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Topic: Yadayadayadangraemoyadayada (Read 811 times)

arai
æ»å¾’äºŒåä¸ƒç¥– ï¼´he Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors

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Yadayadayadangraemoyadayada
« Thread Started on Nov 4, 2006, 4:35am »

For some reason, I was reading this one bit of a long scene in hollow ataraxia and I figured. Wow. I'd like to see this in English. So I ended up translating it. But somehow, it ended up feeling really empty in comparison to actually watching it with all the game effects and the music (hinthinthint). But what the hell.
For maximum effect, for the people that don't have the game anyway, play track 20 (of the hollow ataraxia OST) on the first post, track 2 on the 2nd, and track 18 on the final.
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---The first year was spent discovering whom to hate.

For a long while, he had been in the center of happiness.
He was born in a plain, not so very wealthy house.
Normal parents, a brother and little sister some years apart. He woke up early in the morning to help his father in the forest, bringing back the fruits of their labor to the village.

That work had gone on for many years.

His father, the father of his father, probably had entered the forest and lived in the same way with the permission of the mountain. As his fatherfs son, he would also pass through the same unchanging old way of living, dying of boredom. He had his complaints about this due to his youth, but he knew that this would be gone with the wind as the years went by.

A constant place to live under, enough food to not starve, and the protection offered by the warm ties with his neighbors; for him that time had been one of everyday happiness.

Then why, why did it have to turn out that way?
Being able to pass through each day tediously was the bare minimum right that the villagers were entitled to.
It hadn't been a rich village, but it was filled with the rightness of living normally and dying quietly.

There wasn't anything that made him different from the other villagers.
There hadn't been anyone that didn't think of him as one of their own.

...Even now, he couldn't let go of it.
Nothing had suddenly gone wrong.
Nothing had been some mistake.
That choice was most definitely the will of mankind.

-That's why, he couldn't let it go.

Had it at least been the will of heaven, he could have just blamed god's cruelty.

« Last Edit: Nov 4, 2006, 4:50am by arai »

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arai
æ»å¾’äºŒåä¸ƒç¥– ï¼´he Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors

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Re: Yadayadayadangraemoyadayada
« Reply #1 on Nov 4, 2006, 4:43am »

"Filthy demon!"

It came without any warning.
On a normal day, that phrase took the place of the morning greeting.

"-First, the eye-"

He left the house, walking to the forest as normal.
Called out to his passing neighbors only to be ignored.
The madness occurred right inside the village.
He was surrounded by people he had never even talked to before and since then, he would not return to the village.

"-Leave the left eye-"

The ritual progressed with little emotion.
Apparently he was a demon.
Hearing that fact, a fact that even he himself had just heard, the villagers wailed, became hateful, and finally enraged, determining his fate.

"-Shut up. I say we crush his throat."

His confusion was larger than his fear.
Why.
Why are they doing this.
Why did this happen.
Why, him of all people.
Just think about it; there hadn't been anything close to a reason existing anywhere.

...And, how.

"-Ok. As long as he can still breathe-"

How can they be doing this?

"-Cut the tendons, only the tendons! The body belongs to the whole village, have to leave it for everybody-"

Several men handled his treatment.
While being despised by many of those he knew, his arms and legs, with their form intact, stopped working as arms and legs.
Screaming that this was his punishment for taking away their prosperity, they gave him the matching treatment for those crimes, all over his entire body.

"-Cut his tongue too. You better not think we're going to let you die-"
While being sworn at by many of those he knew, he was dirtied in mud, covered with filth.
Screaming that this was his reward for threatening their lives, he answered their unhappiness with his entire body.

"-Serves you right. Filthy demon, how dare you-"

A definite persona ended at this point.
His emotions collapsed from the pain of losing his body.
His sanity collapsed from the grief of having his dignity erased.

I'LL KILL YOU.

And with both gone.
How long had he been squatting?
Without one moan.
The branch, stuck in his throat decaying.
The tongue, pulled out long ago.
The vocal organs, inflamed after one night of screaming.

WHY.

Both those he didn't know and those he knew came together to shower abuse onto him.
Reasons weren't needed for acting out justice.
With their righteous anger and ethics, they scorned the demon exiled on the peak of the mountain.
They laughed that the world would be better without the likes of him.
They continued to laugh, when they wouldn't even kill him.

Hate brings hate.
Transcending both fear and confusion, he finally gains hatred.
But, who should that hatred be directed at?

Why.
Why.
Why.
He lost track of how many times he thought that, how many times he said that.
When his other eye was crushed, when his fingers were being chopped off by a scissor-like something, the voice that was squeezed out from his throat
was "why me".
None of the villagers answered him.

Please stop.
Please, I want to go home.
Please help.
He didn't bother to ask those hopeless wishes.
When the last remaining toe on his left leg was cut off by the thing that was his father, he accepted his fate.
He now had only one remaining wish.
Why him? That was all he wanted to know, that was his final wish, but no one would tell him.

The world is ruled by monstrous humanity.

