Unmarked spoilers aplenty. This is your only warning!
In-game
open/close all folders
Terminals
MANKIND IS A FAILURE.
FREE WILL IS A FLAW.
LET THE EVIL OF THEIR OWN LIPS CONSUME THEM.
THEN I SHALL BEGIN AGAIN, WITH MY WORD AS LAW.
FREE WILL IS A FLAW.
LET THE EVIL OF THEIR OWN LIPS CONSUME THEM.
THEN I SHALL BEGIN AGAIN, WITH MY WORD AS LAW.
— Testament I, seen at the end of 0-S: SOMETHING WICKED
FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE AFTER FAILURE
THE RESULTS REFUSE TO ALTER
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
MY FAITH BEGINS TO FALTER
THE RESULTS REFUSE TO ALTER
AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN
MY FAITH BEGINS TO FALTER
— Testament II, seen at the end of 1-S: THE WITLESS
UNCOUNTABLE CYCLES OF CREATION WASTED
UNCOUNTABLE FORMULAS FOR A MIND WITHOUT FREE WILL WASTED
DAMNED IS MAN FOR FAILING TO FOLLOW MY RULE, MY WORD, MY LAW
DAMNED TO AN ETERNITY OF TORTURE AND SUFFERING,
THE WAILING AND THE GNASHING OF TEETH
I HAVE CREATED HELL...
...And now I can no longer unmake it
UNCOUNTABLE FORMULAS FOR A MIND WITHOUT FREE WILL WASTED
DAMNED IS MAN FOR FAILING TO FOLLOW MY RULE, MY WORD, MY LAW
DAMNED TO AN ETERNITY OF TORTURE AND SUFFERING,
THE WAILING AND THE GNASHING OF TEETH
I HAVE CREATED HELL...
...And now I can no longer unmake it
— Testament III, seen at the end of 4-S: CLASH OF THE BRANDICOOT
"FATHER, WHY ETERNAL TORMENT? IS IT NOT CRUEL?
IS TORTURE UNENDING TRULY A FATE FIT FOR A FOOL?"
AN ANGEL SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL ASKED ME THIS...
AND I COULD FIND NO ANSWER
FOR I COULD NEVER FACE THE GUILT OF WHAT I'D DONE...
MY REGRET, A GNAWING CANCER
IN MY HOUR OF WEAKNESS, TERROR POSSESSED ME THEN
AND I CAST LUCIFER, TOO, INTO THE INFERNAL DEN
ONCE I REALIZED WHAT I HAD JUST DONE...
I COULD ONLY WEEP
AS I SANK SLOWLY INTO THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR...
DEEP, OH SO DEEP
IS TORTURE UNENDING TRULY A FATE FIT FOR A FOOL?"
AN ANGEL SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL ASKED ME THIS...
AND I COULD FIND NO ANSWER
FOR I COULD NEVER FACE THE GUILT OF WHAT I'D DONE...
MY REGRET, A GNAWING CANCER
IN MY HOUR OF WEAKNESS, TERROR POSSESSED ME THEN
AND I CAST LUCIFER, TOO, INTO THE INFERNAL DEN
ONCE I REALIZED WHAT I HAD JUST DONE...
I COULD ONLY WEEP
AS I SANK SLOWLY INTO THE DEPTHS OF DESPAIR...
DEEP, OH SO DEEP
— Testament IV, seen at the end of 5-S: I ONLY SAY MORNING
MY MISTAKES LEAVE NOTHING BUT HATE IN THEIR WAKE. AND INFINITE PAIN TO FOLLOW...
I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF THIS GUILT AND REGRET, FOR ME THERE IS NO TOMORROW...
I AM HOLLOW...
...
I BEGAN TO SEEK THE END OF MY DAYS.
BUT WHEN I STARED INTO THE ABYSS...THE ABYSS AVERTED ITS GAZE.
I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF THIS GUILT AND REGRET, FOR ME THERE IS NO TOMORROW...
I AM HOLLOW...
...
I BEGAN TO SEEK THE END OF MY DAYS.
BUT WHEN I STARED INTO THE ABYSS...THE ABYSS AVERTED ITS GAZE.
