[Being Bonded to someone who feels so passionately about something, and so full of despair, sometimes brings a person to think about that thing with a bit more focus. It probably doesn't help matters when Mettaton accidentally swings into a mode of thinking where he views the offer to think about a "compromise" as a promise, which are impossible for a Puca to defy.
He doesn't always think that way. But when he gets ahead of himself, sometimes he does. Mettaton isn't the greatest at compromise, finding that he's far better at definite solutions and decisive action.
In the vaguest terms, Mettaton feels he requires a complete picture so as to understand the nature of this tragedy. The original reason for summoning forth a god, because what would be the point of fixing ("fixing") anything if the original problem went unnoticed? Whatever it was, it required a god's intervention. That says something.]
Hey there, darling! I've been doing some thinking, about that compromise. The one where your beloved people are saved... While keeping the fascinating life resulting of your broken star alive. But I feel I'm lacking some details that would truly make an effective, lasting solution... If it could even come about.
[It wasn't the sort of question Emet-Selch had expected to wake up to, blearily staring at it, thoughts unerringly returning to the events of the Final Days, even as he struggled to wake up (which was becoming harder to do, lately).
So Mettaton hadn't forgotten about that offer. And while at one point that might've surprised him, it- didn't, really. As whimsical as he seemed, the idol didn't actually strike the Ascian as being particularly unreliable. At least with things like this.
Though it... did feel a bit sad that someone from a wholly unrelated star would have more interest in saving his people than those from his own world, who directly benefited from their sacrifice.]
I suppose there's no reason to hide anything. Not that I expect the information will do you much good....
I've told you an overview of events, but, well, what exactly do you want to know?
[Perhaps originally, Mettaton was more fixated on the idea of saving the mortals. He is just as hung up on that idea, finding some way to dissuade Emet-Selch from feeling like this plan was the only way. If he remembers being here after all, who knows? A sweet compromise might be to remember those who he bonded with here, who possessed those incomplete souls he held with such contempt. Surely, their lives are worth preserving; and if they exist, others like them should, too, in Mettaton's mind.
The more he dwells on any one compromise, however, the more it dissatisfies the robot. It's not enough. There's a part of him sympathetic to Emet-Selch's plight, as distant in the past as it is and as impossible as it would be to truly fix in the future. Would that he could simply move on, but that's clearly not something he can do.]
You never know, beautiful. It might be exactly what I need to come up with one of my patented perfect ideas.
Why did you originally require Zodiark's aid? You mentioned a disaster... But what sort of disaster requires the summon of a god? And one who would require such a significant sacrifice, at that... How tragic.
[And he assumes that much of Mettaton's motivation is trying to save humanity (because that's everyone's motivation for some Zodiark-forsaken reason). Which, as an abstraction in itself, is fine. The Ascian had no interest in wiping out the vermin that plagued his world, it was only necessary. If it were no longer necessary, then he wouldn't harm them.
It would be much harder to get Emet-Selch to accept sparing the lot purely because he cared about a few of them, though. They were still mortal, and he was not; if he could prevent his own death, that meant that he would outlive them, and end up alone once more. Even if he found mortals he could care for after that, it would only be the same thing- the same cycles of loss. And his true people would still be gone.
It was a good thing this was over text. Though Emet-Selch knew the story by heart, the experience burned into him, it helped to give him a chance to organize his thoughts. So there's some time before Mettaton will receive a reply, because it's going to be a long one.]
The disaster which came to our world was heralded with a sound, emanating from deep within the earth. As for why or how it started- we never learned.
And its result was not immediately apparent to us. At first there were only isolated incidents, rumors of fell, nightmareish beasts, tales of poisoned land and stagnant air where they walked. And though we investigated, we found there was no containment, no measure of prevention. As the stories spread, so too did the disaster- the two becoming hopelessly linked.
As it was our magics for creation- allowing us to call up anything we so desired, purely from the strength of our souls- that began to malfunction. Creation is a conscious process; though 'tis possible to become distracted in it, produce something flawed or misshapen, to create something on accident is impossible. Yet the word impossible stopped having any meaning. Every fear, every dread- every concept that lurks in the depths of one's subconscious- it was these things that were manifesting before us. As panic spread, so did the terrors it spawned....
Closer and closer our doom approached, until Amaurot itself was the only place left untouched. Until....
The sky loomed closer, drowning us in fire; our rivers burned, replaced by blood. Abominations that fed on our fear stalked Amaurot's broken streets. All of creation was being rendered ash before us....
The Final Days were upon us, not only for Amaurot, but the entire world. The very laws of physics were being undone, as though the star itself had given up on us, on the concept of life itself. Only by the most drastic of measures could our world be saved from complete dissolution.
The laws governing reality would needs be rewritten. Only something akin to a god would be capable of such a feat... and so our Convocation- of which I am a member- decided on this course. We would fashion a god capable of turning back the tide of this destruction, a god who would become the will of the star itself. Our people accepted this, knew and understood the sacrifice that was being asked of them--
...and so we created Zodiark, and He brought us salvation.
[And with such a lengthy explanation, he can't help but wonder what that noise was. But Emet-Selch doesn't seem to understand it, either. It's a disturbing result it has, and it's precisely the answer he was looking for: if there were any focus to be placed on saving Amaurot, it would require making sure that disaster can't come to pass.
At first, Mettaton knows he's only entertaining his new ideal solution as a "what-if, in-a-perfect-world," approach. He wants to know what would need fixing if one could simply wish it, or hope for it. After all, who knows what opportunities Geardagas has in store for them? But as he reads down his description, something truly awe-inducing strikes him. If he ever wondered why or how his own world was met by a perfect solution, why, there was only one way, even if nobody could remember it clearly! It was written on the walls, literally. When a problem necessitates a god's intervention, you just spend millennia trying to get a god, after all.
Mettaton's reply is delayed, but perhaps not as much as it could have been, if he were stumped.]
So Zodiark saved your people. And then, a select few of your people chose to create yet another god, as though fearing him. The one whose name I can't recall as clearly!
But do I have it correctly, that all you need is a god? [This phrasing. "All he needs," like gods are dime-a-dozen.] One who can rewrite reality, undo the damage done, deal with the source of that sound, and not provoke your people to summon a second god?
Hydaelyn was created as His counterpart, the Light to bind His Darkness, yes.
[Mettaton's response puzzles Emet-Selch slightly; of course that would solve everything. But there were no entities like that. When it came down to it... you couldn't rely on anyone to save you without cost, without price. There were no gods, no heroes. Only sacrifice and those who had to live with it.]
And... I suppose you could say that. Unfortunately, no such gods exist, thusly our need to create our lord Zodiark. If you could spare us one who could do all of that and more, I'd be much obliged.
[Because it's not as though something more perfect than Zodiark exists.]
