Disclaimer: I do not own Silent Hill 2
O O O
It's so frustrating that when she finally releases herself from that iron prison, she has no way of getting down to him—them—without injuring herself further.
But she risks it. Because she's curious. Because she's tired. Because she has to know if he—they, damn it—are really dead.
Her feet land on the intricate carpet and a sting immediately assails her heels, making her cringe and drop down one knee. She eventually gets up, though, nurses the pulsing wound in her back that this monster had inflicted, and inspects the closest Pyramid Head, propped up by one long spear, arms outstretched in a morbid imitation of a sort of peace offering.
He's a bit shorter than she's always seen him as. He's barely as tall as James, which is still taller than her in any case, and a bit of blood runs in rivulets down the length of the spear. After a few more moments, she realizes that this is not the Pyramid Head she's known. This Pyramid Head is young; he might have been an apprentice, but he was definitely not the man—monster—that tortured her countless times.
She makes her way to the second Pyramid Head, wincing when a misstep stretches the stab injury on her back in a most unpleasant way.
And this Pyramid Head is definitely genuine. The fact that she knows this for certain scares her a bit, though she swallows back her fear. He is dead. He killed himself. And he's not going to get up again.
Something red catches her eye just underneath the groove of his helmet, and she reaches a tentative hand out to grab it. It's an egg, rust-colored and dusty.
She blows the dust off of it, and Pyramid Head lurches forwards.
Maria almost jumps out of her skin. But it is simply the spear's handle slipping on the floor. And when he lurches again, making jerky, frightening gestures with his limbs, she tucks the egg into a pocket in her skirt.
Pyramid Head falls, and she catches him, his blood-stained, dirty, bulky arms draping over her shoulders. It almost feels like a hug, of sorts. As if he was apologizing. "Sorry for murdering you those couple times, Maria. Sorry for chasing you relentlessly and hurting you. I never really meant any of it."
"And what of James? Not sorry for him?"
"No. Not sorry for James. Never sorry for James."
However, he is dead, and before she can begin to analyze his words, she realizes that she was just thinking up some sort of ridiculous situation in her head. Pyramid Head is a demon. He is an executioner. He has no feelings; he feels no remorse.
But that doesn't mean she doesn't.
His dead weight is too much for her to handle, and she lays on him on the ground on his back, grunting as she does so. The spear sticks straight into the air, pointing towards her, accusing her of some heinous crime that she has not committed.
She scowls and takes hold of the spear, pulling it out in one deft movement. Blood and flecks of flesh decorate the tip as she tosses it aside.
She swears she hears something scream from far off—a womanly, piercing scream that reminds her vaguely of her own. And then an overwhelming pain starts in her heart and spreads throughout her body, and she gasps, falling to the floor gracelessly.
The egg rolls out of her pocket as she clutches at her chest, staring with watery, desperate eyes at the ceiling, the mock-Pyramid Head, and then the real Pyramid Head.
He is the last thing she sees before she can feel death perched on her shoulder, whispering a sweet promise in her ear. It is comforting.
She closes her eyes and smiles. Because the suffering is finally over. Because James found his closure. Because Pyramid Head was defeated.
Because Silent Hill became nothing more than a dark dream.