Mateotis

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

@Majoras End send help

We're almost done though, like for real. Should be up this week I think.

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

@BrokenPromise Yeah, I approve. Will you make a setup post/an announcement with what each team has to do? Since we have groups with quite different skillsets haha

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

@FamishedPants @Majoras End Alright team, let's decide this.

I'm fine with letting Shona go with Zach if he wants to keep an eye on her. I definitely want to have Daimyon in his own group, spreading out the remaining player chars and all. I'm also down with playing Cyrus (as I'm sure you all already know haha), though I'm not sure which team to put him in. He's pretty much the only one left who Daimyon knows on more than passing terms, so he'd love for them to be on the same team. He could also take Denis and/or Lucy with (though if anyone has strong feelings for either, I'm good with letting them be elsewhere), while Emily could join up with Zach, and that's everyone assigned in (mostly) balanced teams.

What do you guys think?

Also, what's up with George? Where is he gonna be?

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

we canon now boys

_{still a better tie-in than drv3}

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

I'm actually reasonably proud of how this one turned out. Enjoy, everyone!

_{and yes, the poem is real, just revised :)}

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

As Noel bid Daimyon farewell, she cried. He hoped she did at least, because he certainly was crying. Even still, he forced a smile and mustered a vigorous nod at her final request. “I'll keep your memory well...” he muttered, unsure if she could hear. Then, all too soon, she was swept away, and paraded for the survivors' twisted curiosity like so many others had been.He had stopped watching the executions a long ago, or at least he made no note of them beyond the first. ‘So it goes’ had become his closing phrase in entries about trials, and his tomorrow-self always knew better than to pry further. He wondered if he would do the same with Noel—what did ‘keeping one's memory well’ really mean anyway? He could write a reminder to copy her personal entry into his next notebook, maybe even some poetic memories of their all-too-brief time spent together. Yes. That would be a way.

He was in the middle of scribbling the reminder when Davis emerged again. He was firmly in Daimyon's memory now, though he still struggled to believe that he was. An abstract evil—or even a mechanical one—was easy to despair at; the poet would regularly shake his fists at it and speak of its indescribable, unending malevolence in a million and one ways in his head. But the real evil was not like that: it was a man, wearing ill-fitting clothes, a loose tie, and a bad stubble. One man.
As that man stood and gloated just metres away from the remaining group, a hundred different scenarios ran through Daimyon's head, none of them particularly pleasant. There was an encompassing feeling of impotency that he was trying to keep away, the thought that no matter their various skills, brawn, and intellect, there was nothing they could do to end the game. Because it still was not over, no matter what the mastermind was saying. All they got was a new objective—a new quest, one with great potential for hope that would inevitably end in even greater despair. And, worst of all, they could do nothing but pursue it. They would adventure to the end, suffer, then do the next one.

At least this quest had some personal connection to him.

————

They went straight to Noel's room, of course; she had set them up for it very well. Daimyon led the way with Cyrus, and he was even offered first entrance.
“Thank you,” he nodded to Denis and stepped inside. He was instinctively careful—perhaps too careful as the entire rest of the group stacked up on his back—but his fear turned out to be misplaced. The journalist's room was typical, stereotypical even, with papers and the like scattered around. People fanned out to pore over every inch of it; Daimyon's first instinct was the sealed crate in one corner of the room. There was something on it, a crumpled piece of paper that he gingerly took in his hands and straightened as much as he could. He scanned it, noting the name and signature at the bottom.
“What...?” he murmured. He did recognise the name, having come across it during his morning read-through—he just did not expect to see it. “Shona?”
“Did I hear that right—Shona Moffett?” Cyrus came over, peeking at the letter. “Noel wasn't even with us yet when she died. Are you sure it's hers?”
Daimyon weakly nodded as he read the lines more carefully, eventually looking up at the politician to say, “I think everyone needs to see this.”
“Listen up, everybody! We found a letter from Shona, the first Infinite to die in this god-forsaken place. Daimyon will read it out loud—it might interest you.”
Suddenly, all eyes were on the poet. He was not too nervous about it, diving right into the letter's contents with a dignified flair that he had always imagined Shona had. “To my companions...”

He just barely finished with the letter when an announcement came. Daimyon did not pay much heed initially, still focused on the letter—but when the old introduction sounded, he had to listen. He looked around the room at his peers: most were shocked, all were in disbelief. Zachary—perhaps the most cynical of them all—quickly took charge of the situation and led most of the group out to the elevator.

Daimyon stayed himself. His curiosity burning, he nonetheless stayed in Noel's room for a little longer, until he found what he was looking for: her camera, hung up on the bed. He took it, feeling its weight in his hands. One did not need to know anything about cameras (he certainly did not) to understand that this was a machine as exquisite as it was expensive. Scared to drop it, he hung it in his neck. ‘Develop the pictures,’ he wrote the note. Was there even a way to do that in the building?
Having found the object of the late journalist's final request, Daimyon could no longer ignore his curiosity. He hurried after the group.

————

By the time he had reached the infamous elevators, the confrontation was well ongoing. He stayed at the back of the group, craning his neck to see, though it could not make him believe what he was seeing. Sure, the person standing before them matched Shona's picture in the e-handbook exactly, but it was impossible, absolutely impossible for it to be her. It was impossible because Daimyon was there when she died; he saw her die. Frantically paging through his notebook for the details, he confirmed all of it: he was there—everyone was there—in the first major confrontation with the robotic Carnage Sisters. Shona sacrificed herself for the good of them all—he even wrote a long, dramatic poem to remember it, for crying out loud! Yes, the poem described everything, right as it happened, all the way to the very end...

