kentuckywrites

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 8

Vale, imperium. (Farewell, imperium.)

True to Death’s word, Aidoneus does not forget.

This is the price of near-immortality, the comparison drawn between gods and mortals. Aidoneus is doomed to remember. But “doomed”, perhaps, is not the right way to describe it. Memory is a burden by choice. It chooses to make memory a gift.

It savors this new universe, this second chance at life. It spends its time traveling with Kore, bids them goodbye when they become Earth. It travels far, settling in a quiet part of a distant galaxy. It becomes Mira, welcoming what creations it can. It sits, content, for a while.

In its solitude, Aidoneus tries to plan ahead. How will it create Pongo and Nessa this time around? What can it do to change the future, the impossible outcome of mortality? Does it hold back, for fear of a newfound attachment? Is it easier to have never created them, knowing that their lives will inevitably become riddled with pain and grief and guilt?

No. Aidoneus knows what it has to do. Its heart will suffer more if it doesn’t create them both.

So it does what it must. The hands of time tick ever onwards, and Aidoneus watches, content. This life will be better. These lives will be better. It exerts its influence where it can, but even in the end, some things can’t be controlled. Pain is often inevitable. Loss serves to create and destroy. Death blossoms into life, the desire to protect it. 

This is imperium, Aidoneus realizes. Control. The need to create better lives. The ability to recognize that it isn’t enough, sometimes. The knowledge that life is ever changing, ever bending - and that is what makes it beautiful.

And when the time comes, Aidoneus musters what it can, and reaches for their souls. 

~

Secretary Nagi had asked Elma to comb over Primordia one more time. He hadn’t wanted to believe that so many of the recovered lifepods were damaged beyond repair, their contents unsalvageable, the bodies housed inside them near-unrecognizable. Elma can’t admit it out loud, how every time she finds a dead mimeosome, she wants to cry. So many had been given a chance at life, only to meet death without a chance to fight back. It’s why she dedicated herself to finding the Lifehold Core so early on. Recover the Core, and humanity will thrive again, never fearing an untimely death or demise. 

But first, to recover who and what they can. Only two months have passed since the crash, and Elma’s only just beginning to see the city thrive, mimicking its Earthen counterpart. They need more resources, more bodies for the city to truly flourish. 

Elma’s search takes her to Starfall Basin. Night descends swiftly, and though she relies on the moonlight for a while, the skies darken, bringing rain. Still, she knows the way well enough even with reduced visibility. She’s been to Starfall Basin twice, both times for rescue operations. She was there to recover two civilians from barely functioning lifepods. 

Two living civilians, between six lifepods in the immediate area. 

They had to leave the lifepods behind, unable to salvage any useable materials from the empty husks. The Secretary’s request had been preliminary; based on Elma’s reports, there was a slim chance anything could be salvaged from the wreckage at all. Even if it’s not physical, some of the lifepods contained storage units, and Elma can easily upload any of those findings to FrontierNav. 

She finds the first few lifepods, scanning them over with her comm device. The first and second ones yield no rewards. The third, however, has a spare assault rifle in the side compartment. One of the dead bodies must’ve been militia, Elma realizes. She takes the rifle, thankful for a spare weapon. One can never be too careful. 

As Elma approaches the dead end clearing, she finds a lone lifepod near the far wall. It’s not smoking or outwardly damaged like the others in the area. She recalls a report from the prior week, detailing how a BLADE was recovered from a single lifepod in Starfall Basin. The name escapes her, but the general observation doesn’t. There had been a rescue operation. Someone had been brought back to NLA. 

And the lifepod the BLADE was recovered from - the one in front of her now - it’s unopened.

Elma raises an eyebrow, doing a quick search of the report in question. She confirms that this is the same lifepod. Had something scurried inside and prompted the hatch to shut, perhaps? Her curiosity gets the better of her, and she approaches the pod, one of her dual guns drawn while the other swaps her comm device for a flashlight. The main panel outside the hatch flickers, exhibiting barely enough light to indicate it’s got power. The lifepod’s outer shielding also looks relatively in tact. It’s promising, as far as the salvage request goes.

But that panel still has power. 

After surveying the immediate area for indigens, Elma holsters her dual gun, typing her login credentials into the panel. The panel rings, acknowledging that the stasis operating system is initializing. The system’s voice rings out, confirming external access, disengaging the hatch. Elma steps back as the hatch releases, raising her flashlight. She can trade it out for her dual guns in an instant, if need be. 

When the hatch opens, Elma’s flashlight lands on a human.

This, immediately, strikes her as impossible. BLADE had rescued someone from this pod already. How can there be a second human inside? As the hatch recedes further, Elma deduces that this is a man, and that he’s alive. He raises a hand to his eyes, blinded by her flashlight. She lowers it, almost apologetically, and takes another cautious step back. Aside from the brief moment being blinded by her flashlight, the man appears to be in peak physical condition, with no apparent wounds or damage to speak of. It’s a relief, despite the odd circumstances. Elma relaxes, clicking her flashlight off and holstering it to her belt.

“Hey there. Looks like you’re all in one piece,” she says.

He raises his head, enough to acknowledge that he heard her. But it’s not enough for Elma to look at his face, his hair blocking his eyes. He tries to step out of the lifepod, but he stumbles, falling on his knees in front of her. She bends down to catch him, her hands on his shoulders. The rain slicks his hair, obscuring his face further. 

“Careful,” she warns. “Just take it nice and slow, okay? Your senses’ll need time to reactivate.”

The man forces himself to stand, his head still bowed. Elma rises with him, watching, waiting. He picks his head up, and through the mop of rain-wet black hair, she finally sees his eyes. 

Pupiless. Indigo. A faint glow to them, even in the rain, even in the dark.

Elma can’t tell where he’s looking - if he’s looking at all. The man blinks a few times, trying to reorient himself. He’s facing her, almost devoid of emotion.

“Can you…can you see me?” Elma deigns to ask.

He blinks again, but offers no response.

“Can you understand me?”

Nothing.

“I’ve never seen a case of stasis hangover this bad,” Elma muses. “That’s not good. I’ll have to put a request in for the MMC for that. Did he suffer internal damage somehow?”

She refocuses on the man, and something catches her attention. Unconsciously, she’d put a fist to her chin, deep in her own thoughts. A habit she’d picked up on Earth, from her time working with the Skelleton Crew. 

He has mimicked her pose, almost to perfection. The way his hand curled into a fist, the way he’s delicately placed it at the tip of his chin. The way he looks at her now, observant, watching. 

Elma doesn’t know how to interpret this. She lowers her hand. So does he. She raises it. So does he. She smiles. So does he. Elma sighs, taking out her comm device. This, he doesn’t mimic, but he does step closer, fascinated by the glow of the screen.

“I’m putting in an MMC appointment to facilitate your repairs,” Elma explains, even though he’s proven he can’t understand what she’s saying. “My comm device isn’t outfitted with repair modules, so I can’t perform emergency repairs here.” Then: “I should’ve asked Lin to join me. She might’ve been able to at least restore your vocal -”

The man breaks away as something behind Elma rustles in the grass. The spare assault rifle on her back is gone in an instant, first in his hands, then flying through the air. Finally, it hits a blatta square in the face, the insectoid screeching in pain and surprise. Elma spins, drawing her dual guns as the man darts forward, quickly picking up the assault rifle and using the blunt end to hit the blatta repeatedly. Elma doesn’t fire a single shot, in awe as the man’s sheer force is enough to subdue the blatta, its body falling limp. 

The man rises, holding the assault rifle like a seasoned veteran despite throwing it mere moments before, and he smiles.

“Are you alright?” Elma asks.

It takes him a second, but comprehension dawns across his features, and he nods in response. At this point, Elma’s willing to accept that this is going to be a strange trip back to the city. She resolves to follow up with whatever repairs they need to facilitate, and that she’ll actively involve herself in his case. A lone human, in a lifepod previously recovered, suffering from one of the most severe cases of stasis hangover she’s ever seen, but still able to hold his own in combat, actively relearning how to be human.

If, of course, he even is human.

The thought crosses her mind, but doesn’t settle. Elma can’t make assumptions until the MMC makes an initial evaluation. 

“Well, isn’t this a strange turn of events,” Elma says. “At least you can wield a rifle. There’s honest work for people like you in the city, if you’re willing and able.”

The man’s head tilts, intrigued. 

“I’ll tell you more on the way back. For now, let’s get moving. If we stay, we risk having more playmates to deal with.”

He nods again, taking the lead out of Starfall Basin. He takes things at a brisk jog - good, his motor functions all seem to be in working order - but it doesn’t erase the fact that he navigates the terrain with a familiarity Elma’s never encountered before. She stays by his side, eyes peeled for potential threats on the way back to NLA. He holds his own well enough even when they’re ambushed just outside the West Gate.

Elma doesn’t expect it, but she attaches herself to him and all his eccentricities. She’s there when he’s offered a job at BLADE. She’s there when he speaks his first words, asking to become an Interceptor, to protect people. She’s there when they explore the five continents, collecting native flora and fauna, fawning over alien tech, panicking when dangerous indigens spot them. She’s there when they recover pieces of the Lifehold, mourning over lost data, celebrating when they recover things of import. She’s there to watch him become a protector, an ally, a friend.

And above all, she’s there to hear his name.

Pongo.

~

This is not the end. 

Stories are fickle, in this regard. They insist upon a beginning, strive towards an end. I suppose, depending on perspective, that you could call this universal iteration a “new beginning”. I cannot claim agreement to this. The nature of souls is to live, to die, and live again. There is no end to them, for it opposes the universe’s ruling towards infinity. 

I do believe that mortality burdens life. I believe that memories can fade, that names can become gravestones. I believe that a single soul has the ability to create ripples in the existence of others, but beyond a certain point, that ability is forgotten.

But I oppose this. I remember. I know what it was to be the echoed soul, feeling the ripples of others. Pongo and Nessa changed me, each in their own ways, and I will forever give them my gratitude. 

This is not the end. I will see to it that they begin, again and again, because love demands no less.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 7

Hoc non est finis. (This is not the end.)

BLADE arrives on the scene twenty minutes after Nessa’s comm to Elma. By that time, Syriahnydra has split Cocytios in half, the wild Miran oceans engulfing what little land remains. All but three members of the Desserta Caravan perish in the flood. Elma sees the three surviving Nopon - Froyoyo, Vanala, and Sprinkle Sprinkle - on the highest Cocytios mountain, hugging each other as they cry for what they’ve lost. Elma finds no sign of Nessa or Pongo, and with a heavy heart, she is forced to acknowledge that they won’t be coming to their aid. 

The Skell fleet holds its own for a time. They’ve also prepared ground combatants, who take aim at the great yggralith’s body from Primordia and Noctilum using hastily crafted harpoons and railguns. A third troop is sent to Sylvalum, but it doesn’t arrive at the target destination. Every BLADE on that mission is slaughtered by an army of the dead - the reanimated corpses of F’lenla A’slegn and Ganglion alike. Sylvalum becomes a graveyard, much like it had during the ancient war. And as Syriahnydra feasts on what pitiful ether the bodies can provide, it howls with laughter. It may not be a lot, but it’s enough to close its wounds, for now, and give it strength to keep up the fight. 

Sylvalum is the second continent to collapse after Syriahnydra lifts its tail from the sea, bringing it down on the sandy white plains. The continent cracks apart, bodies disappearing beneath the ruthless waves. Elma is not witness to it, but L’s dead body is the last to vanish, his once golden eyes bleeding black tar. He’d been dead the moment Syriahnydra possessed him. He floats among his people, the final F’lenla A’slegn, a race exterminated. 

When the battle becomes desperate, Elma orders Lin to retreat. She doesn’t. Lin’s rage is palpable, and it drives her to the edge, charging towards Syriahnydra’s neck in a futile attempt to slice its head off its body. Her Skell’s blades don’t cut deep enough. Syriahnydra clamps down on her Skell, and the frame crunches under its fangs like a chip. 

It’s in that moment that Elma knows they’ve lost. Humanity has faced catastrophe before, and it has overcome it. She’s faced with the knowledge that this is it, humanity has no way forward. Still, she fights until her dying breath, her Skell combusting under the pressure of Syriahnydra’s ether attack. Her charred body falls from the skies and splashes into the ocean, joining the thousands of other bodies below. 

Everything on Mira dies. It becomes Syriahnydra’s feast, its reward for a fight well fought. And when the only ether left is inside the planet’s core, Syriahnydra descends, splitting the planet in half to reach it. The debris scatters across space as Syriahnydra, sated, departs for the far reaches of the cosmos, ready to begin its torment on the rest of the universe. There is no one left to remember Mira and the people that once called it home.

No one, except Death itself.

It descends, time freezing as its hand extends towards the kneeling Pongo, and takes him away. The story does not end for him here, nor does it end for Nessa, or for Aidoneus. He will not let it be so, even if it means cutting the strings of Fate, destroying the hands of Space and Time. 

He brings their souls to the divide. He cradles Aidoneus, telling it secrets only godlings can know. And together, they wait for a choice to be made.

~

Pongo blinks, and the world snaps away.

He kneels in white clouds, a great blue sky above him. There’s no sun in sight, nor any of Mira’s moons, but sunlight kisses his skin all the same. His chest heaves as he drinks deep of this new, clean air. This doesn’t erase all he’s seen. 

And it doesn’t erase the probability that he’s dead.

Syriahnydra’s jaw closing on him - that’s the last thing Pongo saw. He glances down at his arms, discovering that there’s no wounds, no pain from the impact. Whatever world he now finds himself in is completely removed from his reality. 

He brings himself to his feet, his knees wobbling. The tension overwhelms, even now. Pongo tries to find the end of the horizon, some kind of landmark he can move towards. But the clouds are endless. They consume the ground beneath his feet, gentle wisps that fail to bring him any solace.

“Ngh…”

Pongo spins as he hears someone groan. He tracks the voice to his right, on the ground. A body peeks out between the clouds, struggling to right themselves. Pongo rushes over to help, eyes widening as he realizes who it is.

“Fuck.” Nessa groans again, squinting as she straightens her spine. “That fucking hurt. Where -”

Pongo hugs her before she can finish her sentence. He embraces her so quickly that she yelps, surprised. But he doesn’t care. Gods, he didn’t think he’d get the chance to do this again. He savors every second of their embrace, shedding a single tear when Nessa realizes it’s him, returning the hug by wrapping her arms under his, clinging to the back of his fur cloak. 

They sit in silence, sinking in each other’s warmth. Nessa is the first to break away, her tears dried and wiped away. “So,” she musters. “We’re dead.”

Pongo nearly agrees with her. But as he folds his hands on his lap, he takes stock of their new surroundings again. His memories of death aren’t clear enough to use as reference, especially since he’d died as an empty husk. Mira had repaired him when he’d fallen into the Grave the first time around, and he’d only gathered some details near the end of his time under the planet’s soil, only aware of how he was adrift, locked in stasis. This place isn’t enforcing stasis. He can move freely, speak freely. He isn’t waiting for Mira’s instructions or a release back into reality.

“I do not know,” Pongo says after he thinks it over. “Do you remember being here when you…when you died?”

“No,” Nessa confesses. “It was weird. I knew I was part of the planet, just floating around, waiting for something to happen.” A pause. “I followed you around, when I could.”

“I know. I tried to follow you, too. But…” Pongo swallows hard. “I know you are dead. Syriahnydra -”

“Swallowed me whole,” she finishes in a weak whisper. “Gods. Fuck, I failed. I saw Solstice get bitten, and I just -”

“You did not fail, Nessa. The ritual worked, you were making a difference by fighting Syriahnydra. I just hope we bought Elma and BLADE enough time to finish the job.”

“They do not succeed.”

Pongo and Nessa’s heads swivel at the same time, alerted by the newcomer. The figure, standing a few yards away, isn’t facing directly towards them. His coattails float in the nonexistent wind, and even though Pongo can see his feet, it doesn’t look like he’s touching the ground, hovering slightly above the clouds. A blue hood obscures his head, and really, that’s all Pongo needs in order to confirm the stranger’s identity.

“Death,” Pongo says.

The figure turns slightly upon being addressed, his hands raised, cupping something close to his chest. But still, it’s not enough to see what it is. “The planet Mira is destined to be consumed,” he continues, “by Syriahnydra, one of the great wyrms of this plane. It feasts upon billions of other cosmic entities during its lifetime before expiring, one million years after your present day.”

“So we never would’ve won,” Nessa breathes. “I was always going to fail.”

Pongo grits his teeth. Nessa doesn’t deserve to think like that. He stands up, hands balled at his sides, and begins to approach Death. “We saw your image in Noctilum. You were standing with us next to Mira. I thought that meant you would help us.”

“In a way.” Death affirms.

“How? Can you send us back to Mira? Can we go back and destroy Syriahnydra before that comes to pass?”

“Not in this timeline.”

“Then what the fuck can we do?! I refuse to just sit here and let Mira die, not after all it has done for me!!” Pongo’s voice raises, on the verge of screaming. 

“It will not die.” Death remains unfazed, his calm tone fueling Pongo’s rage. Before he can ask how, why, please - Death turns, revealing what he holds between his hands. A ball of white ether, sparkling as particles float upwards past his fingertips. The source of the light: a curled draconic tail, swirled around itself before tapering down. 

“Mira!!” Pongo rushes forward, and Mira’s true form flickers in response. In the presence of its physical form, and still connected to its subconscious, Mira speaks both out loud and within his mind.

Pongo, Nessa. I am so sorry.

Nessa runs up, stopping next to Pongo. “Don’t you dare apologize. What happened? We tried to talk to you, to find you before -”

I know. Mira hums, its etheric language translated in soft segmented melodies. He found me before Syriahnydra could feast upon my ether. He offered to bring me here, at least until it was time to summon you here. I knew I would have no way of reaching you, for a while, but agreeing meant we could all live.

Death’s hands part, allowing Mira to float closer to Pongo and Nessa. It trails weaves of light ether behind it, cascading like a gentle flame. As it creates distance between itself and Death, Pongo takes a moment to try and glance beneath his hood. But he can’t make anything out; his hood is too low to place any facial details. He’s only able to register that he has loose linen wraps around his exposed chest, a round pink gemstone placed atop it, and that his skin is as white as the clouds that surround them.

Pongo has never seen Death before. Not in a physical form, not like this. But why does something in his chest stir at the sight of him? This can’t be his heart. It’s in the center of his chest, below his clavicle, and it’s digging below his skin, yearning to be free, begging him to close the distance between them.

Death’s head tilts. “Your souls. I hear them.”

Pongo blinks, and Nessa stiffens beside him. Does she feel it, too? He steps forward, subduing his anger in favor of curiosity. He needs answers, more than he needs the rage to fill him. “You need to start from the beginning. Where are we? Why did you save us? What did you mean by ‘this timeline’?”

“We are between the planes,” Death explains slowly. “I am the guardian of this realm, this defined collection of lost spirits. Many souls wander from their corporeal forms, lost on stalwart journeys or seeking out what they cannot define. My primary objective is to guide such souls back to planes deemed as ‘reality’, whether it is their own or another’s. 

“Within the sheets of existence, there are infinite souls, infinite lifetimes. Impossibility has no meaning. Not here. In the acceptance of impossibility, I connect with souls of identical formation. Reincarnations, duplicates, twins of separate planar realities. I alone can differentiate between them. This is why I brought you here.”

In the silence that follows, Nessa and Pongo’s confusion becomes palpable. “Okay, so you’re definitely Death, carting souls along to wherever they need to go,” Nessa verbalizes in an attempt to grasp what he’s saying. “But I don’t get why you chose us specifically. Are our souls the same or something? Is that what you mean?”

“Not yours. But another you. Another time.”

Death’s hand rises, and with a curl of his fingers, the clouds at his feet rise to greet him, obeying his every command. As he speaks, they form loose shapes, images of people and places he has yet to understand. Pongo does his best to listen, to absorb, to understand.

“Before I became this realm’s keeper,” Death continues, “I was a man, living on borrowed time. Mortality is a fickle thing; most fear its eventuality. I was once prey to its whims, doomed to a short and insubstantial life. I knew the end was nigh, but still, I subsisted on the precipice, with the knowledge that a bridge between realms existed, that an escape could be created. I never found a way to cross it. I never wished to cross it. My time began to dwindle, teetering, alone. I could not sate it, and so, with fear all-consuming, I awaited the end.”

The clouds by his hand form a familiar shape: a woman slightly shorter than Pongo, with short hair and form-fitting armor, a flower perched above her right ear. Nessa’s cloud-form bends down as another smaller cloud takes shape, creating a small human. A child, Pongo realizes as they bury their head in their knees. Nessa’s cloud-form takes the child’s hand, holding it tight.

“You, of unwavering heart, took pity on my fear.” Death ignores the clouds, staring straight at Nessa. “You breathed into my weary soul and gave me the strength to rise again, at the cost of your own life. I didn’t understand the gravity of your sacrifice, then, but in my now immortal clarity, I recognize this as one of humanity’s greatest strengths: compassion. It is a memory I cherish, even when mortality abandoned me, even as I wandered through time and space bereft of companionship.”

“I don’t…I didn’t do that,” Nessa whispers. “It wasn’t me.”

“Another you. Another time.” Death tells her. “Identical souls. You existed, for a time, alongside me. I know the color of your soul, even now.”

As if to demonstrate, a ball of light emerges from the center of Nessa’s chest, engulfed in careful blue flame. Pongo has to squint to realize that this ball of light is in the shape of a heart. Her soul, he realizes. It hovers between them all, cobalt and navy and dark sapphire mixing between each other like a dance in the night. Nessa’s eyes flicker in its presence, entranced, enraptured. Mira backs up; though it has no facial features in this form, Pongo can feel its fear, despite Death’s peaceful demeanor. 

“And you.” Death addresses Pongo. “You, who saw beyond the veil. You, who gave me a greater gift than life.”

The clouds change, shifting to create new people, new memories. Where Nessa once stood, someone taller emerges, someone broader, well-built. A strand of heart-shaped hair pokes out of the hair, solidifying that this is Pongo - at least, a Pongo. 

Pongo’s cloud-form reaches inside himself, drawing out a pale version of Nessa’s soul - is this him, removing his own soul from his body? Puzzled, Pongo’s lips part, questions in his mind racing to be asked. But Death has been thorough so far. He will answer this, surely.

“Even gods cannot always bend the will of life and death,” Death explains, “and I, unfortunate crossfire, was killed when I was most needed. You appeared before me, inquiring about every method, every possibility to revive my broken soul. I gave you a solution, one that most would deny in accordance with mortality. But you…you accepted. You offered your soul unto mine, knowing the consequences.”

That means he died, Mira clarifies. He…Pongo saved you too, in a different life. 

“They both did, in their own way.” Death confirms. 

Just as Nessa’s soul emerged from her body, Pongo feels a soft but building pressure in the chasm of his chest. From beneath his skin, beneath the loose armor Vanala had crafted for him, a heart breaks free. Its flames are silent, mirroring Pongo’s eyes: indigo, violet, swirls of occasional pinks and reds and blues like galaxies in the far night sky. He tries to cup the heart in his hands, seeking its warmth. The flames lick his hands, leaving no trace, no burning sensation. Only the warmth he’s come to recognize as part of himself, part of all he wishes to emulate to the world. 

Death moves forward without a sound. He lifts his palms to Nessa and Pongo’s souls, and they flock to him, magnetized. Nessa startles, about to pursue, but rethinks when she finds Pongo motionless at her side. How can he still feel his soul’s warmth when it’s no longer in his body? He watches, waits.

Death says, “Because of you, I was given the chance to live. I wish to repay the debt owed to your souls.”

“But it wasn’t us,” Nessa responds. “It was whatever Nessa and Pongo you met in your own timeline, right? Why repay the debt to us specifically?”

“You are not specific,” he says. “This debt, I repay to all of your souls. Even if you, before me, are not the originators, I hold this promise true to you as a collective.”

Before, Pongo had been filled with wonder, a curiosity deemed near-insatiable. He wants to smile, to dance, to be grateful for the fact that they’re alive, that this entity wished to save them. But he’s weighed down by the fact that they are the only ones being spared. If Death’s speaking the truth, all of Mira is destined to die. Vanala, Froyoyo, Solstice, Elma, Lin, L…Pongo had failed them all, and here he stands, the lucky one. Unworthy, in his own eyes, to even stand at all. 

“What if I do not want to be saved?” He breathes, unable to stop himself once the question tumbles off his tongue. “Could I trade this chance so that the rest of Mira can live? If I choose to die here, would you spare the others trapped on the planet, or use my life as a sacrifice so Syriahnydra could die?”

“For fuck’s sake,” Nessa suddenly spins towards him. “Why the fuck are you offering that?! Did your promise to be kinder mean nothing to you, you piece of sh -”

Both of you, stop. Mira pushes itself between them. No sacrifices, and no yelling. We are in no position to bargain with Death right now.

“You ask for something I cannot give,” Death bows his head, lowering his hands. Nessa and Pongo’s souls still float next to him, unwavering, unyielding. “It is not my place to trade souls. I merely escort them. I already test the balance of Fate by creating this condition.”

“Then tell me something,” Pongo presses. “Was that why you were on that parchment in Noctilum? Were you trying to warn us that this was inevitable?”

Death hums, formulating an answer before he speaks again. “I grew curious of your world. I planted myself within its history as a warning, yes, but also as an offer of companionship. It was not my intention to imply assistance in Syriahnydra’s defeat.”

“So you met the F’lenla A’slegn?” Nessa pries. “And you told them all about how this would happen? Why didn’t they leave better clues? Could’ve spared us the heartbreak.”

“They knew the importance of revealing a story’s ending before it came to pass.” A pause. “That was when I was a prince. I was not as…eloquent…in my endeavors to touch the strings of Fate.”

“The Hall of the Prince,” Pongo offers weakly. “That explains the name.”

“Prince Death doesn’t have a nice ring to it,” Nessa grumbles, still upset. 

“I am a prince no longer,” Death says, “and I am not Death. Not when I offer you life.”

We got off topic, Mira redirects. You want to revive Pongo and Nessa as a token of appreciation. If they cannot stop Syriahnydra and the planet is destined to die, then what is the point of reviving them? 

“To begin again.” Death turns his back to Pongo and Nessa, and the clouds around his feet warp, revealing new scenes. Familiarity strikes Pongo, witnessing recreations of people and places he’s lived through. To his left, the moment when Elma discovered his body in an abandoned lifepod. Further beyond, the Vita, towering before Elma’s team. To Nessa’s right, her gun pointed at Pongo’s kneeling form, preparing to send his body into the Grave to be reborn. And beyond that, Starr, transforming into Aidoneus. Pongo’s soul, still by Death’s side, wallows a pitiful song, aching for what he once had. Why does it yearn for the pain? Does it see beyond, to how it became stronger for every moment it persisted?

“There is always another timeline, another path to the future,” Death explains. “There exists a parallel, one bereft of your presence. To the best of my knowledge, transporting you to this universe will result in a similar progression to the one you underwent in your original timeline.”

“Including Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra attempting to kill Mira?” Pongo asks somberly.

Death raises a finger to his mouth, barely prominent beneath the shadow of his hood. “I am not at liberty to say.”

“You said ‘similar’, not ‘identical’,” Nessa clarifies. “That means, if both yggraliths appear, maybe things will be different enough that we can kill them both without breaking a sweat. Wouldn’t that be a dream come true.”

How would that affect me? Mira inquires. I created them both. If they are being inserted into this universe they are going to, does that mean my connection to them will no longer exist?

For the first time, Death suppresses a chuckle. It’s a singular, solitary thing, and it’s almost lost in the swish and sway of the clouds beneath them. “My abilities may be limited, but you believe me incapable of such possibilities. Should you wish for the same origin, I can will it so.”

“Yes,” Pongo says, at the same time that Nessa pleads, “I do.” 

Mira twirls, clearly pleased by their quick acceptance. Thank you, both of you. Here I was, thinking you would want nothing to do with me in this new timeline we are about to become a part of. 

“It’d be weird as hell without you,” Nessa explains. “I’ve gotten so used to hearing your voice that it wouldn’t feel right not having you around.”

“Same here,” Pongo smiles, bending easily to the truth. “We have been through too much together. You have seen us both grow into who we are today, and we could not have done that without you.”

Mira whistles, the song echoing the one Pongo’s soul had uttered before. Death looks between them, the clouds of their past memories returning to the white sea. “You have made your choice, then.”

“Yes,” Pongo speaks on behalf of them all. “We accept your offer to begin again.”

“You understand that, in placing you in this new timeline, you will not retain the memories you possessed in your original timeline. You will begin again, and one day, you will end again.”

Is this true for me, too? Mira asks.

“Not you, godling. You will remember.”

Pongo exchanges a quick glance with Nessa. He’s not entirely surprised that they’ll lose their memories in this new world; he’s not even sure he’d want to keep all of the memories from this world, the pain and guilt and grief that wormed their way inside of him. But beyond all of the terrible things, there are sparks of joy, moments of comfort. He doesn’t want to let these go. He’s not sure he’s got the strength for that.

Nessa steps forward, her hand slipping into his. She squeezes, and he reciprocates. It’s all the reassurance he needs. If they all enter this new world together, they’ll find each other again. Mira’s not the only glue holding them together, but it’s written in their very souls, the lives they once lived. 

So Pongo faces Death again, and says, “We choose to begin again. To find each other again, and make the best of our new lives.”

Death nods, cupping their souls in his palms once more. Mira comes forward, weaving between their souls before returning to their physical bodies. I know the color of your souls now, too, Mira says. This is not goodbye. I will find you again, even if the circumstances are different. 

“Not too different, please,” Nessa chuckles. “At least remember to give me good tits if you’re the one creating us in the new universe. I rather like being the prettiest avatar.”

Gods above, Mira’s tone is the vocal definition of an eye roll. If you get a request, Pongo gets one too.

Pongo doesn’t have to think about it long. “Create us both at the same time. I do not want Nessa to suffer the cycle of rebirth again.”

Nessa’s eyes widen, taken aback by his request. But eventually, she softens. “Well, now you’ve gone and made me look self-absorbed. You couldn’t wish for a fat ass again?”

“Gods,” Pongo turns red, sinking into himself with a nervous laugh. “I can go without that if it meant you do not have to endure the events of Cocytios again.”

As Mira floats back towards Death, Nessa takes Pongo’s other hand in her own. Staring down at them, she mumbles, “We’ll find a way to keep that promise, right? To be kinder. We might not remember it, but it’ll be a part of us somehow.”

Kinder. Pongo wants to believe that no matter where their souls may venture, they will be kind. They’ll find each other, keep each other in check. If he falls, she’ll pick him back up again. He doesn’t need to do it alone. 

He moves too quickly for Nessa to retaliate. Pongo wraps his arms around her again, hugging her tight, trying to remember the warmth. He won’t let that memory go, after their souls drift towards their new horizon. 

And, judging by how she hugs him back, breathing deep of his armor, she will hold herself to the selfsame promise. To be kind. To never let go. To remember the warmth, and to live within it.

When they break apart, Mira bridges the gap they create, caressing them both with its heavenly light ether. The sparks land on Pongo’s nose, and he laughs, erasing the tension he carries. Nessa tries to catch one of the sparks like a firefly, holding it in her open palm and watching it fade from sight.

I will see you both soon, Mira says. I love you. I love you both more than words could ever describe. Know that I am so, so proud of you both, and I cannot wait to meet you again.

“We love you, too,” Nessa replies, wiping a tear from her eye. “You said it yourself. This isn’t goodbye.”

“We will see you soon. Thank you for everything, Aidoneus,” Pongo says. 

Mira showers them both with one last cascade of light before returning to Death’s side. With Nessa and Pongo’s souls in hand, Death lifts them to the great blue expanse, the skies splitting open to reveal the stars beyond. Death had described this realm as a place between the planes, and it’s only when Mira’s true form ascends into the universe above their heads when he realizes just how small he is. One soul, within a sea of endless possibilities. What if he becomes something different, in this new timeline Death is sending them to? What if he doesn’t find Nessa? What if he loses his connection to Mira, what if he turns against everything he stands for, what if he hurts and destroys and desecrates the very ideals he’s protected for so long?

Nessa’s soul flutters, following Mira’s true form. Her physical body fades away, leaving behind one last smile, one last tear. Then, there is only Pongo, Death, and the questions that Pongo can’t answer.

Maybe it’s okay that he can’t answer everything. Maybe he has to let go, and believe in the power of his love. That’s what tied them all together: their love, their desire to protect one another. Mira was their cradle, their home, their hope. Pongo has to believe it’ll tie them all together again, and that he’ll emerge a hero, a protector, a lover. 

Before his soul drifts beyond the rift, Pongo says, “I do not believe you are Death. I know we are going to forget this place, but you…who are you, really?

Death stares at him, contemplating. Slowly, he raises his hands to the hood obscuring his face and pushes it back, revealing his face. His skin is stark white, but across his cheeks, there’s a splattering of loose freckles, a birthmark under his left eye. His cyan hair floats carefully over his face, curling at the back of his neck. His eyes are nearly the same shade of blue as his hair, but deep inside, there are circles of pink encasing his pure white pupils, made brighter by the radiant skies. Though they’ve never met, familiarity gnaws at Pongo’s mind, the echoes of a name buried on the back of his tongue. 

The man they called Death grins.

“My name is Caspian,” he says, “King of Souls.”

With one final flick of the wrist, he unbinds Pongo’s soul from his body, the heart of indigo flames pushing beyond the realm’s borders. He feels weightless, floating without abandon. Flashes of memory scatter across his mind, abandoning him for a better future. His eyes close, though not for the final time, and everything goes white. 

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 6

Finem. (The end.)

It happens. Everything, anything, all at once.

Pongo doesn’t know when he starts running. He doesn’t know how long it takes for Nessa to follow. His feet carry him across betraying snow, slipping under his weight. His ears ring with the yggralith’s screams, the sound nestling itself inside his body, reverberating through his limbs. He shakes with its warning. 

Nessa passes him - good, she’d picked up speed - and she makes it back to the Desserta Caravan first, practically barrelling into Froyoyo. Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon glances quickly between them both, then at the darkening sky. Pongo musters enough courage to turn around. Syriahnydra is snaking its way further into the atmosphere, water dripping like ink off its scales. Though they’re far from Cocytios’s eastern coast, where the beast ascends, Pongo swears he can feel mist against his cheeks. 

Froyoyo’s saying something. Vanala’s next to him, and Pongo hears her voice, but he can’t make out the words past the ringing in his ears. Nessa’s comm device is out, and he sees Elma on the screen, and they’re exchanging panicked information, trying to update each other, trying to plot out what little resources they have. If anyone’s talking to Pongo, it’s falling on deaf ears, a consuming internal conflict.

It’s because he knows what needs to be done.

The parchment, sitting on that lone pedestal in the Noctilum caverns, past the secret door, The murals surrounding it, telling the story of what once was, what has yet to come to pass. There were two Telethia fighting Syriahnydra, in one of those murals. Aidoneus had been with them. Back then, he’d felt sick, knowing this was the knowledge the Ganglion sought: re-enacting the ritual, creating more Telethia. 

If Solstice is the first Telethia, and Aidoneus is with them…it leaves one more Telethia. One more volunteer.

Pongo has transformed into a Telethia before, when the Ganglion forced the ritual onto him. He’s willingly given his body to Mira to enact Aidoneus’s return. He remembers his skin ripping open, the mechanical bones in his body snapping and reforming, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he screamed and cried and felt his conscience slipping, falling, plummeting into the dark. 

As he stares at Nessa, he realizes what needs to happen. They can’t rely on Mira, not when it’s gone silent, so summoning Aidoneus isn’t likely even with the mural’s evidence. It leaves one transformation - one path forward. 

Solstice will need the help.

A small puff of white fur comes to sit on Pongo’s foot, heavy enough to bring him back to reality. Sprinkle Sprinkle gazes up at him, worry strewn across their little face. “What’s friend Pon thinking about?”

Pongo heaves a heavy sigh. He addresses Vanala first, because it’ll be easier than telling Sprinkle Sprinkle the truth. “Vanala, how much ether is needed to enact the Telethia creation ritual?”

“Meh meh?” Vanala’s eyes widen. “In theory, Vanala is made completely out of ether and regenerates it faster than friends can. Could spare enough to Pon for ritual and transformation, but could be messy since Vanala doesn’t know specifics of ritual.”

“Nessa and I will not be much help from the ground,” he explains. “If there is a way to utilize the ritual so I could become -”

“Absolutely fucking not, Pongo.” Nessa interjects, still on the comm with Elma. Elma’s image distorts as she spins, equally as distressed as Nessa. “I know exactly what you’re thinking,” Nessa continues, “but the answer’s no. I’ll do it.”

“I have undergone the transformation before,” Pongo protests, “I can handle it. I have to handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle shit now that I’m here!!” She practically screams, scaring Sprinkle Sprinkle off of Pongo’s foot. They dart behind their parents, curling into themself. “Let me do this. Let me do this for you, for Mira, for everyone we love. You’ve been through enough pain - let me take the weight off, for fucking once!!”

Stunned into silence, Pongo’s mouth falls open, struggling to shut itself. He knows he’s capable of carrying the pain; he’s carried it for long enough that he’s used to its burden, its claws around his heart. He wants nothing more than to fortify his walls, stand his ground, and insist on doing what has to be done. 

But their promise rings true in his heart all the same. He can’t afford to spend his strength on fighting back, and he will never forgive himself if he breaks his vow with Nessa. Pongo must learn kindness, even in the midst of this tragedy.

The claws dig into his heart. He bleeds beneath the skin. Better his blood than anyone else’s. 

“Okay.” Pongo bows his head, admitting defeat.