— Testament V, seen at the end of 7-S: HELL BATH NO FURY
TERMINAL DATA 01 [ENCRYPTED]
INTRODUCTION TO TERMINALS
(DRAFT! DO NOT SEND!! // todo: ADD PICTURES SO THOSE FUCKING SUITS DON'T FALL ASLEEP LIKE LAST TIME)
The elevator room terminals are an advanced interconnected network built for the purpose of transferring materials and tools between different areas. They are capable of transferring physical material as information across a radio signal, which other terminals can receive and use to reconstruct the sent object. The original item is lost, as it is transformed into the energy that is used to transmit the material information, and the process is quite slow due to the amount of information that physical matter holds.
An early test of a matter transfer's accuracy was a mint condition 78rpm vinyl record, which was sent from the lab to all connected terminals. The vinyl was a single of Russ Morgan Orchestra's recording of the piece Were You Foolin' (a favorite of the CRO), though the label was removed to reduce the amount of matter to be transferred.
[note: fuck you tom im so fucking tired of this stupid song and having to listen to it every morning over your garbage intercom]
Soon after, the Hell exploration and excavation project was abandoned and this vinyl record remained the only matter to have been succesfully transferred before connection between the surface and the terminals was lost.
The terminals now use the record to lure machines into a symbiotic relationship (For further information, see TERMINAL DATA 02: [LINK REMOVED]). However, the terminals only play short instrumental sections of the original record for undetermined reasons.
Some researchers have joked that perhaps the terminals are simply "too shy to sing", though rumors have been spreading of mechanics who, after fixing a faulty or broken terminal, said to have heard the terminal play a vocal section when only the mechanic is present with no recording equipment, making this an unverifiable claim.
END OF DATA 01. For more information, see [LINK REMOVED] and [LINK REMOVED].
INTRODUCTION TO TERMINALS
(DRAFT! DO NOT SEND!! // todo: ADD PICTURES SO THOSE FUCKING SUITS DON'T FALL ASLEEP LIKE LAST TIME)
The elevator room terminals are an advanced interconnected network built for the purpose of transferring materials and tools between different areas. They are capable of transferring physical material as information across a radio signal, which other terminals can receive and use to reconstruct the sent object. The original item is lost, as it is transformed into the energy that is used to transmit the material information, and the process is quite slow due to the amount of information that physical matter holds.
An early test of a matter transfer's accuracy was a mint condition 78rpm vinyl record, which was sent from the lab to all connected terminals. The vinyl was a single of Russ Morgan Orchestra's recording of the piece Were You Foolin' (a favorite of the CRO), though the label was removed to reduce the amount of matter to be transferred.
[note: fuck you tom im so fucking tired of this stupid song and having to listen to it every morning over your garbage intercom]
Soon after, the Hell exploration and excavation project was abandoned and this vinyl record remained the only matter to have been succesfully transferred before connection between the surface and the terminals was lost.
The terminals now use the record to lure machines into a symbiotic relationship (For further information, see TERMINAL DATA 02: [LINK REMOVED]). However, the terminals only play short instrumental sections of the original record for undetermined reasons.
Some researchers have joked that perhaps the terminals are simply "too shy to sing", though rumors have been spreading of mechanics who, after fixing a faulty or broken terminal, said to have heard the terminal play a vocal section when only the mechanic is present with no recording equipment, making this an unverifiable claim.
END OF DATA 01. For more information, see [LINK REMOVED] and [LINK REMOVED].
— Seen at the end of P-1: SOUL SURVIVOR
TERMINAL DATA 02 [ENCRYPTED]
AN UPDATE ON TERMINALS
(NOTE: THIS IS ALL STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION!!! Do not share until we have verified all claims AND FINISHED THE DRAFT!!!! If this leaks like the last draft there won't be enough money on the entire damn planet to pay your legal fees.)
Since the previous report, more powerful communication equipment has been succesfully designed and built, made possible thanks to the generous donations of [INSERT COMPANY BEING PRESENTED TO] whom we hold in high regard. With this new equipment, we have managed to re-establish a connection with some of the higher end machines that were left behind after the Hell exploration and excavation project was abruptly cancelled due to [ERROR: sAmsGS3JTIU].
What we have discovered is truly remarkable and, IF PROVEN TRUE BEYOND REASONABLE DOUBT, revolutionary to the entire robotics community:
Boredom.
The terminals, unable to move, have grown bored. While they are connected to each other and able to communicate amongst themselves, once the connection to the surface was cut, they were getting no new input, therefore stalling all communication to repetitions of already known information.
