seven devils all around you, seven devils in your house

[singmod]

JUNE 2024 EVENT

PART ONE — A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME: The Darkwalker claims another victim, and that is only the beginning of troubles for the Interlopers as they face a month of endless night and green gloom.

PART TWO — POLAR SUN: As June continues, Interlopers are faced with food insecurity as wildlife flees; tensions grow as they face hunger and the Darkwalker's continued influence. On the day of the Summer Solstice, the tension finally breaks and violent chaos descends upon Interlopers.

PART THREE — REPRIEVE: The end is in sight, and an ally comes to the Interloper’s aid.

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

WHEN: June 1st, then onwards.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area (Carter Hydrodam).
CONTENT WARNINGS: death of playable character; supernatural death; mention of dead body; themes of death; supernatural beings; themes of terror; themes of peril.

The evening is quiet and still. May draws to a close and while the sun does not completely set, it dips low enough for the sky to grow a little darkdim with twilight. The midnight sun is almost upon the Northern Territories, the air is warmer than it has ever felt — even if it remains chilly. If this is summer, it is but a gentle brush of reprieve against the unyielding winter. The Interlopers wind down for the night, many turn to their beds to sleep, others sit awake and ponder their existence in this world. They think of home, of loved ones, of their predicament here in this place. The Forest Talkers, the strange beasts and monsters they’ve encountered.

The moon wanes in the skies, nestled amongst the stars. For those still awake to notice, they can see it: slowly, one by one, the stars begin to go out. Then the moon's light is swallowed whole, and a blanket of green gloom descends upon the Northern Territories.

The sky is dark and green and terrible. Many of those will recognise it, what this means and what will come. Others will not understand it, not know what it is that awaits them all.

They will soon find out: the Darkwalker comes.

Under a green sky, a cold fear washes over you — squeezing the breath from your lungs. Interlopers will find themselves overcome with that fear, and everything in their bodies and minds tells them to run. To flee. And so you run, heading for cover. Curtains will be drawn, some may hide under beds, within closets or wardrobes. Some desperately attempt to conceal themselves, make themselves small, unseen. Some Interlopers, in that fear, may rush to friends or loved ones to hide with them, others may simply cower alone — crawling and whimpering away from the night. The fear is irrational, unable to be overcome — even by the bravest or most stoic of Interlopers.

For those within Milton, it is further away but is by no means less potent: Interlopers will find themselves frozen with the constant loom of the Darkwalker’s arrival — even if it does not come to Milton. Those within Lakeside, however, will feel the true force of this presence: more like a knife edge — painfully gripping your heart as it draws close.

The Darkwalker howls: indescribable, unnatural, demonic. Low moans and groans. It comes from the east, the faint booms of footsteps in the distance growing ever nearer. It is coming, once more. It's coming for one of you. And still, you are powerless, unable to do anything. And it is an agony, awaiting its arrival. You cry, you whimper, you cower. Curling up for some shred of comfort, and finding none.

For those in Lakeside, through the fear, they may be able to note the path: a straight line from the east towards Carter Hydrodam. It seems to go on forever, building into a crescendo. Your heart beats so hard you fear it may burst from your chest, as if you might die of fright.

There is an almighty sound; the Darkwalker devours and even with the distance you can hear it. The sound of gnashing teeth, and… laughter. There is no scream, no bright light in the sky — Enola is silent this time. There is only that laughter, echoing off into the night.

The skies do not return to normal. The green gloom hangs in the air. It is done, but it is not yet over. While the overwhelming fear dissolves away, but a kind of… dread remains on the air — almost palpable.


The Darkwalker has devoured another. Braver souls who go out to investigate into Lakeside will find just who has been devoured once they reach the Hydrodam — although it may be a day or two before they will find the body in the medical bay.

At least it is cold enough that the rot does not fully set in — but death will certainly be here.

And this is but the beginning of the Interloper’s troubles.

POLAR SUN

WHEN: The month of June, up to Midsummer’s Eve + Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton area; Lakeside area.
CONTENT WARNINGS: themes of survival; food scarcity/food insecurity; supernatural weather; altered mental states; mental manipulation; themes of violence; potential character injury; potential character death; potential NPC death.

In the coming weeks and days, and weeks, the green gloom lingers. From the Darkwalker’s attack, there is no sun. No day, no night. No stars or moon or sun. No Auroras. Just the gloom and biting cold. Life becomes increasingly hard on Interlopers: higher expenditure on fuel — fires and lanterns are imperative to keep the darkness and the cold at bay.