Hell, maybe it would finally be useful for someone other than him.

“We may not remember, but it is remembered.” He stepped up to the woman, his notebook open on the page she died. “I made sure of that.”

The flame rose to the highest heights
Where it was snuffed out in cold blood
And yet! yet she smiled! in her dying breath,
‘At least I die a true knight’, a true death, she said,
May her flame burn eternal in the heavens
Shine on! so that we may never forget!

“That's how it ended. That's how you ended—a flame, eternally burning, showing us the way. Freed from her mortal coil...so what is happening now?”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

Daimyon's inner struggles, colorised (20XX)

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

Noel's affirmative, mutedly desperate answer should have been enough for the poet, but it was not. He kept his hand on the lever, clutching it tight, feeling it turn into immovable stone under his grip. He could not pull it. Why? The journalist was not that dear to him—dearer than many others, perhaps, but his condition made letting go of even closest friends a question of a good night's sleep and a few torn-out pages. Why did he feel ready, duty-bound even, to sentence an Infinite to death when they were squirming under the weight of revelation, and why was he so hesitant now when the guilty Infinite was begging to be sentenced?

He turned to Zachary: the man spoke with a kind of regret and despair that resonated with him. He seemed to be going through the exact same dilemma, too: how to pull a lever that must be pulled and yet was so difficult to pull. As much as he felt a sense of camaraderie with him, it also brought back to him—once more, like a pesky fly—Isaiah's accusations. To be a murderer, that was inconceivable for Daimyon. But as the Infinites around him reacted to their reveals with genuine shock and regret, he had to realise that Monokuma was not lying about them. Did the bear only put a falsehood into his file? Was he that special?

It had to be right. It had to be right.

Thumbing through the notebook, at every page he fought off the urge to stop looking. But no matter how deep into his thick diaries he had gotten, there was no mention, not a peep, about any crime larger than adultery—which he had written poems about—that he had committed. He was hesitating now whether he wanted to even make note of his burning curiosity in the current moment. If he did not write it down, he would just forget about it.

Alas, no one else would.

Hearing the encouraging words of Alice and her brother towards Zachary was the final push the poet needed to write down a reminder: talk to Isaiah; ask about the murder.
By the time he had refocused, most of their allotted minute had already passed. Daimyon cursed his hand-wringing. With the seconds ticking down, he looked at Noel, who did not say anything but looked more ready than ever to take on the whole world if needed. The stone shattered right then and there, his hand moved, and he finally pulled the lever.

The results were almost unanimous; it surprised Daimyon. Bolstered by Noel's fighting words, he felt proud of his fellows. But as all good feelings in this cursed hospital, his pride was also short-lived, for a different man took the audience captive just seconds later. The poet did not recognise the man, which felt rather awkward as he saw faces of rage and disgust on many of the Infinites. It took him a bit of leafing to remind himself who he was facing.
“The end? Really...?” he muttered in disbelief. He tried giving the mastermind's words no quarter, but the harder he tried, the more the seeds of hope took root in his mind. Could this really be the end of their suffering? As Noel turned to him, words sprouted from those seeds, words he spoke with heart. “Heroes live on in death—in our minds, in our heads they never rest. On our mouths, in our words they remain, smiling at us from the other page. Fare thee well, Noel.”

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

Mate told me they would post tommorow, so expect a post from me soon. (tm)

@BrokenPromise

The only reason I tell BP when I plan to post is to force myself, through the sheer power of peer pressure, to actually do it. He seems to have figured it out...

Danganronpa: Tower of Carnage (Finished!)

---

As quickly as Daimyon fired out his righteous indignation, he got it back in equal measure. It was none other than Isaiah who took aim at him, pressing to reveal his secret: a forgotten murder in a lost notebook. It flew by the poet at first as the courtroom devolved into madness, with accusations hurled from one Infinite to another. Everyone they struck reacted differently: some fired back with even greater fervour, others broke down in tears. Most disputes died down quickly, however, as both parties realised there was nothing but pain in knowing someone's dirtiest secret. Such was the bickering between Daimyon and Henry—the poet did not even reply to the boy's insult; his outburst had already dissipated, leaving nothing but a sour taste in his mouth.

He shook his head. Isaiah's words were coming back to him—or rather, the man forced them back in front of him, demanding him to answer for his crime. “Me? Kill someone?” the poet muttered in disbelief. “You're...you have to be—” ‘lying’, was what he would have loved to say, but the donor made sure to show him his e-handbook, where the words found credible and crushing weight. It had long been Daimyon's worst fear, having his amnesia exploited. He never would have admitted to committing such a heinous crime, but—just like his opponent said—there was no way of proving he did not, either. And, seeing how everyone else's secrets proved to be true, the realisation soon dawned on him that his, too, was real. He was a murderer. “Surely there's...more to it, yes. There must be more to it.” He nodded to himself, resorting to the only reply that let him keep his sanity in the moment.

When the bear announced that they would need to vote regardless, he happily put all his mind's faculties away from dealing with the horrible implications and towards voting for someone. Someone, anyone, because nothing could ever be simple in this game. Daimyon looked at Noel—she was still urging everyone to vote for her. Owing a debt to truth and justice, he had planned to do that all along. The release of secrets was no doubt the mastermind's ploy to throw the foregone conclusion to the dogs, to interfere with Noel's plan. Because she must have planned to be executed, right?

“Noel! You realise what you are asking for, right?” he called out to her. “You have a plan, right? ...you can save us, right?” His hand was on the lever and the selection, but he could not pull it until he got an answer.