[Writing's a good way to keep one's thoughts in order, but Mettaton hardly needs it, finds himself drawn to face-to-face, no matter how accustomed he is to writing down all of his thoughts. And though his newest solution is amorphous in form, he's excitable, and needs to be excited at Emet-Selch. In person.]
Stay home, darling. [what are the chances that he's not at home.] This is your warning that I'm coming over. I've just had a terrifying thought. A far-fetched one, perhaps, but one so terrifying that I can't stop smiling.
[Emet-Selch is mildly alarmed, yet intrigued. An appropriate reaction to Mettaton apparently having an idea, he feels. Especially one that seemed at all related to the saving of Amaurot.
He's not hopeful. Not even remotely. But he is curious.]
Then I shall await your arrival with breathless anticipation.
[Can you hear how dryly that's written, Mettaton. There's no risk of him not being home, at least; the Ascian hasn't even left his room yet.]
[Boxes don't smile, and they're also hindered by basic city obstacles, like stairs. Would that he still had the use of rockets! Aefenglom's awful this way, restricting resources and power so, and that's about to be another of his major complaints today. But at least Mettaton has this body, in proper working order, all things considered.
When he shows, he does the exact same shit he does every time he arrives somewhere with a goal in mind, and that is to simply bust the door open, because it's in his way.
Once again, his luck must be at play, because the door only swings open with force. It does not break. Someday, it surely will: he did kick it, after all, and with legs like those... Nobody should want to be at the other end of that. Not even a door. The robotic Puca all but leaps inside. He could wreck this place, but he doesn't.
If Emet-Selch is still up in his room, he's only treated to all of this noise. The moment Mettaton finds him, he regards him with a lively stare and a smile. ...At least that new glass is installed, crystal clear and demonstrating that pink glow of his core.]
Hades-darling! There you are! How are you feeling?
{And even though he's just completed being ridiculous, his expression even makes way for fondness. He couldn't forget how it feels to close in on his Bonded like this. He enjoys being in his immediate presence.]
[In retrospect, Emet-Selch considers that he probably should've checked to make sure the downstairs door was unlocked, considering Mettaton's habit of just inviting himself inside, rather than waiting to be received (which, technically, was something the Ascian was guilty of as well, so he probably shouldn't complain). Fortunately, said door was unlocked, so he's treated only to wincing slightly at the loud noise of it being kicked open, rather than kicked-open-and-coincidentally-shattering.
And the Ascian is still in his room, though he's at least had time to become more presentable and at least pretend that he hadn't just gotten up. And fortunately he did remember to leave that door completely open, so the puca can just waltz inside, no kickings required.
Though he remains seated at his desk, Emet-Selch does turn to face Mettaton upon his entrance, gaze flicking over him as though checking for signs of wear or damage. Eventually he shrugs, voice carrying a sigh in it, and he gestures vaguely with one hand.]
Tired, as ever... but not terrible. [A completely average mood from the Ascian. And no worse for the near presence of his Bonded.] So- what thought was so terrible that it required disturbing me in person?
[...Still, Mettaton's presence didn't feel like an intrusion into his life or his space, even though merely being in the vicinity of such exuberance was in itself exhausting.]
[He motions toward Emet-Selch with an open palm and a nod.]
Ah, yes. You cut right to the heart of the matter. I like that.
[Mettaton wanders near, eager to close the distance; he loops his arms about Emet-Selch's shoulders loosely, leaning over to rest his chin against the Ascian's shoulder. The amount of satisfaction he gets out of this is ridiculous, he thinks, but it must make sense. Not only is he Bonded, but he's attached to him. He's quick to lean in and kiss him against his neck, that place he favors. Look, it's affection again; Mettaton hums pleasantly.]
It's absolutely terrific... or terrible! Same thing, right?
[He's on a high of sorts, part induced by proximity, part induced by his grand ideas that far exceed "compromise" and veer directly into "wildcard solution" territory, if it worked out just as he imagined it could.]
Yes. Surely you've considered that those with immense power must walk among us, here in Aefenglom... I've heard plenty of stories. From people describing their immense power they no longer have access to, to self-description godlike abilities. If we were to regain our innate powers, even for a moment... Wouldn't you think to solicit the help of one of these people?
[The nearness, even the affection come as less of a surprise to Emet-Selch by now, though they remain unfamiliar in their casualness. Not unwelcome, but to be so direct, as though this were a normal thing to do- he remains a bit at a loss of it, as though not sure how to defend against it. Or whether he needed to; at the kiss to his neck, he nudges his head back a little against him, in acknowledgement and acceptance. Reaching an arm up, he rests his hand lightly against the puca's side.]
That would involve both knowing such an individual, as well as believing that they would be willing to help one such as I.
[Both were considerable obstacles, even ignoring the whole 'needing to regain powers' part of it.]
Unless you're implying that you possessed such a talent...? Or do you simply know someone amenable?
[More than a trace of disbelief enters his tone, and the Ascian frowns out at nothing. If Mettaton had abilities like that, how had he been limited to a less than corporeal state? Or required the assistance of another to obtain even this robotic form?]
Luckily, you do know someone like that, darling. And he is invested in stopping you from killing all of those innocent people. And, in helping you achieve your ambitions... Perhaps without such calamitous side-effects.
[By virtue of his being, he sees Emet-Selch's fate is stuck as it's described as. That's what it means to lack the will to change fate. But if he were to gain that will, nothing should be off the table.
Mettaton briefly presses the side of his face to Emet-Selch's before he pulls away just enough to turn and face the Ascian]
So... yes! I'm implying that. Not that I possess it right out of the box... None of us do, but we're all capable of it. Monsters, I mean. Compared to the amount of death you leave in your wake? And the suffering you endure for it? My methods should prove far easier! I'd only need several souls to achieve it. And compared to all of the death, and all of your loss, already... Well. Is that so bad?
[Apparently Mettaton's down to kill seven people if it means saving a bunch more, plus all of the other countless ambitions he'd have to focus on if he really wanted to make good on all of it. He's not worried about whether or not it's within his scope of talents as a god: as far as he cares, there should be no limits. Intuitively, he believes this.]
[Learning that Mettaton apparently had the potential of a god was... not the kind of thing the Ascian had expected. And that apparently all monsters from his world had that possibility...? How was their world not overflowing with gods, then? Unless it was?]
You'll have to explain to me more than that. Whatever death it requires is hardly of consequence- [He doesn't even need to wave it off, it's evident enough in Emet-Selch's tone.] so why weren't you a god to begin with, if all it takes is a few paltry souls?
[Mettaton had a soul, after all, so monsters had souls. Although- Mettaton had mentioned before, back on the day they Bonded, that a monster claiming a human's soul would gain significant power. Godlike, even, though Emet-Selch had taken it for a degree of hyperbole.
There had to be another cost. Something beyond a mere 'several' souls.]
And... assuming you gained this power, and were able to influence my star- how could you restore the Source and free Zodiark without the sacrifice of the shards? What price does your power have?
