Chapter Text
Trashy.
Those were the final words that Callisto heard about his gallery. In some regards it was aggravating, to think that he spent all this time trying to create art that could appeal to everyone and someone who’d seen far more than he could hope called it trashy. So much time and effort and now it was wasted.
Yet Callisto was always one to take criticism to heart. It wasn’t like he hadn’t heard the same thing from Maestro’s from all of the other schools, but this time it was different. The other schools would never accept it because they had been fully absorbed into their own hues and colors, never able to appreciate his blending of the styles.
The words coming from someone with eyes like those however? That stung in a completely different manner. To think that such a muse would look upon his art and find that there wasn’t anything of value would be a blade that cut deeper than either of the weapons The Muse before him had used.
That just led to the question, if he could emulate the horrors that The Muse had seen would it be any better? He reached out his hand, a single question needed to be asked. “The things you’ve witnessed…could you allow me to see them too?” He asked, bearing his naked desire to the inspiration that was in front of him.
The expression of The Muse, one that had been a mixture of determined and relaxed, darkened in that moment. It was clear in those glowing yellow eyes that he was going through another horrible scene at that moment. “It would be pointless to explain them with words.” The Muse denied his request.
Yet that just made his mind race with excitement. A pained laugh came to him at that moment as he looked at his opponent. “Too horrible for words. Yes that’s…” He caught the words that a large part of him wanted to say.
That it was enough. In a way, just the knowledge that the Avatar of Inspiration in front of him was unable to simply tell him the horrors he’d seen. He could attribute it to the similarity of Valencia talking about The Smoke War after the alcohol had entered the stage when she was more vulnerable. When boasting of her prowess and her joy at the slaughter, turned to the lurking horror and the imagery that she saw in G-Corp’s genespliced soldiers.
What could The Muse have seen? His mind couldn’t find the colors to paint that scene, and blue was the only color that he’d heard him mention when the boy, Sinclair from what he’d heard, had first heralded his arrival. Blue was a good start, but what shade, what brushstroke, what lines were drawn in those sights.
He changed his question instead, seeing that the man was drawing the Halberd he wielded like his own brush. “What enemy? What terrible force was it that you fought that has stolen your words?” The rings of Mang formed when he asked that question, and it seemed that with the way he was looking he was elsewhere. Yet still, almost absentmindedly, The Must answer his question.
“Humans who no longer looked the part.”
…
So much with so little.
How so were these no longer human? Was it men and women clad in prosthetics, more enhanced soldiers, people who had given in to their deepest desires and transformed, wing technology like the Heishou, was their inhumanity more of a mental condition instead of a physical one. He wanted to know, he needed to know. It was as if he were in front of the most beautiful piece in the world, yet he was looking at it in the dark.
Yet his body could barely move. The joints and parts that made him up were jammed and locked in certain places, Tibia’s exquisite structure was compromised and could no longer shift, and his mind still rattled from the invisible hammer of The Critic. As The Muse dashed towards him, he saw all of his life in front of him and the potential he would no longer see those sights fade. All there was to do was…reminisce.
Here stood Callisto, the former Maestro of the art of Corporism. The art movement that had just gotten started when he was but a small child that he had taken to. He could see his rises and failures throughout his time. From his time as a simple student arranging the bones together when he created ‘Babies final teething’ despite, to the artwork that had made him a docent ‘The Mutual Suffering of The City’. Finally, the construction of the art that would make him a Maestro, his beloved Tibia and then…then the decision.
They make an art that everyone could understand.
Had his decision been wrong? If he had decided to instead stick to just Corporism instead of pursuing that goal, would his movement have continued? He knew that the art wasn't dead, but it had been in decline for some time. If Albina, his wonderful student Albina, had come when he was still leading could a new wave from the movement have swept the city? If only her art could be shown to the rest of the ring then…
Albina…
Yes…yes Albina had innovated upon an idea that he had already thought perfected. Tibia was a work born of perfected craftsmen ship, something that Fascia was so close to being. The only difference was that Albina had done something that he had never done. Albina had made her work with a philosophy, a question as old as The City. The famous Ship of Theseus would her sword be her or would she still be considered ‘Albina’ with her brain gone.
