Michael, the Ruined Prince
Michael, having used all of his power to seek out God, had failed as the Prince of Heaven. He had abandoned his people, absent for centuries on a fruitless search filled with unheard, increasingly desperate prayers and an unrelenting, bone-deep exhaustion that is now permanent. His grief grew day by day, and an angel in isolation begins to wither, to warp – they must be with one another lest they twist into their extremes, retreating into their divine purpose until it becomes self-destructive parody. And Michael had already been scarred long ago by his role in banishing Lucifer, by God’s own ever-mounting wrath that ate away at the mercy he was meant to feel alongside it. Michael had already been insular, something had already pulled at the seams of his soul, and now centuries of failure consume him. He would return to Heaven with nothing for his people. Nothing for the siblings he swore to protect.
So his final thought in a deeply troubled mind urged him to try one last time. That if he could not find God, then he must bring God to himself. He must sin, he must beg for punishment, and then God will come to deliver it onto him. Just as He once did to Lucifer. It disgusted him, to think he had to debase himself to be as the sinners he held nothing but vile contempt for ever since he couldn’t cope with the guilt of the first fallen angels. But his prayers have failed, his days of weeping have failed, he moved Heaven, Earth, and all of Hell to come up with empty hands. Less than that. Not even a feeling. So Michael, even as a Cherub who could not, did everything he could to replicate his memories of when he had witnessed God Himself tear the light from His angels. Michael had seen it every time, it was he that had to bind any fallen angel that survived it to their place in Hell. He knew, implicitly, what the ritual was even if God seemed to enact it in one beautiful, elegant motion. And he did just that. Imperfect pantomiming, flawed execution, but the same ritual as best as Michael could copy it. All to himself.
But only God and the high Seraphim can sever an angel from their light.
His soul was rent from his body. His light was torn to shreds by his inexperienced hands. The agony that it screeched resounded all the way back to Heaven in unintelligible, muted whispers of nauseous grief no one could understand. Michael felt himself die, but it was incomplete. He was left in a corpse, a body destroyed and succumbing to all it meant but with him still inside of it. God did not come, and Michael was trapped a ruined body, bereft of a soul, of his light, giving way to rot and deterioration yet fully functional. He could do nothing but take this as a sign from God, one that he will not be punished no matter his crime for being such a loyal servant. Even as his body falls apart, as plants begin to burst from his remains, he believes himself to be blessed – see how he grows God’s garden. See how his crown remains pristine. He adorns his exposed bones with gems and finery, ostensibly as thanks to God for keeping him alive, keeping him sinless when he had so despised his impending fall from grace. But. Michael is, in the back of his mind, highly aware of what he’s become. He knows he is rotting, he knows he is in a dead body, he knows, somewhere, God had nothing to do with it. It was just a mistake, it was just his own foolishness with catastrophic consequence. He is more noxious than a fallen angel now, a botch job shambling numbly back to Heaven when he feels the death of Gabriel.
Upon his return, he largely attempts to hide the rot of his body, at least from the citizenry – he cannot hide it from Raphael or Uriel, nor does he try. To Michael, it proves his devotion, it shows God’s still present love for him, and it is a testimony to how he cannot fall, that he can never lose his place in Heaven. Raphael begs for him to be healed, Uriel pleads reason to him, but neither had ever been as strong as Michael and ultimately, he is their leader. No matter the state he returns in, he is the Prince of the Archangels and truthfully...they both fear him now. He is not the Michael they loved, not the one that had been quiet and stoic yet still loving in return. The Michael that would have done anything for them, that never wanted to lose another like he lost Lucifer. He commands them now to join him in binding Gabriel, his tangible grief the only thing that seems to be left of who he had once been.
Internally, Michael sees their fear, he feels the crushing guilt of Gabriel’s fall, he is violently ill with one true look at himself. He had gone wrong a long, long time ago, when he lost Lucifer, and now all of that was being made manifest, but he can’t face it. As flesh falls away, he covers it more and more with jewels as if that could hide the decay he can feel spreading night and day, the only thing he feels now. He must retreat into his purpose, he must not allow such devastating failure to be his legacy. So he turns on Gabriel. Gabriel, whose light had been severed. Who walks freely in an abandoned Hell. Who still has a living, breathing body. Michael’s vitriol toward the damned hones in on Gabriel, consumed with being sure he is left nailed to the lowest pit in Hell for his treachery. All the love he once had turns to hatred and in it, the other three can see that Michael has been left shattered, that nothing in him truly believes God made him this way. God’s most loyal, left to rot.