“Seriously, it’s unhealthy how many times you’ve volunteered to - wait, what?” Pongo lifts his head, watching Nessa come to terms with his concession. “So you…you’ll let me do the ritual?”

“If there is a way to enact it and summon a second Telethia to fight along Solstice, yes.” 

“...I was expecting a bigger fight out of you,” she says softly.

“Saving the energy for the real fight,” he replies. “If you do this, then I can try and connect with Mira. The murals said there were two Telethia fighting Syriahnydra, and Aidoneus was with them. I…I do not know if Mira will answer, but I will try. I have to try.”

Nessa doesn’t respond right away. The space between them is filled with a violent roar, the reminder of what’s risen from the water. Elma’s image shifts again, affected by bad electrical signals and fraying at her edges. “Do what needs to be done. If you can come together and provide Syriahnydra with a suitable distraction, I should have BLADE mobilized and heading to your position in half an hour.”

“Thirty minutes,” Nessa scowls. “That’s a long ways off, but we’ll do our best.”

“And Nessa? Pongo?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“I need you both to be careful. This is going to be our most dangerous encounter yet, and if anything were to happen…”

Nessa rolls her eyes. “Not like you to be sentimental, Elma. It’s hot.”

“It’s been such a pleasure working with you both,” Elma continues, unfazed. If Pongo didn’t know any better, he could swear that there was a tear on her cheek. She could explain it away by the electrical interference, so he doesn’t bring it up. “No matter what happens, I hope you both know that I’m proud of how far you’ve come. You’ve grown into competent fighters, valuable allies, and my most trusted friends. My life was made better by knowing you.”

Pongo and Nessa look up at the same time, staring at each other. Kinder, Pongo thinks. Be kinder. This is affirmation that everything he’s done - everything he and Nessa have done up until this point - has made a positive impact. Their losses may weigh heavy, but their victories are proof of their endurance. It doesn’t matter what they’ve been through, be it alone or together, because they will always come back stronger for it. 

Pongo manages a smile, and it’s brimming with the strength he knows he has. “You are speaking like this is the end. We will make it out of this, Elma. Be careful. We will see you soon.”

“I hope so.” Elma disconnects the call, and Nessa puts her comm device away. As another roar pierces the skies, Vanala squeaks, her wing reflexively bending to encompass Sprinkle Sprinkle’s little body. Froyoyo draws his sword, a bloodstained blade twice his size. “Froyoyo can provide initial distraction if friends want to enact ritual. Will try and find Telly too.”

“Is this something you’ll be able to do?” Nessa asks Vanala.

Vanala nods, assured but unsettled. “Will ritual be for Pon, or for Nessa?”

“Me,” Nessa says quickly, even though Pongo won’t contest it. Old habits, he thinks. Stubborn habits. 

“I will go to the Grave,” Pongo tells them all. “Starr was able to find the core when he fell down there. I hope I can do the same. If Mira is down there - if being closer to it will help our communication - then I can ask it to use me to become Aidoneus.”

“Plan is settled,” Froyoyo concludes. “Froyoyo will tell caravan to hide in mountains and bring littlepon. Desserta Caravan has fighters, but none equipped enough to fight Syriahnydra. Froyoyo won’t risk their lives.”

Froyoyo beckons Sprinkle Sprinkle to follow him past the tents. They bow out from underneath Vanala’s wing, glancing between their parents and Pongo. Vanala catches them in a quick hug, kissing the top of their head and mumbling something too soft to hear. Once the hug breaks, Pongo gives in to the whims of his heart. He comes down on one knee and waits for Sprinkle Sprinkle to jump into his arms, nuzzling into his collarbone where his fur cloak is snapped shut. Vanala had used the charms Starr wore as a clasp. Pongo closes his eyes, wondering if there was a way Starr could hear his thoughts, feel this warmth. You deserved this, he thinks, and I am sorry Mira and I could not give it to you.

Sprinkle Sprinkle jumps off of his knee, wiping away tears with the back of their wing. “Pon better come back. Sprinkle Sprinkle can’t handle not seeing Pon again.”

“I will.” Pongo promises them, there and then. He’s never been one for lying, but this isn’t a lie, because it’s what Pongo believes. This won’t be the end. He won’t let it be the end. 

Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle head further into the caravan, leaving Vanala and his sister alone. “Clearing nearby,” Vanala says hurriedly, marching past them and to the southern plains. “Nessa and Vanala enact ritual there.”

Nessa starts to follow her, but Pongo catches her hand. As she turns to meet his eyes, Pongo discovers she’s on the verge of tears. His heart twists, ugly and wild, and for a moment he considers trading places with her. If these tears are a result of her fear, Pongo won’t stand for it. 

Before Pongo can ask for this clarification, Nessa tells him, “I’ll be right behind you. For Mira. For us.”

Pongo squeezes her hand, keeping up his smile. He won’t let it fade. He won’t say goodbye. 

“For us,” Pongo says. 

~

The southern clearing’s the best place to do this, Nessa realizes. They won’t be next to the caravan, or next to anything remotely dangerous. She’s not even sure the latter detail is a concern, considering there’s no sign of indigen activity anywhere. Had they all gone to hide? Are they running from the serpentine monster, large enough to swallow the sky? It doesn’t matter in the end. 

As Vanala sets her sights on the snowy floor, she begins to etch deep markings with her wings and arms, mimicking ancient F’lenla A’slegn symbols. “Vanala familiar enough with concept of ritual,” she explains, “even if Vanala doesn’t know exact runes. All Vanala needs is way to concentrate blessings of planet and Vanala’s ether into Nessa.”

“I don’t care about the process, just the results,” Nessa tells her. “Whatever works.”

Her attention is suddenly pulled by Syriahnydra’s form, tall as it’s ever been, arching its long neck. It roars in pain as white light blasts into its skin, stripping it of some of its inky scales. Something flies past its face, barely bright enough to stand out - Telethia. Golden fragments of feather-like ether trail after the Telethia, who spins and fires another beam of light ether at Syriahnydra’s eyes. It’s only as Telethia glides past it that Nessa discovers just how many eyes Syriahnydra really has. Too many, all clumped together like combs in a beehive, all void, all consumed by an eternity of famine and rage. 

“Vanala,” Nessa begs, “Solstice is fighting by herself, I have to go help them -”

“Vanala almost done,” the Nopon replies, her movements quick but scrambled. “Need to make runes serviceable or Nessa will get hurt!!”

Another blast of radiant light strikes the side of Syriahnydra’s face, and it snaps at the Telethia in retaliation. Telethia barely makes it out of its reach, creating more distance between them to recuperate. Light and fire build in Telethia’s maw just as Syriahnydra’s jaw unhinges, showcasing razor sharp teeth. Deeper down its throat, ether builds - not radiant, like Telethia’s, but a blaze of darkened sludge, curling around its lips like smoke. 

“SOLSTICE!!” Nessa screams, even though she knows Telethia can’t hear her from so far away. Just as Syriahnydra prepares to release its built-up energy, Solstice fires its ether into its open mouth, igniting the ether already inside. Syriahnydra’s head whips back, screeching with pain. The ground quivers as its body collides with one of the bordering mountains, and it shatters instantly, raining rubble and debris across all parts of the continent. Pieces of the mountain’s corpse even land close to Nessa, all the way from the other side of Cocytios. 

“Circle complete!!” Vanala shouts. “Nessa, stand in center, and Vanala will grant you power!!”

Nessa does as she’s told. Vanala begins to chant something, and Nessa can’t tell if it’s quiet because her ears are ringing, or because Syriahnydra is truly that loud, or because she must build to her true strength. The runes in the ritual circle come alive with blue ether, sending copies into the air that swirl and collide and smack into Nessa’s body like stones. She winces at first, believing she could manage the pain. But they keep slamming into her, keep burning away her skin, keep giving rise to something new beneath the flesh, warping her senses, her bones, she is expanding and contracting and surging and becoming something outside her mortal shell and by the gods does it hurt more than anything she’s ever done before and when will it end when will she end and where will she begin and -

~

Pongo runs as fast as he can towards the Grave. Earlier, he’d stared at it across the open expanse, wondering why Mira had included it in its designs. Such a terrible drop, a path into hell itself that only gods could claw their way out of. 

He’s not a god. He fears too many things, like mortal men are want to do. 

Yet still, the chasm calls. 

Pongo’s legs burn, pulling up loose snow behind him. He’s witness to the fight in the skies above and counts his lucky stars that Syriahnydra is no longer focused on him or Nessa. Telethia’s lithe form keeps the massive serpent on its toes, unable to react quickly enough to counter their attacks. But what it lacks in speed, it makes up for in its sheer size, its power, its ability to cleave worlds in two. Pongo forces himself to look away, to focus on the task at hand.

Mira, he calls out in his mind. I am coming, Mira, can you hear me?!

He’s met with Syriahnydra’s roar, enough to make Cocytios shiver. He nearly loses his balance, but stabilizes after a moment, staying true to his mission. It doesn’t matter if Mira’s too weak to answer him. He’s coming, he’s coming, he’ll meet Mira at the planet’s core and offer his body up, give it the strength he needs. 

Pongo descends down many hills, finally arriving at the stretch of flat plains before the Grave’s closest cliffside. A few more strides, and the skies behind him erupt in a cacophony of violets and blues. It’s not the color of Syriahnydra or Telethia’s ether, but it’s nearly the same shade as Vanala’s. He doesn’t need to think long about what implications this has. 

Seconds later, a shadow flutters over his head. In the darkness of the night, a white-scaled Telethia beats its wings, trailing strands of cosmic-colored ether. 

Whatever Vanala had done, whatever she’d been able to pull off - it worked.

Pongo can’t hold back his smile, cheering as Nessa soars across the sky, on the warpath to Syriahnydra. Flames trickle from the sides of her open jaw, and she fires electric blue ether into Syriahnydra’s body, scorching the scales along its spine. Syriahnydra recoils, and in the moment of reprieve, Nessa twirls around Telethia - Solstice - and together, they continue their assault. Two Telethia, just as the murals had depicted. It ignites every fiber in Pongo’s body, knowing he’s the last step. As long as he can reach Mira and host Aidoneus, they’ll survive. Mira will survive.

The Grave isn’t much farther. With a renewed energy, Pongo surges forward, knowing that every step he takes gets him closer to the end. He’d had his doubts, before. It’s an easy thing to acknowledge how deep his fear had settled, how tight its grip had been on his heart and mind and soul. But there’s a difference. That fear held him back. The fear that pushes him towards the chasm is explosive, demanding his action, demanding that he plays a part in this terrible fight. He teeters on the verge of loss, of losing everything he holds dear. He will not let the yggralith take his home. 

At long last, Pongo arrives on the edge of the cliff. He overlooks the void, darker than the night that claims the skies. He hasn’t checked on the fight in a while, too intent on reaching his destination. He allows himself a final moment to look over his shoulder, to bid Telethia and Nessa goodbye for a while. 

The second that he does, he witnesses Syriahnydra’s neck craned almost all the way back into its body. When it snaps forward again, it flings something from its mouth, hurtling straight towards Pongo. It isn’t ether, no, not one of its routine attacks. This is something smaller. Heavier. 

Pongo flings himself to the left, knocking himself off of his own two feet. The projectile lands with a heavy thud far away from him, but it bounces, ricochets with the ground, until it finds a final resting place mere inches from him. All hope leaves his body as he discovers what this is. 

This is a body.

Green scales, yellow strands of ether in the shapes of feathers. Dark blood upon the snow, from where Syriahnydra has taken a bite - large enough to cave out Telethia’s stomach, large enough that there are no guts left to spill.

Syriahnydra roars in delight, drowned out by Pongo’s heartbeat in his neck.

“WHAT SUCCULENT ETHER,” the yggralith snarls. “LIGHT AND DESPERATION. WILL I TASTE IT UPON YOUR FLESH, TOO?”

~

Nessa is no longer in control.

The second that Syriahnydra snaps at Solstice’s body, the second it bites into their flesh and tosses their corpse aside like a ragdoll, the second that the light leaves their eyes -

Human or Telethia, it doesn’t matter. Nessa screams, a guttural and terrible beast. Her anger clouds her sight, then makes it sharper, and everything comes into focus as she hones her rage in on Syriahnydra. She’ll kill it. She’s going to tear it apart. She’s going to scatter its remains in the ocean, where Mira’s sealife can feast upon its rotting carcass and no one will ever lay eyes on it again. 

She doesn’t think about how naturally flight has come to her. She knows already that the flames she spews are born of her heart, holstered in her jaw until the time comes to unleash them. Nessa flies circles around Syriahnydra, finding weak points in its mess of ink black scales, scorching whatever flesh it presents for her. It screams and writhes in pain, trying in vain to snap at her when she comes in close. Ascending towards the stratosphere, Nessa gains a momentary height advantage, using it to fling fireball after fireball into Syriahnydra’s mouth. It doesn’t mix well with the ether already collected on its serpentine tongue, and it flinches, roaring as its body collides with one of Cocytios’s mountains. The snow-capped tip withers away under its pressure, crumbling down, down. 

Nessa spares a quick thought for the Desserta Caravan. She hopes they’re all safe. 

“FOOLISH INSECT,” Syriahnydra threatens, righting itself and eyeing Nessa above it. “YOU ARE NOT MY ONLY TARGET. IT WILL BE EASIER TO DIGEST YOU ALL IF I CUT YOU UP.”

It turns its back on Nessa, preparing another large blast of ether. Nessa doesn’t understand what it could be aiming at, but still, she dives for it, taking this as a needed distraction. When Syriahnydra releases its ether, it comes in a line, shooting straight through Cocytios, parting the ocean on the opposite side. The land crumbles, shatters - splits. All at once, Cocytios is halved, land falling into the new pit Syriahnydra’s created. 

Nessa’s heart plummets down to her stomach. She couldn’t have stopped that, an attack so utterly unplanned and so easily executed. 

It suddenly dawns on her that this fight is impossible.

Her one chance at being Mira’s hero, her one chance to be in the spotlight. There’s so much on the line, and she knows now that she’ll fail.

But she can’t. 

Nessa follows through with her first idea. Take advantage of Syriahnydra’s back being turned. Light it up. Watch it burn.

If she falls? So be it. She’s died before. This isn’t what she’s scared of.

So Nessa fires, again and again, dodging every last one of Syriahnydra’s attacks, praying to every god she can think of to just survive, kill it, kill it kill it KILL IT -

For just a moment, Nessa loses focus.

And when she does, Syriahnydra’s jaws close around her.

~

Pongo watches Nessa die.

Syriahnydra swallows her whole. It licks its lips clean of blue ether as it turns and locks eyes with him.

“LITTLE GOOODLIIIING,” it coos, “IT’S YOUR TURN.”

Cocytios, carved in half before him. The ground trembling beneath his knees, afraid of what’s to come. Telethia’s blood, tendrils of failure, inching ever closer to him in the snow. He is frozen in this moment, unable to bring himself to fall over the edge. 

Syriahnydra charges, descending so quickly that there will be no time to dodge.

Tears stream down Pongo’s face as he accepts his fate.

“May the sun and the moons above grant us the power of the star,” he whispers. “Let us, the humble servants, protect -”

The last thing he sees are Syriahnydra’s teeth, the insides of its mouth - and a blue hooded figure hovering above its tongue, reaching for him, waiting for him to die.

~

It was always going to end in this fashion. 

In this timeline, Syriahnydra consumes the planet, and becomes one of the universe’s most infamous yggraliths. It starves only after a millenia of hunting. It is a lifetime no one on this planet is destined to witness.

But it is not the lifetime I wish for. Nor you, I imagine. 

…No. Not at all. 

It’s okay. I know their souls. They will be here soon. And then…then, I will let them choose.

There will only be one option for them.

One? 

Everything they have been through, everything they have overcome…if they choose to die here, then I really fucked up, somewhere along the line.

To live is to choose life. To live is to choose inevitable death. To live and to be alive permits an endless abundance of choices. 

They are going to blame themselves for how things ended. They will think they failed.

Choice, once more, to decide if they wish for a timeline where they succeed. You do not believe this?

…I did not like you, the first time we met. I still have my doubts. Is it bad that I just want my avatars to have a good life? One where they do not need to fear this pain and regret? Why can you not grant them a second chance right now? Why wait for their answer?

I may have additional reasons. Patience, Aidoneus. All will be revealed in time.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 5

Promissio ante horam ultimam. (A promise before the last hour.)

Nessa calls Elma after Pongo splits off from the group. Even though comm devices have the annoying tendency to pixelate when their batteries are low, she can pick out the clearly defined eyebags on Elma’s face. It dawns on her that it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since Telethia landed on BLADE Tower, alerting them all to the danger beneath the sea. Elma’s been awake all this time. Nessa and Pongo have been awake all this time. The fatigue, the exhaustion of it all - it weighs heavy, stacking and multiplying faster than any of them can comprehend. 

Elma updates her as briefly as she’s able. BLADE paperwork is a nightmare, and though HQ is doing their best to push everything forward, there’s only so much they can do in twenty-four hours. BLADEs are out on the field, unable to be recalled back to the city until their missions are complete. The ones still in the city are gearing up, preparing for what information they’ve been given. The Outfitters in particular are working on mass production of Skell frames, hoping to outfit every BLADE with a pilot’s license with a new, more powerful machine. The public’s being kept in the dark, and the Mediators have been working hard to silence any potential rumors, locking confidential information behind closed doors. 

As Elma takes a breath, it hits Nessa that they’re preparing for war. That’s what this is: war. They haven’t fought anything of this scale as a collective unit before, not even the Ganglion troops. Syriahnydra is a yggralith, a creature that could wrap around half the planet, intent on eating the planet. She’s thankful the civilians of NLA aren’t being told yet - there’s a time and a place for this kind of announcement. Let them live in bliss for a little while longer.

“I have something else,” Nessa says at the end of Elma’s debriefing. “After my last update with you, we found Pongo in Noctilum. Apparently he’d been sent with L on a mission to decipher some old Miran ruins.”

“I remember when he accepted the mission,” Elma nods. “What did he find?”

“He found murals about the fights with both yggraliths,” she summarizes, “and some weird drawings of us trying to save Mira. But most importantly, on their way out, Pongo said that L got possessed by Syriahnydra.”

“Possessed? How?”

“Wish I knew the specifics - all I know is that it happened, and Syriahnydra reanimated a ton of Ganglion corpses in the tunnel system too. Pongo and I theorized that it could be a way for Syriahnydra to harvest enough ether to reanimate its own body. Froyoyo seems to think it could be one of Syriahnydra’s mental tricks; he remembers it using them in their first fight.”

Elma hums, contemplative. “If Syriahnydra’s plan was to harvest ether, why would it pick corpses? There’s no life force to grab onto.”

“The body’s still composed of ether to a degree,” Nessa responds. “It’s not nearly as much as a soul would provide, but maybe it’s all Syriahnydra needs - or maybe, it’s all it has the strength to take.”

“It managed to take control of L, though.” A pause. “It could be like you and Mira. Needing an avatar to communicate intent.”

“Oh, it communicated intent alright,” she stiffens. “That being said, this means we might be working with a shorter timeline than I thought. I don’t know if Syriahnydra’s still controlling the corpses or L, and if it is, I don’t know what its plans are. But Pongo said there were hundreds of bodies down there. I can’t imagine Syriahnydra would’ve gone through the trouble of possessing them if it didn’t have a plan.”

“We’ll keep an eye out,” Elma confirms. “A swarm that size should be easily detected with our existing radar, and considering BLADE is on high alert already, there shouldn’t be any issues spotting their approach.”

“That’s reassuring,” Nessa grins. “Now, you’ve been awake a long time. Debrief the head honchos, then let one of them take over. Vandham, Nagi, Chausson, whoever. We’ll need you at full strength if a huge undead army is on the prowl.”

“The Commander’s been telling me the same,” Elma replies. “I suppose I have your brother to thank for my persistence.”

“Funny way to say ‘insomnia’,” she points out. “C’mon, Elma. You’re not the only one working on this. It’s not gonna hurt if you step back for a little bit.”

Elma’s shoulders slump, taking Nessa’s words to heart. “You’re right. The Commander and Secretary Nagi are pushing permissions along at a reasonable pace. I’ve been meaning to visit Lin and Tatsu and update them on our progress - perhaps I’ll step out to do that, after I’ve informed HQ of your findings.”

“Sounds good to me,” she says. “And we’ll keep you updated here, too. I’m going to spend more time with Froyoyo and Vanala, see if they have any insights to Syriahnydra’s tactics.”

“Of course. Good luck, Nessa. Be safe.”

They end the call, and Nessa stashes her comm device away for the time being. She’s parked herself outside of Froyoyo and Vanala’s tent; both Nopon had ducked inside, and she can make out the faint makings of a conversation beyond the blanketed tarp. She glances at Telethia’s form in the distance, making out Pongo’s silhouette standing next to them. She’s not sure how long he’ll be, but she doesn’t want to wait. He knows where she is. He’ll come when he’s ready.

Nessa ducks down, heading inside the tent. Small lanterns flicker with golden ether, illuminating the space with a warm sunlit glow. Snow becomes padded furs and fabrics, thick enough to capture the warmth the ether provides. Deeper inside, there’s a collection of blankets and pillows. The Nopon of the Desserta Caravan like to initiate sleeping piles to share their body heat, so Nessa assumes this must be where Froyoyo and Vanala sleep. Near the pile, there’s a few birch tables covered in all sorts of miscellaneous items. Froyoyo’s sword leans against one of them, gleaning in the lamplight.

Froyoyo and Vanala are standing in front of his sword, and both turn their heads as Nessa enters. “How are efforts going with other flesh trees?”

“They’re working on gathering resources,” Nessa explains, sitting down next to Vanala. “They’re building more Skells, enlisting more BLADEs to join the fight. It all sounds promising.”

“Reassuring to know that friends, Froyoyo, and wifeypon won’t be fighting alone,” Froyoyo says. “Got lucky with Corvhesperikon in last battle. Froyoyo may be legendary heropon capable of felling gods, but Froyoyo also recognizes age. May not be as spritely as Froyoyo was in youth.”

“Hubbypon being humble,” Vanala jokes. “Having flesh trees’ help will make the fight easier for sure!”

“It’s humanity’s planet now, too,” Nessa adds. “They want to help protect their home, no matter the cost.”

As Nessa thinks about everything leading up to this point, she shifts in her spot, her hands folding in on each other. Everyone has been talking about war. A fight, according to those who know about Syriahnydra, is inevitable. The yggralith is awake, and it’ll only be a matter of time until it has enough strength to rise again. Its size alone is enough to warrant concern, but its hunger, its insatiability? This is what makes Syriahnydra one of the greatest threats to Mira’s safety.

And it suddenly occurs to Nessa that Mira’s been silent for a while. She digs into her subconscious, reaching for her connection with the planet. The ground beneath her grows warm with life, a sign that Mira’s heart still beats beneath the soil. But it remains silent all the same. 

Mira? She thinks. Pongo’s not your only avatar. We could use you right now in planning ahead. 

Silence. 

Damn, do I need to flirt with Solstice again to get your attention?

Silence.

You’re scaring me. C’mon, Mira, that’s enough. Say something.

Silence.

A wing drapes over Nessa’s arm. Nessa returns to the present, and only then does she realize that her hands are shaking. Vanala is careful in her ministrations, her wing rubbing comforting circles into her skin. 

“Nessa is shivering,” she observes. “Vanala wants you to know that it’s okay to be scared.”

“Me? Scared?” The lie comes easily. “I’m itching to fight that overgrown worm. I’m just trying to think about other ways we could prepare for it.”

“Nessa doesn’t have to lie.” Vanala responds just as easily, concern written across her face. “Should get some rest. Everyone will need it for when Syriahnydra wakes.”

“I’m okay, I promise!” Another lie, though Nessa tries to build up more bravado to go with it. “Actually, I have a question. We know Syriahnydra’s pulling from whatever sources it can to amass ether, enough to mobilize its body. Is there a way we could cut off its supply, or just limit its ability to collect it?”

Froyoyo hums, his wings folding inwards. “Impossible to cut off ether supply. Everything is made of ether - Syriahnydra could pull from any source it wants.”

“But inhibiting Syriahnydra’s ability to pull the ether?” Vanala says. “That is possibility. Something Vanala might be able to do since Vanala is ether entity, but may need help.”

“Perhaps friend Aidoneus could assist?” Froyoyo ventures. “If ether entities like wifeypon can control intake of ether, then look no further than the planet itself.”

Both Nopon turn to Nessa expectantly. She’d been able to lie before, yet the truth struggles to emerge in her chest, a metamorphosis of stress and anxiety clawing for recognition. She can’t give this monster a reason to thrive. “I’ll ask Mira about it later. I think it’s with Pongo right now.”

“Of course,” Vanala’s settled by this answer, her grin turning devious.“Nessa should rest in the meantime. Go find littlepon to play with to unwind. Vanala has idea in the meantime: a surprise for Aidoneus’s avatars.”

“Wifeypon up to no good,” Froyoyo rolls his eyes, amused. “Froyoyo loves when wifeypon is clever.”

“Vanala always clever,” she retorts, “and Vanala insulted that hubbypon thinks otherwise.”

“When did Froyoyo make implication? Froyoyo insulted that wifeypon would think so little of her!!”

Nessa rises from her seat, unable to suppress her smirk. Despite everything, being with Froyoyo and Vanala is a comfort. It helps that they’re keeping high spirits, and it gives Nessa the strength to mirror them. 

But deep down, she knows Vanala is right. She just has to do a better job of hiding her fear. There’s no place for it at a time like this.

~

Nessa and Pongo end up staying the night, and the night after that. A few days turns into a week with the caravan, and the vast majority of their time is spent talking strategy with Froyoyo and Vanala. Elma provides updates where she can, but it’s only by the end of the week that she’s able to report BLADE’s unanimous agreement to mobilize. Any BLADE with a Skell license had their loyal machines upgraded and tuned up, and any BLADE lacking a license was given temporary permission to operate a Skell for the duration of the emergency. Even if they’re not skilled, BLADE needs as many fighters in the sky as they can get. 

However, little progress was made on the aquatic combat systems. The Outfitters were at a loss on what materials would work best for a hydrophobic Skell, and progress on a compatible frame has been one step forward, two steps back. Nessa remains optimistic all the same. As long as everyone’s got a Skell, and as long as every Skell’s equipped with a flight module, they should have enough manpower to strike Syriahnydra down before it rises too much.

Pongo’s present for every update, engaged and attentive. His discomfort with Cocytios seems to fade the longer they stay, but there’s still times where she finds him on the edge of the caravan, staring out into the endless snow. There’s days where Cocytios is beautiful, an angelic expanse of possibility. But Nessa’s memories are frigid here, as frigid as the bitter winds. She pushes it down, making room for the warmth the caravan provides. 

Every night, they feast on a collection of thermonanas and other flora the members of the Desserta Caravan scavenges up. Some nights, their hunters return with enough small game to feed them all. Nessa doesn’t hold back her admiration end even offers once or twice to go out and help. The littlepon all laughed at her for that, the first time she asked. “No way flesh tree could stay hidden,” Froyoyo’s eldest, Pecana, snickers. “Caribears would gobble up Nessa in seconds!”

Nessa takes clear offense, but her pouting is outweighed by the laughter - and outweighed by Pongo joining in. Sprinkle Sprinkle always sits on his lap during dinner, and his arms wrap around their little body as he tries to suppress his giggles.

“Not funny,” Nessa scoffs.

“Extremely funny,” Pongo grins. 

It’s easy, after that, to coax Pongo out of the fortress he’s built around himself. He spars with her during the day, keeping their minds sharp, their bodies on the move. At night, they go inside the tents, bury themselves beneath Nopon-quilted blankets, and pray they aren’t plagued by nightmares. Nessa’s not as prone to them as Pongo is, and he’s had his bouts of insomnia as a result. It was worse in the beginning of the week, when the memories clawed fresh wounds into his psyche. But somewhere along the way, Froyoyo’s littlepon took notice, and after a while, Nessa would wake to him smothered by nine furry little tufts. 

“What, I don’t get a snuggle pile?” Nessa jokes with Sprinkle Sprinkle one morning. 

“Nessa always welcome to join,” Sprinkle Sprinkle replies. Then, their smile fades. “Starr had very bad nightmares for long time. Sprinkle Sprinkle and siblings all know what makes them better. Just normal now.”

She’s not sure whether she should thank them or cry.

The end of the week comes quickly. Pongo and Nessa are by the caravan’s border, sparring once more. Vanala walks up to them, alone, and the two pause to acknowledge her. 

“Vanala’s surprise is ready,” she says. Pongo and Nessa exchange a quick glance before following her back to her tent. Nessa ducks inside first, the receiver of Vanala’s excited “Ta-daaa!”

Lying on the blankets are two sets of armor, similar and different in many ways. They’re both crafted from the same gray-blue leathers, outlined with the same cream-colored fur. The boots and gloves especially appear to be sewn together with the same patterns.

But the differences lie in the shape of them both. The set that Nessa believes - knows - is hers has gems adorning the belts and chestpiece in the shape of Solstice’s armor. Sword holsters on the back of the shirt, meant to mimic the Telethia’s wings. A horn headpiece, bent in the shape of Solstice’s horns. 

Pongo’s, meanwhile, has a waist-length fur cape, and a familiar silver brooch clipping it in place. The dark brown belt, salvaged from someone Pongo used to be a part of. His horn headpiece, in the shape of a man who wore a skull to conceal his pain.

She hears Pongo’s breath hitch as he lays eyes on the armor. Vanala stands beside them both, looking over her masterpieces. “Vanala believe friends are poorly dressed for Cocytios weather and wanted to make new armor before fight with Syriahnydra. And…Vanala thought it fitting to make outfits reflect journey up until now. Now, you’ll both have memories of love to use in battle.”

Nessa smiles, a tear rolling down her cheek. “Thank you, Vanala. It’s beautiful. Gods, I want to wear it every day.”

Pongo takes longer to respond. When Nessa turns to face him, his expression is oddly stoic, as if he’s lost inside himself. She reaches out, grabs his hand. He blinks, and he returns. 

“Do you think Starr would be proud?” He whispers. “Or do you think he would find this insulting? Me, wearing something inspired by him. Inspired by what he represented.”

“I think he loved you in the end,” Nessa tells him. “I think he’d be proud of how far you’ve come.”

Pongo sighs, bending down to address Vanala directly. “Thank you. This is one of the greatest gifts I have ever received.”

“Vanala thinks you’ve had better gifts, but appreciate the compliment nonetheless.” Vanala winks, then looks up at Nessa. Pongo follows her gaze, and smiles.

“You might be right about that,” he says.

For the first time in a long time, Nessa finds herself blushing.

~

Later that night, when they’ve each changed into their new (and much warmer) clothes, Nessa tries - and fails - to fall asleep. She cracks an eye open, realizing that the pile of littlepon she’s grown accustomed to seeing is one Pongo-sized human short. She pries herself out of the pile, much to a disgruntled Chocola’s dismay, but she’s lucky that she doesn’t wake any of them. She exist the tent quietly, holding the flap so it doesn’t rustle in the wind. 

Outside, Nessa finds Telethia curled up in the snow close to the caravan, fast asleep. Solstice had left for a while, promising to survey the ocean for any additional signs of movement. They’d returned earlier in the day and huffed a quiet greeting, but Mira hadn’t translated it. They walked off when they realized Nessa couldn’t understand them. She’d been annoyed at first, then scared. Mira hadn’t spoken to her all week. 

Further in the distance, on a cliffside overlooking the vast white expanse of Cocytios, Pongo sits with his knees curled into his chest. She blows a quiet kiss to the sleeping Telethia before joining Pongo, sitting down and stretching her legs out in the snow. The new armor keeps her warm, something that her usual getup doesn’t afford. 

It’s one of Cocytios’s rare nights where the skies aren’t clouded over, where the only snow they need to worry about is beneath them. From this high up, Nessa has a great view of the rings embedded in the mountainsides, the frozen lake surrounded by winter flora. The moonlight from Mira’s several moons is enough to provide her with that. But from here, she can also see the Grave of the Undying Starr, the massive pit that swallows the white expanse. A lone bridge connects two sides, rickety and battered by the frigid wind. The Nopon must’ve built that recently, she thinks, because I don’t remember that being there last time.

She looks at Pongo and tracks his gaze. His attention never wavers from the Grave.

“If you’re out here for too long, the littlepon will notice,” she says, realizing that Pongo won’t be the one starting the conversation. “Starr was lucky to have them. I wish I could always wake up to a fluff pile.”

Pongo tucks his knees closer to his chest, heaving a muffled sigh. Nessa lets the silence take them for a while. She won’t force him to speak, not when the air around them is infused with tension, bitter and cold on the inhale. 

When he finally speaks, it’s level and calm. Not what Nessa was expecting, but a welcome sound nonetheless. 

“I have not been able to speak to Mira recently. I think something is wrong.”

“Shit,” she curses softly. “Me neither. Here I was, thinking it would rather talk to its favorite child.”

“Favorite child? That is not true.”

“Oh, please.” Something in Nessa starts to fracture, finally splintering under the weight of her own thoughts. “We both know it prefers you over me. Eldest child privileges and all.”

Pongo frowns, his legs relaxing away from his body. His arms come to rest on the tops of his knees. “Nessa. Whatever you are thinking, stop thinking it.”

“You know I’m right,” Nessa says, “C’mon, Pon. You know I’m right. Why else do I look like you, but with better tits?”

“Nessa.”

“Fuck, I was made to save you. And need we both forget, I shot you. I killed you. Mira’s never going to forgive me for that, not when the sole reason for my creation was to -”

“NESSA.”

Pongo slams the snow next to Nessa and she flinches back, knocked out of her rambling. She doesn’t know what came over her. It all spilled out without warning. Pongo’s eyes are ablaze, the stars trapped inside burning with his rage. 

“Do you realize how much it hurts when you say things like that?” He cries, “Do you know how many times I have thought the same thing about myself? I do not think I can ever forgive myself for becoming a Ganglion weapon, but my failure does not mean you are a failure. You are a gift, Nessa. I wake up every morning and think about how awesome you are, how confident and easygoing you are. I keep wishing for even a fraction of your strength, and you have the audacity to call yourself lesser than me.”

“A fraction of my strength? I wasn’t strong enough to save you back then. That’s a failure that’s always going to follow me, no matter what I do. I just - I hide. I hide from it all. Whenever it comes up, I hide, because that’s easier than confronting the truth. That’s not strength, that’s me being a fucking coward.”

“You think I am any better than that? I was so afraid to believe the truth that I pushed away the trauma and became a different person. I created a life that was so weighed down by guilt that he grew to hate me and all I symbolized. I failed you, Nessa. I failed everyone.”

Nessa swallows hard, forcing herself not to cry. Pongo isn’t nearly as lucky, tears streaming down his cheeks. His headpiece gleans in the moonlight, like his tears have brought it life. 

“I don’t want to do this,” she ends up mumbling, unable to look him in the eye. “We’re close to fighting the biggest fucking threat Mira’s ever seen. Last thing I want to do is have an argument about who’s been shittier.”

“Have we both been shitty, then?” Pongo asks. “Can we agree that we each failed, somehow? And…and can we agree that after Syriahnydra is dead, we can be kinder?”

“Kinder,” Nessa echoes. This sentiment is the final straw. Everything she’d been holding back cascades, and she curls into herself, burying her sobs. “I don’t know what that means. Kinder.”

“Me neither,” Pongo replies, barely audible. “But I want to figure that out, together. Starr would want that, too.”

It takes Nessa a moment to respond, letting the waterfall escape her. She rebuilds the dam around her heart and roughly wipes away the snot and tears staining her face. Can’t have them ruining her good looks, but sometimes, spilling over can’t be helped. Maybe that’s what kindness is - recognizing she’s allowed to overflow, that she’s allowed to break down her defenses and be vulnerable. A hard thing to learn. Impossible, alone.

“Sounds like a promise,” Nessa ends up saying. “We’ll keep each other in check. If one of us slips, we’ll pick each other back up again. Gods know I’ll fall a lot, but I like knowing you’ll be there for me.”

“Nessa.”

“Oh come on, I’m not being self-depreciating right now -”

“I know. Did you hear that?”

Pongo stands, on alert. Nessa doesn’t respond; she can’t claim to know what Pongo’s referring to, but she trusts his instincts. The wind rises, drumming against her ears, and for a moment she wonders if that’s what he was hearing. 

But she picks it out, in the end. The rustling. 

They’re no longer alone.

Nessa draws her dual swords, bracing herself for an indigen attack. Scanning their immediate surroundings, she sees no other signs of life, but Cocytios’s indigens are experts at camouflage. They have to be, to survive such an inhospitable ecosystem. 

Pongo’s also on the defense, but he’s not as quick to draw his photon saber or his dual guns. Instead, he remains alert, gazing out at the endless white horizon. Snow crunches beneath their feet, and she tries to silence her footsteps, trying to sense what could be out there.

Pongo stops.

“Nessa.”

She turns, hoping he’s found something.

Snow dances around their ankles, and the wind blows them towards a figure a few yards away. 

A figure dressed in blue, a hood obscuring their features. 

“Death,” is all Nessa manages to whisper because the ground shakes, a deafening roar shaking the continent. In the distance, the ocean folds in on itself, and a long, serpentine body erupts from the water, rising high enough to block out Mira’s largest moon. Its ink black scales fling water across the world, its mouth cavernous and full of teeth. There’s no end to its body, an eternity of famine given form. It turns its head towards Nessa and Pongo, and even from such distance, Nessa can tell by the curl of its maw that it’s smiling.

Syriahnydra is alive.

And despite their planning, despite everything they’ve done to prepare - it’s too late.

~

I tend not to reveal myself in the mortal planes. Forgive my curiosity, but I was intrigued by Vanala’s new outfits for them. 

