Work Text:
Heaven’s Climb
The Sun shone ever so slightly into a room. To the naked eye, this room seems like it was ripped out of a Victorian household. Candles adorned it, curtains held an almost alien design from ages long past, and standing in the center of the room....a coffin. This wasn’t an empty coffin, but if for some reason someone was to somehow get in and open this coffin, they wouldn’t be seen again. Time itself seems to stop if you were to even look at the household that this room was held in.
As the sun goes down the coffin peeks open, if no one else is present it fully opens. Out would come an individual seemingly out of time itself. Adorned in a fashion almost as alien as the environment around him. He was nocturnal, only ever moving in the night. Yet he seemed to have this allure to him that attracted everyone he ever talked to. As he stood up, he noticed an absence of the woman whom he sought advice from. He knew for a long time she was dead, but now he felt lost. Enemies prowled the very floors below him, he saw only the faces of those he failed to persuade. To top that off, failure came in the form of those from a lineage he also failed to end. He hated them, they represented his own past coming back to attack him, impeding him from his goal.
Then the noises came. Cracks, crashes, and collisions. The room bounced around what was held in it with every accompanying noise. It wasn’t completely night time yet, the sun had rested atop the horizon. The man then thought of the cause of these collisions, it wasn’t that long ago he sent off his ever loyal servant to fight his enemies below. Why? Well, above all else the man knew that he had to be the one to live. He was going to obtain the power akin to heaven, and that ideal has to come at the cost of those below him. A flare re-ignited in the man’s eyes. “Heaven, yes, that’s why i’m doing this, so I may show this world that despite the grievances it gave me, I can still stand atop it!”
But this train of thought came to a close with the sound of a snap. That wasn’t his own imagination, no, that was the sound of his servant losing. Sorrow...was this what he was feeling? Something emerged from the man’s 120 year old heart. He didn’t feel this for the loss of his advisor, perhaps he knew that eventually she was going to betray him. Everyone was, eventually. Except for one man in his life, not even his servant could take that place. Most of the people he ever talked to wished to get something out of him, he was truly alone in this world without the presence of his one true friend. 1...3...5...7. He counted prime numbers, “it’s the only thing left to do that would calm me down.” He deliriously thought. Prime numbers were strong, they only needed one other thing to hold them firm. The knees upon which he held himself began to shake. “No. I will eventually stand tall over everyone. “Time will be mine, and mine alone!” Thoughts then came to his servant, did he go to heaven? No. He was a sinner, he killed and killed. “Just as I have.” He thought.
He was well and truly out of time. If only he had more of it. He could attain heaven, and leave this all behind him. But he had to go, failure was on his porch and he wasn’t one to keep a guest waiting. Out of the room he went, giving it all one last glance before he left. A room out of time itself, just as he was the man out of time. He must attempt to mend his past failure, at least attempt. Despite his knees he walked out as confident as he could, and stood in face of danger, looking down on it as he had everything else in his life. Failure’s face was firm, and determined, but the man knew it was a facade, he would reign above everyone else, and that scared it. A long pause, it gave the man time to think. This failure...He was wounded, bandages applied to its legs, blood foaming out of its mouth. But any train of thought he could begin was interrupted.
“So we finally meet, Dio!”
“Congratulations, Polnareff.”