Ashley Joanna Williams (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
deadbydawn) wrote2020-08-07 09:00 pm
deadbydawn) wrote2020-08-07 09:00 pm
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ryslig inbox
WELCOME TO YOUR PRIVATE CHANNEL, ASH WILLIAMS. FOR SECURE COMMUNICATION, USE 05.22.09.12 *** ASH WILLIAMS has joined 05.22.09.12 <boomstick69> you've reached the private inbox of the king himself, ashley j. williams ;) <boomstick69> state your name and business and i'll see if i decide to get back to you | ||||
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[Not that Phil has any other choice but to watch. With a grin, Ash strolls up to the individual in question. He raises a hand to tap on his shoulder.]
'Scuse me, lemme help you with that coin press.
[The man stops cranking the machine, turning to face what he thinks is a half-transformed goblin. Perched on the bridge of his nose are a pair of small glasses. Ash can see him tense, then relax a bit. Coming face-to-face with a monster such as this while alone on the boardwalk surely doesn't pose as great a threat as, say, a menacing manticore or demon. He offers a tentative, harmless grin.
The man doesn't notice the tendrils until it's too late. Shadowy, static-filled appendages reach out from Phil's back, snagging the man's limbs and pinning them in place. A ghostly hand separates from Phil's own physical form, fingers elongated into needle-like claws.
Pure panic floods the man's face as he realizes what's happening. Ash hardly registers the expression as he allows his instincts to guide him. He's done this a dozen times before. What makes this any different?
His hand phases straight through the man's chest, feeling about for the man's soul. Immediately, Ash feels an icy, almost burning sensation mirrored in his own chest, causing him to let out a startled gasp. His claws close around something warm, something pulsating, and he feels as though his very heart--the heart he doesn't even have anymore--is being squeezed to bursting by some unseen force.
I'm going to die here. I'm going to die here, and there's nothing I did to stop this.
The terror swallows him whole. His brain screams at him to stop, to let go. But the whisper of the Fog in his ears urge him onward, to finish the job. Almost mechanically, Ash pulls the man's soul from his rib cage. Every phantom neuron in his body screams in a wretched chorus of agony as he feels something sinuous get torn from his chest. He stares at the bright, glowing wisp in the palm of his hand, flickering like a flame in the wind. The man himself collapses in a heap, his mouth agape and his eyes rolling back into his skull.
His vision swims. Arms shaking, Ash quickly lifts the wisp to his mouth and shoves it down his throat. The fear has stopped pouring into his brain, replaced by a dull feeling of apathy. Any relief given by the consumption is offset by the lingering knowledge of what was just felt. Ash quite literally falls out of Phil's body, collapsing in a misshapen mess. The chromatic aberration and scan lines typically seen on his body have intensified, causing more aggressive deformations to his silhouette and making him seem little more than a vaguely man-shaped shadow on the ground next to his victim. The edges of his form tremble and jump like a corrupted VHS tape.
A terrified sob can be heard through the static.]
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But when Ash reaches into the man's chest, Phil is suddenly gripped with fear and anxiety that he hasn't felt in a long time. He hadn't feared death for a long time, and hadn't expected to feel it here.
Now? He was hit with a barrage of scared last thoughts, Crying out over an unfulfilled life, the what ifs that will never happen, the loved ones who will never see him again. He feels like he knows nothing and everything about this man. Phil was so overwhelmed with fear and anxiety that he can barely think.
He doesn't regain control. He can't, his only thought is begging him not to wimp out, he can't have other people feeling like this thanks to him. It was better to have one person hurt than countless others.
When Ash collapses out of his body, he is in such shock that he falls to the ground himself. He gasps for air, unsure if he was even holding in a breath. His heart was racing and like his chest was going to explode. A part of him wants to just run but his whole body just felt so weak that he could barely move from the spot he was laying.
Faintly, he realizes that he was feeling less horrifically starved than he was a few moments ago, but he was too distressed to even celebrate this fact.
He looks up and stares at the stranger, then at Ash. He hears him sobbing and feels like he should do something. There is a minute while Phil tries and fails to properly catch his breath, before the true horror of the situation sets in.]
I... I didn't know this whole shit was so... I thought... I thought when you ate people... or took their souls... that it wouldn't be that... that... oh my god.
[This is his first time feeding. He had no idea what Elias's punishment to him actually was beyond him gaining hunger while not having his spell. In his mind, this was apparently normal.]
cw: emetophobia ment
That's-- [His voice cracks as he speaks.] That's never happened before.
[He's been eating people's souls for almost a year now. Twelve months, at least twelve victims. He's lost count at this point--why should he care about the people that he's snatched souls from? He didn't--he wouldn't allow himself to think too hard about what would happen to these people, what their families and friends would now have to deal with. He couldn't dwell on it, lest he realize--
Let he realize he's become no better than the deadites that tormented and slaughtered his own friends mercilessly. They weren't dead, per se, but did that matter? They were gone, their souls having been dragged to hell, never to see the light of day again.]
Oh, God.
[Another sob escapes his throat as he buries his face in his hand. A wave of nausea and pure disgust washes over him. If he still had a stomach, he'd probably just throw up. Instead, he's left with a building pressure in his chest and the taste of bile in his mouth with no way to relieve it. His eyes flit upwards towards the soulless corpse, and as much as he tries to tear his gaze away, he can't. He watches the body's chest rise and fall with shallow breath, but that dead-eyed gaze and limp posture meant he wouldn't ever be getting up again. Never be able to laugh with his family again, never be able to struggle with a penny press again, never be able to do anything that makes life worth living.
And Ash was responsible for this.
No. It wasn't him. He wouldn't be doing this if not for the Fog forcing him into this wretched form and inducing this hunger. A torrent of anger suddenly bubbles to the surface as Ash lets out a raw, unfiltered scream:]
Fuck! Fuck this, fuck everything, I fucking hate this place!
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But the moment the thought crosses his mind, he holds head in horror. He can't be horrified by this place. As terrible as it is, he didn't want to prefer going home over staying here. He can't want to go home. Even with all the horrors, he can't want to stay in a never ending hell over this.
Phil lets out a muted sob and looks back to the man they just killed.]
God, I... I didn't want to starve to death or lose control but...
[What fucking right did he have to say that he deserved to live more than this stranger, this man who had a life of his own. Why didn't he just ask Mukuro to kill him when he was starting to feel himself lose control. He could come back if he died, he could resume life after a few days.
But this man will never come back and it was his fault. If he wasn't just so selfish he would still be okay.]
Dear god I am a monster.
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[His voice is ragged as he drags himself up onto his knees, struggling to remain solid enough to crawl out of the ground. Ash's body fills with an angry static, a constant droning buzz filling his ears.]
I just want to go home, man. To a normal life, where I'm not forced to--forced to kill people just to survive. I need a goddamn vacation! I wanted to go to Jacksonville with my girlfriend before comin' here, did you know that? And then everything went to shit, and everything's been shit ever since then.
[There's an uncomfortable silence that follows his words. He can't just stay still, he needs to move. Ash draws himself up onto his feet, pacing back and forth. At least, he thinks he's pacing--in reality, he's just drifting to and fro, his feet drifting a few inches above the ground. His thoughts buzz like a hive of agitated wasps, constantly bombarding his brain with insults and laments.
He stops, suddenly, staring down at the man on the boardwalk. The static quiets. The silence isn't any more bearable than the noise.]
We need to move this guy.