Nothing quite sells power like a ball and no one does it quite like the Empire, especially when the occasion's all about catering to the most esteemed and noble of them all. No expense has been spared; no corner untouched. Fountains run crystal-clear water under lights of gold and towers of marble so high, the display itself seems both a challenge to creation and a dare for anyone, any thing, to test their might.
No one could deny the statement.
A pyramid of fine glass sermons at the center room surrounded by bottles in an ever-winding circle of tastes: rosé, champaign, chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, pinot noir. No, nothing has been spared and why not? Even the stage is decorated, the red-wine silks hanging about it like the flow of a thousand, waiting dresses.
It is a proclamation. A production. A show.
Escaping the Empire is a futile effort.
But them, oh them. They weren't from here, nor did they follow mortal rules. By all accounts, they were the other. Something wicked and cruel born from the absence of everything and left only to want more. And now that they're here?
All there is to do is take. At least, somewhat.
Greed watches Lust out of the corner of his eye, the deep panes of his sunglasses reflecting the wealth about him in all its splendor. An hour or so before, they had just finished a dance routine that would have made even the most devote blush. Reconnaissance may be the name of the game tonight (among other things), but having a little bit of fun on the side wasn't against the rules. The unintended effect just added a bit of a bonus.
And while Lust, or as she is currently known as, Lady Dominique Razzka of the esteemed Razzka Family made political talks and arms deals with men who craved conquest, Greed took to more feminine company. Empire women, especially military wives, were a good source of information. Rumors, tactics, battle arrangements - women really held them all and more. The true generals with painted smiles and cat-groomed claws.
"She's beautiful, your wife," a woman at the corner of his ear purrs, breaking the silence. "Though, she's just as lucky to have a man like you." The lady's ruby-red nails bite into the leather of his long, fur-collared coat, making it groan.
Greed's lip crests upwards. "I guess you could say that. Though, it's more of a family arrangement." Which isn't a lie, per say. More of a twist on words. The Sin tilts his neck, letting one of his longer earrings graze the woman's skin with a purposeful tease. "Enough about us though, lovely. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" The hand on his coat trembles while he whispers sweet viciousness into the crook of her neck. If nothing else, he was made for this; to mingle among mortals, to pull their deepest desires out and play them string for string like a fiddle. It was almost too easy. Little did they know what actually lurked behind, lurked deep, in his all-too-sure smile.
He, she, all of them: they were monsters. Demons. Hell-spawn sent only to destroy and swindle whatever they could.
"Me, sir? Oh, I am but a housewife. The commander over there is my husband." She lowers her voice, reaching up underneath his coat to touch his chest while the room's preoccupied. "He's a terrible brute. Not one for romance at all. Makes a woman desperate." The scritch of her sharp fingers force the fabric of his layered suit to a skip.
"Does it now." Greed's smile is daggers and heathenism. "That's a shame, love. Maybe there's something I can do."
A change in music alerts them both and the woman quickly pulls away to compose herself. The tune in question calls for a slow waltz; a melody for two.
"The brute calls for me, Lord Razzka. Can I - ?"
Greed's eyebrows knot together, his teeth disappearing in single, sly line. "Of course. Can't keep the lug waiting, can you?" He tosses his fingers to wave her off. "After."
The woman curtsies and as she leaves, the Sin turns his attention back to his partner in crime. Lust has a man snagged in her clutches for the next dance; a bureaucratic hierarchy type from the looks of him.
Greed almost feels sorry for the poor bastard. But so be it. He has his own pleasure to deal with and when a server comes around, he beckons the man over with a curl of two fingers.
"Ah, Lord. No encore performance?"
"No, not yet. Maybe if I find the right partner." He sizes up the server, legs spread and arms wide like a shark on land looking for a snack. The man's face wrinkles and his spine goes suddenly sharp, as if something foul's washed over him. "I - uh. Right. Can I get you - ?"
"The forty age on the rocks. Make sure it's poured high, will you?" Greed hums. "Thanks."
The server doesn't even bother sticking around. He makes a beeline to the back. Greed follows him on his exit, all the while scanning for the next opportunity.
Opportunity knocks as the waltz comes to an end. The doors swing open at the far end of the hall and a hush sweeps over the heads of those gathered, a single name on everyone's lips:
Solus zos Galvus.
The man himself pauses on the threshold, surveying the room as an eagle might survey its domain: with a cold eye and tilted chin. Though his stature is slightly less than those gathered, no-one with any respect for their own life would dare point it out - for this is the man responsible for the Empire's success. Its influence. Its might. At a mere thirty-five years of age, Solus zos Galvus has not only cemented and consolidated the Empire's rule but also installed himself as its first ever emperor.
The imperial regalia he wears clinks quietly as he strides down the centre of the room. The crowd parts to murmurs of 'Your Radiance', salutes, and curtsies. As zos Galvus passes Greed and his kin, his gaze shifts briefly towards them and he holds their gaze for the briefest of moments. Something in that instant seems to pass between them. Some manner of recognition of other.
--But it's gone in the next second as he strides past and ascends to a balcony with an unrestricted view of the stage. Once he is seated, he waves a hand.
How the crowd parts, how the world falls so silent, the head of a falling pin could be heard miles away: that's power. Ultimate, unyielding, and relentless. No matter how important anyone else saw themselves here, they all bowed to the arrival of their better. Like deer bending under the will of a taught, strung-out bow.
A shrewd smile passes over his lips, faint and sharp.
The guest of the fucking hour had finally arrived.
Greed shrugs to himself and as he presses the flats of his hands across the front of his suit, he gingerly rises out of his seat. The recognition doesn't surprise him much. They're all out of this picture in some way or another, aren't they? Above it all, watching time and its patrons scurry to the next oblivion. It's always the same, even if the backdrop switches out every now and again. There's always a crowd, always a civilization, always men and women clambering to impress the top.
The Sin weaves through the crowd with a sense of purpose. He spins on his heel one way, tips the other, and while his movements remain fluid, his fingers keep busy. They snag small trinkets: a couple of coins to line his pockets and a note or two of personal scandal. No doubt nothing that would even mildly intrigue his intended guest, but things he would appreciate later.
It's only when a guard gets in his way, does the procession top.
"Sir, you aren't allowed here."
"No?" Greed hums. "Ah, I must have been mistaken, then. This isn't the way to the courtyard?"
"No, it isn't. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, sir." The guard's hand shoots up; a clear signal that any step further will have drastic consequences.
The Sin's mouth cracks. A moon's crescent sliver in the shape of harmful daggers. "You'll have to excuse me then, friend. Meant no harm." He puts a slur to his words. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely a truth either. He had been drinking; it would be all too easy to assume he was just another overindulgent guess. And that? Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there?
The guard's audible sigh says he's right on the money. "Sir, you've had a lot to drink tonight. Please, return to your seat."
"Of course," Greed leers forward and his knuckles spread out across the center of his chest. A mocking imitation of cordialness. "But before I do, could you do me one favor?" He comes in close, too near that some might take it for affection. And maybe, the guard does. After all, what sort of party doesn't come with a few who've had a bit too many? It's par for the course. Expected.
The Sin wraps his hand around the back of the guard's neck, coy and delicate. And as his index raises between the point of the man's bones, he cranes his head, allowing his nose to almost touch the other's in a single moment of intimacy.
"What is it you really want?"
"What - ?"
Greed's lips shrink, puckering, and his shades slowly slide down. "I asked you - " The color of his eyes shift, like the tail of a red fish fleeing to the deep. "-what do you really want?" The Sin's nail trembles to a point and pricks into the man's skin. A needle, unknowing and faint.
"What I ..." The guard's words drop off. "-I want to go home. I hate this job. I just want to the tavern and spend the night with Veronica."
"Then why don't you? Don't worry, it'll be our secret, hmn? I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble. Besides, you only have this one life, don't you? Why not have it all." Greed lifts his hand away and the point of his nail trembles to nothing, leaving behind normal flesh and blood. "Go ahead and take it. I've got things from here." Like a snake releasing a dearly departed meal, the Sin unravels and the guard stumbles away. His motion, his whole self, as dazed as a man wandering through a dream.
A tug as his jacket and the Sin straightens himself. He takes the stairs deliberately. Counting each step, feeling the press of wood against his heels as they click and clap his ascension. It's almost too easy. Too simple.