This world is beautiful. There are infinite possibilities in the process of creation, and some possibilities present as more…appealing…than others. It is rare that I make such observations, as my duty is not tied to these phases of existence. 

I apologize if this is not straightforward. Nothing tends to be, I’ve observed. All I ask is that you have hope. We must face the end before we can forge the beginning. You must die before you can be reborn.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 4

Memorias in nivis. (Memories in the snow.)

It’s still dark by the time Telethia flies over Cocytios, yet the snowy tundras are easy to spot. Pongo glances down a few times before Telethia descends, but quickly fixes himself. He’s never been scared of heights, but he’s scared of what will happen when they touch the ground. 

Cocytios is haunted, in Pongo’s eyes. It holds memories of his time as a bloodthirsty, crazed Telethia. It holds memories of his time as a shattered, broken soul. It holds memories of his time as the vessel for Aidoneus. Even now, the phantom lingers on his skin. The stretching and contorting of mechanical flesh, the pulsating rhythm of his heart as he let himself go. 

It didn’t help that Nessa sometimes tried to lead him there.

When she was dead and fused with Mira, Pongo could feel her presence. He’d seek her out when he could. He never asked if she moved willingly beneath the earth, if she could control where she went. But whenever he followed her, there’d always be something mesmerizing to witness. The energy spores in Noctilum. The crimson auroras in Sylvalum. 

If she’d been trying to lure him to Cocytios in the hopes of seeing something beautiful, she didn’t succeed. To Pongo, there’s nothing beautiful there. Not to him. 

Telethia lands, snapping Pongo out of his thoughts. Their claws dig into fresh snow, wisps of gentle snowflakes dancing past his face. Nessa disembarks without issue, sliding down Telethia’s wing. She settles, checking herself over. She’s not dressed for the weather, but Pongo figures she doesn’t care about that. She probably doesn’t feel the chill that’s taken over his body. 

She looks back up at him, waiting. “Coming?” 

Pongo hesitates. Being here is like walking into a repressed memory, and he’s not certain he has the strength to confront what he knows. He can always wait on Telethia’s back, let Nessa investigate and report her findings once she’s spoken with the Desserta Caravan.

But that’s not fair. Mira being under constant threat of death isn’t fair. He’s the planet’s avatar, after all is said and done, and he can’t turn a blind eye to its plight. 

And he wouldn’t be here now, if it weren’t for Mira. 

So Pongo, at long last, slings his leg over Telethia’s back and goes to descend. He loses his footing halfway down and plummets face first into the snow, groaning. He can hear Nessa laughing above him, and he relaxes, pushing himself up and wiping the snow off of his shoulders.

“We’re going to have to work on that,” Nessa says between receding giggles.

“Clearly Mira did not imbue me with knowledge on how to get off a Telethia,” Pongo retorts. “Happy it gave you an idea on how it works, though.”

“Oh, please. I don’t need Mira’s help with that. I’m just naturally gifted at riding Telethia - and seducing them, might I add.” She throws a casual wink towards Telethia, who huffs deep enough that it pushes a thin layer of snow back into the air. 

Pongo stands up, facing the rising sun. Even though hidden behind one of Cocytios’s largest peaks, dawn spills past, awakening the night sky in vibrant reds and oranges. It provides enough light for Pongo to reorient, to figure out where they are. Phantom that it is, he knows Cocytios’s landscape. He knows which way to go.

The caravan isn’t far from where Telethia landed, so he starts to walk, expecting Nessa to follow. Peering across the snow, he finds the familiar tents and blankets crafted by the Desserta Caravan, along with visible movement from smaller figures. The caravan’s adult population isn’t much larger than most the other caravans on Mira, but it’s host to a veritable army of littlepon, nine of which are Froyoyo’s own kids. They’d always been early to rise. It shouldn’t surprise him, considering he’d been witness to their routines for so long. He can’t help but grin as he recalls how Tutti Frutti would always sing a little song to help the others wake up. How Rockoroad would always ask for five more minutes, annoyed by his sister’s antics. How Sprinkle Sprinkle would always wait for Starr to get up and get ready, sticking to his side like glue.

Pongo stops, his heart aching. To think he’d weathered so much physical pain in his years as a BLADE, but this is what hurts the most. Phantoms. Memories. Reminders of what he once was.

Nessa advances, not realizing that he’d frozen in place. She only makes it a few steps ahead before looking over her shoulder, eyebrows furrowed. “Sure you don’t want to stay back?”

Somehow, despite the pain, it’s the easiest thing in the world for him to shake his head. “No. No, I want to do this. We have to do this.”

Nessa’s reassured enough to keep going. Pongo swallows his hurt, trying to focus on the joy, the intoxicating drug of his happy memories. Even if they aren’t fully his, they’re his to hold on to, his to use in his time of need. He’s sure that’s what Starr would’ve wanted, in the end.

When they’re only a few yards away from the caravan, a tent flap opens, and Vanala emerges with the twins, Lelemon and Lalime, held up in both of her wings. Looks like they’d been fighting about something and needed a mediator. Starr had broken up his fair share of fights between the littlepon, back in the day. Pongo wonders if he’ll have the same luck, if he’s needed.

A few more steps, and a small white Nopon barrels towards Pongo, attaching themselves to his leg. He’d hardly seen the littlepon advancing, since they blend in so well with the snow. But this close, Pongo knows this is Sprinkle Sprinkle, the youngest and most mischievous of Froyoyo’s littlepon. 

And the one that loved Starr the most, he thinks with a terrible pang.

Surprised, Pongo doesn’t immediately return the hug. Sprinkle Sprinkle’s mumbling something into his pants, their wings tight around his lower leg. Pongo bends down to the best of his ability, the shock wearing off. This close to the ground, he can hear the littlepon’s ramblings.

“Friend Pon promised to come back and never did!! Where did Pon go?! Do promises mean nothing to Pon?! Sprinkle Sprinkle so worried that friend Pon got hurt and died horribly!! Never make Sprinkle Sprinkle worry so much again, poor heart couldn’t take it -”

Pongo returns the hug quickly after that. Friend Pon, he realizes. Not Starr. Pon. The recognition melts any fear he had of his return. 

“I am so sorry,” Pongo does his best to reassure Sprinkle Sprinkle, rubbing the space between their wings, “I was so busy saving people back in the city! I have so many wonderful stories to tell you -”

He’s interrupted by eight more littlepon running up to him, jumping on him now that he’s low enough to the ground for them to reach. Pongo falls back into the snow, hardly able to see anything past their colorful fur. The worry, the guilt, it all gives away to ceremony. He laughs, trying to encompass all of the littlepon into one giant hug. But they’re all circling, swarming him as they proclaim their excitement. He’s pretty sure he hears Pecana yelling at everyone to step back, to let Pongo breathe. But they’re his life, his laughter. No one lets him go, and he doesn’t make any effort to wrest himself away. 

It’s only the booming voice of Froyoyo that makes the littlepon clamber off of his body. As Pongo sits up, he locks eyes with Nessa, who’s hiding her laughter behind an open palm. Froyoyo and Vanala stand on each side of her, watching the scene unfold. Froyoyo’s hands are on his hips, scowling at every littlepon as they mumble apologies. What are they apologizing for? This is the best Pongo’s felt in a long time. He clings to the warmth they so readily shared and uses it to dismantle any of his remaining fears.

“Friends Pon and Nessa,” Froyoyo smiles at them both once the littlepon have assembled behind him. “Been long time indeed.”

“And both here at the same time!” Vanala proclaims. “Very big blessing indeed!”

“It’s so good to see you both,” Nessa tells them. “As much as I’d love this trip to be about pleasure, we’ve got something of a predicament we need your help with.”

“This better not be about yggralith,” Froyoyo mutters.

Nessa and Pongo exchange a look. “Did you already know about Syriahnydra waking up?” Pongo asks.

“Motherfucker,” Froyoyo swears. “Froyoyo knew it wouldn’t be long.”

“Vanala and hubbypon both knew Syriahnydra would wake up soon,” Vanala explains. “Yggraliths both defeated at the same time, back when Vanala and friends fought them. Makes sense both would wake up near same time as each other.”

“But Froyoyo had no idea where Syriahnydra’s body ended up after battle. Corvhesperikon’s corpse landed here, where it could be easily monitored for any activity. Couldn’t locate other body, so Froyoyo prayed Desserta Caravan could judge reawakenings by Corvhesperikon’s body alone.”

“So back when you fought Corvhesperikon with Aidoneus and Telethia, you knew that Syriahnydra would not be far behind,” Pongo says.

“Correct,” Vanala replies. 

The littlepon all start talking amongst themselves, quietly enough that Pongo can’t make out what they’re saying. Just as he starts to think this isn’t a conversation meant for them to be a part of, Vanala turns to face them and orders, “Littlepon all go back in tent! Vanala and friends having important adult conversation!”

There’s a chorus of complaints, but everyone eventually shuffles back towards the tent Vanala originally emerged from. Pongo counts them as they go inside. Six, seven, eight…no nine. Pongo feels a furry weight on the back of his leg, staying as still as possible. He glances down quick enough to recognize it’s Sprinkle Sprinkle. They’d joined Starr for a majority of his travels, and they were witness to Corvhesperikon’s reawakening. Despite being the youngest, Pongo still has a soft spot for the littlepon and decides to keep up the charade. Besides, they’d find a way to listen no matter what. No use fighting curiosity.

“We found Syriahnydra’s body,” Nessa explains after the littlepon disappear into the tent. “It’s in the ocean. Solstice and I tracked its body all around Cocytios and Noctilum.”

“Syriahnydra’s body is long,” Vanala nods. “Long, slender, and built for speed. Not the biggest yggralith Vanala has seen, but close to it.”

Pongo doesn’t want to think of the implications there. Not the biggest yggralith, yet it’s half the size of the planet itself…he chooses to make this information a gift rather than another concern. 

“There is more,” Pongo kneels down and takes out his comm device, better obscuring Sprinkle Sprinkle from view. He starts scrolling through pictures of the cavern system in Noctilum, the murals on the walls, the secret room that L opened before his possession. “I was sent to decipher these murals in Noctilum. From what I gathered, a lot of these paintings depicted your first fight with the two yggraliths -”

“Tale of Two Gods,” Froyoyo proudly interrupts.

“-  as well as the ritual the F’lenla A’slegn utilized to create new Telethia. But then, we found this secret room, and there were murals in there I did not understand.”

He scrolls to the final few images of the pedestal, the parchment set atop it. Nessa peers over, her eyes widening as she tries to make sense of what she’s seeing. “That’s me, right there. And you, Pon.”

“And Mira,” Pongo adds. “But the figure between both of us…I do not know who this could be.”

Vanala and Froyoyo study the image for a long time. After a long silence, Froyoyo shakes his head. “Froyoyo not know who third flesh tree could be. Very pale for flesh tree, though. Like snow in Cocytios.”

Vanala stays quiet, her eyes glazing over. Pongo lowers his comm device, growing concerned. “Vanala?”

“Vanala has theory,” she says softly. “But Vanala doesn’t want it to be true.”

“If it’s someone that could help us defeat Syriahnydra, we need to know,” Nessa urges her. “They look human, whoever they are. If we need to go back to the city and -”

“Third figure not in friend’s city,” Vanala clarifies. “Hooded figure not from Mira, either. Hooded figure…from out there.”

She points to the clouded skies, where one of Mira’s moons shines bright. A single snowflake falls on Pongo’s nose, melting carefully into his skin. “You mean that this third figure is a xenoform?” He asks carefully. 

“Not just any xenoform,” Vanala lowers her head. “A terrible one. One Vanala has met only once before, when Vanala was nearly dead.”

“Froyoyo not remember this,” Froyoyo says. 

Another pause. Vanala’s next words shoot ice down Pongo’s spine.

“Because third figure is Death itself.”

“Death?” Pongo grimaces, recalling humanity’s depiction of the fabled reaper. He never put much stock into its existence - he’s died before and hadn’t seen a hooded figure on the other side - but he exists outside of human comprehension. Death, to him, is returning to the planet’s core, returning to Mira’s tender embrace beneath the soil. It’s possible that other beings meet with Death when they expire.

From the way Nessa frowns, Pongo can tell she’s got her doubts. “That doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. I mean, us and Death, trying to save the planet? I could be wrong, but Death doesn’t seem like an ally right now.”

“Vanala could never understand Death’s motives,” Vanala shrugs, still recovering from her initial worry. “Death let Vanala go, when Vanala crashed onto Mira. Didn’t say much, but silence spoke louder than words. It wanted Vanala to live.”

“Perhaps Death wants Mira to live as well?” Froyoyo posits. “Though Froyoyo not sure why Death would have such attachment to one world over so many others.”

“Maybe there’s something here that it wants,” Nessa says. “Something we could give it.”

Pongo glances back down at his comm device, at the parchment depicting him and Nessa standing alongside the hooded figure. The more he thinks about it, the more he believes this hooded figure can’t be Death. With its hands so close to Mira, who’s to say that Death’s intentions wouldn’t be to destroy everything? And if that’s its goal, why would Nessa and Pongo work willingly beside it? None of it makes sense. There has to be another explanation, and Pongo intends to find it.

For now, he doesn’t think it’s doing any good to speculate. He closes his comm device and stashes it in his back pocket, taking a deep breath before changing the subject. “There is one more thing about Syriahnydra we have not mentioned yet. When I was in the caves with L’Cirufe, we found bodies. Hundreds of them, Ganglion and F’lenla A’slegn. As we were trying to leave, L’Cirufe was possessed by Syriahnydra. It spoke like Corvhesperikon did, saying it was starving, calling me a little godling.”

He’d filed the last detail away at the time, more concerned with escaping - more concerned with the consequences of staying behind, of losing L. Corvhesperikon had called Starr that, too. Little godling. Pongo knows it’s in reference to Aidoneus, but having the comment directed at him feels terribly wrong. He’s no god. He’s just trying to do what he can for the world that created him, that’s given him purpose. 

“So Syriahnydra is awake,” Froyoyo growls. “Froyoyo remember its trickery. More manipulative than Corvhesperikon. Froyoyo was almost controlled by it when it used its power.”

“And the dead bodies?” Pongo asks.

“Froyoyo not sure. As flesh trees sometimes say, Syriahnydra being able to reanimate corpses wouldn’t be out of left field. Syriahnydra have far more metal prowess than Corvhesperikon, who was built on pure strength.”

“Which makes this whole thing even more convoluted,” Nessa’s shoulders slump, “because we don’t know what it’s fully capable of.”

“Vanala also unsure of true capabilities,” Vanala says. “But that means we must prepare for the worst. Even though Syriahnydra is clearly awake, its body isn’t moving. Vanala thinks we have time to prepare.”

“I’ve already alerted NLA to the situation,” Nessa tells her, “and I’m hoping the additional manpower gives us more of an edge compared to your last fight with Corvhesperikon.”

“If we could summon Aidoneus again, we would have another advantage,” Pongo supplies. “With Froyoyo, Vanala, and Solstice, it was able to defeat Corvhesperikon quickly.”

“And what? You’d expect me to just twiddle my thumbs in a Skell while you get all the action?” Nessa quips, crossing her arms over her chest. “No way. You had your fun summoning Aidoneus. Let me have a turn.”

“Absolutely not.”

“And why not? We’re made of the same stuff, and if your fight with Corvhesperikon’s anything to go by, you made it out just fine.”

“Starr returned to the core after the fusion. There is nothing saying the same thing will not happen to you.”

“And if it does, I’ll die knowing I helped!”

“Nessa -”

Before Pongo can protest further, there’s a snowball hurtling towards his face. He can’t duck out of the way in time, and the snow hits him head on, filling his nostrils and mouth. He doubles over, coughing and scraping the snow off of his face. When he looks up, prepared to accuse Nessa, he finds her in the same state: snow across her hair, dripping from the glacial iris above her ear. She gives him the same glare, but it fades the second she realizes he’s not the perpetrator.

They both cast their eyes lower to the ground, finding both Froyoyo and Vanala standing between them. Both Nopon have additional snowballs in their wings.

“Arguing just like littlepon,” Vanala grumbles. “Vanala understands friends are stressed, but friends need to be reasonable! Need to sit down like adults and discuss options further.”

“Stay with Desserta Caravan for now,” Froyoyo tells them. “Together, Froyoyo and Vanala can discuss plans going forward and assess what resources are at our disposal.”

Nessa and Pongo glance back up at each other. It’s clear Nessa still wants to fight, the fire in her eyes unmistakeable. But she’s the first to relent, kicking some snow up with the tip of her boot. “Fine. I’ll let Elma know we’re here and see if she’s made any progress gathering troops from BLADE.”

“While you connect with her, I will let Solstice know that we will be staying here for now,” Pongo offers. “They might want to stay and help, given their role in the past.”

“Sounds good. Just do me a favor while you’re over there.”

“Name it.”

Nessa closes the distance between them. “Tell them I said this.” She leans in close, whispering in his ear. Two seconds pass, his eyes grow as large as Mira’s moons, and he silently promises himself to never repeat any of what she’s saying to anyone. Ever.

“You are horrible,” Pongo mumbles as she backs away, a satisfied smirk on her face.

“I could always deliver the message myself while you stay behind,” Nessa winks before returning to Vanala and Froyoyo’s side, who watch with raised eyebrows. Vanala mutters “littlepon” under her breath before leading them all back to the caravan, Nessa retrieving her comm device to make the call to Elma. Pongo shakes his head, staying put until they’re all out of earshot.

“You are not allowed to repeat any of that to your siblings,” Pongo tells Sprinkle Sprinkle, who’s still well hidden behind him. “Understood?”

Sprinkle Sprinkle emerges, shaking some loose snowball off of their fur. Judging by their mischievous smirk, Pongo’s order holds no ground. Still, to satisfy him, they say, “Sprinkle Sprinkle makes the biggest promise to never repeat what friend Nessa said.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive!”

“...”

“...Though, could friend Pon tell Sprinkle Sprinkle what friend Nessa meant by ‘pegging’?”

Pongo groans loud enough for Nessa to hear.

~

My meeting with Vanala is one I recall fondly. It was not her time, so I sent her on her way. I was something new, then. Something untold. Something I couldn’t yet decipher.

Just as all the pieces connected, Pongo came and showed me I was something greater. I’d forgotten what I could be, had I chosen differently.

Because of him, I am not Death. I am Choice. Infinity. The beginning, the middle, the end. 

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 3

Fuga in ignotum. (Flight into the unknown.)

By the time Telethia lands, the sun’s crawled closer to the horizon’s edge, the sky transforming into a sherbet hue. Nessa’s familiar with the area - Telethia’s most common patrol route, the Divine Roost - but this high up, she can’t help but admire the view. The waterfall cascading into the heart of Noctilum behind them, the far-away lights of Sylvalum’s spores. Deep in the distance, the mountainous spires of Cocytios, a cacophony of frigid ice and ancient relics embedded into the ground. Even though they’re far away from the continent, Nessa suppresses a chill. She has good memories and bad memories of her time in Cocytios. The cold has a demanding presence, though, and it dominates her thoughts for a while.

Telethia’s head bows, staring at the vast ocean between Cocytios and Noctilum. Their stomach rumbles, and they make a sound akin to a bird chirping.

The corpse of Syriahnydra is beneath the waves, Mira translates. It is easier to see the ether flaring at night. That is how Solstice first discovered it.

Nessa leans down, peering at the waves. It’s hard to make anything out at first, the gentle ripples of the sea obscuring nearly everything. As she tracks them farther out, she starts to notice a trail of blue lights, faint but recognizable. They snake around Cocytios’s western border, extending far beyond Nessa’s sight. 

“Gods,” she breathes. “It’s fucking massive.”

Telethia nods solemnly. Syriahnydra is approximately five times larger than Corvhesperikon, Mira explains. I believe humanity has a word for its appearance: leviathan. It does not possess arms or claws like Corvhesperikon did, but it more than makes up for it with its maw.

“So it’s like a huge snake,” Nessa says. “A huge, underwater snake.” She sits back up, blinking once. Then: “I think BLADE might’ve found its body a long time ago. There was this report going around about this aquatic indigen that destroyed a ton of equipment and killed a few Pathfinders. I didn’t think much of it, since so much of the oceans haven’t been explored yet, but…”

As Nessa trails off, Telethia rumbles again, shifting its posture. Nessa’s acutely aware of how perfectly she seems to fit on Telethia’s back. Though their scales appear hardened and rough, they’re soft beneath her touch, an unassuming armor. It’s deflected attacks time and time again. She knows its strength.

Still, she thinks, even though this feels natural, there’s always going to be something missing as long as Solstice is in this form.

The sunset grows deeper, splashes of fiery reds and oranges cascading across the sky. As the sunlight fades, Nessa takes out her comm device, using the fading light as an opportunity to catalogue Syriahnydra’s trail. She types Elma’s number in once she’s gotten enough pictures. Elma picks up quickly.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Nessa starts.

“The bad news,” Elma responds. “Hang on. I’m putting you on speaker - I’m with the Commander and Secretary General. They’ll want to hear about what you’ve found.”

Nessa waits until she hears a recognizable beep; now, everyone with Elma will be able to hear her. “So,” she starts, “the bad news is that Syriahnydra is probably the largest ultrafauna we’ve ever dealt with. I’m going just based off visuals right now, because I’ve been put under orders that I can’t get any closer. But this thing looks like it’s wrapping around Cocytios, and possibly further.”

She promptly pulls the comm device back and sends Elma the pictures, hoping she can display them for her audience on the other side. “Good news is, I’m not seeing any movement aside from the lights. I’d definitely take it as an indicator that it’s awake, though.”

“Are you sure you’re not observing any movements?” Secretary Nagi’s voice echoes, a little further away than Elma’s voice sounded. 

“I’d have to get closer to double check,” Nessa says, prompting Telethia’s head to crane in her direction disapprovingly. “Its entire body is underwater, I’m not sure how deep.”

“We don’t want you gettin’ too close to it,” Commander Vandham says, his command echoing in much the same way as Nagi’s. “But we do want data on how big this thing is, and estimates on the ifs and whens of it waking up to play. We’re working with the Director General on a game plan now. If this thing stays underwater, we’re going to need to dedicate time and resources to developing more water resistant tech - time we may not have.”

“Right,” she responds. “Though, I do want to hear it from Elma.”

“Really, Nessa?” Elma asks.

“Hey, not my fault you know how to make orders sound sexy. Tell me where you want me.”

Telethia snorts, a small puff of condensed air forming around their nostrils. Nessa would be threatened by it if she wasn’t already so turned on.

“Do as the Commander says.” Nessa can practically hear Elma’s eyes rolling from across the comm device. “Send any pictures back to me. If you see Syriahnydra move at all, get out of there. After all, I won’t risk your utility for this.”

“My utility? Fancy way of saying I’m too pretty to die,” she smirks. “Got it, boss. Have fun with the rest of your meeting.”

She hangs up before Elma responds. She puts a hand on the back of Telethia’s neck, rubbing the scaled skin with her thumb. “You got all that, right? We’ve got work to do.”

Telethia exhales again, another puff of smoke leaving their nostrils. They want to know if you have always had a thing for non-humans, Mira says, exasperated.

“I have a thing for beautiful people - and beautiful Telethia,” Nessa winks. 

Telethia takes off again, the ascent kinder than it was in NLA. It doesn’t take long for them to hover over the ocean, following the trail of lights beneath the sea. Nessa hits record on her comm device, documenting video of how long the trail goes for. As the video saves, she keeps a cautious eye on the lights, trying to determine if they’re truly moving. The ocean’s more than capable of playing tricks on people. She doesn’t want to lose the game. Too much is at risk if she loses.

They wrap around Cocytios, and as Nessa surveys the landscape ahead, her eyes widen. The lights continue for far longer than she thought. It almost looks like the corpse circles back towards Primordia, even reaching as far as Oblivia. Fucking massive, she thinks again. Telethia continues, but she feels them pulse beneath her hands, a barely recognizable shudder.

By the time her comm device rings again, the sun’s nearly disappeared behind the horizon. Nessa pauses her recording to take the new call. Probably Elma asking for an update; how long do those fancy meetings at HQ go for? Gods, she could use a distraction if she’s still with the Commander and General.

But it’s not Elma. Pongo’s face appears on the screen, and he looks awful. Nessa clocks that this could be a panic attack - and Pongo isn’t good at handling those on his own, not yet. She tells him, “I’m on my way,” bringing up his coordinates on her comm device. “Solstice,” she says, “we’ve got to turn around. Pongo’s in trouble.”

Telethia chirps. Where is he, Mira asks.

“Divine Roost. Hurry,” Nessa pleads. “Pongo, hey, breathe. What happened?”

“Caves - the murals - so many dead -” Pongo tries to speak, but his words are sparse, inhibited by his quickened breaths. “It took L, and I just -”

Telethia turns quickly, making a beeline back towards the Divine Roost. As night claims the planet, Nessa can only make out the bright lights of Telethia’s ether feathers. She trusts that Solstice will get her to Pongo quickly, because there’s only so much she can do over the comm device. Still, she has to try.

“What do you mean, it took L?” She tries asking, her heart dropping into her stomach. “C’mon, Pon. I’m coming, I just need you to breathe. In and out.”

Pongo struggles to find a routine with his breathing, but by the time Telethia lands in the Divine Roost, he hasn’t made much progress. Nessa jumps down from Telethia’s back, landing on the ground below. She pinpoints Pongo’s location, hidden behind a rock, and darts over to kneel in front of him. She doesn’t even have the chance to speak before he’s surging forward, hugging her tightly. Nessa’s no stranger to physical contact, but Pongo’s hugs are something different, especially when they’re born of desperation. She hugs him back, and in the silence, his breathing grows deeper, steadier. 

When he pulls away, Pongo sniffles, biting back a sigh. “I am so -”

“Nope, none of that,” Nessa tells him. “You’re more important than my dinner date with Solstice, if that’s what you were about to apologize for.”

Pongo frowns, looking away. “We should go. It is not safe here.”

Nessa doesn’t question him about that. She nods to Telethia, who lowers one of their wings for her and Pongo to get back on board. Pongo hesitates, so Nessa goes ahead of him, embarking slowly so she can show him the right way about it. He’s slow to follow, cautious and somewhat clumsy. His foot slips off of Telethia’s wing at one point, but before Nessa can reach down and grab him, Telethia’s raised a claw to push him forward, helping him keep his balance. He smiles weakly to thank them. “Good to see you again, Solstice. I wish it was under different circumstances, but…”

Telethia purrs, waiting until Nessa and Pongo are both settled on top of them before taking off into the night sky. Pongo puts his arms around Nessa’s waist, startled by the sudden ascent, and Nessa can’t help but laugh. 

“Not funny,” Pongo pouts. 

“Extremely funny,” Nessa corrects. 

Telethia reaches a cruising altitude again, circling Noctilum as the siblings settle. Nessa maneuvers herself around so she’s backwards on Telethia’s body, a normally difficult feat that she finds easier than expected. She’s just that good at everything she does, she concludes. Unfortunately, she’s not the one in need of a confidence boost.

“Okay,” Nessa puts her hands on Pongo’s, keeping him steady. Even though he’s in a far better headspace than he was before, she can still feel him shaking, the remnants of anxiety flowing freely through his veins. “Walk me through it. Tell me what happened.”

Pongo closes his eyes, for a while. When he opens them again, he explains the details of the mission he’d accepted. How he’d been chased out by Ganglion the first time, brought L along for the second attempt. The murals. The hidden room. How L had been possessed, and how Pongo had escaped as hordes of dead Ganglion and F’lenla A’slegn tried to subdue him. At the end of it all, he slumps, exhaustion replacing his apprehension.

“So Syriahnydra’s alive,” Nessa says. The revelation sits horribly with her, especially considering the data she’d previously sent Elma. Solstice and I were tracking its body and trying to find signs of movement, but I guess that doesn’t mean anything anymore. Still, I wonder why it used its power to revive a bunch of dead people instead of…well, reviving itself.”

“I have a theory,” Pongo offers. “Yggraliths need to feed on ether to survive. That was why Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra both came here - because Mira is rich with ether, and they fought for the right to devour it. Maybe Syriahnydra does not have enough ether to revive itself yet, but enough that it can control lesser lifeforms to do its bidding. Maybe to collect more ether, or maybe to…”

“To be its food source,” she finishes. “Dead people wouldn’t make sense for that. Sure, their bodies might have some residual ether, but not enough to fuel an entire yggralith.”

“Right. L’Cirufe is alive, though, and Syriahnydra possessed him first. Would he have enough ether to resurrect it?”

“On his own? Doubt it. Honestly, I think the more feasible theory is that Syriahnydra’s trying to use whatever it can to collect ether, whether it’s harvesting from corpses or by having said corpses do the dirty work for him.” 

Nessa swallows, gazing out into the distance. Telethia’s still circling Noctilum, but they’ve tilted so that she’s got a good view of Primordia - of NLA, its crystalline borders radiant under the starlight. “I’m going to say it’s the latter. I don’t think Syriahnydra would go through the trouble of reanimating dead bodies if its only wish was to take the remaining ether from them.”

“We need to warn BLADE,” Pongo says, quickly taking out his comm device. “Gods, if it attacks the city -”

“It might not,” Nessa interrupts. “It would want to target literally anything with ether, if it was smart. Most likely, that army will try to plow through some unlucky indigens before it even reaches NLA.”

“But it knows humanity poses a threat. That we will try to stop it.” A pause, then: “Or maybe it does not know that yet. Humans were not involved in the defeat of Corvhesperikon - or Starr, for that matter.”

“Excuse you,” Nessa raises a playful eyebrow. “Point taken, though. Elma told me about a time you had to give Mira your strength to reinforce Pharsis’s prison - did BLADE help with that?”

“Not much,” he admits. “They knew about the barrier weakening, but to them, Solstice came in and fortified the sphere without any human interference.”

“Good.” She smiles, relived that she’s picked out an advantage. “If Syriahnydra doesn’t know humanity’s a threat, we can use that against it. It’s not expecting an army to greet it when it’s got enough energy to come out of the ocean.”

“Still a good reason to let BLADE know.”

“One step ahead of you. Elma’s already with the higher-ups explaining the situation and petitioning them for resources. I was here with Solstice to do an initial survey and figure out what we’re working with as far as a timeline.”

Comforted, Pongo tries to relax. He’s grown accustomed to the shape of Solstice’s back, balancing himself easier as Telethia flies through the night sky. Nessa’s long since pulled her hands back, but she pinpoint his anxiety through the way he cradles his palms, wringing them in his lap. “We have to save L’Cirufe,” he says. “We have to go back for him. BLADE might be preparing resources, but L needs our help now.”

At long last, Telethia roars, an indication that they’d been listening since the beginning. Mira provides a quick translation. Solstice refuses to go back. 

“L is in danger -” Pongo protests, but gets interrupted by an even longer, louder roar.

It is too dangerous, Mira says. We still do not know how strong Syriahnydra has become. If Solstice bring you back, there is a chance it could use its power to control all of you. I refuse to entertain that possibility.

“I hate to say it, but I won’t entertain it either,” Nessa replies. “It’s probably a better idea to get back to NLA and explain our findings together. I promised Elma I’d send over details, but I know her. She’d want to see my beautiful face in person.”

I have a better idea, Mira offers, completely ignoring Nessa’s remarks. I think we should enlist other forms of help. Froyoyo and Vanala will want to know about Syriahnydra, if they do not already.

Whatever semblance of calm Pongo had found evaporates in an instant. He goes still, his face draining of color. Nessa doesn’t invade the silence that draws between them, utterly aware of how he feels towards revisiting the Desserta Caravan. The Nopon were his family, once, but Cocytios was not his home. It is a memorial of pain. Of faults and failures. Of screaming as the dawn breaks, knowing that he was once the very evil that scoured the frigid expanse. His hesitation makes perfect sense.

Yet when Pongo speaks next - after a long, drawn out sigh and a hard swallow - it’s to say, “Okay.”

“Wait,” Nessa backtracks, growing concerned. “You’re…Pon, we’ll have to go to Cocytios.”

“I know.”

“This is gonna sound weird, but I know you haven’t stepped foot in Cocytios since everything happened with Corvhesperikon. Are you sure you’re gonna be okay?”

“I have to be.” Pongo straightens his spine, attempting to reflect Nessa’s confidence. “Mira is right. Froyoyo and Vanala have fought Syriahnydra before. They would know about its weaknesses, and we can relay that information to BLADE. And if they know anything about how to free L…”

Nessa nods. “If it’s too much, I can stay with the caravan and Solstice can bring you back to the city. Just…don’t keep it all to yourself, okay?”

Pongo stares are her, but doesn’t respond. She’s asked an impossible thing of him. After all, he’s the first avatar of Mira. A protector. A hero. He was not built to be vulnerable, to concede to his weaknesses. 

Nessa wants to believe that if he’s brave enough to step foot in Cocytios, he’ll be brave enough to talk to her, if he needs. But there is always a limit to every person, a line that can’t be crossed. And despite their connection, she doesn’t know where he’s drawn that line.

So, instead of pressing for a promise, Nessa pats Solstice’s flank and asks, “Will you take us to Cocytios? We’ve got to pay our Nopon friends a visit.”

Solstice bellows, angling their body towards the south. When they stabilize again, Cocytios is on the horizon, its white landscape piercing through the darkness of the night. Nessa repositions herself so she’s not flying backwards anymore, eyes trained on the horizon. Every time she glances over her shoulder, she sees Pongo looking forward. But something in his expression is too calm, too still. 

He will be fine, Mira tells her. 

Nessa breathes. In, out. In, out. The old habits didn’t die with her, after all. 

~

Pongo is lucky to have Nessa, in this world. Their paths tend not to cross. Such is the praxis of infinity.

I met her, once. She bestowed unto me that which I could not define. 

It took me far too long to realize what she’d given me. And by the time I realized I’d never thanked her, she was dead. 

Here, she is alive. Soon, I will impart my gratitude.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 2

Hic dolor non est suum solum. (This pain is not his alone.)

BLADE had posted information about a simple mission, at first glance. There’s a complex set of caves located in the heart of Noctilum, recently uncovered by a team of Pathfinders. They didn’t progress very far on account of the unstable infrastructure, but they documented some interesting cave paintings and structures that hinted at an ancient civilization’s existence: the F’lenla A’slegn. No one knows what the paintings mean, nor are they able to translate the writings. It’s an ancient language, one that no living being on Mira can identify.

Naturally, Pongo had taken up the mission first. He’d gone to investigate the ruins. He’d discovered the murals decorating the cavern walls, deciphered their intent. They’d outlined the same ritual that had once transformed him into a Telethia, the crazed beast that stalked Cocytios for a time. He’d shuddered at the memory, but he’d kept himself focused, steady.

And then the Ganglion attacked.

Pongo had escaped quickly thanks to his training, but the entire situation left him winded, staving off a panic attack. He’d called Elma to report his findings and confessed that he couldn’t do this alone. She called back a half hour later, telling him to come back to NLA, recuperate, form a better plan.

That’s how, a few days later, Pongo returns to the cavern entrance. Now that he’s gotten a taste of what’s inside, he can’t leave this mission half completed. And this time, he’s got backup.

Pongo leads the way into the cavern entrance, hand delicately poised over the hilt of his photon saber. L trails behind him, enamored with the walls as the light behind them fades. He holds two flashlights, one in each hand, but he can’t seem to focus them both in one spot for very long. 

“We have never delved so deep into a hole of this magnitude!” L exclaims. “We’re positively gushed and flowing over with glee!”

Pongo laughs nervously; L’s wording still hasn’t improved after all this time. He used to be just as bad, mixing up human phrases and slips of the tongue. Sometimes there’s phrases that catch him off guard, but for the most part, he’s adjusted well to human slang. L, meanwhile, has had a harder time grasping it. Pongo doesn’t know if it’s because L finds it difficult, or if he chooses to be this obtuse. He wants to believe the latter, considering L’s vast knowledge in other regards.

“Please keep your voice down,” Pongo says softly. “Remember, Ganglion chased me out of here the first time. I do not know how far down they went, or if they are still here.”

“But of course,” L apologizes, bringing his voice down. “We shall be stealthy like the shadows!”

The beginnings of a smile dance on Pongo’s lips. Bringing L had been a great idea - not just for his knowledge on ancient Miran history, but his endless optimism. It outshines his own by a long shot. Pongo recalls how he’d been able to exude such open hope, back when he’d first met Elma and joined BLADE. It’s been harder to keep up the facade in recent times, with everything he’s seen, everything he’s gone through. There’s days where he refuses to sleep, because he knows the nightmares that await him will trail into the waking world. His mind fading, his skin ripping at the seams as claws and horns and fur take over, screaming into the cold wastes of Cocytios as he realizes he’d nearly killed his sister, Nessa, poor Nessa, created just to save him -

Pongo stops.

“Have you seen the spotted something?” L asks cautiously.

“No,” Pongo says, breathing deep. “I just…I needed to catch myself.” Then, “This place is full of bad memories.”

“You’ve mentioned the contextuals of the murals,” he hums, following as Pongo keeps walking. “We remember Elma telling us tales of the frozen continent, and what transpired between you and your sister.”

“Mm. It explains how the Ganglion were able to create Starr, but it does not explain why they were still here. It makes me think there must be something deeper. More murals, perhaps.”

The tunnel dips, and L shines one of the flashlights on the wall. The first murals stretch across the stone, outlining the Telethia ritual that the F’lenla A’slegn enacted. As Pongo’s hand trails over the faded ink, L comments, “Ritual details such as this are prominent in other continents. At least one documentation per continent, though this…we believe this could be the prime incantation.”

“Were the rituals enacted in every continent, then?” Pongo asks.

