Percival Io
Missionary Man
Percival walked in silence as the Amalgam told her story. But as the tale ambled to its conclusion, he felt... confused. The Amalgam was a master manipulator; Laertia had written a healthy wariness of her into the fiber of his very being. Yet if even his Mother could be swayed by her, what did that mean?
Was he meant to save Mother from her influence? Or would Mother's views of the Amalgam change, resulting in his programming conflicting with her wishes? He did not know. The uncertainty made him feel strange, as if there were a tangled knot inside him which was impossible to untie. Try to pull on a thread, and it would only tighten.
He heard the distinctly unpleasant sound of the Amalgam's flesh warping again, and glanced over to find that she had once again taken the form of Darth Phyre. His gaze was drawn to her red hair, glinting like flame in the light. How beautiful it was...
"She does not know even now," Percival murmured. Then, his voice grew stronger, vehement and passionate. "Phyre, if you absorb my Mother into the Cult—and I know that is what you intend to do—she will not learn who she is even then. What you offer her is not identity. It is the loss of any hope of true self-knowledge. She will disappear into the whole, an ego death like that of becoming one with the Force." He shook his head. "I don't think that's what you really want. You want her, but you don't want her to be like you."
Was he meant to save Mother from her influence? Or would Mother's views of the Amalgam change, resulting in his programming conflicting with her wishes? He did not know. The uncertainty made him feel strange, as if there were a tangled knot inside him which was impossible to untie. Try to pull on a thread, and it would only tighten.
He heard the distinctly unpleasant sound of the Amalgam's flesh warping again, and glanced over to find that she had once again taken the form of Darth Phyre. His gaze was drawn to her red hair, glinting like flame in the light. How beautiful it was...
"She does not know even now," Percival murmured. Then, his voice grew stronger, vehement and passionate. "Phyre, if you absorb my Mother into the Cult—and I know that is what you intend to do—she will not learn who she is even then. What you offer her is not identity. It is the loss of any hope of true self-knowledge. She will disappear into the whole, an ego death like that of becoming one with the Force." He shook his head. "I don't think that's what you really want. You want her, but you don't want her to be like you."
