[ open communion ] || POINTS MY GUN DIRECTLY AT THE SUN

[zauneyete]

[ Some recent arrivals have not really been treated to Silco via communion, and the crime lord does not frequently use it, and certainly has never initiated it en-masse, even though he's spoken his mind time, and time again. You all know him, because it's always some kind of rant. Well surprise! It's another one today! As always, communion feels like being dropped into cold, slick water, that clings like it's vile and corrupted, like pollutants make it feel clingy, like it doesn't simply dry off normally. It's like being dunked into that water, like being drowned in it. Like there is no escape from it, ever-present, pulling one under.

This communion is sharp, and agitated. Silco does not do this lightly, and it shows in the general anger expressed from the man. Roiling under the water like a furnace spilling heat that gets quickly swallowed by the cold, but still it churns deep beneath the surface. Intensifying. Ever intensifying. ]

How many of you have struggled? Truly struggled, where you have to fight for your very survival. Every moment of every day. Have any of you fought to find a place to sleep? Hunted for hours for food? Winnowed your fingers to the bone for the mere scraps of what those who look down upon you only allow you to have? Struggle is what war is, after all.

[ In communion, there is the sensation of something in your hand. Small, and delicate. So small, so easy to crush, should you only choose to do so. And you want to. You hold off, of course. What is it in your hand? The sensation of holding it up to the light, and there's the impression of a glimmer, brighter and more unknowable than you could imagine. ]

For too long, you all have lacked the resolve to take this seriously. Who can blame you, of course. So warm in your little beds under Meridian's light, or Yima's watchful eye. There is no true danger, is there? Even the most powerful among you would never go too far with their enemies, would they? [ He has no clue what had happened in the manor. He had been in Kowloon, deep in the bowels beneath Springstar. No news made it to him down there, and this only a scant bit of time after the manor was leveled. ] No, they would keep you, perhaps. Leave you a nice little bed for a rock.

[ A derisive snort, ripples through communion, before it is swallowed with a ripple of... something dark. Hopelessness. ]

Let me teach you a final lesson. Zenites, I suggest you pay close attention. Do not look away, should you not learn this lesson, you will have wasted your opportunity. Where I come from, we do not abide waste.

They do not care about you, the Meridian. They will do anything to see you stopped. The new world that you dream of will be nothing if you do not fight for it. You make friends with them. You coddle them. You allow them victory when the Oracle is nearly in our hands Do you not understand? If you do not take this seriously, then there will be no world at the end of this. There will be only what they want.

Meridian will not show you mercy. They will not allow you to go anywhere. They will shatter you, for the crime of wanting something different. Of refusing to look back. Our worlds are gone. Destroyed. It is not your fault, it is not their fault. It simply is. They detest us for accepting this. They hate us for looking forward, to trying to take the ashes of our shared tragedy, and make something new. Meanwhile, they refuse to accept the inevitable, try to put it back like it was before.

They proclaim it as hope. I call it regressive. They will take our world from us. [ In communion, the self-editing is more obvious, and the echo of 'revenge' can be just barely sensed, behind the impression of "world" ] Unless you fight them, and take the threat that they pose seriously.

[ Thin, small fingers clutch the small, round thing. You can all feel it. It is power. Deep, and weighty, like what is contained within -- the soul inside -- is vast. It nearly buckles under the force, but not quite yet. You know it is jade, and teardrop shaped now. You can feel it burning, in your hand. The impression of it, anyway. ]

Consider this my small gift to you. [ His fingers start to press down. It starts to buckle, and crack. ] I will level the playing field.

[ It shatters, the impression of it in your hands. Crushed into many pieces. The burning prick in your hand starts to subside, and fade. The impression of remnants in your hand goes cold.

In Springstar, for a moment. There is a Solar Eclipse. ]

Do not waste this opportunity, Zenites.