“Only if the Divine Roost were compromised,” he replies. “We had many a running-in with hostile wildlife that often prevented a safe transformation.”

Pongo nods, understanding. The murals showcase the steps preceding the transformation: the summoning circle, with F’lenla A’slegn standing around it as they chanted the spell necessary to initiate the ritual; the chosen participant in the circle’s center, awaiting the blessing of their people; the Telethia’s final form, wings outstretched as it takes to the skies to protect the planet. He almost wants to ask L if he ever witnessed the ritual firsthand, but the thought comes with a terrible realization.

I went through it already. 

The only pain had come with the Ganglion’s first injection, erasing his mind from his body. That way, Pongo couldn’t rely on his conscience to turn on the Ganglion. They’d wanted a subservient ultrafauna, a weapon to utilize against humanity. Instead, they’d created a feral monster, driven only by bloodshed, the fear left behind by Pongo’s destroyed memories. 

Pongo swallows hard. It’s difficult not to go back on old habits, blaming himself for not fighting back hard enough. What happened had happened, and there was no going back to change it. He lives with the memories of what he’d done, and he uses them to push forward. All he can do is tell himself it won’t happen again. All he can do is heal.

He pushes on, further down the cavern. The murals change the deeper they go. Some images depict the civil war between the F’lenla A’slegn factions. Massive rings in the sky, raining brimstone and fire and death upon the encroaching armies. The dead littering the battlefield. Entire landscapes destroyed, the two primary warzones giving rise to what would become Oblivia and Cauldros. 

Behind him, L shudders. “It was long ago, for us. Yet the memories wish to eat us whole.”

Pongo makes a noise of understanding, but doesn’t comment further. He keeps leading them further down the tunnel, only pausing when they come across new murals, ones that Pongo hadn’t been able to reach before being interrupted by the Ganglion. Once again, his hand rests on the hilt of his photon saber. “This is where I ended off,” he explains, “before the Ganglion attacked. I can keep watch, if you want to translate the ruins here.”

“It would be our pleasure,” L agrees. Pongo turns his back, eyeing both ends of the tunnel as L peers over the new murals. He mumbles something Miran under his breath, intrigued by the paintings, and it draws Pongo’s attention enough to observe. L hands Pongo one of his flashlights, and as he relieves him of the flashlight, L uses his free hand to press against the rock. A string of Miran symbols crows above the indent. To The Prince’s Hall, Pongo translates silently. 

L’s hand presses deeper. The rock shifts, and the wall behind Pongo slides open, revealing an alternate passage. Using L’s flashlight, he points it down the hall, quickly discovering that the passage doesn’t stretch far. It circles in on itself, forming a round room. At the far end, there’s a pedestal made of ancient stone, and something sits atop it. Pongo steps further inside, more taken by the additional murals than now span the walls. The art style seems more frantic, with these images. Scrawled, hasty. He recognizes several repeated images of the planet, but none of them match each other. The first showcases Mira, and two cosmic beings encircling it. The drawings do a wonderful job of conveying both beasts’ hunger, drool pooling from their open mouths, fangs sharp and predatory. One monster dons feathers, the other dons fins.

Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra.

“The Tale of Two Gods,” Pongo whispers. “Froyoyo told us about this. When both yggraliths fought each other over who could devour Mira.”

“We were not witness to it,” L confesses, enamored with the depiction. “However, Mira warned us of the time it had once fused with another organic being to save itself. We believed our fate would be similar to that of the hero who defeated both yggraliths.”

“Froyoyo,” He provides. “I think - and I could be wrong - Froyoyo fared better than you did when Mira severed its connection with him because Vanala was there. She is an ether entity like Mira once was, so she knew how to separate them without inflicting any of the side effects.”

L peers closer at the murals. “Are we correct in assuming Froyoyo is a Nopon?”

“Oh, right, you have never met,” Pongo realizes. “How did you know -”

And that’s when he sees the following image. Two Nopon, a Telethia, and a massive winged humanoid beating the yggraliths back from the planet. Pongo peers closer and identifies the humanoid as Aidoneus. Streaks of rainbow paint shoot out from its chest and arms, penetrating both yggraliths. This is how Aidoneus killed Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra the first time, Pongo thinks, in awe of the display.

“Pongo,” L beckons him towards the next mural. 

Believing he’d continue to see more depictions of The Tale of Two Gods, Pongo’s shocked when the images shift. Corvhesperikon continues to fly around the planet, and the same heroes defend it - two Nopon, a Telethia, and Aidoneus. And beyond that…Syriahnydra, its serpentine body nearly wrapping around the planet. There are no Nopon in the next image, but there’s Aidoneus, accompanied by two Telethia instead of one. 

“Two Telethia?” Pongo questions out loud. “That is not possible. When did this happen?”

L stares at him. “Our friend…we don’t have reason to believe this has happened yet.”

“You think…” Pongo’s eyes widen, the realization setting in like a weight in his stomach. He knows of a second Telethia because he was the second Telethia. Even then, Solstice had reverted back to their F’lenla A’slegn body as a result of his transformation, since only one Telethia can exist at a time. 

Or so he thought.

Is there a way for two Telethia to live at the same time? If so, that would require a second person to undergo the ritual, a volunteer to transform into another one of Mira’s protectors. He’d done it before. He knows the risks associated with it, even if the ritual had been cruelly enacted by the Ganglion.

The Ganglion.

That’s why they were here.

So they could make more Telethia.

Overwhelmed by all of this information, Pongo turns away, holding his stomach. He just needs to breathe. He needs to get a grip. He needs to warn everyone, because if the Ganglion know how to replicate the ritual, there’s a chance they can put more people through the transformation, and they’d all turn into monsters incapable of controlling their animalistic urges for carnage, attacking their sister and waiting patiently for her to kill her, sending his body over the edge of the cliff -

Pongo falls to his knees, his head in his hands. Bile surges up in the back of his throat, but he pushes it back, for now. L’s by his side in an instant, dropping his remaining flashlight so he can grab Pongo by the shoulders. He’s saying something to him, but he’s covered his ears, the sound muffled and distorted. Breathe, he tells himself. Breathe. In, out. In, out. 

Once he’s regained himself, Pongo looks up into L’s eyes. “This is too much,” he whimpers. 

“Syriahnydra will return,” L says softly. “This, we had surmised long ago. Since Corvhesperikon’s resurrection and death, Syriahnydra will take its advantage to return. Our questioning has grown, however: how did our people know of this forthcoming?”

Pongo lowers his hands, and L meets them with his own, his thumbs rubbing circles in his palms. His touch brings him back to life, back to a stable sense of reality. Still, he doesn’t respond to L’s question, because he doesn’t even know where to begin. Mira had never told him anything about the F’lenla A’slegn’s ability to see into the future, if that’s what this is. It has to be the future, since Corvhesperikon’s second defeat mirrors exactly what had transpired in Cocytios. 

Pongo looks past L, for a moment. That’s when the pedestal in the middle of the room catches his attention again. Drawn to it, he forces himself to stand, inching closer. L follows, but keeps his distance.

On top of the pedestal, there’s a well preserved piece of parchment, outstretched to envelop the pedestal’s surface. Somehow, the hands of time have hardly damaged the paper, yet there’s noticeable wrinkles and cracks in the sheet. The paint scribbled above it is careful and precise, far neater than any of the cavern murals thus far. As Pongo’s fingers flutter over the parchment, he feels the nausea creeping in again - at first, slowly, then all at once.

Mira, once again, is drawn in its primal beauty. Three humanoids stand around it, each with a hand cupping the bottom of the planet. The figures on the left and right each have black hair, pale skin. Eyes like the infinite cosmos, dotted with stars and constellations. The figure in the center is pale, too, but a blue hood obscures their facial features. 

“That is me,” he says, pointing to the figure on the left. Then, shifting to the right: “And that is Nessa. But who is that, in the middle?”

L glances over his shoulder, his eyebrows furrowed. “We’re unsure. What a puzzling puzzle, indeed.”

Scowling, Pongo takes out his comm device and takes a few pictures of the pedestal parchment. As he turns to snapshot other murals on the walls, L continues to observe the pedestal, thoroughly entranced. “Despite its handsome blue visage, we can attest that this can’t be us. It lacks our magnificent horns!”

“It could be another human, then,” Pongo says. “Someone who might be able to help us defeat Syriahnydra, whenever it wakes up again.”

L’s about to respond, but the ground shakes under their feet, nearly knocking them both off balance. Pongo stashes his comm device, igniting his photon saber and jogging out of the stone room. The hallway appears empty, loose rocks tumbling down from the quake. The Pathfinders had reported in their initial survey that the tunnels were unstable. Yet Pongo confirms, at least for the moment, that they’re not at any risk of a cave-in. It’s still a bad idea to stick around, so he tells L, “We should go. Come on.”

L nods, following him out. Pongo remembers the way, using the murals as a guide. He doesn’t make it far; he realizes L has stopped to look down the other end of the tunnel, the way they hadn’t gone. “L’Cirufe,” Pongo says. But L doesn’t move. His flashlight shines down the empty corridor, pointed at something on the ground. He takes a few cautious steps forward, spotting some strange masses. Rock formations? No, they don’t look like they’re a part of the cave system.

As he approaches L’s left side, Pongo gasps. This close, he can see what they are. Ganglion. Ganglion bodies. And there’s not just one - there’s so many, trailing down the darkness of the tunnel. The closest body is turned towards them, and black blood oozes from their wounds, their eyes and mouth, spilling into a shadowed pool. And as Pongo gazes out at the other bodies, he can tell that every corpse suffers from the same affliction.

“L,” Pongo breathes, “we have to go. Now.”

Whatever did this to the Ganglion could still be here, and that’s a reality more horrifying than a cave-in. As Pongo backs up, he expects L to come with him. Yet he doesn’t move. “L’Cirufe,” Pongo calls out again, growing more desperate. “L -”

“I CAN SMELL THE PLANET ON YOUR FLESH.”

That’s not L’s voice. It’s deeper, scratchier. Pongo recoils as L finally turns, and there’s black blood staining his lips, his canines. His eyes, once a radiant gold, are now completely void.

“IT’S SO STRONG,” the voice echoing from L’s body threatens with a toothy smile. “SO SWEET. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG YOU’VE STARVED ME, LITTLE GODLING?”

Syriahnydra.

It has to be. Pongo’s photon saber shakes in his hand. “I do not care. Let my friend go.”

“THEY WILL ALL DIE,” Syriahnydra ignores his demand. “AND I CHOOSE TO BEGIN WITH YOU.”

The Ganglion bodies contort, their heads raising towards the sky. The second they all start screaming, Pongo bolts for the exit.

As he sprints down the winding tunnels, he stumbles across more dead Ganglion, all rising to try and subdue him. They hadn’t been there on the way in. There’s no logic, no rhyme or reason to their existence now when they hadn’t been there before. 

One body darts out and grabs his ankle. Pongo yelps, barely able to keep himself from falling. He turns, ready to defend himself. He looks down.

This is not a Ganglion.

This is a horned creature, taller than most humans. Pale skin, ridges along the cheekbones. Pointed ears. 

A F’lenla A’slegn.

And as Pongo glances back up, he finds an army of staggering corpses, and they’re all F’lenla A’slegn. 

He doesn’t care what kind of hallucinations he’s having. This place is a tomb. A death sentence. He has to get out of here. 

Pongo uses his adrenaline-fueled strength to kick the body’s wrist off of his ankle, and he presses on, dodging other corpses that seemingly appear from the walls. It’s nearly pitch black - L had one of the flashlights, and Pongo’s far too panicked to even consider using the one he still has. He uses his intuition, his memories of entering the cavern system, and the walls as his guide. 

He’s rewarded by sunlight, by the promise of the exit fifty yards away. Surprisingly, this close to escaping, there’s no resistance. The bodies fall away as Pongo breaches the outside world, and though nothing chases him now, he runs until he knows he’s far enough away. The adrenaline evaporates the second he collapses behind a small hill, and he heaves, his lungs begging for air he can’t provide quick enough. 

L, he thinks, choking on a sob. Oh gods, it has L.

Pongo pulls his knees up to his chest, his photon saber falling to the ground. He can’t imagine how scared L is. The loss of control, threatening to kill his loved ones, the taste of blood on his sharpened fangs and the thrill of the chase as he swipes and snarls and draws wounds like art on Solstice and -

Shit. Shit.

Pongo nearly drops his comm device as he pulls it out again. He can’t do this. He needs someone to talk him down. He plugs a number in without thinking. 

“Pick up,” he begs, “pick up, please, fuck -”

Nessa answers after two rings. She takes one look at the tears streaming down his face, his utter uncontrollable panic, and says, “I’m on my way.”

~

It used to be strange, watching how desperately he wanted to live. But I understand it, now. Life is a part of him, as is love. It is human. 

It’s why I want to give him a chance. Her, too, if she wills it so.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Chapter 1

Quid facient vivere? (What will they do to live?)

Somehow, BLADE doesn’t issue an indigen warning until Telethia, the Endbringer, is clinging to the side of BLADE Tower.

Nessa’s in Armory Alley with Elma and Lin when it happens. A dark shadow creeps over her head, a brilliant yellow light blazing through the skies. She barely catches the tips of Telethia’s wings in the sky before the ground violently shakes, Telethia landing on the tower. Nessa doesn’t speak. She runs for the barracks to grab a Skell - one of Pongo’s, funnily enough - and with Elma and Lin close behind, they ascend to the top of BLADE Tower to make contact.

It’s been so long since she’s seen Solstice. So long since their time together in Cocytios, traversing the snowy plateaus in search of Pongo. Echoes flash in her mind of cave paintings, of brilliant undying flowers. Of Solstice’s delicate touch as the glacial iris in their hand fit snugly above her ear. It takes so much willpower for her to put her feelings aside, to ignore how her stomach tightens at the memory. Solstice can’t be here for want of her warmth. They’re here for something else entirely. Something far more serious than good company.

The Skell lands shakily; Nessa’s never been a great Skell pilot, despite her convincing people otherwise. She exits the cockpit as Elma and Lin’s Skells land behind her, running up to Telethia’s face. They’re staring straight at her, and their body rumbles with something akin to a purr.

“Couldn’t resist a cheeky visit, huh?” Nessa starts with a joke and a smile, typical of her easy confidence. “I’m just that irresistible, I see!”

Elma assumes her place by Nessa’s side, quickly followed by Lin. “Solstice,” she says, “there are other ways to attract our attention. Ways that don’t involve scaring all of NLA.”

Telethia’s head bows in apology. Mira’s voice rings in the back of Nessa’s mind, acting as a translator. She says sorry. But she has a dire reason for coming here.

“Mm,” Nessa hums. “Yearning is a serious matter.”

Gods above.

She chuckles as Elma raises a curious eyebrow, glancing between her and Telethia. She explains quickly, “Mira’s going to be translating Solstice for me. I’ll relay everything as best as I’m able.”

So she does. She listens to Telethia’s chirps and growls, listens to Mira’s recollections and translations. As the story unfolds, Nessa’s smile falls, and she questions if “dire” was too safe a word to use to describe the situation at hand.

Yet she keeps her composure, facing Elma and Lin to relay back everything she’d heard. “You remember how Corvhesperikon revived itself and tried to eat the planet? It’s that, but a different yggralith this time. One called Syriahnydra. Its body is resting in the ocean, but Mira and Solstice both recognized it was starting to move again.”

“Another yggralith?” Lin’s brow furrows, her fear apparent. “I know I wasn’t there for Corvhesperikon, but it seemed powerful enough that it could’ve destroyed Mira if left unchecked.”

“I agree,” Elma says. “Mira does seem a ripe target for yggraliths, and though I wonder why, it’s a conversation for another day. Would I be correct in assuming this yggralith is the second god from Froyoyo’s story?”

Telethia and Nessa nod at the same time. “Mira thinks it’s waking up because it recognized that Corvhesperikon wasn’t a threat anymore. That it could consume Mira without having to fight over it.”

“Couldn’t it recognize that Corvhesperikon was defeated, though?” Lin ponders. “Unless Syriahnydra is that confident it won’t have any reason to worry.”

“I reckon its confidence is fueled by it not having considerable competition in the past,” Elma offers. “In any case, we have an advantage - several, in fact. Syriahnydra is not alive currently, correct?”

“Not yet,” Nessa confirms with Mira, “but soon. We’re talking a few weeks, tops.”

“That’s more time than we were afforded with Corvhesperikon’s reawakening. I can relay this information to HQ and assemble resources both inside and outside of BLADE. Our manpower may not be much in comparison to yours, Solstice, but every ounce of firepower will certainly matter against an ultrafauna.”

Nessa shivers, the planet’s tension coursing through her veins. “C’mon now, Mira,” she says, “it’s alright to ask for help. You all barely made it out with Corvhesperikon last time.”

There will be death, it whispers. So much death. I do not want to put humanity through the same kind of catastrophe as the war.

Telethia looks away, contemplative. But Nessa, resolute, commits herself to this train of thought. Confident she may be, but even she recognizes the gravity of this threat. As much as she’d love to go at it alone, she’d be fighting a losing battle by herself. And who’s to say Solstice and Mira could handle it by themselves? 

“It’s their world now, too,” Nessa defends. “Let them fight to protect it. Let them fight to protect you.”

Mira’s silence speaks volumes. Once she knows she’s convinced it to accept the backup, Nessa puts her hands on her hips, exuding what confidence she can muster. “If you’re going to be petitioning the head honchos,” she tells Elma and Lin, “then I’d like to go with Solstice. I want eyes on what we’re working with.”

“Woah,” Lin’s says, “you want to go out there by yourself? Doing reconnaissance like that is dangerous, even if we’ve confirmed that Syriahnydra isn’t alive yet.”

“I’m not going alone,” Nessa chuckles, stepping closer to Telethia. Their head tilts, and her hand raises to cup its cheek. Though their hide appears scaly and rough, there’s give to its flesh, and heat resonates between them. It’s not unlike their time together traversing Cocytios, how easy it is to simply be by each others’s side. “Besides,” she says, trying to mask her faint blush, “I’ve been dying to get Solstice alone for some…quality time.”

“Eww,” Lin recoils. 

“Though I agree this is dangerous, I do agree that any intel we can gather will be crucial for the BLADE petition,” Elma yields. “Still, I urge you both not to do anything rash. If Syriahnydra shows any sign of movement, you’re under my direct order to disengage and get as far away from it as possible.”

“Well that’s no fun,” Nessa pouts, “but I hear you. Nothing reckless.”

Telethia nods as if to agree with the order, rumbles emitting from its core. Solstice wants me to tell you that she will not bring you too close. Your safety is their priority.

“Love you too,” Nessa winks at Telethia. “Now then, we’re burning daylight. I’ve got everything I need: my swords, my guns, my beautifully sculpted body -”

“Nessa,” Elma scowls, but Nessa quickly determines she’s not annoyed. If anything, there’s a spark behind her eyes, an amusement she’s got hidden beneath the surface. That’s become more commonplace between them, this mutual understanding, this mutual charisma. Nessa had asked Pongo about it, once - why Elma’s so easy to get along with. Pongo had shrugged, telling her that Elma had always been this equable. Despite being their captain, she’s also their friend, and being able to maintain the two roles came easier to Elma than most they’d encountered. 

Elma and Lin say their goodbyes, wishing Telethia and Nessa luck on their mission. As they board their Skells and return to the lower levels of the Administrative District, Nessa glances up at Telethia. “So how exactly do you want me to ride you?”

Phrasing, Mira reprimands.

Telethia rolls its eyes, craning its neck down low enough that Nessa’s able to climb onto their back. She hooks her legs on each side, using the front sides of their wings as leverage. “Alright,” she says, “I’m ready when you are.”

Another low rumble as they rustle their wings, pushing off of BLADE Tower with as much grace as they can manage. Still, Nessa notes the obvious claw marks on the tower’s interface as they fly away. Considering Telethia’s size, the damage could’ve been a lot worse.

Telethia ascends to a cruising altitude, and once they’re settled in the skies, Nessa lets herself think about what’s to come. She wasn’t alive to witness Corvhesperikon’s awakening and subsequent defeat. But she’d met Starr, the fusion of Pongo and Mira, the one who permitted Aidoneus’s return to a physical form. She’d felt the energy of the planet shift, from her resting place beneath the earth. She’d felt the release of ether, the heat of battle. They’d truly been lucky to defeat Corvhesperikon.

Though she harbors feelings about her non-involvement in Corvhesperikon’s death, Nessa is almost happy Syriahnydra is on the cusp of reawakening. She’s getting a chance to save Mira herself. Pongo’s been hogging the spotlight recently, and her whole body aches for a taste of the excitement. We’re avatars of a sentient planet, she thinks, and frankly, I’ve died before. Nothing scares me - nothing that can be used against me, not anymore. 

But as that thought crosses her mind, Nessa knows it isn’t the truth. Too much scares her, even now. If Syriahnydra awakens, if they can’t find a way to kill it - she will lose everything. That terrifies her, but she swears then and there that she’ll never let it show. After all, she’s got a chance to be Mira’s hero now, a chance to be in the spotlight. There’s too much on the line for her to fail.

She won’t fail. She won’t. She won’t. 

~

Nessa and the Telethia don’t realize they’re being followed. But it’s okay. I only mean to observe, for a while.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 4: Void Prelude

Ego sum canticum mortis. (I am the song of the end.)

Prelude of the Guardian

The night plunges Noctilum into near-darkness. Its vegetation sparks to life, providing light in the jungle abyss as its indigenous wildlife stalks the trails. Everything is as it should be, the ecosystem’s balance persevering despite all that the planet has endured. 

And at Noctilum’s highest peak, Telethia the Endbringer provides a beacon of light to rival the ground below and the stars above. She comes to rest at the pinnacle of the Divine Roost overlooking Noctilum, catching brief glimpses of the other continents beyond the cover of night. They tuck their wings in close to their body, alert yet content. Moments of peace like this are hard to come by, after all that’s come to pass. 

With a sigh, Telethia closes their eyes, appreciating the cool breeze that comes to grace the peaks. As her eyes open, the ground pulses beneath their feet, and suddenly she’s on guard. It’s something only she can see, how the aether flowing beneath the planet’s surface stutters for but a moment. Yet this is a sign. A sign, perhaps, that something is not right.

They survey the land, hoping to catch a glimpse of the disturbance. There has to be a source, somewhere that she can pinpoint. Telethia stares at at the horizon, and her gaze eventually settles to the southeast, where frozen waters reveal the continent of Cocytios. In the night, the ocean is a darkened void. 

But tonight, it isn’t.

Beneath the pitch black waves, a long and winding trail of blue light begins to surround Cocytios’s western border. The lights extend beyond the horizon, far beyond what Telethia can see. She shudders - they don’t know what this is, for they have never seen anything like it before. So she roars, and it shakes the land, sending a shockwave through the veins of the planet. 

There is no need to shout, Mira responds. I can hear you everywhere and anywhere.

Its voice comes as a hollowed whisper, echoing in the deep recesses of Telethia’s mind. She responds in kind, their voice rumbling in their chest. I’m sorry to summon you like this, but this is urgent.

I felt it, Mira says. I know what this is.

What, then? 

Two gods once fell from the skies, locked in an endless battle of famine. We may have subdued them for a time, but a creature driven by hunger will never accept death without a fight.

Telethia’s breath hitches. You think this is the second god.

It IS the second god. 

A pause. 

It was only a matter of time. The death of the first god, Corvhesperikon, means that this god no longer has any viable competition. 

We must warn the humans, Telethia says quietly. Their city and everything they’ve strived to create here - all of it is in danger.

They are no strangers to it, Mira responds. 

To the danger, or to its existence?

Both. It woke when humanity decided it wanted to explore the oceans. I bet that was a nasty surprise.

Did they wake it?

No. It was just bad timing.

Telethia’s wings ruffle, then tuck closer into their body. She wants to shrink into herself, but this is the best she can do. I’m sorry. I have failed you again.

None of that, Sol’stica-veaya, Mira chides. You could not have predicted this. But we do need a plan.

I will go to the human city -

Not yet. 

Telethia’s head tilts. Why?

Because I have something I need to do first. We need all the help we can get, and luckily, I have built enough strength to summon a friend.

A friend?

The earth grows warm beneath Telethia’s feet, and all at once, she knows its plan, its answer. Is it truly possible?

It is, Mira confirms. For now, keep an eye on its movements. If it comes out of the water, do not engage.

But Mira, Telethia tries to protest, but the ground quivers, silencing them before they can continue.

I will not have you risking your life to subdue it. You alone are no match for a yggralith of this size. 

I imprisoned the Everqueen.

The Everqueen is an infant in comparison to this monster. Wait for my command, and we will proceed once we have our reinforcements in order. Understood?

Though Telethia doesn’t agree, she is ever subservient to the planet. Their role is to protect, to guard, to serve. She nods once, setting aside her own desires for Mira’s sake. After all, its life far exceeds their own, it has lived through things they could never dream of. 

She feels the planet’s conscience receding back into the earth, and in the near-darkness of the night, Telethia resumes her duty. The blue lights beneath the waves fade before the sun rises. Telethia sighs, breathing deep of Noctilum’s dense and humid air. It won’t do them any good to sit here and wait. 

As they ascend into the sky, Telethia looks to Cocytios, the frozen continent of memories. How long has it been since she walked the barren landscape with her? Will they ever be able to again?

It isn’t worth thinking about. Soon, she will have him at her side. And that in itself is a miracle Telethia refuses to sully. 

Prelude of the Reborn

She is alone and without form, swathed in quiet slumber. Dreams plague her, visions of what lies beyond her cosmos shell. She can do nothing but watch, and hope, and pray.

He adjusts as best he can, for all he’s gone through. He throws himself back into his duties, doing whatever is asked of him and everything beyond. His friends notice the shift quickly, and even though they tell him to rest, to be gentle with himself, he never listens. He will never listen.

Sometimes he sneaks away from the city and tries to find her. She doesn’t have a resting place - she is everywhere, watching just as the planet does - but he has an uncanny sense for finding where she feels strongest. If she’s watching the auroras in Sylvalum, he comes and views them with her. If she’s near her resting place in Noctilum, he finds his way there with flowers, sitting with her for a while.

But when she looks to Cocytios, he never follows.

He knows when she’s there. He stands at the Primordia coast overlooking the frozen continent, unable to move further. She never blames him for this. But she can’t control where the planet takes her, how she flows beneath the earth. And he can never hear her apologies, her reassurances, for her voice never finds purchase.

Only one can reach her, in the state that she’s in. Mira had welcomed her into this lifestream, and only Mira can meet her there. She knows it’s there when the cocoon around her grows weighted and warm. She talks with it sometimes, when it comes to check in. 

She doesn’t know how much time passes when Mira approaches her again, offering that same soothing embrace.

Are you awake? It asks quietly, carefully.

I don’t think I’ve ever been asleep, she responds. 

Mm. I am sorry.

Don’t be. 

She feels the planet shift, and somehow, she knows Mira is sighing. I think I can do it, if you are ready.

Do what?

The second she asks, she realizes. Mira doesn’t let her stew in the unpromised hope for long.

I can bring you back. Have you exist alongside him.

You’re sure? She double checks, concerned. After everything that happened in Cocytios -

I have been building reserves. The death of Corvhesperikon helped significantly. Even in death, it was eating at my ether, and only when I killed it - completely killed it, this time - did I realize just how much of a strain its sheer existence was on me.

She has no form with which to smile, so she brightens instead, pressing into the warmth surrounding her. I’m ready, then. Ready when you are. Does he know?

No, Mira says. But he will, once you have returned. I noticed that he can feel where you are, like how I can feel his presence.

We’re all connected, so I bet I’d be able to do the same. Hard to tell here, though. 

All the more reason to bring you back, right? The planet chuckles, the space around her vibrating. That being said, I think we both know what your priority should be. 

Seeing him.

Hey. I may have created you to help him, but your life does not revolve around him. Check on yourself first. Let me know if anything feels off after the transition, and I can repair as needed.

Alright, she accepts. You’re right about that. I promise I’ll keep you updated.

Gods, Mira says, you are so much less stubborn about this than he is. Thank you for that. It puts my mind at ease.

She laughs. I do have a reputation for being your favorite child to uphold. 

The planet scoffs, and all at once, there is warmth, there is light, and she’s being lifted to the sky, pushed past layers of dirt and stone and mud, and then -

Prelude of the Loved

He feels it when she comes alive.

He’s in Armory Alley when it happens. The world shifts beneath him, veins of miranium pulsing beneath metal and ground and stone. He stops talking, pressing his feet deeper into the floor, trying to discern where the miranium is flowing. It points behind him and to the right - Noctilum, then.

He doesn’t even remember what he was doing before that moment. He just runs. 

His Skell is parked outside of the barracks. He ascends, gets behind the controls, and flies into the Primordia sunrise. It takes too long to reach Noctilum, the sunrise giving way to dense vegetation. He’s surveying the ground below, desperation clawing at his conscience. Where is she? Where is she?

The planet sends out one last pulse, and it’s all he needs. She’s standing at the base of the tree, and she’s already spotted him. She smiles. She waves.

He wonders, for a split second, why she’s already showing him such kindness after everything he put her through. 

Still, he lands his Skell, nearly falling out of it when he releases the cockpit doors. He’s on the ground, and there’s practically no distance between them. It’s so strange - they had once been separated by death, and now, they are separated by nothing at all. It’d be so easy to run to her, to embrace her. She’s still smiling, expecting that to happen.

But he hesitates. He doesn’t know if he’s allowed this act of love.

She tries to break the tension with a joke. “I can’t believe Mira made me shorter than you.”

He can’t bring himself to quip back. Instead, he finally runs to her. He wraps her in the tightest hug he can manage, his arms shaking from the anxiety of it all. He’s being selfish, keeping her this close, but it’s all he can do. Apologies hold no strength, no power. He only knows to hold her, and thank the world that they’re together at last.

“I never forgot,” he whispers, when he finally finds the strength to speak again. “I could never forget you.”

All of the tension leaves her body, and she melts into his embrace. He feels her tears on his shoulder, and it only makes him hug her tighter. And they stay like this for a while, the ground warm beneath their feet, as a new day comes to welcome them both.

[kentuckywrites]

The End of All Things - REWRITE

On July 6th, 2018, I succumbed to some self indulgence. Six years later, let's do it again. Featuring @deltheor 's Sydney ~

Pongo knew. 

The official BLADE report never made it into the public eye, but he knew Elma, and Elma knew everything, so he got the information out of her. While Pongo had been out on a forced vacation, Sydney had Brainjacked seventy percent of NLA’s population and had taken them to Cauldros, where he’d set himself up in a Ganglion fortress to play the role of false king. Elma showed him the witness reports, people recounting being controlled, people recounting their efforts to stop him. An elite team of Brainjack users were able to take him down, in the end, but even that almost hadn’t been enough. 

The rumors spread like a disease throughout NLA. He still walks among us, Pongo once heard. He’s been stripped of his rank, so hopefully he won’t be allowed anywhere near a knife again. I saw him in the residential district once - do you think he’s planning how to do it again?

It hurt. The rumors had nothing to do with Pongo, yet he still felt their sting. He could only imagine how deeply it was affecting Sydney.

In the end, the rumors and the official reports combined were enough for Pongo to make a decision. 

He pulled out his comm device and called Sydney just after noon. Someone had given Pongo his number a long time ago, long enough that Pongo couldn’t quite remember who it was. Sydney didn’t respond. Frantic, Pongo kept dialing and calling, dialing and calling, dialing and calling, come on Sydney why won’t you pick up -

“The fuck do you want?!”

And suddenly, everything Pongo had planned to say vanished into thin air. Gods above, Sydney’s anger was something to behold. Pongo knew he had to be quick, or Sydney would hang up. 

“H-Hi, Sydney,” Pongo started. “We, um…we need to talk.”

“We’re talking right now, dipshit.”

Damn it. Damn him. Pongo released a shaky breath, trying to keep himself composed. “I meant in person. This is not something I can talk to you about over the comm device.”

“I’m busy. You should spit it out and stop wasting my time -”

“Not over the comm device.”

Pongo hadn’t meant for his tone to get so strained, so forceful. Sydney didn’t respond immediately, and he almost wondered if the (former?) Interceptor had hung up after that little outburst. However, after a moment of silence, he got a response.

“Alright, fine. When would you like to plan our little date?”

Pongo swallowed hard. No, Pongo, it is not a date. Do not get your hopes up. He shook his head, then responded, “Well, um…do you know of that elevator by the West Gate? The one that leads to the very top of the walls of NLA?”

The location held many good memories for Pongo; that was the same elevator he’d taken down to the Industrial District, the very first time he’d stepped foot into the city. Back then, he had no idea who he was, or who he was meant to be. In recent months Pongo found himself revisiting the location, if only to reminisce on the past. Others had called this insight into himself and the hearts of others a blessing, and perhaps he could use this talent to…well. To see Sydney.

“I know the place,” Sydney said, again knocking Pongo out of his stray thoughts. 

“Would you be able to meet me there tonight? Maybe around eight?” Pongo asked.

“Sure, I guess. See ya then.”

“Right,” Pongo said, but the dial tone hit his ears before he had gotten his full response out. With a sigh, his hand lowered, and pressure built behind his eyes. Shoving his comm device in his back pocket, he looked to the horizon. The sun was high above him, a promise that the day was still young. It would be a painful wait until the appointed hour arrived.

~

Pongo found himself waiting at the bottom of the elevator fifteen minutes before eight. This corner of the city was quieter than he expected, but then again, this was the Industrial District. Outfitters, arms manufacturers, and construction workers hurried about the district in a mad frenzy. The chaos usually calmed his nerves; he felt at home in the hustle and bustle, the high energy that came with BLADE’s intellectual conquests. Yet tonight, as he’d been walking towards the meeting point, Pongo had briefly considered getting a drink at the Repenta Diner. Frye had once told him that spiking a coffee wasn’t out of the ordinary, and Pongo had seen first-hand how alcohol soothed aching hearts.

This was something he needed to be sober for, though, so in the end, Pongo had gotten a water from the diner. He’d nursed it in his hands and had taken two sips before discarding the cup. He wish he’d kept it now, as he had nothing to do with his hands aside from wringing them together. Sweat built beneath his palms, the friction of his gloves providing some level of distraction from his own thoughts. Funny, how he allowed himself to feel this. Funny, how it didn’t serve to distract him from the truth.

“Pongo? Helloooo? Anybody home in there?”

Pongo blinked a few times, and when he regained focus, he saw Sydney standing right in front of him. How long had he been standing there?! Gods above, Pongo was out of it, huh? He could even smell Sydney’s cologne - it was one of his favorites. Jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. An expensive blend. Pongo stepped back, his heart fluttering under his chest.

He did not wear this for you. Stop it.

“H-Hi,” Pongo stammered, “sorry about that, I just…”

“Lost in your own head?” Sydney guessed, raising one of his pierced eyebrows in annoyance. “Happens, I guess.”

“Right. Yeah,” Pongo grinned sheepishly, finally making eye contact with Sydney. What was the human saying again, something about eyes being windows to the soul? If that was the case, Pongo could see through Sydney, and in that brief moment, he saw the truth. Sydney was happy to see him.

That made Pongo want to cry.

“So what’s so important that you couldn’t tell me through comms, huh?” Sydney asked. “You’re an old-fashioned fucker if you prefer talking to people in person.”

“Then call me old-fashioned, I suppose,” Pongo laughed nervously, “I, um…I think this is going to be too important for comm messages, is all.”

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” he huffed, “so get on with it. I don’t have all night.”

Right, he said he was busy. Pongo needed to get to the point. But at the same time, BLADEs were flying past them both, some casting looks over their shoulders. Damn it, he should’ve thought about how busy it’d be here.

“We should find somewhere quieter,” he suggested, expecting some form of backlash.

To his surprise, however, Sydney shrugged. “Whatever floats your yacht.”

“I do not own a yacht.”

“...I’ll rent you one of mine, sometime. Maybe I’ll throw in a one percent discount on the rental fee, too.”

Pongo’s eyes started to sting as he held back tears. The offer sounded so genuine, so real. Do not get your hopes up. 

“I would like that,” he said softly, feeling his heart begin to rip itself apart. He turned away from Sydney before he could say anything else.

Pongo stepped onto the elevator platform, using the controls to send it to the top floor after Sydney had embarked. It was a long way to the top, so once the elevator fence came up and they began to ascend, Pongo found himself sneaking a glance at Sydney. He was facing away, observing the city below. It was an array of colors and lights under the darkened sky, replacements for the stars that didn’t shine that night. Sydney’s head turned slightly, and Pongo could see those same lights reflected in his eyes. What a vibrant red they were, the color of power and blood and undying strength. 

Red, the color of love.

The first tear fell. Pongo wiped it away with the back of his glove, wincing when he pulled his arm back. He’d done it too rough, and now his cheek hurt. Not enough to leave a bruise, but enough to leave a memory.

The elevator came to a stop at the top floor. Pongo stepped out once the railings came down without acknowledging Sydney. He came to rest his arms on the fencing along the platform, staring down at NLA. This was where Elma had taken him when he’d first entered the city, when Pongo was unsure about who and what he was. There was a kind of poetic satisfaction in returning here, a satisfaction in knowing that he had found himself. 

Though…had he?

No. Pongo wasn’t here to throw himself a pity party. Just push the feelings down, as you always have and always will.

“So…” Sydney said, leaning back on the railing to Pongo’s right, “what do you want?”

Pongo didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it go in a shaky exhale. Maybe he could save himself. Maybe he could find a silly excuse and have Sydney get mad at him for wasting his time. Maybe he could find another way to get the answers he needed. 

But he couldn’t do any of that in good conscience. He had to face this - and so did Sydney.

“Elma gave me access to the BLADE reports,” he finally said. “They, um…you Brainjacked over seventy percent of the population.”