And by his sheer expression, he absolutely cannot wait to see what the rest of the night will bring.
The party is a social obligation and not one he had been particularly enthusiastic to attend. He cares nothing for the gossip, the politicking (although he is very good at it) or even the pleasure of more tangible company. Indeed, he is above it all, like a god watching from on high...
In a way that is exactly what he is, although those below are ignorant of the fact.
Solus zos Galvus doesn't appear to have noticed the disturbance at the bottom of the stairs. Or if he has, there isn't a single hint of fear or trepidation in the sharp, narrow gaze he shoots at the interloper who ascends them. He is wary of course - anyone with as much power and influence as he wields must be the source of at least one assassination plot a day - but for now, he remains seated, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and chin resting upon the back of his hand. This man is either arrogant or supremely confident in his own safety.
Up and up he goes and the floor below shrinks like a blurry dream. Faces that had been clear seconds ago melt into one another, fluid, streaming, and morphing into nothing more than twinkling lights and fancy fabrics. It's not hard to see why this an opportune spot. This high above it all, the horizon seems to stretch out to forever. A perfect place for a king, a lord, a God to hover over the humanity constant.
Greed's smile breaks it all in a single moment. A rock at the proverbial house of glass. "Solus zos Galvus," he says, snapping his tongue like a child with a large wad of bubblegum. He savors the depth of the name, the wealth. How rich a man is, simply by title alone.
The Sin innocently touches his chest and his expression softens to a low boil. "Me? No, nothing much. I just let him see what he really wanted out of life." He climbs one more step, making his way beyond the crowd with a bow in his back and sarcasm written on every inch of his crooked face. "Everyone wants something, Solus. Don't tell me you don't. After all, I've heard you're an honest man - that's something we have in common."
Greed sags his head and his fingers curl up across his face. They spread like the legs of a spider testing a web; gentle, tentative, and deadly. A blink of color betrays him though and as his eyes sink back behind his sunglasses, deep and soulless, his mouth shrinks to a squeezing pucker.
"But you're not really concerned about him are you? Just about what I did. I can show you, if that's what you want." He forms his spine into the banister, allowing his body to lean and sprawl as it pleased. In the reflection of his sunglasses, the crowd below has already returned to business as usual. People laugh, ladies clutch their chests and fan their faces with the juiciest of news. Greed reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single coil to dribble over his knuckles.
"All I need is your permission." His hand tips and dives only to snap to a still, leaving the coin pinched perilously between his index and thumb. "Nothing too hard, but you have to be sure. Don't worry - no one else will even notice."
The coin in his hand begins to change as he talks. The silver washes away as sure as tide to the shore and while the cool edges peel back, it's gold that replaces it. Glittering, shining; a capture of sunlight at the tips of his fingers.
Greed snaps it off is thumb, letting it tumble to the ground below.
"Now, it's just you and me." He uncrosses his ankles and stretches out his legs as far as he possibly can. "Whatever you want." He repeats. The Sin's hands wrap around the banister and he shoves himself forward. "Or you could just say no, continue to brood up here, and that'll be it. But where would be the fun in that?" His eyebrow creases his forehead and his smile cooks on his chin. A devil with a mouth sweet enough to savor, but fatal to swallow. "Then again, I could just go ahead and skip all the formalities. But that wouldn't be too pleasant for either of us."
He's close again. Too close for comfort, too close for respect. Greed pulls his sunglasses off his heavy, closed eyes. He clips them to the collar of his coat a second later and his fingers waver. As if holding onto the moment, stretching it, like the last touch before a long send off.
When he opens his eyes and stares up at the man (no, beyond that isn't he?), the slits of his eyes have all but shrunk. No longer are they larger and swallowing, no. Instead, they quiver - needles shaking, desperate and excitable for an answer.
The Sin extends his hand at a distance. "What do you say?"
He grows more tense the closer they approach. He has a knife on his person in case of situations like these - two, in fact - but he has a feeling that a knife won't work on this creature. Like him, they're something other and no mere blade will suffice to keep them back.
That said, he's not worried. It would be terribly inconvenient if 'Solus' were to die here however, after such painstaking efforts to raise him to the seat of emperor. Bright, crimson lines spiral down his left arm and a mark of the same colour flashes before his face. Bright like a neon warning for predators: 'Do not eat'.
"There is only one power in this world that can give me what I desire, and it's not you," he hisses. "Find some other, more gullible prey."
After all, he has no proof, no guarantee about what this man (or thing) can do. He has lost too much and worked too long to bet it all on such easy temptation. No, he will need a more tangible guarantee than empty promises before he even begins to consider bending his ironclad principles.
Red meets his red, a casual promise of calamity, and the Sin's expression changes. Fear, surprise, intrigue, desperation - he holds them all with that look. The whites of his eyes expand to saucers, forcing his smile to dance on the very edge of madness. It's all consuming. His demeanor like a starved man seeing his first oasis in centuries. In him, everything wild that Garlemald tried to keep at bay breaks in. It seeps out of him in waves, crashing and beating down the civilized barriers of etiquette with a single, twisted smile.
He forgets to breathe, not that it matters. He isn't really living anyway. Not like most.
Greed's teeth chatter and tremble together as if his gums are trying to desperately keep them in place. "Ha - !" He barks. "HA-! Now, who would have fucking thought? You're just full of surprises!" The Sin toes backwards, his heels and the tips of his boots making him retreat, albeit slightly. Emet's threat meets his offer in a union of violence. They stand together, predator to predator, the answer of who could come out on top hanging by a delicate thread.
He wans to know. Needs to know. His core demands it.
Greed pauses and as his shoulders relax, he picks his sunglasses out from his collar. A flick of his wrist opens them again. "Gullible? No, I don't think that about you at all. Judge me all you want Solus, but don't take me for something I'm not."
Exasperation takes hold of him as he fastens his sunglasses back over his face. "It isn't surprising. Most people do deny me at first. But then again, you aren't most, are you?" He presses his fingers up to shove his shades over his eyes while his nails twitch and threaten to leave gauges in the glass. "But what you are - oh, what you are. You're truly something."
The Sin hums wistfully. The way he pointedly avoids looking Solus dead in the eye, the way his mind and attention wanders. He watches nothing and everything all at once. As if a world beyond stretched out in front of him, out of focus and dim to everyone else. "No, I'm not the one you're looking for. I rarely am. But that's always how I end up here. Well, sort of."
How he ended up existing is a more appropriate answer.
Greed's mouth softens and while his neck falls sluggish on the weight of his bones, he raises both of his arms above his end. A signal of surrender, if only in gesture alone. "Your choice, then. You could kill me if you wanted, though I think you already know that'll be a waste of time." He lowers his hands and a feathery dark, not unlike a waft of smoke, frees itself from his arms. It twirls around his wrist before shrinking into the floor below; a toxic heave of smoke disappearing back to the depths.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Greed tongues his cheek. He can taste it in the air; a strength, a source, driving him wild. "You said there's only one person that can show you what you really desire. I don't think you're lying about that. But has it happened yet?" He pauses to run his thumb up the center of his throat. "Or are you still waiting? All I'm offering is a moment. Real, fake, whatever it is - and after, you can do whatever you want. Like I said, killing me might not do much, but if that's your choice - "
Finally, he turns back to Solus, the heaviness on his eyes blatant and stark. There's age in his face that shows not in wrinkles, but in experience. Where years aren't measured in time but by the points of tragedies encountered along the way.
Greed lifts his thumb away from his throat and a sizzle of electricity evaporates off his skin. "Some want fame, others want wealth. But do you know what I find people really want the most?" He mouth goes neutral. "They just want to see a loved one again, or a home they've left behind. The way I see it, greed is no different than hope. What's noble, what's taboo - to me, it's all the same. And is that such a bad thing? Is having too much hope really such a problem?"
The Sin turns away and his weight shifts to favor his left. "Ehh, guess that's a lot of me to ask, isn't it? I haven't even introduced myself yet." Though, he had a feeling Solus (if that was what he was really called), could have easily figured it out by now. He didn't take things at face value. He didn't leave things to chance.
Greed's teeth peer out from his mouth, raw and sharp.