[Glancing up at him, his expression is guarded, cautious; he assumes this still involves the revival of his people, rather than any sort of prevention.]
My... Hades. Darling. The death is of consequence... I'm telling you. The less, the better.
[Mettaton glances up and away, trying to wrap his mind around business which he has no insight into. It's not as though he's spared deep thought into this, too willing to share with Emet-Selch his ideas while they're new in case there was some area of complexity he'd have to consider before he got too carried away. With his arms looped around his shoulders as they are, one of his hands moves to rest gently upon Emet-Selch's shoulder.]
I haven't fleshed any details out yet... However. I didn't plan on taking the shards completely. I want to leave them, and separate the two concepts... Duplicate them, in a fashion. Surely, your world and theirs could exist parallel. Gods do impossible things, after all.
[But he's never been a god! ...He's been part of one, but he scarcely remembers any of it. He can't even begin to fathom what sorts of approaches exist to solve this problem for someone with that much power.]
I don't exactly understand the complexities of a universe. But I don't see why I can't make them exist independently! [The most reassuring thing a "potential god" could say is "I'm not sure!"] ...With your star, I think it would be best to start anew, before the noise. Turn back time, then... deal with the impending disaster, before it ever becomes a problem. Then you'd never have such a nightmarish landscape of living fear. No reason for dissent, no reason to sacrifice so many of your people! I don't see a catch!
[Unless that catch is beyond his understanding, which it could be. He's not discounting that. But everyone knew that the king would take the souls, destroy the impenetrable barrier, destroy humanity, and rewrite the world to be theirs. Sounds to him like there would be no cost, besides too many (seven, then all of them) dead people.]
As for why I'm not already one... It's complicated. But the best answer is because none of us could access humankind! We can't become gods, or even godlike, using just each other's souls!
[That's even pushing aside the fact that monsters are easy to kill and incapable of killing without unwavering intent. ...What a mess of an idea Mettaton has.]
[Though he's not sure how humanity had been able to do it, if all it took was a monster grabbing a few souls to become divinity. But humans could do impossible things; managing to trap an entire population out of fear is not something he'd put past them. Not even remotely.
Emet-Selch looks aside, quiet, trying to take all of this in. Absently, he lifts an arm, bringing a hand over to rest over the one Mettaton has on his shoulder, fingers rubbing tensely at it as he thinks. A small anchor to try and attach himself to.]
So long as my people are to be saved, if only in parallel- that would be enough. The shards and Source could remain on their own path, beyond our interference.
[It's very quiet. It's a hope he'd never entertained having- as the one thing he'd wanted was the time before the disaster. Even a restored star wouldn't bring everything back to the way it was, wouldn't erase the years, wouldn't fix anything--]
Although, to do such a thing would be preventing Zodiark's creation. I--
[...that was a very perturbing thought. Emet-Selch turns suddenly pensive, looking to Mettaton's face for a few seconds, and then away again. His loyalty to Zodiark was absolute, unwavering; was this the downside of tempering?]
--I may be forced into trying to prevent you. I assume this shouldn't be a problem for one capable of all of this?
[And they were afraid of monsters with just one human soul. Comprehending one with seven must have been even more petrifying. Mettaton's fairly certain monsters never once had the desire to harm humans, but fear rules the day.
But this is a strange development. Emet-Selch appears somewhat agreeable, but not at all, The Puca hadn't considered Zodiark as a necessary part of Emet-Selch's plan, save for the power he grants. To hear Emet-Selch mention the name, he makes a short noise of confusion through his smile, a minor tip of his head.]
... I hadn't factored it in, no. Especially since I assumed that creating Zodiark would only lead to your current state of affairs...
[So what's this about? Mettaton does not understand Emet-Selch's hesitation, and his arms press into his shoulders somewhat, his ears — now capable of standing at their full, tall length — twisting forward, toward the Ascian with his curiosity. He squeezes his shoulder.]
You say it like you'd want me to face you, no matter how forced your hand is. Are you suggesting that you would be made to go against even your own wishes...? How? Why?
[With those ears standing up, the puca seemed exceptionally tall now, and he already had a few ilms on the Ascian to start. Forcing himself to regard Mettaton again, he takes a careful breath.
This was all... an insane hope to have, impossible on several levels. He still didn't know what to make of Mettaton being willing to do this, even if it was primarily to save humanity from being sacrificed. Yet if the opportunity somehow came to pass, the idea that the Ascian's own innate nature might be a threat--
He could almost laugh at the cruelty of it; he only looks somewhat pained, though, agitated. He digs into Mettaton's hand a little.]
...Those of us who created Zodiark were thusly claimed by Him- our souls dyed in His color, our very aether stained to match His impenetrable Darkness. 'Twas only natural, to be in the presence of a god, and come away permanently altered.
This process became known as tempering... and it means our loyalty to Him is absolute. Not that it should be otherwise- why wouldn't a savior such as Him not be deserving of it? [It's said with some ferocity; the belief of a fanatic?] In any case- He desires His own restoration, a goal which coincides with the revival of Amaurot. Were our desires no longer aligned....
[It may be part of why the Ascian literally can't give up or move on; if he abandoned the idea of saving his people, it would mean abandoning Zodiark as well.]
And, to work against His own creation... even the idea is abhorrent.
[His gaze falters, and Emet-Selch has to fight the impulse to just cling to Mettaton, as though that would help anything, as though he weren't the cause of this hypothetical crisis of faith.]
So... I don't know that I can even ask you to--
[Stop him from interfering? Kill him if necessary? He can't even finish the thought, much less the sentence, and he just shakes his head.]
[This adds a new dimension of complexity, unforeseen.
So that's the purple tinge to his soul that he saw during their Bonding, something he thought was a mere characteristic of it. (People's souls have colors, that's normal.) His silver ears are more expressive than ever; they fold back flat, a reaction to something unpleasant. No compromise would work to prevent him from moving forward if he was bound to his destiny. Even this kind of plan isn't a perfect solution, after all.
He would have to do away with Emet-Selch somehow, just to realize his ambitions. Even if he managed to subdue him, wouldn't he still be compelled down the path of restoring Zodiark? The first time he was called upon, it required sacrifice. It would likely require the same to do it again, and the events would be sure to unfold similarly. Even Mettaton can see that. So there would be only one choice here, if he wanted to save so many people. It would involve killing just one person, as far as he knows. And whoever else happened to be committed to the same duty.
Where Emet-Selch glances away, Mettaton keeps his sharp gaze trained upon his features steadily, contrasting the zeal with which he speaks of Zodiark to his evident conflict. Truly, what a tragedy. He's dedicated not only to the revival of his people, but to the restoration of a god who once saved his world, short-lived as it was. No wonder such a tired man would press onward despite impossible circumstances, shackled to his duty as he is.
If there's one thing he knows, it's that he doesn't like that vague suggestion where he trails off. Mettaton shakes his head.]