Additional information:
Michael now always exudes the Odor of Sanctity, but there is a distinct undertone of mold to it
The opalescent webbing that runs through his body is the angelic brain - normally it is iridescent and transparent with a strange glow, but Michael's is opaque and dull
Michael now prefers walking, something noted as unusual when he returned to Heaven, but it's simply due to the fact that his body has been left entirely numb and so it's difficult to maneuver in the air properly
He is very protective of his crown and dragon-skin bag, as they seem to be the only things left uncorrupted on him
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Language and Shape.
A bit taken out from this earlier part. Anyways onto cute, Flood Vanitas! Ft. Illiterate Yoruhua lol.
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"Nothing's changed! I've done everything you've told me to do, and none of it works." Vanitas complains.
He pouts, arms crossed as he looks at them like they're some kind of traitor, which... Was technically true on multiple levels, but not here.
"This kind of thing takes time, Vanitas, you can't force something as personal as your body to shapeshift that easily."
A deep sigh escapes her, "Érebos, it might even take at the very least, a year. And that's looking on the extremely bright side, it took me years to properly develop a Clavat- eh, human, form- Over my years, I still am." Yoruhua replies, face still buried in their books and journals.
'Sol ardenti! Why does this have to be so hard?'
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Why did language and writing have to become something barely unrecognizable? Thank Érebos, that Yoruhua was at least conscious and hearing enough within Void Gear to evolve and understand spoken speech over the eons. Enough time linked with their previous wielders was the only thing saving them now.
Trying to get back to their work- because if they were able to learn this, then Orichalchemi would have one less thing to worry about when they got her back- they paid no mind to Vanitas wandering around their space.
So Yoruhua buries himself in all kinds of syllables and scripts…
'So the characters are completely different here... And none of them are using glyphs anymore?! Until Ori can repair Quiet Regalia, I'll just have to learn this the hard way. Okay... This looks the closest to the descendant of my language…'
"-hua."
'The TL sound doesn't really exist anymore, I... Think. It's either a K or L…'
"-ruhua."
'This is.. entirely incomprehensible... Without glyphs they just use entirely different, unique words to describe something instead of adding suffixes and prefixes? Oh this'll take me centuries to understand-!'
"YORUHUA!"
She jumps in her seat, frantically trying to catch herself so she doesn't fall, "Ack-! What in Érebos' name, did something happen-?!"
He turns to see what all the fuss is about, only to not see anyone.
"Vanitas? Vanitas, where did you go?" Yoruhua rises from their seat, but yelps when something pushes up against their shoe.
"Hey, watch it! I'm down here, ogre!" A familiar, muffled voice yells.
"Vanitas! I'm so sorry!" He quickly lifts his shoe and back away, only to see a small dark red flood skitter away from them.
He kneels down to meet him, but even then Yoruhua is a lot bigger than the tiny Vanitas. If anything, this only made their jarring height difference worse, like comparing a lion and a housecat, downgrading Vanitas from lynx.
"Yeah, you better be sorry! You almost crushed me, freak! Now help me up!" Little Flood Vanitas hisses.
Sheepishly, they reach out for him to hop onto their arm and get a better look at him. Carefully bringing him over their desk.
"oh wow... Look at you! You did it!!" Yoruhua broke into a wide smile, "this isn't what I imagined when I first brought it up shapeshifting, but this is fine! Certainly intriguing for a first shift..." She muses.
Vanitas stomps his little foot and grumbles, "are you done gawking?! This isn't what I wanted-why am I so small- Tell me how to undo this!"
She coos, enamored by his transformation and little tantrum. He reminded her of some of the younger homunculi she cared for in the past. "aw...but you’re so precious, so soon?"
Vanitas screeches, "YES!"
"Okay! Calm yourself!"
"I AM COMPLETELY CALM!"
She smiles to herself wryly, "uh-huh... Of course you are. Ahem, just take a deep breath and blank your mind. Stop thinking so hard about what you look like." She tries to coach.
The little flood squirms under her gaze but eventually settles, "this better work."
Vanitas' chest rises and falls as his eyes close and he stills, Yoruhua intensely watching in bated anticipation.
