Game Mode. A Sinner's Promise. - Tumblr Posts

➤ ` BELLION. (  deathburns  )

@asteriskheart​ !

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 , 𝙷𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺𝚂 , 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙻𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 . by name , he is condemned to it , war , & this is simply another obstacle to overcome . although , it feels different , now . no longer is he the same reckless youth — he’s become reckless in other ways . angry in other ways . his wrath is no longer directed at the son of the demon king , but at the tragic circumstances that led to everything that had gone wrong in the holy war . his anger is at the demon king himself for condemning him & his team to die — that was what they were good for in the eyes of that selfish bastard . 

because the holy war led to nothing but more pain , more suffering & dead heroes & dead dreams . 

a part of him wants to be angry . to feel that same wrath as he did in the past . when he stood in numb shock when he heard that meliodas had betrayed the demon clan . meliodas killed the commandments who were with him . meliodas killed anrak & bellion would never see his father again . instead , there is a dull ache , a bitterness , but not rage . who was he to talk about that ? how many celestials did he slaughter in his quest for vengeance ? in another life , maybe he would’ve chosen the same path as meliodas . found someone to adore ; the most unlikely person , & forsake his name & his rank & find a new dream . 

he is no longer so angry , but envious . meliodas killed his father , meliodas committed many unforgivable sins . bellion had done so , too . but , meliodas had someone to soothe that pain — bellion’s wounds were raw & searing upon his soul . of all the things to envy meliodas for , he would’ve thought he wanted power . to see the world like meliodas did . what is the world he sees ? he never looked back at me . he never looked back at anyone … did he ? for so long , bellion imagined that meliodas saw a world from the seat of power . that he didn’t need to give a damn about anyone , because he had that power . but , in this single moment , he thinks that maybe , maybe he knows now . for this single moment where he stands silently , unwavering before the betrayer , he thinks that if he looked through those green eyes , he’d see the world just like he wanted — & it would be nothing like what he expected it to be . 

so , what could he even say ? perhaps nothing , because a small part of him says that maybe this time , silence is enough . his wounds are raw & red upon his soul & he knows meliodas doesn’t need to hear him say a damn thing to know that . some things , bellion knew , were left better unsaid . 

         A small achievement claimed, the true horror of a reignited Holy War yet to grace the land. The Celestials regained their peace, the looming, encroaching threat of demons beat back a smidge after what some tenants of the Boar Hat now jokingly deemed the  ❛ sky fish incident ❜. All members of the Six Knights of Black defeated, the Seven Deadly Sins' victory assured... Save for one. Unbeknownst to the others, the escape lingered in a tumultuous mind, even as he sat back and watched his comrades celebrate their new accomplishment, ruminating / festering, until a new consideration rested at his doorstep. The leader of the Knights put up more of a fight than expected, the notion not quite aligning with recollections buried deep. Even alone, he'd become too much of an unknown variable to be left aside for too long, a threat to be eliminated.

         Setting aside time from the bar, calling it a day or two off for recovery ( a little white lie, what they don’t know won’t hurt, nishishi ! ) to soothe curiosities should anyone question deeper into concealed intentions. Turns out plastering on a grin to spin excuses or even traveling too far proved unnecessary.

         Britannia's a wide place, yet the world is almost mockingly small, breaking that illusion of the sheer distance separating people from one another, allowing encounters to slip through fate's cracks. For him to chance upon the sole survivor who vanished amongst that ensuing chaos ?  Poetic justice, others may say. Irony, he'd call it. Whatever name the feeling may brandish, it leaves a part of Meliodas drained all the same as the demon stands before him now.

         A survivor despite the odds.

         ( you burn and burn, daring to fly closer to the brilliant light despite warning. yet you are not icarus of this story, for you loathe the sun too much to be enamored by it, hatred serving instead as your gravitational pull; when the inevitable fall sends your wounded form plummeting into the safety of the waiting darkness below, you find even that rejects and casts you aside, left wanting / drowning, branded as inconsequential and lacking )

         In the presence of someone keen to a fragment of a past best left forgotten, who carries an understanding of some of the innumerable atrocities the hands of the Love committed, one silently bearing the scars left by a feckless youth, there's no need to put on a veil of lackadaisical happiness.

         An apology could never be enough, insufficient to heal searing wounds inflicted, unable to be return what was stolen.