His fingers dig into the arms of his seat. He's glad that the other man has turned aside, as for the briefest moment Emet-Selch's mask slips and a flash of raw fury twists his aging face. He slams it back on quickly enough, reassembling it into Emperor Solus' stern, unforgiving planes. It isn't possible that they know, he reminds himself. They're simply pulling wild guesses out of the air hoping to hit a mark.
They want an in. They want a crack in the armour so they can slip through. Well, they won't have it. Twelve thousand years he has laboured for their people. He isn't about to surrender all that work to some creature of the void and their honeyed words.
"Killing you here would raise questions, but not so many that I am unprepared to answer. Get yourself gone before I change my mind," he says gruffly, turning his hard gaze back to the gathering below. He had been prepared to enjoy the performance but...well, now his mood has soured.
The corner of his lips pucker in amusement. "Oh, did I hit a nerve? Wasn't my intention." He hums and his eyes crease, fluttering and tensing with nasty intent. It is in them (the furrow of his skin, the tightening of his nerves) that dreams of beyond dwell. Where power, wealth, and notoriety reach out with crooked fingers to strangle the opposition.
Greed's teeth grind together so hard they almost crack and spark with the pressure. It's in his nature. He's the scab that never quite heals, the itch that never gets a scratch. And oh, does he love every last second of it.
The Sin's face screws over, tightens, and snaps to finally show his frenzy pure and raw. He simmers. "Get gone?" He tastes his own lips and gingerly pulls them into his mouth; his expression as blissful as someone sampling a fine meal. "As you wish, your highness." The end of his sentence extends and the S(s) draw out to a snake's empty lullaby.
And that's where it changes. The mask slips. The pretense tumbles. A curtain call of a completely different kind.
Greed's tongue rolls out of his mouth, lithely stretching to form a fiery, split-down whip. His transformation is both painfully slow and deliriously fast. Fine dust breaks from his skin in a condensed, black funnel only to spin as it thickens and churns like a whirlpool on a dark night. Greed spreads his arms to his sides and the tails of his coat evaporate; their torn remains spooling out to disintegrating threads.
And he laughs. Oh, how he laughs. His baritone boxes the ceiling and batters the walls with the force of an explosion. Even as he disappears into the swirling swill of his own making, his joy, his hysteria, thunders and claps. No storm could hold candle to it. No tempest could even try.
The Sin's smile breaks through the ash, now twisted and jagged. Where sharp teeth had been before, elongated daggers now take their place, and the pricks of his eyes burn like coals through the mist. A show of his fire, true and plain. "Ha .. AH HA HA HA HA! Who would have ever thought!? You really are something special, Emperor!"
Waves of inky black roll out of his mouth, spilling into his ever-expanding presence. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. Wisps of himself crawl across the floor, wrap around the banister, and choke them out. Greed purses what's left of his jaw in the mayhem - his expression both tender and unstable. A creature eating itself alive.
When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. Tinny. A can's echo. "I really do admire that about you. Maybe one day, we could be good friends." Holes break through his face, his hair, his throat and the light behind them dims. All the while, another cough of smoke drops out of his jaws and vomits over his feet, swallowing them whole.
Greed tries to breathe this time, but it's too late. He's already crossed the threshold. "I hope you'll think of me differently after this." From the looks of it, he's having difficulty moving. He stretches his arm out with a strain - his fingers almost locked in a tense, clawing grip. He reaches to grab a hold of anything he possibly can. But at the mercy of the whirlwind, he's no match.
Not that it matters. He's right where he wants to be.
His fingers fall apart, break into pieces, and the boney tips sputter off short spirts of electricity. Zzt. Ztt. Ztt. Greed gasps in his own suffocation; the last of the ash in his gut finally filling his nose and mouth to stifle out his laughter.
He's gone a second later, replaced by the sounds of merriment and amusement below. Light creases off glass and party goers alike; a soft melody plays distantly up the staircase. It's silent. Quiet.
It's the pressure that shatters it. The sensation comes from all sides; above, below, inside, and out. Noise amplifies only to splinter under the terrible sensation of buzzing. Like an eardrum blown out by cannon fire.
"You're going to be like that, aren't you. You won't give up and you won't give in until every part of you is suffering. I did tell you - it wasn't going to be pleasant for either of us." Greed's voice is an annoying whisper through it all. His tone hisses above the static, stinging and biting where it can. "It's a shame, your majesty. This could have been so much easier." The Sin exhales, forcing his voice over unseen teeth as prickly as nails grinding down a chalkboard.
Getting to this point was one thing, and he's unsure of the outcome. But he can only imagine the fight on the horizon. After all, possessing an unwilling host is always a challenge. And here? Well.
His gnarled hands grip the armrests of his chair as he staunchly faces the seething cloud, face set. The noise rattles him from the inside out, sets his teeth on edge. It's a different pressure to that which lies at the bottom of the ocean. The descent and ascent don't rock him to his core the way this fiend does.
What manner of voidsent are they? Something strong - far stronger than any of them could have foreseen.
"You won't have me," he whispers. The red mark flares before his face. Not for the first time, he wishes it did not limit the power the seat of Emet-Selch can wield. Such ancient magic, however, is not his to undo. "Not in a thousand years. You don't know me, nor the sacrifices I've made to make it here, you shallow creature. You thirst for something you will never truly have."
I know because I, too, have been tainted by Darkness.
Lifting a hand, he gathers his power. More power than even the best mage of this realm can ever bring to bear. So much so that he thinks even those below can surely sense something amiss.
The surge of power shifts through him like a conducting current, leaving an ethereal taste of copper buzzing in his mind. It lights him up as sure as a live, hot wire and his thoughts static and break. His everything leaks out and fills the spaces in between in a tangle of thick ink. In the instant, as two of them remain separate and apart, Greed feels both blind and fully aware of his surroundings. Similar to a bat on a supersonic high, the world about him vibrates in color. Reds crash into blues, whites go off like atom-bomb stars in the back of his mind's eye. They erupt into patterns and collide into one another, only to shatter again like a broken kaleidoscope.
He's never tasted anything like this; never felt anything better. And while he basks in everything this man is, distracted and drunk, pieces of him creep into the gaps between. Moments of who he is, what he is, casting themselves in hisses of static.
Greed sucks in a breath and where he once stood, the faintest hint of a thunderhead pulses silently to life. Whatever grip he has on the patrons below holds, though tentatively so. There's a feeling of something for some of the more attuned few - a glance here, a pause or break in conversation there. The sensation for others is alert; as if someone had briefly sauntered over their grave to kick away the dust. It's a feeling of ill will in the air. A presence of everything evil and rotten crawling to meet each other in dissonant harmony.
Flooding forward with all the force he can muster, the Sin concentrates himself. He tries to bite at Emet's defenses and rip them apart by will and laughter alone. "You're finally understanding. I want it all. Everything you have, everything you've ever wanted. But don't get the wrong idea," Greed's tongue lashes invisible teeth. "-as much as I'd want to, there are limits. I may be bad, but even I have some standards, friend."
The air in the room turns up a notch, then another and another. It's warm in the way a jungle is warm; hot in the way a desert scorches the earth. The Sin makes a noise like lips touching together ever-so-softly. "I can cut you out of this. Remove you from this one moment and give you a taste of it all. A second to be blissfully away from all this bullshit. You just have to give me your hands."
Another flash of violence wriggles into vision. The place isn't here - it's far away. Darkness squirms and infects all it touches. No where is safe from it; not the rocks, not the trees, nor the empty shells of buildings that had once stood as a testament to humanity and mortality, now incubators for creatures starved of the sun. Yet above all the devastation, it is them that linger. Faces made prominent in vague shadows and menacing shapes. Seven of them total stand tall. Towering giants twisted and clawing like the Titans over the destruction of Olympus.
Greed hums from somewhere behind and his arms stretch out, shadowy and intangible. Four of them try to wrap around Emet loosely; their forming fingers turning sharp and crooked. "I'm sure you hear it often. All those people down there singing your praises. If only they knew. If only they realized how special you truly are." The Sin sighs, his exhale catching each edge of him, every barb, in a thin whistle. "You're so much more. Oh, Your Highness, you're just too, too, much - "
His jaws close in, but the pressure radiating off his target is too much to bare. Greed snaps his mouth shut, sudden and brisk. Something has broken. Maybe him from too much energy. Maybe his spell from being stretched too thin. The air in front of them cracks, forming a hairline split like thin ice spiderwebbing underfoot. The Sin's arms retreat to the tune of a thousand snakes and in his chest, a noise stirs; a sound of a purr and a growl storming in delight.
