“Do you mind if I get something off my chest?”
“Is that why you are-”
Litvir quietly hissed at Retvik as the two of them laid on their stomachs, their backs and necks being gently massaged by dedicated machinery, being overwatched by a gooey, tentacled Decay Lord who called themselves a “Master Massager”. To their credit, their name had been accurate so far, as the Decay Lord’s machines had been administrating the massage well, applying just the right amount of pressure, while avoiding not just Litvir and Retvik’s armoured carapaces, but also the overly sensitive spot right above their tails and groin armour.
Retvik sighed, then closed his eyes. Switching to true telepathy, the deep, dark stuff Litvir used, was always a conscious effort for him. The old Rethavok telepathic links he had were apparently just “not secure enough” any more.
“Alright, fine, I will use your channel…” Retvik grunted as he thought those words. “Is something bothering you?”
“Yes, actually. I want to quickly discuss something with you before I move onto the main topic though…” Litvir paused, allowing himself a rather pleasurable shudder from the massage. “Have you ever heard the concept of not… believing that you deserve nice things, because you have done naughty things in the past?”
“You do not need to baby the words for me, I know what self-loathing is. Let me guess, you are doing what Arkay does and believe you do not deserve this brief moment of relaxation and zen, because of the many atrocities you committed in a past that is now dead.”
Litvir eyed Retvik, then nodded. “Basically, yes. Must be a hard thing to understand, from someone as perfect as yourself. But one particular atrocity is bothering me right now.”
“Before you continue, I find it amusing how you consider me perfect. The only way I am perfect is genetically, thanks to generations of specialized breeding. I however have committed many atrocities of my own.”
“You are Retvik Rethianos, the leader of the Dessaron, who-”
“You have no idea how many beings I killed.”
“It was a war.”
“Just because it was a war, does not mean those deaths were always… inevitable.” Retvik tutted. “I apologise, I changed the subject. What is bothering you, Litvir?”
“I killed my mother.”
Retvik looked up, then shrugged. “You killed Kuta as well. Or Kuta killed you. I do not actually remember, you had just knocked me out.”
“Retvik, I killed my own mother, and all you do is shrug?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You do not seem the sort to kill nonchalantly. Either it was an accident or you felt you needed to.”
Litvir sighed. “She kept on… producing abominations. You think I am a mutant freak, Kuta and I were the most… normal out of a growing number of hideous monsters. A breeding facility, providing flesh for the enemy. Kuta and I believed she was being bankrolled by either the Cassids or the Kronospasts. I did not have to kill her though. I could have-”
“I hate to interrupt, especially when you have only told a small fraction of what sounds like a terrifying story, but are you saying your mother, whoever they were, did nothing but give birth to assholes like you?”
“Somehow worse than me. Hideous, mutated, mouths of needle fangs and claws like scimitars.”
Retvik grunted, but seemed somewhat amused. “Seems like you did the universe a favour.”
“Retvik, this is part of my own personal trauma I am letting out, and you are treating it as a joke?”
“Perhaps, but there is literally nothing I can do to help you deal with this trauma right now. I would love to help you talk through this mess. However, we lack the proper privacy, a safe, enclosed space to do so, without distractions and without other, unknown beings watching over us.”
“You would be willing to listen?”
“Of course.” Retvik propped himself up and turned his head to look at the ‘Master Massager’. “Excuse me, are you particularly busy today?”
“No.”
“Could we get an extra half an hour please?”
“Sure.”
Retvik smiled. “Thank you. My friend here is quite in need of more relaxation…”