the killing conscience

Alvis has always lived in Shulk's dreams. In his nightmares, possibly, as well, but the collective is known as dreams; the subconscious fascination.

Alvis has always, always, always been there.

Shulk would never protest.

What he sees before him now: Alvis, perched on the hook of a life-giving tree, the curling branch diving organicity through synthetic white legs perfectly bisecting the face above the trunk. The difference between the two halves is difficult to discern, but one face is Alvis's, and one face seems to be not.

Alvis's hands, impossible hands, are delicate in the cavity where Shulk's arm used to be - where it is, rather. And Alvis is systematically disconnecting each sinew, with an occasional lean down and in to bite them clean with teeth Shulk supposes he'd always known were there, but as usual never conceived of their chewing.

He doesn't feel the bite. The nerves die, instantaneously. They were already dead.

"Would you prefer it this way?"

Even as the body leans, arched by corded back, the face remains in symmetry. The invisible side speaks.

"Gentle? Knowable? The end of the world prosecuted by me, and the aftermath cleaned up by a blank-faced avatar?"

Of course it had hurt, to lose his arm. Of course his first thought hadn't been, now I'm just like Dunban. Riku and I can just draft a replacement up. Nikol would have loved to help.

He wouldn't rather not have lost it at all, though. Any change at all from how he entered this world solidifies the fact that he is here.

Isn't he?

Alvis continues to bite, a cat methodically toying. Still with that elegant up and down motion. Such an easy, effortless twine.

Half of Shulk's arm is gone. All of Alvis's head remains.

But Alvis will not bite the left arm. Alvis will not bite the hand that did not wield.

"When you're done scrapping, what will be next for you? What comes after this...foul conquest?"

Shulk awakens, and finds a vision of a dream ready to cut Aionios's constructions down.