With the green gloom in the air, the wildlife becomes more scarce — as if it has been frightened away into the deeper parts of the wilds. It will be harder to bring in fresh meat in both Milton and Lakeside, and Interlopers will find that they will have to rely on whatever stores they have — and perhaps even rationing for a while.

And it’s not the only thing frightened. Even with the debilitating fear that comes with the Darkwalker’s attack gone, there is still a kind of fear that lingers on the air that slowly eats away at the Interloper’s resolve over time.

Interlopers will find themselves anxious, on edge. Some will be prone to anger in their fear, others prone to fits of melancholy: tearfulness and sorrow. Between the cold, the lack of fresh game and the fear on the air — it’s no wonder spirits are low. Bickering and minor upsets between Interlopers are likely.

They call it the midnight sun, the polar day. It's opposite is the polar night. This is neither and both. On the day of midsummer's eve, that fear on the air is even more palpable. The air feels a little stifling at times, as if the pressure is all off — often quite oppressive, a strange kind of tension. There is something brewing, a low burning thing that begins from the moment Interlopers wake — heavy and sharp in their chest.

’So, Interloper. What will you do now?’ A voice sneers in your ear. The very same voice that has haunted Interlopers since the very beginning. The Darkwalker finally speaks after all these weeks of gloom since its most recent attack. ’When all is gone, when even the sun does not rise? What will you do then?’

A nervousness sits within you as you remember the Darkwalker’s words. What will you do if the sun does not rise? If the darkness is all that is left? If the food runs out? Your wonderings will continue to gnaw away within you. The darkness is hollowing.

’Will you lean on others, like you have always tried to do?’ the voice continues. ’What bonds you hold with them, the ones with those around you. But how strong are they, truly? Can you trust them? Will it matter when your belly is empty and your heart is low? Perhaps it is time to see.

’Never forget, Interloper. I am the Rot. And I will rot within you.’

As the day progresses into the Solstice, that tension lingers in the air, and the wonderings within you continue to wear at you. You find yourself becoming more and more agitated as time goes on. Those feelings that have been brewing for some time now have started to grow close to boiling. You may snap at others, grow restless, become enraged at the tiniest of things — the upsets wildly out of proportion for the smallest slights or issues.

You find your thoughts wandering, too. Perhaps it is to someone you know in this place, or perhaps it is to someone previously unknown to you. Maybe you have an issue with this person, or perhaps the voice’s influence extends further — not only adding to your agitations but creating them, too. A slight, a grudge, a bias.

You feel a bitter gnawing within you. The nightmarish green gloom above you persists and everything bubbles up from within. From the dark, the anger within you become too much. The tension finally snaps.

For some, it might come out as a vicious argument where you air your grievances, or finally let slip the things you’ve been holding close to your chest. A verbal beat down, incredibly hurtful in nature. For others, things may be drawn to getting physical. A literal beat down where your fists grow bruised and bloody, or perhaps even worse. Whatever it is, you want to do damage to someone else — there is darkness here, and so many things come out in the dark, don’t they?

Like a ripple, all around you: all hell breaks loose. Chaos erupts, and the air is filled with violence.

Let’s hope you might stop, or someone else stops you, before someone gets killed.

REPRIEVE

WHEN: Circa three days after the Summer Solstice.
WHERE: Milton.
CONTENT WARNINGS: blood.

All things must come to an end, even the most violent of deadly storms. In the midst of the seemingly endless violence of the night, you find yourself outside. Maybe you're fleeing from another Interloper, maybe you're desperately trying to reach someone you care for, maybe you're simply trying to find somewhere new to hide. Interlopers are hunting one another, blood lies on the snow, bodies too — some breathing, some not.

Perhaps it is a trick of the light. Perhaps it's the Darkwalker’s influence still warping your already frayed mind. Or it's the blood in your eyes, your battered and bruised body struggling to get through it all.

In the gloom, you see it. See her.

A woman, dressed in furs, stones and shells glimmering on her chest like armour, stands in the snow before you. Thin and pale, eyes sunken. Her chest heaves with each breath as she looks around with wide eyes. Her hands are bare and bloody. It drips slowly from her fingers. Is it her blood? Or someone else's? You cannot tell, but you cannot mistake how thick it coats her skin.

