The House Of Lore

The soft buzzing of the shelter was the only thing keeping Peter grounded in reality. He turned the pages of a book he had read countless times now, humming to himself. The Egyptian Book of the Dead had taken on an all new meaning for him in recent days.

Reading was his attempt at passing the time. A corpse lay cold and stiff on the floor in front of him. Blood seeped from the multiple stab wounds in its chest, coating the tile with a murky reddish-brown. Peter brought his eyes back down to his book.

‘I am Yesterday; I know Tomorrow.’ Who then is this? Yesterday is Osiris, and Tomorrow is Ra. He smiled as he read. 

Amelie had become his own Ra, giving purpose to a life he didn’t before wish to even have; rebuilding him from her very own sweat and tears. Did this make him Osiris; twin soul to that of all existence? Beginning and end? Two halves of a single whole? He knew he was no longer Peter, but just who was he then, if not the man who killed in exchange for his freedom?

Someone who kills for the world’s freedom, perhaps? The man glanced over to his side, a stack of books on quantum physics whose words he had soaked in long before. Yes… that could work, he thought to himself before returning his attention back to his current read.

The smell in the small space was starting to go rotten. Its aroma also brought with it memories he had done his best to repress over the years, but his dead daddy’s face plagued his vision all the same. A sigh passed his lips and he closed the black book.

Not-Peter allowed his mind to drift to you instead; comfort always something that came with such thoughts. He reminisced about how the two of you met, both working for Fragile Express not too long ago. A soft smile plumped his cheeks as the memories led into the romance you shared; your first kiss, your first argument, your first attempt at make-up sex.

Your first ‘I love you’.

He shook the memories from his head. You fell in love with a counterfeit Peter, the true man having been put to rest long before you met. Not-Peter wore a mask, one of his own face, sure, but a mask all the same. You didn’t know what you were saying when you first spoke those three words. He didn’t know either, when he returned the proclamation.

If only you would have agreed to take that step into the end with him. If only you had said yes instead of… looking at him as you did. Perhaps then you would have gotten more than a glimpse of the ugly truth that lay underneath, and he wondered if you’d grow to truly love him, as he grew to love you, even still, in his own twisted way.

Standing, he stretched and looked down at the corpse in front of him. Necrosis was finally settling in; black tar seeping through the chest, and chiralium starting to form in the air surrounding the dead body. He could feel the presence of the BTs getting closer.

Not-Peter scrunched his nose, and walked over to the kitchen. Pouring himself a glass of water, he tried to tell himself patience, but after multiple failed attempts, it was getting harder and harder to practice. His eyes darted to the fake window on the wall as he drank. It showed the image of a nearby incinerator. The chiralium in the air was more dense in the region because of it, and the man hoped it would be enough.

Another chance. Don’t fuck it up this time. This corpse is special, after all, unlike the others.

He perched himself back in front of the body on the floor, glass of water in one hand, book in the other. His descent continued, as the room slowly filled with the promise of imminent voidout.

𓅰 BEFORE

“Peter!” You waved enthusiastically, happy to see the man return safe from another perilous trek.

“Hey, you,” the lanky man approached, smiling his signature grin. “How ya been farin’?”

“Can’t complain. Got caught in some BT territory yesterday, but other than that, pretty smooth sailing.”

“Well, BTs ain’t got shit on you,” he smirked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?!”

He breathed out a laugh through his nose, then said, “I’d rather face their ire than yours.”

You rolled your eyes, and walked beside the man you had come to call yours. The two of you made your way into the city proper. Fragile Express had been picking up more orders lately, and you both found yourselves constantly busy. It was nice however, when the two of your deliveries lined up like this, and you could enjoy the other’s presence.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” Peter broke the comfortable silence after a moment.

“Oh?”

“Here,” he pulled a small trinket free from his back pocket. “That old sculptor ya like gave it to me. Said it’s supposed to bring good luck or somethin’.” He shrugged, “I think it’s ugly.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you accepted the tiny keychain. “Gee, thanks,” you smiled, taking in the amateurly sculpted cryptobiote. “Archie has gotten better. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

“Are you blind? No it’s not.”

“Well, I say you’re cute. Am I wrong there too?”

Peter barked out a laugh in response, and the two of you made your way to a private room. You shared stories over your recent deliveries, and the people you met along the way. Talking eventually turned into a quiet only interrupted by the sound of your kissing. Such delicacy led to more intimate acts, and one thought stuck in your mind through it all.

I really love him.

The evening passed far too quickly; your time together always so enjoyable. Peter’s warmth engulfed your body, limbs entangled with one another. The sound of his soft breathing gave you peace, and by the way he slipped into his usual elusive slumber, you knew you brought the same to him. 

