Guilty Gear Transmigration: Light of Madness

POV 'Daubeny'

The slithering dark is cold against my face.

I cannot speak, cannot breathe; I reach for anyone, Aria, Asuka, Frederick, but then I remember... I form a fist but feel nothing, I am bound, and as I thrash, the images cut fissures through my mind-

Someone... Frederick? He helped me to my feet... but still I struggled in the dark, and now HE is standing, thanking, laughing with him, eating ice cream together but I, he uses my voice, MY voice-

He has stolen my form, my voice, not on purpose, it was that damn laughing demon's fault, but... someone has to see "my" failure and stop HIM from using my name... they MUST -

Laughter, terrible, inhumane, yet human laughter, rings next to my ears, but I cannot move my neck. And then an excentric Scottish accent of the laughter echoes behind me.

"You're... what's the word? Dead!? Displaced! Like cheese without its holes, you're all mixed up! And this other fellow, this body-snatching nincompoop, who I helped, is prancing about with your life, your voice, your family. Tragic, isn't it? But oh, how delightful for an audience! Haskill, pass us the sweet rolls!"

A glimmer of sunlight... how long has it been? Now, my best friend looks at me - at HIM, and considers his words, what I and MY sister felt, knowing we were going to die soon. But the new "me" didn't know what it felt like living in that state of knowing your life was ending for YEARS. I cry out. Asuka has to know. Asuka, listen, LISTEN, you KNOW me, you have to be able to tell-

The sound of fresh tears.... I am sitting.... HE is sitting on MY chair in MY apartment, and there is my sister, speaking, crying, being reassured for her decision, for the hope of the future with OUR firends..... Look, Aria, LOOK AT ME, DON'T YOU SEE IT'S NOT YOUR BROTHER PLEASE-

Pay attention, pay ATTENTION, you RAISED me! YOU HAVE TO KNOW THE SMALL DIFFERENCES-

Again the demon laughs, that terrible fucking mocking laughter.

This man who possesses my body, who's older than me, is strapped to a table, drugged by Asuka, and now screaming in pain, begging for anything, anyone to help him from this pain. Now his voice, his TRUE voice, shines through during the surgery, screeching louder and louder-

He didn't deserve this; I wanted "ME" to admit he wasn't Daubeny, part ways with them, and explain the best he could to my family and friends what had happened. But not this.

I am weeping but I cannot weep. I am nothing, only heat and hate, only grief and shame.

The demon laughs again and only says, "Now, that sounds great, and I would love to stay, but if you'll excuse me, I am eating brain pie. Ta-ta!"

Ugh.... I don't blame any of them for not noticing, nor do I care now, and I am drowning again. Yet this nightmare never seems to end.

-

London

2116

The rain fell in a steady rhythm, not downpouring but drizzling. The streets of London, slick with rain and the aftermath of another raucous night, echoed with the homeless whose homes were destroyed due to the ever-ongoing wars, along with the muffled music that came from pubs, houses, or those playing on the street. It was a city that had survived through the years since the start of the Crusades, humanity's attempt to fight back against their creations, the Gears. Tonight, as three men stumbled out of The Old Shades pub, the city seemed alive to all of these intoxicated men as they left hearing an electric charge, humming the opening riff of "Thunderstruck," but, lamentably, they couldn't stay there forever.

Terry Eid led the charge, swaying slightly as he adjusted his leather jacket, still damp from the rain. While stepping on his glasses on his way out. "I'm tellin' you, lads," he slurred, his voice carrying the confidence of someone who had downed more pints than they should, "Rolling Stones is the best song in the world, and whichever.... band..... the greatest band to ever grace this bloody Earth. No contest."

"Oh, come off it," Glen Rotten groaned, pulling his hood up against the drizzle. "You always say that. Sex Pistols got 'em beat, hands down. 'God Save The Queen'? Can't top it, the songs ina language all of its own."

"Pfft, he's not wrong there, Terry," scoffed Rick Jagger, the youngest of the group, his face flushed from drinking the most pints. "Rolling stones, is just.....Pure.... geis."

