Chapter Text
His darkroom is bathed in red light - red as his subjects captured in their final moments. Stefano idly twirls his knife in his hand while he waits for his newest photo to develop. His Obscura tiptoes around on slippered feet, humming curiously as she watches the artist. He smiles at his creation, possibly one of his most beautiful masterpieces. And yet, he wonders if he could be doing more. This world has so much potential, but it seems he's the only one who can see it.
Not that it matters. He already has the child, and before long, the rest will fall in line. They'll come to revere his work, just as they should.
Obscura hums at him, her head swaying back and forth before settling on his photo. As if on cue, the timer buzzes next to the trays of chemicals and he switches it off with a press of the button. He stabs his knife into the wooden table before he carefully removes the photo from the tray. Once he's rinsed the chemicals from it, he hangs it up to dry, unable to help gazing at his new subject.
Sebastian Castellanos is certainly unlike any of the others he's encountered in this world so far. There's a sense of beauty in the fear that he carries with him. But unlike the other subjects Stefano has made into art, he doesn't seem to let it affect him. No, despite that fear, he fights, chasing after the girl relentlessly. It's admirable, in a way.
But much as he might find the detective’s persistence intriguing, there's no denying that he's a thorn in his side that needs to be removed. Stefano smiles to himself as he picks up his camera and tugs his knife out of the table. He hums a tune as he exits his workshop, walking down the dimly lit hallway to the child’s room. He can sense her fear, almost as strong as her father’s, and she shrieks as he pushes the door open and peers inside.
“Come now, child. Don't you want to see your father?” he says.
“You're a liar,” she accuses, trembling as she backs away from him. “Dad’s dead.”
“On the contrary. He is very much alive,” he says. He puts his knife away and reaches down to grab her by the arm. She cries out and tries to squirm away but she's much too weak to free herself. “And you can watch as I turn him into art.”
In the blink of an eye, they're standing on the stage in the Grand Theater’s auditorium. The detective is near, but Stefano isn't going to simply let him waltz in without first learning to appreciate his work. He can picture them now, the lovely Lisa Crane and her sister, and the magnificent sculptures he had constructed with their bodies. How he had enjoyed watching blood as red as roses flow from the cuts he'd made in their flesh. They hadn't made it easy, what with their constant struggling and screeching, but he likes to think he's a mostly patient man. After all, you can't rush perfection. And in the end, they had bent to his will like all the others privileged to become part of his collection
Unfortunately, it seems he's the only one who can see the beauty in their suffering. The girl cries every time he tries to show her. Sebastian is a simpleton who can't comprehend its sophistication. And the priest - the priest only cares about his precious religious order and its followers. But he has power - more power than even Stefano possesses in this world, and if he wants to continue with his work, he's to hand the girl over to him.
Stefano stares down at the girl, who whimpers pathetically as she hides in the curtains. He would be foolish to turn over a source of such power. The Core, Wallace had called her. The one thing that can stabilize this crumbling place, and give him all the tools he needs to create his art indefinitely. No, he decides, if the priest wants her, he’ll have to come take her from him.
He sits down at the edge of the stage, legs dangling as he stares out at his audience. It’d taken a long time to gather them here, but it will be worth it when Sebastian arrives. Perhaps then he’ll understand. Though Stefano doubts that will be the case. The detective is not only persistent, but stubborn as well, not likely to come around to Stefano’s way of viewing things. Nonetheless, he knows that whatever might happen, it will be a wonderful performance.
A noise off to his left catches his attention and he sighs as he watches the child bolting up the far ramp towards the door. She's as stubborn as her father, he’ll give her that. He's in front of her before she can go any further, running into his legs and falling down onto the floor.
“Ah ah ah,” he tuts, wagging a finger at her. “I can't have you leaving before my premiere.”
He takes them back to the stage and sits her down in the center. Despite the tears streaming down her face, she stares him down defiantly and he grins at her. He takes his camera out, holding it up to his eye.