It had been a detail that he had known, but never truly gasped till now. Too absorbed in the creation of more works that he hoped to enthrall all that had ever seen. Works that he had never created with a philosophy or question in mind, but only wondering if it would look good. Now that he was thinking about it the canvas that he painted seemed to expand and his eyes began to widen even as the halberd swung for him.
Why had all of the other Maestros scoffed at his art, it was all so obvious. From a technical standpoint all of his work should be perfect, something all could agree. The problem was that at no point did they tell of any other voice from the schools that he added. There had been the appearance of Fauvism but not the soul, the individual dots of Pointilism but not the meaning, the otherworldliness of Surrealism yet not the underlying thought. He had only copied those movements…he had not mastered them.
This…This had been what he’d been missing! He had been prancing around thinking himself a master, when he was more clueless than even the most unoriginal of students. He had lost himself in the joys of creating, of simply adding more and more, and then turned in his art hoping for praise from the artist. He was a child filling in the lines of a coloring book and thinking himself better than the eldest of Marstro’s…
He would fix that.
The halberd clanged, but not against his metal exterior. The Muse’s eyes widened as Callisto found the ability to force his arm forward. “I must thank you for revealing my inadequate mindset. I must trouble you however.” The surprise of The Muse allowed his next action to move as his hand gently placed itself on his forehead.
“If words will not suffice, I’ll take a glimpse.”
He pierced that mark on his forehead with his fingers.
In reality, Callisto’s attack wasn’t all that deep.
It was more of a deep scratch than anything that had the potential to pierce the brain of This Sinclair. Under any other circumstances, against an opponent of similar ability and skill, it wouldn’t be anything of note. Just a wound that wouldn’t even scar before they cut down their foe.
These were not normal circumstances however. The act of piercing the mark in its still burgeoning state, the usage of the mirror technology, and the chain that anchored Sinclair, yet not That Sinclair, to this reality were all shaken. The combination that had been straining for so long unnoticed finally forced itself upon The Manager.
Dante yelled from their chair, all of the battles in front of them going on at once, as their hand went to his own forehead. The clock was spinning rapidly, the minute and hour hand going so fast that the second it touched the finger was cut. The Manager took in deep breaths to try and endure the pain.
Unsure of what to do, they focused on their connection to Sinclair. It had already been somewhat loose and they tightened it, along with popping out the Identity Card from their device. They were unsure if this action was the correct one, or if it would even have an effect, but they were going with their instincts. Too much was happening for them to focus on one screen for too long.
That action wasn’t…the worse they could have taken.
That Sinclair was pulled through the worlds in an instant, away from the chained identity of the original. However, The Mark had made their manifestation into this reality, or maybe this time, a delicate procedure. Instead of departing calmly, they were ripped away from reality and sent tumbling through the worlds…
And brought along everything that was attached.
Both A Certain Sinclair and Callisto were forced through the shattered window of reality, both tumbling. A million worlds, a million outcomes were shown like small dots on a background. Given their speed the only thing they could make out was the white voice around them, and the every changing hues of the different dots. Yet there was a saving grace for Sinclair.
He had a location to go to.
Callisto however?
The robotic artist was an error in the system, a soul jumping from one place without a destination in mind. The fabric that made up everything panicked for a moment, unsure of what to do. While this hadn’t been the first time jumps had been made, this had been the first of it’s nature to occur along with the fact there was no set destination. Only the idea of where it wanted to go with an incomplete picture.
…
But that was alright.
A gentle hand took the wayward artist, and pushed him along. Red Eyes had already spotted a reality that the man would find happiness in. It would not be what he wanted exactly, but he would see things that he could not have ever found in his wildest dreams. Things not even The City could produce with what it currently had.