Even if I subdued you... As soon as I relinquished control of you, it seems you'd continue with your plans. Despite everything. Tempered to him as you are.
But I will not kill you, if that's what you're going to ask.
[He doesn't want to, doesn't think he could. His reluctance feels overwhelming... Though he knows the conviction to do so is still within him, if he thought of it as the desire to protect and save. He raises one of his hands and moves it to brush fingers against his cheek gently, even as the Ascian can't look at him.
Who knew that he would meet such troubled people in this place... It's staggering.]
So long as I remain bound to Him, even were He to no longer exist, I would be compelled to create Him anew. To whatever cost.
[It's still not something Emet-Selch can view with any kind of resentment. None of this was Zodiark's fault. Or intention. He couldn't have accounted for a possibility of a world that didn't require His existence. Not when the only other chance of salvation came from the powers inherent to someone from a wholly different star, whose claimed (potential) abilities defied explanation. How could a mere few human souls (plus one monster soul) combined provide more strength than the thousands upon thousands of Amaurotine lives that had fed Zodiark's creation?
For something so impossible, why was he taking it so seriously? But even as a concept, it appealed, and with other hopes taken from him in this place, some unlikely replacement was- congenial. If it weren't for this one detail.]
Tempering has never been undone. Nor is it possible for the soul, once taken, to be claimed by another. But if you were capable of restoring the star to the way it once was, of preventing our original calamity- surely you could also--
[He still recoiled from the thought; he didn't have much choice but to do so. But this was just discussion. It was fine; it wasn't as though this was any actual threat to Zodiark. It was fine to wonder what it would be like; Emet-Selch had never given his thoughts much question after the tempering. He knew his personality remained the same, his love for his people was the same- adoration for a worthy god had just become part of that. Even were that tie removed, he couldn't imagine what it would feel like, after this long.
The touch to his face grounds him, very slightly. Emet-Selch looks up to Mettaton, leans into his hand. It's not hope in his expression, but something adjacent, something desperate and fragile and guilty.]
If you won't kill me- surely you could also restore my soul to the way it was. Temper me in His place, if you care to- it doesn't matter. So long as my people are saved... whatever happens to me is inconsequential.
[Or were there limitations, even to this insane sort of godhood?]
[Could he alter somebody's soul like that? Nothing else seems to make Mettaton doubt what he might be capable of doing based on mere intuition and a sense of decisive presumption of what it means to be a god (and anything he failed at should be enhanced with the introduction of yet more souls: it scaled, though he disliked the thought), until this thought. Even with some consideration, he's still not sure, especially with regards to Emet-Selch's tempering. But even taking one soul should be able to inform his understanding of surmounting power... As if it could happen in Geardagas, except by some fluke.
Even with his doubt, one look at Emet-Selch's expression is contagious. The thought of staking claim to another's soul or even releasing it from such terms feels foreign to him (though , though he wonders if it were possible to influence it in such a state after all... But he wants it to be possible. To sate him even somewhat, Mettaton presses all of his palm to his cheek.
His words are carried on a slow tempo, like he's trying to decide what his next move would be in a game unlikely to happen.]
... Yes. You might be right, darling... If I were capable of turning back time itself, why couldn't I? Restore your soul, to a state before claim.
[Would he lose his memories? ...A lot of thoughts for something that isn't happening, and has a slim likelihood of becoming an opportunity. This whole part feels like the most difficult aspect of it for some reason.
He strokes his cheek with a thumb, terribly open in his affection as he is.]
The way I see it... If I can think of the way to do it, it should be possible. I'll consider it. In case the opportunity strikes. I'll simply have to wait for that, and take it... Well. If we were afforded such an opportunity.
[Emet-Selch is not sure why he feels oddly pensive, waiting for Mettaton's answer. As if this were something that could happen. That their powers would, however briefly, return, that Mettaton could do as he claimed. But was it any less likely than being brought here, stripped of ability in the first place?
Was it any worse of a hope than returning home with his memories intact, so that he could find some other path himself? He didn't think so. What was one more impossible option? He couldn't truly believe in it, much less expect it, and being offered some concept of a solution hurt a little, in the realization that a return to the past is what he wanted after all. It shouldn't have come as any surprise; he'd been living in that time ever since it ended.
So many hypotheticals, possibilities of possibilities, no certainty in sight. But it was a pleasing delusion, wasn't it? He nudges that bit more against Mettaton's hand, soothed a little by the small motion of it.]
I think you've veered from compromise into an attempt at an answer, but... even if it's for the sake of humanity- if this worked, I doubt I could ever express the full measure of gratitude such an act would deserve.
[Standing up, the Ascian moves to wrap both arms around Mettaton, pulling him into a tight embrace, pressing the side of his face firmly against his. He could be grateful for the idea, even the knowledge that Mettaton would apparently be willing to try, would the chance come about. It's more concern than anyone else had shown his people, to save them along with the younger races.]
...Have you ever seen this opportunity for godhood come about?
[Or was this all just going off of rumor and legend?]
[Ears standing perfectly straight in alertness, the Puca allows him to rise, appearing perhaps a touch surprised. It's quick to dissolve into warmth again and he reciprocates the embrace, rubbing his cheek against the other man's on habit. Mettaton knows that when he first heard of Emet-Selch's ambitions and his track record already, his desire to do something for a humanity not even his own was intense: were he given the chance then, he would have immediately stopped the Ascian without further question. But time's an interesting force, and the longer he thought on it, the closer he grew to his Bonded, the more he felt that he deserved peace.
To learn that there was more yet to the reason he fought for the restoration of his people by any means in the form of a god's control over his very soul... If anything, he feels breaking such a Temper would take priority. He's just witnessed it getting in the way of his very own ambitions, after all, and every time Emet-Selch describes his people, he can feel his love for them. It affects him each time. It even struck him to read Emet-Selch's account of the cause for Zodiark's creation due to the detail of it all. With such detail must come some memory...
Mettaton holds him with equal tightness. He smiles, a touch rueful at Emet-Selch's state.]
Knowing what I know now, I doubt a compromise would truly help. If even redefining time would be met with such resistance. Humanity doesn't deserve to die. But the Amaurotine didn't, either. Given even the chance... I'll have to impress you now, won't I?
[Impressing isn't the name of the game here, but Mettaton's smile grows lighter at the remark. Mettaton pauses for a few moments, trying to make sense of shambled memory.]
No...? [The most uncertain thing he has ever said.] ... We were trapped Underground, as I told you. No hope for escape, though we knew if one of us took seven souls to became a god... Let's just say I have my suspicions, though I don't know who did it. Everybody was out cold. And once we came to, everything was made right! No conflict, no barrier, no more death. And, the human souls we'd collected had vanished! It was the best impossible outcome.
[Though the Ascian would still argue that humanity deserved nothing at all, he does manage to not say so. Which probably should count as some sort of progress, or at least recognition that not all of his anti-mortal sentiments needed to be shared at all times. Especially not when Mettaton seemed so willing to save (two) peoples that weren't his own.
