 | warisanart asked ; Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we. |
Ruthless is she who said it, Joan of Arc waging a war against galaxies galore. For her, war is an art programmed into her Lazarus bones. She is made of dead things, born anew as the almighty P-P-PHOENIX. He’s watched her change in the house of flies. This is her unraveling, this is her metamorphosis.
How cruel Shepard has become!
The Illusive Man distances himself from her, ne’er daring to appear in person. He prefers to remain as elusive as smoke, slipping through her fingers time & time again. They communicate over call. Sometimes, she sees his face, but mostly, she hears his voice. She often wonders how many times Cerberus’ men & women have been pulled into the abyss courtesy of his velvety timber.
He’s a goddamn sycophant.
If only she could bring him down.
He chortles atop his wire throne, smoking away albeit nonchalantly. Smoke spirals out past his parted lips in little clouds. He swallows his nicotine fix without abandon. Eventually, his chuckling {the laughter of a BAD MAN, MAD MAN } dies down.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝I didn’t figure you for a God complex, Shepard.❞
 | sanctamater asked ; Forgive me if I have a lingering respect for mortal life. |
Indeed, his plans for Columbia are UNORTHODOX, but Jack Harper is a businessman at heart. He’ll swear upon the Prophet & he’ll swear upon the Founders to prove his petty point. The Illusive Man does so with a sinner’s smile – a slight curve of the lips that puts all half-truths proudly on display.
Mother Superior graciously accepted his invitation this evening. Seldom does she leave the house during the dark of the night. A part of her is enamored by the thrill: the danger that’s promised by defying the Prophet through action rather than speech. She is Gertrude, she is Guinevere. Jane Eyre flees the mansion where glory was promised to her name & finds herself in the deep, dark woods where monsters H-H-HOWL!
Side by side, they stroll & talk ethics. It feels wonderful for a man to treat her as naught but a woman, naught but a fellow business associate. To Lady A. Comstock, Jack Harper remains an elusive enigma. He refers to himself in the Third Person. He calls himself the Illusive Man. TIM, for short, so TIMOTHY he shall be!
When she calls him out on his cruelty, he stops in front of a bush of roses deliberately planted in Emporia. His lips thin & slant though the bemusement lingers in his bright, blue gaze. Curious child asks him about them one eve & says: MY, WHAT BIG EYES YOU HAVE.
To which little TIM replies with: The better to see you with, My Mother.
That night, she laughed quite a bit. Tears formed in her vacant eyes ‘til she brushed all weakness away & turned to stone once more. Now, the banter is cut short when he refers to using human test subjects for a new vigor. Stronger, better, longer lasting.
He neither confirms nor denies his faults.
Watches her prick her finger on the thorns, reaching for a rose, but falling short. He gives it to her not. She must work for her desire. Must work for the Minister he hears so much about. With a smile, the BEAST speaks.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Why be a lion, Lady Comstock, when you can be a chimera?❞
 | titanomyrma-archive asked ; Goodnight sweet prince, may flights of devils wing you to your rest. |
His body fails him. One by one, his organs vow to shut down courtesy of the virus she slipped inside of him. Like a parasite, she latched on. Like a parasite, she needed a host. His eyes, as blue & false as can be, lack their artificial glow { the bulb is flickering, it is ! }. A terrible thirst renders him parched, his tongue dry & thick in his mouth. Dust is lodged down his throat. Cotton fills his lungs. He can’t breathe & he gasps aloud.
The Illusive Man wraps his hands around his throat, clawing at the flesh ‘til it turns red from the power of his godly might. Bemused, the Queen watches on with a smile. Agamemnon should’ve known better. Iphigenia crawled out of the pyre, no longer content to be a meager sacrifice. She became Clytemnestra – Snow White, no longer an innocent dame, but the EVIL QUEEN.
She is his h e l l.