“Now just sit still until your father gets here,” he says. He presses the button down and in a flash, she's frozen in time, that defiant look still in her eyes. He lowers the camera, satisfied that she isn't going anywhere any time soon and goes back to contemplating his captive audience, wondering how he’ll ever manage to top what he has in mind.
Something is wrong. Stefano can sense it, like something has gone from the world. Like something’s been taken from him. He spares a glance at the girl, still frozen where he'd left her, and disappears to investigate. He wills himself to his gallery, where he has his work on display, but just as he'd suspected, there's something missing. Namely his photographs of the Crane sisters. Nothing but the frames of their portraits remain. His work, destroyed by that loathsome detective.
Very well, he thinks, smiling through gritted teeth. If it's a fight the man wants, it's a fight he’ll get. And when it's over, he'll make sure he takes his time recording Sebastian’s suffering. It would be so sweet, to turn him into the very thing he loathes so much. Perhaps he could even find a way to use him to his advantage, turn him into something like Obscura. It certainly would send a powerful message to any who would dare interfere with his work.
It won't be much longer now. No doubt the other man will be on his way to confront him. Stefano closes his eye and exhales slowly. When he opens his other eye, the fractured city of Union appears as small as a child’s building blocks below, and through his Aperture he can see all its inhabitants as they wander about aimlessly, their souls lost to this peculiar world. There are a few who have managed to keep hold of their sanity, hidden away in safe houses that Stefano could easily destroy with one of Aperture’s long limbs if he so wished. He doesn't, if only because it would be dreadfully boring. He much prefers to personally meet those he kills, enjoys seeing the fear in their eyes - that desperation - as they realize their pitiful lives have finally been given meaning through his work.
He wonders if Sebastian will be like them, if - when it all comes down to it - he'll cry and beg for his life like the others had. Somehow, he doubts that will be the case. But he supposes he'll find out soon enough. He can see the man, tiny and insignificant as an ant, making his way towards the Grand Theater. He pauses for a moment and, almost as if he can sense Stefano’s gaze, looks up at the glowing blue eye. Stefano grins to himself, still standing in his gallery as he watches the other man enter the theater.
“Showtime,” he says to no one in particular before going back to the theater. The child is still right where he left her, and he circles her as he projects his voice onto the loudspeakers, goading Sebastian into finally confronting him. His speech is a little more passionate than he'd originally intended, the pain of his lost artwork still raw. Before long, the doors creak open and Stefano stops, facing the entrance. He knows that the detective can't see them through the dim light of the room and he watches him as he hesitantly walks down the center aisle.
“What the hell is he doing to these people?” Sebastian wonders aloud. He jerks, turning at the sound of a muffled voice coming from his left. Stefano watches as he approaches the audience member cautiously, gun at the ready. He kneels down, listening to the muffled cries of the other. Before he decides to try and help them, the lights dim with a loud buzz at Stefano’s will. The overhead spotlight clicks on and Sebastian stands, gun now pointing at him.
“This chase has been entertaining. But even the greatest entertainments must come to an end.”
“The girl. Where is she?” he demands, stepping closer.
Stefano continues as if he hadn't spoken at all. “I commend you for making it this far. If perseverance were an art form, you would be a master. Perhaps not a Michelangelo, but a Van Gogh at the very least.”
“Enough art school bullshit! Where is she?”
Stefano chuckles lightly and steps to the side, allowing the light to reveal the Core.
“Lily!” He makes a start towards them and Stefano raises a hand.
“I don't think so,” he says, clenching the hand into a fist. A chorus of beeping fills the auditorium and red lights blink from underneath the masks of every audience member. It takes a moment for Sebastian to realize what's happening, and when he does, he tries shooting Stefano. He dodges the bullets with laughable ease, before he opens his hand and a hundred tiny explosions echo through the theater. Sebastian lets out a shout at the sudden noise, hands going up to cover his head as crimson bursts forth into the air.
