EVENT #1: THE EMPTY THRONE

[aionmods]

The Empty Throne

DESCENT

Nearly two weeks after being dragged from shrine caverns, you hear along the grapevine that the "the throne room is complete." It doesn't take long to figure out what that means; the ritual grounds that you have been hearing mention of are finally prepared, and it's only a short while before you are once again being gathered together for travel. As a small mercy, at least this time the journey is short.

Through a passage that has been blocked by a gathering of soldiers for the entire length of your stay, a stairway is revealed to you. It leads deep into the ruins, through unfamiliar structures and into the bowels of the earth. Though your feel your are mostly going downward, the walk is still long on account of how many stairs their are, and the soldiers escorting you are restless. They are now being led by the stray, mask wearing Achamites that have been accompanying the group till now, silently observing. Whatever place this is, it seems that they now hold court.

Funneled into the chambers below, you are greeted by a massive, domed enclosure of stone. Positioned around its circular radius are twelve thrones in various states of disrepair, sized as if meant to seat giants. The backs of these thrones all differ slightly in design, though most have great cleaves of stone broken loose from their architecture, as if subjected to some great cataclysm. Each is engraved with a sigil, though some have been obscured by the destruction wrought. The throne closest to the entrance has been almost entirely demolished, making it impossible to glean much about.

The dome's ceiling appears to be hundreds of feet tall at its apex, its smooth surface disrupted by stalactites that puncture through its form like teeth. As a result, many chunks of the original structure seem to have cracked and collapsed in to the floor below. When examined closely, these fragments of the domed ceiling seem to be made of a material strangely reflective in quality, though caked in many years of dirt and grime. If large enough sections are cleaned, patterns may emerge, revealing designs that look almost like star maps. The floor beneath your feet as a similar, but subtly different quality, covered in wreckage and ruin but can be cleaned to reveal complex patterns of intersecting lines.

A careful eye will indicate that these lines all lead towards the center of the room - the one space that has been cleared and scrubbed prior to your arrival. Here, the lines converge, with carefully preserved marking in the stone that bely increasing levels of runic complexity the closer you look. This is where the ritual will be held, you are told.

THE RITUAL

There is not much time to regain your bearings before you are being shuffled forth towards the ritual space; no, all the waiting has already been done. Under the command of the smaller group of Achamites, the Hylicians will make heavy use of the whips in leading everyone to their places along the rune-inscribed circle. Before that, however, small cuts will be made to each prisoner with an athame, either on their hand or arm. With a sharp, burning sensation in the afflicted skin, these cuts will spread into wounds reflecting the image of one of the eleven sigils displayed on the thrones encircling the group, and matching the shrine they were originally pulled from.

With this accomplished, they can finally be taken into the circle. With a design comprised of four triangles overlapping, the design of an open eye carved at its center, all prisoners will be led to separates points on its design where the lines cross. Seemingly arranged by their shrine sigil to be closest to whatever throne represents them, they will be brought to their designated positions one by one. Any attempts to flee or disrupt the process will be dealt with swiftly and harshly, exacerbated by the increasing levels of paranoia and fear in the soldiers themselves. Whatever is being done here, they don't seem happy to involved with it either.

When everyone is in place, the seeming master of ceremonies will finally emerge. A dark haired woman will appear from the shadows, motes of golden light fluttering about her otherwise darkness-clad visage. Moving towards the center of the circle, she will stand over the marking of the eye and begin working her magicks. As if on cue, the soldiers will withdraw any remaining whips and scurry to the outside of the circle, only for new bonds of ethereal energy to lash out of the ritual circle itself, binding each and every prisoner and dragging them down to their knees. Among the soldiers, you can hear mutterings identifying this woman as "the Aion."

"Come," she says to the coterie of robed Achamites, who will approach the circle with an assortment of vials collected into cases. There is enough for each prisoner to be given a drink, and so they will; a vial of abyssal liquid will be forced into each one of your throats, no matter how uncomfortably it must be done. While no less ruthless, the Achamites have a different way about them as they work, forcing themselves upon you with a strange familiarity that feels more akin to a mother forcing their child to take medicine than the suspicious hostility of the soldiers. As the foul liquid touches your tongue, it takes on a consistency almost like a living thing, crawling down your throat even if you refuse to swallow, all while the Achamites stroke your hair and make saccharine assurances.

