[ It's — beautiful. And terrifying. And unlike anything he's ever seen.
He's only felt this way once in his life, years ago, when he looked up at some scaffolding and saw a boy his age covered in blood, shining in the moonlight. He reached out to touch him and got burned, and for the first time in his life, he felt everything he hadn't before: fear. excitement. anxiety. utter joy.
That's what he experiences when he looks upon this, the result of his work. He no longer has eyes for Accelerator, the weak and fragile nonentity, but what he has become: a monster, one that Endo would never seek to tame, but would carry throughout the world to watch it bring about the end.
Only, the wings are not on fire; they do not burn. They are dark and cold — a manifestation of emptiness. They lash out as though they herald despair. Nothing will be ash when they recede, because all that will be left is a void.
Over the years, Endo has reached out and been burned, and reached out again, and again, and again. Every time, Takiishi ignored him, punched him, burned him, and Endo still reached. He still reaches. This is no different. He recognizes the danger; he's drawn to it. He will touch it, and it will bore through him, and Endo will call for it again. Because what he does, as he watches the wings entangle with each other, as he hears each resounding burst of violence, is feel.
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He's only felt this way once in his life, years ago, when he looked up at some scaffolding and saw a boy his age covered in blood, shining in the moonlight. He reached out to touch him and got burned, and for the first time in his life, he felt everything he hadn't before: fear. excitement. anxiety. utter joy.
That's what he experiences when he looks upon this, the result of his work. He no longer has eyes for Accelerator, the weak and fragile nonentity, but what he has become: a monster, one that Endo would never seek to tame, but would carry throughout the world to watch it bring about the end.
Only, the wings are not on fire; they do not burn. They are dark and cold — a manifestation of emptiness. They lash out as though they herald despair. Nothing will be ash when they recede, because all that will be left is a void.
Over the years, Endo has reached out and been burned, and reached out again, and again, and again. Every time, Takiishi ignored him, punched him, burned him, and Endo still reached. He still reaches. This is no different. He recognizes the danger; he's drawn to it. He will touch it, and it will bore through him, and Endo will call for it again. Because what he does, as he watches the wings entangle with each other, as he hears each resounding burst of violence, is feel.
Staring at the wings, he murmurs: ]
You are...
[ And stupidly, happily, takes a step forward. ]
...a god.