“Beautiful!” Stefano exclaims after it's over. “A bouquet of flesh and blood.” He takes a moment to admire the sight in front of him, a pleased sigh escaping him. The detective only looks around in shock and disgust, before turning on him.
“You sick bastard!” Sebastian shouts at him, obviously appalled by Stefano’s creation.
Stefano merely looks down at him, a hint of a smirk on his face. “How will I ever top this?” he wonders aloud. He glances back at the girl, smirk turning into a full fledged grin. “I'll find a way. Her fear is always inspiring.”
He takes the girl by the arm and she comes to life once more, no longer frozen in time as she struggles to get away. She stops when she looks down and sees her father, her expression equal parts confusion and desperation. “Dad!” she yells, reaching out for him.
“Let her go!” Sebastian rushes towards the stage, but doesn't get too far before it disappears, replaced by a long hallway. The second he gets close, Stefano transports them away down the hall, continuing at a leisurely pace despite the child struggling in his arms.
“Nothing like the corruption of innocence to spark the fire of creation,” he says. The door in front of him opens to reveal a blinding white light and the hallway behind him begins to fracture. “You cannot have her. You would do nothing with her power. You are an uncomprehending Neanderthal. She’s useless in your hands.” As he steps through the doorway, the hall breaks into pieces, though for some reason he has a feeling even that won't be enough to deter Sebastian.
He enters his gallery, figuring that this place is as good as any to settle things. And when it's over, when he's finally dealt with the rather pesky detective, he’ll be free to do with this world as he sees fit. As long as the priest doesn't intervene, there's nothing stopping him from utilizing the Core’s full potential.
It's almost time now. As predicted, Sebastian has managed to evade Aperture’s watchful eye and Stefano all but invites him to finally finish this chase. The doors open and he enters, anger etched into his features as he raises his gun. Stefano smiles, starting to say how he's growing bored of this game, when suddenly, the room starts to shake.
“What are you doing?” Sebastian demands, hands outstretched to keep his balance.
“I'm not doing anything,” Stefano says, equally as perplexed as the tiled floor starts to crack open. The room feels like it's suddenly gotten much hotter, and sure enough, flames start to erupt from the fissure in the ground. “No! Not now,” he snaps, annoyed at Wallace's audacity.
A figure dressed in a long black robe walks out of the fire, a cane clutched in hand as he approaches them. He barely spares a glance at Sebastian, instead looking down at Stefano and shaking his head, almost as if he's disappointed. “You had one task, Mr. Valentini. Bring me the girl. Instead, you use her to create your... abominations. Clearly, she cannot be trusted in your hands.” He sighs. “A shame. I thought we'd made such good progress with you.”
“Who are you?” Sebastian asks, curious, but also wary of this new intruder.
“I'm the one who will cleanse this world. The one who will free these poor souls from their sins.” He holds a hand out to the detective in introduction. “Father Theodore Wallace.”
Sebastian eyes him suspiciously, as well as the cross-like symbol hanging around the man’s neck. “Cleanse the world of sin, huh? Sounds to me you're more like a cult leader than a priest.”
“Think what you will. One way or another, you will become one my disciples.”
“I don't think so. I'm taking my daughter and we’re leaving.” He starts walking towards the girl, only to be stopped by a wall of fire that appears from nowhere. Sebastian cries out in alarm, hands going up to shield himself from the heat of the flames. Wallace merely stares at the detective curiously.
“You reject my order so easily, yet it seems you're more in need of it than you think. I can help you, Sebastian, but you have to let me.” He doesn't seem to be giving the other man any choice and he gestures with a hand. Sebastian stumbles a bit before dropping to his knees, head held in his hands as he cries out in pain.
“The only way out of the darkness is through it,” Wallace is telling him. “You must face your guilt, you must accept what you have done.”