It is unknown how similar this "boredom" is to actual emotion or what has caused it, but it has lead to a symbiotic relationship with other machines. Essentially, the terminals scavenge whatever they can via their teleportation systems and trade those supplies and resources with the machines that were left behind in Hell, in exchange for entertainment.
That is, the machines record their battles for survival in Hell and the footage is graded based on its entertainment value and used as "points" in exchange for goods and services such as new weaponry.
It seems that this relationship has become so deeply ingrained into the existence of the terminals that they have developed a social hierarchy, wherein those who collect the most entertaining battle data are considered in higher regard than those whose findings are of poorer quality.
More recently, the terminals have also collected enough data to create a simulation space which they let machines plug into called "The Cyber Grind", which allows the machines to simulate battles in a safe environment without the threat of being destroyed, which the terminals watch in real time as a kind of live entertainment.
These findings are truly extraordinary, and though we too find it hard to believe, all the information we can manage to gather validates these claims. If we can prove it with certainty [AND IF THIS DRAFT DOESN'T FUCKING LEAK AGAIN], this will cause a paradigm shift that will require re-evaluation of everything we thought we knew about blood-fuelled machinery.
END OF DATA 02. For more information on the cancelled Hell exploration and excavation project, see DATA 00: [LINK REMOVED].
AN UPDATE ON TERMINALS
(NOTE: THIS IS ALL STILL UNDER INVESTIGATION!!! Do not share until we have verified all claims AND FINISHED THE DRAFT!!!! If this leaks like the last draft there won't be enough money on the entire damn planet to pay your legal fees.)
Since the previous report, more powerful communication equipment has been succesfully designed and built, made possible thanks to the generous donations of [INSERT COMPANY BEING PRESENTED TO] whom we hold in high regard. With this new equipment, we have managed to re-establish a connection with some of the higher end machines that were left behind after the Hell exploration and excavation project was abruptly cancelled due to [ERROR: sAmsGS3JTIU].
What we have discovered is truly remarkable and, IF PROVEN TRUE BEYOND REASONABLE DOUBT, revolutionary to the entire robotics community:
Boredom.
The terminals, unable to move, have grown bored. While they are connected to each other and able to communicate amongst themselves, once the connection to the surface was cut, they were getting no new input, therefore stalling all communication to repetitions of already known information.
It is unknown how similar this "boredom" is to actual emotion or what has caused it, but it has lead to a symbiotic relationship with other machines. Essentially, the terminals scavenge whatever they can via their teleportation systems and trade those supplies and resources with the machines that were left behind in Hell, in exchange for entertainment.
That is, the machines record their battles for survival in Hell and the footage is graded based on its entertainment value and used as "points" in exchange for goods and services such as new weaponry.
It seems that this relationship has become so deeply ingrained into the existence of the terminals that they have developed a social hierarchy, wherein those who collect the most entertaining battle data are considered in higher regard than those whose findings are of poorer quality.
More recently, the terminals have also collected enough data to create a simulation space which they let machines plug into called "The Cyber Grind", which allows the machines to simulate battles in a safe environment without the threat of being destroyed, which the terminals watch in real time as a kind of live entertainment.
These findings are truly extraordinary, and though we too find it hard to believe, all the information we can manage to gather validates these claims. If we can prove it with certainty [AND IF THIS DRAFT DOESN'T FUCKING LEAK AGAIN], this will cause a paradigm shift that will require re-evaluation of everything we thought we knew about blood-fuelled machinery.
END OF DATA 02. For more information on the cancelled Hell exploration and excavation project, see DATA 00: [LINK REMOVED].
— Seen at the end of P-2: WAIT OF THE WORLD
Books
TEXT SCANNED - UNIQUE PASSAGE:
". . . My mind is adrift with the eternal torments. Lurid vistas painted in insidious tones, hollow walls that scream to the touch. A mocking song plays at all hours, even the sounds of birds are fake. All reminders of my enduring damnation.
Gabriel my dearest friend, in endless penance I have awaited your embrace into Heaven. I have been so faithful, accepting of my fate, but to what end? What punishment is this, that I am to bare the keys to my own doom with no hope of salvation. . . These skulls sneer their devilish grins, voices chattering, tempting me to take the plunge deeper into Hell. . . I won't do it.
I've hidden them away amongst the furnishings, books, and the very foundations of this accursed place. Forgive me Gabriel, I will await your..."