Once all the prisoners have been fed their vial, the Achamamites too will retreat from the circle - all except for one. Joining 'the Aion' at the center, the two of them will begin enacting a planned ceremony of sorts, that culminates in the following scene:

The Achamite kneels before the Aion, lifting their masked face to meet their dark gaze. They speak, in practiced tones.

"To the Kenoma my body, to the Kenoma my soul."

In response, the Aion holds the Achamite's face between their hands in almost a loving gesture. She speaks softly:

"By the blood of the Martyr, I accept your sacrifice."

From the Aion's hands a darkness spreads across the Achamite's body, as if they are melting and dissolving on a cellular level. She kneels along with them, cradling them as their body breaks down, pooling in a void-black liquid around their knees. It drains into the lines of the ritual circle, surging out towards the prisoners.

Within moments, the ritual is complete.

KENOMA SICKNESS

As this dark power surges throughout the ritual circle, you will find yourself almost consumed by the tide. Whatever foul creation you were forced to swallow wakes within your chest, and you can feel it move within your veins, inside you lungs, behind your eyes. As quickly as it begins, the flood of darkness washes over you, but not without leaving you stained.

Something has changed in its wake. As you return to your senses, you will notice the magical bonds of the circle have fallen away, leaving you free to move; for once, the soldiers will not move to lead or restrain you. Instead, the Hylicians warily back away from the ritual space, retreating towards the only path upwards, where they form a defensive line. The Achamites that linger make a series of ritual gestures, praying in voices too soft to hear. The Aion woman stands in the center, her hands blackened with residue from the person you just watched fall to pieces in her arms.

"You will be given time to find your truth," she says. "Use it well."

As you recover from the experience enough to stand, she and her Achamite entourage are already retreating to join the Hylician guard. Gradually, your situation will become clear: they intend to keep your trapped down here. However, it will not be the same as when you waited before. Instead, the soldiers simply intend to block your only exit out, and otherwise leave you free to roam the full diameter of the throne room, seemingly free to do whatever you want as long as it isn't trying to break free of the cavern's confines. Each day, they will offer to their prisoners a limit supply of food, water, and firewood, but nothing more. Beyond that, you only have your increasingly dirty white robes and the same bedrolls as before.

❖ COMMUNION
The first change you will experience is an itching darkness in your mind, like a psychic wound that is becoming infected. The sort of thoughts you would normally try to force down become increasingly hard to resist; despair, hatred, and fear will plague you, and requiring great feats of will to silence even temporarily. Phantoms of the things you'd rather forget will become a constant companion, all while a presence seems to whisper: when you accept your fate, the pain will stop.

Worse than this, the darkness of your mind may not remain private. As if awakened by the ritual, your empathetic sense has become impossibly strong, to the point that you feel the broadcasted emotions and thoughts of others, and in turn, your darkest thoughts will be psychically projected to others with a volume proportional to the intensity with which you feel them. This effect is most potent between those sharing Legacy, with the capacity for their identities to become momentarily confused. In all cases, this connection may bleed into your dreams, or manifest as hallucinations.

❖ TRANSFORMATION
Yet, your mind is not the only thing that ails. In proportion to the strength of your emotions, your body may begin changing to match your state of mind. Physical transformations akin to those mentioned here will begin to manifest, themed to your inner suffering and the most negative aspects of your self conception. These alterations may shift from moment to moment, depending on the turbulence of your emotional state. They may or may not be painful.

❖ AFFLICTION
Along with the above effects, characters may also experience various more mundane ailments; essentially anything traditionally associated with illness could fit. Weakness, nausea, body aches, and chills are all common options. Along with this, void-black ooze may start to trickle from virtually any orifice. While it may stain clothing and skin, the material itself will dissipate after a few minutes in a manner reminiscent of ectoplasm. This effect may also appear around your Shard, as if the stone itself has begun to bleed.

