Who: Gabriel Gray/Sylar What: Narrative on fighting with Elle. When: Thursday, May 7, right before midnight Where: Standing in the street downtown Rating: Mature Audiences Only Warnings: Gore, graphic violence, sociopathology, mentions of murder, sex, many bad things from the mind of a possibly bad man. Status: Complete
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Death was something which would never truly touch Sylar. His existence would be permanent, absolute, unequivocal. No sickness could ever befall him again. Injuries would be absorbed into his body as if he had never been struck. Time was no longer a deciding factor in his world. He lived outside Time, outside the reach of the hands of Death, and he was endless.
He was surrounded on all sides by evidence of his greatness. Bodies of those who had dared to lie to him lay scattered into scraps of raw meat. Nothing stirred except his shirt as the wind blew through the streets. Sylar did not mind the stench of decay which wafted over him while he walked the streets. Concentrating on taking it all in, he breathed deeply to catch only a hint of ozone which marked where Elle had fought at his side.
Murder had not ended her. He had not ended her though he had struck her down in a petulant rage over her lies. Elle had risen again to take up existence beside him and, for the time they had fought together, Sylar had felt at peace as though he were with an equal in spite of knowing she was even more damaged than himself. Her wounds went too deep for his healing factor to overcome. Her mind was scarred and those were the kind of scars which lasted forever. Sylar could not heal the mind.
Stepping over a smoldering corpse, he breathed in the scent of Elle's power.
"I am sorry I cannot make you truly whole."
Insanity did not drive him to speak aloud. He was very aware she could not hear him. Sylar chose to speak aloud only for the comfort it brought to him. Catharsis was a real psychological response. He could cleanse himself through performing cathartic actions. Heroes had to be pure. They could not carry around hate, rage, pain. Sylar would have to work hard to be pure enough to be a hero. He thought if he could find a way to keep himself pure at heart, perhaps he could teach Elle.
They could have longer together. They could be happy. They could make one another whole.
"I do not know how to apologize for taking your life. I can only express what happiness I have remaining in me to show you I am grateful for your resurrection."
Lazarus had been granted another chance at life for his faith. His belief had earned him the chance to live again though he were dead. Elle believed in very little from what Sylar knew of her. She had lost her faith or had it tortured out of her. They were beyond those who were merely faithful penitents. It felt sacrilegious to imagine her being granted another lifetime because of faith. Sylar could imagine she had been granted another chance by the scientists of this place however and understand fully why they would want her as a specimen.
She was unique. Like him.
Her gift roared through his veins, striking out from his fingertips to set alight an unburned corpse with electrical flames.
"You are a part of me now. You will always be a part of me. I want---I want to be a part of you. Not your murderer. Something else."
Her body moved fast and fleet through the masses of their enemies. The reanimated dead had dared to get too close to his resurrection lover only to die beneath the fury of her powers. Blue lightning streaked out from her wildly uncontained. Sylar had wanted to laugh. He hadn't dared because it had felt too dangerous. Now, he permitted himself his smile as he walked where they had fought, stepped over the enemies they had defeated, left behind him those they had conquered.
They could be as gods or they could be as monsters.
For now, Sylar would try to see to it they were only heroes and he set about doing what heroes do: cleaning up the world to rid it of the evil within.