Silence. Pongo didn’t have the strength to look up at Sydney, to gauge his reaction through his facial expressions. Yet the air shifted, a tension that was nearly unbearable. Pongo opened his mouth, too uncomfortable to remain quiet, but Sydney beat him to the punch.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did.”

A confession. Pongo gazed upwards at that, finding that Sydney had turned around to assume the same position as him. He was staring out at the city lights, his brow furrowed. From the profile, he looked…

He looked sad.

That was what Pongo had been searching for. That was the answer he needed. 

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Sydney spat out in response.

“Sydney -”

“I’m fine,” he repeated, sharper this time, “why do you even care?”

Because I care about you.

He couldn’t say that. He shouldn’t.

“Because Elma also told me you suffered some kind of amnesia afterwards,” Pongo answered, “that you did not remember most of the time in Cauldros. It just…from everything I heard, I do not think that the one who Brainjacked everyone was truly you.”

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” Sydney’s voice rose, “Of course it was me!”

“No, no, Sydney, listen to me, that was not you -”

“SHUT UP!!”

Pongo flinched back at Sydney’s order. Sydney’s eyes were glazed over, tears trailing down his cheeks. He hunched over to hide his face, an ugly sob emanating from the back of his throat. It took every bit of willpower to resist rushing forward, to resist wrapping him up in a hug, to resist telling him that everything would be alright. 

I will not be able to let go if I hold him now.

“I don’t even know why you wanted to see me,” Sydney nearly shouted as he straightened his spine, spinning around to finally face him. “You know what I did. The entire fucking city knows what I did, but I don’t even fucking remember what happened. What, did you wanna point and laugh at the asshole who ruined lives for shits and giggles?!”

“It was not you,” Pongo pleaded, unable to hold back his own tears.

“Then who the fuck do you think I am, huh?! Who are you to tell me who I am and what I’m capable of?! I’m a fucking monster -”

“You are not a monster!!” Pongo cried, “You are not the same person as the one who Brainjacked the city!!”

“Oooh, so that was a fucking clone who did that, then?!” Sydney retorted, “Answer the fucking question, asshole - who am I?!”

Pongo swallowed hard, forcing himself to stare into Sydney’s eyes. His makeup was starting to smear, a black tar staining his cheeks. As Pongo spoke, his voice rose, gaining more and more strength.

“You act vain and narcissistic and you hardly care about anyone other than yourself. You buy things because you think it makes you happy, but you are never happy, because you think you are undeserving of everything you have been given. You act as though you only care about yourself because you do not want anyone showing you the slightest hint of compassion, and it is because you are terrified, Sydney, you are terrified of being loved because you think you do not deserve it, but damn it Sydney you do!!”

“I don’t deserve shit,” Sydney faltered, but now Pongo was shouting, now he felt too deeply.

“YES YOU DO!! Are you living?! Breathing?! Then you deserve someone who loves you, someone who will be there for you through thick and thin, someone who sees past all of your flaws and sees you for your heart!! Fucking hell, Sydney, I lo-”

He caught himself. 

“I know you deserve to be loved because I know you are a good person deep down!! Everyone deserves to be loved no matter how many times they have fucked up, and I will not sit back and watch you believe you are undeserving, because YOU ARE!!”

Pongo’s voice was cracking, a mirror to his heart. His breaths deep and painful, he stepped back, hitting the rail. The metal provided a cool sensation against his hands, welcome in the heated moment. Sydney looked shellshocked, eyes wide and unblinking. Pongo had never seen this expression before, and despite his fury, the sight made him near-nauseous. He had to close his eyes, a gentle breeze finally coming to soothe him, caressing the hair sticking to his face.

“The fact of the matter is that you have changed,” Pongo quietly said, controlling how his voice shook. “You put on the same act as before, but deep down…I see you, Sydney. I do.”

Silence, eternal. Pongo sighed. He couldn’t stay here. He couldn’t keep doing this. Getting attached, getting his heart broken when there was nothing left to break. 

“I am sorry if you had somewhere else to be,” he apologized, “I got my answer. I will leave you alone, if that is what you want.”

Pongo let go of the railing, straightening his spine and turning back towards the elevator. The silence remained deafening, and his thoughts raced to devour it whole. His own voice echoed in his ears, remnants of his anger, reflections of his soul. The anger was not towards Sydney, he concluded quickly, but rather towards himself. How could Pongo have been so stupid, to get this close to Sydney? The happy-go-lucky Interceptor with a heart of gold, with friends in every corner of the city and beyond, a man who dreamed and hoped and wished for more. That was selfish. That was greedy. That was wrong. He wasn’t allowed to wish for a deeper connection because he was destined to love and never be loved in return. That was his punishment, his sentence, his -

A hand, quickly grasping his. Metal under his skin. A whisper, a plea in the dark. 

“Don’t go.”

Pongo wasn’t strong enough to keep his gaze fixed forward. He looked to Sydney, to the quivering form that had stopped him from leaving. He was a shell - or perhaps, this was the original Sydney, the one who was showing his true colors after years and years of hiding in plain sight. And his true colors were beautiful in every sense, vibrant red and gold and white. His palm pressed in Pongo’s own was a dream, a hope, a wish come true. 

Pongo looked down at their intertwined hands. He couldn’t. He couldn’t.

And yet…

Could he allow himself to be selfish, just this once?

He didn’t give himself enough time to answer that question. Pongo brought Sydney closer, wrapping his other hand around the back of Sydney’s neck, pulling him in, in, in - and their foreheads touched, skin upon skin. Pongo forced himself to keep the space between their mouths, though he cherished the small contact made between their noses. Do not get closer, he told himself, his last shred of control. 

But the little voice in the back of his mind, once smothered, echoed out. You are allowed to want this. 

His resolve finally shattered.

“Okay,” Pongo breathed. “I am here.”

And he sealed the distance between their lips. 

Sydney was wearing lipstick, Pongo discovered, and he wondered if this sudden kiss would smudge it. It would certainly appear on Pongo’s mouth, and he battled with whether or not that was a point of excitement or defeat. He tilted his head ever so slightly, adjusting so he didn’t aggravate Sydney’s piercings. Sydney’s cologne overwhelmed him, that same mix of jasmin, saffron, cedarwood. Pongo could drink deep of it and never be satisfied. 

But he pulled away, eventually - after he realized that Sydney was not reciprocating the kiss. Pongo didn’t meet Sydney’s gaze, everything crashing down on him all at once. He had to say something. He had to come up with an excuse. This is the end of everything. You never deserved to get this close, and now you have to pay for it. 

“I am so sorry,” Pongo whispered, “I should have…I should have asked first. I know this would not work, but I just...”

He wiped his tears from his face, turning away. His heart had skipped several beats, and he wasn’t sure why the air suddenly felt so heavy, so constricting. He deserved it, still. He deserved to get smothered in the pain. Friend of the world, closest to none. How could someone like him ever hope for more?

The elevator was enticing, too enticing. But he told Sydney he was here, that he’d stay. The honor took hold of him, so his feet refused to move. Better for him anyways - he had to be here for the fallout, both self-inflicted and external. Gods, he should’ve left when he had the chance. He should’ve ripped his hand out of Sydney’s and spared them both the pain. How deeply, horribly selfish indeed. A hypocrite, a fool, and above all else -

Sydney’s hands found their way to Pongo’s cheeks and pulled him back in.

There they were, kissing under the moonlit sky. It took Pongo only a moment to recover from the initial shock, and then he crumbled, his defenses completely destroyed. One of Sydney’s hands shifted backwards, entangling in Pongo’s hair, and the other fell down to cup the space between his neck and shoulder. Pongo’s arms, out of desperation, wrapped themselves around Sydney’s hips to draw him in closer. He thought this would ground him, but instead he found his thoughts floating in a pastel haze.

Sydney was the first to pull away. Chasing the high, Pongo nearly followed his lips, but as they caught their breath, Pongo couldn’t hold back his relief. He laughed, soft and warm, keeping his hands around Sydney’s waist. Hells, he’d been right before - he couldn’t let go, now that he’d taken hold. He didn’t even realize he was crying until Sydney’s thumb came to trace the skin under his eye, wiping away a wet streak of newborn tears. 

“I don’t know what this means,” Sydney whispered. “For you, for me…I don’t know what any of this means.”

“It does not have to mean anything if you do not want it to,” Pongo replied, his smile weak but honest.

“But I want this to mean something. You deserve that.”

“You deserve it, too. You always have.”

Sydney swallowed hard. “I…I don’t know if I believe you, yet. But I want to. Damn, do I want to.”

Pongo didn’t respond, but his smile strengthened. He knew Sydney believed that, and he’d do everything he could to prove him right. That he was deserving. That he was loved, loved so much that it hurt. 

And maybe…maybe Pongo could believe that for himself, too. That he deserved the same. 

They stared out into the city after that, hand in hand. The silence became their friend. 

[kentuckywrites]

Santago’s New Sleigh

Pongo accidentally reveals his secret persona to Fudge a few days before Christmas. What does the Outfitter do? He builds a core component for Santago that’s been sorely missed. Featuring @anryl ‘s Danny and @deltheor ‘s Sydney, with brief mentions of @skell-pilot-sora ‘s Ruadha and @stargazer-ele ‘s Polaris.

“Damn, Pon. Whatever you’re reading, it must be important.”

Pongo squeaked, looking up from his comm device to meet Fudge’s gaze. He’d decided to visit Fudge’s lab, a routine at this point since Fudge had the tendency to lock himself away for days on end working on new inventions. Most often he’d make conversation with the Outfitter as he worked, a measure against Fudge’s self-inflicted loneliness, but today was not like most days. Pongo had decided to get a headstart on the Christmas list for the year, and instead of using the regular paper, he’d made the transfer over to keeping a digital list on his comm device. After all, the last few times he’d been out in public checking over the paper list, he’d gotten caught and sheepishly had to explain himself. His identity as Santa had to be a secret, after all! Wasn’t that the point of being Santa? If everyone knew that he was the one dropping off their gifts, then the magic of Christmas would surely be ruined!

So, with the transfer to a digital list, Pongo was excited to covertly check everything over and make sure he’d gotten all the residents of NLA. Since Fudge was busy building stuff, Pongo didn’t think he’d notice or deign to bring it up. When Pongo didn’t respond immediately, Fudge raised an eyebrow. He was perched on top of a ladder looking down at Pongo; he’d been working on his Skell and had been too short to reach the back panel behind its face. The height advantage made Pongo feel more than a little exposed, and he had to briefly wonder if Fudge felt like that all the time. 

“So? What are you reading?” Fudge probed.

“N-Nothing!” Pongo defended himself, tucking his comm device in his pocket. It was a harder maneuver than he anticipated, considering he was awkwardly seated on what may have possibly been the only clean chair in the entire lab surrounded by spare parts and mechanical debris. 

“Ooh, did you get a text from that rich guy you’re dating?”

“Oh, ah, n-no.”

“Wait…Pongo, are you reading something naughty?”

“WHAT?!”

“I’m just messing with ya,” Fudge cackled, stepping down off of his ladder and approaching Pongo - who, at that moment, was as red as a tomato. “Whatever it is, you’re like…super into it. I mean, you didn’t hear me ask you if you could hand me a tool before.”

“...RIPS, did he really ask me that?” Pongo mumbled. 

Fudge’s AI system responded nearly immediately. “AFFIRMATIVE, MASTER CALDRAVIX. IN FACT, MASTER CARSON ASKED YOU FOR THE SOLDERING IRON TWICE WITHIN THE PAST THIRTY SECONDS.”

“Gods above,” Pongo sighed, putting his head in his hands. “Sorry, Fudge. You are right, I got distracted.”

“You still haven’t told me what you were reading, though, so now I’m curious,” Fudge knocked some stuff off of his desk, leaning against the empty space he had created and crossing his arms over his chest. “Spill the beans.”

“...What beans?”

“Fucking hell, it’s a saying. Means ya gotta tell the truth.”

“Oh, well, um…” Pongo shrank into himself. His hand palmed the pocket containing his comm device despite his uncertainty. Why did it seem like every year, someone new had to learn about his masquerade? And why couldn’t he lie?! Seriously, this would be so much easier if he could think of a valid excuse for being distracted, but nothing came to mind. At least it was Fudge and not some stranger, right? 

With a defeated sigh, Pongo pulled his comm device back out. As it opened back onto the Christmas list, he explained, “It is the list of gifts for the residents of NLA this year. The songs always say that Santa checks it twice, so I was going through it again to make sure I got everyone.”

“Your list has everyone in the fucking ci - wait a fucking minute,” Fudge’s eyes widened, his arms falling to his sides. “Are you the fucker that delivers everyone’s gifts each Christmas?”

“Y-Yes,” Pongo admitted.

“Holy shit!! Holy shit,” Fudge exclaimed, slowly becoming more and more excited, “The Outfitters have tried laying traps for you for years now! They wanted to know who you were so badly! I should’ve fucking known it was you, only someone like you would be able to pull a stunt like that off every year, you gotta tell me everything about how you operate - are there people that help you behind the scenes? Did you recruit some aprica for your sleigh? Oh fuck, I wonder what your sleigh looks like, I bet it’s a -”

“I do not have a sleigh,” Pongo interjected, “I just use my Skell every year. Eros is able to carry the weight of everything just fine.”

Fudge stopped suddenly. “You don’t have a sleigh.”

“No?”

“...”

Pongo prepared himself for another rant, a bout of frustration. Fudge was an easy man to annoy, and something about that confession made him feel defenseless. He’d never really thought about the specifics regarding Santa’s sleigh, taking it as something he could easily swap out and get the same result. But maybe the decision to do so cost him some necessary Christmas magic? As Pongo silently cursed his oversight, Fudge’s shock slowly turned into something else. Pongo expected a scowl, but he was greeted with a far greater sight. A devilish grin, a plan hatching in Fudge’s mind. Oh, he looked positively demonic like this, but the wider the grin grew, the better Pongo felt. After all, that grin could only mean one thing.

Fudge had an idea.

“RIPS, cancel all the plans I had for tonight,” He told his AI, spinning around and scurrying around to the side of his desk. “Tell Alexa I came down with mimfluenza or some shit, I don’t fucking care. Someone else can take up repair duty for the week. We’ve got a rush order to deal with.”

“What are you planning?” Pongo asked, standing up. At the same time, Fudge pulled out some blueprint paper, slamming it on the empty space on his desk. He kept his hand firmly placed on top of it, whipping a pencil out of thin air and smirking over his shoulder.

“Tonight,” Fudge said, “I’m building Santa’s sleigh.”

~

True to his word, Fudge sketched out a sleigh to build, decked out with all sorts of functions that Pongo couldn’t wrap his head around. All he was able to gather was that it’d be able to fly in a similar manner to a Skell and wouldn’t require the use of reindeer (or aprica, which couldn’t fly anyways!). It’d have a functional GPS system and a way for Pongo to input all of his stops, as well as check which locations and people had been given their gifts and which hadn’t. The sleigh would be powered by nuclear energy and have safety guards in place in case of an emergency, and - above all else - it would have a sick paint job. Pongo didn’t make the comment in the moment, but Fudge’s excitement almost made him cry. He was acting like a little kid, waiting for his presents under the tree, living in the memory of youth. It was too beautiful a moment for Pongo to squander.

After assessing what necessary for the sleigh, Fudge gave Pongo a shopping list of parts to acquire from the Outfitters and the shops in Armory Alley. The names boggled Pongo’s mind, and trying to pronounce any of them was hard enough, but he didn’t even know their purpose! It resulted in a lot of confusion. Thank the gods Pongo never decided to become an Outfitter, honestly.

Luckily, none of the parts Fudge requested were too big to carry, and Pongo now walked confidently with a shopping bag full of pipes and gears and other knickknacks. It was heavy, of course, but nothing Pongo couldn’t handle. He decided to peruse the commercial district afterwards in the hopes that he could pick up some last-minute gifts from the list. It was busy, but predictable at this point - Pongo was a pro at his job, after all! Years and years of experience shopping for the good people of NLA taught him a thing or two about savings, navigating the crowds, and -

“Pongo!”

Oh, someone said his name! But in the thick of the crowd, Pongo couldn’t identify the source right away. He scoured the road, the sidewalks, trying to see who could’ve called out to him. Only when a hand clasped his shoulder did he realize that the person had been behind him all long, and that person had some rather recognizable metallic red fingers. 

“Sydney!” Pongo twisted around and gave Sydney a hug, wrapping his arms over his shoulders. Sydney chuckled underneath him, returning the embrace gingerly. When they separated, Pongo asked, “Doing some last minute shopping for Christmas?”

“Kinda,” He replied, “Looks like you are, too. Is it for the…you know…”

“Oh! Well, technically yes,” Pongo realized Sydney was referring to the bag of parts he was holding onto, “One of my Outfitter friends caught on and insisted that I need a sleigh. He asked me to get some parts to help construct it. He needed…” A pause, as he attempted to remember the names. “...A regeneration corepipe, a couple formstruct plating adhesives, a type three automotive latching mechanism…” Another pause, when he couldn’t bring himself to try and pronounce the names of the more complicated ones. “...some other things, too. I must admit, this kind of stuff is not something I understand well.”

Sydney peered into the bag, his head tilting in curiosity. Pongo made a mental note that he looked rather dashing today, dressed up in one of his fancier white suits. The red tie around his neck matched his arms in grandeur, a slight sheen to them that reflected the sunlight just enough to stand out. Gods above, it even made his eyes pop, a vibrant and passionate crimson hue. 

“...Pon?” Sydney glanced up, wearing a faint smile.

“Mm?”

“That’s not a regeneration corepipe. That’s a regeneration corner pipe. Same material, but not the same purpose.”

Pongo’s face fell, the color draining from his face. “Oh, shoot! I should go back and get the right one then, gods I thought -”

“I’ll come with you, if you want,” He offered, “And don’t beat yourself up for not getting it right. It’s a pretty common misconception. Lots of Outfitters mix it up, even.”

“I appreciate that,” Pongo smiled wide, the quick bout of fear residing into his typical cheeriness, “Goodness, I am lucky to have someone so smart by my side!”

Sydney rubbed the back of his neck, a faint blush forming across his cheeks. “I mean, I’m an Outfitter now. I’m supposed to know these things.”

“I wonder if Fudge would welcome your help in constructing the sleigh,” He mused out loud, a careful hand upon his chin. “He insisted that he would be able to complete it before my departure, but…”

“If you’re trying to play friend matchmaker again, I’m not really sure it’ll work out.”

“One bad introduction should not define the entire experience! I mean, do you remember how we met?”

Sydney stiffened at that. “Ah, y-yeah, um…”

“I said it before and I will say it again: I forgive you for doing that,” Pongo gently nudged Sydney’s shoulder, an act of reassurance. “That aside, if it truly makes you uncomfortable, I will not ask Fudge about it. You will at least get the chance to meet him on Christmas Eve!”

“You still expect me to be there?” He asked, “I mean, last year was just a fluke.”

“Part of the magic of Christmas is spending time with your loved ones,” Pongo asserted, “And last I checked, you are under that umbrella.” A pause, a shy smile. “It would not be the same without you there.”

There was a sliver of hesitation in Sydney’s gaze, biting the inside of his lip where the scar ran across his jawline. An image came to mind of Pongo running kisses down its path, but he had some amount of restraint, considering this was a public setting. There’d be time to sing those praises after he’d completed his mission. 

“I’ll be there,” Sydney eventually promised, and Pongo allowed himself to break his self-inflicted restraints and give him a quick peck on the lips. 

“Thank you, Sydney,” Pongo said, “I cannot tell you how much this means to me.”

Then, taking Sydney’s hand in his own, Pongo glanced up towards the administrative district, the high and mighty BLADE Tower radiant in the afternoon sun. “Alright, now come and show me which one is the corepipe!”

“Okay, okay,” Sydney couldn’t help but chuckle as Pongo nearly dragged him across the sidewalk, and he eventually took the lead down to the hangar’s elevator. Pongo smiled wide the whole way back, his mind swimming with a list of things still left to do, gifts he still needed to get, hugs he still needed to give. Gods above, how Christmas filled him with such wondrous spirit! Not that he wasn’t full of love every other day of the year, but ever since he’d heard of Christmas, something about the holiday gave him the excuse to take things up a level. And considering last year’s Christmas had been…well, less than satisfactory, given his whole “missing both of his legs” deal, Pongo was excited to return to the field and make this Christmas one to remember. 

Just thinking about how magical everything felt, he allowed himself to daydream, to imagine how perfect the night would turn out to be. What could possibly go wrong?

~

Fudge would never admit this to anybody out loud, but damn, did he love Christmas. It had always been one of his favorite times of the year, a moment always shared with his dad and the rest of Carson Tech. There was a kind of feeling that didn’t come with any other holiday, the feeling of spending time with those you loved most. All that “Christmas spirit” bullshit that the commercials and songs spouted over the intercoms got on his nerves pretty quickly, but even then, they held some truth to them. 

So hearing that Pongo was the famed Santa Claus that had been delivering presents for the past couple years, hearing that he didn’t have any mode of transportation aside from his own Skell? What a brilliant excuse to combine two of his favorite things!!

Working on something this secret, though, meant that Fudge had to make a few sacrifices. RIPS was automatically programmed to notify Fudge of any incoming calls, and of all the calls he got leading up to Christmas Eve, the majority were from three people. The first was Ruadha, who was simply happy to talk to Fudge over the comm device about everything and anything. They did pry about the whole “secret invention” thing, which Fudge fully expected, but it still prompted him to put up some extra security measures for his lab just in case the little gremlin decided to pay a surprise visit. 

The second frequent caller was his father, Antonio Carson. Those calls were daily, and the conversations were on the same wavelength as those Fudge had with Ruadha, sprinkled with a few fatherly words of advice. He didn’t ask about the secret invention as much as Fudge thought he would, but he quickly found out the reason why. Turns out, his father also had a secret he was working on, and he explained that it didn’t feel right asking for a secret to be revealed when he was in no position to return the gesture. That didn’t stop Fudge from wondering what it could be, though.

The third most frequent caller was none other than Polaris. However, that had been something of an error on her part. For whatever fucking reason, she called him a grand total of eight times in a ten minute time frame. When Fudge finally ordered RIPS to pick up so he could scream bloody murder at Polaris, her voice was muffled and far away. Fudge rolled his eyes, immediately deciphering what was happening - especially since Polaris wasn’t the only voice he heard on the other line. Nope, there was a second person in the background, though he wasn’t about to guess what the fuck they were doing. All he said before hanging up was “Blackmail material”. Whether or not it was worthy blackmail material, Fudge wasn’t sure. It just felt good to scare her. 

The sleigh was easy enough to build, so long as it had Fudge’s undivided attention. Pongo returned with the parts far sooner than he expected, and Pongo even handed him an extra regeneration corner pipe. “I mixed them up,” Pongo had admitted, and to that, Fudge had responded, “I’ll call this an early Christmas present then”. Pongo didn’t stay much longer after that, and so Fudge got absorbed into his work for the next few days. 

Christmas Eve came, and by the time the sun had set below the horizon, the final touches were being made to the sleigh. Fudge wiped his brow, gazing lovingly at his newest masterpiece. He couldn’t think of anything else it would need, so he set his tools down and asked RIPS, “Send a text to Pongo and ask him where the rendezvous is for the operation tonight.”

“YES, MASTER CARSON.”

A few minutes passed, a bliss that came with success and pride, before RIPS informed Fudge, “MASTER CALDRAVIX HAS CONFIRMED THAT THE RENDEZVOUS LOCATION IS ON TOP OF BLADE TOWER IN THE ADMINISTRATIVE DISTRICT.”

“Alright, sounds like a pla -” Fudge stopped. “...Oh. Oh fuck.”

RIPS didn’t even need to ask. How in the ever loving fuck was he supposed to get this sleigh to the top of BLADE Tower without anybody noticing? Fudge groaned, the base of his palms digging into his eyebrows. Looked like he had some more work to do. 

~

As fate would have it, a quick invisibility cloak did the trick. Was it as polished as the rest of the sleigh? Oh absolutely fucking not. Was Fudge a little ashamed of how spotty that last minute detail was? Yep. But hey, it would work for tonight, and he’d have an entire year to refine it further.

With the invisibility cloak on, Fudge used his Amdusias Hades to lift the sleigh and carefully fly it to the top of BLADE Tower. Luckily, the vast majority of NLA’s population had retired for the night, so questions about his Skell’s cupped arms were few and easily dismissed. As he flew closer, Fudge spotted other Skells parked on top of the tower - ah fuck, was he late? Whatever the case was, he landed near the edge, setting the sleigh down as gently as possible before exiting his Skell and greeting everyone outside. He recognized Eros, Pongo’s Skell, which had a comically large sack placed in front of it. Those were the presents, presumably, and thinking about its contents made Fudge’s heart flutter for a moment. Not too far from the Skell’s feet was Pongo, dressed in a rather nice Santa outfit, complete with the hat atop his head. Was that puffball on the hat’s tip heart-shaped? Okay, that was a nice touch. He waved to Fudge as he approached, and that was when Fudge saw the person he’d been talking to.

“L, what the fuck are you wearing?” Fudge asked, nearly choking on his words. The jolly blue xeno was wearing a rather skimpy elf outfit, rather akin to those cursed bunnybods Fudge occasionally witnessed BLADES strutting around in. 

“It is our Christmas attire!” L exclaimed cheerfully, unaware of just how he appeared, “We parade in this every year during Christmas’s Evening!”

“Costumes are not necessary, but I think they are rather fun,” Pongo chirped, “When I recruited Danniel, I gave him reindeer antlers. I…well, I am not quite sure what I would give you, Fudge. I think we might need to duplicate some roles.”

“I’m the sleigh guy. Isn’t that enough?” Fudge raised an eyebrow, praying to every god that he wouldn’t have to wear something stupid. Sensing his unease, Pongo gave him a reassuring grin. 

“It is more than enough. Though, ah…where exactly is the sleigh?”

Oh, right. Fudge turned back towards his Skell, towards the still invisible sleigh. Pulling out his comm device, he typed in the command for the invisibility device to decloak, and in moments, the sleigh revealed itself to the bystanders atop BLADE Tower. The sides shone a metallic red, glistening in the remnants of the sunset. The seat inside was lined with as plush a fabric as Fudge could find - don’t ask him what material it was, because honestly, that was not Fudge’s area of expertise. A control panel sat in front of the seating, forming a near-perfect semicircle that was reminiscent of the paneling inside a standard Skell. Even the buttons were in a similar arrangement, though none of them were lit up. Pongo would have to turn the bad boy on before the real light show began.

“Oh my gods,” Pongo breathed, “Fudge, you are brilliant.”

“Go ahead and take a closer look if you want,” Fudge told him, “It’s yours, after all.”

That was all Pongo needed to rush forward, squealing like a child, admiring all of the detailwork in half-formed ramblings. Fudge allowed himself a second to revel in the pride, the absolue beauty that he’d managed to build in record time. However, as he glanced to the left, to the right, he realized that there were a few more people here that he hadn’t interacted with. Another darker skinned fellow with reindeer antlers and freckles that rivaled Fudge’s stood awkwardly nearby, for instance. Pongo had mentioned his name over texts - Danny, right? Pongo had the tendency to call people by their full names, an endearing sign of respect that he’d apparently learned early on in his life. Eh, fuck it, Fudge could try to make conversation.

“Danny, yeah?” Fudge started, and the address made Danny make a little noise from the back of his throat.

“Oh, ah, y-yeah! Nice to meet you,” He replied, offering a gloved hand out to shake. As Fudge shook it with his left hand, he could immediately tell that the material under the fabric was different, clearly not the standard mimeosome framework. Fudge resisted every temptation to probe into the details, so he broke off the handshake first and shifted focus. 

“How’d you get roped into this shit, then?”

“Oh! A few years ago, Pongo bumped into me while he had his Christmas list out, and I saw it and decided to offer my help,” Danny explained, “He said I could be Rudolph since he was Santa and L was an elf.”

“Does that mean you helped him deliver everywhere in the city?” Fudge asked, genuinely curious as to his role.

“No, I just help him find everything on his list. He does all the deliveries himself - and now he’ll do them with a really cool looking sleigh!” He said, eyeing the sleigh that Pongo was still bouncing around. Seriously, how could anyone have that amount of energy? As he watched the show unfold, Danny continued, “The sleigh looks incredible, by the way. It must’ve taken a long time to build!”

“Eh, three days, give or take,” Fudge shrugged, and he couldn’t really determine why Danny’s eyes grew wide at the answer. “It doesn’t have nearly all of the features I wanted it to have, but it’s got more than enough to function for tonight. Next year I’ll have made it perfect.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” Danny agreed, “I look forward to seeing it!”

They both watched as Pongo boarded his Skell, the heavy sack of presents lifting easily in Eros’s arms. Fudge tensed; he hadn’t given Pongo the go-ahead to load the sleigh yet, and he wanted to make sure the weight distribution wasn’t going to fuck up the sleigh’s integrity. But the sack came down on the back half of the sleigh, and though Fudge was bracing for the worst, he heard no signs of the sleigh faltering. Pongo then exited his Skell and continued to geek out over how wonderful the sleigh was, with L piping in with his own compliments every so often. 

It was then that Fudge spotted another figure approaching out of the corner of his eye, though they seemed to be ignoring him and Danny. Metallic red arms poked out of a pristine white suit - wait, okay, was there a trend here? Why did everyone have metal arms aside from L? What a weird fucking bias. Whatever the case, the suit alone was enough for Fudge to identify the man as none other than Sydney. He wasn’t wearing any sort of Christmas costume, but that also made him stick out like a sore thumb. That, and the brooding. If there was anything that could get on Fudge’s nerves, it was brooding. 

However, he could already hear Pongo’s voice in the back of his mind, an innocent excitement about his friends and loved ones helping him out on one of the most important nights of the year. So Fudge swallowed his pride and took a cautious step forward, enough that he was an equal distance away from both Danny and Sydney. Sydney cast his glance downwards, and Fudge fought the urge to smack the look off of his face. It wasn’t even like the guy was acting high and mighty - it was the fucking height advantage and the fact that Sydney looked so punchable! Hold it together, Fudge, just for the night. He tried to be civil, thinking that maybe he could see past the horrible first impression he was getting.

“So you’re Sydney.”

“Yeah.”

“...”

“...”

Yeah, no, Fudge didn’t like this guy at all. Why was Pongo’s taste in men so shitty? Whatever, he could deal with working alongside this douchebag for a night. But that didn’t stop him from squinting, from looking this guy up and down and crossing his arms. Sydney scowled, staring right back at him. Oh, now, this was gonna be fun. He could practically smell the distaste in the air, the fuel being poured onto the fire. 

“Are two of my favorite people getting along?” Pongo merrily asked from the side of the sleigh, innocent to the vitriolic stand-off happening in front of him.

Fudge looked away quickly, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sydney do the same. They both responded at the same time.

“No fuckin’ problems here.”

“Yeah, we’re fine.”

Pongo positively beamed at that. “Fantastic! Oh, that makes me feel a lot better. I was starting to think that adding onto the team so quickly would be awkward!”

“The Christmas legend states that the more there are, the merrier you’ll be,” L chirped, “And it’s impossible not to be merry on this wondrous night!”

“It’s definitely nice seeing all the Christmas decorations from up here. Shows how everyone’s still festive!” Danny gazed down at the city below, the districts of the lower level shining in all sorts of Christmas lights. Fudge was eventually able to spot his own contribution to the front of the test hangar, though he felt a little disappointed by the fact that they blended in with the rest of the lights from his current viewpoint. 

“So what’s the procedure now?” Fudge asked, sneaking a peek down at his comm device once more. “All the necessary last-minute detailing on the sleigh is done, and judging by the scans, it’s holding the sack’s weight just fine. Should be good for takeoff whenever you’re ready, Santa.”

“L’Cirufe, is every present accounted for?” Pongo said, turning to the xenoform.

“All presents counted and accounted!” He confirmed, “Whenever you’re ready to depart, we shall light the way!”

“Alright! Then it is time to test the sleigh,” Pongo turned back to Fudge, “Remind me what the controls are again? You said there were a few important things to remember.”

“Right,” Fudge adjusted the collar of his sweater, clearing his throat. Could he make himself look a little taller, a little more important? He hoped the bravado did the trick. “When you get into the sleigh, you’ll see a huge panel in front of you. I’ve designed it so it’s similar in appearance to your everyday Skell, with Arts buttons and everything. Center button turns the entire thing on, check to make sure all the other buttons light up when you do that. If they all look good, use the levers to take her up gently - too much force and you’ll shoot straight up vertically into the air.”

“Oh, like what Sydney did with his golden Ares once,” Pongo nodded in understanding, though the comment made Sydney mutter something under his breath about that not being his fault. 

“I don’t wanna fucking know,” Fudge said curtly, “But yeah. Don’t drive like a bitch and you should be fine. Worst case scenario, think of it like a Skell, and ask yourself what you’d do if you were in a Skell. Danny and I will be on the comm network on it too, in case you’ve got any questions.”

“Wait, I’m gonna be connected to it?” Danny seemed surprised at this revelation, and Fudge did his best not to roll his eyes and scoff. 

“I’m making you the navigator, so yeah. Next year I’ll probably install a GPS into the sleigh so Pon can go his own route, but as it stands, I had three days to build an entire fucking sleigh from scratch, so now that’s your job. Rudolph’s supposed to drive the sleigh, y’know, so at least now your role’s gonna be a little more accurate.” He took a moment to adjust his goggles, which were starting to slide down over his face. The wind was really being a bitch about this, huh? “Anyways, I’ll be connected to it too, since I gotta perform system checks and make sure the whole thing’s running smoothly.”

“And what will Sydney be doing?” Pongo asked sweetly.

Fudge looked at Sydney. Sydney looked at Fudge.

“...Emotional support elf,” Fudge shrugged.

“Excuse me -”

“Anyways, if anything goes south, you can reach me and Danny through the intercom in the sleigh,” Fudge talked over Sydney’s protests, “Oh, and don’t like…lean out of the side or some shit. I’m not gonna be held responsible for Santa’s death.”

“Why didn’t you make any fucking guard rails if you were worried about that?!” Sydney raised.

“Alright, bitchbaby, next time you can make the sleigh in three days, how about that?”

“I could do it in two, and I could do it with enough safety features so I wouldn’t have to fucking worry about Santa splatting into the middle of the residential district’s tennis court!!”

“Batter up then, asshole, God fuckin’ knows you’ve got enough credits up your ass to make it happen! Can’t fuckin’ wait to get blinded on Christmas Eve looking for Santa, dashing through the snow on a gold mercedes sleigh!”

“At least mine would look like a star descending from the heavens! What does yours do, crash and burn? Don’t think I don’t know the Carson legacy just because I haven’t been building fire hazards as long as you have.”

“You fucking piece of shit -”

“GUYS.”

Sydney and Fudge had gotten in each others’ faces, teeth bared and trading verbal blows. Fudge could feel the blood beneath his skin boiling, fuel on a fire that wouldn’t stop burning until it knew the sweet taste of victory. But just as he was about to make things physical, Danny placed himself between the two arguing Outfitters, stretching his arms out to create distance between them. Right, Danny was a Mediator. He was trying to mediate. How cute.

“Now is not the night to do this,” Danny said sternly, “You’re allowed to not be friends, but maybe save the arguing for when you’re not in front of Pongo.”

Fudge looked over, and Pongo was by L’s side, having watched the entire argument unfold. Fudge had been so focused on the fire inside his heart that he didn’t realize that he’d taken some of Pongo’s warmth to do so, the air now a frostbitten chill. Pongo was frozen to the spot, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Oh shit, were those tears in the corners of his eyes? Damnit, Fudge really dropped the ball on this one. But still, it was not an easy feat to temper his anger, so his next statement still contained a level of animosity that wasn’t meant for Pongo.

“Get in the fucking sleigh, Santa.”

Pongo didn’t move immediately, though the brief flash in his eyes indicated that he’d heard Fudge loud and clear. However, after taking a moment in the silence, Pongo’s first steps were not towards the sleigh. Instead, he strode over to Fudge, leaned down, and hugged him tight. Fudge gasped, squirming in Pongo’s grip for a moment. 

“Thank you for doing this,” Pongo whispered into Fudge’s shoulder, “I am so grateful to have a friend like you in my life.”

“Oh, uh…” Fudge found himself at a loss for words, stumbling upon the bashful, “Don’t mention it. Least I could do.”

Pongo pulled away then, turning and giving Sydney the same hug. Fudge could hear him whisper something too, and whatever it was, it made Sydney’s expression melt. Pongo left Sydney with a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and after giving Danny a hug of his own, he rejoined L by the sleigh. They exchanged a quick hug before Pongo climbed aboard, sliding into his seat in front of the sleigh’s controls. As Fudge had instructed before, Pongo tapped the center button, and the sleigh roared to life, the thrusters in the rear glowing a vibrant red. Before initiating takeoff, he looked to Fudge, and Fudge gave a thumbs-up to indicate that all systems were green. 

After that, Fudge could only describe the takeoff as something out of a movie. The sleigh began to ride, slowly, steadily, the flames behind leaving trails of embers and stardust behind it. Though the sleigh wobbled in its ascent, it soon found its balance, and Pongo found his confidence behind the controls. Every system remained operational as the thrusters were given more juice, and the sleigh rocketed off into the night. Fudge even swore that he heard Pongo trying to mimic Santa’s laughter, a hearty “Ho Ho Ho” that echoed across the city. It would’ve brought tears to his eyes if he wasn’t in the company of others, though he promptly noticed that L had begun openly weeping. Danny was the first to ask if he was okay, and to that, L had responded that he was overwhelmed with joy. Thank the fucking gods, honestly. 

