Work Text:
At the end of the multiverse, Edward Richtofen sat alone.
Their little camp was quiet. The moaning, shrieking cries of the undead were gone, as was the threat they represented. Soon, very soon, this would all be over; though not in the way his former allies expected.
The others were in high spirits, celebrating their triumph, the end of this nightmare. Unbeknownst to them, their suffering would not be rewarded with a happy normal life. Rather, with death’s sweet embrace.
He knew what the younger, less idiotic Belinski was plotting. It was quite amusing to the doctor— that they had no clue their beloved leader would be their demise. To be so close to their happy ending at last, only to have all it ripped away… they would soon know how it felt to be Edward.
Indeed, the Aether had very nearly belonged to him. For a few beautiful, fleeting moments, he had felt its power. The pure ecstasy that was controlling all of reality, that the child had surely taken for granted. Then, Maxis had gone and ruined things again, and ripped away the godhood that was rightfully Edward’s.
Absolute power had been so close he could taste it. And it was delicious. Helplessness, weakness, vulnerability - all of it would have been no more. Reality, everything within this dimension, all of humanity… would have belonged to him. He would have crushed all who stood in his way, left his enemies groveling at his feet. He had been so, so very close…
Ludvig had destroyed everything he worked towards, as usual. How Edward despised him. It was quite fitting that his last action before being killed or erased or whathaveyou - a far kinder fate than the wretch deserved - had been to spite Edward one final time. Still, though being an undead pawn had been humiliating, he had triumphed over Maxis by virtue of simply remaining in existence. This granted him some modicum of comfort as he licked his wounds.
Now, he was scheming once more. There was one way he could escape certain oblivion now. The Elemental Shard was his creation - he of all people knew of its power. Together with the Agarthan Device, it would be the key to his victory. He need only dispose of the slimmer Russian, and he could leave this place, retake the MPD… He could--
“Uncle.”
Edward’s body stiffened. Ice flooded his veins. He did not dare turn around or move a muscle. There was the sound of soft footsteps on grass as the little girl approached.
Now, her voice was soft, almost gentle. It lacked the demented rage it held when she controlled the Aether, and the childish taunting it had when he heard it inside his head. She spoke like a normal child. Now, she had something the rest of them lacked: a chance at a life. He was envious, and he wanted to be furious with her. But for one reason or another, he didn't quite have it in him to hate her; not anymore. It was foreign. He could hardly remember a time when he hadn't despised her.
”I know you hear me, Edward.” She said, voice calm and flat. He closed his eyes and willed her to go away.
For a long while, there was silence. Blissful silence reigned, and all he could hear was the soft whistling of the wind. The grass swayed underfoot. Her footstep neared, and as he stared intently at the ground, her pajama-clad feet entered his vision.
Samantha stood in front of him. He remained there, still as a statue, head bowed. She waited and waited. Edward waited as well; praying she would get bored and leave, and he would be spared the shame of having to speak to her.
He made her angry in a way nothing else could. He had made her angry when he hurt her and betrayed her, over and over again, every single day for years and years. He made her angry when he tried to kill her and Papa. He made her angry when he survived everything she threw at him, no matter how badly she wished he would just suffer and die. And now, he made her angry by sitting there like a fool, avoiding her face, cowering under her gaze. It made Samantha’s blood boil; everything, every single thing he put her through, and he couldn’t even manage to look her in the eye?
“Look at me, Edward.” She ordered. He did not; he continued to stare unblinkingly at her feet. Her rage flared, and she exploded. Her long black hair swayed like tendrils; a strand fell between her eyes. “Are you deaf? I said LOOK AT ME!”
Slowly, painstakingly, his back straightened. He lifted his head until his eyes met hers. His eyes, vivid green like a snake's underbelly, met hers. They lacked the gleam of madness they always had when he hurt her.
“Hello, Samantha,” he said softly. This, too, angered her.
“I don’t like it when you ignore me,” she said. She remained standing so she could look down on him, like he was always doing to her. “Like back then, when Papa left. You wouldn’t even look at me… just lock me in my room all day and pretend I didn’t exist.”
Her voice held no bitterness, nor mockery. Only acceptance. What could he say?
”Ja. I remember everything I did to you.” He said. Some things he remembered, even though he would prefer to forget them. Now the voices were gone, and they had taken all his justification with them. They had twisted him against her, and even now he searched for any way to shed the blame. Back then, he had told himself they made him do it; and now, he wanted to believe the same thing.
“What do you want with me, child? An apology? Reconciliation?” Apologies made him feel weak, even if he did feel remorse, and he loathed feeling weak. He hoped she would not make him apologize; he truly did not want to resent her again.
“Nein. Nothing you say now will matter. You’ve ruined everything, like you always do.” A smile was on her cherubic face. Her cheeks were rosy. “I like seeing you powerless. You have no friends to help you, nowhere to run, no tricks up your sleeve… am I right?”
He simply sighed. Her impish grin was a familiar sight, and filled him with nauseating nostalgia. “If you simply intend to taunt me, I shall find somewhere else to wallow in self-pity.” His response was, like everything about him, exaggerated.