         Still a small smile fixes upon his lip, posture at ease with relaxed shoulders and head inclined, a stark contrast to the razor thin / expectant focus trained on Bellion, watching, waiting.

        ( is your want satisfied now ?  to finally have the vacant gaze of that frigid abyss look upon you as you were, not through like a fragile piece of glass, calculating your worth ? )

        What a sorry pair the two of them make, he then muses. An empty thought at best. It is not a mirror staring back, it's shattered glass peeling back layers, his sins laid bare and reflecting their inherent cruelty, forcing him to look upon / accept what he's done. And look he does.

         Something not quite toeing the line of curiosity tucked away in the lilt of his voice, Meliodas finds himself asking the same thing that's followed him over the many years slowly wasted away; an old, bitter friend content with taunting, choking, bleeding him out as it echoed on repeat,  ❝ What do you plan on doing with yourself now ? ❞

➤ ` BELLION. (  deathburns  )

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝙰𝚂𝚃 𝙱𝙻𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃 . while they have both changed , there are constants , there will always be constants ( the universal truths — at the end of the day , ah , tonight they will split at the seams ) . meliodas was a constant . a face unchanged by time , although perhaps softer , now . or maybe it was melancholy . & bellion had been a constant , too — the same weary soldier as he had been all those centuries ago . an ambitious youth who wanted nothing more than to be a hero of his clan . & if not a hero , then a martyr . if not a hero , then at least a mark upon the world , a vessel for the memories of others , a living legacy .

because he had survived when his team had died . atra , galla , dahaaka , derocchio , pump — they were dead because of bellion’s ambitions ( where was he when they needed him ? how could he have done that to their souls ? when he had promised long ago to lead them ! ) . because of his inability to see past his own thirst for revenge . even baruja was gone . & it was bellion’s fault . what sort of hero did that ? yes , dead heroes & dead dreams & the constant reminder that he hadn’t been enough . 

( he has never felt a power like that one , the son of the demon king . he has never felt burning like this . his own darkness falters & he has no choice but to land , to tend to his wounds & pick up the pieces of his broken pride ) 

      what do you plan on doing with yourself now ? 

he thinks of the humans who took him in , who didn’t ask questions . non-judgmental , they simply let him live . evidently , there was another village where demons had settled to live . they weren’t all such terrible threats . gentle souls , he owed them much . he made promises that he intended to keep . ❛ not too far from here , there’s a little village … where the humans offered me a place to stay . ❜ yes , he’s been craving a home for far too long . & hasn’t he been yearning for his dream ? there , it is not dead . not yet . 

( the ochre demon is fast , but bellion is faster , & he buys time for a young man to get his elderly father out of the fray . he does not need both arms to fend off an orchre demon , & he doesn’t need both arms to fend off the two silver ones that came after . when he’s done , he finds that more people have gathered . a little girl beckons him over & asks him to kneel . she puts flowers in his hair & calls him a hero . his dream is still alive , just as the people still live . in the spur of the moment , he promises to continue to protect them . he sets his mind to it . anyone who knows him could say with certainty that he never gave up when he set his mind to a single goal . this time , it is a gentle one . a noble one . ) 

❛ i don’t know how to do anything other than fight — that’s all anyone could do back then . live or die , kill or be killed . but … ❜ he thinks of the comforting presence , strangely so , of the villagers . of trying some of their food . he thinks of how he fights still with himself to keep his instinct at bay . he promised , after all . ❛ i said i’d keep them safe . if all i can do is fight , then i need to have something to fight for . it’s … the closest i’ll get to the dream i had . judge it if you will … ❜ yes , it feels like he’s splitting at the seams ( spilling forth some soulful thing to the most unlikely person , & meliodas won’t be able to sew him back up , but maybe he needs this . maybe he needs to let the sorrow tear through him so something better can bloom in the space left in his chest , in his bones ) . 

        ❛ but , did you really come here just to ask me what i was doing with my life ? ❜ 

         Lostvayne's hilt twirls between deft fingers. The sole outward sign of his struggle to stay rooted to one spot as he waits, the judge, jury, executioner in all his splendor.

