Work Text:
That vice of yours called-
An Identity V fanfiction
"...You shouldn't be here." Again, he stands at the end of the street, just outside of the lamplight's reach. But Edgar could still make out that familiar figure.
"You shouldn't be here."
Repeating the same words, that same intonation. A gramophone record skipping over the same scratch.
Long had Edgar lost the patience for such foolish things.
"Tell that idiot to stop me himself-?!" He says. This time he brushes the figure away, physically.
An inky black substance slithers over his fingers.
And when he recoils in shock, the record finally stops skipping.
"...There's no one who wants to meet you, Edgar Valden."
Even though he's kept his eyes trained on that stranger all this time, they disappear in front of him. Melting away into the darkness.
"..."
So they've resorted to such beings as 'protection'? How hypocritical.
Then again, that fool of a 'violinist'' resides on these grounds. Along with a bigger fool who deludes himself into thinking he can keep that creature in check.
With the abominations they'd borne on these grounds, what use do they have in turning water into wine, stones into gold? Unless they make sideshow attractions with their pathetic brood.
"Uwah, such a bad expression as usual."
"How could you even tell...he's got that glare stuck on his face every hour of every day."
Bold words coming from this sullen twig of a person, currently imitating his own splintered shovel. Does such a statement even deign a response?
"Are you here to stop us again?" Luca asks.
Would you listen?
Could you?
More metal covers your body than skin. Those eyes, dilated from the chemical dust that coats his face and hair.
"More gold for us means less chances of starving on the streets right?" With that free and easy fool of a grin, Luca shrugs, "We all can't make gold out of ink and pen."
"I don't make gold." Edgar replies, a tired argument.
"You fool those rich pigs into thinking you do then?" Andrew interjects.
No, they merely believe what they want to believe. Such is the way of fools with eyes blinded by gold. From when he'd first learnt to pick up a brush, Edgar had long ago learnt to recognize such gazes.
"Andrew, don't be mean~" He's one the only few to give them alms for their cause after all.
The delight in their eyes at the bag in his hands, like children gazing through the glass of a candy store. For just a second, their smiles towards him were sincere.
"...Luca."
"...Hm? Edgar?"
The bandages on Luca's eye were stained again.
A dull, decayed brown. His new 'hands' are covered in rust from not being maintained. Only in a place like this, one would barely blink at a being more machine than man.
And yet, that stupid smile hasn't changed a bit.
He drops the bag on the table and stands up.
"Give my regards to Miss Bourbon." A hurried response, to end this farce.
"Eh? Edgar, wait!"
And even so, Andrew follows him out of the door.
"Why even visit?"
How far he's come since the days they first saw each other. A stuttering child who sat alone in the dark corners. Just because he's been accepted into a group, he thinks he belongs.
"That violinist."
"...Hm? Ouroboros? What of him? Don't just use the same argument, Edgar."
How close he's been drawn to 'Andrew's people'. That snake like whispering of dreams of power in that pleasant, soothing voice. Seems he's practice on Andrew as well.
"And Luca..."
"Don't pretend to be worried over him." Andrew says. His voice is always so cold talking to Edgar.
When was the last time Edgar had heard him laugh? Had such a situation even come to pass? Gloomy as he was...
"And you don't have to pretend to keep visiting us."
"Oh?"
"As if we need your money that badly."
...Oh? He's the one saying this? The disbelief on Edgar's face makes Andrew scoff. "I've done a lot of distasteful things...but the sheen of your gold makes me the most disgusted."
When they were children, that wasn't the case.
His eyes lit up so brightly then as Edgar's brush wove gold through the air.
In Andrew's eyes, he's lost the right to be with them a long time ago. When he left them behind, that day he was drawn into a noble's carriage. Fingers clenching onto a brush, that dripped bl...gold. Luca had once told them that Andrew had cried through the night. Multiple nights.
Andrew refuses to let him see Luca without accompanying him now.
Throughout the years...at least they had grown closer.
"...? Edgar?"
What look did Edgar have on his face then? The expression on Andrew's was so exceptionally foolish.
"Alright then." Edgar says. A dull, lifeless tone, as usual. "You don't need to escort me out."
He turns on his heel and heads down the corridor before Andrew could reply. But naturally, he doesn't follow.
....
...Did he expect anything different this time?
Far from the smell of burnt sparks and blood, of machinery and decay, the greed for money, the lust for power would have killed their hearts a long time ago. They have nothing left for him.
Not even pity.
He stops as he enters a room.
What appeared to be the discarded remains of a demonic summoning, poorly masquraded as an experiment. Charred walls. A floor drenched in bloodstains, arranged in an eerie dark red, dried into the marble.
Symbols he's been taught to read, rather than the letters normal children learn.
Did they want to summon another devil? Does his own presence threaten them so? How foolish.