Life was good, as it was also cruel. You didn’t know it yet, but that night was the last you were able to spend in pure bliss with the man you loved.

–

It was a few weeks until you were able to see him again, and Peter was no longer himself upon your reunion. A solemnity had taken over the man’s attitude; curt responses and a lack of loving touches worried you.

He had kissed you upon meeting up, but there was no drive behind the act; it was chaste, and without passion. It made your heart ache, wondering what happened to cause such a shift.

Is it me? Is it him?

…Is it someone else?

“Are you okay,” you asked, voice gentle, despite the alarming thought.

“Fine,” he brushed you off, continuing to tinker with his reverse trike.

The sun was sweltering overhead, with not a cloud in the sky. Timefall had been persistent the last few days, so the change was welcome. In a way, it felt almost cruel; how bright the world had become without Peter’s own warmth.

“You haven’t told me how your last delivery went. Was out pretty far west.” you tried to probe. “Don’t hear much from out there, other than about that group of terrorists.”

“Uh-huh.” He continued to work on the broken axle.

“Peter.”

He ignored you.

“Peter.”

“What?” He finally looked at you, eyebrows furrowing.

“Please talk to me,” you begged, a desperation coating your words. “What’s going on with you?”

He was quiet for a moment, the tool in his hand becoming rigid within his grasp. His shoulders shook the smallest amount as he breathed out his annoyance, and you could feel a dread pushing down on your own.

“Just– I dunno. Got a lot on my mind lately. Don’t worry about it.” He got back to work, refusing to look at you.

It felt like a knife to the chest. You could recall the days when the two of you stayed up all night talking about anything and everything. Now, the man struggled to give you a full sentence. Your heart was threatening to break over the rift, but you gave him the space he seemed to need, and that was the worst mistake you made in your entire life.

–

Peter was furious. Why wasn’t it working? Amelie had given him access to immense power, but his ability to manipulate the other side still wasn’t manifesting as she had explained.

The body before him was shaking, golden chiralium pooling into the air from the corpse’s face. Black tar spread across the ground, seeping into the dull grass and locking Peter’s own feet into place. His hands were outstretched, small strands connecting his own mortality to the loss of such before him, attempting to pull free the golden skull that had begun to form amongst the dark liquid.

A perfect death mask, he had thought upon witnessing a body go necro just the day before.

He’d made up his mind by then, after struggling with what to do ever since meeting his beloved angel of destruction. Despite your fussing over him, Peter knew that Amelie was the future, his one true destiny, not you, even though a part of him wished to bring you with.

Hell, maybe he could still try; why not have two good things?

But that meant he had to rebuild himself. A real mask was needed this time; his own face would no longer suffice for who he was to become. No one would see it again, not even you, but that would have to be okay.

The corpse started to shake more violently, the humming the BTs brought reverberating in his heart. Time was almost up; thoughts of love and identity left him entirely. Pull the damn thing free!

Peter focused with all of his might on grasping the manifestation of death, the threat of the dead just below the surface. The jaw bone popped free, sparkling in the fading sunlight, the rest of the skull still obscured by tar. His finger reached in and touched its cool surface, breath hitching.

There was a moment of triumph. Chiralium fused with the dead man’s skull, bursting free from the grip of the other side, ushered obediently into Peter’s hands. His eyes flashed with reflected gold, and a smile wide enough to hurt stretching his face.

A deluge of tar burst forth from the ground, breaking his stupor, sucking the corpse and its golden promise down into its depths; out of time. The strands tugged his hands downward, dipping into the cold liquid. He acted as fast as he could, as defeat began to slow his mind, and severed the connection.

“Fuck!” Peter yelled, focusing his DOOMS elsewhere. He chiral jumped out of the field, a voidout decimating the landscape only moments later.

He could hear the boom wherever it was he wound up. Slamming a fist into a nearby rock, he felt the skin of his knuckles split. Sharp pain shot up his arm, as warmth spread down his digits. Tears formed in his eyes, but they did not fall.

Breathe, just breathe. There are always more corpses to be made. Death for life, right?

He shifted, and stared at the blood and tar that stained his hand. The smallest glint of gold sparkled on his one fingertip; a failure, but a start. Peter would get his mask, no matter how many tries it took. And once he did? The name Peter Englert would fall into obscurity.

But just… who would he become?

What name was worthy of one serving extinction?

–

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t think. You couldn’t do anything at all.

“Say something,” Peter pressured you, waiting for an answer to a question your brain no longer understood.