         His old self scraps at him, claw marks left behind, a desire to end this miserable demon's pathetic life and seek despair only overshadowed when eyes blink shut, angelic smile dancing on the back of his lids, stifling the most violent urges,  keeping them repressed and in check. It hit hard this time around. The aftereffects of perishing, emotions consumed, the hollow pit inside deeper and deeper. Nothing left behind but a crushing void where color should have bloomed, enriching his life with feeling beyond an endless sea of red.

         ( She underestimates him. Takes his silence as ignorance rather than preemptive of the fiery strike laying in wait behind the storm of blow raining down with a confident grin. How cute. Years trapped behind the seal must have made her forget the type of person he was / IS. Foolish. It’ll cost the both of them dearly.

         ❝ I'd prefer not to kill you unless I need to... ❞  Sweet words. Comforting, echoing a beloved's mantra. Utterly pointless. Empty platitudes spoken from a person no longer present. Meliodas is gnashing fangs, a thousand hopes crushed, a gnawing hunger.  ❝ That's what the old me would have said. ❞

         Smirk curling across a freshly revitalized face, betraying the malevolence locked behind hooded eyes, Full Counter unleashed with cutting intent to wipe old comrades from the face of the earth. The looks of their dismal realization / blood-curdling fear, he relishes it. A soothing balm to his soul, which cries out to please give him more, he needs more, a sadistic ache that can't be ignored.

         You had revived, completed the hellish pilgrimage and crawled out of Purgatory, but did you truly taste life again until now ? )

         But the admissions and inquiry in tandem still the rhythmic motion of the blade, raising brows. Distantly, the heaviness nestled in his chest is duly recognized as wearing the beginnings of surprise. Despite asking, surely the former Knight must have already guessed ?

         ❝ Hm ?  Oh, that ? ❞  Free hand pulling from a pocket to thumb at a chin and eyes flick skyward, a low hum settled in his throat, hallmarks of one lost in thought. Enough Meliodas. Smother that tendency to play and get to the point, no use beating around the bush. Shoulders lift in a shrug.  ❝ Nope !  I came to end it. ❞  Blunt and nonchalant, smile still fixed in place. The statement delivered like snuffing the candlelight out of another was as simple as blowing a gentle breeze over a weak flame, bearing as much relevance of discussing the weather. To one such as him, it may very well be the case.

         ❝ Though I can't say I was expecting to find you like, ❞  Another demon stripped of everything, their fragile balance torn asunder. Lost, confused, left to stumble through tattered remnants of the life he held now.  ❝ ...this. That one’s on me, I suppose. Should have figured, given your little track record of predicaments. ❞

         Shared history taps his shoulder, thoughts stray from his purpose. He considers once more. Bellion, huh ?

        Chilling darkness banishing the searing rays of light / an afterthought at most. Even his youth could begrudgingly stomach the startling persistence of one once less than a blip on his radar. After all, while the goddesses thrived, the demons survived.

         With such thinking, there's no denial of a demon’s tenacity. A trait lauded among his people for weathering their perilous environment, if he had the right to think of them anymore. Bellion and all his other subjects, Meliodas had failed them. He knew it then, buried deep down in a dark corner of his mind, but could admit it now, at least privately to himself. Propagating endless fighting wasn't the right answer. Meeting Elizabeth opened dimmed eyes to that. But in reaching for that forbidden ray of light, dredging enough awareness from the wasteland of his heart to even begin considering the value of life beyond the encompassment of his clan, his field of vision too had narrowed, blinding him to the plight of his own.

         Failure of a hero, of a prince, of a son, of a lover, of a brother.

         ❝ Well now, this puts me in quite a spot. ❞ he says, murmured more to himself than the other. Empathy and hindsight, the devastating but effective hindrances pair. ❝ I can see where you're coming from, living with the humans, with people that could accept you. ❞ With a lofty sigh, arms cross.  ❝ That's funny, looks like I'm the one wondering about what to do with you now. ❞

➤ ` BELLION. (  deathburns  )

𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝚃 𝙱𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙳𝙸𝙴 , 𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝙱𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙼𝚈 𝙿𝙴𝙾𝙿𝙻𝙴 . a knight’s oath before the great warriors who came before him . a promise to the ones he hoped would not have to come after him . for he wanted , more than anything , for the war to end . would it be that i should die , it will be for the people who stand behind me . that is why a hero fights & for all the … predicaments , as meliodas had put them , bellion had once , too , been a hero . eager & bright eyed before golden hues turned a dull crimson . the one who fought the hardest , who overcame the odds . the gifted one of his group , favored enough to be granted the title of captain barely into adulthood .