They wait a few seconds, then about a minute before Vanitas growls and groans, "this is impossible! It didn't work, again, fix this!"
They shake their head, "it shouldn't be that hard to go back. Being calm and not worrying about appearances is key. Your body should just relax and go to the default you're used to. With the body you're most comfortable in."
"but mine never has been!" He yells.
Yoruhua's eyes widen, "what-"
"-my body has never been just mine! I don't..." Vanitas' tiny form crumbles, sinking into a pitiful puddle on the desk, "I don't- I've never had a body I was... Completely comfortable, in. I lost that a long time ago and I'm never getting it back."
They frown, "Vanitas…"
The puddle shrinks, "why did you think I wanted to learn in the first place...? This was stupid, and now I can't even go back. Nothing ever goes my way."
Yoruhua stays silent, unsure how to comfort him. Their own form was not one they were ever unsatisfied with, not when shapeshifting came so easily to them. And, despite the fact they technically shared and understood Orichalchemi's odd relationship with having an inorganic body- this was an entirely different issue.
Yoruhua, as a homunculus, going between a monstrous form and more 'human-like' appearance, not including sharing fusion with Ori, or even body swapping with her on one occasion... all were just him in the truest way possible. Just a reflection of who he's been since birth, changing with time. Unrestrained, chaotic, self expression, like any other form of Darkness.
How and why Vanitas didn't have a decent grasp on half of that as another homunculus-
"oh." She says audibly, hitting her palm with her fist when it hits her.
'He wasn't always made of Darkness, neither was he raised in the Realm of Dark for any of this to feel natural by Light's rules. That's a tricky one to handle...'
Red eyes open and peer at her from the puddle, "...what?"
He dips his hand into the puddle and dredges Vanitas up by the scruff.
He squawks, bunging around in her grasp, "what do you think you're doing?! Let me go!"
Yoruhua huffs, "oh relax, you used to toss me around like this all the time in Void Gear, actually, I'm sure you did worse than that on occasion." She cups him in her palms, scratching under his fuzzy, yet staticky chin with a thumb, "it's okay though, this makes it even."
He half-heartedly pushes it away, "I guess…"
"Listen, I honestly have no idea how to comfort you, nor do I know how to 'fix' you."
"Tsk, I don't need your pity-" Vanitas begins to argue, but Yoruhua cuts him off.
"-but! You're right, you don't need me to. If you were able to shapeshift in the first place, then I believe you'll be able to go back eventually. Let's just ride this out, don't give up yet and don't be so hard on yourself." They encourage.
He glares, "but I don't wanna to be stuck like this."
Yoruhua gently pets him with his fingertips again, soothingly tracing down his back, "I know, but trying to force yourself back will do more harm than good. Don't worry, I'll keep you safe and sound!"
Vanitas can't help but cringe as she babies him, but a small part of him embarrassingly rumbles at the nice petting.
His sister quietly laughs to herself, earning another glare, but she feigns ignorance, coughing behind her glove.
Vanitas crawls away from her hand, "Well, since I can't do anything-" and instead hops up onto her sleeve, till he reaches her shoulder.
He brushes up against her cheek and pushes past her surprisingly soft hair, drawing a ticklish snort out from her.
"-I guess I'll just have to help you with this, your handwriting is awful." He snaps, pointing a claw at her handiwork.
Yoruhua immediately frowns, "I'd like to see you try going from millennia old glyphs to modern written words! I'm doing my best, punk."
Flood Vanitas bristles, "oh I get it, think you're too good for my help?! I'm never offering to help you again, hag."
His sister's voice goes high with indignation, "hag? Hag?!"
Vanitas squeaks when he's pulled away from his comfy perch, immobile in her grasp, "H-Hey! Not again!"
Yoruhua flicks him upside his muzzle, looking very offended, "I'll have you know I was one of, if not the most sought after Prince of Night in my era!" She gestures at her hard work, "I was a master in calligraphy, languages, chaotics, and mathematics you couldn't even conceive of, zygote!"
Vanitas hisses, and manages to nip their bare arm and points at their journal, "you spelled 'realm' wrong right there, genius."
Yoruhua's face blanches at the mistake, "oh. Um. Right. Guess some help wouldn't be entirely unwanted. You know, because you're from this era, you're my best resource." And unceremoniously drops Vanitas back down again.