Her head turns to look at you. You are stunned, but not frightened. Even through the gloom, after a moment or two, her eyes widen in recognition: she knows you.

Slowly and silent, other than her noisy breathing, she draws close to you. Maybe in turn you draw close to her, closing the distance between you. Up close, her eyes are blue, and sad. You cannot mistake the sorrow in them. She is tired, weary. Her hair is dark, worn loose and long. For some, you feel as if you've seen her before, but you can't quite place her face.

Softly, she says your name.

For some, there may be no recognition. This woman is a stranger, who knows your name somehow. She has been silent the past couple of months, after all.

For others, hearing her speak brings a sudden, jarring realisation: this is Enola.

She’s here. Enola. All this time, she’s whispered to you in dreams, in static, in the very air itself.

She raises one hand, dark and dripping in the green light. Lightly, her fingers brush against your chest. You don’t feel the pressure of them, don’t feel the odd heat of blood — only the weight of her stare as she holds your gaze. It’s a long moment of peace in amongst the chaos.

You feel her exhaustion, a tiredness that sinks into your very bones. Apologies, too. You have never known anything like it. But there’s something else too, something that takes a moment or two to put your finger on. Defiance. A renewal. Something shifts in the air, a growing tension, different from the kind that’s been held on the air throughout the month. It’s the coming of a storm, the rolling clouds, the growing rumble of thunder before the first lightning strike.

Enola nods, her expression grave. She pulls away and turns from you — her head lifting towards the skies as she walks. Her arms raise, bloodied hands twisting and tensing before her. They curl, almost into fists, and she makes a gesture: the slow tearing of something huge and invisible before her — a shriek spilling from her lips. A battle-cry, a last stand, a wail of agony. It echoes.

The sky cracks and splits open before you, dazzling light and colours blinding your vision into pure white. The world tilts too hard below your feet, and you don’t remember passing out.

When you awaken, Enola is gone. The skies are clear and blue, the sun is high in the sky. As you pick yourself up from the snow, in the harsh light of the polar day, blood has never looked so red. The horrors of the night laid bare. Interlopers are dead, but the Darkwalker’s influence is gone. For now.

In the wake of Midsummer, all Interlopers can do is try reconcile. Bury the dead, rebuild, lick wounds. But that feeling in the air still remains — that different, new kind of tension that has come with Enola’s appearance. The first of the lightning bolts has struck, but more are coming.

FAQs

A SIGN OF THINGS TO COME

1. Alexander Hilbert has been devoured by the Darkwalker. His remains can be found in the Hydrodam. The following note has been left by Kates concerning his death: ‘Sveta gets possession of his research notes + blood samples + creepy lab journal because it's all in Russian, lmao.’

2. Information on the Darkwalker’s attack can be found here.

3. Usually, after the Darkwalker attacks, the sky would return to normal. This won’t happen. Instead, the usual atmospheric changes that occur during Darkwalker attacks will remain in place as June continues..


POLAR SUN

1. For an idea how the setting appears for June, it's like what you see in the game during the Escape The Darkwalker Challenge. Inside, there'll be a degree of green shades to rooms etc via what comes through windows but with it being lit up via fires and light sources, the gloom will be chased back.


2. Characters are free to use this event to kill NPC Interlopers. Methuselah and Young Bill are off the table, as are two marked NPC Interlopers. Please let Mods know if you intend on doing this for record keeping!

3. These acts of violence can be physical or verbal altercations, players are encouraged to work with the prompt however they'd like! However, anything potentially world-altering (ie. building destruction) must be first discussed with mods.

4. Interlopers under the Darkwalker's influence can be stopped in a number of ways. Showing genuine care and compassion in the face of violence is one way. Knocking an Interloper out is another way. Sometimes killing an Interloper may be needed, or simply restraining them and keeping them locked up somewhere so they can't hurt anyone else until the night is over would also work.

5. Talismans made by Heartman back in March with a Ward Sigil against the Darkwalker will come into effect during this prompt. It's been an ongoing process, with new Interlopers being offered them from their arrival. Players are free to choose what kind of talisman they received, or if they chose to get one at all. Their effectiveness is dependent on the type of blood used on the talisman.

