Why do I hear “Like him” by Tyler the Creator playing??
You know, back when I thought the Tzitzimimeh were the Dragonlords, (the Tzitzimimeh are the Astral Assamblages, thanks @mauerefeu for the correction🫡) I had a silly thought that Kukulkan had other reason to hate them, beside the whole power struggle, betrayal, and 'you guys fuck up catastrophically' to each other, of course. Well... you know how there are fathers who hate their children whose mother are dead giving birth to them because they, in their fathers' view, 'killed their mother'?
Hmm... what if you know... what if... what if that subconsciously, Kukulkan also thought like that?
What if he saw Xiuhcoatl sacrificing his time and wisdom not to find a way to save himself, but to create the Dragonlords, and thought, 'he should've saved himself'? What if he saw the Dragonlords growing, thriving, taking the authorities over the cities, while Xiuhcoatl rotted away, and thought 'he sacrificed himself for them'? What if he saw the Dragonlords fighting him and among themselves, and thought, 'Xiuhcoatl is dying for these incompetent fools'?
...Like... how does that feel? Imagine ruling together with incompetent, bellicose, hostile people, and they have something from your brother- his blood, the names he forged, his love- and they hate you. Imagine living with the mirrors of your dying brother's face, and they hate you.
You hate them too.
I wonder if he saw them fighting and thought, "they are killing him. They say they love him but truly, they are killing him.'
But heyyyyy, this is just a silly thought haha. And it's confirmed that the Tzitzimimeh are not the Dragonlords and it's not like we know whether Xiuhcoatl truly viewed him as his children haha so this is just a silly thought😄
Okay but this thought has infiltrated my thought so much, I gotta write a little drabble hahaha. Featuring CL-04 "Hermit of Myriad Fates" Aj Awaj K'umilal Kan and Kukulkan haha.
"You have his face."
CL-04 almost dropped his flask. "...Pardon?"
The Lord Regent didn't say anything again. As if his mouth had always been shut.
CL-04 gritted his teeth, and exhaled, continuing his experiment. The small quantity of liquid phlogiston flowing from one flask to another, merging with other substances. It flowed slow and it glowed.
He still saw the Lord Regent's face behind him. Just as impersonal.
The grind of his teeth returned. Truly, what had came to posses him to allow the Lord Regent barging into his laboratory? Did he aim to watch him fumble? To watch him fail? To watch him in a little bit of setback or misstep, and used it to humiliate him in the Chamber of Deliberation?
To steal his invention? Hah, didn't the Regent have his own pet back in his own pen? Disgusting aberration wearing the face of a human, the merging of their species and aforesaid human's soul?
'Why don't you play with your own pet, Lord Regent?' His tongue itched to say, yet he wisely kept his mouth shut. 'Focus, spend your energy on only important matters.'
Yet his back burned by the Regent's stare, boring a hole. He gripped his flask tighter before he decided to turn his back and finally stand agaisnt him-
Only for the Regent to utter again, "...You have his face."
'What is it?!' "...Do explain the meaning of your words, Lord Regent. I find it hard to comprehend." 'Or just leave, if you merely wished to prattle at length, you wicked old coot.'
"Then you must be a fool." He said cooly, stepping closer instead. "What a shame, with a brain as yours, you fail to comprehend such a simple remark."
CL-04 braced himself, as if readying a charging opponent's sword. But it wasn't a far-off description for this old demented fart. "I-"
Then, a flash. The Regent was right in front of his face in a moment. He couldn't breath from utter shock. How could this old coot- "That's it. That's his expression. When he's in focus. When he's simmering in a barely hidden irritation."
The old coot grabbed his chin, claws digging to his cheeks. "That little smirk like he has it all figured. That edge on his lips as he gritted his teeth. Hah, perfect copy."
...All of you do."
He- he was talking about fath- Lord Sovereign? How dare he, such audacity! He slapped his hand away with sheer anger, batting his hand away as if touching a filth. "You better watch your gestures, Lord Regent. Such uncouth behaviour is unfitting for your station. Repulsive, even."
He didn't react with anything. Just squinting with that scrutinizing and inscrutable eyes of his. Repulsing.
But then, a sound.
A soft chuckle, sounding more like defeat.
A scoff.
"I have a feeling that my station nor my title would hold such an importance in your eyes, anymore. In my mind, they have already lost their meaning."
Cryptic, demented, a fool. What other adjectives would be apt for him? Yet instead of irritation, simmering anger lacing every blowing jabs, another feeling, shivering senses that crawled upon his spine and nape, gave way. Dangerously close to pity. "...Our Lord Sovereign has trusted you with the position. The throne and his people is your duty to bear."
"...Hah. How reassuring are your words, Fourth Lord. I am at ease now. Spoken like a true Dragonlord."
For a moment, CL-04 chose silence. Diverting his attention back to his experiment, thinking that the strange conversation had reached its end.
But then the Lord Regent stepped away, outside, his back turned against him with his hands folded behind. "...You don't even call him Father, anymore, as expected. None of you do. None of you."
The flask he gripped cracked. When he turned to the Lord Regent's figure, he was already gone. As if his presence and voice never existed and mocked him there.
His hands bled, shards of glass embedded on his palm, burning with phlogiston. He cleaned them away, the pain subsiding with ease, just like how the wounds came so easily closed.
Father's blood.
Tommorow, when CL-02's proposal came with silent thunder. Everybody exchanged glances with each other, suspicious, because everybody really knew what the outcome would be, he breathed out not even a word. His hand steady as he voted, 'abstain', just like the eternally neutral CL-01, the insouciant CL-03, and the weak-hearted CL-08. None truly resisted. Nobody did.
Yet how the favourers glared at them as if they had committed a terrible crime. How their minds must be painting terrible cases of betrayal and defenses for the impeached regent. Must be thinking that they were loyal to him until the very end.
No, not him. At least not him. There was no affection lost between CL-04 and the detested Regent, no matter how hard they suspect that they shared a mutual love for the quest of knowledge together. No, not at all.
But, there was indeed a little sensation, a shiver beneath the skin, a wrench beneath the rot, when he touched his chin discreetly, watching his fellow Dragonlords' appearances with scrutinizing yet hidden glances, recalling the Regent's words of yesterday.
He wondered if the Regent saw the same faces, everyday, every waking moments, that same awful reminders, if he had saw what he saw. If he envisioned the same gleam of the eyes watching detestably against him.
If he saw Father in everyone's faces.
But that was tommorow. For now, he also touched his chin with the hand that was healing. Closing scars and tissue touching the shape of the chin sculpted in a remembrance of its sculptor.