact- what was seen repulsed Oldritch. That was new- It had never felt repulsion before, never from Its own creations. Laughter overtook the creature- what a grand show! What a grand surprise, that this, of all things, was what the coward feared most. That Erwin found himself somewhere peaceful. Somewhere quiet, somewhere quaint. And oddly enough, a place that any Unionist worth their salt would declare Paradise. Ailor men and women, freed from their bonds. Food, no, banquets that filled halls, famines all but history. Illnesses obliterated, pestilence forever gone. And yet, it drove him mad. His mother, waiting for him- healthy, hearty tones of red across her cheeks. His entire family, really- a father cured, a sister quiet, a submissive wife and a son akin to himself. And yet, it drove him mad. Militaries that stood needlessly, funded from infinite wealth, funded from infinite honor. Casparian won. A perfect Empire. A perfect Fatherland. God, was it maddening. There was something grandly intoxicating about it all; that the soldier did not fear the Eldritch that had stalked him- not the failures of his career nor the men he ordered to their graves, not the torn womb nor the tentacles that had gripped him. No, that, out of all things, the Archan feared Paradise. The Paladin had feared the Heavens before him- his own family. His own lifestyle. Purism. Conservatism. Virtue, chastity, ambition. Everything he had ever preached. He ... Feared it. He was terrified of it. Law, morphed in Scripture. Scripture, morphed into an Oath. An Oath, morphed into an excuse.The Jacobins, the Aberrants, the Covenants- all of them. All guilty of one, singular crime; for poking holes in the illusion he had built for himself, the illusion he could live peacefully. That after all this was over, Erwin could rest. Any oath broken, any crime committed, any dragon betrayed and any world conquered. It was just... Action. Just self-defense. Just following an order. Just an instinctive, spur of the moment choice. No- not a choice. Anything but a choice. Anything but responsibility. It was ironic, wasn't it? That the secret of the former Clergyman was so well-guarded that not even he himself knew it- that the self-acclaimed loyalist, the Purist, the Paladin was nothing more than a liar. Such an excellent liar that he had even fooled himself, that the past twenty-six years nothing but a fucking jester's act. That, despite the fear that drove his blade, despite the hatred that brought him to smite his enemies, the prejudice that devoured his heart and corrupted every corner of his mind, that all of it was as in vain. That it was all for naught. It was disgusting. And then it was clear, what had been so unsettling, what had invoked such raw terror, such raw horror in Erwin - it wasn't the people. They seemed real, they felt real, they even smelled real. It wasn't the setting. The buildings were perfect, but not eerily so- rustic, quaint, polite in every manner. Perhaps it was the wife and children that never existed? - No, no, that wasn't it. It wasn't the beautiful foliage. It wasn't even the petrifying context, the implications of what it had taken to achieve all this. It was the sky. The sky, which was pitch-black, utterly devoid of any stars and utterly empty. Maybe Paradise was peaceful. Maybe it was quiet. Maybe it was quaint. But a coward could never find rest in it. tl;dr - if you thought this twinky bitchboy was ever gonna make it into heaven you need to watch the good place