after all , he was the son of a commandment . he was named for war . the ten commandments & the sons of the demon king held power , but power was not the only thing that could carve a path to victory . thus , the demon clan forged soldiers from youth , hoping to find an answer in that — & didn’t they make bellion into what he became ? ( if it is what he embodies , then he will be perfect . beloved , favored little war - god , who could only ever fail if he did so by choice — & so hadn’t his fall been by choice ? )

meliodas speaks of death with an all too familiar lilt — the mark of an emptiness that bellion felt deep in his soul . for beyond war , he too was fire & death ; oh , horror & magnificent the indura made from his flesh could be ! a king of his own , wandering & lonely !

( bellion comes to the aid of another soldier injured by a celestial blade — death surrounds him , & sorrow ! he remembers watching not in awe but in a melancholy haze as baruja cursed the celestials & the goddesses for condemning mere children to fight & to die . he remembers how baruja had sacrificed six hearts & it was not bellion who became a monster , but it was still bellion who would serve as the instrument of war ; a walking funeral pyre . in the light of the chaos mother’s judgment , they all fall into the endless void . ) 

meliodas had come to end bellion’s life , & instead of fear , there is quiet acceptance of the fact that while he had been made into this weapon of war , he was not like the sons of the demon king . perhaps he had some noble goal in his hearts , but in the end , he was strong because he endured . the nature of his kind to do so . he was strong because he was brave & strategic & how many times had he led troops to victory ? that was not the first sky temple that had been taken by the demon clan . & back then , it was bright - eyed & ambitious bellion who stood & rallied troops & said that they would bring victory for their clan . that they would one day no longer live in fear . & the soldiers who saw him speak had known that while perhaps he was inconsequential to the leader of the ten commandments , he made up for that tenfold with heart ! he was valued by those he led & those he protected . once , he was a hero . 

looks like i’m the one wondering about what to do with you now . bellion is too jaded now to still look at meliodas as an idol , or even as a goal . he is too tired & rooted now in the harsh reality of things to even look at meliodas with hate . because he could only imagine the burden that meliodas had once carried . bellion knows that he is not the only person who thinks that meliodas had turned a blind eye to the suffering of his people ( but , they still were in the end , weren’t they ? that was something they could not change ) . but , he can only imagine that in three thousand years , meliodas has faced the sobering reality as well . maybe in a different way , but how else could he explain the prince’s existence after all this time ? the goddess he’d seen at the temple he understood , for her kind had always lived far beyond his own , but this was still the same meliodas . he can only imagine how lonely that was . & shockingly , he feels pity . 

because bellion had something that meliodas did not . the black knights had not seen him as something to fear , but someone to respect . fear was not a bond , fear was a subjugation . a good leader did not gain allies by snuffing out their courage , but by nurturing it . & for as fickle as the mentality was ( conditions of victory , of course , the unfailing soldier ) , never once did bellion doubt that the people who followed him did so out of loyalty , not of fear . could meliodas say the same of the past ? ❛ yeah , i figured as much . coming to kill me — ❜ but , he thinks of the people in the village . he will not die on them . ❛ there are promises i intend to keep . i told those people that i’d be there . if i die , i will die defending them — as i had thought those three thousand years ago . that would it be that i was to die , it would be fighting for the people . our people . ❜ ( he will not die here , if nothing else , that is what his soul screams . he will not die because of a fight with the demon king’s son . he knows meliodas can see that conviction in his eyes — not so dull , but regaining flecks of gold — ) ❛ i will not fail them . i will fight to my last breath to defend them . even if the threat to their safety is you , then i will die fighting for the people . ❜

         Wow, the surprises didn't intend to stop coming.  Interesting stuff, Meliodas was coming to realize, cautious as he remained about the entire affair. ❛ Sounding a little serious there, aren't you ?  Then again, ❜  The memory's faint but still present, buried under centuries of experiences,  ❛ you always did seem the earnest type. Almost too much so. ❜  A reference to another time the Black Knight stood before him, the confidence and hope radiating off the soldier spurring that long gone Meliodas to question his motivations. A key variance marked this meeting from the last, both living isolated from the clan they had unquestioningly served.