It's not something Emet-Selch would've done, even had he access to that sort of power. Mortals were vermin, regardless of world, and while he might be sympathetic to the plight of those more similar to himself- it wouldn't be to the point of interfering. Even with this demonstration of generosity from another.
It was hard enough for the Ascian to want to look after individuals who were not of his own people; extending that to a group was likely beyond him.]
I won't claim that my expectations aren't considerable... but though it weren't by intent, I seem to have found a fairly remarkable Bondmate....
[Though his grip relaxes a little, Emet-Selch doesn't let go, leaning against him. There were a lot of emotions to (fail to) process, and Mettaton's nearness helped somewhat.]
But that all sounds like a rather unlikely scenario.... [There's a note of disbelief in his tone; not at Mettaton's account, but at the idea of it at all.] When you say there was no conflict- does that mean humanity was rewritten to no longer fear you?
[He couldn't see what else would keep the monsters from being sealed away again. There were eras of peace; even the Ascian could admit to that much. But they always ended. The lessons learned by one generation were not carried to the next. That was one of the worst of their flaws.]
[Mettaton allows him to lean against him, wrapping his arms further around his figure with less tightness, but with more security. Being remarkable for an innate power of his doesn't stroke his ego as much as being remarkable for his pursuits and actions, so he doesn't revel in it so much as dedicate himself more firmly to this course of action. He makes sure to make this known with a smirk, though he still has his cheek against Emet-Selch's. His voice is flirtatious and playful.]
I'll give you an abundance reasons to find me remarkable down the line, sweetheart.
[...Is there any way to be more remarkable than fixing like, everything? Mettaton seems to think so. He considers, at least, that his remarkability is from his tenacity and desire to take action, which he'll accept more readily than a compliment to his being.
Mettaton nods at his comment of unlikeliness. He certainly thinks so, especially after arriving in Aefenglom. But he considers more carefully his own phrasing from before and shakes his head shortly, as much as being against Emet-Selch would permit.]
Hm... No. What I meant was that I expected monsters... to completely eradicate humanity, upon absorption of the souls! Based on the fact that we had a human with us, they seemed to be untouched. Much to my delight. As for their attitude toward us, who knows? I never did see the sun before arriving here, much less all of humanity.
[Aefenglom as a whole is Mettaton's first taste of humanity beyond a screen, and a single day spent with an unfortunate kid. It's very possible that humans would respond poorly to their release, but Mettaton's optimistic. He taps his finger thoughtfully against Emet-Selch's body before rubbing his fingers against him, absentminded.]
Besides. I don't know how it all happened, since whoever took the souls only had six. Not seven... That's how many we need, after all. I've thought about it since, and it doesn't make sense. Truly unlikely. And provoking... Unless they managed the impossible, and took the souls of monsters. But what's impossibility, right?
text; un: METTATON
He doesn't always think that way. But when he gets ahead of himself, sometimes he does. Mettaton isn't the greatest at compromise, finding that he's far better at definite solutions and decisive action.
In the vaguest terms, Mettaton feels he requires a complete picture so as to understand the nature of this tragedy. The original reason for summoning forth a god, because what would be the point of fixing ("fixing") anything if the original problem went unnoticed? Whatever it was, it required a god's intervention. That says something.]
Hey there, darling! I've been doing some thinking, about that compromise. The one where your beloved people are saved... While keeping the fascinating life resulting of your broken star alive. But I feel I'm lacking some details that would truly make an effective, lasting solution... If it could even come about.
Will you indulge me, gorgeous?
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So Mettaton hadn't forgotten about that offer. And while at one point that might've surprised him, it- didn't, really. As whimsical as he seemed, the idol didn't actually strike the Ascian as being particularly unreliable. At least with things like this.
Though it... did feel a bit sad that someone from a wholly unrelated star would have more interest in saving his people than those from his own world, who directly benefited from their sacrifice.]
I suppose there's no reason to hide anything. Not that I expect the information will do you much good....
I've told you an overview of events, but, well, what exactly do you want to know?
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The more he dwells on any one compromise, however, the more it dissatisfies the robot. It's not enough. There's a part of him sympathetic to Emet-Selch's plight, as distant in the past as it is and as impossible as it would be to truly fix in the future. Would that he could simply move on, but that's clearly not something he can do.]
You never know, beautiful. It might be exactly what I need to come up with one of my patented perfect ideas.
Why did you originally require Zodiark's aid? You mentioned a disaster... But what sort of disaster requires the summon of a god? And one who would require such a significant sacrifice, at that... How tragic.
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It would be much harder to get Emet-Selch to accept sparing the lot purely because he cared about a few of them, though. They were still mortal, and he was not; if he could prevent his own death, that meant that he would outlive them, and end up alone once more. Even if he found mortals he could care for after that, it would only be the same thing- the same cycles of loss. And his true people would still be gone.
It was a good thing this was over text. Though Emet-Selch knew the story by heart, the experience burned into him, it helped to give him a chance to organize his thoughts. So there's some time before Mettaton will receive a reply, because it's going to be a long one.]
The disaster which came to our world was heralded with a sound, emanating from deep within the earth. As for why or how it started- we never learned.
And its result was not immediately apparent to us. At first there were only isolated incidents, rumors of fell, nightmareish beasts, tales of poisoned land and stagnant air where they walked. And though we investigated, we found there was no containment, no measure of prevention. As the stories spread, so too did the disaster- the two becoming hopelessly linked.
As it was our magics for creation- allowing us to call up anything we so desired, purely from the strength of our souls- that began to malfunction. Creation is a conscious process; though 'tis possible to become distracted in it, produce something flawed or misshapen, to create something on accident is impossible. Yet the word impossible stopped having any meaning. Every fear, every dread- every concept that lurks in the depths of one's subconscious- it was these things that were manifesting before us. As panic spread, so did the terrors it spawned....
Closer and closer our doom approached, until Amaurot itself was the only place left untouched. Until....
The sky loomed closer, drowning us in fire; our rivers burned, replaced by blood. Abominations that fed on our fear stalked Amaurot's broken streets. All of creation was being rendered ash before us....
The Final Days were upon us, not only for Amaurot, but the entire world. The very laws of physics were being undone, as though the star itself had given up on us, on the concept of life itself. Only by the most drastic of measures could our world be saved from complete dissolution.
The laws governing reality would needs be rewritten. Only something akin to a god would be capable of such a feat... and so our Convocation- of which I am a member- decided on this course. We would fashion a god capable of turning back the tide of this destruction, a god who would become the will of the star itself. Our people accepted this, knew and understood the sacrifice that was being asked of them--
...and so we created Zodiark, and He brought us salvation.