And so the ragtag group of Santago’s helpers watched as, once again, Santago took to the skies to deliver presents to all of the citizens of NLA. In the silence of their awe, Fudge smiled, and uttered a single phrase.

“Merry Christmas, motherfuckers.”

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 8

Te amo. (I love you.)

He was Pongo.

He was Pongo, and that was okay. He was okay.

Pongo was far form perfect. He would never have admitted to perfection even before Cocytios, even before Starr was brought into existence. He was something fragmented, torn asunder by trauma and a broken past, stitched back together because he willed it to be so. Starr accepted death, and Pongo - though reluctantly - accepted life. And Mira remained by his side, existing here in this body alongside him as an eternal companion. It had once felt fitting that he give himself a new name, but now, the only name was Pongo. 

He was Pongo.

He was Pongo.

…

“Wake up, Pongo.”

He wasn’t asleep. He was hiding this whole time. Sleeping and hiding were not the same. 

And yet, Pongo opened his eyes. He couldn’t hide from the sunrise, golden and orange hues dancing across a once darkened sky. He couldn’t hide from the familiar face staring down at him, her smile wider than he’d ever seen it before, a single relieved laugh leaving her lips. Oh, Elma, Pongo was so happy to see you again! He wasn’t afraid, not like he was when Starr walked the earth. He let himself smile back, revel in the joy he felt. 

“Hello, Elma,” Pongo breathed, his voice hoarse. 

Before he could react, Elma had lifted him up, and there he was in her embrace, his first hug after waking. Pongo knew Aidoneus’s transformation had left him weak, he couldn’t feel any of his usual strength in that moment. But he hugged back, after his moment of surprise had faded, and damn did it feel good. There was solace, here, a sense of peace that he had difficulty finding in most circumstances. He missed her, he missed this. But she had to pull away, as did he. There was no world where they could stay in each other’s embrace forever. There was too much that needed to be said, too much that needed to be done. 

“Friend Starr is okay?” That was Froyoyo, asking that question. He stood behind Elma, and Pongo could see him over Elma’s shoulder. If the names and roles were reversed - Froyoyo asking Starr if Pongo was okay - Starr would’ve flinched, been angry. But all Pongo felt was the exhaustion that came with accepting life once again. He grinned at the question, a sad but understanding thing. He opened his mouth to tell Froyoyo the truth, explain what and who he was, but Vanala stepped up before he could. 

“Friend not Starr anymore,” Vanala said, mesmerized, “Friend is whole again. Found peace in self.”

Her lessons rang true in Pongo’s heart, even though Starr was the one to receive them. She knew Starr was fragmented, back then, and that he’d need to heal in order to understand both aspects of using water ether. Ripples, she called them. Imperfections, flaws, ruins of the past he could never leave behind. Starr had been wary of that sentiment, believing himself too broken to heal. But Pongo…now he knew the truth. He was always going to be imperfect, he was always going to have ripples that he couldn’t stop from existing. This was a life he was going to cherish, a self that he would accept despite all of its evident flaws. 

As if to test his theory, to reassure Vanala, Pongo shifted away from Elma. He raised one of his hands, and in his palm, a ball of water formed, shaping itself into a heart. The ether came more naturally than it did before, and with wide eyes he realized that the ether wasn’t originating from Starr’s gauntlets. This was a creation he deemed into existence without the gauntlets’ help. This was Pongo’s doing, his whole and undivided doing. Vanala mimicked his widened eyes, though her gaze was full of pride.

“My name is Pongo,” He formally introduced himself to Vanala and Froyoyo, “I am the original inhabitant of this body, alongside Mira.” A pause, a softening expression. “I want to apologize to you both. I caused your caravan a great deal of pain when I -”

“Furry dragon was not Pon,” Froyoyo butted in forcefully, “Nothing to apologize for. Froyoyo confused, but know that friend wouldn’t hurt on purpose.”

“Right!” Vanala agreed, “Friend Pon doesn’t need to ask forgiveness. Vanala just happy that Pon is okay!”

And then, a little furry body snuggled up between Elma and Pongo, hugging Pongo tightly. He chuckled, hugging Sprinkle Sprinkle back after letting the water ether in his palm dissipate. The littlepon’s voice was muffled as they said, “Sprinkle Sprinkle didn’t even say goodbye to Starr. Can friend Pon tell Starr goodbye?”

That nearly broke Pongo’s heart. He could feel it splintering, the weakened thing beneath his skin, but he was Pongo. Pongo was stronger than he knew, and he used that strength to smile, just as he always had. Even with his reputation, his near-inability to lie, he did his best to ease Sprinkle Sprinkle’s worries. “I will. He loved you a lot, you know. You, and all of your brothers and sisters.”

“Sprinkle Sprinkle knows,” They leaned back, sniffling. “Will miss Starr very much. Will…Will Pon come back to caravan instead?”

…Perhaps Pongo wasn’t as strong as he thought. He felt it, then, that pathetic little heart of his shattering into porcelain fragments. It wasn’t as severe a breakage as when he was brought back to life; the pieces had been stitched back together thanks to Mira’s handiwork back then, and that had been the reason Starr was born. This was a fracture Pongo would have to fix, and this time, he would do it on his own. 

“I have to go home,” Pongo said truthfully, “Back to the city. But I promise I will visit the caravan often. Goodness knows I will miss you and your siblings too.”

Sprinkle Sprinkle took a moment to process his response. Then, he all but launched himself back into Pongo’s arms for one last hug. Gods above, he truly missed this feeling. And it ended too soon, with Sprinkle Sprinkle pulling away and giving Pongo a sad but sympathetic grin. They were young, of course, but Pongo got the feeling that they were more in tune with his mental state than all the others around him. 

Then, a rumble, almost akin to a cat’s purr, echoing through the frost-stricken air. Pongo swiveled his head and came face to face with the bowed muzzle of Telethia, the Endbringer. How patient they had been, to wait for all the others to speak their piece. In this form they could offer no words of their own, so the gentleness of their descent had to suffice. Though the memories of their time in a humanoid form were not his to claim, Pongo saw the image of Solstice smiling down at him, their blue-green eyes shining with admiration and relief. How lucky Nessa had been, to have them by her side. How lucky Aidoneus had been, to have them fight Corvhesperikon alongside it.

And how lucky Pongo was now, to be able to reach his hand up to the Telethia’s snout, to be able to whisper, “Thank you, my friend. Thank you for everything.”

The Telethia hummed, accepting Pongo’s touch and closing their eyes, His hand was so tiny in comparison to their body, yet it basked in the contact, the warmth connecting them in the frigid cold. They both pulled away simultaneously, and as the Telethia opened its eyes, it seemed to ask a silent question. Pongo knew what that question was, and he knew the answer to give. All he had to do was nod, and the Telethia backed up, turned, gave one last glance towards the group. Their wings beat heavy against the air, stirring up the snow beneath their feet, and soon they had flown off into the sunrise, light bouncing off of their etheric feathers. Pongo watched Solstice depart until there was no silhouette left to track. 

Froyoyo broke the silence left in their wake. “If friend going home, should start traveling soon. Having sun in Cocytios very good for staying warm.”

“Should go back to caravan too,” Vanala told her husband, “Caravan likely worried sick about Legendary Heropon!!”

“Worried sick about both Froyoyo and Vanala,” He corrected, his fuzzy hand reaching out to clasp Vanala’s. “And likely lots of rebuilding to be done. Corvhesperikon made big impact on caravan.”

“If there’s any resources I could have BLADE send to you to speed along the reconstruction process, let me know,” Elma offered, frowning when Froyoyo quickly shook his head. 

“Not need outside help. Would rather not have caravan well known outside Cocytios.”

Pongo immediately sensed the reasoning behind that request, and to reassure Elma, he nodded again. She maintained a frown, though that simple gesture softened her expression. “I’m sure there’s a way I can work around your involvement in this whole endeavor when I write the BLADE report. Either way, HQ will ask questions about how and why our research operations failed. I’ll have to come up with a rather convincing story, especially if I’m to omit you and Aidoneus from the record.”

“We should count our lucky numbers that Solstice was able to help, then,” Pongo said, “You can tell them that the Telethia from Noctilum appeared and destroyed Corvhesperikon - all by itself.”

“BLADE might believe it, on account of the Telethia’s involvement in subduing Pharsis last year,” She concurred, “Either way, you won’t have to worry. The caravan and Aidoneus’s involvement won’t be revealed outside of myself, Pongo, Lin and Tatsu.”

“Tatsu was Nopon that came with friend Elma before, no?” Froyoyo squinted as he tried to remember, “Froyoyo taught littlepon fighting moves while Elma, Nessa, Solstice and other friend went to find Starr. Little friend - that Lin?”

“Yes, I arrived with them both the first time we came to Cocytios. Tatsu still talks about you back home. You’re something of a role model to him.”

“Happy Froyoyo could make difference in littlepon’s life. Froyoyo give permission to speak of events here with Lin and Tatsu. Friend Elma trusts them, and Froyoyo sense that trust from Elma is important thing indeed.”

“Seemed very much like Lin and Tatsu were Elma’s family when everyone was at caravan,” Vanala agreed, “Would make Vanala uncomfortable if Vanala requested Elma to keep secrets from own family.”

“She will probably have questions about where I have been these past few months, too,” Pongo added softly, “I do not think I could lie to her.”

“It’s something we’ll discuss once we’re back in the city,” Elma stood herself up, dusting the snow off of the back of her armor. Now that the sun had risen further up into the sky, her hair shone with angelic brilliance. Something about it reminded Pongo of the first time he’d met her, that first sunrise looking out at Primordia after being awoken from the lifepod, and the sense of deja-vu only increased when she held out her hand for him to take. “For now, Froyoyo’s right. We should get moving if we want to return home. The journey here took about two days, but if we’re quick, we can set up camp on Primordia’s beach by nightfall.”

Pongo took Elma’s hand, and she hoisted him up, though it took him a moment to find his footing. The journey seemed reasonable enough, though considering just how vast the continents were, it almost seemed too quick. He had to tell himself that it was because of BLADE’s vast technological resources, something he’d been deprived of during his time in Cocytios. Honestly, it felt strange to think about. Soon he’s be on board a vessel, soon he’d be reassuming his work with BLADE. Soon he’d be wielding his weapons, familiar in the past but foreign to the present, and he’d be putting that technology towards the betterment of humanity. He’d be helping people, protecting people - just as Aidoneus wanted to do.

“Froyoyo wish friends safe travel back home,” Froyoyo said, “And Froyoyo thank friends for everything. Always welcome at Desserta Caravan.”

“Better visit!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle reiterated, jumping up and down to prove the importance of their demand, “Or Sprinkle Sprinkle find way to friend’s home and visit there!!”

Vanala rolled her eyes at that, though it was clear it wasn’t out of annoyance. Sprinkle Sprinkle had all but proven that their stubbornness would put them into any situation they wanted to be in. They’d find a way to fulfill that promise of visiting NLA, one way or another. Pongo chuckled, imagining how Lin would act to another furry friend in their midst. The food puns would only continue to grow, and it didn’t help that Sprinkle Sprinkle’s name was…well. It was ripe for jokes, to say the least.

And with all of that in mind, the time finally came to bid the Nopon goodbye. His second family, his second home. They may not have been Pongo’s memories to keep, but he walked hand in hand with Starr through it all, and that had to count for something. For his own sake and for Starr’s, he spoke for them both.

“Goodbye, everyone.”

Froyoyo gave one last bow, Vanala gave one last smile. And then they turned away, with Sprinkle Sprinkle in tow. Elma did the same, and Pongo joined her. Not once did he think of picking up Starr’s mask, set so perfectly in the snow mere yards away from his feet. 

~

The journey across Cocytios was quiet. Elma and Pongo hardly spoke a word to each other, even when they passed by the research base that BLADE had set up for the investigation of Corvhesperikon’s skeletal remains. The base was in terrible shape, the entire structure demolished and materials scattered across the snow. No humans emerged, no signs of life made themselves known. Elma and Pongo exchanged a meaningful glance. Elma did not smile, and she quickly averted her eyes to the wreckage after their eye contact. Pongo knew in that moment that none of the operatives that had joined Elma on this venture survived. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth, a sour pit in his stomach. They didn’t linger, pressing on quickly past the base.

When they reached the ocean, a boat was conveniently parked by the shore. It was a massive thing, clearly made to hold lots of cargo and passengers. It felt empty even when Elma and Pongo boarded, and Elma quickly assumed the controls and turned on the engine. Pongo hadn’t hesitated in stepping on board, yet a part of him wished he’d given Cocytios a proper goodbye. He’d been trekking through snow and the frigid winter air for so long that it felt like home. He reminded himself that it wasn’t his true home; no, if anything, Cocytios belonged to Starr. NLA was Pongo’s home, NLA was where Pongo belonged. He wouldn’t miss the cold if he had the warmth of his friends and family at his side. 

And yet, he watched Cocytios disappear beyond the horizon as they sailed off deeper into the ocean. Why did Pongo remain so attached to the continent that had brought him so much pain? Maybe one day he’d be able to verbalize it, but for now, he let the sadness of farewell make itself known. This wouldn’t be the last he saw of Cocytios, he promised. After all, Starr had made a promise to Lumina to return, to find her the help she needed to recover. In Starr’s lieu, Pongo felt it was fitting to uphold that promise. 

After what felt like a lifetime, Primordia appeared in the distance. The cold had left them behind, and in its stead was saltwater and warmth. Pongo became increasingly aware that he was still wearing Starr’s clothes, and gods, did it make him uncomfortable. He shifted in his spot, beginning to wonder if it was a good idea to enter the city in Starr’s attire. Starr would’ve hated NLA, he would’ve hated the hustle and bustle and he would’ve despised people staring at him. Pongo reached for Starr’s breastplate, lifting it easily over his head. The cape came off with it, attached near the shoulders, and Pongo instantly felt a sense of relief. He wondered if he should’ve left it back in Cocytios, a memorial to the fallen. But Starr wouldn't have wanted that, either, would he? This was too complicated to process. He resorted to carrying it back home. 

The boat slowly approached the shoreline, a smooth transition thanks to Elma behind the controls. After the engine was cut, she left the helm, coming up on Pongo’s right side. She looked up at him, searching for his response, gauging his headspace. He stared ahead at the land before him. Night had long since claimed the skies, but it was young enough that his visibility hadn’t been impacted. It certainly helped that a few temporary lampposts had been constructed at the beach, the sand shifted where boxes and supply crates had once stood. And the breeze that wafted over from the land…it felt good. It was welcoming him home with open arms. Pongo melted into its embrace, emitting a soft sigh. 

Elma opened up a control panel within the ship’s wall railing, and as she held down a button, a metal ramp emerged out of the ship’s side, touching down on the shore. She closed the control panel, opened the door to the ramp, waved with one hand for Pongo to go first. Step by step, he grew closer, closer, until his foot sank into wet sand. There it was again, that welcoming breeze, a kiss to reassure him that there was nothing to fear. Pongo was home.

It didn’t take them very long to set up camp for the night. Even though the city was close, indigen activity at this time of the night wasn’t something either of them wanted to deal with, especially when Pongo felt his eyelids trying to force themselves shut. By the gods, it had been some time since he’d truly slept. Starr knew how to sleep, how to navigate the nightmares and emerge from them unscathed. Did Pongo have that strength, too?

Before he could answer his own question, footsteps approached, and Elma sat down next to him. He’d been leaning against one of the cliffs, exhaustion written on his face despite his best efforts to keep it subdued. A lamppost flickered a few yards away, not close enough to illuminate them fully. They sat like this for a while under the cover of night, simply existing beside each other. 

“I’ll keep watch,” Elma told him, and it occurred to Pongo that this was the first time either of them had spoken a word since leaving Cocytios, “Get some rest.”

Pongo fought it, that base instinct to deny needing any rest, to offer to stay up the whole night to help her. But nothing came. He closed his eyes, silent and wordless, his head heavy and tilting. He found purchase on her shoulder and never saw her surprise, her confusion, her sympathy all blending together. That night, he did not dream. That night, Pongo slept soundly. 

In the morning, there was no snow, no precipitation to speak of. The sun bore down on them like a dream come true, and with renewed energy the two reached the West Gate in no time. Elma showed no hesitance in stepping forward, continuing to lead Pongo as she always had. But Pongo stopped, staring up at the shining metal gate, the gleam of the crystals shooting out of the impact site. Did anyone ever figure out that those crystals were condensed miranium? He supposed it was something he was attuned to, but never had the appropriate reason to share. Though the sunlight caught on it in fractured mirror reflections, he could see the pulse of the planet cascading through it, blood pumping through the system, a buried heart beneath the ground. Mira had been silent for their voyage, but this was reassurance that it was alive, just resting. 

Elma looked over her shoulder, finding that Pongo had paused. “Are you okay, Pongo?”

He spoke the truth. “It feels strange, being home. There is a sense of…of day java.”

“Deja-vu,” Elma replied, “I feel it too. After all, this is the same route that I brought you on when I first found you in Starfall Basin.”

“That feels like it was so long ago,” Pongo breathed, “I could never have predicted that all of this would come to pass. To think, back then I had no idea who I even was…”

“Do you know, now?”

“Hm?”

“Do you know who you are, now?”

The question took him by surprise. But as the realization set in, Pongo found that it was easy enough to answer. There was so much he could say.

I am an Interceptor with BLADE.

I am a part of Team Elma.

I am an avatar of Mira.

I am the founder of the Free Hug Stand in the Commercial District. 

I am self-sacrificial to the point of self destruction.

I am happy even when I am hurting.

I am a broken soul on the way to repairing myself.

And in the end, he simply said, “I am Pongo.”

Elma smiled. “I’m proud of you, Pongo.”

Light flooded through his body, a warmth unparalleled. Had he ever heard someone say that to him before? Was he worthy of that pride she felt? Pongo pushed those thoughts down, instead following after Elma now that he’d been reassured. Truth be told, he was not nervous about coming home after being away for such a long time. There was the panic of falling into the same routine, that he’d fall down the same holes and make the same mistakes. He was Pongo, yes, but Pongo had his flaws. Reclaiming the name and the being meant he had to reclaim those unsavory parts of himself. But he’d be better this time, he had to be. It would take time, but he would be Pongo born anew, free from those flaws of the past.

The transition between Primordia’s wilds to the confines of NLA was a familiar one, though jarring all the same. Voices echoed from all around, the Industrial District’s hustle and bustle sweeping Pongo into its mix. Elma took everything in stride, though Pongo was all too aware of the turned heads and shocked expressions of those who saw them walk past. He swallowed hard and kept his focus on the sidewalk, on Elma’s back, clinging to ignorance like a plague.

The test hangar was busier than the district outside, but luckily Elma raised a hand to Pongo before they fully entered. She told him to wait, for Lin was likely inside performing some Skell armor resistance tests as she had been for the past few weeks. Pongo laughed, saying that sounded like Lin. They agreed the fresh air would do her some good. Then Elma dove into the chaos, her bright red armor still pinpointable through the crowd. Pongo backed up so he was leaning against the hangar entrance’s wall, putting his hands in his pockets. Some people walked by and gave him strange looks, and again he was reminded of how uncomfortable it was to wear Starr’s clothes. 

Perhaps the clothes were the reason Lin didn’t recognize him right away, following behind Elma for a time before they finally saw each other. And when she finally recognized him, she bolted across the hangar, tears in the corners of her eyes, jumping up into Pongo’s embrace as he spun her around and laughed and relished in the joy he felt. She asked many questions, and Pongo gave her many answers, though he saved the overarching and important ones for when they went back to their barracks. There, he answered everything he could, even through Lin’s heartbreak and tears. She hugged him so many times that it was almost as if she never let go. Tatsu appeared at one point, emerging from behind a wall with his head lowered in shame. He’d been eavesdropping, he admitted to it, but curiosity had gotten the better of him once he’d overheard news of the Desserta Caravan. Even now, he had a soft spot for Cocytios’s Legendary Heropon and his loving wife, a hero all her own. To think, two immortal Nopon had taught him how to fight! What luck indeed! 

And after all was said and done, Elma told him he could change into his combat vest and jeans, hanging up perfectly in the closet in his room. The moment Pongo had changed and saw himself in the mirror, everything felt right. These were his clothes, this was his body. He was home, finally home.

When he came back outside into the main area, Lin handed him two cups of hot chocolate, ones that she’d brewed herself. Pongo raised an eyebrow - why two cups? - but everything made sense when she said that the second cup was for someone he hadn’t seen yet. Someone who was, in fact, worried about him from the very start of his disappearance. He’d even filed a missing persons report, though Elma said Chausson didn’t think much of it. After all, Pongo was one of the most revered and capable fighters in BLADE. He’d be back.

So with two styrofoam cups in hand, steam pouring from the top with hints of deep dark chocolate, Pongo left the barracks and walked down Armory Alley, towards the one he missed the most. It appeared to be a day like most others for him, a profitable but busy day indeed. Jejebba and L both were teaming up to try and sell a pair of swords to a young Curator - oh goodness, it was Mia. She looked entranced by the swords, one a vibrant red with green etheric inlays, and the other gleaming a royal white and gold. She grabbed her comm device only to sink into herself. Pongo could immediately tell she didn’t have the funds. She never did. 

Deja-vu, Pongo thought as he grabbed his own comm device with one hand. A few quick taps, and the funds had been sent over. Mia’s eyes suddenly widened, and though she was still too far away for Pongo to hear her, he could see her evident excitement. He continued walking towards her until he was closer, and after swiveling back and forth, she met his gaze and her smile reached both of her ears. 

And L’Cirufe, bless his heart, found him standing there seconds later. His surprise quickly bled into his relief, his adoration, his love. 

Pongo smiled.

“I still owe you more than a hot chocolate, but hopefully it is still a good start.”

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 7

Tempus est dicere bonam noctem. (It’s time to say good night.)

Starr knew his eyes were open. He could feel himself blinking, shaking in the onslaught of confusion, but everything was pitch black. There was no structure below his feet; he was floating, somehow, in this dark expanse of nothingness. Was this death? Was this somewhere in between? He took a deep breath, the air cold and frigid around him, but no condensation dared to form, no sign of life emerged from his being. 

“Mira?” He called out, hoping for some kind of answer. It was foolish to expect one if he was dead, but maybe the planet had a way of reaching him in this state, so far from the realm of reality and life.

I am here. I just…

The planet responded, hesitant, unsure. Starr grit his teeth. They had no time to be cowards. This was what needed to be done, and the sooner it was over with, the sooner he’d be gone. He didn’t want to linger here, not in this world, not when the beings that formed him had clearly changed their minds about fusing together and finding their path towards healing. Were they both happy with this, truly? Was Starr really just a plaything for them to find their peace, and now that he’d fulfilled his purpose, they’d discard of him? The longer the silence lasted, the more Starr felt angry at the entire situation. This was wrong. This was unfair. He opened his mouth, about to scold Mira for taking its sweet time in killing him, when -

“You must be tired of falling into holes and dying. I hope this is the last time you’ll ever have to do it.”

…

Starr turned his body, his heart plummeting into his stomach, freezing over from the ice that electrified his veins. There, floating in the darkness, kissed by the faintest blue glow…

“Hello, Starr,” Nessa said, her smile so soft and sad and full of pity. “I’m Nessa. Mira’s told me a bit about you.”

“So we are dead,” Starr couldn’t help but hiss the truth, “Mira lied.”

“No, not exactly. Not yet, at least,” She leaned towards him, moving slowly closer. “Right now, we’re in a kind of limbo between life and death. You’ll die when Mira leaves your body and Pongo takes over. It’s just having a hard time letting go of you, I think.”

“Why? We were pointless, in the end. They both used us as a means of achieving their own personal goals without any consideration as to my own happiness. We were an escape and nothing more.” He hissed, the initial shock of seeing Nessa turning into rage. Her smile faded, replaced by an even sadder frown. The pity even shifted into sympathy, the understanding of his plight. Somehow, it felt worse.

“Do you really think you were pointless?” She asked, “Because the way I see it, you’re the reason both Pongo and Mira were able to heal. You saved them both from sinking deeper into their trauma.”

“They made us live with it instead of dealing with it themselves! They were too weak to carry their memories, so they dumped the hard work onto us in the hopes we could fix it for them!”

“...They did. You’re right.”

That caught Starr off guard, her readiness to agree with him. She pressed her hands together, held them up to her chest as she massaged her own knuckles. “I don’t think it’s fair that you got dragged into this. I think there might’ve been other ways to help Pongo and Mira both. But…well, that’s the shitty part. We can’t go back and change things. We have to live with the consequences of both our own actions and the actions of those around us, as unfair as that might be.”

“I never asked for this!!” Starr cried out, the sudden increase in volume causing Nessa to flinch, “I never had a choice, I never wanted to be their puppet! And now they expect me to die!! Was everything I did meaningless? Was it a waste to try and live?!”

“...That’s not something you should be asking me.” Nessa said, “Ask yourself that. Was it a waste, living the life you created for yourself? Was it a waste forming the bonds that you did, or fostering the powers that you got? Was it a waste, making all of those memories over the last six months?”

Starr didn’t respond right away. All of the memories he’d created came to the surface: meeting Vanala and Froyoyo, being accepted into the caravan, learning how to use water ether, creating the gauntlets to house his ether and using it to defend the caravan from indigens, playing with the littlepon and listening to their bedtime stories until the night had fallen and they’d snuggled up together. There were memories of being awake, being alive. But just as many memories were of his sleep, the blissful and peaceful slumber. The Disgrace’s nightmares would sometimes greet him in the unconscious, but Starr never let them prevent him from sleeping, because he knew the waking world would be kinder to him. He was so thankful for that, so incredibly thankful that he’d been able to forge ahead of the Disgrace’s fears. And in reminiscing, in his gratitude towards the past six months, Starr found himself grinning. No, none of it was a waste. He’d lived. He’d lived the life he was given, and he never regretted a second of it.

“I lived.” He breathed, “I am so thankful that I got a chance to live.”

“You lived for yourself, and in doing so, you lived for Pongo and Mira,” Nessa told him, “You are Starr, and Starr lived according to his own desires. But Pongo and Mira were able to see how you lived, and your joy is what set them on their path to heal. They never told you how to live, they just…they wanted you to live. That’s all.”

Hearing that brought tears to Starr’s eyes, and he sniffled, looking down. Only the darkness existed around them, and yet, he began to find it soothing in a way he couldn’t quite describe. When he looked back up at Nessa, her sad smile had returned, and her hand was extended out towards him. He willed himself forward on instinct, his own hand getting closer, closer. A memory shot forward of himself, the Telethia self, flinging his tail upwards and launching Solstice and Nessa into the skies to plummet to the ground below. He could feel her shock, her betrayal, her pain. 

He did not take her hand, his arm falling back to his side. 

“I hurt you, back then.” Starr whispered, “And I am hurting Mira and…and Pongo, now, by existing. They gave me the chance to live, but in doing so, they denied themselves that very same chance. They have always deserved that chance, far more than I ever did.”

“Don’t say that,” Nessa begged, her own tears beginning to spill over, “You deserve to live just as much as they do. I’m just…I’m so sorry you can’t. I would’ve given you the biggest hug.”

“You sound like Pongo when you say that,” Starr chuckled. It felt strange, using Pongo’s name again, but…but it was harsh, calling him the Disgrace. Pongo’s only sin, after all this time, was the severity of his breakdown. He and Mira had both come a long way, and Starr could attest to their growth more than anyone. A moment passed, and the warmth left his body, fleeting into the cold expansive void. He couldn’t revel in this comfort forever, this chance at seeing Nessa again. 

“I…I think I am ready,” Starr confessed, “But before I go…can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“You, um…you are dead. Do you know what comes after dying? Will you be there?”

Nessa swallowed hard, the topic causing her shoulders to tense. “Death is like falling asleep. There’s not much afterwards. But for the time being, even if we can’t see each other, I’ll be there with you.”

“Then I welcome sleep with open arms,” Starr said, grinning despite the pain. Was it pain, at this point, or was it resignation? Could it have been both? How fitting, it was, that he was born into life welcoming the darkness of sleep, and in death he was holding himself to the same acceptance. 

Nessa looked up, almost looking at something specific, but there was nothing there. Starr felt his heartbeat slowing down, Mira’s presence becoming increasingly stronger. It had been a part of him this entire time, and though he knew this swelling in his chest was the beginning of the end, he could only feel gratitude. He’d been given a chance to live, however small his time had been, and dying with rage in his heart would leave a bitter taste on his tongue. No, he refused to die with regrets, not when he’d lived such a wonderful and beautiful life. 

I am sorry. I am breaking my promise. 

“It is okay,” Starr said, “We both knew this would not last forever.”

That does not change how much it hurts.

“I know.”

…Good night Starr.

“Good night, Aidoneus.”

Starr closed his eyes. The world left him, and he passed into the arms of eternal slumber.

~

Good morning, Pongo.

“...”

How do you feel?

“...”

I know this must feel strange, after all we have been through, but -

“It still hurts.”

The body’s eyes opened, and both were now indigo, Pongo’s color. The separation had gone smoothly; he felt no traces of Starr internally. Externally, however, this was not Pongo. It was his body, taken over by someone he’d forced into handling his pain. It didn’t feel right, returning to what Pongo had been gifted, but…but what else was there?

“I feel like a fool,” Pongo said, “Starr was right. I am a coward. I…I do not regret his creation, but it was wrong of me to agree to it. I should have been strong enough to handle my own trauma.”

It was my prerogative to fuse. The blame is as much mine as it is yours.

The planet sighed, a deep and wistful thing. 

But we cannot linger. You know what has to be done. 

“I do.”

Are you ready for it?

Pongo did not respond, not immediately. His hands shook, quivering with the weight of expectation. Nessa had been right, too - how many times did he have to do this? Fall into a hole, die, and somehow save the world? Why, why was it constantly him who had to make the sacrifice? Why did he keep placing himself into that role, why did fate keep insisting that this was all he was good for?

Pongo?

Pongo buried his head into the crook of his arm, a combination of cool metal and warm fabric rubbing against his skin as he attempted to push his tears down. When he finally had the strength to respond, his voice still shook, weakened with emotion. 

“Starr was angry. He had every right to be, considering his circumstances. I always thought his anger towards me was justified, because I was being selfish. I should have simply pushed it down and gone back to NLA to continue my life. But…but I would not have been living, if I had done that.”

Because the pain you carry would have held you back.

“And I would never have forgiven myself, knowing it would have. I would have wanted to push through it and act normal so I did not worry those around me. But I…I was not strong enough to do that.”

That was never going to be a question of strength, Pongo. You are putting too high a standard onto yourself.

“I am. I did,” Pongo admitted through his tears, ��And that is something Starr taught me. I need to…to be kinder to myself. I want to live. I want us both to live, and not be burdened by the pain we have accumulated. I want to drink hot chocolate with L’Cirufe at his shop, I want to help Lin with her schematics, I want to get book recommendations from Elma, I want to meet people and make friends and just…I want to live.”

At his confession, the space in front of him grew brighter. Pongo half-expected the figure that appeared to be Nessa, but she’d disappeared when Starr died. She was keeping her promise to him, that she’d be there with him in death, and Pongo couldn’t fault her for that. Instead, what formed was a small ball of white light, ether sparkling and rising up from the shape inside it. A little draconic tail, spined and curled around itself - Mira. 

When it spoke again, a strange effect occurred. Pongo could hear it in his mind, just as he always had, but he also heard its voice echoing from its ethereal form. 

That is what you deserve. You have deserved the chance to live ever since I created you. I am so sorry that your life has treated you so unfairly up until this point, but I swear that no matter what comes your way, you will never have to face it alone. Myself, your friends, your family…you are surrounded by people who love you. Now, the last step is to love yourself as much as you love those around you.

Pongo sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes. “That may be the toughest thing I have ever tried to do.”

It is a good thing you are brave enough to try.

Another deep breath, filling his lungs with all that he felt, all that he had pushed so deeply inside his subconscious returning to the surface with the strength he finally knew he had. Pongo was shaking, his nerves comprised of fire and electricity and a deep, deep sense of responsibility. He was stalling, right now, but he didn’t care. This was a good feeling, being able to speak, able to be heard. He would never let go of this blessing again.

“I am ready now,” Pongo told Mira. “I am ready to end this.”

It will hurt.

“It will be nothing I cannot handle.”

Pongo.

“You should know more than anybody else that I have suffered through worse. As long as you are by my side, I will bear it.”

…I made a promise to Starr. I will extend that promise to you. We will be together until the end of time. 

“May the sun and the moons above grant us the power of the star. Let us, the humble servants, protect the land and the sea, the sky and all between…” Pongo finished, trailing off into a quiet smile. 

It is time. I will be here when you wake.

The image of Mira pulsed, forcing itself back into Pongo’s chest. The impact threw him into an expanse of white, and he felt full, bursting to the brim with energy about to ignite. He knew his body was morphing, morphing to accommodate the expanse swelling within him, and the resulting effect on his body was indeed a physical pain he’d never experienced before. But Pongo was telling the truth, before. He could handle it, because he knew Mira was there with him. That would always make the pain worth it in the end. 

Before he fully receded into the back of the body’s subconscious, Pongo could see Nessa. She was smiling. She was proud.

He smiled back. 

~

Elma thought she had seen it all. Mira had thrown challenge after challenge at humanity, yet they always came out on the other side. Even with the understanding that there were new continents to explore, that there were threats at their doorstep that were awesome in their destructive capabilities, Elma truly thought that nothing could phase her.

Corvhesperikon’s reawakening, its reanimation from a pile of bones, did not surprise her. Sure, Elma admitted to fearing the yggralith, especially after dealing with Pharsis. She understood the danger that yggraliths posed to Mira, a planet which was nothing short of a tasty appetizer to a world-eating extraterrestrial goliath. She would stop at nothing to defeat Corvhesperikon and see to it that humanity’s home remained relatively hospitable.

Elma had even seen Starr tumble backwards into the pit, swallowed whole by the darkness. She’d been firing at Corvhesperikon’s legs - minimal damage, hardly left any impact at all - when the monstrosity directed all of its ire towards the “little godling”. She could only conclude that it was referring to Starr. After all, Corvhesperikon took the plunge into the darkness after Starr fell, screaming with all the rage it had stored in its blackened heart. Elma was not surprised by this, no, she was scared. Fear and shock, though they often worked in tandem, were completely separate entities. 

That being said, Elma was shocked by what emerged from Cocytios’s pit.

There was a brilliant beam of light, nearly as wide as the pit itself, reaching up and into the night. The sheer force of the blast nearly knocked Elma off of her feet, but she maintained her balance, shielding her face. She heard a screech as the light separated and Corvhesperikon emerged, its wings flapping with wild abandon. Was it hurt? No, no. That was anger of the highest caliber, anger that could never be tamed. 

As the initial wave of light began to recede, a figure became apparent. It wasn’t as large as Corvhesperikon, far from it, but it was far taller than any xenoform or human Elma had ever encountered. It was white, blinding white. Every part of its body was a beacon, dimming down to the point of acknowledgement but not to comfort. A massive pair of wings stretched out of its back, reminiscent of the Telethia’s, and its limbs were long and dangly and coated in stardust. Parts almost appeared as armor, chitinous and otherworldly. Centered in its chest was an emblem, a draconic tail that swirled around itself. From its head, two jagged horns, two elongated and pointed ears, something akin to hair covering one ear. A halo of every color imaginable shone just behind it, and those same colors danced in its singular eye like a galaxy contained. 

From a respectable distance, Corvhesperikon spat at the figure with nothing short of hostility.

“IT IS YOUR TIME TO DIE, AIDONEUS.”

Aidoneus? Lumina had mentioned the name, Lumina admitted to seeing this Aidoneus’s ether strand intertwined with Starr’s - Pongo’s? Fuck, this was getting complicated, and all Elma knew was that Aidoneus was a friend according to Vanala and Lumina both. It had fought alongside them in the first battle against Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra. It was here again, rising from the depths that Starr had been pulled into. 

Aidoneus had no mouth with which to speak, yet its voice rang out as a song; Elma heard it all around her, from above and below and behind. 

“I WILL NOT LET YOU DESTROY WHAT I HAVE WORKED SO HARD TO CREATE. THIS ENDS HERE.”

Corvhesperikon screamed, charged at Aidoneus. Its maw was easily larger than Aidoneus’s body, it could swallow the entity whole if it wasn’t careful. Yet Aidoneus snapped out of existence, reappearing by Corvhesperikon’s left flank and throwing balls of energy directly into its side. Finally, attacks that did noticeable damage to the yggralith, noticeable and painful. Elma could only stand and stare, watching the exchange unfold in the sky above. A tinge of orange on the horizon, an indication that the dawn was close to greeting them. Did the sun want so badly to witness this fearsome battle? Elma had to admit she was thankful for the dawn, for the chance at seeing a new day grace the world. But for now, the darkness was nearly all there was, save for Aidoneus’s everlasting glow.

“Friend Elma!!” Vanala sprinted over, her wings balled up behind her. Her fire ether sparked in her hands, her gloves turning red from the flames. “Need to get far away from here!! Take Sprinkle Sprinkle and run!!”

“I won’t leave,” Elma spoke before she could fully think things through. Wait, Vanala’s idea was smart - what help could she possibly provide? But there was this nagging feeling in her heart, a need to remain behind and see things through to the end. Was Aidoneus a permanent resident? Was Starr dead? By extension, was Pongo dead? Fuck, FUCK. Elma reiterated her stance, “Aidoneus may still yet need our help.”

Vanala looked up at her, and somehow, she must’ve known there would be no convincing Elma out of her current plan. “Vanala will help Aidoneus. But friend Elma can’t fly, and -”

“LOOK OUT!!”