Flood Vanitas mentally rolls his eyes and skitters up to their head this time, nesting on her fluffy hair, "at least like this, I get a front row seat to your mistakes."
"Hey, rude."
He scoffs, "and you used a 'k' instead of a 'c'- stars, wait, this worse than I thought, how have you been navigating the maps if you're this bad?"
Yoruhua stays silent.
Vanitas stills, "Hold on- have we been running around blind this whole time?!"
"It's not blind if I'm following a trail! I, um, recognize most worlds from your travels anyways! You never said anything-!" She tries to defend,
He lets out a loud groan and leans over their head to berate them to their face, "STARS ABOVE, it's a miracle we haven't gotten lost- you suck at everything! Teaching, reading, explaining, and now directions?!"
She sheepishly tugs on her hair, "uhm. To be fair. Orichalchemi was always the better navigator… heh, ha, she was an actual caravaner, I only ever watched while I was in her shadow… or made plans on the map we had in the castle…"
Vanitas can't believe what he's hearing, "...I'm just going to pull a rat, and take the reins from here. I may not have my body back, but I can still tell you what's what if we're taking a break from shapeshifting."
She looks up at his beady, glowing red eyes and sighs, "alright, can you read over this for me?" Offering up their notes to him.
He perks up at the distraction and lays on his smug attitude, "of course, your majesty. Now, pay attention- time for the student to take the role of the master!"
Yoruhua hides a smile under the shadow of their head, letting Vanitas do exactly as he says.
'Let him have his fun, he can learn his lessons later.' He thinks. Unaware of his bad habit, indulgence, getting in the way of resolution.
But for now, he takes genuine joy in being taught something new for the first time in ages.
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DSMP finale and why its not as bad as people say it was - understanding is not forgiveness.
Everyone is saying that its written badly, and that its damage control but Tommy has said this was in the works for months now. Everyone is saying that it isn't a satisfactory conclusion, and maybe that is the case for us; the audience but it is satisfactory for cTommy.
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cTommy never forgave cDream. He understood him, he saw cDreams past and realised that cDream had morals and had goals. He understood what those goals now were. He saw that happy server that was in the past and realised that cDream missed it. This is not him at all forgiving cDream, this is not him saying that everything that happened to him was fine, he is simply seeing cDreams perspective.
Sure, he apologises but thats him apologising for his own actions and for the bad things he has done in general, this never was meant to imply that cDream was in the right. cTommy even says that he doesn't agree with anything cDream did, he just says that he can see his point now. -
At a surface level, cTommy being sympathetic towards cDream makes no sense, but then you consider his goal behind everything. Why he always went after cDream? and its for closure.
He wanted closure not with cDream dying (as we see in prison lore he can't kill cDream) He thinks he can do it but he can't and thats because by killing him, he never finds out why cDream harmed him.
Abuse victims often need to figure out why their abusers harmed them so they can have that closure, that understanding, they no longer will be kept awake at night wondering for hours 'what did I do wrong?' 'why did they do it to me?' 'did they like hurting me?' ..and if you look at cTommy, he's always wondered why cDream targetted him and what did he do wrong. He just wanted to know why. And this finale provided that answer to him.
cDream isn't being redeemed, he says things like 'you deserved it' and he never apologises. But this isn't about them reconciling, and becoming friends. This is about cTommy finally knowing why he was hurt so many times, and it co-exists with the fact that cDream was never justified in hurting him.
cDream was never forgiven or excused, he was only explained. None of cDreams motivations and desires were painted as correct. And cTommy seeing cDream as human isn't him forgiving him.
You have to consider that cTommys trauma has a big role to play in this whole thing. Why sympathize with cDream? He always did even before exile, he always tried to understand him but got left with evil monologues in response, never knowing the true reasons until he saw that limbo. He just wants it over, he just wants to be free, he smiles because he is free, he gets the reassurance, he realises why cDream thinks everythings his fault and then he finally was at peace.
until the nuke went off.
Theres even a chance that if the nuke didn't go off, cDream would betray cTommy eventually but we'll never know.
The finale ended off with cTommy putting his heart over his head, and also empathizing with the person that hurt him the most just as cTommy has done in the past over and over. Fits cTommy perfectly.
But then both cTommy and cDream achieve what they wanted; the server being simple again.
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