The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair/Identity Story

Overview

Voicelines

Identity Story

Speaker	Dialogue
The One Who Grips Faust	Sinclair.
	A soft and gentle voice enveloped the area.
The One Who Grips Faust	Look this way, Sinclair.
	The voice is wrapping- perhaps coiling, even.
	Alas.
The One Who Grips Faust	Keke… Kahah! Isn't this a magnificent sight?
	The laughter of the one standing next to the child completely twisted the air, like a hair-raising shriek made by two sharp pieces of metal scraping against each other, then flicking away.
	Its tiny, glowing letters read “Emil”. Following the name, that must be the “key” she got from Sinclair.
	Examining the area closely…
	One could see that it was surrounded by raging, knifelike flames.
The One Who Grips Faust	How does it feel, Sinclair? How does it feel to witness this sight ablaze?!
	Her voice could even be described as manic, her wry smirk more twisted than the fire around her.
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	…Ah.
	That is when the child opened his mouth.
	His lips trembled, his lungs brought up gasps and huffs.
	Could this be a response of fear? Indeed, it may seem that way.
	The child most certainly had something that one could call a chance.
	He could've hatched out of the shell that is fate with his own strength, and gripped control over the path his life should take.
	And yet…
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	It's beautiful… Faust. Beautiful to look at those vile and repulsive things being purged.
	It's not so easy to reject the ease of letting another crack the egg from the outside.
	Even if they aren't your mother bird…
	Even if they wrest hold of your path and jostle it…
	That disquieting flame, almost mistakable for warmth, lures you into giving up your strength before it like a comforting bonfire.
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	Why didn't I let go earlier, Faust?
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	I didn't need to bother trying to think or ponder so much when there was a clear answer laid right before me.
	The child spoke with a trembling voice, whimpering on the verge of tears.
	Pushed out of his nest all too soon, feigning the confidence he sorely lacks…
	A baby bird who hasn't even broken his shell fully.
	That would be the description most befitting this child.
The One Who Grips Faust	Not just anyone can be like Faust, Sinclair.
The One Who Grips Faust	However, it's alright… Nfu.
	The child with silver hair spoke, pointing to the sky.
	Up above, something muttering indistinct mechanical noises was skewered to a nail.
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	Ah… Ah…!
	The child's pupils further shrink, while his tremble grows yet more intense.
	It was painfully evident that he did not wish for what he was witnessing.
	Despite him knowing this as well, he has decided that he will be ignorant of it.
	Despite thinking that what he is doing isn't right, he cannot resist the convenience of letting this mysterious mother bird bring him food.
	A pink chick who does nothing but gape and swallow.
	Having dived into a pot of boiling oil, the child had no choice but to flutter with his melting arms.
	…Though, by the time the fire dies down, he'll have been reduced to ash.
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	Ha… Haha.
	The child laughed.
The One Who Grips Faust	Congratulations, Sinclair. Now you've become someone who can laugh at that sight.
	The one standing next to the child celebrated him with sincerity.
	In truth, she was lauding her own achievement more than anything; if there really were possibilities diverging into numerous worlds… she had managed to mold the child into a form one of those worlds must envy.
	It may even be that someone from another world has already been infatuated by a glimpse of the changing and charring child.
	Soon enough, that world too will face a storm of fire, oil, and sparks; the child there will face a similar yet distinct trial.
The One Who Grips Faust	Now, let us begin, Sinclair. The cleansing of this world.
The One Who Shall Grip Sinclair	…Okay.
	The child weeps amidst the fire; he shall ultimately be snuffed out in flame, unceasingly swinging the steel in his two arms and failing to grip anything in his hands, unable to tread the path he chose.
	Whether he will break the shell from inside, or instead yield himself to the ease of being gripped open…
	What happens in that world will stay there.
	Though, if you ask which world will be the first to reach that point…
	Who could ever know?

World of N Corp. Identity Stories