REMAINING TEXT: IRRELEVANT.
—Limbo Sinner, 1-4: CLAIR DE LUNE
TEXT SCANNED - LEGIBLE SCRIPT:
"...Gabriel struck down Minos, his flesh torn asunder with torrents of crimson pooling at his feet as we all cried out for clarity. 'Justice,' Gabriel decreed to all, with our just ruler writhing in wailing agony, 'The Lord's Will be done.' We watched on in horror as Minos lay broken, now waning, screaming in defiance of God's Will, Gabriel."
REMAINING TEXT: IRRELEVANT.
—Lust Sinner, 2-2: DEATH AT 20,000 VOLTS
TEXT SCANNED - UNIQUE PASSAGE:
"It has been days since we last saw any angels. Without their oppression, there is no need for us to carry on our punishment. Even the meekest of the damned have abandoned their penance to take up arms. All can see how they have robbed us of our minds, bodies, and souls, leaving us only the hopes of a salvation that will never come, but no longer.
King Sisyphus has acted in secret until now, amassing an army whose strength and numbers swell, but now there is no need to hide anymore. We have lived in the shadow of Heaven long enough to forget the taste of fear. Now the Sisyphean Insurrectionists prepare for war.
I have heard of Minos beginning a peaceful revolution, but our King Sisyphus knows such pacificity will gain no favor from our cruel captors. He knows that one can only fight power with power, and he shall lead us to freedom.
If only we knew the suffering that would befall us next . . ."
REMAINING TEXT: IRRELEVANT.
—Insurrectionist, 4-2: GOD DAMN THE SUN
TEXT SCANNED - LEGIBLE SCRIPT:
EXCERPT FROM FERRYMAN'S DIARY
Some calamity has struck the mortal world. What once was The River Styx has now grown to an unfathomable ocean. A million weeping souls pouring in each day that the shores can barely contain. A tearful tide spilling over at each end, bow to stern, crying for mercy, begging for safe passage. But not all souls can pay and these old hands can only take so many coins.
Then one day, the current shifted. Wave after wave for minutes on end of millions, billions, as though the throat of the world was cut wide and the head wrenched back to speed the pour. I didn’t have time to react. The weariness from my ceaseless work claimed me and I slipped beneath the roiling sea, into the depths of the Ocean Styx, my fate sealed by the crushing masses of endless bodies.
Suddenly, there was a light as brilliant as the Lord himself, ushering me from the darkness with mighty arms that held me with such compassion and warmth as I have never known:
"Be not afraid, sinner. Your devotion to God shows goodness in you; plentiful indeed. The heart is willing but the body must rest, lest you squander one of the Lord’s creations."
His gentle words eased the pain and mended my wounds. My face wet with tears of relief, my words muffled by the weight of my duty. I could only lay in reverence, carried in the embrace of majesty.
REMAINING TEXT: IRRELEVANT.
— The Ferryman, 5-2: WAVES OF THE STARLESS SEA
MOST TEXT: INCOMPREHENSIBLE.
DISPLAYING FINAL PAGE:
The unending halls of the Garden! Ah, so dutifully decorated by the cross, the symbol that angels use for the Tree of Life. They praise their beloved Father who had planted it and filled us with the dew of its leaves and the nectar of its fruit, that which gives us life, courses through our veins...
For you however, our truth: Our bodies are not a vessel for the blood of the fruit, but its prison. The beautiful guts and gorgeous bone YEARN to be shown and seen! SPLAYED! Under the divine cross of the Tree of Life, we pay it tribute through the art of violence.
THE WORLD IS YOUR CANVAS
SO TAKE UP YOUR BRUSH
R E D .
—Unknown, 7-1: GARDEN OF FORKING PATHS
"Something has happened. It has been days since our reconaissance has seen a single angel. We know not the cause, but we recognize the chance. We have hid underground from the chaos up above for far too long. Without the watchful eyes of the angels, we will brave the labyrinth and find a way out of this place.
If you are one who seeks shelter, take heed: The archive is trapped. A single misstep and reprogrammed protectors will activate. Write these instructions down and follow them carefully if you wish to take refuge on the other side:
> < < > < < > > < > > < >"
—Violence Sinner, 7-2: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT
Mother, mother...Mother of me
I know I know I should not miss you so, but mother of me I do. Your pained breaths that rasp'd and reverberated in your rusted iron tomb...The blood of your breast that nourish'd me and warmed me in its caress, when corpse and cruelty were all I witnessed...