RESISTANCE

Even as the Kenoma threatens to overwhelm you, you still have the power to fight. Though it may be a grueling war of attrition, you can force back its advances with sufficient will to survive and resist the darkness. Of course, your captors are not going to make this easy for you. Those that fight hard enough to expel the Kenoma from their bodies and spirits will take at least a week to do so, and for that duration they will be trapped within this chilly cavern, haunted by their worst thoughts and emotions.

The bedrolls barely strand up against the cold, your clothing doesn't at all, and to be comfortable you'll require fire. Yet, there is a limited amount provided to you, along with food and water, and the soldiers do not seem to be making any effort to distribute it evenly. Achieving basic warmth and sustenance may become a battle against your fellow inmates, all while you struggle against the enemy infecting your body. Cracks in the dome of the cavern lead into some smaller caverns and crevasses in the stone that can offer some privacy or protection, but the more splintered the group becomes the less the supplies will hold up. Fortunately for you, neither the cold nor starvation will kill you, but it will make you suffer.

Yet, you may still persevere. As you fight back the Kenoma, something else will be cultivated in its place. Bit by bit, a comforting and warm presence will grow within you, gradually disrupting the maladies afflicting your body and mind. Your faith and perseverance has been rewarded with an attunement to the Pleroma, the Kenoma's cosmological opposite; given enough time, the Kenoma will be forced from your being entirely, in the form of void-black sludge. Only then will your power begin to shine through, the abilities of your past life slowly returning.

You must keep your guard. With or without otherworldly power, escape will be a struggle.

ACCEPTANCE

Or, you may choose the easy option. Maybe the Kenoma resonates with your history and emotions in a way that makes it seem like it isn't the enemy. Maybe the depths of your despair are too deep to escape. Maybe your simply lack the strength to fight. Whatever the reason, sooner or later, the Kenoma claims you. The more you let it in, the less it feels like a poison and the more it feels like strength. The darkness settles comfortably into the cracks and holes of your spirit, and you awaken to its power. You feel the change viscerally.

This world is not good enough, a voice seems to speak through the Kenoma. This suffering you feel, the cruelty that has birthed this darkness in you... it is simply the rot that is consuming this existence. A better universe awaits, one forged by your own hand, and all you need do is first bring about this broken reality's end.

Whatever effects you were suffering from the Kenoma's presence will fade away, and in its place, you will feel your endurance bolstered. The clarity is stark in comparison to the mire you were trapped in before. As the other prisoners suffer around you, the Aion woman from before and an accompaniment of a couple Hylician soldiers will approach you among the ruins, as if summoned straight to your location. She looks you over, her dark eyes impassive, and then asks:

"Did you feel it?"

She doesn't actually wait for an answer, your expression alone enough to assure her. She'll tell the soldiers that you are free to go, and that you are to be given a share of their food and a change of clothes. She'll escort you out of cavern and towards the upper ruins, where the soldiers and Achamites have set up camp. This feels natural to you, somehow, like you and her are on the same wavelength in a way that is hard to comprehend. She is like you, you sense. That dark power is within her as well.

She doesn't linger with you for long, but she will see that you are on your way before heading back to the caverns. She'll say that the voice you heard, that promise, was the Regent, the ruler of this land. They spoke of a power that could birth a new, better universe, and they weren't misleading you. It's within their reach, closer than ever, and if you help them achieve it you will be rewarded lavishly. For now, you are free to regain your strength while the others make their choices. She only asks that you stay in the area and be ready to join the Regent in Achamoth when all is prepared.

If you're prone to boredom, though, she will mention that you'd really be doing the prisoners a favor by convincing them to accept the Kenoma like you did. You could convince them with words, or by making their situations so unbearable they won't have a choice but to break. However you'd like. It won't be worse than what's coming for them if they carry on this way.

When she parts ways with you, you are left to your own devices. Somehow, you feel inclined to cooperate. After all, the Regent did have a point.

QUESTIONS

Are the involuntary transformations during the Kenoma sickness period temporary afflictions or permanent ones?
By default they are temporary, but characters can also keep a couple keepsake changes if you'd like! An Aion's physical appearance is something that is generally in flux, and so even if you keep something from this event, you can always alter it later.