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At first, Mettaton knows he's only entertaining his new ideal solution as a "what-if, in-a-perfect-world," approach. He wants to know what would need fixing if one could simply wish it, or hope for it. After all, who knows what opportunities Geardagas has in store for them? But as he reads down his description, something truly awe-inducing strikes him. If he ever wondered why or how his own world was met by a perfect solution, why, there was only one way, even if nobody could remember it clearly! It was written on the walls, literally. When a problem necessitates a god's intervention, you just spend millennia trying to get a god, after all.
Mettaton's reply is delayed, but perhaps not as much as it could have been, if he were stumped.]
So Zodiark saved your people. And then, a select few of your people chose to create yet another god, as though fearing him. The one whose name I can't recall as clearly!
But do I have it correctly, that all you need is a god? [This phrasing. "All he needs," like gods are dime-a-dozen.] One who can rewrite reality, undo the damage done, deal with the source of that sound, and not provoke your people to summon a second god?
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[Mettaton's response puzzles Emet-Selch slightly; of course that would solve everything. But there were no entities like that. When it came down to it... you couldn't rely on anyone to save you without cost, without price. There were no gods, no heroes. Only sacrifice and those who had to live with it.]
And... I suppose you could say that. Unfortunately, no such gods exist, thusly our need to create our lord Zodiark. If you could spare us one who could do all of that and more, I'd be much obliged.
[Because it's not as though something more perfect than Zodiark exists.]
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Stay home, darling. [what are the chances that he's not at home.] This is your warning that I'm coming over. I've just had a terrifying thought. A far-fetched one, perhaps, but one so terrifying that I can't stop smiling.
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He's not hopeful. Not even remotely. But he is curious.]
Then I shall await your arrival with breathless anticipation.
[Can you hear how dryly that's written, Mettaton. There's no risk of him not being home, at least; the Ascian hasn't even left his room yet.]
→ action
When he shows, he does the exact same shit he does every time he arrives somewhere with a goal in mind, and that is to simply bust the door open, because it's in his way.
Once again, his luck must be at play, because the door only swings open with force. It does not break. Someday, it surely will: he did kick it, after all, and with legs like those... Nobody should want to be at the other end of that. Not even a door. The robotic Puca all but leaps inside. He could wreck this place, but he doesn't.
If Emet-Selch is still up in his room, he's only treated to all of this noise. The moment Mettaton finds him, he regards him with a lively stare and a smile. ...At least that new glass is installed, crystal clear and demonstrating that pink glow of his core.]
Hades-darling! There you are! How are you feeling?
{And even though he's just completed being ridiculous, his expression even makes way for fondness. He couldn't forget how it feels to close in on his Bonded like this. He enjoys being in his immediate presence.]
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And the Ascian is still in his room, though he's at least had time to become more presentable and at least pretend that he hadn't just gotten up. And fortunately he did remember to leave that door completely open, so the puca can just waltz inside, no kickings required.
Though he remains seated at his desk, Emet-Selch does turn to face Mettaton upon his entrance, gaze flicking over him as though checking for signs of wear or damage. Eventually he shrugs, voice carrying a sigh in it, and he gestures vaguely with one hand.]
Tired, as ever... but not terrible. [A completely average mood from the Ascian. And no worse for the near presence of his Bonded.] So- what thought was so terrible that it required disturbing me in person?
[...Still, Mettaton's presence didn't feel like an intrusion into his life or his space, even though merely being in the vicinity of such exuberance was in itself exhausting.]
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Ah, yes. You cut right to the heart of the matter. I like that.
[Mettaton wanders near, eager to close the distance; he loops his arms about Emet-Selch's shoulders loosely, leaning over to rest his chin against the Ascian's shoulder. The amount of satisfaction he gets out of this is ridiculous, he thinks, but it must make sense. Not only is he Bonded, but he's attached to him. He's quick to lean in and kiss him against his neck, that place he favors. Look, it's affection again; Mettaton hums pleasantly.]
It's absolutely terrific... or terrible! Same thing, right?
[He's on a high of sorts, part induced by proximity, part induced by his grand ideas that far exceed "compromise" and veer directly into "wildcard solution" territory, if it worked out just as he imagined it could.]
Yes. Surely you've considered that those with immense power must walk among us, here in Aefenglom... I've heard plenty of stories. From people describing their immense power they no longer have access to, to self-description godlike abilities. If we were to regain our innate powers, even for a moment... Wouldn't you think to solicit the help of one of these people?
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That would involve both knowing such an individual, as well as believing that they would be willing to help one such as I.
[Both were considerable obstacles, even ignoring the whole 'needing to regain powers' part of it.]
Unless you're implying that you possessed such a talent...? Or do you simply know someone amenable?
[More than a trace of disbelief enters his tone, and the Ascian frowns out at nothing. If Mettaton had abilities like that, how had he been limited to a less than corporeal state? Or required the assistance of another to obtain even this robotic form?]
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[By virtue of his being, he sees Emet-Selch's fate is stuck as it's described as. That's what it means to lack the will to change fate. But if he were to gain that will, nothing should be off the table.
Mettaton briefly presses the side of his face to Emet-Selch's before he pulls away just enough to turn and face the Ascian]
So... yes! I'm implying that. Not that I possess it right out of the box... None of us do, but we're all capable of it. Monsters, I mean. Compared to the amount of death you leave in your wake? And the suffering you endure for it? My methods should prove far easier! I'd only need several souls to achieve it. And compared to all of the death, and all of your loss, already... Well. Is that so bad?
[Apparently Mettaton's down to kill seven people if it means saving a bunch more, plus all of the other countless ambitions he'd have to focus on if he really wanted to make good on all of it. He's not worried about whether or not it's within his scope of talents as a god: as far as he cares, there should be no limits. Intuitively, he believes this.]
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You'll have to explain to me more than that. Whatever death it requires is hardly of consequence- [He doesn't even need to wave it off, it's evident enough in Emet-Selch's tone.] so why weren't you a god to begin with, if all it takes is a few paltry souls?
[Mettaton had a soul, after all, so monsters had souls. Although- Mettaton had mentioned before, back on the day they Bonded, that a monster claiming a human's soul would gain significant power. Godlike, even, though Emet-Selch had taken it for a degree of hyperbole.
There had to be another cost. Something beyond a mere 'several' souls.]
And... assuming you gained this power, and were able to influence my star- how could you restore the Source and free Zodiark without the sacrifice of the shards? What price does your power have?
[Glancing up at him, his expression is guarded, cautious; he assumes this still involves the revival of his people, rather than any sort of prevention.]
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[Mettaton glances up and away, trying to wrap his mind around business which he has no insight into. It's not as though he's spared deep thought into this, too willing to share with Emet-Selch his ideas while they're new in case there was some area of complexity he'd have to consider before he got too carried away. With his arms looped around his shoulders as they are, one of his hands moves to rest gently upon Emet-Selch's shoulder.]
I haven't fleshed any details out yet... However. I didn't plan on taking the shards completely. I want to leave them, and separate the two concepts... Duplicate them, in a fashion. Surely, your world and theirs could exist parallel. Gods do impossible things, after all.