Wallace's back is to Stefano as he toys with the detective, and Stefano realizes that now is his chance to rid himself of both his problems. He takes out his knife and camera, slowly raising the latter to his eye, ready to capture them both in time. He presses the button but the flash does nothing but draw Wallace's attention to him. He isn't affected at all by Stefano’s powers.
“You think that trick will work on me? You're more foolish than I first believed you to be.”
Stefano lets out a shout as the ground quakes beneath him, more fire emerging from the cracks in the floor. Wallace steps through it with ease, as though the man himself is fireproof. Stefano swings at him with his knife, but his wrist is easily caught in Wallace's hand. The man is stronger than he looks and Stefano winces as his wrist is bent until he has no choice but to drop his knife.
“You're very lucky I'm a forgiving man. I will let you live, if you agree to become one of my harbingers.”
Despite the pain he's in, he manages to sneer at him. “You think I’d let you turn me into one of your disgusting creatures?”
“I think you will come to realize that you need to be saved, just as Sebastian does. But perhaps another lesson is in order.” He lets go of him and as he steps away, a creature made of fire and molten rock bursts into the ring of fire, roaring as it charges toward him.
Stefano brings his hands up, bracing himself for the creature to barrel into him. But it never comes. He risks glancing up and when he does, he's no longer standing in his gallery. The fire is gone, as is Wallace, and even Sebastian. In their places are people that Stefano vaguely recognizes from his time as a war photographer. Their faces are blurred, their voices hazy, but there's no mistaking their identities. He looks around at the wind blown desert village, the buildings that had been destroyed by bombs and gunfire. It's been so long since he's been here, but he could never forget it.
“Hey, Valentini, how bout taking a picture of this?”
He looks over to see one of the soldiers striking what he supposes is meant to be a heroic pose next to the humvee. The others are laughing, joking about something Stefano couldn’t care less about. The scene is all too familiar and a chill rakes its fingers down his spine as he remembers what's about to happen - the shuffle of hurried footsteps from one of the buildings, hushed voices in a language he doesn’t know, the sound of something metal hitting the dirt. He hears the shouts of “Grenade!” a second too late, just like before, only this time he doesn't even have his camera.
He's knocked off his feet by the explosion, landing and rolling a few feet away from the others. His ears are ringing and he can't hear anything. Something warm - likely blood - drips from his ears down his cheeks, but his hearing is the least of his worries at the moment. The right side of his face is soaked in red, the pain overwhelming to the point that he can't do anything but lie there screaming in agony.
He tries to tell himself it's not real. This already happened, he'd healed - somewhat - and gone on to become an true artist. But it's no use - he can't seem to convince his brain that he's fine and he clutches at his eye. And for once, he doesn't see some potential project when his hands come away painted dark crimson. He just sees his blood - so much blood that he gags at the metallic stench. He tries to get up, but he can't make his body cooperate. It's as though he's made of lead and he can barely lift his head enough to see the field medic rushing over to him, words muted by the ringing in his ears.
And then, the priest's voice is in his head, and the pain is suddenly gone. “Accept my help, and you will never have to feel such pain again.” Wallace is standing over him, watching as the medic attempts to the stop the bleeding long enough to haul Stefano away on a stretcher. “Or deny this gift I have given to you, and this will only be the beginning.”
“The day I accept help from a pathetic philistine like you is the day I cease to be an artist,” Stefano snaps. Wallace merely sighs and shakes his head.
“So be it. Farewell, Mr. Valentini.”
The priest disappears, and the pain returns, only this time it seems even worse than before. He wishes he would just pass out already, just so he didn't have to feel like this for a second longer. But he remains conscious and the pain persists, the shrapnel in what was once his right eye seeming to twist in deeper and grow in size, even though he knows none of this is real. He wonders if this is his punishment for his art, if he's doomed to suffer in this moment for the rest of his time in this world. Part of him almost considers taking back his word, but he banishes the thought from his mind immediately. No, even if this is his reality now, he won't bow to that priest's will.