What kind of supplies are going to be distributed to those who accept Kenoma and leave the caverns?
They'll be given food, water, and clothing. They'll be given more/better rations than they were as prisoners, but it's still the sort of food that is limited by the fact that they are out here on a mission. The soldiers will have some fresh meat from prey they've been hunting in the forest, and will generally be having a lot of stew-based food going. There are actual spices in it, though, so that's cool. This is all set up where the Hylicians are camping.

As for clothes, they will get a fresh set (including boots or shoes) and some soap to clean themselves up in the nearby creeks and ponds. Hylici has an aesthetic that leans towards ancient Greek/Roman, so while they won't have anything fancy with them, you are free to assume they are able to acquire anything in that general ballpark. They do also have pants, though. While it is now spring and Horos has a generally temperate climate, it can be chilly at night.

Will Pleroma attuned be able to escape once they've regained their powers?
Yes, they will be allowed to escape at that point, and a second log will be going up to cover that part of the event. This log should generally cover up until shortly after Pleroma start ejecting the Kenoma's influence. Characters are permitted to escape by their own power if they somehow devise a plan to do so, but as we know the Pleromas are at a significant disadvantage in this situation, some characters who have fought against the Kenoma particularly valiantly will be given some magical assistance to help the survivors escape.

Will the Kenomas be able to try to stop them?
Yes! The second log will be set up to contain some PVP, though given the Pleromas do need to escape, we ask that you play nice. There will be a battle, but it will be structured in the context of the Pleromas having to hold off the Kenomas long enough to escape, so it will be relatively brief.

Can we speak to "the Aion"?
Yes, she will be around for the full length of the event. All characters will have the chance to find her watching over the group whether they are Kenomas or soon to be Pleromas. She will not be that talkative, though, so anyone tagging her will have to lead the conversation. She will not make small talk. Martyrs will recognize her as one of them.

Comments

[epiprocta]

[ That watery smile earns a derisive squint, and Gen studies Dokja as he slowly takes another bite, chews, swallows. Pointedly lets the silence linger for another moment before he deadpans, ]

Is it fun playing dumb? Or are you actually out of it after spending so long in here?

[ His tone of voice implies he's pretty certain it's the former, and he's not that impressed by it.

But fine, he'll still play along with this dumb farce. Not like he actually cares that much about adhering to the Aion's request to help convert the stragglers, but he's admittedly a little curious to know why some people are still lingering here. ]

Letting this shit happen. It's not a big deal. [ A low huff before he points at Dokja with the remainder of that piece of dried meat. Rude and a disrespectful way of handling food. Fantastic. ] Not like you're still here because your hobby's starving half-naked in a freezing cave.

[salvageable]

[ Out of it? He might be out of it. He might have lost his sanity a very long time ago when he had to endure a similar sort of pain for more years than he can count. How could he possibly have made it out of that situation completely intact in mind, body, and spirit? Impossible.

So what's one more week?

The grin on his face turns mocking and he doesn't look away, pays attention to every word. This kid... There's a familiarity about him that Dokja dislikes. A disagreeable piece of a precious story. ]

What kind of hobby is that? [ he asks with a derisive laugh, though the effort of it has him breathing hard afterward. ] I do have a rather interesting hobby, though...

[ He closes his eyes (to stop looking at that stupid piece of meat) and leans his head back against the wall, smile shifting into one a bit more forlorn. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Dokja gets one precious moment to look very cool and dramatic, leaned back with eyes closed, a melancholy smile gracing his features in an admirable show of bravado despite his clear exhaustion.

-- then Gen slaps him across the face.

Not that hard. But definitely hard enough to snap him out of whatever reverie he'd been slipping into. ]

Didn't you ever get told to look at people when you're talking to'em? [ What a hypocritical little shit. Because Gen's also been told plenty of times to respect his elders, but not like he's heeded any of that advice. ] I'll let you talk if you want. But look at me while you talk.