“It’s an honest question!” she nearly pouted. “What will you do now, Teddy? Sit und wait? You know, the others already want to kill you… especially the Russian.” She giggled.
Again, Edward stayed quiet. He observed her giddy, childish joy with something a bit too close to fond reminiscence.
There had been a time before all this, when things were different for the two of them. Once, Edward and Ludvig had been very, very close; and the girl was almost a daughter to him. For so long, he had forgotten; everything muddled by the voices and the Pyramid and the Aether. His memory had begun to fade. But now, the fog was clearing, and he was beginning to remember how things had been for them before. Once upon a time, he had been her guardian - more so than her own father was. He looked after her, played with her, took care of her. He brought her gifts, made her smile again when she cried. He remembered wishing she had been his child rather than Ludvig's.
Then, he changed. The whispers in his mind grew louder. He yelled at her, lost his temper almost every time they spoke. He began to ignore her, lock her away so he wouldn't have to see her. He had foolishly thought that would be enough to keep her safe, protect her from himself. This was the first of many cruelties he would inflict upon her; the loneliness. Days spent alone, talking to the walls and stuffed animals and herself. Nights spent crying herself to sleep. It was better than what was to come; he knew it even back then.
The voices warned him not to let her distract him, or get in the way. She could not be left alive, they said, or she would seek revenge; take what was rightfully his. Blinded as he was with fantasies of power, it was quite easy for the voices to urge him to hurt her. The reason it was so easy was simple; because no matter what Edward thought or told himself, he only hurt Samantha because he wanted to. Despite their influence, his actions had always been his own. He had done everything he did to her because he enjoyed the sight of her in pain, and that was all there was to it.
First, he had lied to himself. He told himself it was for science, for discovery - he had never let something as frivolous as morals or sentimentality hold him back before. But he couldn't deny how good it felt; the rush whenever he saw her tears. How he adored listening to her cries of anguish. Somewhere deep inside, he knew; But he'd lied to her as well; treatment, he'd called it. He had told her she was very sick from overexposure, even when she told him she felt fine - and all of their 'sessions' only left her feeling worse. When she called him a liar, he threatened her to get her to comply. Eventually, she could hardly make it down the stairs before collapsing, with how frail she'd become. His only concern had been documenting the effects of the Element on a juvenile subject.
Even then, he continued to lie to himself. The voices made him do it. The perfect excuse: one that allowed him to indulge in his most monstrous, sadistic fantasies, without the remorse of hurting something he had once cared for. If he could believe they were controlling him, he could relieve himself of responsibility. It was dangerous, as he kept going, pushing it further and further; until his guilty pleasure was not so guilty. Harming the girl became even more satisfying once he began to loathe her.
He met her eyes again. He could vividly remember what they looked like when they were filled with tears; glassy and shiny, crinkling at the edges. Now they were calm.
"You are expecting yet another betrayal, nicht wahr?" He said. "You wait for me to pull yet another surprise rabbit out of a hat, some trick to double-cross you all in a bid for godlike power?" He found himself unable to sit still. He removed his cap, running his fingers through his hair, which was cropped and damp with sweat.
She watched him squirm. Her dark eyes narrowed, as though observing an insect in the dirt. "Ja, of course."
"In that case," he placed his cap back upon his head. "You will be quite relieved to hear I am all out of rabbits."
"They'll never trust you again, you know." Sam said. She didn't smile, or show any mirth; no longer mocking. Just reminding. "You made friends, Edward. I don't know how, since you're you, but you did. And you threw it all away, for nothing."
He did not feel much of anything as she spoke; her words slid off him like rainwater. Truly, Edward did not regret a single thing he had done. Torturing, maiming, and killing all those people, creating the undead plague, orchestrating the demise of Dr. Maxis, betraying his only allies, leading the Earth to destruction, trying to control all of reality - all of it had been in service of his ultimate goal, and he would do it all again in a heartbeat. Once his atrocities had been in the pursuit of knowledge; now they were in the pursuit of power. If he could gain the power he craved, the power he rightly deserved, no crime would be too heinous for him. 'Remorse', the silly concept it was, was largely foreign to Edward. He could proudly say he had only felt sympathy once or twice in his entire life, that he could remember.
(Even so, to say he had no regrets would be a bit of a lie. His only regret was involving her. Ruining her. Could he have tried harder? Could he have pushed back against the voices - bargained for her life? It didn't matter, because he hadn't wanted to, and so he didn't. Now they were here.)
"For nothing? On the contrary, my dear." He said, with a wry chuckle. "You of all people know what I was after. You know how it feels, ja? The power..." He sighed, and a shudder went through him. The memory was fading, but he could still recall how it had felt. Inside the Aether, he was free. Better than free - he was in control. The power of the Aether was like ecstasy to his twisted, megalomaniacal mind. How he had despised her; the way she played with it like a toy, taunted him with the power that should have been his.
