Mason: Damn that stings.
Slowly, Mason Heartson began to awake and take in his surroundings. He had no idea how much time had passed since his battle in the forest, nor did he know what had happened to Thomas and Claire, but Mason decided to push his thoughts away from them, focusing on what he could do about his current situation.
Chains restrained his hands, anchoring him to the chilly stone that rest behind him. He found himself in a dim, dungeon-like chamber, its dark brick walls curving into a daunting cylinder around him, illuminated only by a solitary candle's flicker.
???: I suppose even you are taxed by that power huh.
Mason looked around the dark room for a few moments trying to find the source of the voice, finally noting the familiar face staring him down from across the room.
Mason: Who... who's there?
Mason's voice was dry and scratchy as he asked the question, already knowing the answer.
Edward: I believe I've already had the pleasure of introducing myself. I think the better question should be, who are you, Mason Heartson?
Mason was taken aback by the question but Edward kept going before he could respond.
Edward: After years and years of careful planning, after so so much time, so much effort, why are you where you currently are Mason? Why, why, why, explain it to me.
Mason was stunned for several moments, staring at Edward who was now rubbing his hands through his hair and shaking. He began pacing impatiently across the room with his arms held behind his back for several moments until he stopped and stared directly into Mason's eyes.
Edward: You don't know, do you. You know absolutely nothing is that right Mason Heartson. Is that right?
Hysteria swept across Edward's face as his features twisted and contorted into a grin. Mason's eyes grew wider as Edward strided closer to him, putting his face right in front of Mason's.
Edward: Just tell me, Mason Heartson. Who are you? Who are you to inherit that which does not belong to you? Who are you to possess that which so many have layed down their lifes for? Who are you to possess that which has caused countless wars and conflicts? Who are you Mason Heartson?
Mason: I-I don't understand what you want me to say.
Mason winced as his remark was quickly followed up with cold sharp laughter. Edward was so close that tiny droplets of saliva spit from his mouth hitting Mason on the cheek.
Edward: Of course not, of course not is that right. That's right isn't it. Of course you don't understand, what do you understand Mason Heartson? Huh, what do you understand?
Turning away from Mason, Edward put his hands behind his back once again and strided towards the opposite end of the room.
Finally once Edward seemed satisfied with his distance from Mason, he turned around again, his expression changing at once to a more serious and refined stance.
Edward: Did no one explain to you the significance of the power that you possess. The power of the Astral of Death?
Mason: I don't - I-
Edward observed Mason for a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his lips. His eyes, gleaming with something dark and unreadable, flicked across Mason's face as if studying a curious specimen. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, the silence thick with unspoken judgment.
Edward: Let me ask you something boy, Mason Heartson-
Edward finally began, his voice a low, almost hypnotic murmur.
Edward: Tell me, Mason… Have you ever stood at the edge of a cliff, gazing down, and felt that whisper inside, that reckless call to leap?
He paused, his eyes glinting in the dim light as he allowed the silence to amplify his words. His gaze, sharp as a blade, bore into Mason, rooting him in place.
Edward: Ego, Mason. That's what calls to us. That delusion—the voice that tells you you're more than a creature of flesh and bone, that you could soar into the sky, command the air, defy the pull of the earth itself. Ego is the grand trickster, the slyest of illusions. It wraps itself around your mind, convincing you that you understand who you are, what you are. That you've charted the dark corners of your soul.
His voice grew rough, embittered, each word like venom dripping from his lips as he began to pace, each step heavy, every sound an accusation echoing through the chamber.
Edward: But here you stand, Mason Heartson, looking back at me, wearing that expression, that absurd confidence of someone who believes they've glimpsed even a sliver of truth. You… a boy sculpted by invisible threads, led by whispers in the night, molded by a power you cannot even begin to comprehend. And you—how tragic, how hilariously naïve it is that you cling to this notion of self, a sense of purpose. That you are something.
He leaned closer, the dark intensity in his voice filling the empty space between them, his face a mask of quiet fury, of knowing malice.
Edward: You think you understand? Ego is more than pride, Heartson. It's the chains that bind the mind, the shroud that blinds the spirit. It's that little voice that tells you that you're the hero in this story, that you are the one who matters. But, in truth, you are little more than a puppet, dancing to a song older than time, a song whose lyrics you cannot even hear.
He laughed, a sound cold and cruel, his gaze locked on Mason, holding him in place with that gaze, as if savoring the helplessness, the unknowing. His voice dropped, taking on a dark, wrathful edge.
Edward: How miserable it is, Heartson, that you still haven't realized this: You have no control. None of us do. We're all at the mercy of forces vast and unseen, and yet the greatest tragedy—the cruelest joke—is that we delude ourselves into believing we ever held the reins.
Mason blinked, feeling the weight of Edward's words crush down on him like an avalanche, confusion giving way to defiance, his voice laced with irritation.
Mason: Are you… Are you out of your mind?
Edward's face twisted in a sneer, the manic energy that had animated him moments before fading, leaving a hollow, simmering wrath in its place. He sighed, a hiss of disappointment.
Edward: Of course. Of course you don't understand. How could you?
He turned away, muttering as if the very effort of speaking to Mason were a burden, pacing with jerky, restless movements. Something dark and furious simmered beneath his skin, a barely-contained storm, the edges of his sanity fraying with each word.