         Eyes slanted, irises rendered a sliver of green as shoulders shifted — our people. Now, there's something sardonic to the twist of his smile.

         All were the unreliable narrators of their own story. The same truth was no different for the infamous  ❛ Meliodas the Love ❜, a cold, ruthless paragon. Bred to fight, created to destroy, given power he never wanted. Everything he did, he did on the orders of his father, the Demon King, for the advancement of the Demon Clan as a whole. Along the way, he could even say he devoted his life to the people, sought to right the injustices against them with the scribe of his father as his guide. The reverence cast upon his shoulders, heralded as the hero / leader / savior of the demon race & the bane of the others.

         And thus, conflict had encompassed the entirety of his life, every waking moment dedicated towards it.  ( he'd been fighting longer than the other had taken his first breath, hadn't he ?  a bit depressing / hopeless, how it never ends. )  His world little more than a collage of one meaningless battle after another, screams and pleas silenced as his enemies all fell beneath the shadow of his blade and disappeared. He never once flinched. The personal distaste held for his actions never mattered. What use was thinking, what good were feelings, when the only purpose you served was to be the sword pointed towards the enemy, a weapon to be drenched in ceaseless bloodshed ?  

         The battles. The death. It was all for the sake of the people. It was for father. Countless lives lost for that goal, yet in the end he had to raise his own hand against them.

         It hadn't been hard to see. The hoping to see it through the end, that one day the fighting would stop, was nothing more than a fable fed to the starry eyed youths as they're shipped off to a battlefield. He was not his brother, who's diligent sword and heartfelt dedication existed for the purpose of the Demon Clan, but he eventually too gained that same desire given birth from that happiness of being with someone special / that intense need to protect them, and with it an understanding.

         Perhaps things would have been different, had that goddess never come under threat of execution, had she defected to his side instead of he to hers, had she been born with darkness beating in her heart instead of light.

❛ i will not fail them. i will fight to my last breath to defend them. even if the threat to their safety is you, then i will die fighting for the people. ❜

         He laughed. It echoed in his ribs, coming from all of him at once. Inappropriate it may be to answer such a serious declaration with a jovial tune but it couldn't be helped. Did some part of Bellion's words compel it ?  Hell if he had any clue. It's strange thing indeed, not stirred from any sort of mirth, out of sync with whatever truly may lay inside, but laughed he did. Who would in this situation ?  The cold leader of the Ten Commandments  ( the one who dismisses the challenge / the presumption his life could end here, soft chuckle ringing true as a silent scoff through the tense air ) ?  the wandering captain of seven sins  ( a boisterous glee reminiscent of the unfazed cadence towards any danger / life itself that it'd come to be known for, commending the courageous grit to try their hand at the daunting task ) ? both ?  who's to say what's the correct response, when the sound he makes landed in neither camp, and disparaged more than either.

         ❝ What do you take me for ? ❞  It's asked plainly, a stark contrast. There's a certain camaraderie to be found in such lifeless things, and for just as quickly as he’d lift his blade to an offered throat, he spoke casually, lazily, head canted so easily without much care.  ❝ I get that you don't have a good view of me but I hope you realize I am here because you, ❞  A hand settled on his hip, the other leveling the point of Lostvayne directly toward the demon, his target marked,  ❝ had been set on wiping out another group of people, you know. Demons aren't known for their fondness towards the other Clans. ❞  There's no need to insinuate further. After all, he'd never been one to extensively comb over details for the destruction that often followed their clan's wake.  ❝ In any case, I don't have any plans to harm any of these villagers. ❞

          Some, on his team, would surely say he'd grown too merciful towards obvious dangers. He'd scoff at the assumption if it hadn't been true, up to agreeing to sign his own death warrant. It's really not in him to seek fights, not so senselessly, at the very least. a weird sensation, sitting uncomfortable on his chest, to both agree and disagree with yourself. Lostvayne resumed motion, fingers aimlessly rotating it in hand, once, twice before the sword shifted, the blade’s spine resting neatly against his shoulder. 