[But he's never been a god! ...He's been part of one, but he scarcely remembers any of it. He can't even begin to fathom what sorts of approaches exist to solve this problem for someone with that much power.]
I don't exactly understand the complexities of a universe. But I don't see why I can't make them exist independently! [The most reassuring thing a "potential god" could say is "I'm not sure!"] ...With your star, I think it would be best to start anew, before the noise. Turn back time, then... deal with the impending disaster, before it ever becomes a problem. Then you'd never have such a nightmarish landscape of living fear. No reason for dissent, no reason to sacrifice so many of your people! I don't see a catch!
[Unless that catch is beyond his understanding, which it could be. He's not discounting that. But everyone knew that the king would take the souls, destroy the impenetrable barrier, destroy humanity, and rewrite the world to be theirs. Sounds to him like there would be no cost, besides too many (seven, then all of them) dead people.]
As for why I'm not already one... It's complicated. But the best answer is because none of us could access humankind! We can't become gods, or even godlike, using just each other's souls!
[That's even pushing aside the fact that monsters are easy to kill and incapable of killing without unwavering intent. ...What a mess of an idea Mettaton has.]
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[Though he's not sure how humanity had been able to do it, if all it took was a monster grabbing a few souls to become divinity. But humans could do impossible things; managing to trap an entire population out of fear is not something he'd put past them. Not even remotely.
Emet-Selch looks aside, quiet, trying to take all of this in. Absently, he lifts an arm, bringing a hand over to rest over the one Mettaton has on his shoulder, fingers rubbing tensely at it as he thinks. A small anchor to try and attach himself to.]
So long as my people are to be saved, if only in parallel- that would be enough. The shards and Source could remain on their own path, beyond our interference.
[It's very quiet. It's a hope he'd never entertained having- as the one thing he'd wanted was the time before the disaster. Even a restored star wouldn't bring everything back to the way it was, wouldn't erase the years, wouldn't fix anything--]
Although, to do such a thing would be preventing Zodiark's creation. I--
[...that was a very perturbing thought. Emet-Selch turns suddenly pensive, looking to Mettaton's face for a few seconds, and then away again. His loyalty to Zodiark was absolute, unwavering; was this the downside of tempering?]
--I may be forced into trying to prevent you. I assume this shouldn't be a problem for one capable of all of this?
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[And they were afraid of monsters with just one human soul. Comprehending one with seven must have been even more petrifying. Mettaton's fairly certain monsters never once had the desire to harm humans, but fear rules the day.
But this is a strange development. Emet-Selch appears somewhat agreeable, but not at all, The Puca hadn't considered Zodiark as a necessary part of Emet-Selch's plan, save for the power he grants. To hear Emet-Selch mention the name, he makes a short noise of confusion through his smile, a minor tip of his head.]
... I hadn't factored it in, no. Especially since I assumed that creating Zodiark would only lead to your current state of affairs...
[So what's this about? Mettaton does not understand Emet-Selch's hesitation, and his arms press into his shoulders somewhat, his ears — now capable of standing at their full, tall length — twisting forward, toward the Ascian with his curiosity. He squeezes his shoulder.]
You say it like you'd want me to face you, no matter how forced your hand is. Are you suggesting that you would be made to go against even your own wishes...? How? Why?
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This was all... an insane hope to have, impossible on several levels. He still didn't know what to make of Mettaton being willing to do this, even if it was primarily to save humanity from being sacrificed. Yet if the opportunity somehow came to pass, the idea that the Ascian's own innate nature might be a threat--
He could almost laugh at the cruelty of it; he only looks somewhat pained, though, agitated. He digs into Mettaton's hand a little.]
...Those of us who created Zodiark were thusly claimed by Him- our souls dyed in His color, our very aether stained to match His impenetrable Darkness. 'Twas only natural, to be in the presence of a god, and come away permanently altered.
This process became known as tempering... and it means our loyalty to Him is absolute. Not that it should be otherwise- why wouldn't a savior such as Him not be deserving of it? [It's said with some ferocity; the belief of a fanatic?] In any case- He desires His own restoration, a goal which coincides with the revival of Amaurot. Were our desires no longer aligned....
[It may be part of why the Ascian literally can't give up or move on; if he abandoned the idea of saving his people, it would mean abandoning Zodiark as well.]
And, to work against His own creation... even the idea is abhorrent.
[His gaze falters, and Emet-Selch has to fight the impulse to just cling to Mettaton, as though that would help anything, as though he weren't the cause of this hypothetical crisis of faith.]
So... I don't know that I can even ask you to--
[Stop him from interfering? Kill him if necessary? He can't even finish the thought, much less the sentence, and he just shakes his head.]
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[This adds a new dimension of complexity, unforeseen.
So that's the purple tinge to his soul that he saw during their Bonding, something he thought was a mere characteristic of it. (People's souls have colors, that's normal.) His silver ears are more expressive than ever; they fold back flat, a reaction to something unpleasant. No compromise would work to prevent him from moving forward if he was bound to his destiny. Even this kind of plan isn't a perfect solution, after all.
He would have to do away with Emet-Selch somehow, just to realize his ambitions. Even if he managed to subdue him, wouldn't he still be compelled down the path of restoring Zodiark? The first time he was called upon, it required sacrifice. It would likely require the same to do it again, and the events would be sure to unfold similarly. Even Mettaton can see that. So there would be only one choice here, if he wanted to save so many people. It would involve killing just one person, as far as he knows. And whoever else happened to be committed to the same duty.
Where Emet-Selch glances away, Mettaton keeps his sharp gaze trained upon his features steadily, contrasting the zeal with which he speaks of Zodiark to his evident conflict. Truly, what a tragedy. He's dedicated not only to the revival of his people, but to the restoration of a god who once saved his world, short-lived as it was. No wonder such a tired man would press onward despite impossible circumstances, shackled to his duty as he is.
If there's one thing he knows, it's that he doesn't like that vague suggestion where he trails off. Mettaton shakes his head.]
Even if I subdued you... As soon as I relinquished control of you, it seems you'd continue with your plans. Despite everything. Tempered to him as you are.
But I will not kill you, if that's what you're going to ask.
[He doesn't want to, doesn't think he could. His reluctance feels overwhelming... Though he knows the conviction to do so is still within him, if he thought of it as the desire to protect and save. He raises one of his hands and moves it to brush fingers against his cheek gently, even as the Ascian can't look at him.
Who knew that he would meet such troubled people in this place... It's staggering.]
What to do with you...
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[It's still not something Emet-Selch can view with any kind of resentment. None of this was Zodiark's fault. Or intention. He couldn't have accounted for a possibility of a world that didn't require His existence. Not when the only other chance of salvation came from the powers inherent to someone from a wholly different star, whose claimed (potential) abilities defied explanation. How could a mere few human souls (plus one monster soul) combined provide more strength than the thousands upon thousands of Amaurotine lives that had fed Zodiark's creation?