"Just so you know that I'm telling the truth. The name's Greed, not Envy. I make it a point not to lie. But if that's not enough to convince you - " Greed's attention changes direction; a predator seeking out an alternative meal. "I could find someone else if that's what you want. I'm sure you won't have an issue with that, hmn?" A hint of confidence nips back into his jaw.
"Otherwise, we're just going to be doing this all night long. And I don't think either of us want that, do we?"
For half a moment, he falters. Trapped in this mortal body, for the time being, he can only revisit those days of paradise in his dreams - and even those dreams sometimes end in fire and death. This entity - Greed, as it calls itself - would offer him that dream.
He casts his gaze out over the people below. Solus' people. Not his. Their pride is not his own. Their dreams and aspirations far removed from those of his long-dead people. His aging frame seems to sag under its own weight (or perhaps just the weight of his heavy heart) but his defences remain firm. His conviction is not so easily broken. Why should he care where this creature wishes to feast?
But they're right that they cannot continue this all night, and if he lets them loose in the city then his carefully laid plans may crumble.
"A moment of bliss for, what, my soul?" he asks, his chuckle more a dry cough than anything. Frustrating how these mortal bodies break down after two-score years. Solus is verging on half a century now but he can hear the creak in his joints, the wearing down of cartilage, and sense the slow decline of his own organs. "You will have to bargain better than that. Why should I settle for a moment when I can have an eternity?"
The crack drives deeper into him, splintering his focus and forcing a pang of something into his core. Greed's breath hitches somewhere (an inhale of air, a jump of soot through the floorboards that's both subtle and alarming all at once) and his mirage briefly falters. Where he exists is in the peripheral. He's there and he isn't. He's whole, but transparent; a shadow of a man, a monster, hovering between one reality and the next.
The Sin almost misses the question. "Your soul? Ha - ! No - " A static shock arcs out of the air, spitting and hissing like a snake electrified in a terrible, wicked red. "-if I wanted that, we wouldn't be talking right now. Besides - ah," his voice dies in his throat. Under all that pressure, under all of Solus's sheer mass, he feels like he's falling. Like he's coming apart, tearing himself open, and bleeding out everything and all he's ever been.
A jagged smile etches in the air and stretches out - the edges of it reaching like nails searching for a wall to scratch on.
"An eternity," Greed finally answers, breathless. There's a sense of a grin in his tone; a tickle of malice pure, raw, and unabashedly wanton. "You're just as greedy as I am, aren't you?" Another tremble of dust vibrates around the banister. It lifts off the wood with a mind of its own; like the aftermath of a deafening rocket shaking the earth from its slumber. "I like the sound of that."
And hasn't that always been the catch? Eternity without the concerns of their own rules, without worrying about him, without all the strings that came attached.
Greed's focus suddenly snaps, his red eyes briefly reforming as pricks in the dim. "I told you that we couldn't do this all night. I wasn't lying, friend." When he speaks, his voice seems far more distant. It's a whisper - a hiss from a violin's string or a hum from a clinking glass. No, he can't do this much longer. Shedding his form had been a risk he was willing to take, but going back? Now? When it's all so, so close -
A member of the waitstaff passes below, unaware and oblivious of what's watching him. Greed gathers himself. "It's either you or that one down there," he slurs. "-then you can decide for yourself."
But he isn't wasting time. A ribbon of ash slithers down the steps, twisting and turning like a thick band of wire seeking out a power source. "It's always been your choice. So, what'll it be?" The soot pauses, rises up, and puffs out; a cobra seconds from a strike.
He coughs again, a little louder, and shakes his head.
"You think I care about these people? I would curse the gods if this empire fell tonight but you can have that one if you wish." The men and women here - they are expendable. The loss of one (if indeed this creature intends to take them over) is a mere pebble in the way of his grander scheme. The problem is what they do with them...
"Mark my words: I'll not suffer you to undermine all that I've built thus far," he growls. "I don't know what you are, nor do I care - stay out of my way and out of my plans else your greed will forever go unsatisfied."
And there it is, his permission. While it's not written in stone or summoned up from the desperation of desire, it is an allowance of sorts. An open dinner bell of a different kind, coughed up and spat at his feet with the same threat and distaste as someone (something) so much higher on the food chain that they couldn't be bothered.
Greed's body flashes once more and his alarming grin burns itself into the limelight; like that of a lightning strike outlining its crash. "You drive a hard bargain, chief. But fine, suit yourself. Hold that thought though -" Much like his voice, his presence drifts. Twirls of ash crawl down the steps with a purpose. They bounce and spiral low to the ground; their edging fingers tiptoeing closer, closer, closer -
The man never sees it coming. His preoccupation with the goings on (the many guests to tend to, his never-ending list of demands, his personal life) make him an easy target. He's halfway to his next destination, unknowing and carefree, when he suddenly stops. From the tips of his toes to the grip of his hand, every part of him appears to seize up. It's almost as if he's hit an invisible wall - one solid, foreboding, and thrown up endlessly to block his path. The server's eyes wander wildly in his sockets and as the drinks on his tray begin to sweat, his chest slowly expands; his breath all but catching in his throat.
"What do you want - ?" The Sin's voice whispers in. Like a squall trapped in a jar, his body thunders in and out of the physical; his existence now a fleeting, flickering thing. Greed guides one of his four arms to gently cup the man's face. "What do you really want - "
The nameless server studders. He doesn't speak (or he simply can't). Nevertheless, he watches what is about to swallow him with both fear and intense precision. Greed lowers his head. "You have to tell me. Whatever you want - " The devil turns his neck and as he puppets the man's skull to lean into his ear, an alarmingly kind smile touches on what's left of his lips. "Hmnn? You're going to have to speak up a little bit there, handsome."
A silent exchange passes between them. Instead of words, their conversation sparks in colors. Purple sizzles and murky blacks write out the silent contract: what is willingly given, what is willingly received. Greed's claws rake down the man's throat and the remnants of his half-smoking forehead press against the man's head. "-see, that wasn't so hard, huh? I just hope you have the stomach for it."
Seconds later, he's gone, and the waiter shakes his head like a man out of a dream. He looks to the left of him, the right, behind him, then begins to head back out to his work. However, his freedom doesn't last. He makes it to the banister of the stairs when the tray in his hand goes topside; its various flutes of rich-gold champaign clattering to the floor. The man eases down to his knees. Whatever grace and poise he may have had quietly goes out the window as his body fights itself. His fingers twitch, the veins in his forehead gorge and bloat beneath his skin. Yet, he makes not a sound. Not a whisper, not a scream, nor a sigh. He just clutches his head and as the bow of his spine contorts under his long-tailed jacket, his nails bitterly claw at his hair, freeing it from a loose tie string.
His fingernails dig, peeling themselves free and cracking. No, the promise, the deal he's been given - it comes with a price, doesn't it? And all debts need to be paid at some point.
The last of his nails rips open and the waiter's head hits the carpet with a dulled thud. When he inhales again, his voice isn't his own anymore. "Ahh -," Greed tongues at his new cheek, feeling it out. "I did ask if you had the stomach for it, kid. Guess not - "
The Sin grips his legs, righting himself to a stand. "You should probably sleep this one off. You'll get yours once I'm done." Similar to an insect in a cocoon, he tests his borrowed body - swaying his skull one way and the next, rolling his shoulders back to click and pop all the bones into place.
Greed brings his hand up to his face and turns to look back up at Solus. "Now, where were we? Oh - " He wiggles his fingers. The stubs of his lost nails are angry, raw, and thin bits of skin stingingly cling to the cuticles. The Sin examines them with a strange sort of fascination before his core kicks in and his red current licks them clean, leaving a fresh, manicured set. "-don't worry about it. I did tell you, didn't I? It takes a little more than that to hurt me. It's the same now for our friend here."
He lazily steps over a broken piece of glass. "I'm not here to get in your way, chief." Crunch goes the handle of a flute. "You've got me all wrong. But then again, I can't really blame you." He takes another step, his hands making quick work to adjust his collar and remove the thin tie at the dip of his throat. "Most do deny me at first, that's true."
