Bereft: Demise

36 | Of a Maddening Cry

Pride growled like a wounded beast as he heaved aside an oxidized cannon. It crashed somewhere in the dark. Looking at him, then at Peroth, Amoroth quietly swore and vanished.

Darius lunged at her, managing to catch Sloth around the middle. Sloth's back collided with another shelf unit and something sharp gouged his shoulder. Grunting, Peroth slammed his elbow in Darius's side. Bones snapped to little effect.

Pride had his hands upon Peroth's throat now, his sharpening nails slicing flesh and muscle as Sloth struggled to keep himself from being eviscerated. Darius' state was degrading. His reason was beset by hunger and he was losing his mind to the base, primal needs of the Absolian. A Sin's mind couldn't bear the stress of an Absolian's need. Darius had been starving too long.

"Blasted fool—," Sloth grated through clench teeth as Pride continued to strangle him. Peroth managed to cinch his hands into the collar of Darius's shirt, but instead of flinging the other Sin away, he jerked him forward. Peroth rammed his head into Pride's face. 

The satisfying crack of bone was followed by a high yip of sound Darius would have never made if he were in his right mind. The cry was sharp, rising above typical hearing ranges as it approached the bird-like shriek of an Absolian. Glass cracked and shattered in the dark before the sound died.

Darius dropped with his hands on his face, violently jarred from his staved haze—at least, for the moment.

Panting, Peroth sat next to Pride in the wreckage as the other Sin hunched over his knees on floor and groaned. Sloth lifted his hand to his throat and winced at the deep gouges in his neck.

Damn, I'd forgotten how vicious he could be.

Darius was breathing heavily, fighting a private battle for dominance in his own mind as heat returned to the archive in trickling degrees. Grim-faced, Peroth waited as the Sin struggled. He waited, knowing exactly what must be done if Darius couldn't set himself right. He would have to kill Pride, for his own good.

The girl would have to follow. Bloodthirsty harridan she was, Sara Gaspard wouldn't rest until she had Peroth's head if Sloth was forced to end a maddened Darius.

"How did we come to the place?" Peroth mocked as Darius silently gnashed his teeth in an attempt to quell his mounting savagery. "Fighting each other just to keep from going mad. Watching the years come for us as we steal time from the souls of others. How did we come to this place? This place where I am a prisoner in my own home and you throw yourself into certain doom without a shred of remorse?"

Darius couldn't answer. His struggle and Peroth's vigil continued.

Finally, after what seemed to be an eon, Pride slumped onto his side with a ragged exhalation. By the weak glow of the candle, the crooked set of his busted nose was visible, but the weary, familiar expression on Darius's face was a welcomed sight.

"By the Pit, Darius," Peroth exclaimed as he chucked a bit of splintered wood at his wounded comrade. "You'll be the death of us both!"

Darius was too exhausted to exchange barbs with Peroth. He clawed at something under his shirt, forming a fist against his chest. "I'm so close," I muttered to no one in particular, gaze set upon the table that had miraculously survived their brief tussle. "So close. I'll find it...."

Peroth sighed and kneaded his temples. He was inclined to believe Amoroth—though they'd be discussing the rashness of her petulant words later. The siren of madness had begun its enticing soliloquy for the Sin of Pride. The contract he shared with his mortal had stretched the immortal creature too thin. The strain would break him—break them both.

Darius managed to sit up, though he was listing heavily to one side. He raised his eyes to Peroth's and focused. "You will not kill her. I will not lose. I won't let him take what I have left. I have lost too much and will give nothing else!" The fist against his chest tightened, bunching the bloody shirt in his grip. Peroth wondered what he was holding. So sort of pendant. "I won't let him win!"

Darius had never been so desperate, so hopeless, and yet so determined before.

Sloth simpered, because he wasn't sure if anything they did could salvage this fight—but the fervent light in Darius's eyes wouldn't be denied. Logic demanded the Sin of Pride be denied. That this unwinnable quest be cut short to save was could be saved--but Peroth wouldn't say it. He couldn't tell Darius no after looking into his eyes and seeing how desperately he needed to see this fight through.

Peroth reached out to Pride and gripped his shivering, slouched shoulder. "Okay. We won't give up, then. We won't let him win. Either foe or friend, ally or enemy, no matter where we stand, I stand with you, my friend. If this is what you demand of me, we will see it through. Until the end."

Darius's fingers encircled Peroth's wrist and squeezed. Peroth knew that silent show of gratitude was all he'd get from Darius.

The susurrating mouths in the forgotten mess had been silenced, for now. The manor waited above, needing its master's attention. Standing, Peroth sighed and returned to the encompassing darkness and left Pride alone where he sat.

Nothing he said or did would sway the Sin of Pride from this choice. Darius had found something—someone—to cling to, a purpose that neither Peroth nor Amoroth would ever understand. If Darius decided that purpose was worth madness or death, then nothing would change his mind.

It all culminated to a philosophical debacle Peroth simply couldn't answer: was life worth living without a purpose? Would Darius want to continue existing if the reason he fought so hard and lived so brightly for was taken away? Would the self-righteous Sin balanced upon the precipice of madness be able to survive the death of his mortal girl and fight Balthier again?

Sloth didn't know.