After all, she did love to help the people who needed it.
The floor was his saving grace.
Callisto lay face first on a wooden floor with his eyes wide. He took in several shaky breaths as he got up and his hands and knees. The immense weight of everything he’d seen coming down on him and he felt overwhelmed as he tried to process it all. The act of breathing was a useless thing for his body, but doing so helped to calm his mind.
“So many worlds. So many different shades.” He muttered as he crawled along the floor, not looking at it. It was hard to do so with Tibia, and his hat made this all the more dangerous, but he couldn’t be still. Moving would help him, help him regain control of his body. To tell him that he was no longer falling and he was the one in control now.
“He was right. How could words ever describe what I saw? That was…how I long for the ability to cry.” He laughed, slightly mad from the sight. It wasn’t a war that he’d seen, no he’d been able to glimpse so much more. Cities of bright lights and happy futures, wastelands of monsters that roamed, lands of food more abundant than the air around them. It was all so chaotic and random that…that he was sure any Surrealist would declare him a Maestro if he could only paint a quarter of it.
“Ah no. I can’t say that yet, I have to embody the mind of a Surrealist and create a work before I can even think of that.” He chastised himself as he began to calm down. “Yes I’m- ghk!” He cried as his body began to lock up. The damages done to him are still present, and his self-realized power is nowhere to be seen.
After all, how could one keep a clear mind with such an experience?
He finally stopped forcing his body along, careful not to damage his arms, and then forced himself to his knees. He needed to see the location that he had arrived at so that he could plan. It wouldn’t do him well if he had jumped from his war-touched gallery and found himself surrounded by threats ready to tear him asunder.
He was in an apartment.
…
No…something was wrong with this apartment. It wasn’t the trail of blood that was close by, that was normal backstreets things, it was the overall vibe of the location. It was as if there was a fundamental wrongness in the air that words would not…
No.
No he would not say it was beyond describable. He had now seen indescribable, and this was different from what he had seen. No, he simply lacked the words because he didn’t know which specific words to say. The closest word that he could say was ominous, but that wasn’t nearly as intense as-
His brain ached and he took a moment to stop his mental ramblings. His body needed repairs, and his mind needed rest as it was. Too much had happened too soon, and he still needed to comprehend the sight he had just seen.
He crawled to the side of the wall and then put his back to it. He stopped his false breathing and just looked ahead as he put his hands to the side of himself. His right side touched upon something fuzzy and he looked and saw a welcome mat greeting him. He chuckled at the mundanity of the object and then looked ahead.
“I just need some time to…rest this mind. When that’s done I’ll…get to…creating something everyone will.” His speech grew closer and closer to ending. His prosthetic body finally initiated the power saving mode that gave him a feeling similar to sleep. How long he would be out for he didn’t know, but right now even this ordinary apartment was too much. A good rest at whatever time he was at would be good enough.
When he recovered enough to think, then he could get into actually learning the philosophy of the other movements.
“Hehehe, great choice Sam.” Leigh’s voice was as rough as it had been when they first started as he limped towards his apartment. Clutched to his side was the Rat Baby that he had given up his right arm to keep. Even besides that, his body just felt so…tender from all of the fight’s he’d gotten into today.
“You could…help me walk, you know.” He said and she just continued giving him that grin. “If you’re strong enough to wrestle with me then you're strong enough to get home.” She called back and he just sighed at her words. A part of him wondered why he had decided to take this beast of a woman with him for a second before he remembered why.
He couldn’t afford to be alone.
With the world insane, any and all help needed to be taken. Especially now that he was down an arm because of his decision. Leigh was insane, that much was obvious, but so long as she helped him he could endure it. All he had to do was keep her around and she could easily smash anything that got in their way.