He drops the fabric on the banister: another thing of his host, discarded. "See, I look at it this way: want is no different than hope. And you're hoping for something. Something most don't really understand. Did I get that right?" It's a wild guess of course. An idea vaguely spun together. Greed waves his arm and the long jacket whips at his feet. "You could say I want something similar. But nothing's impossible."
He pauses at the top of the stairs and when he opens his eyes, they're no longer a muted green, but a wicked sort of red. A reflection of his parasitic hold pushing outward. Greed slouches his shoulders. "It's stupid to be stubborn. What, do you think all of this is enough to satisfy me? I don't care what you've built, Solus."
The Sin tests his host's teeth. "Ehh, either way, now you know mine. If you want me gone, this one'll be back here tomorrow just the same as always. I've given him that time. But if not - " His arms wander as eccentric as an actor eating up the applause. "-well, I'm sure you can figure out how to find me, can't you?"
Solus watches with thinly veiled disgust. He is, perhaps, the only one who watches. The only one who cares - all the rest have already turned back to their entertainment. Does Greed think he's the only parasite to try burrowing his way into the heart of this empire? Of its emperor? Solus has lived far too long and suffered far too much heartbreak to crack from such crude tactics.
"Pitiful creature. You want what you cannot have, yet even when you have it you will never be satisfied." Solus disregards the fact that he could very well be talking about himself. "It will never be enough. Man is filled with unrelenting want and you - you are the purest form of it. Begone."
That's right, he must turn his eyes away from the temptation. He must stand strong, for the burden of a thousand, thousand people rests upon his shoulders. Like the sole remaining pillar of a ruin crumbling towards the sea.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
➥ AU | The Sins Come to Party | IF THIS DOESN'T WORK NO WORRIES
[♬ - Fia by Corpo Mente]
Nothing quite sells power like a ball and no one does it quite like the Empire, especially when the occasion's all about catering to the most esteemed and noble of them all. No expense has been spared; no corner untouched. Fountains run crystal-clear water under lights of gold and towers of marble so high, the display itself seems both a challenge to creation and a dare for anyone, any thing, to test their might.
No one could deny the statement.
A pyramid of fine glass sermons at the center room surrounded by bottles in an ever-winding circle of tastes: rosé, champaign, chardonnay, sauvignon blanc, pinot noir. No, nothing has been spared and why not? Even the stage is decorated, the red-wine silks hanging about it like the flow of a thousand, waiting dresses.
It is a proclamation. A production. A show.
Escaping the Empire is a futile effort.
But them, oh them. They weren't from here, nor did they follow mortal rules. By all accounts, they were the other. Something wicked and cruel born from the absence of everything and left only to want more. And now that they're here?
All there is to do is take. At least, somewhat.
Greed watches Lust out of the corner of his eye, the deep panes of his sunglasses reflecting the wealth about him in all its splendor. An hour or so before, they had just finished a dance routine that would have made even the most devote blush. Reconnaissance may be the name of the game tonight (among other things), but having a little bit of fun on the side wasn't against the rules. The unintended effect just added a bit of a bonus.
And while Lust, or as she is currently known as, Lady Dominique Razzka of the esteemed Razzka Family made political talks and arms deals with men who craved conquest, Greed took to more feminine company. Empire women, especially military wives, were a good source of information. Rumors, tactics, battle arrangements - women really held them all and more. The true generals with painted smiles and cat-groomed claws.
"She's beautiful, your wife," a woman at the corner of his ear purrs, breaking the silence. "Though, she's just as lucky to have a man like you." The lady's ruby-red nails bite into the leather of his long, fur-collared coat, making it groan.
Greed's lip crests upwards. "I guess you could say that. Though, it's more of a family arrangement." Which isn't a lie, per say. More of a twist on words. The Sin tilts his neck, letting one of his longer earrings graze the woman's skin with a purposeful tease. "Enough about us though, lovely. Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?" The hand on his coat trembles while he whispers sweet viciousness into the crook of her neck. If nothing else, he was made for this; to mingle among mortals, to pull their deepest desires out and play them string for string like a fiddle. It was almost too easy. Little did they know what actually lurked behind, lurked deep, in his all-too-sure smile.
He, she, all of them: they were monsters. Demons. Hell-spawn sent only to destroy and swindle whatever they could.
"Me, sir? Oh, I am but a housewife. The commander over there is my husband." She lowers her voice, reaching up underneath his coat to touch his chest while the room's preoccupied. "He's a terrible brute. Not one for romance at all. Makes a woman desperate." The scritch of her sharp fingers force the fabric of his layered suit to a skip.
"Does it now." Greed's smile is daggers and heathenism. "That's a shame, love. Maybe there's something I can do."
A change in music alerts them both and the woman quickly pulls away to compose herself. The tune in question calls for a slow waltz; a melody for two.
"The brute calls for me, Lord Razzka. Can I - ?"
Greed's eyebrows knot together, his teeth disappearing in single, sly line. "Of course. Can't keep the lug waiting, can you?" He tosses his fingers to wave her off. "After."
The woman curtsies and as she leaves, the Sin turns his attention back to his partner in crime. Lust has a man snagged in her clutches for the next dance; a bureaucratic hierarchy type from the looks of him.
Greed almost feels sorry for the poor bastard. But so be it. He has his own pleasure to deal with and when a server comes around, he beckons the man over with a curl of two fingers.
"Ah, Lord. No encore performance?"
"No, not yet. Maybe if I find the right partner." He sizes up the server, legs spread and arms wide like a shark on land looking for a snack. The man's face wrinkles and his spine goes suddenly sharp, as if something foul's washed over him. "I - uh. Right. Can I get you - ?"
"The forty age on the rocks. Make sure it's poured high, will you?" Greed hums. "Thanks."
The server doesn't even bother sticking around. He makes a beeline to the back. Greed follows him on his exit, all the while scanning for the next opportunity.
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Solus zos Galvus.
The man himself pauses on the threshold, surveying the room as an eagle might survey its domain: with a cold eye and tilted chin. Though his stature is slightly less than those gathered, no-one with any respect for their own life would dare point it out - for this is the man responsible for the Empire's success. Its influence. Its might. At a mere thirty-five years of age, Solus zos Galvus has not only cemented and consolidated the Empire's rule but also installed himself as its first ever emperor.
The imperial regalia he wears clinks quietly as he strides down the centre of the room. The crowd parts to murmurs of 'Your Radiance', salutes, and curtsies. As zos Galvus passes Greed and his kin, his gaze shifts briefly towards them and he holds their gaze for the briefest of moments. Something in that instant seems to pass between them. Some manner of recognition of other.
--But it's gone in the next second as he strides past and ascends to a balcony with an unrestricted view of the stage. Once he is seated, he waves a hand.
Let the revelry continue.
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A shrewd smile passes over his lips, faint and sharp.
The guest of the fucking hour had finally arrived.
Greed shrugs to himself and as he presses the flats of his hands across the front of his suit, he gingerly rises out of his seat. The recognition doesn't surprise him much. They're all out of this picture in some way or another, aren't they? Above it all, watching time and its patrons scurry to the next oblivion. It's always the same, even if the backdrop switches out every now and again. There's always a crowd, always a civilization, always men and women clambering to impress the top.
The Sin weaves through the crowd with a sense of purpose. He spins on his heel one way, tips the other, and while his movements remain fluid, his fingers keep busy. They snag small trinkets: a couple of coins to line his pockets and a note or two of personal scandal. No doubt nothing that would even mildly intrigue his intended guest, but things he would appreciate later.
It's only when a guard gets in his way, does the procession top.
"Sir, you aren't allowed here."
"No?" Greed hums. "Ah, I must have been mistaken, then. This isn't the way to the courtyard?"
"No, it isn't. I'm going to have to ask you to step aside, sir." The guard's hand shoots up; a clear signal that any step further will have drastic consequences.
The Sin's mouth cracks. A moon's crescent sliver in the shape of harmful daggers. "You'll have to excuse me then, friend. Meant no harm." He puts a slur to his words. Not entirely a lie, but not entirely a truth either. He had been drinking; it would be all too easy to assume he was just another overindulgent guess. And that? Well, there was some truth to that, wasn't there?