She lays him down to sleep atop his lonely bachelor’s bed. The sheets are blacker than his sin, blacker than his crimes, blacker than his awful heart. Slender fingers cradle the hero’s fallen head, resting on his gray pillow. She kisses his brow, but not his right cheek. She kisses the top of his hand, but not his lips.
Her eyes say enough: O, JACK. YOUR HALO CHOKES YOU NOW.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Don’t go, Ashford. Stay with me.❞
With a smile, the queen says: Only if you beg.
 | goldlighter-archive asked ; Forgive me if I have a lingering respect for mortal life. |
Loyal dog, Chris Redfield, feels exhaustion in his soul. He stands erect, his arms lax by his side, his body perfectly still save for the steady exhalation of breath that says: I AM ALIVE, I AM, BECAUSE YOU MADE ME. & just as he is made, he can be easily broken. The Illusive Man excels at playing God. With a snap of his fingers, he could break this man on a whim – bent his arm at a crooked angle just to hear the bone C-C-CRACK in six different places.
He blinks with his all-seeing eyes, bright & luminescent. Galaxies stir behind him, quivering to project an alluring solar system behind him. Jack Harper wants the stars & so much more. It shines in his wicked smile.
{ coɴтrol. ♦ } — ❝Our business is life itself.
We’re prolonging humanity’s existence, Chris.❞
The way he says his name is too personal, too real. It sends shivers down Redfield’s spine. He wants this nightmare to end. His mind is reeling. Here, in this moment, he thinks of an alternative world – away from Cerberus, but waging a war with Tricell. With Umbrella. It’s then that he figures:At least dealing with Wesker was a familiar GOD.
The ruthless pragmatist circles his prey, arms folded behind his back. Tap, tap, tap goes his gleaming, designer shoes. His face is an impressive mask, meant to be human, but a part of him is missing. Chris often wonders: HOW MUCH OF YOUR FUCKING SOUL DID YOU GIVE AWAY?
With his fingers, the Illusive Man yanks on Chris’ lips & pulls – digging his nails in until it bleeds. Until his gums are raw & his teeth are red. He’ll make and break this motherfucker, he will.
He should have ne’er accepted her offer.
His arrogance pays the price.a mix for imperiae, who should have known better than to deal with an Ashford
HERE
it felt like burning.
Interview With The Vampire Inspired Starters
Who will take care of me, my love, my dark angel, when you are gone?Don't be afraid. I'm going to give you the choice I never had.
The world changes, we do not, there lies the irony that finally kills us.
Vampires pretending to be humans, pretending to be vampires.
Goodnight sweet prince, may flights of devils wing you to your rest.
What has died is the last breath in me that was human.
I said farewell to sunlight, and set out to become what I became.
I wanted those waters to be blue, but they were black, nighttime waters.
I found my way back there with hardly an upward glance.
And the more you tried, the more I wanted you.
Why not? Can't I change, like everybody else?
Mon dieu, what melancholy nonsense.
You haven't the vaguest conception under God what you ask.
But one thing is true for us all, we grow stronger as we go along.
If that's all I have left to learn, I can do that on my own.
It's time we were on our way. I'm hungry, and the city awaits.
Merciful death. How you love your precious guilt.
I have never seen a vision nor learned a secret that will damn or save my soul.
Do you know what it means to be loved by Death?
You lack the courage of your convictions, sir. Do it!
Does this make you happy? Is this fitting, proper enough?
Evil is a point of view. God kills indiscriminately and so shall we.
No words can describe it. May as well ask Heaven what it sees.
Perfect! Just perfect! Just burn the place! Burn everything we own! Have us sleeping in the field like cattle!
That's something I've never heard before. You mean this literally, I take it?
Most of us never get to know what it feels like.
Take your aesthete's taste to purer things, kill them swiftly, if you will, but do it. For do not doubt; you are a killer.
Forgive me if I have a lingering respect for mortal life.
The world was a tomb to me, a graveyard of broken statues.