[ He hadn't come in here looking to start more shit. Really, he hadn't. But that mocking smile had grated at his nerves in just the right way to send all thoughts of leniency out the window. Gen does retain some genuine curiosity as to why anyone's still persevering in this miserable cavern, but now his desire to figure out this particular loser's reasons are equally driven by spite -- the petty, juvenile urge to delegitimize whatever Dokja might have to say. ]

[salvageable]

[ The slap is a surprise, but Dokja doesn't show it as he takes the hit without much of a reaction at all. It's not as if getting smacked around is anything new for him. His father had done it, his classmates, his drill instructors, his bosses...

When he reopens his eyes and fixes his gaze back on Gen, they shine as if he's looking at something particularly hilarious. ]

What should I talk about?

[ He says it like he's humoring the boy, his easy-going smile now rooted in place. ]

Do you want to hear about my hobby?

[epiprocta]

[ ... yeah, maybe this guy is off his rocker.

Which wouldn't be that surprising, honestly; even thinking back just a few days to when he'd still been trying to endure the effects of that wretched potion have his skin crawling, and Gen gives a derisive scoff as he sits back on his haunches. ]

If it's why you're still here.

[ Because that's really why he's even down here. More than any nagging from the soldiers up there, more than any encouragement that he should be helping the stragglers here (because how is that his problem?), Gen kind of wants to know what the hell is driving people to stay here for so long. What could possibly be worth it? ]

The fuck's this hobby of yours?

[salvageable]

[ What could possibly be worth it indeed. Dokja had been asking himself that very question for a good few days before he'd come to realize. And that realization had given him both clarity of mind and the strength to hold on. After all, the thing that is most precious to him would never survive if he gave in to the sickness, and that simply wouldn't do. Hadn't he already let them down enough times?

He has a story he loves most waiting for him. ]

Reading.

[ It's an answer that comes immediately after the question, nothing all that suspenseful or really interesting about it... Even Dokja's expression relaxes, and maybe Gen is right to think he's crazy with how casually the response is given, like they're just two friends sitting down for a boring chat about what they do in their free time. ]

Mostly fantasy novels, but I'm not too picky about what I read.

[epiprocta]

[ ... what a dweeby hobby.

But even setting aside how eye-rollingly nerdy he finds that hobby -- fantasy novels, with elves and shit? like those kids manga? or is it that 'isekai' bullshit the class otaku are always squealing about? -- the more important matter is just how stupid this guy's priorities seem to be. Gen makes a derisive noise in response, a low bark of humorless laughter. ]

And, what. You think staying down here nets you a better chance of enjoying that hobby than following the other people outside? Are you blind?

[ Because he sure doesn't see any bookshelves here. Not to mention, it's hard to imagine being able to focus on reading anything, given how torturous every minute spend down here had been. ]

Really, why're you here. Or did you hit your head so bad you can't even think straight any more.

[salvageable]

[ He's a fucking nerd, Gen, what are you gonna do about it.

Without breaking eye contact, Dokja continues on like he hadn't heard the very disparaging words toward him. So rude. So easily brushed aside. This guy in front of him is just a kid, after all. He's seen the same angry teenager in real life and in his novels.

Even in himself. ]

In fact, my favorite fantasy novel was over three-thousand chapters long. A lot of people started it, but they never finished. They stopped reading right away, saying that it was too boring or that the plot was too hard to follow.

[ Is this maybe a little similar to another situation? Maybe a reason why Dokja has remained in this cavern, feeling like death and madness, for a whole week? Because what sane person reads such an impossibly long novel known for its difficulty to get through?

And surely no sane person would read it over and over again like it was the only meaning they had in their life. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Boring.

Gen had opted to give the guy a chance when he kept on talking, hunkering down and idly gnawing on that piece of dried meat as he looks at Dokja like an insect squirming on a tree branch. But his answer's frankly kind of boring.

Not to mention, it pisses him off that some loser like this is stubbornly weathering this wretched place while he opted to leave. ('Gave up,' he knows. But he refuses to actively acknowledge it as such.) ]

So you're stubborn.

[ Some of that annoyance is starting to creep into his voice once more, his words emerging a little sharper, and Gen stares flatly at Dokja. ]

That's it? You probably feel like you're gonna keel over, and that's really all you have to say?

[salvageable]

[ Had Dokja been this impatient during his youth? Probably. His memories aren't what they used to be, but the longer this remains the company he keeps, the more he feels drawn to a distant and uncomfortable familiarity.

