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There is an aching.
A terrible, terrible aching. Like a hunger that refuses to fade. It hurts like one, eating away at his being from the inside out like a parasite. Acid gnawing away at his bones. It burns together with the burning of the scar around his eye until the pain becomes one.
Perhaps he could be cleansed in it. Perhaps pain was purifying, and by subjecting himself to this, he would be holy and right again.
Perhaps. This suffering must be worth something in the end, right?
There was only one time where this pain was not gnawing away at him. A simple purity, as are all things in heaven. As all creations of heaven should be.
Should be. It feels like there’s something crawling through him, spreading corruption wherever it can reach. And no matter what he does, no matter the desperation of the white-knuckled, bleeding prayer, nothing can get it out. It’s agonizing.
Of course, no one else can know. He can’t let unnecessary interruptions set him back any further, and these people, their endless questioning and concerns—it would only worsen things, wouldn’t it?
It’s part of his directive, after all. Do not get involved. It would be disgraceful to fail such a simple instruction as that. Besides, if they become concerned, get ideas in their heads about him, then they may insist upon stopping, may insist upon prodding after him incessantly until they ‘figure it out,’ ‘help make it better.’
As if any of them could ever help. As if any of them could ever understand.
The only one that can help him is Her.
She knows this. He’s been certain of this since his birth. It would be shameful, yes, to fall back on Her, even when She has already seen how he is scarred, and sent him off to carry on his mission regardless—surely it must mean She has faith in his ability to continue on his own.
And yet—And yet he can feel his body breaking down. He can feel his will cracking. He does need Her. He is not ashamed to admit this, as he’s fully aware of his status. He is merely Her emissary. Of course he needs Her.
…And being a mere emissary, he hates to admit that he doesn’t know what to do. There’s a sinking feeling, a horrible burning, something beyond the rage that consumes him when he drives his blade into the hearts of any demon that crosses them. There’s a serenity in that rage; something certain and concrete. (A fear, as well, an uncertainty, of what may happen to him should he lose himself completely to it. But there are more important things at hand.)
But none of it is ever enough. It hurts. The aching resonates throughout his being, and he feels as if he can’t take it anymore.
He needs to be pure. He needs release. Not even ending intervention seems to do any good.
He needs Her. Shameful, yes… But shouldn’t it be alright? He is important, isn’t he? He is the only one who can complete this mission. Truly, absolutely necessary. For the good of this world…
Certainly, it’s alright to ask his Goddess for help? For purification? To set him back on the right path that he seems to have lost, somewhere along the way he can’t quite remember.
Regardless, it does one good to pray. It clears the mind. It grounds one to their surroundings and reminds them what is important. Truly important. All would be well.
All would be…
It hurts. Why… does it hurt? It shouldn’t.
He should know better. A mere emissary doesn’t deserve Her attention. Yet…
He is the only one, isn’t he?
Isn’t he…?
She is his very reason for existence. She wouldn’t simply abandon him in his time of need.
She’ll respond. She’ll save him. She’ll purify him, and set everything good and right again.
White-knuckled desperation, prayer so fervent it hurts.
He doesn't understand.
Sink. Sink. Sink. It's all he can do. Send anything, along with the thoughts swarming his mind, away like locusts into flame.
This world is disgusting. This world is wonderful. This world is something he must protect. This world is something he must return to its proper state. He cannot allow things to remain like this.
He should have known better. Perhaps this is why he's failed so deeply. Those who can allow the El to be harmed in this way cannot be trusted to carry out the sacred mission he has been entrusted with.
It can only be him. He must follow through. Even if he fears for the Goddess' safety... Especially if he fears for the Goddess' safety, he must persevere.
Even if it hurts. Even if he knows he could purge this pain, with Her grace... He wouldn't dare. It would be disgraceful, pathetic. The guilt feels as if it eats away at his core.
He has to persevere. This suffering must amount to something.
The world remains quiet.
It feels as if everything he's known is coming apart at the seams. Everything was supposed to be better. When his mission was completed, the world was supposed to become whole—himself included. Why?
Nothing is as it should be. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He still feels empty. Cracks showing through his soul and the world itself don't seem to heal. Why...?
It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. He wasn't supposed to turn out like this. Is it because he's failed? Perhaps because the corruption within him spreads to everything he touches.
No... No, that can't be it. That couldn't possibly be it. If he could just... hear Her answer. If he could just hear Her voice again.
She would make everything right.
He is reminded now, not for the first time, of his time in Henir. Burning, always—not like fire, but something so cold it leaves you hollow and still. Eroding away at him like stone, his form giving way to the endless flow of time and space.
Empty... Empty, empty... It should've ended there. Why has nothing come? Was his purpose truly useless, if this is all that comes of it?
Is he truly nothing to Her, if even as Her ever-faithful servant, devoted emissary, She cannot even tell him the truth?
...He can't take it.
Ah, that's it, isn't it?
It burns too much. He's far too corrupted, by now. It's his fault for being too weak. It was impossible. His purpose truly has amounted to nothing.
...
So now, what becomes of him?
...
Only She can answer that. He knows that. He's known since his birth.
All there is left to do now is pray.
The silence of an abandoned temple is deafening. A sensation like being held underwater. Being completely unable to breathe, to hear anything, to speak a word, only helplessly reaching for the surface.
There's no longer anything to reach, though, is there?
...That's ridiculous. Of course there is.
Just that simply letting himself sink is no way to reach the sky again.
In a situation like that, the only thing to do is fight your way to the surface, isn't it?
There is an aching, trembling thing deep inside his chest. It feels foreign, and yet so familiar, at this point.
He believes it is something like anger.
It makes his hands shake as ancient stone crumbles before the force of his blades, though not with uncertainty. Rather, it feels as if something is barely contained within him, threatening to burst and break him open from the inside. A great force, propelling him forward more forcefully than ever before. He’s not sure, at times, if it is controlling him, or the other way around.
There's something sickly satisfying about the destruction.
There's something deeply hollowing about it.
He doesn't know.
There is one thing he does know for certain, in the midst of this harrowing maelstrom of confusion, fear, and anger. With this corruption piercing his very being, there's no going back anymore. There is no more chance of purity for something like him.
If Her emissary praying, pleading, begging for Her answer was not enough...
That was alright. He knows the fate of a tool that has worn out its purpose. Whether salvation or damnation awaits him, he doesn't mind.
Anything to get his answer—"Why?"
It doesn't matter anymore. If She truly loves this world, She will come to protect it, won't She?
If he is this much of a burden, a curse upon the land She breathes life into, then he would be dealt with, wouldn't he?
If his mission truly meant something, anything at all, then there would come a conclusion, wouldn't there?
He should have realized sooner that there is only one way to find these answers, after all.