He finally made it up the stairs to the third floor and he breathed a sigh of relief. There was still nothing up here that could attack him. While had had met a few friendly faces on the lower floors, his mind still went back to the lumbering Rat King that he’d seen on the first floor. A shiver went by him as he began to limp to his…
What was that?
Sam’s brain stopped as he saw the strange…doll? Robot? The thing next to his door that was strange and covered in blood and a strange blackish goo. The Rat baby next to him looked up and yipped(?) at the strange thing. Leigh just seemed to stop and look before she chuckled at the thing.
“Think someone left us a present?” She asked as she walked ahead to get a better look. He followed after her, slightly scared she’d get to his door and kick it down if she wanted in. Once he was close enough he could see that it wasn’t just a strange doll next to his door.
It also had a strange swo-.
The…doll was a large thing even when sitting down. It was a silver metallic sheen, although it was stained with a large amount of grime, and there were a large number of cracks alongside it. It had cloth draped around its shoulders and on its lower half it had an almost robe-like design. Not to mention it had…heel like feet.
Then was the strange hat that it wore. It was as if someone had decided to make a top hat, make the brim excessively wide, and then fill said brim with holes. He could almost use the thing as a replacement colander if he wanted, but the white material was still stained red and black with blood and grime. Soon his head turned down to the sword.
The thing was nearly as big as the doll was and clearly made of bone as well. The guard, if it could even be called that, looked to be an entire rib cage. The blade continued, and what looked like flaps of flesh was in front that had been sharpened except for the serrated edges at the end of the blade. His hand went to-
Before you stands, or rather sits, a gargantuan doll, placed conveniently next to your door. The thing is battered and bruised but wields its weapon with a death grip.
Why it’s here is the biggest question. Someone had to have gone out of their way to leave it next to your door and given how it’s just as tall as you lying down that’s no easy feat. The question of what strange and lazy craftsmen just leaves something like this lying around floats your mind before you think it away.
Now the only question is what to do.
> Take the hat
> Take the sword
> Take the whole doll
“You got that look in your eye again, hehehe, what strange thing are you doing now?” Leigh asked as he shook his head. Ever since this apocalypse started, he’d been thinking about things as if they were a video game every now and then. At first, he’d just thought that it was his brain being too cooped up from gaming, but then he’d gotten into that fight with the neighbor.
A ‘Critical Hit’ that killed something in one hit was far too convincing.
Since then, he’d just been using it to get by. It was how he was certain that he was simply able to eat food, and he could see the wounds on his body close up, not that it helped his arm, and how he could recover so fast. It was a strange power, and he didn’t understand it. He should probably take-
The sound of something to the side of him caused him to look to the side. Something large was coming closer to him, a being that looked like it was made of shadows. His eyes widened, and Leigh seemed to see the thing as a threat as his grin seemed a little smaller. Deciding that he didn’t care what option he picked, he chose one and then opened the door and then rushed inside.
Leigh took a moment to walk over to his couch and flop on it, and the rat baby scurried away to the corner. Sam himself let out a sigh and went to take a step, when he noticed that he was caring something. He looked to the side and saw that he’d grabbed the whole doll before he rushed inside, somehow getting the legs bent forward so they were in the way of the door and the frame. He was about to put it down when he noticed something that made his heart skip a beat.
It was looking at him.
“Why hello there.” The doll said with a robotic voice, making him realize that it was actually a robot. He let go and yelped and the strange robot hit the ground, and Leigh jumped off the couch to his side. The robot let out a sigh and then picked itself up and his eyes widened as he saw the full height of it. Almost touching his ceiling as it stood up and looked down at him as it tilted his head.
“It had been a while since I’ve been in a home that was not my own. You’ll have to forgive me for being a rather rude house guest. I wasn’t planning on doing anything other than taking a rest for the day, but now.” The strange robot bent down, and the sword almost seemed to stretch out longer in anticipation for a fight.
“I simply must ask some questions as to where I am.”