Mason, his fear melting under a surge of anger, spoke sharply, his voice a blade seeking to pierce Edward's armor of madness.
Mason: Stop talking in circles! Just tell me what's going on! What is this 'Astral of Death' you keep spouting about? What is happening to me?
Edward stopped mid-step, turning slowly, and as he faced Mason, a grim smile crept across his face, cold and sharp, freezing the air between them.
Edward: An Astral, boy, is not just an ability. It is the essence of power itself. Your Astral, the Astral of Death, is a force so ancient, so profound, that it weaves through the very fabric of life and death. It's a living thing, Heartson—a consciousness, a will, that has chosen you as its vessel.
Mason stared at Edward, trying to process his words, but Edward's tone grew more feverish, more intense, cutting through Mason's thoughts.
Edward: This astral, it's not about flames or healing wounds. It's a power that can grant power beyond one's imagination, or crush one beneath the weight of eternity.
He leaned back slightly, his expression softening, but only slightly.
Edward: You asked what's happening to you? You're becoming the embodiment of that concept itself, the harbinger of a new era. And that is what this is all about. Not just survival. Not just power. But the end of what we know, and the beginning of something… unprecedented.
Edward paused, his words hanging in the air, watching Mason's reaction with that same eerie smile.
Mason bit back his fear and uncertainty, his voice coming out blunt and rude.
Mason: Am I supposed to understand anything coming out of your mouth?
Edward blinked, then threw his head back in a sudden burst of laughter, the sound echoing off the walls of the chamber. There was something unsettling in the way his laughter seemed to rise and fall, almost as if it were mocking Mason's very existence.
Edward: You'll always be a nuisance, won't you?
Edward finally said, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye.
Edward: So incapable of understanding, so blind to the truth. You're a failure of a vessel—unprepared, unworthy of the role that has been bestowed upon you. It's almost tragic, really.
Mason clenched his fists, the anger bubbling up once more.
Mason: I'm not offended by the words of a lunatic.
Edward opened his mouth to speak, but no sound was returned.
As his words echoed in the silence, Mason's mind began to race, thoughts tumbling over each other in a chaotic whirl. The room, the chains, the flickering candlelight—all of it seemed to blur as something new, something foreign, slipped into his consciousness.
A voice, different from Edward's, sharp, annoying, yet filled with adamant boredom, whispered into his mind.
What will you do now?
Mason stiffened, his breath catching in his throat. The voice was clear, cutting through the silence in his head. His pulse quickened. This was no longer about understanding Edward's twisted ramblings—it was about survival. He needed to act, and fast.
Escape. The dream Mason had been clawing at since the forest. No. Before that. His whole life he had needed it. Escape. Escape from the manor, escape from the maids, escape from school. But it was hopeless. There was no escape from life. How could he escape when Edward was standing right in front of him. Mason was weak, he was tired, he was stupid, he had nothing. It was hopeless.
All that whining. I asked you what will you do now? Don't bore me any longer.
It was a command. Despite the emotions that lurked within Mason's body, he realized he had no choice. He stood up slowly allowing himself to fill with whatever semblance of courage he could muster.
Mason: You can shut up now. Both of you. Just shut your damn mouths and let me deal with this.
Edward: Oh? What do you plan on doing Heartson?
Edward's mocking tone ignited more flames in Mason's body. Allowing his anger and rage consume him, he raised his black fists into a fighting stance, breaking through the chains that once bound him.
Mason: I'm gonna do whatever I damn please. I'll cut down all your shitty invisible threads and get out of here.
Mason charged at Edward, ignoring all traditional stance. He willed the flames in his hands to grow wilder preparing to knock Edward's head off with one clean strike.
But as Mason got within striking distance, Edward simply smiled, not even raising his hands to block or defend himself from the attack. Instead, he moved to the side as Mason swung his first punch, causing Mason to stumble over slightly.
Once again, Mason cast another punch at Edward who quickly moved out of the way of the strike. Miss, miss, miss, Mason poured everything he had into his swings but to no avail. No punch hit it's mark.
Edward: How disappointing you are, Mason Heartson. How disappointing indeed.
After Mason's sixth failed attack, Edward finally took the offense, pushing Mason's arm back before he could throw another punch, while simultaneously striking the boy in the stomach.
Mason doubled over in pain, coughing slightly. The punch was much harder than what he was expecting. As Mason tried to recover, Edward leapt forward again, delivering a series of blows to Mason's head, stomach, arms, and legs.
Mason's mind instinctively switched back into flight mode as he crumbled to the ground. He could no longer feel any of the muscles in his body functioning. Instead of fighting, his body seemed to prioritize survival, looking for any solution, any escape, any way to evade Edward.
But once again. Just as it was in the forest. Just as it was even before that, the sound of laughter interjected. The sound of Edward's laughter filled the chamber, crushing any chance of escape. Edward Bassett, the source of Mason's misfortune.
As Mason cursed the man, cursed that hope, he heard his words ringing loudly in his ears once again. Or perhaps it wasn't Edward at all. Perhaps it was a voice Mason hated even more.
As Edward's metal boot came down onto Mason's face, he heard once again, the familiar voice ringing out to him.
How disappointing you are Mason Heartson. How disappointing indeed.