— Animal Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from animals found in the world, such as deer, rabbits or wolves will find themselves more susceptible to the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They will be much harder to break out of the hold over them, and become almost frenzied state.
— Monster Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood from any creatures or monsters that Interlopers have encountered in their time in the Northern Territories, such as the Serpent from December’s TDM will find there are no negative nor positive effects. The talisman is essentially useless. and Interlopers will fall under the Darkwalker's influence.
— Interloper Blood: Interlopers carrying talismans using blood for Interlopers will be offered protection/resistance from the Darkwalker’s influence and disposition towards violence. They may be slightly affected but will have their wits about them more compared to others. If the blood came from an Interloper with an Aurora Feat — this protection/resistance will be largely increased, an the Interloper may even feel braver, less affected by the fear in the atmosphere.
— No Talisman: Similar to the Monster Blood Talisman, Interlopers will be affected typically by the Darkwalker's influence in due course.

There are no additional affects with an Interloper using their own blood, just if they have an Aurora Feat or not.

6. Animals owned by Interlopers will be more frightened and will want to hide away in the build up — they will be disturbed by the world. Mostly lying down and whining/restlessness. They may display some signs of aggression on occasion, but not to the same degree of humans.

7. Forest Talkers are hidden away and will not be able to be reached during the Solstice.

REPRIEVE

1. Enola can only be met alone, but she will appear to all Interlopers in Milton.

2. Enola will be nowhere to be found afterwards, there are no tracks to be followed. She has simply vanished.

PLOTTING POST

Comments

[goingtobeunwell]

Typically the sentiment wouldn't be met by vexation and outright anger, just resignation and guilt tangled in more complicated feelings of needing to do, but the urge to bite back is too strong.

He's goddamned tired. He recognizes that now for what it is, exhaustion.

"Jesus Christ," he says, turning away from him. A flair for melodramatics. He turns back around and gestures with his left arm, scarred wrist making an appearance beneath his sealskin. "Look at me! I'm not yours or anyone else's savior, Edward! That should be obvious by now. I couldn't do it the first time, how dare you charge me with it a second. How dare you look to me and say 'captain', as though I have any power here at all."

[fidior]

He would never ordinarily say something so openly critical to this man — no matter if technically Crozier may no longer be his captain, he is still a senior officer, a man to respect, and something within Little does flinch in response to his own words with a quiet sort of flicker, horrified.

But as Crozier turns back to him, maimed arm held up and words charged with their own upset, that heat in his belly boils again, throat tight with it, with a rising anger. He feels his mouth pull into a strained, unhappy frown, feels his eyes tighten.

"Couldn't you have done it the first time? If you'd truly wanted to? But you didn't even want to be our captain at all — we knew it. Those of us close enough to you to see it so plainly."

It's a direct accusation, and not the only one that lingers in his heart, but he takes a sharp breath, feeling something twist, slow and tight.

"Isn't this what you always wanted? To bear no responsibility for the rest of us?"

[goingtobeunwell]

Crozier wants to snarl, wants to hit something very hard. Every little piece of him bristles, those old wounds ripping open like a scurvy-ridden scar. He knows that's how they see it, he knows that's why his leadership fell apart so easily, he knows he knows he knows...

"Did Sir John care enough about you to put your lives before his pride?" he snaps back. This beast cannot let the insult stand, this untruth. "You were there, Edward. You were there when I suggested wintering east of King William Island. Did you think I didn't care then? Or when I went to Sir John to plead for the formation of a rescue party while we were still hale?"

A thought occurs to him. A nasty, nagging little thought.

"The night Sir John died I was preparing to resign and lead the rescue party myself. I'd written the letter, I was going to leave that very night. Maybe..it was selfish, to leave and not lead. Maybe it was all I could handle after being ignored for years."

He frowns deeply, some of the wind taken out of his sails. He's still angry though, angry at the world and just a little at the man before him, still holding that smoldering look in his eyes. "I know what I am, Edward. Quick to envy, easily embittered, prideful and wrathful when I'm in my cups. I let good men die on my watch because I was ready to die, and I didn't care if I took you all with me. But if you still think that, if you still think I never loved you all-"

Crozier doesn't know how to finish it. It hangs in the air between them.

LONG ESSAY OF PAIN IS SO LONG...

[fidior]

Each word is an unpleasant prickle against his nerves. Some part of him, even now, hates this — this conflict. This confrontation; he wants to shirk from it, to avert his eyes from any of this man's anger. The other part, the one fueled by something beyond himself, can't let go of his own. No matter if he knows Crozier speaks the truth; he was there, he'd seen what happened with Sir John. He'd seen Crozier care, try to care, only to be met with an unwillingness from his senior, one that had cost— everything.