"And what did it fix?" She asked. "It didn't protect you from what you did. From the consequences." Her lips twitched, then she broke out into a smile again. "It's like I said, Uncle. The Aether is not for us. When we try to use it... we'll always suffer."
Edward, in his infinite hubris, scoffed internally at her words. After all this time, he still believed the Aether belonged to him; that he was destined to rule over Agartha, and reshape reality. That was what they had told him, every day for decades. Perhaps he couldn't be blamed for believing something that had been driven into his skull so deeply; interwoven into his very mind.
"You know they'll never forgive you, Teddy," she said simply. Innocently.
"I know," he said. There was a twinge of something inside him, when he thought of the others. Now they no longer needed him; would no longer bend to his every whim, look to him to lead, rely on him to keep them alive. It was a horribly irrational way to feel. He supposed he could allow himself a bit of irrationality, after everything he'd been through up to this point.
Samantha stepped forward, and his attention snapped back to her. The emotion had returned to her face. Her cheeks were flushed red, eyes set in a hard stare; shiny, as if she was moments away from crying. Still, she did not. Her hands balled into fists at her sides. Despite himself, Edward shrank back as she approached him, her breathing labored. Her childish hands planted themselves on his shoulders; tiny and warm. He could feel the fire inside of her.
For a few moments, she stared. Edward stared back. Years and years of despair, hatred, and suffering swirled in her eyes, like a tempest. When a tear finally slipped down her cheek, she looked furious, like she wanted to tear him limb from limb. "You know I'll never forgive you, Teddy." She whispered in a fierce, trembling voice. "Never. Never ever."
A memory came to him then, spurred by the sight of her tears. A time before he was the one responsible for them.
"You need to be more careful," Edward scolded his ward. A six-year-old Samantha sat on the counter. Her left stocking was torn, her knee bleeding where she'd skinned it. "Unbeholfenes Kind." As he took a wet rag to her wound, gently cleaning the blood, she cried. Big, fat tears rolled down her round cheeks, and her little hands scrubbed at them.
She seemed more startled than frightened. He sighed, and reached beside him for an adhesive bandage, which he delicately plastered over the area. "There, all better. Now, stop your crying, you will give yourself a headache..."
She still trembled, whimpering. They were alone, and so Edward stroked her face tenderly, drying her tears. He hushed her until she was calm, then put the first aid kit back where it belonged.
"W-wait!" She said suddenly. Edward turned to find her staring at him with pitiful sad eyes, her lip trembling. She looked at him pleadingly, to which he only offered a slightly exasperated look of confusion. "Whenever I fall down... Daddy always kisses it better."
"Im Ernst? Samantha, I am not your father." He reminded her, in an irritated tone. Even being alone, the thought of it embarrassed him - or perhaps upset him for another reason. Edward was unused to adults showing such open affection to their children.
"Pleeease?" She begged. The puppy eyes continued, and her eyes watered again. Unfortunately for Edward, some ungodly compulsion made it very difficult for him to refuse her.
"Gah, fine. As long as you cease the waterworks!" He said hastily. Almost immediately she perked up, and flashed him a beaming, gap-toothed smile. He rolled his eyes, but the gesture was one of begrudging fondness.
Leaning down once more, he planted a gentle kiss on Samantha's injured knee, with an exaggerated 'mwah'. "There. Are you satisfied now, girl?"
"Mhm!" She giggled, and began to swing her legs back and forth happily. "Thank you, Teddy." She reminded him of a cherub, with her soft skin and rosy cheeks - or one of those porcelain dolls. So adorable, so precious; something that must not be broken or tainted.
At the sight of her smile, he allowed himself to smile, too.
Back in the present, Samantha had changed. She was no longer the happy, carefree little girl she had been back then. Her eyes had grown dark and tired. He, too, had changed. He had lost himself.
"I know." He finally said.
Perhaps these feelings of sentimentality were why he had begun to hate her - he didn't quite remember how it started. Samantha had a peculiar way of always making him feel, quite strongly. First it was love. Then irritation, rage, hatred, envy... pure contempt. For so long, all he had known was hatred for the little girl and her games. Now she made him feel... remorse. It left a horrible taste in his mouth.
Her eyes narrowed further, into angry, serpentine slits. Her hair moved in the wind, and he imagined it wrapping around him like a constricting snake; choking the breath from his undeserving lungs. Instead, she pulled away. Her face was dry, expression cold and guarded once again. Her glare was icy. For some reason, the knowledge she still hated him - though he hadn't for a second expected otherwise - was deeply relieving to Edward.
"I'm still going to kill you when this is over," she said in a quiet, dangerous whisper. "Not them. Not your puppets. Just you."
"I expect nothing less." He said, resigned. Accepting, almost content.
"Are you sorry, Uncle?" She asked him, after a moment.
Guter Gott, what does it matter? Will 'sorry' undo everything I have done, you silly girl? To you? To your father? To the world?
"Nein. I am not." He said, voice cold.
Around them, the wind howled. The grass swayed. Samantha turned around and walked away, disappearing into the night.