[ Communion like this does not normally cut off with such finality. This time, however, it will become rapidly apparent. Silco will not be responding, since he's uh. Busy. By the time he is able willing, it will be several days later, and communion does not last that long.

Feel free to gossip amongst yourselves though! ]

Comments

[hauntedking]

[ Dimitri could try to argue this; he could try to point out all the ways that Silco is wrong about - well, everything. But that's not what Dimitri is focused on. No, he's focused on the sensation of the shard shattering. A soul being snuffed out and destroyed. He feels sick - more than sick, he is angry. Is this what the Zenites wish to do? Is this who they will rally behind? A man willing to be a terrible version of himself?

Dimitri's mental voice is full of cold anger. There is a raging storm behind it; ice cold winds and driving sleet. A maelstrom that is not unleashed but held in check. ]

You I will not spare, in the end. You do not deserve it.

[youngprodigy]

[The sensation of the soul shattering causes a cold grip of terror on his heart.]

What have you done?

[furibund]

You're right.

I do detest you.

[ The statement is said with cold venom, voice metallic and dangerous. She does not expect this man to answer. It is clearly a calling card — a boisterous sound of victory and call to arms. Like Set had done. ]

[ She does not speak to him, then, really but to any that listen. ]

Better worlds do not involve slaughtering civilians for the sake of it — [ Because that was a diversion, they all knew it now. Nothing more than to get to the meat of the matter. ] Certainly not following behind monsters like this.

[escardos]

[ there's a lot to comment about this, and flat doesn't really know where to start. or if he should bother to start at all. it's been a minute since he saw someone so blatantly villainous and unstable, but he figures it's not that surprising to see them here too.

with that all said and thought, flat's only reaction is: ]

Yikes.

locked to zenith

[baltimores]

[ Silco doesn't shut the fuck up, does he.

By this point Amos has reached the manor — or rather, what remains of it. He's in the middle of digging through it now, trying to find survivors or salvage what can be salvaged. It's fucking awful, and this guy is monologuing—

Oh.

He doesn't know Quetzalcoatl's involvement in the manor's destruction, but it doesn't matter. For a second he pauses, and then, with steadfast conviction, ] He's right.

We're done fucking around.

[a_noble_flame]

[For a moment all Alice can do is let this wash over her. Goodness knew she was used to rants even if she had never before heard this man's rants. She's heard them from the mouths of so many along with herself, words of anger, grief or hope. Some crying for retribution, some crying for mercy.

The firelight that is backdrop of Alice's communion flickers and wavers in the drafts of this anger. It holds strong against the wind, guttering and them flaring back to life. Hopelessness is a familiar sensation, revenge is another. This man, whomever he might be with his seething words, is yet another lost to the tide of war. Her own words sound sorrowful if anything.]

This isn't the justice you think it will be. You aren't leveling a playing field. You're spreading a battlefield.

locked to Zenith

[eightfoldfiend]

[Yuber's presence wells up like an oil slick; heavy and smothering. Beneath it, his energy is excited and almost childlike.]

Tsk!

How dramatic!

But he's right. The Meri are bound to an empty hope. They'll keep coming for us, posturing like self-proclaimed heroes. Don't fall for it, there is nothing heroic about desperately clinging to lies. Since they cannot be convinced it is better to crush them until they see reason, don't you think?

Through war, we can end their pitiable suffering.

Which suits me just fine. I'll win this war for us. Depend on me!

here but not

[ex_fend346]

[ What a very hateful man.

Subaru doesn't respond in words. Instead, there's only the impression of the presence of one long-lived, watching another so much younger with a swiftly mounting concern.

And, quite some time after Silco's monologue reaches its conclusion, the air of a heavy sigh.

Of the two, Subaru had thought Zenith's cause was marginally less outlandish.