Better to do away with it. ]

That's it. You're right, I'm stubborn.

[ Contempt returns to his gaze and he stares back, his relaxed smile shifting into something sharper, more promising. There's something demonic and unhinged in the way Dokja next presents himself. ]

If I had to do this for another week, another month, another ten years, then I would. I'm not weak like you.

[epiprocta]

[ Gen's hand shoots forth almost before that last word leaves Dokja's lips, latching around his throat and slamming his head back against the cavern wall. His fingers promptly start to squeeze, though that decisive action is in contrast to the flat stare Gen directs at him -- furious but cold. ]

Don't go getting ahead of yourself just 'cause I let you talk. You don't know shit about me.

[ His nails dig in for a pointed moment before relenting. His grip loosens enough to permit breathing once more, though it remains a discomforting presence pressed right against the column of Dokja's throat, the back of his hand pushing against the bottom of his jaw to force eye contact. ]

They're clearly trying to fuck with our minds, our memories, and all you can think about is some worthless book. [ Not family, not friends, not a loved one. No people, just some fictional story. Pathetic. ] You think you're in any position to be talking shit about other people?

[salvageable]

[ He grunts as he's slammed back, eyes squeezing shut for a moment against the pain, but they open with a grimace not long after. Well, that's a familiar feeling of fingers wrapped around his throat. There's no panic in his gaze, just a steady dullness as the pressure cuts off his intake of air.

When the grip loosens, the faintest look of disappointment crosses his face before it's quickly replaced with that same mocking smirk from before. ]

At least I have something.

[ Worthless... Ha. There's no value that could ever be attached to that story. ]

I wonder what it is that you gave up on, or if you even had anything at all.

[epiprocta]

[ Probably unsurprising that Gen promptly punches Dokja across the face with his free hand, knuckles colliding square with the arch of his cheekbone. ]

Wouldn't you like to know.

[ But past the ringing in his head and the pain no doubt throbbing through his face, Dokja might be able to feel something -- a frisson of foreign emotion, something that doesn't belong to him. An ache deep in his chest that squeezes tight around the lungs and all down the throat, burning deep and terribly bitter. Something that lingers unpleasantly for a few moments too long. If one had to put a name to it -- it would be heartbreak, maybe.

The leaking of his emotions had been slowly tapering off after he was allowed out of the cavern, but it seems Gen can't quite stopper everything up when his emotions hit that brutal peak for a moment. He'd never admit it, but he doesn't know the answer to that question himself, whether what he'd given up on had ever belonged to him in the first place.

He doesn't want to think about that, though. Drives his thoughts away by instead focusing on the freak nerd in his grasp, leaning in to stare right into Dokja's bruising face. ]

You looked disappointed for a moment, there. D'you want to get beaten up? You some sort of masochist on top of being a loner bookworm?

[salvageable]

[ Unsurprising, yes, but it still hurts like a motherfucker. He takes the punch without an ounce of protest, head snapping to the side with the force. He imagines for a moment that the fist is connected to someone else, that it's another person's cold gaze staring at him.

The emotion that follows up next is what's unexpected. It's not his, that much he knows, but it's familiar enough that it could belong to him. The way it spreads and settles over him... It fits like a glove. An unwanted, ugly glove.

Disgusting. How many reminders is he supposed to receive before he reaches his breaking point? This child in front of him is clearly going through enough, but all Dokja wants is to be selfishly cruel.

He ignores the jeer, the same way he has for most of his life, and lifts a hand to place it atop Gen's own against his throat, fingers aligning together. ]

Have you ever killed someone?

[ And then Dokja presses down on the boy's fingers, forcing him to squeeze. ]

[epiprocta]

[ His blood had run cold the moment he felt Dokja's fingers coming to rest against his own, but it's that question that makes his next breath come as a shuddering exhale. That makes him rip his hand away from Dokja's throat, jerking it back so hurriedly his nails scrape against skin hard enough to leave thin, raised lines of red.

Gen offers no answer, affirmative or negative. But just for a moment his gaze is terribly dark as he stares at Dokja, hand still hastily withdrawn and face a little paler.