I'LL KILL YOU.
When he realized that answer, he became a real demon.
I'LL KILL YOU.
There was no reason for him being a demon.
I'LL KILL YOU.
There was no reason for him being chosen as a sacrifice.
I'LL KILL YOU.
In the first place, the village elder, the ones holding power didn't even know what he looked like.
Anybody would have sufficed.
It hadn't been that he was gradually hated by somebody for whatever wrongs he committed.
nor had it been that he was gradually alienated from anyone for whatever good deeds he accomplished.
As if he was a pawn, he was chosen as a faceless, just another stranger.

...Just for the sake of indulging in one-day luxury, people he never met ended the life of a person they never met.
That was all there was to it.
To fill just one night of greed, a life was crushed.

When he became aware of that, the target of his hatred was decided.

-Angra Mainyu; all the evil of the world.

The celebrated icon thus became a true demon.
An egg that will eternally remain in its shell.
As the hero of sinful salvation, worshipped only in this one small world.

No freedom to struggle out of pain.
Severed from the ends.
The only part alive being the heart.
No appendages, no dignity. Only pain still working faithfully, even when he ceased functioning to be a person.

Taking countless hatred.
All the while birthing countless hatred.

The collapsed persona earned a state of order, broken as he was.
He was stone.
Unable to move outside from his stone prison, unable to move his body even slightly.
The eyelid of his remaining eye were anchored. He was not allowed to even close it.
The dried and cracked pupil continued looking outside.
Almost as if he was a man that became a statue, or a statue possessing intent.
Not able to move just one step, he would look at the unchanging landscape for a day, for a year, for tens of years.
He could not shift away his eye nor close it.
A punishment where he would be on the verge of forgetting that he was even alive before his mind could become plagued by boredom, continuing until his death.

What scared him was that this torture, one he had trouble bearing with for even one day, would go on for the rest of his life.
Someone sane would have fallen apart within 7 days.
What helped him withstand that, what protected his soul, was the fact that his sanity had long been broken.

He wouldn't be broken from watching the same landscape.
Stretched out below his vision was his homeland.
He was allowed a full view of those who called him a demon and turned him into a real demon, the village that was the source of hatred.
The abominable cluster of good will, prospering by feeding on the weak.
As long as he was alive, he would continue to hate.
The inconsistency.
The repulsiveness of a mankind that looked away from it.
The over-tolerant world for accepting it.

Inside the stone prison was only the hatred burned into him.
The persona and the body that had once been his was not to be found here.
The soul inside his body was destroyed a long time ago.
That thing was now something completely different.
The spite born from him continued to smolder through his body-

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arai
æ»å¾’äºŒåä¸ƒç¥– ï¼´he Twenty Seven Dead Apostle Ancestors

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Re: Yadayadayadangraemoyadayada
« Reply #2 on Nov 4, 2006, 4:47am »

And so, how many years had passed?
No longer able to feel time, to him, the world while being static, changed rapidly.
The links he had when he had still been human were no exception.
The people that chose him, the people that robbed him of movement, the ones that had been his family, the ones that hated him, the ones he loved.

Their hatred hadn't lasted as long as their sacrifice.
The ones who stole everything from him disappeared from the world before he would perish.

...Like the passing of a shooting star.
His eye was burned with the strength of that brief mercilessness and the unchanging arrival of each day.

For a long time.

He had been left under the sun.

He saw many lives.
The outcomes of oh so many, oh too meaningless lives.
All of them consuming time and space, hastily burning through even their own lives as they bear children, amass wealth, only to end with nothing remaining.

It may be hollow, but it was not nothingness.
Things do end, but there is no such thing as no continuation.

The days passed.
Life withered and bloomed again.
The repeat of growth and decline.
The landscape before him cycled with haste.
There had been a time when he was devastated by different believers.
There had been a time of expansion with the intake of new blood.
And to all of that, with hatred, he continued to look on.
Hatred, was the only means he had to be a part of the world.

-The heart of evil lies on the peak of the mountain, breathing darkness into our minds.
That had become the teaching of the village passed down since old times.
As long as there is hatred, as long as he is hated, he would not die.
The new villagers hated, worshipped, and were thankful to their daily adversary.
The boy that had been the demon didn't even exist anymore.

Hatred that created nothing.

A blank area that existed so each day would move on smoothly.
A hole left open in day-to-day life, a disposal yard taking in excess emotions.

How convenient it was - a false void that couldn't ever be anything.

And that village too, disappeared in the blink of an eye.
Not from the loop of decline and growth.
The era had changed, the people had changed, and that village in the mountain valley finished its role, becoming a complete wasteland.

Everything he hated was gone.
He lost his name, lost his body, and even lost sight of his soul.
In the end, even hatred left him behind.

Yet, he was still linked here.
So many years had gone by.
The inhabitants had perished, the village was gone, and even his own body had died; but he still couldn't move away.
The engraved hatred was unchanging and immortal
As long as the world of man continued, he will continue to exist eternally.

In this empty wasteland.
He will gaze at the end of the world forever.

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