Between this and the deaths of so many helpless, unarmed people, he has revised his assessment. ]

[cyfaredd]

[ This message is just as harrowing to Howl as it is to everyone else, but he'll skip the emotional protestations. He has no idea who this guy is, or the poor individual he just killed — and now isn't the time for hollow condolences, anyway. ]

Well, I suppose I ought to congratulate you on this remarkably effective advertisement for the Meridian. Demerits for excessive length, but superlative villainous monologue. You even encouraged your teammates to follow up with their own dastardly commentary! You've certainly convinced me.

[ Like, maybe actually unironically. This is the final nail in the coffin. As soon as it's safe to Deharmonize, he is so out of here. No way in hell is he interested in being on the side of Team Mass Murder. ]

1/2

[erbe]

[She had been tired. Has been tired. Crawling through rubble and pulling out survivors. Clawing at any slim chance that Yima could still be around. Her muscles ache and her bones cry out. Her lips dry and her throat parched. It was over, wasn't it? It had to be.

No. Of course not. He had to always go two steps further than necessary. He had to push and push and push until it pushed back and ruined him. Rin partially puts the blame on his shoulders for the lost Harbinger Oracle, just like she does for anybody else who dies, but him more so. Why wouldn't she? Silco is like that vindictive little kid who was stung once by a bee and then vows to burn down every hive. Only for the hive to come back and sting him again and again.

It's sick. Disgusting the way he forces all of them to be apart of it. To feel the sensation of her light fading away as he breaks it to pieces. How dare he. All he has done, in her mind, is put blood in the water. Quetz was never anything deep to her, but she wasn't ever someone she could hold a grudge against. Quetz was someone simple, and in that shallow friendship Rin was loved. Loved despite herself, loved in light of herself, and loved unconditionally.

She's seething. A roaring fire of anger and rage that any Harbinger would find troublesome blocking out.]

[wolfish]

Ah yes, let's assume everything we're fed is the absolute truth, why the hell not?

[ Honestly, Yuri won't take Silco as representative of all of Zenith. He knows better. But between this and the rancid feedback he gets from being a Harbinger, he can't not speak up. ]

I'll speak for myself, thanks.

[ He's calm, perhaps too much so, and that's clear to any Harbinger. There's only so much emotion to wring out after seeing so much senseless death. ]

I won't deny anyone a future or a fresh start, but I refuse to believe that requires the sacrifice of countless lives — a denial of their future. I'm not picking and choosing who gets theirs.

[ But the mentality that a future comes only by destroying all that came before won't ever sit well with him. ]

[epiprocta]

[ He's feeling too tired and numb to even be mad. (His mind is overwhelmed with memories of blood. Cyrus' face as he died. The impact of the manor crumbling around and above him. So much noise roaring through his brain and echoing in his ears that everything else just sounds like distant static.)

Gen's response is blunt and flat, and not even afforded any filter of privacy; that'd require more effort than he can muster at the moment. ]

You talk too fucking much, you slimy rat.

[ The word 'pendejo' comes to mind. He tries not to think about why. ]

[kinaesthesia]

[Gavial is far from in the mood to listen to more rambling from this guy, and very nearly shuts out this communion the moment it reaches her. But that sensation of something so small, so bright, so familiar there in his hand keeps her listening with a sudden and intense stillness. So she takes this all in—his monologue and the deed that follows, the chatter of Shard-bearers echoing in the wake of it—without a single word, just a thrum of unusual patience entwined with a coiling of irritated anticipation.

Not unlike a crocodile waiting and watching for its prey, just beneath the surface of the water.]

Nah.

[To Silco’s declarations? To the arguments rolling in afterward? Maybe all of it.]

[kaientai]

[ Hate is not something that comes to Ryouma easily. He knows he has the capacity for it, but he has never wanted to indulge in that part of himself. It's not his way; it's much too black and white for someone who has only ever seen the world in shades of grey. The Harbinger bleed-through is not helping because Silco's victorious elation only fuels his anger and disgust, which any of the other Harbingers would also be aware of.

