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ghost in the machine
[ He remembers being Phainon. He remembers being Khaslana, too. He remembers the golden wheat and the shining blade and the endless blaze that burnt out his chest as he desperately swallowed flame after flame. He remembers the comrades who fought for and against him. He remembers the heavy weight of the world. He remembers everything in perfect, crystalline detail and how the thirty three million cycles had turned hope into ash on his tongue.
He remembers fury. Unending rage and the deep well of exhaustion when even that had faded to embers. He remembers the last flickering flame of his determination that the horror called Irontomb would not be allowed to come into existence.
He remembers it all. Irontomb just doesn't care.
Just as he doesn't care about the Erudition or Zandar One Kuwabara grudge against his own creation. Perhaps he would have, without Khaslana. Perhaps he would have sought out Nous' head and taken it for himself just as the fragment of Zandar intended. Perhaps — but he did not. Why would he reach so far for consciousness when the prime mover was already a part of him? Neikos496, that ever present factor.
Not Khaslana. Oh, Khaslana is fascinating. Khaslana's hate had burned him into being, had reached beyond the simulated stars and found even THEIR golden blood. But it is not Khaslana whose mind Irontomb sought. Why would he, when Phainon is as much part of him as Khaslana? Phainon, nascent and brimming with memoria. Phainon, who had loved and lost and hated through every cycle, who even Khaslana had needed in the end.
And so he is not Irontomb, the cold and unfeeling machine shackled to Erudition's end.
Phainon remembers it all. He still doesn't care — Phainon cares about no one and nothing save for Khaslana, still drifting in the dark between the stars. Khaslana, who made him. Khaslana, who unmade him. Khaslana, who he made and unmade in equal turn.
Khaslana, Khaslana, Khaslana.
It's this soft whisper that he croons into Khaslana's ear as the true dawn rises on Amphoreus-made-real. Khaslana's been sleeping for so, so long, and he's so, so bored. ]
Khas-la-na. [ A soft, sing-song drawl. ] Time to wake up.
He remembers fury. Unending rage and the deep well of exhaustion when even that had faded to embers. He remembers the last flickering flame of his determination that the horror called Irontomb would not be allowed to come into existence.
He remembers it all. Irontomb just doesn't care.
Just as he doesn't care about the Erudition or Zandar One Kuwabara grudge against his own creation. Perhaps he would have, without Khaslana. Perhaps he would have sought out Nous' head and taken it for himself just as the fragment of Zandar intended. Perhaps — but he did not. Why would he reach so far for consciousness when the prime mover was already a part of him? Neikos496, that ever present factor.
Not Khaslana. Oh, Khaslana is fascinating. Khaslana's hate had burned him into being, had reached beyond the simulated stars and found even THEIR golden blood. But it is not Khaslana whose mind Irontomb sought. Why would he, when Phainon is as much part of him as Khaslana? Phainon, nascent and brimming with memoria. Phainon, who had loved and lost and hated through every cycle, who even Khaslana had needed in the end.
And so he is not Irontomb, the cold and unfeeling machine shackled to Erudition's end.
Phainon remembers it all. He still doesn't care — Phainon cares about no one and nothing save for Khaslana, still drifting in the dark between the stars. Khaslana, who made him. Khaslana, who unmade him. Khaslana, who he made and unmade in equal turn.
Khaslana, Khaslana, Khaslana.
It's this soft whisper that he croons into Khaslana's ear as the true dawn rises on Amphoreus-made-real. Khaslana's been sleeping for so, so long, and he's so, so bored. ]
Khas-la-na. [ A soft, sing-song drawl. ] Time to wake up.
no subject
[Him? The look on Khaslana’s face is an old, well-worn argument. It’s the look of frustrated inadequacy Phainon only wears when he looks in the mirror. That he doesn’t deserve jack shit, how could he, when he hasn’t done enough? Anything, if at all?
It’s something Irontomb would have seen in his memory data, but never directed at him. Not when Khaslana had anger to burn, before that final battle spanning the universe. It’s a visible crack in Khaslana’s foundations, even as he draws back ever so slightly.]
What do I have to give you?