Floating, weightless and still. The void stretches all around, ink black and strangely hungry. He's spent too much time looking into the Abyss lately; now, hanging here, he can feel its notice falling back on him. It's not a comfortable feeling, being studied as though you're merely some tiny insect, perhaps stranger looking than most, never sure whether your observer is going to lose interest in you momentarily and look away ? or smash you into oblivion.
Despite that discomfort, he couldn't seem to care. The only feeling in his tingling limbs was a lingering weariness, a sense of creeping ennui. Live, die, float, fall... what did it matter? What did any of it matter? The clamor and clatter of the last couple weeks had faded to a dull roar in the back of his mind, a susurrant whisper like gossips in a church, nagging but ignorable.
Someone spoke; not a voice, he supposed, for there seemed to be no air here to convey sound, but an impression, like the basso thrum of a deep heartbeat, rocking his body, vibrating his bones to produce their message.
It's about time we had this talk. It's been coming for quite a while, you know. It doesn't have to be like this ? always climbing mountains, just to throw yourself down the other side. Protect and serve ? protect what? Serve whom? The common people? The ones who'd much rather you just went off somewhere else and let them merrily butcher and rob and feth each other? A society ruled by the rich, the powerful, who look on you as little more than a nuisance ? much the way they see their own deprived, shriveled consciences? The only time they look to you is when they're looking for someone to blame... when they need someone at whom to throw a rock.
They don't care for you. Why do you waste your life caring for them? You're strong, you're smart, you're talented beyond the wise of the merely mortal... you could make a life for yourself. You could take a life for yourself, instead of making a martyr of yourself. Be a man of business. Be a man of leisure. Hell, just be a man ? instead of saint. Instead of a symbol.
Let's be honest, you and I. When was the last time you got laid? Dipped your wick, got your ashes hauled, scored some tail? Don't play coy, you know what I mean. I know how long it's been... do you? Your lady fair left you cold because she couldn't stand to be only human, that state you, for whatever perverse reason, keep striving for. What do you owe her memory? What do you owe her anything?
Come now, you can't have it both ways. If you're only human, like you keep claiming, then you have the same flaws and weaknesses, urges and vices, as anybody else ? it's hubris to pretend otherwise. On the other hand, if you're not, then you owe it to yourself to stop pretending that you are. Accept yourself as superior, reach out one grasping fist, and claim your rightful place and your rightful prizes.
But no, you're too scared to step out of line, aren't you? Scared of what you might do. Scared of how you might feel. Why walk that straight and narrow path? What does it gain you, Heaven? You know there's no place in Heaven for you, as black as your hands are. What kind of saint comes to the Father's table with bloodstained hands?
No, dear boy, you've seen the gates of Heaven, and they're closed to you, closed and barred. An angel stands before them with a sword of flame, and not even all your bladesman skills can cut him down. The only rewards you reap for your righteousness are the slings and arrows that assail you daily, the sewage tide that's drowning you just a little more everyday ? greed, fear, jealousy, hatred, and that bloody prideful ignorance that keeps these petty little fools jumping straight back into the holes they've dug, every gods-be-damned time you break your back pulling them out. You, who could take everything ? you settle for less than nothing, and call that justice.
You're dying, you know. The deeper you sink, the harder you thrash ? but every time you do, there's just a little less energy with which to fight the tide, and the weight around your ankles is just a little heavier. Entropy has you outnumbered. You're spreading yourself too thin, limiting yourself too much, and every victory comes with a price just a little more dear. Look at how much it took you to kill that thing in the sewers. Look at what these gangs keep doing to you. You can't keep on like this, you won't take what's rightfully yours from the puling scum that cling to it; you know this leaves you only one alternative.
It's time to die.
Oh, don't look so shocked, so disgusted. You know I'm right. Stop thrashing, and go limp; open your lungs to the blackness around you, let the weight just carry you down. Let it go, let it all slip away. When was the last time you felt such peace? The last time you slept without dreaming, woke without screaming, the last time you didn't have to dread the coming of the morning sun like a dagger through your heart? I know. Do you?
Our time together is coming to an end now. So sad, so brief ? but I'm glad we had this little chat, you and I. Glad I had the opportunity to let you see the facts, so that stupid self-righteous delusion of yours won't keep fogging up your head. There's still time to make the right decision, and save yourself a world of pain. Dying isn't surrender, isn't quitting; it's the best thing you can do for yourself. The only way to win this game is to stop playing... no more pain, no more weariness, no more anger and frustration, no more keeping yourself limited to the same pointless, futile behavior... if you won't take what you want, then why not want nothing?
It's time. Going to make a choice?
Paladin chooses...
