Snippet #2464682

Memories...gone. In his wake, tens of thousands of souls.
Silent.
"To me, then. I will take your pain, now."
"You are mortal."
"I am mortal."
"You cannot carry the pain of the dead."
"I can."
"You cannot deliver it-"
"I shall."
"Lucas-"
"His pain, Hood. Now."
It rose before him, a wave of immeasurable height, rose, towering, then plunged towards him.
And she saw.
She saw Alabaster's welcoming smile.

Benediction. Godless, he could not give it. Not in its truest form.
But he had not comprehended the vast capacity within him, within a mortal soul, to take within itself the suffering of tens of thousands, the multitudes who had lived with loss and pain for almost a thousand years.
He saw faces, countless faces. Desiccated, eyes nothing more than shadowed pits. Dry, torn skin. He saw bone glimmering from between layers of root-;ike tendons and muscles. He saw hands, chipped, splintered, empty now- et the ghost of swords lingered there still.
He was on one knee, looking out upon their rankes, and it was raining, a wavering deluge acocmpanied by reverberating groans, splintering cracks filling the darkness above.
He looked upon them, and they were motionless, heads bowed, save for one.
Yet he could see their faces. Each face. Every face.
I have your pain.
Heads slowly lifted. He sensed them, sensed the sudden lightness permeating them. I have done all I am able to do. Yet it was not enough, I know. Yet. I have taken your suffering-'
"You have taken my suffering, mortal."
Into myself-
"I do not understand how."
And so you will now come with me-
"I do not understand...why."
For all that my flesh cannot encompass-
"Answer me."
I will take with me.
"Mortal-"
Somehow.
"The reason. Please. That you would so-"
I am the...
"Mortal?"
Your pardon. You wish to know of me. I am... a mortal as you say. A man, born years ago in the city of Ehrlitan. My family name before I surrendered it to Alucard was Leicester. My father was a hard, just man. My mother knew how to smile. I became so much more than what they had hoped for, and yet so much less.
Alucard, I wonder. In Alucard, did I find just another prison?
I am no Leicester. I am Alabaster. And I dare reach out to you, dead man, and bring you back because I wield such power. Because I am no longer....mortal.
"You spoke of yourself, yet I still do not understand your compassion-"
You speak of compassion, faerie. I understand something now, of compassion. Would you hear?
"Speak on, mortal."
Mortals do not understand compassion. In each moment of their lives, they betray it. We betray it. Aye, we know of its worth, yet in knowing we then attach to it a value, we guard the giving of it, believing it must be earned.
"I do not understand still."
There is always more to do, it seems.
"You do not answer my question-"
No.
"Why?"Beneath the rain, as darkness gathered, withe every face raised to him, Alabaster closed himself about all that he held within him, closed himself, then he fell back. Back.
Because I am not yet done.
And beneath the torrential rain, he breathed.