The guard's audible sigh says he's right on the money. "Sir, you've had a lot to drink tonight. Please, return to your seat."
"Of course," Greed leers forward and his knuckles spread out across the center of his chest. A mocking imitation of cordialness. "But before I do, could you do me one favor?" He comes in close, too near that some might take it for affection. And maybe, the guard does. After all, what sort of party doesn't come with a few who've had a bit too many? It's par for the course. Expected.
The Sin wraps his hand around the back of the guard's neck, coy and delicate. And as his index raises between the point of the man's bones, he cranes his head, allowing his nose to almost touch the other's in a single moment of intimacy.
"What is it you really want?"
"What - ?"
Greed's lips shrink, puckering, and his shades slowly slide down. "I asked you - " The color of his eyes shift, like the tail of a red fish fleeing to the deep. "-what do you really want?" The Sin's nail trembles to a point and pricks into the man's skin. A needle, unknowing and faint.
"What I ..." The guard's words drop off. "-I want to go home. I hate this job. I just want to the tavern and spend the night with Veronica."
"Then why don't you? Don't worry, it'll be our secret, hmn? I'll make sure you don't get into too much trouble. Besides, you only have this one life, don't you? Why not have it all." Greed lifts his hand away and the point of his nail trembles to nothing, leaving behind normal flesh and blood. "Go ahead and take it. I've got things from here." Like a snake releasing a dearly departed meal, the Sin unravels and the guard stumbles away. His motion, his whole self, as dazed as a man wandering through a dream.
A tug as his jacket and the Sin straightens himself. He takes the stairs deliberately. Counting each step, feeling the press of wood against his heels as they click and clap his ascension. It's almost too easy. Too simple.
And by his sheer expression, he absolutely cannot wait to see what the rest of the night will bring.
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The party is a social obligation and not one he had been particularly enthusiastic to attend. He cares nothing for the gossip, the politicking (although he is very good at it) or even the pleasure of more tangible company. Indeed, he is above it all, like a god watching from on high...
In a way that is exactly what he is, although those below are ignorant of the fact.
Solus zos Galvus doesn't appear to have noticed the disturbance at the bottom of the stairs. Or if he has, there isn't a single hint of fear or trepidation in the sharp, narrow gaze he shoots at the interloper who ascends them. He is wary of course - anyone with as much power and influence as he wields must be the source of at least one assassination plot a day - but for now, he remains seated, elbow propped on the arm of his chair and chin resting upon the back of his hand. This man is either arrogant or supremely confident in his own safety.
"What did you do to the guard?" he asks harshly.
The emperor is alone, it seems.
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Greed's smile breaks it all in a single moment. A rock at the proverbial house of glass. "Solus zos Galvus," he says, snapping his tongue like a child with a large wad of bubblegum. He savors the depth of the name, the wealth. How rich a man is, simply by title alone.
The Sin innocently touches his chest and his expression softens to a low boil. "Me? No, nothing much. I just let him see what he really wanted out of life." He climbs one more step, making his way beyond the crowd with a bow in his back and sarcasm written on every inch of his crooked face. "Everyone wants something, Solus. Don't tell me you don't. After all, I've heard you're an honest man - that's something we have in common."
Greed sags his head and his fingers curl up across his face. They spread like the legs of a spider testing a web; gentle, tentative, and deadly. A blink of color betrays him though and as his eyes sink back behind his sunglasses, deep and soulless, his mouth shrinks to a squeezing pucker.
"But you're not really concerned about him are you? Just about what I did. I can show you, if that's what you want." He forms his spine into the banister, allowing his body to lean and sprawl as it pleased. In the reflection of his sunglasses, the crowd below has already returned to business as usual. People laugh, ladies clutch their chests and fan their faces with the juiciest of news. Greed reaches into his pocket and pulls out a single coil to dribble over his knuckles.
"All I need is your permission." His hand tips and dives only to snap to a still, leaving the coin pinched perilously between his index and thumb. "Nothing too hard, but you have to be sure. Don't worry - no one else will even notice."
The coin in his hand begins to change as he talks. The silver washes away as sure as tide to the shore and while the cool edges peel back, it's gold that replaces it. Glittering, shining; a capture of sunlight at the tips of his fingers.
Greed snaps it off is thumb, letting it tumble to the ground below.
"Now, it's just you and me." He uncrosses his ankles and stretches out his legs as far as he possibly can. "Whatever you want." He repeats. The Sin's hands wrap around the banister and he shoves himself forward. "Or you could just say no, continue to brood up here, and that'll be it. But where would be the fun in that?" His eyebrow creases his forehead and his smile cooks on his chin. A devil with a mouth sweet enough to savor, but fatal to swallow. "Then again, I could just go ahead and skip all the formalities. But that wouldn't be too pleasant for either of us."
He's close again. Too close for comfort, too close for respect. Greed pulls his sunglasses off his heavy, closed eyes. He clips them to the collar of his coat a second later and his fingers waver. As if holding onto the moment, stretching it, like the last touch before a long send off.
When he opens his eyes and stares up at the man (no, beyond that isn't he?), the slits of his eyes have all but shrunk. No longer are they larger and swallowing, no. Instead, they quiver - needles shaking, desperate and excitable for an answer.
The Sin extends his hand at a distance. "What do you say?"
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That said, he's not worried. It would be terribly inconvenient if 'Solus' were to die here however, after such painstaking efforts to raise him to the seat of emperor. Bright, crimson lines spiral down his left arm and a mark of the same colour flashes before his face. Bright like a neon warning for predators: 'Do not eat'.
"There is only one power in this world that can give me what I desire, and it's not you," he hisses. "Find some other, more gullible prey."
After all, he has no proof, no guarantee about what this man (or thing) can do. He has lost too much and worked too long to bet it all on such easy temptation. No, he will need a more tangible guarantee than empty promises before he even begins to consider bending his ironclad principles.
no subject
He forgets to breathe, not that it matters. He isn't really living anyway. Not like most.
Greed's teeth chatter and tremble together as if his gums are trying to desperately keep them in place. "Ha - !" He barks. "HA-! Now, who would have fucking thought? You're just full of surprises!" The Sin toes backwards, his heels and the tips of his boots making him retreat, albeit slightly. Emet's threat meets his offer in a union of violence. They stand together, predator to predator, the answer of who could come out on top hanging by a delicate thread.
He wans to know. Needs to know. His core demands it.
Greed pauses and as his shoulders relax, he picks his sunglasses out from his collar. A flick of his wrist opens them again. "Gullible? No, I don't think that about you at all. Judge me all you want Solus, but don't take me for something I'm not."
Exasperation takes hold of him as he fastens his sunglasses back over his face. "It isn't surprising. Most people do deny me at first. But then again, you aren't most, are you?" He presses his fingers up to shove his shades over his eyes while his nails twitch and threaten to leave gauges in the glass. "But what you are - oh, what you are. You're truly something."
The Sin hums wistfully. The way he pointedly avoids looking Solus dead in the eye, the way his mind and attention wanders. He watches nothing and everything all at once. As if a world beyond stretched out in front of him, out of focus and dim to everyone else. "No, I'm not the one you're looking for. I rarely am. But that's always how I end up here. Well, sort of."
How he ended up existing is a more appropriate answer.
Greed's mouth softens and while his neck falls sluggish on the weight of his bones, he raises both of his arms above his end. A signal of surrender, if only in gesture alone. "Your choice, then. You could kill me if you wanted, though I think you already know that'll be a waste of time." He lowers his hands and a feathery dark, not unlike a waft of smoke, frees itself from his arms. It twirls around his wrist before shrinking into the floor below; a toxic heave of smoke disappearing back to the depths.
"We got off on the wrong foot," Greed tongues his cheek. He can taste it in the air; a strength, a source, driving him wild. "You said there's only one person that can show you what you really desire. I don't think you're lying about that. But has it happened yet?" He pauses to run his thumb up the center of his throat. "Or are you still waiting? All I'm offering is a moment. Real, fake, whatever it is - and after, you can do whatever you want. Like I said, killing me might not do much, but if that's your choice - "
Finally, he turns back to Solus, the heaviness on his eyes blatant and stark. There's age in his face that shows not in wrinkles, but in experience. Where years aren't measured in time but by the points of tragedies encountered along the way.