Then he gets back on his feet, just as sudden. Jerks his leg forth to slam the heel of his boot against Dokja's sternum, pinning him back against the cavern wall and squeezing the breath from his lungs. ]

... looking for a convenient way out?

[ Gen bears his weight down on that foot. Not hard enough to cause any real damage, but definitely enough that Dokja must be feeling the pressure against his lungs. Definitely enough that Dokja won't be able to stand, will only be able to get a vague look at his face from below, at that uncomfortable angle, as Gen spits at an acrid deadpan, ]

Die on your own if you're in such a hurry to die.

[salvageable]

[ It's enough to be an answer.

The heel slammed against his sternum knocks the breath out of him, and Dokja can feel the strange shard affixed there sharply digging in to the rest of him. Fuck, his face still stings from where he'd been punched, he can feel the scratches burning against his neck, and now he's being pinned to the wall like a helpless idiot.

He's going to have to come up with excuses when he makes it back to Yoo Joonghyuk's side.

For now, he laughs softly, the effort causing strain on his already restricted breathing. Perhaps he'd taken it too far... He hadn't meant to cause whatever reaction this is. ]

Did I hit a sore spot for you? Sorry.

[ The apology isn't mocking, but it's not genuine either. Really, he's just tired, the loose parts of his fragile mind frayed at their ends. ]

[epiprocta]

[ Gen slowly, slowly bears his weight down harder for a moment, foot angled so the front of his boot presses against the hollow of Dokja's throat. A consistent escalation, completely ignoring that insincere apology, accompanied by a vicious, unblinking stare.

But before Dokja can wonder if he's going to have do endure another round of choking, the pressure suddenly relents. Because Gen abruptly turns away. Walks a pace away, bends down to pick something up, then turns back to Dokja.

It's a book-sized hunk of rock that he chucks into Dokja's lap, careless to how hard it might land on his legs. ]

If you wanna die so badly, bash your own head in with that instead of trying to get someone else to do the work for you.

[ The casual derision in his voice has been replaced by a colder disgust, and Gen stands one, two paces away this time. ]

That much should be easy if you're so strong.

[salvageable]

[ He thinks for a moment that the angry teenager is finally bored of him and on his way to cause trouble for someone else, but that turns out to be false. Dokja's starting to get used to breathing like normal when the rock is tossed into his lap, and he winces when it lands on his leg. Geez, the violence just never ends with this kid.

The rock is carelessly moved off his lap and to the side where Dokja doesn't even spare it a second glance. ]

So you're the type who would rather watch.

[ Sure, there are some people like that, the ones who don't want to get their own hands soiled and bloody. But more interesting than that is the fact that while Gen doesn't seem to be the sort to want to take lives, he'd be seemingly fine with the loss of life as long as he wasn't involved.

Dokja wonders how sustainable that is in this place.

For now, he pushes himself up to his feet, unsteady the entire time as he uses the wall to keep upright. His whole body hurts, his poor face included, and he's still not fully recovered from the illness, but if Gen's not done with him, then Dokja will be done with Gen.

Just like with the rock thrown at him, Dokja doesn't even bother to glance back in the boy's direction as he starts limping away, like that whole exchange between them had been nothing. ]

[epiprocta]

You think I want to watch you die?

[ The retort comes sharp and acrid. Spat out too thick with disdain to tell if his emphasis is on 'want' or 'watch' or 'you.' ]

You can go crawl in a hole and starve for all I care.

[ Either way, it's clear enough that despite all his threats, he doesn't want to have anything to do with actually taking a life. At least, not here and not now. Not Dokja's, and not like this.

Luckily for Dokja, the turn of conversation seems to have spoiled the mood and completely extinguished whatever desire he'd had to interrogate Dokja for answers, and Gen makes no moves to interfere as his target rises. Just watches from beneath the shadow of his furrowed brow, eyes narrowed, as Dokja starts staggering off.

Even if Dokja doesn't bother looking back, maybe he can feel the prickle of a hard stare boring into his back for far too long before it peters off, along with the distant sounds of Gen turning away and walking off far behind him. ]