The private room’s lights were blinding. You blinked, attempting to refocus your reality. Peter remained in front of you, blood coating his side; not his own.

“S-say it again,” you whispered, hoping the words he spoke would be different than what you just heard.

He sighed, and took a step closer. You stepped backwards. Eyes narrowed. “Join me. Join the Homo Demens,” not a question this time, but a demand.

“Why?”

“Why? Why can’t you understand it?” Peter huffed an angry breath, “I explained it all to you already. The end is coming for us all; Amelie is proof of it. We can help her, be a part of it; make our lives actually fuckin’ mean somethin’. You, and me. Us, and her.”

He sounded crazy. Tears welled in your eyes as you felt your heart suffocating with a pain worse than when you thought he was unfaithful. You couldn’t pull him from the pit of insanity he had willingly crawled into. It was too dangerous.

You needed to run.

“I-I can’t…” Looking towards the exit, you cursed yourself for allowing Peter to get in between you and safety. You cursed yourself further for thinking such an awful thing about the man you weren’t sure you could love anymore.

“You can. I know you can,” his voice took on a reassuring note. No, a pleading one; he was convincing himself just as much as you. He was desperate.

“Peter,” tears trickled slowly down your face. The words you needed to say were far too painful, so you shook your head instead.

He watched your movements, and he realized at last that this would have to be where the two of you said goodbye. His heart would break, if he still had one, for Amelie made it clear that extinction had no need for such a meaningless organ. Peter’s body was a mere vessel, made to serve, and destroy.

At least, that’s what he tried convincing himself of. Tears began to burn in his eyes. Why couldn’t you see things as he did? Why couldn’t you just say yes? Why did he have to be alone in this?

A choice was made; Peter would have you, one way or another. His eyebrows furrowed, his fists clenched, and he launched himself at you.

𓅯 AFTER

The corpse shook violently. Not-Peter looked up from his book once more, the sour chiralium burning not just his nose, but his eyes as well.

It was time.

He suppressed all of the memories he’d told himself not to get lost in, but had managed to anyway. The look on your face haunted him still, when you realized Not-Peter had no intention of letting you leave that private room alive. His eyes went back down to the corpse.

A heavy sigh parted his lips and he stood up. “Let’s go,” he said to himself, and grabbed the lifeless body.

The sunlight outside had vanished. Timefall loomed on the horizon, moving in at a fast rate, almost sensing the death that spilled into the sky. A mountain obscured the land beyond, the safe house Not-Peter had been in, tucked away nicely within the valley of the incinerator. He could smell and feel the chiral density permeating the air. It would most certainly work this time. It had to.

The corpse felt heavier, weighed down by the tar leaking through it. Not-Peter dragged the body out into the field, and readied himself. He recalled the image of a swallow perched atop a red and green object from his beloved book.

Here begin the chapters of making transformations.

Thunder began to rumble in the distance, all light soon vanishing. His DOOMS offered a single warning; BTs were approaching.

Need to act fast, he told himself.

Kneeling down in the appearance of reverence, he hovered over the corpse. Hands outstretched as they’d done many times before now, he slowed his breathing. Small, black strands began to form, connecting his digits to the golden skull forming below the surface of tar and flesh.

The skin began to peel away, its rotten smell becoming stronger. Chiralium continued to drift upwards in the sky around the two bodies. Not-Peter leaned in, feeling his connection solidify with each passing moment; the location, and who the corpse was seemed to be helping his cause.

Golden bones started to rip away the rest of the flesh, tar pulling the skin down into its depths. The skull glinted, its metallic surface mesmerizing Not-Peter enough to not question how it could still sparkle without sunlight.

His heart was starting to pound in his chest, mixing in with the thunder’s ambience. Skin began to crawl, goosebumps covering his flesh as the hidden BTs got closer. He was running out of time again.

Not-Peter leaned in further, touching his fingers to the golden skull. It felt delicate; the bones still in the process of fusing with the surrounding chiralium.

Tar pooled across the landscape. It was now or never. He grasped the sides of the skull, and lifted it upwards. A cracking noise filled his ears as the bones broke by its eye sockets. A pang hit his heart, but he had to keep going. The tar and flesh didn’t wish to let go, but after a moment of using all of his strength, Not-Peter, at last, held within his hands a mask of death fit for the pharaoh he was to become.

He stood, casting a glance down to the corpse, now indistinguishable. “Goodbye,” he smiled a sad smile, and vanished in a flash of chiralium.

Standing atop a distant mountain, Not-Peter watched yet another voidout destroy the land. He wished he would’ve grabbed his books he had brought with him, but the thought was quickly whisked away when he looked down in his hands.

