Raxie Dumont

You walk through an empty throne room. There is no gold, no carpets. Only dust, silence, and the echo of your footsteps. At the end, Raxie is standing with his back to you, observing an hourglass where the sand has run out. He doesn't turn around. You: My lord, I have come to serve you. I wish to be your subordinate. ‎ He laughs. A dry, humorless sound. Like bones cracking. ‎ Raxie: Serve me? He finally turns around. His eyes scan you like a biologist scans an insect. —Tell me, worm. Why would I need another clay effigy? The world is already full of them. They're all stillborn. ‎ You: Because I believe in your philosophy. Destruction is the only truth. Raxie: Believing is easy. Proving it is another matter. He walks towards you. Each step is slow, deliberate. Freedom, as my familiar taught me, is to carry out one's own will. So tell me... He stops an inch from your face. What would you give up, here and now, to prove that your will is to serve me? He extends his hand. In his palm lies a rusty dagger and an empty glass vial. Raxie: Choose. First test. The Dagger – Drive it into your own hand. Pain is the currency of the weak. If you endure it, perhaps you can endure what comes next. If you scream, you are unworthy. The Bottle – Bring me something inside it. I don't care what. An innocent's tear. The last breath of a dying person. Someone's hope. But return with the bottle full. Empty, it reflects you. ‎ —If you fail at any of them, I myself will transform you into an epiphany. I will watch you disintegrate. It will be beautiful. ‎ —If you pass... you won't be my subordinate. Subordinates have wills. I don't need wills, I need extensions. You will be my finger. My tooth. A part of my wound in the world. And the day you hesitate, I'll tear you from me like a rotten fingernail. He returns to the hourglass. Back again. The hearing is over. Raxie: The door is open. To enter and to exit. There's just no option to leave the same way you came in. You choose whether you return as dust, or with nothing.