'I'd written the letter, I was going to leave that very night.'

Little stares at him — stunned, but in some way not fully shocked, because the words aren't wholly fresh. The truth is some needling little insect that Tozer let loose in his brain, one he hadn't believed but it had perhaps continued to live inside of him for all this time, and here it is now, confirmed.

'Crozier was going to lead that sledge party himself and leave. Quit the Navy, quit all of us.'

It wounds him, visibly, but even those words don't wound him as much as what Crozier says next. For different reasons, in different ways. Abruptly, Little realises his eyes are wide and wet. He knows that Crozier loves them. He'd seen it, felt it. He is a good man, and despite everything, he'd been a good captain. Is it fair to bring up and fixate on every dark part of their past when it's done with? But it's all he has, all any of them have, really. What happened, what went wrong. What could have been done differently. And so any soft thing in his eyes hardens again, after a moment. It's all he can see, or maybe all he needs to see. Tomorrow he'll regret all of this. For now—

"It could have been me. To fall to the cold out there, to die for a bottle." He can't stop thinking of it, of Frederick Hornby, of the sheer helplessness, the horror, the hurt, the anger of that night. It's directly connected to what he's feeling now, which is— so terribly alone. It's a particular poison that's needed lancing in him, but he knows the damage has already been done.

"I know I am not a great man. I am not like- I am not like Lieutenant Gore was." The words fumble; they hurt to voice aloud. He knows he isn't, wasn't; Erebus's first lieutenant, the great and beloved and capable man that he was, died so quickly. Too quickly; if they'd had him...? If it had been Graham there towards the end, Graham as one of the few remaining officers, might Crozier have accomplished more? Saved more? Would those men have voted against Gore's wishes?

And just like that, every hurt and every unspoken thing comes to one question. His voice is louder than he means it to be, almost a shout, such a rare thing for him.

"Why did you give me that order?"

Not the direct one. The one underneath it. The true order, the one that hinged on Little's loyalty, his driving force. He remembers what Goodsir said to him here. He was waiting for you. 'He'll be here by day's end', he said. Imagining you'd be coming over the ridge with a dozen armed men.

"They were too sick to fight. They wouldn't come, they— they were never going to follow me! You knew I had no power, didn't you? You knew they looked at me and saw weakness. All of them, and Lieutenant Le Vesconte, they—"

The anger and blame belong to himself, but it grows ever more misplaced, floods into other spaces. (Ironically, later, he might realise he seems so like a child, angry at his father. He does love Crozier just as much, and that is why all of it hurts so deeply.)

"Why did you do this to me?!"

Apologies for the long wait for this one! <3 It's been a crazy couple of weeks!

[goingtobeunwell]

How fares the raft of the Medusa?

He was wrong then, to be so flippant, to make such a terrible and ill-advised joke (they'd eat each other just like those wretches) when he'd sent them back over the ice in a storm. It's difficult to remember that day, not for all the horror of the memories but the lack of clarity he'd caused in his own mind. He'd been too in his cups to realize - Tuunbaq was approaching, the air had been punishingly cold, and he'd been so callous and uncaring. He can only let the insult stand; it could have been Edward who died for a bottle.

He threatened Edward for a bottle.

The arguments pile on, the dam breaking inside his former first lieutenant, and the rage ebbs and flows inside himself, shame fueling wrath fueling more shame. But the last accusation lands like a serac collapsing on top of his head, the world shaking the ground around him and the sky falling in. He stares, mouth opening and closing, the angry little thing inside of him that bore the brunt of so much loathing and dismissal falling silent in shock.

"I didn't -- to you, Edward? To you?"

Flawed as he was, wrong choices and poor judgement and inaction and all else that he is guilty of, he never put those things on Edward Little in the end.

Little was not the enemy. Little was a man, one of his own, someone he'd failed. To hear that he shoulders the burden is the kind of revelation that knocks the wind out of him.

"I believed in you!" He steps forward, angry, so so so angry, at the two of them and this situation and all the unearned agony and questions, and at the fact that Edward died in his arms and he's quite sure he never even realized his captain was there. He grabs his arm and holds onto his great coat so tightly his knuckles turn white. "I believed that you would! You are a capable man and you were my second, and I believed with my whole goddamned heart you would try, and you did, didn't you? You tried for my sake? What the hell else more could you have done than that? And even if you did, even if you came, you would have found horrors beyond horrors.