Before he's even realized, he's pulled out his brush. Barely grimacing, as he feels that familiar pain searing through the cracks breaking through his face, his already-lame leg, his fingers, frozen as they were in gold.
The blood that drips through the cracks in his skin, crystallizing into the devil's most beloved jewel.
If they want their own devil so badly...then why shouldn't he help?
"...?!"
Something...is grabbing his hand. He's long lost feeling in it, yet the chills down his spine, in his heart, the discomfort around his wrist, he...feels it.
"Don't."
A gloved hand in a dark suit of expensive make. He's there again.
Why should he try to help these fools any further? If they want to meet their destructive ends so badly, then why not speed the process up?
Look, they couldn't even draw this circle properly. He's almost disappointed. Luca was a smart man, wasn't he?
"Don't..."
At a certain point, they gave up here. So why not finish the job? Give them a devil of there own to hate.
"Edgar...!"
"Don't."
Another quiet voice interrupts the first.
Another hand touches his. And Edgar pulls his arm away, reacting in shock because...of the warmth he felt through his deadened skin.
"Be at ease, child."
"Don't listen to him."
A familiar sight on that stranger's face. A hand cast in gold and long dead raises and touches the stranger's...the devil's eyepatch. A gentle smile that he's not used to seeing. A suit of scarlet red, dripping in gold. The devil smiling at him, so gently.
And his hand is taken back by the gentleman in the suit.
"...Little trickster." The devil says. That smile still on his face, "You don't need to be so protective."
"Don't listen."
Edgar is pulled back and feels cold fabric on his skin. A gloved hand blocking his eyes.
"I won't hurt my own kin."
"Don't look, Edgar."
"Your own...?!"
"Your curse had a source did it not?" Gently, the devil pulls the gloved hand off Edgar's face. Cold fingers stroke his cheek. "Poor child. It hurts, doesn't it?"
He's gotten used to it.
"Your heart. It hurts, doesn't it?''
The smell of flowers, of death. A suit as red of blood. Red eyes, frightening, beast-like pupils.And...the kindest gaze he's seen, in so many, so many years.
"You wanted to save them didn't you?"
The other, colder voice interjects. A stranger who had taken to following him these days. A man who walked in the darkness, afraid to face him in the light. Always dissuading their meetings.
"You wanted to save them."
Edgar hadn't seen his face until now. He was...younger than he expected. More handsome...from the part of the face that he can see. That wasn't...covered...in shadow and void, the ink that drips on his clothes from even being close to the stranger, the snake-like wriggling sensation down his body-
"You tried to save someone too, did you not?" The devil asked the man in black.
"...For just a brief moment. It wavered....." His heart wavered and he lost everything.
His mortality.
His body.
His heart. That only stirred once when he saw the glow of a little red stone.
Little red stones that dropped from the drawn wounds on his face, his neck, his shoulders. His beautiful face drawn in an expression of pain.
Of happiness as he keeps his brush down and stares in content at his finished piece. His soon-to-be most treasured piece.
Three children playing in disheveled, torn clothes, laughing and carefree. Quietly sitting in front of it, in gorgeous robes of jewels and gold, in front of his most treasured possession.
That lonely, heartbreaking smile.
"Don't listen, Edgar." Don't end up like him.
"But everyone has long stopped listening to 'Edgar Valden'. Look...even the abyss weeps for you."
Don't end up like them. His head hurts and his heart hurts even more. He's tired...so tired.
"Enough!"
He pulls away from the both of them, fury alight in his eyes. A golden glow, not coming from his brush, but directly from his fingers as his face cracks apart, little by little, more and more.
"Enough from both of you! Don't you dare tempt me!"
Don't you dare pity me!
"It isn't pity we hold for you." The devil's expression is still so gentle, and he acqueisis. Holds himself at a distance. The sadness is more visible on the Trickster's face as he looks at the jewel blood cracks.
Eyeing the devil...he too takes a step forward.
"I'll help you."
"What a coincidence. I was about to proffer my own."
And they both raise a hand towards him, gentle. Careful.
Since he first entered this strange, uncertain world of magic and sin, he was treated as delicately as porcelain. With expectant eyes, expecting their toothless little puppy to do roll, jump, do tricks, all for a vague hope of power he would never even truly attain.
There never was...kindness. Tenderness in those eyes.
No hope...no expectations. Just...
...
"It's alright, Edgar." The trickster says quietly.
And Edgar does fall then. Holding his own hand out.
He's tired. His body hurts, his heart and mind screams even more.
"It's alright." Eerily in sync, the only two who care for him now, seem to be abominations like him. A devil. A monster.A human being who bleeds fake philosopher stones. Whose power had drained a long, long time ago.
How many days left does he have...?
"You don't need to think of anything anymore."
Eerily in sync.
So tired.
Let devils lie with devils then. They don't need hearts, right.
This vice called love...it killed him a long time ago.
x-x-x