Greed lifts his thumb away from his throat and a sizzle of electricity evaporates off his skin. "Some want fame, others want wealth. But do you know what I find people really want the most?" He mouth goes neutral. "They just want to see a loved one again, or a home they've left behind. The way I see it, greed is no different than hope. What's noble, what's taboo - to me, it's all the same. And is that such a bad thing? Is having too much hope really such a problem?"
The Sin turns away and his weight shifts to favor his left. "Ehh, guess that's a lot of me to ask, isn't it? I haven't even introduced myself yet." Though, he had a feeling Solus (if that was what he was really called), could have easily figured it out by now. He didn't take things at face value. He didn't leave things to chance.
Greed's teeth peer out from his mouth, raw and sharp.
Thankfully, he was a more betting man.
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They want an in. They want a crack in the armour so they can slip through. Well, they won't have it. Twelve thousand years he has laboured for their people. He isn't about to surrender all that work to some creature of the void and their honeyed words.
"Killing you here would raise questions, but not so many that I am unprepared to answer. Get yourself gone before I change my mind," he says gruffly, turning his hard gaze back to the gathering below. He had been prepared to enjoy the performance but...well, now his mood has soured.
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Greed's teeth grind together so hard they almost crack and spark with the pressure. It's in his nature. He's the scab that never quite heals, the itch that never gets a scratch. And oh, does he love every last second of it.
The Sin's face screws over, tightens, and snaps to finally show his frenzy pure and raw. He simmers. "Get gone?" He tastes his own lips and gingerly pulls them into his mouth; his expression as blissful as someone sampling a fine meal. "As you wish, your highness." The end of his sentence extends and the S(s) draw out to a snake's empty lullaby.
And that's where it changes. The mask slips. The pretense tumbles. A curtain call of a completely different kind.
Greed's tongue rolls out of his mouth, lithely stretching to form a fiery, split-down whip. His transformation is both painfully slow and deliriously fast. Fine dust breaks from his skin in a condensed, black funnel only to spin as it thickens and churns like a whirlpool on a dark night. Greed spreads his arms to his sides and the tails of his coat evaporate; their torn remains spooling out to disintegrating threads.
And he laughs. Oh, how he laughs. His baritone boxes the ceiling and batters the walls with the force of an explosion. Even as he disappears into the swirling swill of his own making, his joy, his hysteria, thunders and claps. No storm could hold candle to it. No tempest could even try.
The Sin's smile breaks through the ash, now twisted and jagged. Where sharp teeth had been before, elongated daggers now take their place, and the pricks of his eyes burn like coals through the mist. A show of his fire, true and plain. "Ha .. AH HA HA HA HA! Who would have ever thought!? You really are something special, Emperor!"
Waves of inky black roll out of his mouth, spilling into his ever-expanding presence. He's everywhere and nowhere all at once. Wisps of himself crawl across the floor, wrap around the banister, and choke them out. Greed purses what's left of his jaw in the mayhem - his expression both tender and unstable. A creature eating itself alive.
When he speaks again, his voice is hollow. Tinny. A can's echo. "I really do admire that about you. Maybe one day, we could be good friends." Holes break through his face, his hair, his throat and the light behind them dims. All the while, another cough of smoke drops out of his jaws and vomits over his feet, swallowing them whole.
Greed tries to breathe this time, but it's too late. He's already crossed the threshold. "I hope you'll think of me differently after this." From the looks of it, he's having difficulty moving. He stretches his arm out with a strain - his fingers almost locked in a tense, clawing grip. He reaches to grab a hold of anything he possibly can. But at the mercy of the whirlwind, he's no match.
Not that it matters. He's right where he wants to be.
His fingers fall apart, break into pieces, and the boney tips sputter off short spirts of electricity. Zzt. Ztt. Ztt. Greed gasps in his own suffocation; the last of the ash in his gut finally filling his nose and mouth to stifle out his laughter.
He's gone a second later, replaced by the sounds of merriment and amusement below. Light creases off glass and party goers alike; a soft melody plays distantly up the staircase. It's silent. Quiet.
It's the pressure that shatters it. The sensation comes from all sides; above, below, inside, and out. Noise amplifies only to splinter under the terrible sensation of buzzing. Like an eardrum blown out by cannon fire.
"You're going to be like that, aren't you. You won't give up and you won't give in until every part of you is suffering. I did tell you - it wasn't going to be pleasant for either of us." Greed's voice is an annoying whisper through it all. His tone hisses above the static, stinging and biting where it can. "It's a shame, your majesty. This could have been so much easier." The Sin exhales, forcing his voice over unseen teeth as prickly as nails grinding down a chalkboard.
Getting to this point was one thing, and he's unsure of the outcome. But he can only imagine the fight on the horizon. After all, possessing an unwilling host is always a challenge. And here? Well.
Here he is fighting the emperor of them all.
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What manner of voidsent are they? Something strong - far stronger than any of them could have foreseen.
"You won't have me," he whispers. The red mark flares before his face. Not for the first time, he wishes it did not limit the power the seat of Emet-Selch can wield. Such ancient magic, however, is not his to undo. "Not in a thousand years. You don't know me, nor the sacrifices I've made to make it here, you shallow creature. You thirst for something you will never truly have."
I know because I, too, have been tainted by Darkness.
Lifting a hand, he gathers his power. More power than even the best mage of this realm can ever bring to bear. So much so that he thinks even those below can surely sense something amiss.
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He's never tasted anything like this; never felt anything better. And while he basks in everything this man is, distracted and drunk, pieces of him creep into the gaps between. Moments of who he is, what he is, casting themselves in hisses of static.
Greed sucks in a breath and where he once stood, the faintest hint of a thunderhead pulses silently to life. Whatever grip he has on the patrons below holds, though tentatively so. There's a feeling of something for some of the more attuned few - a glance here, a pause or break in conversation there. The sensation for others is alert; as if someone had briefly sauntered over their grave to kick away the dust. It's a feeling of ill will in the air. A presence of everything evil and rotten crawling to meet each other in dissonant harmony.
Flooding forward with all the force he can muster, the Sin concentrates himself. He tries to bite at Emet's defenses and rip them apart by will and laughter alone. "You're finally understanding. I want it all. Everything you have, everything you've ever wanted. But don't get the wrong idea," Greed's tongue lashes invisible teeth. "-as much as I'd want to, there are limits. I may be bad, but even I have some standards, friend."
The air in the room turns up a notch, then another and another. It's warm in the way a jungle is warm; hot in the way a desert scorches the earth. The Sin makes a noise like lips touching together ever-so-softly. "I can cut you out of this. Remove you from this one moment and give you a taste of it all. A second to be blissfully away from all this bullshit. You just have to give me your hands."
Another flash of violence wriggles into vision. The place isn't here - it's far away. Darkness squirms and infects all it touches. No where is safe from it; not the rocks, not the trees, nor the empty shells of buildings that had once stood as a testament to humanity and mortality, now incubators for creatures starved of the sun. Yet above all the devastation, it is them that linger. Faces made prominent in vague shadows and menacing shapes. Seven of them total stand tall. Towering giants twisted and clawing like the Titans over the destruction of Olympus.
Greed hums from somewhere behind and his arms stretch out, shadowy and intangible. Four of them try to wrap around Emet loosely; their forming fingers turning sharp and crooked. "I'm sure you hear it often. All those people down there singing your praises. If only they knew. If only they realized how special you truly are." The Sin sighs, his exhale catching each edge of him, every barb, in a thin whistle. "You're so much more. Oh, Your Highness, you're just too, too, much - "
His jaws close in, but the pressure radiating off his target is too much to bare. Greed snaps his mouth shut, sudden and brisk. Something has broken. Maybe him from too much energy. Maybe his spell from being stretched too thin. The air in front of them cracks, forming a hairline split like thin ice spiderwebbing underfoot. The Sin's arms retreat to the tune of a thousand snakes and in his chest, a noise stirs; a sound of a purr and a growl storming in delight.
"Just so you know that I'm telling the truth. The name's Greed, not Envy. I make it a point not to lie. But if that's not enough to convince you - " Greed's attention changes direction; a predator seeking out an alternative meal. "I could find someone else if that's what you want. I'm sure you won't have an issue with that, hmn?" A hint of confidence nips back into his jaw.