         ❝ Now then, this would be easier if I could just kill you and be done with it, or if I just dragged you back and kept a close eye on you. But...seeing as plenty of humans are in constant danger thanks to all the roaming demons, it doesn't hurt to might as well ask. You can say ‘em all you want but do you really intend to live up to those words ?  It'd be pretty terrible if you put on such a display, only for you to start killing as soon as I turn my back on you. Defeats the whole purpose of my job. ❞

➤ ` BELLION. (  deathburns  )

𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝, be they 3000 years ago, or even mere months. for all of his idealism, what had come of it? bloodshed & pain, a sorrow he could never undo. meliodas speaks of the celestials & bellion holds his ground. he is old enough, or he feels old enough, that he can face his misdeeds. he knows better than to run from them. i am here because you had been set on wiping out another group of people. 

he has never been proud of that rage, even when he would tell himself that it was righteous. what answers did continuing battles bring? when had bloodshed solved anything? not every broken thing could be put back together. not all forests burned to the ground would regrow. sometimes, sorrow simply stayed sorrow. it didn’t bring strength or new realizations. there is nothing to be proud of. 

meliodas laughs & really, what else could he do? it must’ve sounded stupid to him. because bellion was someone easily tossed away. wasn’t that how they’d always been? he, some fiery young idealist staring at someone so vastly out of his league— that was the issue with ideals. ❛ i think … if in the past we’d learned to love more & hate less, this would be easier. the demon clan became hardened & cold, many of us forgot what it was like to live & only focused on survival. everyone was our enemy. ❜ it is soft, simply a fact. he’d forgotten how to live, too. 

        but he’s learning again.

❛ so we kept hating & attacking & we’ve all done things that can’t be undone. the celestials who died that day when the mother of chaos sealed us away will not come back to life. the ones i killed in my rage won’t come back. i can’t undo the siege or the slaughter, but i can choose to not let it happen again. ❜ he remembers the looks on the celestials’ faces. he remembers how they fought bravely. he remembers the fire in that old warrior’s eyes & the searing pain of the winged sword ( sometimes, his arm still aches, even though it’s no longer there ). none of that would’ve happened if he’d been smarter. if he’d loved a little more & hated a little less. if he’d stopped to look around & see blue skies & breathe in fresh air & life. if he hadn’t been so set on one goal. all he could do now was try harder. be better, keep his promises. 

❛ as for my opinion of you … it isn’t about the commandment thing. you also have done things that can’t be undone. my father & zeno are not coming back. but you’ve also made a name for yourself as the captain of the seven deadly sins. the past can’t be undone, but aren’t you trying to work toward a future where those things don’t happen again, too? ❜ 

he remembers his father’s laughter. he remembers zeno always ready to play. he remembers being a starry-eyed boy who wanted to make a difference. he’d worked hard to do that. he’d set a goal for himself, he’d picked up the broken pieces every time his goal was shattered. he remembers pain, & he knows that he has made it through before. he can change, & this time, he is determined that it will be for the better. 

         it’s easier without the mark from the demon king. 

         it’s easier when he lives among humans. 

& he thinks, if he dies here, then at least he’s said what he wanted to say, right? not that he wanted to die when he had found reasons to live, but overwhelming spirit wouldn’t save him from meliodas’ attacks. he would never be able to see the world from that point of view; one where he had no need to look back. & maybe that was for the best. looking back was a way to remember why he was fighting at all. do you really intend to live up to those words? now, blazing gold meets green, a vulnerable sort of strength; undeniable truth— ❛ i will protect this village. i’ll do what i should’ve done those 3000 years ago. hate a little less, love a little more. you can think of that what you will. i can’t undo what i did in the past, but i have no plans of dying here without having a chance to work toward a better future. ❜ 

        ❝ I see. You seemed pretty angry about it at the time. ❞  It's quiet, a barely audible note under the breath. Conclusions drawn from their limited interactions, the rage rising to meet him with every blow, each brush stroke painting a clearer picture of the demon in front of him, filling in gaps that long since rusted over.  ( bellion, little bellion, aranak's kid. unrestrained / unsuitable / exiled. so you found your way to the peak once more. was what you sought for worth the trip ? )

        Meliodas could not comprehend it, the loss of a father's love. He wouldn't pretend to. Not even a spark of envy that he couldn't feel this way to his own parent rested within. Why mourn when there was only ever a distant apathy to begin with ?  A fool's errand to imagine that which never existed. But the absence of what was once — of a loved one, a cherished person, an irrevocable & pivotal presence in a life — was an experience hammered into his soul. Ignorance could no longer make it's home inside him. Yes, he learned. A lesson time  [ his old man / father / arbiter ]  taught over and over until it was all he knew, until he breathed aching loss, haunted sighs composed of the deceased and departed. A bone deep pain that would forever be with him.