For something so impossible, why was he taking it so seriously? But even as a concept, it appealed, and with other hopes taken from him in this place, some unlikely replacement was- congenial. If it weren't for this one detail.]
Tempering has never been undone. Nor is it possible for the soul, once taken, to be claimed by another. But if you were capable of restoring the star to the way it once was, of preventing our original calamity- surely you could also--
[He still recoiled from the thought; he didn't have much choice but to do so. But this was just discussion. It was fine; it wasn't as though this was any actual threat to Zodiark. It was fine to wonder what it would be like; Emet-Selch had never given his thoughts much question after the tempering. He knew his personality remained the same, his love for his people was the same- adoration for a worthy god had just become part of that. Even were that tie removed, he couldn't imagine what it would feel like, after this long.
The touch to his face grounds him, very slightly. Emet-Selch looks up to Mettaton, leans into his hand. It's not hope in his expression, but something adjacent, something desperate and fragile and guilty.]
If you won't kill me- surely you could also restore my soul to the way it was. Temper me in His place, if you care to- it doesn't matter. So long as my people are saved... whatever happens to me is inconsequential.
[Or were there limitations, even to this insane sort of godhood?]
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Even with his doubt, one look at Emet-Selch's expression is contagious. The thought of staking claim to another's soul or even releasing it from such terms feels foreign to him (though , though he wonders if it were possible to influence it in such a state after all... But he wants it to be possible. To sate him even somewhat, Mettaton presses all of his palm to his cheek.
His words are carried on a slow tempo, like he's trying to decide what his next move would be in a game unlikely to happen.]
... Yes. You might be right, darling... If I were capable of turning back time itself, why couldn't I? Restore your soul, to a state before claim.
[Would he lose his memories? ...A lot of thoughts for something that isn't happening, and has a slim likelihood of becoming an opportunity. This whole part feels like the most difficult aspect of it for some reason.
He strokes his cheek with a thumb, terribly open in his affection as he is.]
The way I see it... If I can think of the way to do it, it should be possible. I'll consider it. In case the opportunity strikes. I'll simply have to wait for that, and take it... Well. If we were afforded such an opportunity.
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Was it any worse of a hope than returning home with his memories intact, so that he could find some other path himself? He didn't think so. What was one more impossible option? He couldn't truly believe in it, much less expect it, and being offered some concept of a solution hurt a little, in the realization that a return to the past is what he wanted after all. It shouldn't have come as any surprise; he'd been living in that time ever since it ended.
So many hypotheticals, possibilities of possibilities, no certainty in sight. But it was a pleasing delusion, wasn't it? He nudges that bit more against Mettaton's hand, soothed a little by the small motion of it.]
I think you've veered from compromise into an attempt at an answer, but... even if it's for the sake of humanity- if this worked, I doubt I could ever express the full measure of gratitude such an act would deserve.
[Standing up, the Ascian moves to wrap both arms around Mettaton, pulling him into a tight embrace, pressing the side of his face firmly against his. He could be grateful for the idea, even the knowledge that Mettaton would apparently be willing to try, would the chance come about. It's more concern than anyone else had shown his people, to save them along with the younger races.]
...Have you ever seen this opportunity for godhood come about?
[Or was this all just going off of rumor and legend?]
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To learn that there was more yet to the reason he fought for the restoration of his people by any means in the form of a god's control over his very soul... If anything, he feels breaking such a Temper would take priority. He's just witnessed it getting in the way of his very own ambitions, after all, and every time Emet-Selch describes his people, he can feel his love for them. It affects him each time. It even struck him to read Emet-Selch's account of the cause for Zodiark's creation due to the detail of it all. With such detail must come some memory...
Mettaton holds him with equal tightness. He smiles, a touch rueful at Emet-Selch's state.]
Knowing what I know now, I doubt a compromise would truly help. If even redefining time would be met with such resistance. Humanity doesn't deserve to die. But the Amaurotine didn't, either. Given even the chance... I'll have to impress you now, won't I?
[Impressing isn't the name of the game here, but Mettaton's smile grows lighter at the remark. Mettaton pauses for a few moments, trying to make sense of shambled memory.]
No...? [The most uncertain thing he has ever said.] ... We were trapped Underground, as I told you. No hope for escape, though we knew if one of us took seven souls to became a god... Let's just say I have my suspicions, though I don't know who did it. Everybody was out cold. And once we came to, everything was made right! No conflict, no barrier, no more death. And, the human souls we'd collected had vanished! It was the best impossible outcome.
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It's not something Emet-Selch would've done, even had he access to that sort of power. Mortals were vermin, regardless of world, and while he might be sympathetic to the plight of those more similar to himself- it wouldn't be to the point of interfering. Even with this demonstration of generosity from another.
It was hard enough for the Ascian to want to look after individuals who were not of his own people; extending that to a group was likely beyond him.]
I won't claim that my expectations aren't considerable... but though it weren't by intent, I seem to have found a fairly remarkable Bondmate....
[Though his grip relaxes a little, Emet-Selch doesn't let go, leaning against him. There were a lot of emotions to (fail to) process, and Mettaton's nearness helped somewhat.]
But that all sounds like a rather unlikely scenario.... [There's a note of disbelief in his tone; not at Mettaton's account, but at the idea of it at all.] When you say there was no conflict- does that mean humanity was rewritten to no longer fear you?
[He couldn't see what else would keep the monsters from being sealed away again. There were eras of peace; even the Ascian could admit to that much. But they always ended. The lessons learned by one generation were not carried to the next. That was one of the worst of their flaws.]
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I'll give you an abundance reasons to find me remarkable down the line, sweetheart.
[...Is there any way to be more remarkable than fixing like, everything? Mettaton seems to think so. He considers, at least, that his remarkability is from his tenacity and desire to take action, which he'll accept more readily than a compliment to his being.
Mettaton nods at his comment of unlikeliness. He certainly thinks so, especially after arriving in Aefenglom. But he considers more carefully his own phrasing from before and shakes his head shortly, as much as being against Emet-Selch would permit.]
Hm... No. What I meant was that I expected monsters... to completely eradicate humanity, upon absorption of the souls! Based on the fact that we had a human with us, they seemed to be untouched. Much to my delight. As for their attitude toward us, who knows? I never did see the sun before arriving here, much less all of humanity.
[Aefenglom as a whole is Mettaton's first taste of humanity beyond a screen, and a single day spent with an unfortunate kid. It's very possible that humans would respond poorly to their release, but Mettaton's optimistic. He taps his finger thoughtfully against Emet-Selch's body before rubbing his fingers against him, absentminded.]
Besides. I don't know how it all happened, since whoever took the souls only had six. Not seven... That's how many we need, after all. I've thought about it since, and it doesn't make sense. Truly unlikely. And provoking... Unless they managed the impossible, and took the souls of monsters. But what's impossibility, right?
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