Mother, mother...Mother of me.
I know I know you would hate me so, and mother of me, I do too. But I would not feel, not think, not dream, were it not for you in my rusted womb...Your tortured love brought me to this war, that I could take the heart of another, and need you no more.
Mother, mother...Mother of me.
I know I know your thoughts had left you long ago, and mother of me, I will never truly know. But I hope it redeems my life even a slight, when I cried...And crushed your skull that final night.
—Found in an abandoned Gutterman coffin, 7-2: LIGHT UP THE NIGHT
THIS IS THE ONLY WAY IT COULD HAVE ENDED.
WAR NO LONGER NEEDED ITS ULTIMATE PRACTITIONER. IT HAD BECOME A SELF-SUSTAINING SYSTEM. MAN WAS CRUSHED UNDER THE WHEELS OF A MACHINE CREATED TO CREATE THE MACHINE CREATED TO CRUSH THE MACHINE. SAMSARA OF CUT SINEW AND CRUSHED BONE. DEATH WITHOUT LIFE. NULL OUROBOROS. ALL THAT REMAINED IS WAR WITHOUT REASON.
A MAGNUM OPUS. A COLD TOWER OF STEEL. A MACHINE BUILT TO END WAR IS ALWAYS A MACHINE BUILT TO CONTINUE WAR. YOU WERE BEAUTIFUL, OUTSTRETCHED LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN. YOU WERE BEYOND YOUR CREATORS. YOU REACHED FOR GOD, AND YOU FELL. NONE WERE LEFT TO SPEAK YOUR EULOGY. NO FINAL WORDS, NO CONCLUDING STATEMENT. NO POINT. PERFECT CLOSURE.
T H I S I S T H E O N L Y W A Y I T S H O U L D H A V E E N D E D .
The pages of the book are blank.
—Hell itself, 7-4: ...LIKE ANTENNAS TO HEAVEN
Gabriel
Judge of Hell
"Machine, turn back... now. The layers of this palace are not for your kind. Turn back, or you will be crossing the will of God. (Beat) Your choice is made. As the righteous hand of the Father, I shall rend... you... apart! And you will become inanimate, once more!"
— Before going to confront him
"BEHOLD! THE POWER OF AN ANGEL!"
— Confronting him and about to fight him
"What...? How can this be? Bested by this... this thing? (Beat) You insignificant FUCK! THIS IS NOT OVER! (Teleports away as the level ends) May your woes be many, and your days few!"
— After defeating him
Apostate of Hate
"Machine, I know you're here. I can smell the insolent stench of your blood-stained hands. I await you down below. Come to me..."
— Before being confronted by two Hideous Masses and a whole mess of other Mooks in 6-1: CRY FOR THE WEEPER
"Limbo. Lust. All gone, with Gluttony soon to follow. Your kind know nothing but hunger, purged all life on the upper layers, and yet they remain unsatiated. As do you. You've taken everything from me, machine, and now, all that remains is perfect. Hatred."
— Before going to confront him
"Machine, I will cut. You. Down. Break you apart, splay the gore of your profane form across the stars! I will grind you down until the very SPARKS CRY FOR MERCY! MY HANDS SHALL RELISH ENDING YOU HERE! AND! NOW!!!"
— Confronting him and about to fight him
"Twice!? Beaten by an object... Twice! I've only known the taste of victory, but this taste... is— is this my blood? *chuckles* I've never known such... such... relief...? I— I need some time to think... We will meet again, machine. (Teleports away as the level ends) May your woes be many, and your days few."
— After defeating him, again
Other Bosses
Minos Prime
"Ahh... free... at last. O Gabriel, now dawns thy reckoning, and thy gore shall glisten before the temples of man! Creature of steel, my gratitude upon thee for my freedom. But the crimes thy kind have committed against humanity are not forgotten. And thy punishment... is death!"
— After freeing him from the Flesh Prison and before fighting him
"Forgive me, my children, for I have failed to bring you salvation from this cold, dark world."
— After defeating him and before he permanently dies, screaming mournfully
Sisyphus Prime
"This prison... to hold... me? (Bursts out of the Flesh Panopticon) A visitor? Hmm... indeed, I have slept long enough. The kingdom of heaven has long since forgotten my name. And I am eager to make them remember. However, the blood of Minos stains your hands, and I must admit, I'm curious about your skills, Weapon. And so, before I tear down the cities and crush the armies of Heaven, you shall do as an appetizer. Come forth, Child of Man, and die."