        [ “ HELLO AGAIN, MY SON- ” ]

         ❝ Excuse my mistake then. ❞  It's blatant, the non addressal of Aranak and Zeno. Too much to unpack and lay out on the table. he can't speak of it, not yet. There's no words to be said about the mention of the two commandments.

         It's faded, worn and torn along the edges, moments in between frayed and snippets of conversation lost but the centered image is still immaculate. Their final moments not were one looked back on fondly or in triumph of breaking free from his cage; the disheveled state in the aftermath, ichor he never thought would cake his hands staring back at him, accusing in its presence.

         ( heavy heart, heavy knowing eyes, broad back towering to his front, a weight seated among a forest of blond locks. an execution procession / a death march. nothing is going right. what should he do, what should he do what should he )

         Keep smiling, Meliodas. It's one thing you've become great at.

         Work towards a better future. Words brought hazy, distant eyes replaying that moment back to focus on the son left behind. Bellion... that's right, Bellion. He's exhibited lots of signs of change already, right ?  It didn't made sense, considering what recently transpired. He's the same different. At least a little bit, with displaying remorse and an effort to distance himself from past actions.  The captain’s not a fairy, lacked the inborn trait to read the hearts / minds of others, lay bare true intentions, but he did have his own eyes and intuition. It's disconcerting to see yourself in someone that should've taken nothing from you—- the memory barely ran through his head before he snapped it's neck and cast it out.

         A better future.

         An exhale loosened built coiled pressure in between ribs, rhythmic taps of his foot meeting the earth. This wasn’t anything like what he expected to find. There’s no fight here. There’s no burning forests, decimated villages, or revenge driven crusades to stomp out but hey, he’s grown rather adept at taking things as they came, rolling with the punches life swung.

         A twist of the hand sheathed Lostvayne, shoulders smoothing out. Anticlimactic, but that's all there was left to it. There’s no need to wave the sword at him any longer. Disjointed thoughts and reasonings quelled minutely and his need to lash out had declined dramatically. The only purpose eliminating Bellion at this point would serve now fell into preventative measures rather than the disposal of any active threat. 

         ❝ Alright. Feel free to keep doing what you're doing. ❞  Arms crossed, index finger on the left hand pointing upright, underlining one more thing. A little extra incentive never hurt anyone.  ❝ But there's a catch. If I let you walk free right now, I better not come back and find you've fallen back into old habits. If I do, there'll be no more chances. Understand ? ❞

@gravedeserved asked; ❛  it’s  not  my  fault  i  have  my  mother's  eyes  .  ❜ ( from elizabeth to mel! )

►  ❪   VEHEMENT  ❫

         Measured motions guided calloused hand, fingers skimming along hairline, tucking loose strands behind the shell of an ear adorned with an earring. Blue intricate surface refracted shafts of light streaming through window shutters, glittering sheen reminiscent of the way her eyes almost glowed through the contrasting dimness set upon the majority of the tavern's interior. Tranquility evoking nostalgia. They’re the bottomless sea and ever boundless sky, precious gemstones encapsulating a strength unseen to many, remaining glimpsed to only a few.

         It's true Elizabeth's eyes differed from that of her elder sisters. One held stark blue to the cool tones of amber brown and sharp hazel inherited from the late queen. Shade dyed a deeper pigment, just a stone’s throw off from a dying woman's grateful gaze, glimmering with tears in the final moments. 

         ( he can't recall heavenly hue hidden behind blistering glare. harsh / burning / out of place against the backdrop of faded memories, mortal eyes not meant to gaze upon the absolute and divine )

         ❝ We can't do anything about what we're born with. It can suck sometimes - being just stuck with what we got - but I don't see anything wrong with that. Nishishi, I mean look at you. You scored a perfect in the looks department. ❞  Fingers lifted from their lingered spot, moving to brush aside a curtain of silver and revealing painfully familiar orange, the tri-pronged spiral ever condemning present.  ❝ ...Trust me. You're fine as is. ❞