Oryou overshadows his presence in Communion as usual, something ancient and hungry coiled and entwined with him so completely that it's difficult to know where one ends and the other begins. It's probably more fuel to the fire; she always did have a much greater capacity for rage.

He understands the talk of struggle that Silco describes very well — that was just life coming up in Tosa. He knows what they did to Izō, Takechi, and the others, and he made himself feel every death as he vowed to carry their dreams onward because they couldn't do it themselves. Clearly, that struggle had shaped Ryouma very differently, as even though he detested the cruel oppressors, he never truly hated them. The broken system that made them that way had been his real enemy.

But that was a different time and a different place. The stakes had felt so high back then, but that was before Ryouma knew about magic and made his Pact with the Counter Force. Now, he's seen plenty of people like Silco. He hates the things he has to do, but as a Guardian, he acknowledges that some things need to go, and it's just natural. Cancer is natural, too, and you don't reason with that — you cut it out. He also feels those deaths, but he knows they will save others. Humanity will continue. ]

After everything that's happened, how is Zenith anything other than an existential threat? You'd destroy it all for a promise, sight unseen.

[ Is this what Zenith is truly like? He had respected their choices and even felt he understood them, but now Ryouma is beginning to think he was terribly naive. He's been too busy being dazzled by Kenos and the people in it to see things clearly. It's not about who follows a silly fairytale; it's about the destruction of everything that ever was.

The despair of the loss of not only Quetzalcoatl's soul but everything she was — proof of all the people who had lived and believed in her — is a deep and consuming ache. It is grief that does not align with how briefly he'd known her, but she was a part of his World that may now be gone forever unless, by some luck, she's restored along with the Throne when Meridian restores their world. Ryouma still has a lot of questions that don't have answers, but he doesn't need them to know that Zenith must not be allowed to get away with such brutality. ]

[settingup]

[ He was injured in the fall of the manor. Bruised, bloody, and probably with more bones broken, Atsumu's not exactly feeling in top form right now. He also doesn't recognize the shape of the shard that Silco is holding, but he has a list of names of the people Silco has expressed the most contempt for, so he could probably manage a correct guess in under five.

He'd kind of known this was going to happen though, didn't he? Silco had ranted enough after Atsumu revived him to make it obvious that he was going to go to this extreme, even if Atsumu was aggressively trying hard to look the other way.

And he doesn't know what to say about it now... he's not going to call him out like the other angry Zenites, he's not in a particularly generous mood himself after what just happened.

But they're both Harbingers, and even with Communion being closed off, Silco can will still get the feedback feeling of wary doubt, questioning this particular move, because now that they've done it once... it becomes tit for tat the next time someone in Meridian gets a hand on a Zenite shard. ]

[gravings]

[ Gray has no mind for elaborate speeches or ideological grandstanding. Most of Silco's Communion washes over her as the ramblings of a cruel man who resents his allies for being unable to match his cruelty -- however logically he wants to frame it.

He only truly captures her attention when he presents a familiar-looking Shard with the warmth of the sun. The dread that pours over her like an ice bath is immediate, and complete. She knows too well that Silco won't hesitate to--

Crush it.

With the simple closing of a fist, Quetzalcoatl's Shard is shattered. A warm, bright, good god, crushed in the fist of such a man. His fist, made into the fists of all watching, as if the knowledge alone weren't cruel enough; he made of a point of turning this into an exhibition, into theatre. It's enough to make Gray sick. Her own Shard seems to ache as the eternal light of Springstar wanes impossibly overhead. At the end of it, Gray is on her knees, back bent, breathing harsh. In the fog of shock of and loss, the thought persists...

This is just like "before." Cruel men turning gentle, kind people into examples. Savagery behind a veneer of self-righteousness. "Before," she felt helpless to lift a single finger in protest, and came away with a shame so deep that it broke her loyalty.

Not again. The damage has already been done, but she can't bear to stay her hand again.

Gray breathes. She stands, and wastes no more time. ]