A golden half-skull stared back at him.

“I, even I,” he started to recite the passage that remained memorized in his heart, “know the hidden ways to the doors of Aaru; and, though my body be buried, yet let me rise up; and may I come forth and overthrow all my foes upon earth.”

He held the skull to his face, perfectly hiding his humanity. Peter Englert was well and truly dead.

“Higgs; the particle of god that permeates all existence. Yeah. That has a good fuckin’ ring to it,” words spoken to himself were slightly muffled behind the skull that he held up. Even his voice was no longer Peter’s with his beautiful death mask.

He had you to thank.

Tears welled in his eyes as the mask lowered. He placed the skull in one hand, his index finger of the other caressing its cheekbone.

“Gotta say,” he began, “wish things were different. But hell, it finally worked.” A wicked smile spread across his face. “Made a half decent sculpture at last, huh, Archie?”

𓅮 NOW

You sat in your shelter, news of Middle Knot City having been leveled by a bomb reaching you over the chiral network. It was said to be connected to Fragile Express, but in your heart, you knew it was the work of Peter.

Or whatever he was calling himself these days.

The urge to cry was strong, but you had to be stronger. He was not worth all of the pain you still carried in your heart for him. The man had tried to kill you when you denied him; your life only saved by a goddamned miracle.

You looked down to the cryptobiote keychain you never went without, clasped onto one of your pants’ belt loops. Archie had said it was meant to bring good luck, that’s what Peter told you, and luck it certainly brought.

You closed your eyes, and the memories all came flooding back from that fateful day.

–

Peter launched at you. The look in his eyes was crazed; fury and heartache driving him forward. Your heart leaped into your throat, the lump that formed there making it hard to breathe. Before you knew it, strong hands wrapped around your neck as he shoved you backwards into the wall. Breathing became even more difficult.

Hot tears streaked down your face as your hands desperately grasped at Peter’s own. Your lips moved in a plea for your life, but no sound came out. Tears fell from the man’s eyes as well, knowing the words you wished to speak anyways.

“You should’ve just agreed,” he cried. “If you said yes, I wouldn’t have to do this.” Another choked sob left him. “I just wanted you to be with me through it all,” he said, shaking his head. “But there is a way that can still happen.”

Your eyes felt like they were going to explode, the tightness in your head becoming too much. Fucking do something!

In your fading consciousness, a thought came to you, one perhaps not short of divine intervention. Your hand reached down, fingertips gliding over the table next to you, searching. The knife you always kept with you was there; you knew you placed it on the table after arriving, with the rest of your supplies. So where the fuck is it?!

Your arm stretched out more. Peter’s hold grew stronger, his eyes red and lips trembling, lost in the agony of his own creation. Black dots were filling your vision. Time was almost up.

A finger brushed against the small, crude sculpture from a long time friend. You smiled, as tears continued to course down your cheeks. That caused Peter to pause for the briefest moment, loosening his hold momentarily.

You pulled the keychain into your hand, looped through the hole at the bottom of your pocket knife. Fingers extended, and the handle slid into your hand next. You used the last of your strength, and shoved it deep into your lover’s side.

Peter’s eyes went wide, shouting out in pain. His hands left you, and he pulled away. You kept your grip tight, ensuring the knife stayed with you, and not him. Blood seeped through his clothes, staining his other side, this time his own.

Everything stood still then; your heavy breathing and Peter’s pained groans echoing throughout the small room. Then, a hint of something flashed behind the man’s eyes.

Relief?

“Someone else will pay,” he promised you after a moment, before disappearing from your life for good, golden chiralium filling the room.

Sinking to your knees, you cried until all of your energy was used up. You then laid on the cold floor, your tears pooling onto the tile alongside Peter’s blood.

Should you have just agreed? Would that have been easier? Could you have lived with yourself?

Your eyes closed, and you mourned all that could have been.

It was a few weeks after, when the madman now dubbed as Higgs left you a final communication. A note placed within your shelter simply read:

Archie’s dead. It’s your fault.

The words haunted you, and you never went to check to see if they were true. It was obvious they had to be, as deranged as the man had become. You apologized to the old man who had become a constant during your deliveries. His final gift to you wasn’t known to him, for it wasn’t the keychain, but in fact, your life.

–

Your fists clenched as you came back to reality. Tears threatened to spill once more for the lives of Archie and Peter; both ended because of Higgs’ delusions. Looking at the keychain again, you thanked Archie for his unknowing sacrifice.

You would carry him with you always, not unlike how Higgs currently did.