Froyoyo charged at the two, carrying Sprinkle Sprinkle in his wings. Behind him, Aidoneus was tossed into the side of the mountain, Corvhesperikon roaring in absolute delight at getting a hit in. The resulting impact brought down debris, sprinkled in with snow and rubble and boulders the size of houses. That was not what Froyoyo warned them against, however. Corvhesperikon circled the mountain perimeter in the hopes of repositioning and getting a better angle on another attack, and in doing so, it swept low to the ground, its claws mere inches away from slicing through the snow. Elma lept to the side, dodged with a swiftness she’d perfected over the years. Vanala flew up, lingered by Elma and Froyoyo even though everything about her suggested she wanted to give chase. 

Aidoneus never made contact with the ground, but it dipped in a moment of recovery from the blow it had received. By the time Corvhesperikon returned to re-engage, it was charging more energy-based attacks to throw at its body, and still every hit made its mark, still every hit burned through the layer of feathers protecting the flesh and bone beneath. Elma was in awe, tracking the battle and maintaining close visual contact with Aidoneus. Even with Vanala’s help, weakened after the first battle, would Aidoneus be able to defeat Corvhesperikon? There had to be something, some way she could make a difference, it was torture just standing by while the fate of the world was decided in a matchup between two godlike entities -

What the hell was that?!

Another screech, beyond the horizon of snow-peaked mountains. That didn’t belong to Corvhesperikon. It couldn’t belong to Aidoneus, no? No. Something was flying towards them, something with long crystalline wings, yellow shards of ether mimicking the movement of feathers. Elma couldn’t contain her smile, the single laugh that escaped her mouth. 

“Hello again, Solstice!” Elma called out. Telethia, the Endbringer responded with another screech - they heard her, they knew, and they were happy to see her again. But kicking Corvhesperikon’s ass was their duty, and their duty came before all else. 

Aidoneus looked over its shoulder. Curse that form for not having a mouth, because Elma was certain it was happy to see Solstice, happy enough that it would have smiled. A resolute nod later, and the two were tag teaming blasts at Corvhesperikon. Man, maybe Elma didn’t need the sun to rise after all. Solstice and Aidoneus were doing just fine pushing the darkness back on their own. 

“Go, mamapon, go!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle cheered, drawing Elma’s attention for long enough that she saw Vanala push herself up into the air with her wind ether, joining the fray. Her attacks had hardly left a mark before, and they didn’t do much now, but Elma had to admire Vanala’s willingness to fight despite the odds. Froyoyo had placed the littlepon down in the snow, watching the scene just as intently. That was worry there, in his eyes, that familiar shine of hope and concern. Elma wished she could reassure him that this wouldn’t be as devastating as the first time he had fought against Corvhesperikon, but how could she say that in due confidence? She wasn’t there. She hadn’t seen the devastation all those centuries ago. 

Solstice dove down onto Corvhesperikon’s back, her claws digging into its flesh and ripping chunks out one by one. It wasn’t a pretty sight, far from it, and yet Elma felt resolute pride in how effective their attacks were. Lightning cascaded off of their body, a storm of ether surging straight into the freshly formed wounds. Corvhesperikon screamed, its neck suddenly swiveling as it tried to bite at Solstice. Solstice darted out of the way long before the yggralith was able to land a hit; in this form, they had access to its mind, its thoughts, its plans. And even without that ability, she was fast, terrifying so even for her size. Elma remembered her very first encounter with Solstice, back in Noctilum, back when she and her team had been fighting the Sphinxes. Even then she’d displayed an intergalactic strength, an unparalleled speed - a recognition that Elma hadn’t been able to decipher. Now, looking back, she knew that Solstice had been bowing her head to Pongo, to Mira, to the body they inhabited together and to the being that gave her purpose. 

Aidoneus released another powerful blast of ether, directing the energy towards Corvhesperikon’s face. It flinched backwards, shaking its head. It swung its claws in every direction, blinded for the time being but still enraged enough to keep fighting. Aidoneus floated, hands balling up into fists as it spoke to Solstice and Vanala.

“KEEP THE BEAST OCCUPIED.”

Solstice roared again to convey their understanding, and Vanala reacted with a hearty cheer. “Vanala do her best! Send Corvie to hell!!”

And off the two went, unleashing blast after blast into the yggralith’s flank. Corvhesperikon kept swinging in each direction, its focus constantly switching and propelled by blind rage. It snapped at Vanala, and the Nopon was able to just barely dodge out of the way. She was hardly visible when paired against the other three beings, an insignificant speck spouting fire and ice and lightning. She had speed on her side, however, and she used that to her advantage. Solstice continued drawing most of Corvhesperikon’s ire, flipping onto their stomach to release a beam of ether out of their mouth and into the yggralith’s neck. Corvhesperikon screamed, and quicker than anticipated, it struck at Solstice with a mangled talon that rivaled their size. Solstice wasn’t able to dodge the attack and took the brunt of the damage, faltering and falling a couple hundred feet out of the air. Speckles of blood dripped down to the snowy surface, an impromptu rainfall. Elma flinched as the wind carried some over towards her, not far enough to stain her armor but far enough to leave a mark a few feet away from where she stood.

With Solstice out of commission for a short period of time, Corvhesperikon was able to direct all of its attention towards Vanala. Elma cried out a warning, but it came too late, it came without enough strength to carry it to her ears. Corvhesperikon lunged, and in one fell swoop, it snatched Vanala up into its jaws. She had no time to react and disappeared from Elma’s view, trapped within its maw.

“VANALA!!!” Froyoyo cried, his voice cracking from the strain. Sprinkle Sprinkle watched on in horror, shrinking into their father’s side. Elma felt her heart plummet, thinking that Vanala couldn’t survive such an attack. 

Solstice roared, pushing their wings furiously in an attempt to return to the fight faster. Corvhesperikon anticipated how fast she was, where she’d attack next, and grabbed Solstice out of the air with their talons, locking her within its grip. More blood rained down as its claws dug into Solstice’s body, and the Telethia yelped and squirmed in pain. 

But then, Corvhesperikon’s mouth began to leak. Something was trying to emerge out of it, something blue and white and shining. It tried to scream, but that was exactly what it wasn’t supposed to do. The floodgates opened, and from inside its mouth, ice formed along its jawline, freezing it wide open. The source of the ice was none other than Vanala, poised on Corvhesperikon’s tongue as ether glided out of her hands. Sprinkle Sprinkle cheered at the sight of his mom, but Froyoyo remained wary, watching, anticipating the worst.

“Aidoneus…better…be ready!!” Vanala shouted through gritted teeth, the frost from her hands beginning to falter. Some of the ice began to crack as Corvhesperikon waved its head back and forth, attempting to regain control of its mouth. Vanala wouldn’t be able to hold the effect for much longer.

Aidoneus had been floating in the same spot all this time, unmoving. Swirls of ether were condensing in the air, flowing straight into its chest where the spiked draconic symbol was ingrained. It was amassing power, but how would it release it? Was Vanala seriously suggesting that she’d keep Corvhesperikon’s mouth locked open and let Aidoneus fire its shot through her and into the yggralith? That was suicide!! And even if Aidoneus couldn’t finish its charge by then, the ice would shatter and Vanala would be swallowed up, separated from her family and her ether feasted upon until she was nothing but an empty husk, a body starved of life’s building block. 

“NOW!!”

Aidoneus yelled, and Vanala closed her eyes, tumbling forward. It was a miracle that she didn’t hit any of Corvhesperikon’s teeth on the way out, for the ice shattered almost instantly when she stopped supplying ether to create it. Corvhesperikon let out another painful screech - its loudest one yet, making Elma flinch back.

And then, Aidoneus let go. 

From its chest, the ether had congregated and released into one fiery beam of energy, piercing straight through Corvhesperikon’s mouth and through its body, exiting out the other end. It was every color imaginable, a cosmic rainbow of sound and beauty. Elma couldn’t pull her eyes away, watching as the yggralith’s scream was cut off and its body torn asunder. The beam persisted for what felt like an eternity, and when it finally imploded on itself in a storm of light, Corvhesperikon’s body dispersed, fragmented into tiny pieces of flesh and unprocessed ether. 

Elma hadn’t realized her jaw was slack until she forced her lips back together. Corvhesperikon was dead. The yggralith was no more.

The debris was like snow, polluted and darkened. They were the fragments of Corvhesperikon’s feathers, those that had once given it the capability of flight, now falling to the earth. Some clung to Elma’s armor, desperate and wanting, but she shook them off. They reeked of death and rot, bitter when mixed with the cold. She’d rather not have it surrounding her. 

Vanala was the first to descend from the sky, but her first target was not Elma. She instead ran to Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle, hugging the two with her last ounce of strength. Froyoyo’s face nuzzled into her fur, and Sprinkle Sprinkle found themself happily squished between their two parents. The occasional sniffle rang out in the wind. Elma looked up when she heard another creature descending, quickly revealed to be Solstice. She landed, creating a whirlwind of snow and Corvhesperikon debris. If Elma didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought Solstice was trying to control how hard they flapped their wings in an attempt to lessen the pollution. Their flank was still soaked in its own blood; Corvhesperikon had held it in a vice-like grip, before, and it hadn’t freed them during Aidoneus’s attack. Elma wasn’t sure if any of their injuries were collateral. She took a step forward, seeing the recognition and respect in the Telethia’s eyes, and by the time her boot finished crunching the snow beneath, Aidoneus floated downwards, positioning itself between herself and Solstice. Elma paused, swallowed. She continued onwards until she was next to them both.

Solstice made a noise akin to a huff, and then a rumbling purr. Elma raised her hand, touching their snout gently. Through her gloves she could feel the swirls and delicate patterns in her chitinous body, a natural armor that housed a cacophony of ether below the surface. She allowed herself a moment to connect, to feel, to be.

“HELLO, ELMA.”

Aidoneus spoke, softer than before. Had it used up its strength, too, or was this tonal shift on purpose? Elma had a suspicion that it was the former, and thus, she found herself mimicking its tonal level. 

“Hello, Aidoneus,” She said, “Thank you for saving Mira.”

“MIRA AND I ARE ONE AND THE SAME. IT WAS NOT MY TIME TO DIE, NOT WHEN I HAVE SO MUCH LEFT TO DO.”

Ah, that explained a few things. Elma smiled at the realization, the conclusion that Aidoneus was the being Mira had once been and the reason the planet was sentient to begin with. But that connection also harbored another question, one that she wasted no time in asking.

“If you’re Mira, then what happened to Po -”

Wait. No, he said that wasn’t his name. That hurt, that hurt so badly. She corrected herself despite the pain.

“- to Starr?”

Aidoneus seemed to recognize this tension, averting its gaze for a moment. Elma expected bad news - how could you feel good about an answer when the other party wouldn’t meet your eyes? But when it spoke again, it was with a combined softness. Yes, it was weakened, and that was affecting its volume. But there was a love there, too, a compassion so deep that Elma could feel it through every part of her being.

“THIS IS A TEMPORARY FORM I CAN TAKE. PONGO AGREED TO RESUME CONTROL ONCE I HAVE REVERSED THE TRANSFORMATION. HE HAS MADE PEACE WITH HIMSELF, THOUGH HE WILL STILL NEED TIME TO HEAL. I THOUGHT I COULD HELP, BUT…BUT I MADE THINGS WORSE. I REALIZE THAT NOW.”

A pause.

“WILL YOU BE THERE FOR HIM? HE WILL NEED YOU AND HIS FRIENDS NOW MORE THAN EVER.”

“Always,” Elma didn’t hesitate in her response, “But if you’re really Mira, then you must know that Pongo needs you just as much as he needs us.”

“...I DO NOT KNOW IF I BELIEVE YOU. HE IS WHO HE IS TODAY BECAUSE OF HUMANITY - BECAUSE OF YOU.”

“Sound like friend Aidoneus don’t know value of self,” Vanala piped up, having walked over with Froyoyo and Sprinkle Sprinkle by her side. Eye bags were beginning to form under her eyes, tired yet still shining with compassion. “Does Vanala need to sit Aidoneus down for pep talk like Vanala did with Starr?”

Aidoneus chuckled at that. “NO, THAT WILL NOT BE NECESSARY. BUT I ADMIT…I HAVE THINGS I MUST COME TO TERMS WITH REGARDING MYSELF. PONGO WILL NEED TO DO THE SAME.”

“And we’ll be there for him every step of the way,” Elma reaffirmed, “Thank you again, Aidoneus.”

“Many thanks indeed,” Froyoyo said, “Were it not for Aidoneus, wifeypon would be…” He shuddered, the mental image giving him pause. “Second time now that Aidoneus saved world. Makes you honorary Heropon in Froyoyo’s book.”

“...AN HONORARY HEROPON?”

“Not as cool as Legendary Heropon. Froyoyo still Legendary Heropon of Cocytios. Honorary Heropon like sidekick.”

“I CERTAINLY FEEL HONORED BY THAT. THANK YOU, FROYOYO.”

“Meh meh!! No reason dadapon and Aidoneus can’t both be Legendary Heropon!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle pouted, “Both heroes! Both heroes Sprinkle Sprinle forever look up to!!”

Aidoneus chuckled again, reaching down to pat Sprinkle Sprinkle’s head. The height difference between the two was laughable, even more so when Aidoneus returned to its previous stature. It looked off into the distance, to the pit that it had emerged out of. “EVERYONE, FOLLOW ME. IT IS TIME.”

And off Aidoneus floated towards the edge without further explanation. Was it needed, when they all knew what was going to happen? Elma and the Nopon followed silently, though moments after their first steps the ground below them shook. Sprinkle Sprinkle was the only one who looked outwardly panicked, and Elma couldn’t blame them. It was Solstice behind them, the great and powerful Telethia, attempting to follow as well. She made eye contact with the littlepon, and after that, all of her steps were calculated, softer.

The sunrise was beginning to dominate the night, midnight mixing with the oranges and yellows of the dawn. As everyone congregated by the cliffside, Aidoneus turned back towards the group, making a request.

“I ASK THAT NO ONE HERE SPEAKS OF ME, OR WHAT HAPPENED THIS DAY. I DO NOT WANT TO CAUSE ANY UNNECESSARY CONCERN, NOR DO I WANT HUMANITY TO RELENTLESSLY PURSUE ME IN THE HOPES OF ANSWERING THEIR QUESTIONS.”

“Humans are a naturally curious race,” Elma said, “But I understand. I promise BLADE and those who live inside NLA’s borders will not hear of this.”

“THANK YOU AGAIN.”

A pause.

“THE EARTH WOULD BE PROUD OF YOU. FOR HOW FAR YOU HAVE COME, AND FOR HOW YOU HAVE GROWN.”

Elma wasn’t sure what to make of those unspoken implications, but she could feel the sentiment, the nostalgia dripping through Aidoneus’s voice. All she could do was smile, nod, watch as Aidoneus flew upwards and then descended into the darkness of the pit. The same beam of light that had graced its entrance to Cocytios returned, though nothing emerged from it for quite a while. When something finally did begin to take shape, Elma observed with keen interest. There was a torso, arms, legs, a head. As the light began to fade, more details became apparent - black hair, pale skin. Elma got her hopes up…

Until she recognized Starr’s armor. 

Starr descended down from the light, eyes closed and body limp. His hair was short like Pongo’s, and the scars across his right cheek were gone. Maybe this was Pongo. He fell into Elma’s arms just as the light vanished, and Elma turned him over so that he lay in her arms. The moment reminded her of when she’d first met Pongo, that fateful day in Starfall Basin. How time had flown past them, how time had treated Pongo. If she could only go back in time and warn him then about all the pain he’d bear, all the loss and tragedy…

No. There was only the present, there was only the gift of today. Elma had to make it count, and she’d make sure Pongo made it count, too.

Softly, gently, Elma spoke.

“Wake up, Pongo.”

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 6

Redi ad me. (Come back to me.)

Starr immediately began running back to the others, parts of the above stalactites beginning to crumble and fall around him from the impact. Some of the pebbles bounced off of his breastplate and head, but none were big enough to hurt him.

Everyone was waking up in the other room, with Elma being the most alert of the group. Her dual guns were in her hands, armed and ready for whatever came next. Starr stopped in front of her, explaining quickly. 

“We need to go. We know what must be done to stop Corvhesperikon, but we need to get Vanala out of here first.”

“Friend found way to beat Corvie?” Sprinkle Sprinkle questioned, his mother now wide awake beside him. “W-Wait, what about friend Lumi?? Can’t leave her here!!”

Lumina smiled at this, surprised that anyone had taken to her wellbeing in the midst of the shaking cavern walls, the debris falling from the ceiling. “G-Go. I’ll be f-f-fine here, for n-now.”

The entire team looked between each other, eyes wide with pity, with remorse. Starr clenched his jaw, knowing that she was right, they couldn’t afford to waste any time here. If she had lived in his cavern for so long without the ability to move, then the reasonable thing to do would be to get out of this cavern, get out and draw Corvhesperikon away from her. And then…

“We made the promise before, and we promise you again: we will return for you,” Starr swore, quickly kneeling down and taking Lumina’s hand within his own. Her fingers slid between his, cold metallic joints that shimmered with the faintest golden light. “One way or another, we will come back, and we will find a way to heal you.”

Lumina sniffled, touched by his words, his sentiment. “I kn-know you will. Good luck…b-both of you.”

Both of you.

Starr’s shoulders relaxed. Mere hours before, he would’ve been confused, hurt, angry - but now there was nothing. Nothing but the overwhelming feeling of knowing that he couldn’t run from who he was. The Disgrace could run as much as he wanted, he could cower behind this façade and never speak again for fear that he would destroy more than he’d repair -

“Starr!”

He quickly turned around as Elma called his name, a slight bounce to her step as the ground shook once more and her anxieties became more visible. Starr squeezed Lumina’s hand once last time before letting go, hesitant, taking in her image one last time before joining the others. He scooped up Sprinkle Sprinkle as they all began to make their way out of the cavern, through another passage veering to the right of Lumina’s spot. More roars pierced through the mountain, deafening and rattling the stonework that created the cavern system. More stalactites tumbled to the ground around them; Elma sidestepped to avoid a large one as they ran through the darkness, illuminated by Vanala’s small flame.

It was nearly impossible to see the exit to the cavern once they reached it. The night had consumed the outer world, a dark void that no stars dared to alter. It was only the snow that indicated the transition, the white that counteracted the darkness from the ground up. The second that the snow crunched below Starr’s boot, Corvhesperikon screeched again, much closer than before. Everyone continued to run forward, with Elma holding her guns tightly, Vanala keeping her fire ether at the ready in her wings. With Sprinkle Sprinkle still in his arms, Starr wasn’t able to bring up either of his ether weapons, but he was afforded the chance - the risk - to look behind him. Sure enough, Corvhesperikon grasped the side of the mountain, neck outstretched to the sky and rocks crumbling under its uneven claws. Its wings stretched out to their fullest extent, far larger than the mountain it deigned to perch upon, and it shook its head rapidly as if it was trying to knock something off of its skull. At the same time Starr realized what the little figure on its head was, Sprinkle Sprinkle called out, “Dadapon!!”

Sure enough, Froyoyo was still in the midst of battling the fearsome feathered monstrosity, brandishing his broadsword above his head. The blade was coated in Corvhesperikon’s blood, inky black and dripping onto Froyoyo’s patterned white fur. He kept slicing and hacking at the yggralith with everything he had, and reassured that he’d buy them some more time to run, Starr picked up his pace. Starr thought this would be enough to keep the beast distracted while they made their escape, but like a moth to a flame, Corvhesperikon turned its attention to the group below. Beady eyes trained on Starr and Sprinkle Sprinkle, and despite his best efforts, Froyoyo was incapable of keeping it away. The yggralith screeched, its wings extending into the night, and as it dived from the top of the mountain, Froyoyo tumbled off, hitting the side of the cliff on his descent. The impact looked painful; it was like Starr could feel the rocks digging into his skin, drawing blood and ire from each blow. 

Starr surged ahead, realizing he’d been watching far too long. He couldn’t outrun Corvhesperikon and he’d be a fool to believe he could. But as the ground shook, as Corvhesperikon landed and charged after him, Starr sensed an incoming attack and dove into a somersault, narrowly avoiding Corvhesperikon’s claws while keeping Sprinkle Sprinkle out of harm’s way. He kept running, kept Vanala and Elma in his line of sight. Elma checked on Starr with a quick glance over her shoulder. She must’ve sensed his fear, or created some of her own, for moments later her steps began to leave a trail behind them. They were so hard to see, shadows amongst a shadowed world, but the Disgrace lent his knowledge to Starr. Ghost Factory. A decoy Art generated from dual guns, applicable to the self and every party member within a certain radius.

Starr watched as copies of him danced around his person, mimicking his appearance, his movements, his fear. Corvhesperikon screamed, attempting to grab Starr and knocking a row of clones out of existence. Just because he was under the effects of the decoy didn’t mean he was guaranteed safety. His legs burned, stumbling through uneven patches of snow, only barely scraping the true surface of Cocytios hidden beneath. He forced himself to keep his head forward, don’t look behind him, don’t look -

Wait, what was that, in front of them?

The white expanse of snow turned into pure darkness, the ground falling away into an endless pit. It was still far enough away that he didn’t have to be concerned about falling in, but…

But that was where the Disgrace died. Where Starr - the monster, the feared, the terrified and uncontrolled - was killed. 

That little discovery, that moment of hesitation that followed, was enough for Corvhesperikon to swipe Starr from behind and knock him out of his path. He tumbled for a considerable distance, and he felt Sprinkle Sprinkle leave his grip despite his best efforts to hold on. The littlepon yelped, and Starr lost track of them, landing face first into the snow. His mask pressed up against his face at an awkward angle before it flew off, one of the teeth grazing his forehead. A moment of panic, needing to hide behind something so his face was obscured, and he was back on his feet, frantically looking for his mask’s signature blue and purple horns. Right when he saw the colored tinge in the snow, another screech emanated from the beast, and Starr didn’t have time to dodge yet another swipe from its massive talons. They tore clean through his cape this time, drawing blood along his back as he landed once more in the snow. This time, he was fortunate enough - unfortunate, maybe - to land on his back, facing Corvhesperikon head on. And even worse, a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. Sprinkle Sprinkle, running towards Starr.

Thankfully he didn’t have to be concerned about Sprinkle Sprinkle’s interference for very long, because Vanala swooped in and scooped the littlepon up in her wings. She flew into the air, her wind ether carrying her up and away. Corvhesperikon was distracted, the short reprieve giving Starr enough time to stand up, to brace himself, to produce his water ether weapons. Two swords this time - the need for a shield would come, but in advantageous moment, the offensive strategy was the right call in his eyes. 

He sprinted forward, climbing onto one of Corvhesperikon’s massive talons and plunging his blades directly into its leg. Corvhesperikon screamed, shaking its leg to try and throw Starr off. But he kept his blades firmly lodged into the blackened skin, the water ether connected to his gauntlets and ensuring he stayed put. A blast of wind ether drew its attention once more, and Vanala appeared, minus Sprinkle Sprinkle. He assumed that they’d been deposited with Elma, or at least taken somewhere safe and away from the chaos. 

Vanala’s wings extended, the veins in her gloves glowing a bright green. “Come and fight, coward Corvie! Vanala refuse to run while Corvie hurt friends!”

The yggralith stared her down, but then it laughed, something hideous and sinister that made Starr feel sick to his stomach. “YOU THINK YOU STAND A CHANCE AGAINST ME?? PATHETIC LITTLE CREATURE, SO SMALL, SO FRAIL????”

“Vanala not small!!” She shouted, launching another torrent of wind ether directly into Corvhesperikon’s face. Starr grimaced, realizing it didn’t leave nearly as much of an impact as it had before. Corvhesperikon bared its teeth at Vanala, mimicking a smile with its beak.

“SMALLER THAN FIRST ENCOUNTER,” Corvhesperikon said, “TOO SMALL TO TARGET NOW.”

That made Starr freeze. He’d heard Corvhesperikon calling out, telling the “little godling” to stop, to give up. Though he’d never vocalized it, he’d always assumed that the yggralith was targeting Vanala, just as it had all those years ago. The confession made Vanala’s eyes widen, mixed with her scowl of abject confusion. 

“Corvie too scared to fight Vanala, then?”

Somehow, Corvhesperikon’s smile grew wider.

“NOT SCARED. PRIORITIZING.”

And then, its large neck swiveled, positioning its head so that its smile, its teeth, its vicious gaze were pointed straight at Starr. All at once, Starr understood.

“WE TOLD YOU TO SLEEP, LITTLE GODLING.”

Oh no.

Corvhesperikon raised its leg, carrying Starr closer, closer. The distance was so short that Starr made the quick decision to jump off, which proved insightful when Corhesperikon attempted to bite him from his former position on his leg. He landed on the yggralith’s upper arm, his ether swords digging into the feathered flesh with little grace. He had to dislodge himself again as Corvhesperikon attempted the same maneuver, biting at him and coming up short. Now he was gaining ground, close to surpassing Corvhesperikon’s arm and climbing up onto its back. Though its neck was long, it wasn’t long enough to reach Starr at this point, and he silently thanked whatever entities had granted him such luck.

He must’ve jinxed it somehow, or the gods above that had bestowed such kindness decided that enough was enough, because mere moments later Corvhesperikon took to the skies, a feat that Starr didn’t think it could complete as fast as it did. The ground grew further and further away, Vanala chasing the yggralith up into the night sky. Starr felt the wind beating against his back, practically pushing him into Corvhesperikon’s matted feather hide. Frozen, clinging for dear life, he couldn’t hear anything beyond the wind. He attempted to look up, locate Vanala in the ascent. She was still blasting ether attacks at Corvhesperikon’s face, enormous boulders this time in lieu of the wind ether from before, but still the yggralith was unfazed. 

And then, Corvhesperikon ducked its head towards its stomach, its body following in circular fashion. No amount of strength could have saved Starr, not against the force that ejected him from its hide. Starr plummeted back down to Cocytios, tumbling and turning in the air with no certain grace. Too late he tried to concentrate his water ether to create some form of appropriate landing, perhaps a slide that could catch his fall. Too late, and his back slammed into the snow, his body bouncing from landing point to landing point until he slid ungracefully into his final resting place. The Disgrace sent a wave of emotion through the pain, a hint of familiarity at the event, a memory from a mission gone wrong in Oblivia. That had cost him an arm. Starr wished he’d been granted the mercy of a clean source of pain, but it was everywhere, radiating through his very being and pulsing with every second through his veins. He took a second to feel it, let it become him - nothing was broken. He could feel the pain, he could feel it, and that in itself was a blessing and a curse. 

Starr tried to push himself back up, biting his tongue and biting back the pain. It shot through his spine like lightning, an electrical current on the verge of short circuiting the entire machine. He could only afford to crawl forward, away, away -

Cocytios’s white snow gave way to a deep and dark abyss. 

Starr had landed mere feet away from where The Disgrace had died. Where, in a sense, he’d been born. 

He stared into the darkness. It would be poetic to say it stared back at him, but no, to characterize the void was to give it power over him. And yet, that was exactly the vice it had over him; it knew his past and it knew it had a vice-like grip over his conscience. It would’ve laughed at him, if it had been given a voice to laugh with, but it could only use the impending wind to mock Starr and his untamed thoughts. 

Gun fire rang out from behind him, and with considerable effort Starr positioned himself so that his back was facing the pit. Corvhesperikon was returning to the continent’s surface, though it hadn’t landed. Elma fired every round in her dual guns at the beast, bullets piercing through its neck and body. She tossed both guns aside when they’d run out of ammo and exchanged them for her dual swords, charging Corvhesperikon’s leg just as it landed in the snow. Vanala swung around from the side, now shooting bolts of charged lightning ether from her wings while keeping herself afloat with her wind ether. Starr’s eyes widened when he spotted a third figure coming from behind Corvhesperikon, greatsword swinging up towards its tail. It was hard to make out Froyoyo’s condition from so far away, but judging by his enthusiasm in attacking the yggralith, he had more than enough fight left in him.

It was a shame that practically none of their attacks did any lasting damage on Corvhesperikon, who was still trained on Starr. It roared, a menacing and spine-tingling thing. It raised its front leg, about to clear the distance between itself and Starr in one massive stride, but then, another burst of wind ether blew against its skull. It wasn’t nearly as powerful as Vanala’s had been, and considering she was still using her lightning ether…

FUCK!

“Get away from friend Starr!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle shouted, their voice so little and weak in comparison to the mighty yggralith’s. Corvhesperikon bent its head down, its neck twisting to its right and meeting the furious gaze of the littlepon still on the ground. Sprinkle Sprinkle’s wings were balled up into fists, glowing wind swirling around their form. Fuck, they looked so tiny paired up against Corvhesperikon, there was no way in hell they’d survive an attack, there was no way they’d live to see another day and Starr was fucking helpless to stop it from happening, so fucking useless and pathetic and gods above why the fuck couldn’t he get up -

Mira spoke quickly, urgently.

Starr. Behind you.

“What is it?”

If you fall into the pit, we can enact the plan.

“We will die if we fall down there?” Starr swallowed hard, resisting the urge to look behind him. He did, however, bring himself up and onto his knees, kneeling in the fallen snow. Was that his blood, staining the white below him? Was it his shadow, his impending doom, the destiny he couldn’t escape? His hair, fraying out of his braid, clung to his cheeks and to his breastplate, begging him to reconsider. Starr gasped against another wave of pain originating from his chest. 

Yes. That is how Nessa killed Pongo, after he…

It all made sense again. Mira had begged Nessa to send him into the pit, to reunite him with it so it could begin the process of recreating and restoring his body - a body he gave up to Starr in a moment of incomprehensible sorrow and rage. Starr couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face now. Fate was a funny thing, though it didn’t deserve characterization either. This was what he had agreed to do, and this was the path he would continue down. 

“Corvhesperikon!” Starr used the last of his strength to call out to the yggralith, whose face was getting too close to Sprinkle Sprinkle for comfort. Its disgusting maw had opened wide, drool pouring out from between its sharpened teeth. Sprinkle Sprinkle hadn’t moved an inch, waiting for it to get closer. Both turned to look at Starr when he yelled. Every noise, every crackle of lightning ether and every slice into Corvhesperikon’s body, all of it became muted and soft. 

“Goodbye,” He said softly into the night. 

He closed his eyes, and he let gravity claim him. One last wave of pain, and he fell backwards into the abyss. Corvhesperikon screamed, the ground shaking as he flew in after Starr. Froyoyo nearly took the dive with it, but at the last second he jumped off and landed on the cliff, only able to watch as both descended into the darkness.

Starr asked a silent question before every sound dimmed into silence, before every feeling dimmed into numbness. 

Did I make you proud?

Neither the planet nor The Disgrace responded.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 5

Amor intra astra. (Love within the stars.)

TW // suicidal ideation. 

Why are you so surprised? Did you really think my name was Mira even before humans arrived?

Starr shook his head. “N-No, not necessarily. We suppose it was just hard to believe you had any other name because of how prevalent it is in our lives.”

Yeah, no worries. I never said anything about it because I liked the name. Or, well, I liked it enough not to complain about it. Anyways, before humans named me Mira, before this planet even existed, my name was Aidoneus. I was what you would call…well, we never really gave ourselves a species name. We simply were, and that was enough. For your purposes, however, I was a being comprised entirely of ether. I could tell you all about the logistics of that, but for now, let me show you the form I usually took.

Starr’s vision went glossy as his mind shifted, the darkness taking on new form. He closed his eyes, finding that keeping them open only blurred the new image that had appeared. This was space, this was the stars and colorful cosmos that graced Mira’s skies at night, but blown into new proportions. Starr felt like he was floating, though he remained seated on the cold cavern ground. Out of the corner of his eye, a little ball of light floated in front of him, white in hue. There was a symbol in the middle of it, too, something akin to a spiked draconic tail, though Starr failed to get a better look at it before the cloud changed shape. Sprouting from the mass were a pair of arms, a pair of legs, a pair of intricately designed wings, two massive horns and pointed ears. 

“It looks like when it fused with L’Cirufe. A little bit, anyways.”

The Disgrace commented quietly. Starr scowled, looking to his right, realizing that he was actually sitting next to him in this mindscape. He had to agree with the sentiment, however. It wasn’t hard to spot the inspiration Mira used - wait, no. Mira? Should Starr call it Aidoneus now? He supposed that was a question for the future, after he’d heard the full story.

With a full form realized, Aidoneus turned towards the Disgrace, towards Starr. Its eyes shifted, eerily similar to theirs in nature. Pupiless, colors swirling within them, a showcase of life beyond the surface. One moment they were like the Disgrace’s, indigo skies full of stars and shattered dreams, and in the next moment they were white and shiny like Mira’s, and in the next moment they were green then red then blue. The cosmos remained the same throughout it all, and in certain transitions, it was like Starr was looking through them, through Aidoneus’s body and straight through to the galaxy behind it. That feeling gave way to something he couldn’t quite describe, though he tried to find the right words. Not quite envy, not quite jealousy, not quite sadness. A tugging at his soul, perhaps, that this was the form Mira had always wanted to take, and by extension, Starr wanted the same thing. Just like how the Disgrace’s desires permeated through his being, though this felt more real to him, more connected. Was it because he wanted the same thing? To inhabit a body that was more natural, not forced upon him so quickly?

The cosmos broke apart beyond the Disgrace, and a second figure began to float towards Aidoneus. This one was more blue and green, bright and consistent, though in many ways their body resembled Aidoneus’s. Rings swirled around their temple, a star-shaped crest atop their forehead. Their limbs were long, with some disconnects between the joints filled with light and stardust. Aidoneus locked eyes with the newcomer, and something in its expression softened with memory, intertwined with Mira’s continued explanation.

For a long time, I explored the universe on my own. But there came a time where I stumbled across one of my own kind. A rare occurrence, you see, so I treasured this interaction for millenia to come. We had no need for names back then, so I did not know it for a long time. We simply talked in song, and it just…it felt right. Like we were always meant to meet, to travel with each other. To live out the rest of our days together. 

Space jumped forward, rushing past all of the stars and constellations until a new silhouette appeared on the horizon. A planet, yes, it was a planet. It was far too dim to be a star, at least, though the surface burned bright with magma. The heat was enough to reach Starr, who bristled underneath its oppressive weight.

You see, our kind have a goal. A life purpose, if you will. As beings composed of the essence of life, we thought our ultimate goal would be to give life to a new planet. We had stumbled across a failed attempt at this. We could feel the remnants of one of our kind within this planet, so freshly formed. We had no idea what happened, but we could harbor a guess. We loved creating answers to impossible questions like that.

The two figures glanced at each other, downcast. Starr could feel it too, the knowledge that someone had failed, the knowledge that they had found a graveyard for someone’s broken dreams. To have come so far, yet come up so short…

I thought we would move on, after watching this burning planet for a few years. But…but she had an idea. Before I could stop her, she flew down to the planet…and she became it. Gave new life to it. 

On cue, the second figure descended to the planet, losing her humanoid form along the way. She disappeared below its surface, and Aidoneus was alone again. 

I think we were both surprised it worked, though she was so excited about it. She kept telling me her plans for this world, even gave it a name. She wanted me to call her by that name, but…but it did not feel right. That was the name of the planet, not her name. I told her that much, and she decided then and there that we would give each other a name. Something to call each other, something that we would never forget even when I had to move on. She called me Aidoneus. I had a hard time deciding, so I gave her two names. Persei. Kore. She liked them both.

The universe zoomed past them once more, with Aidoneus staying by Starr and the Disgrace. Another planet came into view, less fiery than the first. Aidoneus descended upon it in the same manner that Kore had flown to her planet. Like a timelapse, the surface of this planet became immediately familiar - this was Mira, the Mira that Starr loved. 

There came a point where I had to move on. I had to fulfill the same goal, and I could not do it if I stayed. She wished me luck, and off I went. I eventually gave life to my own planet. Created thousands of species for it, from the tiniest dronefly to the largest millesaur. I even formed the F’lenla A’slegn, a race of humanoids that…that reminded me of her. Her ideal form. I was proud of myself, but I missed her. I missed her terribly. 

Now, Starr saw Mira - Primordia. The city of NLA was gone, or rather, it hadn’t made its crash landing at this point in the timeline. Indigens wandered the landscape freely, unafraid of human interference in their daily lives. Aidoneus, in its non-humanoid form, floated above it all, and though it didn’t possess a face to communicate it, Starr could feel its longing, its pain, its sorrow.

For far too long, I was alone. I sought solace in the life I had given, but that was not enough. Even L’Cirufe was a temporary measure, an excuse to speak again with someone I wanted to consider a friend. But I was greedy. I hurt him. So I distanced myself again, until…

Then, Aidoneus tilted its form towards the sky, and there was the White Whale, the crash, the descent of NLA. Flames consumed the world with each bit of rubble that came tumbling down to the planet’s surface. Aidoneus backed up, unable to watch, yet Starr remained focused on the event that would lead to the Disgrace’s conception, the very thing that started it all.

Then, humans came. I could sense Kore’s ether on them, and at once, I knew why they were here. She was gone. Her children had found their way to me, through some twisted act of the divine. I could practically hear Persei’s voice, telling me to take care of them. And so, I was given a new excuse to take shape - though, you know what happens from there.

“You created me,” The Disgrace whispered, “You created me so you would have a way to join them. Take care of them.”

You were always meant to be a guide, but never one with this much self autonomy. I was supposed to inhabit your body, after all. And yet, I was too late, and humans tore into me. I…I felt betrayed, in a way. How could the children Persei created hurt me so badly? The more I thought about it, the more I began to wonder if this was what she wanted them to act like. To destroy everything they touched - destroy ME. I just…

“You were angry, and rightfully so,” Starr concluded, “But you should not fault yourself for how they acted. We doubt this was the will Kore wished to enact upon you.”