It wasn't clear how long they wandered, but at some point, their aimless journey brought them to a shadowed alley—one of those places where the streetlamps were in disrepair. However, the air here felt staticity while also feeling unwelcoming, damp, and frigid cold, as they kept walking until Jagger spotted something on all their way back home. 

"Oi, lads…" Rick muttered, coming to a wobbling halt. "You see that?"

"What're you on about?" Terry asked, squinting into the gloomy alley.

It was angelic, standing at 7 feet tall, the wings of this creature were angelic, and it looked so inhumane and human at the same time.

"Christ…" Terry whispered, the drunken haze lifting just enough for fear to take its place as his two other friends leaned in and almost stumbled to the ground but caught themselves at the last minute.

Rick took another swig of his camden pale ale as he recoiled in shock and terror. "Is that a bear?!"

All of these men just stood still, staring down the creature in fascination, but Terry was sober, at least sober enough to remember one of the reasons they drank themselves to almost dying. Gears.

Terry Eid might have lost his glasses during this hangout with the lads and was blind as all hell, but it wasn't properly hard to see the fact that this wasn't an angel. This is one of those Gears.

"Oh, fuck... the daft lads were still standing here, just waiting for what would happen. Did they not see the red bleeding eyes, the partially black wings, its taloned feet?!"

"Uhhh....boys! We should probably start running or something?!" Terry yelled out at his group of friends.

Glen hobbled over towards Terry putting a sluggish hand over his shoulder. "W-W hat's the matter, just a bear, must have survived the landing-"

Terry was flabbergasted, to put it lightly, "Wh-whuah?! What the fuck are you saying!? C-can't you see the fucking dark tail and wings?!" He pointed over to the giant creature that was still looking at them.

Rick, taking an actual moment, realized that its head looked painfully familiar; it was the same shape that had reduced his family from an overseas city to rubble along with them. That sharp bird, or was it a rabbit structure? However, the tail could be recognizable as well. His chest began heaving up and down sporadically.

"Is that Justice?" Rick said without even bothering to breathe before shouting in anger. "What you here NOW for to kill me and the rest of my family? Come on, you fucking BEAST, try it!"

"Kill ya?" the Gear repeated, placing a dark hand on his chest in mock offense. "Now, why would I do somethin' like that? I mean, sure, I look like a nightmare straight outta a Judas Priest album cover, but c'mon, fellas, I'm just a big ol' bear. Harmless."

The casual tone, the strange way he referred to himself—it didn't fit the image of the towering figure before them. But the one thing nobody brought up was the fact this beast, this wretched living thing made for war spoke.

"You… you're a Gear," Terry finally managed. "You talk, know a band, and… and you think we're gonna buy this whole 'bear' thing?"

The Gear's red eyes sparkled. "Aw, c'mon. Don't ruin the fun. I'm just a cuddly ol' bear, with wings and all."

The three men stared at the Gear, their drunken haze rapidly dissipating. The realization sank in, as low sounding as the Suicide Squad's game sales were years ago in another universe. This wasn't some wild hallucination. This Gear could talk. And only one Gear spoke.

"Tell ya what," the Gear continued, his wings spreading slightly as he turned to leave towards the rooftops above him. "You three just go home and forget you ever saw this. Oh, and maybe brush up on your Sabbath albums while you're at it. Never know when good taste might save your life. Any of you know what day it is?"

Before they could ask this supposed Justice anything else, answer the creature, or run away in abject terror, Rick pulled out a bowie knife from his belt and charged the Gear, who flew faster than the the drunk man could land the strike to which he lost his stabbin' license and fell in some garbage before picking himself and his knife back up.

The Gear was gone, his wings beating against the rain as he vanished into above them, though he didn't fly very far away.

The two stood there for what felt like an eternity with their breaths shallow. Finally, Glen broke the silence. "We… we need to tell someone. The Order… they'll be able to handle Justice. I heard one of the strongest members is here right now!"

"Yeah, but he knows rock, so maybe Justice isn't so bad," Terry said, his voice trembling, but he regretted his words when he glanced at Rick and winced at his friend's scowl. "But first, we're gonna need another pint."

-

A/N: I want to continue the story but can't find a way to do it with the Elder Scrolls stuff/Shivering Isles. Later, I might post chapters of what Daubeny went through. But I need to keep going.