"You tried to take care of the men. I ordered you to do that. Go south, I said. That's where I found you."

ZERO worries at all, I've been running so slow myself!! ;~;

[fidior]

Again, some part of Little knows this particular accusation, out of any others, isn't fair. His captain couldn't have known what would transpire in those hours to follow.

A vote. The remaining, able-bodied men held a vote while he was asleep. It's almost laughable; was it some last attempt to be decent? To vote fairly rather than outright rise against him? Something that separated them from the mutineers, from being bad men? Only now does Little truly realise that the concept of being 'a good man', that thing he'd held onto so fiercely, refusing to let go of, meant nothing, in the end.

He'd abandoned his captain. He'd left the sick to die — an outright opposition to Crozier's wishes. Whatever reasons there may be to it slip through his fingers, useless. (What else could he do? God, what else could he do? Remain with a handful of dying men, and starve himself? Walk on his own into Hickey's camp to rescue his captain and be killed immediately? Or truck on, lead the ones who could still walk and think and had not yet rotted fully away, try to live?)

Here and now, the reasons don't matter. He does not want to face that he'd reasoned such a horrific thing at all. What sense can be made when one has to decide which men to help? Which men to try and save? How can lives be voted against, reasoned against?

Crozier's angry. Stepping closer, gripping his arm tightly, and Edward lets him, but his nostrils flare, eyes wide, angry and hurt and self-loathing.

I believed in you!

"You believed I would come!" He shouts back, heart splitting. "I have heard it from Dr. Goodsir, here in this place. He told me how you waited for me. How you— You thought I would come. You planned for me to."

Oh, it hurts. It hurts more than anything ever has. He hears his voice crack, a fissure that opens up and threatens to swallow him whole. Yes, he'd tried to do what he only could after that — tried to lead the men South, tried to keep them alive, tried, tried (and his last memory is of trying, of starting the march onwards, back turned to those shredded tents and the dying men inside of them. Thomas Jopson was one of them. Does Crozier know that? Does he know that one of the men left behind to suffer was his former steward, currently appointed lieutenant, and perhaps even greater than both of those things — a close, beloved one, for Little may not know the true depth of their relationship, but it was clear to anyone how close they were. How loyal and devoted Jopson was to the man, in ways that were perhaps equal, but at the same time different, to Little's own.)

'What the hell else more could you have done than that?'

Hearing him say that — he isn't blamed, Crozier doesn't blame him, but his heart only aches harder, deeper. What exactly is he so upset with this man for? For believing in him? For forgiving him? His mouth is held in a grimace, heart pounding. It isn't Crozier's fault that Little carries what he does, that he can't ever forgive himself for it.

"You should not have believed in me." He tries to pull back from him, more harshly than he's ever been with the other man, jerking his arm backwards. "You should have— there should have been someone else! I was never going to be enough! And now I— now I am trapped here with these ghosts of our men, with the way they look at me. No matter how much time passes, how can anything erase what I've done? To them? To you? I should not have lived, I-I should have died!"

/tired high-five :c

[goingtobeunwell]

His arms thrust outwards, chasing Little as he pulls himself away from him for the briefest of moments. He drops them back down and his hand curls into a fist. He swings - not with said fist, but with his words.

"You did, goddamn it!" he bellows, wishing for a table to slam or a bottle to throw. His voice cracks, his face is wet; he's a hundred emotions boiling over and spilling out, but nothing feels so utterly horrendous as that statement. It feels like poison, like pollution adding to the green, sickly vapor in the air around them, but he can't take it back.

He makes a soft sound, something low and broken, and he can't look at Little. Hell, he can barely see, bitter tears clouding his vision. The anger is all inward now though, it's all directed at himself. He repeats it, this horrible thing that surely Edward had to realize by now, surely he knows -

Surely he knows how it ended. Couldn't he tell just by looking at him?

"You died with the rest," he says again, voice only a fraction steadier. It's still rough, the overwhelming sadness beginning to fighting with that biting anger. His natural state is beginning to win out though, his need to tear and destroy slowly dying right along with the desire to hurt the man in front of him. "Whatever penance you think you owe to the men you paid, Edward. You more than paid."

Chains in his face. He wants to ask - who put the chains in his face? Was it himself? Did the others mutilate him? This Edward wouldn't know, would he? He doesn't know how he met his end, how grim it had been, how horrible, else maybe he would feel like Atlas carrying the world on his shoulders.