…I would have deserved it. For leaving her. Not being there for her.

At that confession, that descent into self depreciation, Starr found himself growing tense. The Disgrace looked down at his hands, unable to meet anyone’s gaze, and that pushed Starr to the very edge. 

“You both created us to heal from your wounds,” He growled, his knuckles turning white the further he pushed his fingers into his palms, “If there is anything we have learned from our short existence, it is that your mistakes do not define you. You are allowed to heal, just as we have strived to do. It became our burden, forced upon us by both of you, to heal in your stead. Do not tell us that it was for nothing.”

Silence. 

…Pongo?

The Disgrace finally looked up at Mira - Aidoneus - and there they were, the tears in the corners of his eyes. Starr stared daggers into his pathetic little form until he finally dared to speak. Even then, they were words Starr didn’t want to hear.

“So I was a failure in more ways than one. Maybe it would be better if I let you take control of this body completely, so I could just…”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Starr screamed, standing up, towering over the Disgrace. He shriveled back in his spot, eyes widening at this outburst. “You coward, you absolute fucking coward, why are you so quick to deny this gift of life?! Why are you so quick to run and hide from the people you call your friends, your family?! Do you have any idea how much they miss you?! Look at us, look at Mira - Mira let you live. It never once tried to erase you, because guess what? MIRA LOVES YOU. MIRA LOVES WHO YOU BECAME. We exist purely because Mira could not bear to see you suffer, and you repay that kindness by saying you want to forfeit your right to exist?! You greedy, selfish, BASTARD!!”

Starr gasped, realizing that he’d used his voice to its fullest extent. The words burned in his throat, raspy and pained. The Disgrace was frozen to his spot, and Mira didn’t dare to utter a word. Instead, the image around them faded, and Starr was back in the cavern, heaving from how furious he’d become. Though he was physically alone again, Mira’s voice echoed through his mind, a reminder that he still had something to turn to.

You were not a mistake. I promise.

“Just tell me how you defeated Corvhesperikon and Syriahnydra.” Starr spat, sitting back down at the water’s edge. “That is why you told us about your past, no? Because Aidoneus was there to help defeat the two yggraliths?”

…I was there. I took the second form you saw, the one that was more humanoid…at least, for a while. 

“What do you mean, a while? What happened?”

I weakened both yggraliths considerably in that ideal form, but it was not enough. I got desperate. I…I asked someone for a favor.

“Stop being vague. What did you do.”

…Did you really think that Froyoyo, an ordinary mortal Nopon, was able to slay two yggraliths on his own?

“Vanala was there,” Starr reasoned, frowning.

Vanala pitched in to make it possible. He agreed to the fusion, and our strength combined was enough to take them down.

“...You fused with a Nopon?” Despite the severity of the situation, Starr couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image. It still left a variety of questions, ones that he knew he’d have to ask in order to understand better, but for now he took solace in his laughter, as subdued as it was.

Oh come on, I do not discriminate in the face of an apocalyptic event. Yes, I fused with Froyoyo. With the help of Vanala, we defeated both yggraliths. And when I left, Froyoyo had been…blessed, so to speak. I had left a small part of my ether within his body, not enough that he had access to any sort of powers, but enough that he never aged.

“You made Froyoyo immortal?!” Starr was shocked at this revelation, yet in the back of his mind, he knew it made sense. There was no way that The Tale of Two Gods, the story Froyoyo loved to recite to his littlepon every night before bed, had taken place during his lifespan. Corvhesperikon’s bones had even suggested that its body had rotted away over the course of centuries, though how could you accurately estimate a yggralith’s life cycle?

Well, yes, but…but he went into it thinking that he would die afterwards. You see, my kind are unable to fuse with organic creatures. It leaves us without any sense of self, and in the slim chance both the host and the entity survive, we would wander aimlessly looking for a way to end the pain. My fusion with Froyoyo was a last ditch effort. I cannot say for certain, but I believe Vanala was the one to successfully separate us and keep us whole. I was weakened for a very long time afterwards. I only got my strength back just in time to fuse with L’Cirufe to stop the war.

“You did not learn, did you?” Starr said, “L’Cirufe is an organic creature, too. What did that do to you?”

I think that is a story for another time.

Mira’s statement seemed final, a hard stop to Starr’s series of questions probing into its past. Starr wasn’t too bothered by the need to change topics; Mira’s fusion with L wasn’t relevant to their predicament in the present day. 

“So how do we defeat Corvhesperikon now?” He asked, “Must you fuse with Froyoyo again?”

Well, no. Contradictory to your question before, I did learn, and I refuse to put him through that pain again. Vanala is too weak to go through with another healing ritual for him. 

“Then who must you fuse w…with…” Starr trailed off. He knew the answer, didn’t he? The way to save everyone?

Despite being a fusion of myself and Pongo, your body is still entirely mechanical. Combined with the fact that you are comprised of miranium, my favored material, you would be the perfect host. Not organic, and not susceptible to the horrors Froyoyo and L’Cirufe had to endure.

Starr was quiet. It was the Disgrace’s self-sacrificing nature that began to speak for him, at first, the need to put himself in harm’s way to keep everyone else safe. Starr nearly agreed with that line of thought, especially since it would spare those around him from a gruesome fate. But at the same time, Mira’s memories began to resurface, dredged up from the depths of its mind, and Starr could see the monsters in the surface of the water. The thing Froyoyo had become, screaming and screeching as it hurled attack after brutal attack, almost mindless in nature. The twisted form L’Cirufe took, flying high above a wartorn planet, fires encasing the land as he smiled with sharpened fangs stained in blood - the blood of his people, the blood of the people Mira had painstakingly created. And then, there was…

There was Starr. 

Not the Starr he was, no. The Starr that the Ganglion had transformed into a Telethia, the Starr that ravaged Cocytios in a blind rage. Was that rage really blind at all, or did he know the rage before Mira and the Disgrace fused? Did he know that this was his destiny? Would it be his destiny once more?

Saddened, burdened by everything he was and everything he was fated to be, Starr sniffled. He was allowed to cry, he knew that, but he was already so tired. Why, why did he have to be the answer? Why couldn’t he just live?

“...We save Vanala first.” Starr decided, lifting his mask to wipe his tears with his hands, “Then, if it will end things…if it means we can live in peace…”

I will make it quick. 

“You better.” He sighed, standing himself up once more. “Thank you for telling us, though. At least now, we are assured that there is a means to -”

The walls suddenly shook as something crashed against the mountainside, a force powerful enough to nearly knock Starr back down to the ground. He managed to maintain his balance just as an earsplitting screech echoed throughout the cavern, forcing his hands to his ears to block out the sound. When it finally resided, he looked up to the ceiling, and he felt his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach.

Their time was up. 

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 4

Lucem polliceor. (I promise the light.)

Rounding the stone wall separating Starr and the others from this flickering light, he laid eyes upon the answer, the answer to the light’s source. It was not something he’d considered, not for a second.

Sprinkle Sprinkle was far too close to the source for comfort, which ended up being a humanoid figure. Not a human, no, that much became obvious upon closer inspection. Their legs ended in points, and holograms kept their biceps connected to mechanical forearms and ball jointed hands and fingertips. Half of their face was missing, jagged holographic edges just barely hiding some sort of star-shaped object nestled in their head. Their entire body flickered with light, a faint sunset color, but Starr could tell immediately what was making this light so subdued. Blackened lines trailed over half of their body, snaking up the holograms and burning holes into the dress they wore. Were it not for the light, Starr would’ve assumed this figure was deceased, for their body was crumpled and wounded and showed no signs of recognizing other beings in their presence.

Vanala had stopped after taking a couple steps around the stone wall, eyes wide. “Is…no. Can’t be…”

Starr stuck to her side while Elma passed him, accompanying Sprinkle Sprinkle next to the body. She rummaged around in one of her pockets and took out her comm device, scanning over the figure’s body. Starr knelt down in the meantime, attention shifting between the body and Vanala.

“Do you…recognize them?” He asked carefully.

“...This is other entity Vanala came to Mira with,” She explained in a hushed voice, not quiet enough to avoid the earshot of Sprinkle Sprinkle and Elma but enough that she sounded shellshocked. “Never got friend’s name. Separated in the air after Vanala and friend sustained bad injuries. Never knew where they went, if they survived.”

A fragment of Starr’s dream reemerged, a figure barreling towards the planet engulfed in flames and trailing embers. The connection was obvious, but it presented a problem that he was becoming increasingly aware of. There was a prophetic nature to the dreams he’d had the past two nights, but there was something deeper to them, something he was having trouble understanding. The Disgrace had nightmares, plenty of them, but the planet never did. It had nothing to speak of in its unconscious, perhaps because of its own composition. But these dreams couldn’t belong to the Disgrace, no, they seemed too specific. And if the planet had no ability to dream, then…

Were these…memories?

“They’re alive, but gravely injured,” Elma pulled back, facing Vanala and Starr as she glanced between them and her comm device. “I’m not familiar with this species, but based on the bioscan…well, that’s all I can glean. It’s almost like the bioscan is unable to define what this being is, species or otherwise. I want to harbor a guess and say they’re mechanical in nature based on the construction of their arms and legs. If Lin were here, she could likely give a better guess, but…”

“But she is not here.” Starr finished the terrible realization, stepping closer and kneeling down next to the figure. His hand hovered over the figure’s forearm, the corrupted veins of darkness persisting down their frame. These weren’t like any injuries he’d seen before, but they reminded him of scars, permanent marks of battles lost - no, that was how the Disgrace saw them. Damn.

“Maybe ether can help?” Vanala suggested, finally coming closer. 

“We can try,” Starr responded, lifting his right hand to join the left. There was only an inch or two of space between his palms and the figure’s arm, and with enough concentration, a gentle blue light began to intertwine with the figure’s dull glow. Droplets of water floated out of Starr’s gauntlets, drifting towards the figure, towards the veins persisting down their -

The figure coughed suddenly, weak enough that their body hardly moved, but strong enough to shock Starr and make him jump backwards. Sprinkle Sprinkle was the most unfazed of the group, eyes widening as they grabbed the figure’s other hand despite the wordless protest that Vanala gave. Starr watched as the figure finally opened their one eye, dull gray and pupiless, staring off into nothing at all. Their voice came next, staticy, broken, reminiscent of a crackling fire on the verge of death.

“I-Is s-s-s-ome-o-one the-e-e-re?”

Elma spoke first, her interest clearly piqued. “Hello. We’re sorry if we scared you, but we don’t mean any harm. My name is Elma. Next to me are my colleagues: Vanala, Sprinkle Sprinkle, and P - Starr.”

Starr flinched when Elma nearly referred to him as the Disgrace, but he supposed old habits would die hard. He didn’t have much time to linger on how that made him feel, however, as the figure tried to reposition themselves against the wall to sit up straighter. They hardly moved an inch, however, and Starr was too scared to help, lest they fall apart in his hands. 

“Y-Yes…h-h-hang on-n-n. Le-e-e-t me se-e-e-e-e if I ca-a-a-a-n-n cor-r-r-ect my v-v-v-v-v-oc-cal set-t-t-t-ings-s-s.”

The figure shut their eye, and for a moment, there was silence again. When they opened their eye again, it was still incredibly unfocused, but their voice sounded much clearer than before. The crackling remained, however. 

“That should sound m-much better. I-I’m sorry.”

“Friend should not apologize,” Vanala said, “Vanala just happy to see friend again. Thought for sure friend was dead after…”

“I…I should be,” The figure whispered, “I d-don’t…know how I’m alive, at least.” A beat, then even quieter than before, “I was a f-fool. I thought I c-could…”

Having gotten over the initial shock, Starr inched closer to the figure, remaining silent as they took a shaky breath, attempted a weak smile. “But wh-where are my m-manners…m-my design-nation is Eight. B-But…you can a-also call me Lumina.”

“Lumi! What pretty name!” Sprinkle Sprinkle said, in awe, “What pronouns does Lumi use?”

“O-Oh! S-She and her,” Lumina seemed surprised to have gotten such a question, tilting her head in Sprinkle Sprinkle’s direction, “Y-You sound so cute!”

“Lumina, are you able to see us?” Elma asked. The question was funny, really. She’d asked the same question when she found the Disgrace, with his eyes pupiless and blank. Lumina’s were similar, though there was a clearer unfocus to them. 

Lumina tried to shift around to face Elma, but her new position meant that her gaze fell to Elma’s left, tilted downwards. “I…n-no. Not in the standard sense. I-I can see your e-ether signat-tures, but n-not what you look like. Y-Yours is really hard to see, Elma.”

“Likely because I’m a machine,” Elma realized, “I’m inhabiting a mechanical body known as a mimeosome. Vanala and Sprinkle Sprinkle are organic, and…”

“We are a mixture of both,” Starr finished, explaining himself, “We are mainly a mechanical entity created to mimic these mimeosomes, but are composed of organic material. You should be able to -”

“W-Wait.”

Lumina let her head fall back onto the cave wall, rolling it towards Starr. It seemed like she was staring right at him, and the notion made him stiffen. She blinked slowly, her mouth pursing open as if the beginnings of a thought were dancing upon her lips.

“Y-Your ether…I’ve s-seen it before,” She breathed, “Wh-What did you s-say your name was?”

“We are Starr,” Starr reintroduced himself, caution consuming his very being.

“Starr…y-your ether is…th-there’s two separate strands combined into one,” Lumina tried to explain what she was “seeing”, but judging by how she was squinting, she was having a hard time understanding it. Either that, or she couldn’t believe it. Starr would’ve taken either reason to be true. “Th-There’s one I don’t r-recognize, but the other…th-that’s Aidoneus’s ether strand.”

…

What?

Starr didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could only look between everyone around him, the confusion and shock upon their faces, before he finally found the strength to address Lumina, to address her observation.

“We do not know of this Aidoneus you speak of. We admit to being a fusion, but one of the original parties was not named Aidoneus.”

“B-But…that ether is unmistakable!” Lumina cried, her hand flopping towards Starr in a futile attempt to reach him, “Aidoneus was th-there when w-we both fell…i-it put me here, in s-s-safety, while i-it tried to stop C-Corvhes -”

“Was that name of giant creature with horns?” Vanala pressed, “Vanala never ask its name, either…Vanala should be better with whole manners thing.”

“Y-Yes!” She said, “I n-never knew where it w-went after it saved m-me, a-and I thought it m-might’ve died, but…”

“We are not Aidoneus,” Starr repeated, softer this time, “We are not.”

“Th-Then…then how?...how do y-you have the same e-ether signature?”

Starr’s chest tightened, his breaths hollow and quick. Lumina had said it was only one of his ether signatures that reminded her of this Aidoneus creature, right? Was it somehow tied to the Disgrace, or the planet? Of course, of fucking course Lumina saw this ether strand within him, of course there was something about Starr that removed his own identity from him. When would he be able to be recognized as Starr and not someone else? Why did his very existence need to be tied to someone else, why couldn’t he just move on and be Starr, why why why -

Something plopped down on his lap and pressed up against his chest. Blinking once, twice, coming back to the cold reality of the cavern, Starr realized that Sprinkle Sprinkle had worked his way around Lumina and was now actively pushing his wing into Starr’s heart. They tried to push as hard as they could, but their size betrayed their success in the matter. Nevertheless, Starr knew what he was trying to do. It was a tactic Froyoyo sometimes used when Starr was panicking, a way to bring him out of his pained thoughts and force him to focus on something else. It had been jarring, the first time Froyoyo had done it, but it was effective enough that Starr never told him not to do it. And better yet, Sprinkle Sprinkle had never done this before. Froyoyo really had become a good influence on him. 

“Starr better?” Sprinkle Sprinkle asked quietly, removing his wings and folding them around his body.

Starr nodded, incapable of forming a verbal response. He adjusted the mask atop his head, bringing the skull’s snout further down to obscure more of his face. The planet spoke, in that moment, and Starr had half a heart to ignore it. But for one sentence, he listened, and that was enough to stir him out of his woe.

I know who Aidoneus is. I will tell you more about it later.

Starr still didn’t entertain the idea of a verbal response, but he nodded again to indicate he heard, that he understood. Sprinkle Sprinkle jumped off of Starr’s lap, running to Vanala’s side. He looked proud of himself, but his aura was smothered by a very loud, very prolonged yawn. Vanala’s brow furrowed, putting one of her little hands on Sprinkle Sprinkle’s head and combing their fur reassuringly. 

“We should make camp here,” Elma took note of the interaction, taking a proper seat and crossing her legs one over the other. “It appears Corvhesperikon can’t reach us in here.”

“It can,” Vanala said somberly, “But hasn’t yet. Hubbypon likely keeping it distracted.”

Through some demented act of the divine, after Vanala had said this, the walls of the cavern shook, small pebbles raining down from the ceiling. A screech echoed from outside, too far to be of immediate concern, but concerning Starr nonetheless. A little rock even managed to hit the top of his mask, and instinctively he massaged the dent, creating a small chip in the bone. 

“We will take watch,” Starr told the group, “You all should get some rest. We will wake you if we deem it too dangerous to remain here.”

“Alright. Wake me next, when you grow tired,” Elma told him.

“Then wake Vanala!” Vanala tacked on. Sprinkle Sprinkle almost looked like they were going to repeat after them both, but Vanala quickly covered his mouth with her wing. “No watch for Sprinkle Sprinkle. More important for littlepon to sleep.”

“But -”

“No buts! Get shut-eye!”

She was stern enough that Sprinkle Sprinkle didn’t protest anymore after that. In fact, no one spoke a word.

~

Vanala and Sprinkle Sprinkle were the first to drift off, with Elma following hesitantly after. Starr could see the fatigue in her eyes, how she tried to resist. But ultimately, she wasn’t strong enough. She closed her eyes, and after a few minutes, they didn’t open again. Even Lumina had closed her one eye, her breathing far lighter than before. 

Starr sighed, relieved for the peace and quiet. The planet’s promise rang true in his mind, a proposition of knowledge long overdue. Starr stood himself up, rolled his shoulders underneath his breastplate. Nothing felt sore or out of place, yet he still walked forward with a distinct feeling in his body, that of mental exhaustion rather than physical. He took two steps towards the way they’d all entered through when coughing from behind him stopped him dead in his tracks.

“W-Where are you…”

Starr turned around. Lumina’s voice was so weak, so small, as she tried to pinpoint where he was. Starr’s fists clenched at his sides, on the verge of a terrible decision. Ultimately his hands relaxed and he walked back towards Lumina, kneeling down right in front of her. This simple action made her smile with recognition, and he wondered if there was a time where her body had reflected the sunlight radiating from her joy.

“S-Sorry, I just…wanted to make sure you w-w-were okay,” Lumina apologized, “You seemed nervous.”

“We, um…” Starr double checked that everyone else was very, truly asleep before whispering his confession, “We are. It is hard not to be, with what is happening.”

“R-Right…I don’t think a-anyone said it outright, b-but it sounded like Corvhesperikon i-is back. I-I’m sorry I never asked about w-what was happening.”

“It is not your fault,” Starr reassured her, “But you would be correct. Corvhesperikon has reawoken and is attempting to track down Vanala to consume her ether. At least, we believe this to be so.”

“Y-Yggraliths will eat any ether-based e-entities…even p-planets,” Lumina shuddered, “Last time, A-Aidoneus and Froyoyo were the ones t-to defeat it. I…I was useless.”

“You were hurt, right? Before you came to Mira?” The image of a falling body, flames consuming every limb, tumbling towards Cocytios flared up in Starr’s mind once more.

“Y-Yes. B-But that was not Corvhesperikon’s doing. I-I…it was m-my fault. I did s-something incredibly stupid…”

“We doubt it was stupid,” Starr reassured her, “Elma believed that you were mechanical. Is there some way we could repair you?”

“I, um…n-no. Not through h-human means. M-Mira is home to humans, right?” She replied, “I-It would require one of my o-own kind to try and f-find me. But…but none of them kn-know I’m here. At least I-I don’t think they do.”

“Would ether be able to help? Vanala taught us some small healing spells -”

“I-I don’t think it’ll help. But y-you’re welcome to try. I c-can’t get much worse than this.”

Starr pondered the suggestion, Lumina’s complete resignation to a treatment that could end up harming rather than healing. He had no true way of knowing whether or not his ether would work, and even so, his powers were far weaker than Vanala’s. It was a risk he wasn’t comfortable taking, not when she was already this weak, this damaged, this close to death. 

Yet despite this, determination bubbled up inside him, powerful and overflowing. Checking one more time that no one else was awake around him, Starr removed his skull mask, placing it over his heart in a makeshift salute. “We do not want to try something that might hurt you, but…but we promise to come back. To find a way to save you, to bring you out of this place.”

Lumina sniffled, and a small speck of stardust trickled out of her eye. It was the closest thing to a tear for her kind, he imagined. “Th-Thank you…”

“Now, please rest. We are going to scout the perimeter in case any indigens have also sought shelter in these caverns,” Starr made up a brilliant and believable excuse to stand himself up, repositioning his gauntlets so they didn’t pinch his gloves. “We will be back soon.”

“Okay…g-good night, Starr.”

Starr smiled.

“Good night, Lumina.”

And so her eye fluttered shut, her battle with sleep coming to a close. Starr watched over her for but a minute longer before turning back towards the outstretched cavern. He returned the skull to the top of his head, seeking comfort in the obscurity it brought him, then walked a fair distance away from their little camp, checking over his shoulder numerous times to make sure he wasn’t being followed. 

Once he’d put enough distance between himself and the others, Starr stopped, standing perfectly still in the middle of a circular cavern that they hadn’t entered before. There was a small pool of water in the far corner, a gentle drip coming from the stalactites above it. Starr ended up sitting down by the water’s edge, a lazy finger pressing down on the surface, watching the ripples that formed. A memory of Vanala’s first time training Starr in the usage of water ether came to mind, a memory that he now cherished in hindsight but thought scary when it was formulating.

“If friend wishes to heal with water ether, then friend needs to heal, too. Come to terms with ripples and discover that, despite ruining perfect reflection, ripples are beautiful and necessary. No water is without ripples, and no being is without mistakes they wish to move past.”

It was a lesson he’d taken to heart, and one that he’d take with him to the grave. He was Starr, and he was damaged, but he could live with that damage. None of it could define him wholly and truly. His recovery, his moving-forward, would be the true key to his identity.

Mira’s voice then broke through the memory.

This is going to be a long story.

“We have time,” Starr said, “Start from the beginning.”

A pause. Then, the beginning.

Before I was Mira…I was Aidoneus.

[kentuckywrites]

Imperium 3: Chapter 3

Tenebrae vocat. (The darkness calls).

In this dream - this nightmare - there was only darkness. Nothing below his feet, nothing above his head. The voices that emerged had no identifiable source, echoing all around him. He knew them. He knew them, and that was what made it more painful to listen to.

“This form will have fair skin and black hair, a contrast of light and dark found in Siy’valis-um. Their eyes…their eyes will be full of stars.”

“Promise me that you will continue to live, and to bring life.”

“I said I would never leave you. I will keep my promise. Just rest for now. I will be here when you wake.”

“I was created to save you, just as you were created to save humanity. They’ll need you more than they’ll ever need me.”

He spoke, then, begging them to stop, to be quiet, leave him alone. But his words were silenced. Nothing, nothing came out of his mouth but stifled desperation.

But then, another voice. Not as familiar as the others were, but familiar. He’d heard it not too long ago, even. Accompanied by the flapping of multiple pairs of wings, a snarl that churned his stomach, the beast uttered a threat.

“HUNGRY…SO HUNGRY…NO LONGER SHALL YOU MAKE US WAIT. SLEEP, AIDONEUS. SLEEP.”

Four pairs of glowing golden eyes pierced through the darkness, and his breath became quicker, his heart racing, gods why couldn’t he fucking MOVE -

~

“STARR!!”

Starr bolted awake for the second night in a row, knocking something fluffy off of his chest in the process. It was Sprinkle Sprinkle, the youngest of Froyoyo and Vanala’s littlepon, their eyes squeezed tightly shut as they struggled to right themselves. Starr quickly muttered an apology and took Sprinkle Sprinkle in his hands, putting him back on his feet. Only then did they open their eyes, and only then did Starr become aware of the outside world. It sounded like…no. Oh no.

“Caravan being attacked by big monster!!” Sprinkle Sprinkle cried, “Mamapon and Dadapon need help!! Come quick!!”

Starr didn’t need to be told twice. His gauntlets, his mask, everything was on in seconds. Sprinkle Sprinkle tried to take the lead out of the tent just as the ground shook, just as something exploded mere feet away from where they stood. Starr scooped him up, pulled him away from the edge of the tent just as it was set ablaze, black and purple flames engulfing the fabric.

Outside, the night sky was ablaze. The Desserta Caravan’s many huts and homes were already destroyed, but many of the Nopon remained standing, some with weapons drawn while others ran away. Starr kept Sprinkle Sprinkle in his arms, feeling the littlepon tense up as they took in the sight of their home up in flames. Starr knew he wasn’t dreaming, but this was a nightmare nonetheless. What could’ve…who could’ve…

“PONGO!!”

NO NO NO NO NO -

Starr’s head erupted with pain as Pongo protested his existence, dropping Sprinkle Sprinkle to grab his temple. Sprinkle Sprinkle let out a yelp of protest, huddling up close to his legs. He crumpled in on himself, just barely able to maintain his footing. When he finally found the strength to look up again, a human was sprinting towards him, dual swords in her hands. Vanala was just behind her, a trail of water ether floating around her gloves. But behind them both, descending from the sky on three pairs of feathered wings, a monster with razor sharp incisors hidden inside a beak and four pairs of glowing golden eyes trained on Starr - wait, what?! No, there was no way, that couldn’t be -

“WE TOLD YOU TO SLEEP!!” Corvhesperikon screamed, its voice so loud and booming that it managed to shake the ground just as much as its landing did. Six legs, all equipped with long talon-like claws, already stained red with blood and snow and dirt. Something inside Starr went cold, but Starr ignored it, he had to. He picked Sprinkle Sprinkle up again as Vanala and the human approached. This close, he could identity the human as Elma, the one that Po - the one that the fucking disgrace once knew. No wonder the disgrace had surged so readily within him, presenting Starr with memories he neither wanted nor claimed as his own. 

“Corvie after Vanala,” Vanala yelled to Starr, “Vanala need to leave caravan and -”

“We will come with you!!” Starr offered himself, “If it comes after you, then you cannot face it alone!!”

“Not putting anyone else in danger!” She stopped in front of him, pleading, on the brink of tears, “Should have expected this from very start! Vanala’s fault for putting caravan in harm’s way -”

“Where are the other littlepon?!”

“With Tutito, Tutito bringing littlepon far away -”

“COME BACK HERE, LITTLE GODLING!!” Corvhesperikon charged forward, cutting their conversation short. Vanala shoved Starr out of the way as it produced a raging ball of fire from its beak, shooting it straight down at the four. He fell onto his back as the explosion shattered the snowy floor, using himself as a human shield to keep Sprinkle Sprinkle out of the fray. The littlepon cried out, but once Starr righted himself, he checked them over, and thankfully they were unharmed. Their wide eyes and the tears staining their fur, however, told a painful story. 

“Hold on, Sprinkle Sprinkle, we are getting you out of here!” Starr picked them up once more, cradling him in the crook of his right arm. As he stood himself up, he lifted his left arm, his gauntlet beginning to glow. Focus, he had to focus to make this work. From the glow, water began to pool around him, swirling and solidifying until a shield had formed. Small waves made the borders unstable, but at least the gauntlet was connected to it, and at least it didn’t weigh much at all. In seconds he spun and located Vanala, who’d gotten far ahead of the chaos, and he sprinted after her, keeping the shield raised to deflect any incoming attacks and shrapnel. More blasts echoed from behind him, falling snow and embers bouncing off of his shield, but he did everything he could to keep his composure, to keep moving forward. 

Corvhesperikon screamed suddenly, and Starr’s curiosity got the better of him despite every part of his body telling him to ignore the distraction. A glance over his shoulder revealed that the yggralith was squirming, its long neck arching up towards the flame painted sky. From on top of its massive head, a little white speck, carrying a bloodied broadsword in his wing. How Froyoyo could’ve scaled the beast that quickly, Starr couldn’t guess. The Heropon screamed something over the wind and raining fire, but he couldn’t make it out either. All he could do was watch as Froyoyo plunged his blade into Corvhesperikon’s skull, a pinprick that shouldn’t have registered to such a massive creature, but ended up sending Corvhesperikon into the side of a nearby mountain, screeching from the newly inflicted wound. The mountain began to crumble from the impact, stones tumbling down its side and barreling straight towards the caravan. The landslide was far away enough that Starr and Vanala wouldn’t be affected, as well as the various Desserta Caravan Nopon that had followed after them. The ones who stayed behind, weapons raised and ready to defend their home against all odds, were soon covered in a thick layer of dust and snow, disappearing into the fight. The gust from the impact then reached Starr, and he was blown backwards again and sent into a white expanse. The force was so great that he fell onto his back, but from there, he was pushed farther, farther, until he flew off the top of a hill and landed awkwardly on his side. All he remembered before the white turned into black was Corvhesperikon’s mighty roar, and all he could think of was keeping Sprinkle Sprinkle tight in his embrace.

~

It was quiet when Starr opened his eyes again, head pounding and eyelids drooping. Nothing had come to him in the unconscious, no dreams or nightmares or prophecies - that was what they were, those nightmares he’d been having, right? Prophecies, foretellings of the future, the predestined awakening of a beast they’d seen the bones of? He couldn’t fathom how any of this was possible. 

“There, Starr finally awake,” Vanala’s voice called him towards reality, towards focusing on his surroundings. Starr found Vanala to his right, her water ether swirling around her form and hovering over his heart. It was only the ether’s faint glow that helped him identify her; aside from that, wherever they were, it was nearly pitch black. He was propped up against a wall, some loose pebbles underneath his fingertips. They had to be in a cave of some sort, that would explain things. 

“Is Sprinkle Sprinkle safe?” Starr asked first, pushing himself backwards so he wasn’t slumped over.

“Sprinkle Sprinkle safe!” The littlepon answered, entering his field of vision. “Many thanks to Starr for saving!”

“What about the rest of the caravan? And Froyoyo?”

Vanala didn’t respond right away, and that on its own was enough to make Starr’s heart drop. “Not sure about caravan. Froyoyo fight Corvie. Got thrown off at one point. Not sure where he is.”

Starr exhaled softly, not drastic enough to be a sigh, but enough to voice his distress at the situation. He realized in that moment that he was without his skull mask, but the absence didn’t create as much stress in that moment. After all, it was just Vanala and Sprinkle Sprinkle with him, and he trusted them both. He hoped he could find it soon, though, he felt rather vulnerable without it -

“Let Vanala make light. Very dark in cave,” Vanala retracted her water ether, plunging the cave into total darkness once more, but it only lasted for a moment before a ball of fire appeared over Vanala’s left wing. The flame was bright enough to show more of the surrounding area, as well as the fourth figure that Starr hadn’t even noticed was there. The humanoid from before, the one that had been carrying the dual swords, leaning against a column of stone in the center of the cave. White hair glistening in the firelight, feathered delicately above honeyed skin - no, NO. He needed the mask he needed the mask oh gods above fuck no no no NO NO -

Sprinkle Sprinkle held up something for him in that exact moment where his heart nearly jumped out of his chest - MASK. Starr took it quickly and fixed it on top of his head,taking deep breaths, making sure he could come down from this. Vanala shuffled in her spot, looking between him and Elma with a saddened but understanding expression. 

“Sorry, Vanala not tell you Elma was here. Elma chased by Corvie, and Vanala brought Elma to safety in cave with Starr and Sprinkle Sprinkle…”

“No, no. Do not apologize,” Starr insisted. “We were just…surprised, is all.”

“It’s okay, Vanala, part of the blame is on me. I should’ve made my presence known,” Elma said, standing up and dusting off her knees with a few flicks of her wrist, “It’s um…listen, Pongo, I -”

“We are not Pongo,” Starr quickly corrected, pushing his back further into the cave wall behind him.

“But you - do you remember me? I found you in Primordia, I helped train you, you’re an Interceptor with BLADE,” Elma continued, unfazed by how he shrank further into himself with each memory she gave him. Inside him, the fucking disgrace stirred, upset with how desperate she was becoming. 

I do remember you, Elma, but this is not me. Gods, you should forget all of those things, you should move on. I was never worthy enough to be your friend.

“You love hugs, you’re a horrible chef, and you’re terrified of spiders! Remember when Lin had to kill the little spider on the kitchen counter and you were so scared you hid behind the debriefing table for a half an hour afterwards?”

Stop it, stop it, I know that is me, but you need to stop -

“We saved the Lifehold Core together! You told me I was still your friend despite lying about my true form…please, Lin and I have been so worried about you, Pongo, we thought -”

“MY NAME IS STARR.”

The plural pronoun dropped as Starr hissed his name, his voice dripping with certainty and a strength he thought lost to time. It silenced Elma and the fucking disgrace in his mind, and only the ambience of the cave remained. His fists clenched at his sides, he heaved a sigh, trying to relax himself again. Part of him wanted to apologize for the outburst, but he wasn’t going to. He had been pushed to the limit and she had ignored that in favor of reaching out to something she couldn’t talk to. Starr wouldn’t let the fucking disgrace take control back - Starr was his doing, and Starr ran the show as his shield and his truth, a truth cemented in…

In loss. 

In an inability to do anything right.

In hatred of himself for all he had failed to be.

Starr was none of those things. Not a failure, not a lost cause. He wouldn’t be. 

“...Mamapon? What was big scary monster out there?”

Sprinkle Sprinkle broke the tension with a question, innocent and pure. Vanala stiffened noticeably, but kept the wing manipulating her fire ether raised high. She sat herself down, her little legs just barely noticeable beneath her round and fluffy body. 

“Sprinkle Sprinkle…knows Tale of Two Gods, yes?”

“It Sprinkle Sprinkle’s favorite story,” Sprinkle Sprinkle confirmed, their expression shifting towards horror as the implications became clear. “Was that…one of two gods?”

“Yes. Corvhesperikon,” She said tentatively, “Corvie is yggralith, being that feeds on ether.”

“But Tale of Two Gods says Dadapon and Mamapon killed big monsters!! How Corvie alive?”

“Yggraliths not like most creatures,” Vanala explained, “Yggralith only eat ether. If yggralith not eat ether for very long time, yggralith can die - or rather, yggralith falls into deep sleep. Looks like death to many. Can also die from using too much of own ether, in battle or healing own wounds. It is why Tale of Two Gods says that both yggraliths died.”

“But…how is Corvie alive?”

“After deep sleep, yggralith regain lost ether and is reborn. Corvie sleep for very long time, so ether all restored. Still hungry for more, though, and won’t stop until he feeds.”

Starr folded his hands in his lap, his legs finally relaxing on the cavern floor. Vanala’s admission to Corvhesperikon’s nature as a yggralith has turned into a whisper, resigned to the hands of fate. Starr tried to send her a smile, though he imagined it wouldn’t help and was far too obscured by his mask to reach her. Inside his mind, the other half spoke, pushing the fucking disgrace away from the forefront.

I was lucky when I enlisted Solstice to imprison Pharsis. Corvhesperikon and Syrianhydra were far stronger adversaries, but at least Froyoyo was able to defeat them.

“How did Froyoyo come to defeat those yggraliths?” Starr pondered out loud, in part a response to the planet and in part a question directed to Vanala. It was this question that made her melt, the stress and tension finally boiling over into defeat. A small pinprick of anger stabbed his heart, wondering how it was so easy for her to give up when there was still time to…to fix things? To defeat Corvhesperikon and save Vanala? What possible path could they take towards resolution?

“Vanala…not been honest about that, either,” Vanala confessed, “Vanala not honest about many things that happen during fight. Vanala thought she could keep secret for longer, but -”

“Wait.” Elma held up a hand, suddenly standing to attention. “Everyone, be still.”

She was looking to her left, beyond what Vanala’s light could offer and beyond the shadowed expanse. Starr slowly tried to find whatever she was staring at, or whatever she’d heard, why hadn’t she been more specific about why she wanted everyone to stop talking, was there something here with them -

“There’s a light.” Elma pointed, and Starr squinted to make it out. Sure enough, something flickered deeper into the cave, obscured by a wall of stone. There was surely a way to reach this light, considering its fullness, but nevertheless, his doubts fluttered forward. This had to be a trick, something was wrong with this. Or maybe it was more of the caravan, the lucky ones who’d escaped. Or…or what else? What else could there be?

“Should investigate,” Vanala said, “Maybe it - Sprinkle Sprinkle, wait!!”

The littlepon had already dashed ahead, curiosity driving their impulses before logic could fully take control. Vanala was up and following after him, leaving Starr and Elma trailing behind. Starr snuck one last glance at Elma, their eyes meeting again. He suppressed a shiver as the fucking disgrace whimpered in his mind, a sad little hypocrite that he felt wanting, wanting. He wasn’t allowed to want this, not when Starr was here. This was his fault. This was his doing.

Elma opened her mouth to say something.

“Pongo is dead,” Starr growled, “We do not care how many memories you share with him. You were not worthy of him. None of his friends were.”

“You’re wrong,” She told him, “He was a wonderful man who dedicated his heart and soul to protecting others and ensuring their happiness.”

“And he failed.”

“That wasn’t his fault, none of it was -”

“He sure thought it was. And we do, too, otherwise we would not be here.”

“What…what are you?”

Starr paused. What, not who. He was a what to her.

He kept walking, refusing to entertain the answer. He was a who. He was an entity all his own. Damn him to the pits of hell if he wasn’t.

Eventually Elma followed, though she took longer, processing his silence. They continued in this silence, walking towards the light.