"Otherwise, we're just going to be doing this all night long. And I don't think either of us want that, do we?"
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He casts his gaze out over the people below. Solus' people. Not his. Their pride is not his own. Their dreams and aspirations far removed from those of his long-dead people. His aging frame seems to sag under its own weight (or perhaps just the weight of his heavy heart) but his defences remain firm. His conviction is not so easily broken. Why should he care where this creature wishes to feast?
But they're right that they cannot continue this all night, and if he lets them loose in the city then his carefully laid plans may crumble.
"A moment of bliss for, what, my soul?" he asks, his chuckle more a dry cough than anything. Frustrating how these mortal bodies break down after two-score years. Solus is verging on half a century now but he can hear the creak in his joints, the wearing down of cartilage, and sense the slow decline of his own organs. "You will have to bargain better than that. Why should I settle for a moment when I can have an eternity?"
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The Sin almost misses the question. "Your soul? Ha - ! No - " A static shock arcs out of the air, spitting and hissing like a snake electrified in a terrible, wicked red. "-if I wanted that, we wouldn't be talking right now. Besides - ah," his voice dies in his throat. Under all that pressure, under all of Solus's sheer mass, he feels like he's falling. Like he's coming apart, tearing himself open, and bleeding out everything and all he's ever been.
A jagged smile etches in the air and stretches out - the edges of it reaching like nails searching for a wall to scratch on.
"An eternity," Greed finally answers, breathless. There's a sense of a grin in his tone; a tickle of malice pure, raw, and unabashedly wanton. "You're just as greedy as I am, aren't you?" Another tremble of dust vibrates around the banister. It lifts off the wood with a mind of its own; like the aftermath of a deafening rocket shaking the earth from its slumber. "I like the sound of that."
And hasn't that always been the catch? Eternity without the concerns of their own rules, without worrying about him, without all the strings that came attached.
Greed's focus suddenly snaps, his red eyes briefly reforming as pricks in the dim. "I told you that we couldn't do this all night. I wasn't lying, friend." When he speaks, his voice seems far more distant. It's a whisper - a hiss from a violin's string or a hum from a clinking glass. No, he can't do this much longer. Shedding his form had been a risk he was willing to take, but going back? Now? When it's all so, so close -
A member of the waitstaff passes below, unaware and oblivious of what's watching him. Greed gathers himself. "It's either you or that one down there," he slurs. "-then you can decide for yourself."
But he isn't wasting time. A ribbon of ash slithers down the steps, twisting and turning like a thick band of wire seeking out a power source. "It's always been your choice. So, what'll it be?" The soot pauses, rises up, and puffs out; a cobra seconds from a strike.
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"You think I care about these people? I would curse the gods if this empire fell tonight but you can have that one if you wish." The men and women here - they are expendable. The loss of one (if indeed this creature intends to take them over) is a mere pebble in the way of his grander scheme. The problem is what they do with them...
"Mark my words: I'll not suffer you to undermine all that I've built thus far," he growls. "I don't know what you are, nor do I care - stay out of my way and out of my plans else your greed will forever go unsatisfied."
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Greed's body flashes once more and his alarming grin burns itself into the limelight; like that of a lightning strike outlining its crash. "You drive a hard bargain, chief. But fine, suit yourself. Hold that thought though -" Much like his voice, his presence drifts. Twirls of ash crawl down the steps with a purpose. They bounce and spiral low to the ground; their edging fingers tiptoeing closer, closer, closer -
The man never sees it coming. His preoccupation with the goings on (the many guests to tend to, his never-ending list of demands, his personal life) make him an easy target. He's halfway to his next destination, unknowing and carefree, when he suddenly stops. From the tips of his toes to the grip of his hand, every part of him appears to seize up. It's almost as if he's hit an invisible wall - one solid, foreboding, and thrown up endlessly to block his path. The server's eyes wander wildly in his sockets and as the drinks on his tray begin to sweat, his chest slowly expands; his breath all but catching in his throat.
"What do you want - ?" The Sin's voice whispers in. Like a squall trapped in a jar, his body thunders in and out of the physical; his existence now a fleeting, flickering thing. Greed guides one of his four arms to gently cup the man's face. "What do you really want - "
The nameless server studders. He doesn't speak (or he simply can't). Nevertheless, he watches what is about to swallow him with both fear and intense precision. Greed lowers his head. "You have to tell me. Whatever you want - " The devil turns his neck and as he puppets the man's skull to lean into his ear, an alarmingly kind smile touches on what's left of his lips. "Hmnn? You're going to have to speak up a little bit there, handsome."
A silent exchange passes between them. Instead of words, their conversation sparks in colors. Purple sizzles and murky blacks write out the silent contract: what is willingly given, what is willingly received. Greed's claws rake down the man's throat and the remnants of his half-smoking forehead press against the man's head. "-see, that wasn't so hard, huh? I just hope you have the stomach for it."
Seconds later, he's gone, and the waiter shakes his head like a man out of a dream. He looks to the left of him, the right, behind him, then begins to head back out to his work. However, his freedom doesn't last. He makes it to the banister of the stairs when the tray in his hand goes topside; its various flutes of rich-gold champaign clattering to the floor. The man eases down to his knees. Whatever grace and poise he may have had quietly goes out the window as his body fights itself. His fingers twitch, the veins in his forehead gorge and bloat beneath his skin. Yet, he makes not a sound. Not a whisper, not a scream, nor a sigh. He just clutches his head and as the bow of his spine contorts under his long-tailed jacket, his nails bitterly claw at his hair, freeing it from a loose tie string.
His fingernails dig, peeling themselves free and cracking. No, the promise, the deal he's been given - it comes with a price, doesn't it? And all debts need to be paid at some point.
The last of his nails rips open and the waiter's head hits the carpet with a dulled thud. When he inhales again, his voice isn't his own anymore. "Ahh -," Greed tongues at his new cheek, feeling it out. "I did ask if you had the stomach for it, kid. Guess not - "
The Sin grips his legs, righting himself to a stand. "You should probably sleep this one off. You'll get yours once I'm done." Similar to an insect in a cocoon, he tests his borrowed body - swaying his skull one way and the next, rolling his shoulders back to click and pop all the bones into place.
Greed brings his hand up to his face and turns to look back up at Solus. "Now, where were we? Oh - " He wiggles his fingers. The stubs of his lost nails are angry, raw, and thin bits of skin stingingly cling to the cuticles. The Sin examines them with a strange sort of fascination before his core kicks in and his red current licks them clean, leaving a fresh, manicured set. "-don't worry about it. I did tell you, didn't I? It takes a little more than that to hurt me. It's the same now for our friend here."
He lazily steps over a broken piece of glass. "I'm not here to get in your way, chief." Crunch goes the handle of a flute. "You've got me all wrong. But then again, I can't really blame you." He takes another step, his hands making quick work to adjust his collar and remove the thin tie at the dip of his throat. "Most do deny me at first, that's true."
He drops the fabric on the banister: another thing of his host, discarded. "See, I look at it this way: want is no different than hope. And you're hoping for something. Something most don't really understand. Did I get that right?" It's a wild guess of course. An idea vaguely spun together. Greed waves his arm and the long jacket whips at his feet. "You could say I want something similar. But nothing's impossible."
He pauses at the top of the stairs and when he opens his eyes, they're no longer a muted green, but a wicked sort of red. A reflection of his parasitic hold pushing outward. Greed slouches his shoulders. "It's stupid to be stubborn. What, do you think all of this is enough to satisfy me? I don't care what you've built, Solus."
The Sin tests his host's teeth. "Ehh, either way, now you know mine. If you want me gone, this one'll be back here tomorrow just the same as always. I've given him that time. But if not - " His arms wander as eccentric as an actor eating up the applause. "-well, I'm sure you can figure out how to find me, can't you?"
crawls back here after a million years
"Pitiful creature. You want what you cannot have, yet even when you have it you will never be satisfied." Solus disregards the fact that he could very well be talking about himself. "It will never be enough. Man is filled with unrelenting want and you - you are the purest form of it. Begone."
That's right, he must turn his eyes away from the temptation. He must stand strong, for the burden of a thousand, thousand people rests upon his shoulders. Like the sole remaining pillar of a ruin crumbling towards the sea.
But even stone is worn down by wind and time.