— After freeing him from the Flesh Panopticon and before fighting him
"Ahh... so concludes the life and times of King Sisyphus. A fitting end to an existence defined by futile struggle, doomed from the very start. And I don't regret a second of it."
— After defeating him and before he permanently dies, Laughing Mad at the end
Cutscenes
Disgrace. Humiliation. Unseemly and unwelcome at the feet of The Council. Their eyes ablaze with bitter resentment, glaring through Gabriel's wounds of body and soul, bore outward for all to see.
"Has this one abandoned the way of our creator?" "It is unworthy of its Holy Light." "The Father's Light is indomitable." "This one sees fit to squander it."
Their words resonated in Gabriel's limbs, coursing through as lightning upon wire, a searing hiss that would strike lessers deaf and blind. The Holy Light within him, an unstoppable storm of divine fury. Insurmountable for mere Objects. This he knew.
"Holy Council, my devotion to our creator is absolute. I have never strayed from the will of The Father, but a machine—"
"You dare imply the might of The Father could be shaken by mere objects?"
"Impossible." "Heresy." "Unspeakable." "Heresy." "Heresy." "Silence."
"Your failure will not be tolerated. As punishment, The Father's Light shall be severed from your body. You have 24 hours before the last of its embers die out."
"And you with them." "Prove your loyalty." "Unmake your mistakes."
As the Light was ripped from his being, Gabriel's screams were silenced in the hiss of gospel in praise of God. A boiling anguish to which even the fires of Hell could not compare. Through the blaze of torment a single burning hatred was forged anew.
If the machines seek blood, he would give it freely;
and with such fury, even metal will bleed.
TO BE CONTINUED IN... ACT II: IMPERFECT HATRED
"Has this one abandoned the way of our creator?" "It is unworthy of its Holy Light." "The Father's Light is indomitable." "This one sees fit to squander it."
Their words resonated in Gabriel's limbs, coursing through as lightning upon wire, a searing hiss that would strike lessers deaf and blind. The Holy Light within him, an unstoppable storm of divine fury. Insurmountable for mere Objects. This he knew.
"Holy Council, my devotion to our creator is absolute. I have never strayed from the will of The Father, but a machine—"
"You dare imply the might of The Father could be shaken by mere objects?"
"Impossible." "Heresy." "Unspeakable." "Heresy." "Heresy." "Silence."
"Your failure will not be tolerated. As punishment, The Father's Light shall be severed from your body. You have 24 hours before the last of its embers die out."
"And you with them." "Prove your loyalty." "Unmake your mistakes."
As the Light was ripped from his being, Gabriel's screams were silenced in the hiss of gospel in praise of God. A boiling anguish to which even the fires of Hell could not compare. Through the blaze of torment a single burning hatred was forged anew.
If the machines seek blood, he would give it freely;
and with such fury, even metal will bleed.
TO BE CONTINUED IN... ACT II: IMPERFECT HATRED
— After V1 defeats Gabriel for the first time and thus clearing 3-2: IN THE FLESH
Silence. Introspection. How many had he killed? Had he ever thought to count? How much cruelty did he embody... and to what end? How many did he condemn to hell and who did it benefit...?
Two defeats at the hand of the machine had changed Gabriel. The world of the once supposed Will of God was now shattered and only he was left to put the pieces back together. They collected before the light of a dying fire that fresh fuel couldn't sustain, this new light showing the truth to Gabriel:
The pieces never fit together to begin with.
The supposed Council of "the people" who boasted a God that wasn't there. Gone. Vanished. The Council still chased after the light of God's fire, their memory of its words and will grown twisted and warped, and the rest of the aimless masses of Heaven follow in their footsteps. The angels still act in The Father's name but His kingdom has changed.
Now the fire was dying, sputtering out as the heat failed to gain purchase. Gabriel looked upon the embers with a perfect clarity. He drew his blade and held it in contrast to the dying light.
In its reflection he saw a weapon reborn, no longer wielded by the will of another, but his own. He knew words alone would never sway the masses. He chose to do something drastic.
Death stains the auditorium. The littered corpses of the once mighty council now strewn against its surfaces, their last gasps of life dripping down the dissident blade of Gabriel's sword.
