Up close, you can see that there is quite a bit of extra detail on and around this door. In fact, the whole doorframe is surrounded with photos and knickknacks, like some kind of magpie’s scrapbook: there are various photos of BAD END members, of pep!pep! at the beach, of the garden at ☆ZRAEL; there are snack wrappers from the conbini; a dangling tsum tsum of Scythe; a neat-looking leaf from the park; a handprint in what looks like old blood.
Beneath the name “HELLFIRE” (the katakana are enthusiastically oversized) are many other names: “Kiri,” “Cut Through All Foes,” “Khrysaor, Temptation of Angels,” and—written like an addendum to that last one—a fourth, which is not in katakana but rather some strange script that makes your vision blur at the edges: “Khysael.”
Most prominent of all, though, is the carved crest on the door: a detailed lotus and aconite, twining together into one whole. And you understand, intuitively, that this is as much a name as all the others.
As you run your fingers over the crest, there is knowledge: that these are your (her) flowers, as much a part of you as your cutting edge:
Lotus, Key of the Descending Angel. Aconite, Key of Rage.
There are wild roses climbing over the walls of the hallway, but none involved in this door's motifs, nor any peeking out from under the doorframe (as you can see they, and other flowers, seem to from some of the rooms).
[ He'll examine those more thoroughly in a moment. He's looking at the names listed and pulls out a pen, trying to write one more thing onto the door--
You touch the lotus, and it comes with feeling, too: the sensation of being something strange and powerful, in a way you cannot always control— —but also: there are so many lotuses here, and throughout the dorm, so... perhaps it's not a lonely sort of strangeness, to be this way.
Somehow, despite the fact that you know for a fact this lotus plant literally just now grew, it looks like it has been here for years, with lush leaves and already a proliferation of pink-veined flowers on tall, gently swaying stems.
You push open the door, and smell blood on the wind. The rest of the dorm falls away, and you find yourself on the battlefield.
…Or the remnants of one, in any event. It’s not just blood on the breeze, but the sickening smell of spilled entrails, and the groans of dying men: You really did it! You slew them all. The one who wielded lays in the blood-soaked soil beside you—and it is his own blood which has soaked it. His lamellar has broken apart around the head of the spear that pierced through his gut, but his face is still set in a howl of triumph.
It isn’t any particular battlefield, or any particular warrior. You loved them all, but there were so many, and you were wielded again and again and again.
In the distance, past the tattered flags and corpses of men and horses, is the sheen of what looks like a pond.
[ Well, that's a lot all at once. It's a surprise only in its suddenness though, a battlefield is not unfamiliar to Ordine even if he was never a part of this exact one.
The surface of the pond is mirror-smooth, and reflects velvet-dark night sky, moonless and glimmering with stars—and each and every one of those stars is falling.
It is peaceful here. And you know: here, in the water, is the way home.
It's hard to drown yourself, even intentionally. Every instinct of the body fights against it.
...But you hold yourself under, and you let the water fill your lungs as you submerge yourself completely.
It seems as though the water reflects the void not just on the surface but underneath, for it is dark, too dark to see anything—but there is not need to be afraid, for here the void is right, it is warm, it is good—and though it looked to only be a pond it's so, so much deeper than that, and you find yourself like a weight, sinking
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HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Beneath the name “HELLFIRE” (the katakana are enthusiastically oversized) are many other names:
“Kiri,” “Cut Through All Foes,” “Khrysaor, Temptation of Angels,” and—written like an addendum to that last one—a fourth, which is not in katakana but rather some strange script that makes your vision blur at the edges: “Khysael.”
Most prominent of all, though, is the carved crest on the door: a detailed lotus and aconite, twining together into one whole. And you understand, intuitively, that this is as much a name as all the others.
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
It's pretty important to you, huh....?
[ Are there any wild roses around? ]
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Lotus, Key of the Descending Angel.
Aconite, Key of Rage.
There are wild roses climbing over the walls of the hallway, but none involved in this door's motifs, nor any peeking out from under the doorframe (as you can see they, and other flowers, seem to from some of the rooms).
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
"Beloved family member of BAD END=DEAD END". ]
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Yeah, that works. As you finish writing, you notice a new lotus flower starting to send up its tall stem, right beside your feet.
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Grow strong and healthy, alright?
[ He's going to enter the bedroom proper now, if the door will let him. ]
1/2
—but also: there are so many lotuses here, and throughout the dorm, so... perhaps it's not a lonely sort of strangeness, to be this way.
Somehow, despite the fact that you know for a fact this lotus plant literally just now grew, it looks like it has been here for years, with lush leaves and already a proliferation of pink-veined flowers on tall, gently swaying stems.
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
The rest of the dorm falls away, and you find yourself on the battlefield.
…Or the remnants of one, in any event. It’s not just blood on the breeze, but the sickening smell of spilled entrails, and the groans of dying men: You really did it! You slew them all. The one who wielded lays in the blood-soaked soil beside you—and it is his own blood which has soaked it. His lamellar has broken apart around the head of the spear that pierced through his gut, but his face is still set in a howl of triumph.
It isn’t any particular battlefield, or any particular warrior. You loved them all, but there were so many, and you were wielded again and again and again.
In the distance, past the tattered flags and corpses of men and horses, is the sheen of what looks like a pond.
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
He's going to head towards the pond(?). ]
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
It is peaceful here. And you know: here, in the water, is the way home.
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
Re: HELLFIRE'S ROOM
...But you hold yourself under, and you let the water fill your lungs as you submerge yourself completely.
It seems as though the water reflects the void not just on the surface but underneath, for it is dark, too dark to see anything—but there is not need to be afraid, for here the void is right, it is warm, it is good—and though it looked to only be a pond it's so, so much deeper than that, and you find yourself like a weight, sinking
down, and
down, and
down.
You emerge from the water to a starry sky.