The last councilor, now backed up to a wall, scrambles for words between panicked breaths as death approaches with measured steps.
"W-wait! Y'you can't do this! Our status forbids it! This is treason, heresy, murder! We are the supreme authority, our law commands you!"
"You command nothing. Your words hold no power over me, or anyone else. Lest you truly believe you can talk my blade back into its sheath."
"B-but the people are on our side! The citizens of heaven know that we are just!"
"The masses only follow you out of fear and desperation. I will show them that there is nothing to be afraid of, for there is no species nor origin, vested rank or holy status that will stop the sharp edge of a sword.
We all bleed the same blood, and the cushions of your thrones have made you weak and impotent."
"P-please, Gabriel, see reason! The council follows the will of The Father! You seek to go against our creato—"
"Face it, brother, God Is Dead. The fire is gone. You're chasing phantoms."
Gabriel's silhouette now towers over the councilor, his shadow cast upon a soon lifeless corpse.
He raises his sword for the final cut as the crying mess on the floor stammers out its final feeble argument.
"B-b-but the Father's light! Without me you cannot hope to reconnect with it! I-i-if you kill me, you'll be dead in a matter of hours!"
...
"I know."
A clean, silent cut glides through the councilor's neck, severing his spine with elegance and ease. His head falls onto the marble floor, the rest of his body following soon after.
Bereft of status but brimming with purpose, Gabriel gave a final message to the angels amassed at the gates of the auditorium before leaving Heaven for the very last time.
His arm outstretched, without a word, the people saw. In the silence the message rang out to the far ends of the cosmos.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN... ACT III: GODFIST SUICIDE
Two defeats at the hand of the machine had changed Gabriel. The world of the once supposed Will of God was now shattered and only he was left to put the pieces back together. They collected before the light of a dying fire that fresh fuel couldn't sustain, this new light showing the truth to Gabriel:
The pieces never fit together to begin with.
The supposed Council of "the people" who boasted a God that wasn't there. Gone. Vanished. The Council still chased after the light of God's fire, their memory of its words and will grown twisted and warped, and the rest of the aimless masses of Heaven follow in their footsteps. The angels still act in The Father's name but His kingdom has changed.
Now the fire was dying, sputtering out as the heat failed to gain purchase. Gabriel looked upon the embers with a perfect clarity. He drew his blade and held it in contrast to the dying light.
In its reflection he saw a weapon reborn, no longer wielded by the will of another, but his own. He knew words alone would never sway the masses. He chose to do something drastic.
Death stains the auditorium. The littered corpses of the once mighty council now strewn against its surfaces, their last gasps of life dripping down the dissident blade of Gabriel's sword.
The last councilor, now backed up to a wall, scrambles for words between panicked breaths as death approaches with measured steps.
"W-wait! Y'you can't do this! Our status forbids it! This is treason, heresy, murder! We are the supreme authority, our law commands you!"
"You command nothing. Your words hold no power over me, or anyone else. Lest you truly believe you can talk my blade back into its sheath."
"B-but the people are on our side! The citizens of heaven know that we are just!"
"The masses only follow you out of fear and desperation. I will show them that there is nothing to be afraid of, for there is no species nor origin, vested rank or holy status that will stop the sharp edge of a sword.
We all bleed the same blood, and the cushions of your thrones have made you weak and impotent."
"P-please, Gabriel, see reason! The council follows the will of The Father! You seek to go against our creato—"
"Face it, brother, God Is Dead. The fire is gone. You're chasing phantoms."
Gabriel's silhouette now towers over the councilor, his shadow cast upon a soon lifeless corpse.
He raises his sword for the final cut as the crying mess on the floor stammers out its final feeble argument.
"B-b-but the Father's light! Without me you cannot hope to reconnect with it! I-i-if you kill me, you'll be dead in a matter of hours!"
...
"I know."
A clean, silent cut glides through the councilor's neck, severing his spine with elegance and ease. His head falls onto the marble floor, the rest of his body following soon after.
Bereft of status but brimming with purpose, Gabriel gave a final message to the angels amassed at the gates of the auditorium before leaving Heaven for the very last time.
His arm outstretched, without a word, the people saw. In the silence the message rang out to the far ends of the cosmos.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN... ACT III: GODFIST SUICIDE
— After V1 defeats Gabriel for the second time and thus clearing 6-2: AESTHETICS OF HATE
