#[May you name echo at war's end i will be your blade[One]

[misswynters]

Gilded Cage part two

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15k

synopsis. Born from house Arvino, one of the richest and influential families of piltover. You had it all from luxurious gifts, fancy meals, a magnificent bedroom and much more. You're parents gave you everything you asked for. However still never satisfied you. You're mind always looked at the injustice and suffering zaun was going through. That's when you first met ekko, the firelights' leader. Not very happy to have a pilty messing stuff up.

trope. "enemies to lovers"

warnings. slow burn, cursing, blood, drugs, kissing, death!, suggestive, kinda grinding against each other (clothed tho), angst

requested. by anon

a/n. it's more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) let me know if there’s any mistakes so i may fix it.

Darkness. An oppressive, suffocating void that seemed to stretch endlessly. You floated in its cold embrace, weightless yet crushingly burdened by the weight of your own thoughts. Memories flickered like dying embers, elusive and fragmentary. You could barely recall where you had been, what had happened, or how you had ended up here. The edges of recollection teased you: Ekko’s voice, steady and warm, calling your name. The heavy press of bodies at the Last Drop, the tang of alcohol mingling with smoke. Then a sharp, searing sting in your neck—and the world spiraling into oblivion. Now, you were adrift, lost in a sea of disjointed images and emotions.

Your mind was an unrelenting storm, twisting and turning with fears and insecurities you thought you had buried long ago. The sound of Margot’s cruel laughter cut through the fog like a blade, her words threading through your subconscious like venom. “He doesn’t care about you,” her voice echoed, dark and mocking. “You’re nothing to him.” You wanted to fight against it, but the darkness clung to you, invasive, as it dragged you deeper. Somewhere, faint and distant, there were voices that were sharp and unfamiliar. They seemed to be arguing, but the words were muffled.

“She’s worth more alive,” one voice said, cutting through the haze like a knife, dragging you closer to consciousness.

“Though, Dead might be less trouble,” another replied, cold and indifferent, a tone that sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

The words clawed at the edges of your awareness, snapping you back toward the surface of reality. Your body felt heavy, impossibly sluggish, but you fought against the pull of unconsciousness with everything you had. It was as if your mind and body were at war, one was desperate to wake up and the other held captive by a paralyzing weight. Slowly, agonizingly, your eyes fluttered open, and the harsh glare of a fluorescent light stabbed into your vision.

The room around you was cold and unforgiving, bathed in the sterile glow of artificial lighting that illuminated every inch of its metallic surfaces. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of rust and oil, and beneath it all lingered something acrid and chemical, clinging to your nostrils like a warning. The faint hum of machinery thrummed in the background, a low, ominous noise that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. You tried to move, but your arms were pinned to the cold metal chair beneath you, thick leather straps biting into your wrists. A matching set bound your ankles, and as you tested the restraints, they didn’t budge an inch.

A spike of panic shot through you as the reality of your situation set in. Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as your eyes darted around the room. The Chem Barons loomed before you, seated around an oval table at the far end of the room. The glow from the monitors lining the walls illuminated their faces, casting their expressions in stark relief. Each face was a mask of greed, malice, and twisted amusement, their eyes gleaming with predatory intent as they spoke about you as though you weren’t even there.

“She’s valuable,” one of them said, his voice carrying a sickening undertone of satisfaction. “Alive, she’s worth a fortune to topside. They’ll pay anything to get their hands on her.”

“Dead might be easier to deal with,” another replied, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “Still worth a decent haul. Less risk of her escaping, too.”

Your stomach churned as their words sank in. You were a prize to them, nothing more than a commodity to be traded for wealth and power. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to get out, but the restraints held firm no matter how hard you pulled. Your breathing quickened as you struggled, the leather cutting into your skin, and the faint taste of blood rose in your throat.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The smooth, taunting voice cut through the air like a blade, and your gaze snapped to the woman standing at the table. Margot. Her presence was magnetic in the worst way, her movements deliberate and calculated as she leaned casually against the table, arms crossed over her chest. Her lips curled into a smirk, her eyes alight with cruel amusement as she studied you, like a predator toying with its prey.

“Well, well,” she said, pushing off the table and taking a slow step toward you. “The perfect little topsider, all tied up and helpless. Not so high and mighty now, are we?”

You glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response, but the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she were amused by your defiance. She began to circle you, her heels clicking against the floor with each measured step, her presence oppressive and suffocating.

“Do you know where your little hero is right now?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. “Out there, playing the savior for Zaun. That’s his priority, isn’t it? Always has been. Zaun this. Zaun that.”

It seemed like the world around you shifted, like a bad dream slowly releasing its hold on you. And there it was, the overwhelming effects of the shimmer. Oh the pounding in your head, twisting of your thoughts, and voices echoing in your ears. Then it began to fade. It felt like dragging yourself out of quicksand, every inch a battle as clarity tried to surface through the chaos. Your breath came in shallow gasps, chest heaving as the purple haze in your vision began to lift.

Dim lights suffocated the room, illuminated by the faint flicker of old industrial lights dangling above. The Chem Barons lounged around the oval table, their laughter low and cruel as they watched your struggle with detached amusement. The factory scent in the air, mingled with the acrid sting of chemicals you didn’t want to identify.

Margot leaned casually against the table, twirling the now-empty syringe between her fingers with an air of smug satisfaction. Her lips curled into a grin that sent a wave of anger through you, though your body was too weak to act on it.

“Looks like you’re finally coming down,” she remarked, her tone almost conversational. “I’ll admit, I was worried for a moment there. Would’ve been a shame if you’d overdosed before we made use of you.”

You glared at her through the haze of exhaustion, your teeth clenched as you struggled to steady your breathing. “Go to hell,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and raw.

Margot chuckled, pushing off the table to approach you. “Feisty, even now. I like that,” she said, crouching in front of you so that her face was level with yours. Her eyes gleamed with twisted delight as she reached out, gripping your chin tightly between her fingers to force you to look at her.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” she murmured, her voice low and almost admiring. “But spirit won’t save you. You’re nothing more than a bargaining chip now.”

You jerked your head away from her grasp, the movement sharp despite the lingering weakness in your body. Margot let out an amused laugh as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Here’s the deal, sweetheart,” she began, her tone turning more like one of a businessman’s. “We hand you over to topside. You get to enjoy whatever punishment they’ve got waiting for you, and we get our prize money. It’s a win-win, really.” The other Chem Barons murmured their approval, the greed in their voices unmistakable.

You stared at her, your chest tightening with rage. “You really think I’d agree to that?” you spat, your voice laced with venom.

Margot shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching into a mocking smirk. "Oh, I don't need your agreement, darling," she replied smoothly, her voice dripping with condescension. "I was just being polite by giving you the illusion of a choice. Hey, but maybe we can work something out. Give me something useful. A secret, a connection, something, and maybe I don't have to hand you over." Her words were a sick game, a mockery of negotiation. You weren't stupid; you knew she had no intention of letting you go freely. Your anger bubbled over as you leaned forward as much as your restraints allowed, glaring daggers at her.

"I'll see you rot before I help you," you growled, the force of your words surprising even yourself.

Margot's expression darkened, and the smirk fell from her face. For a moment, there was silence, tension crackling in the air like static. Then, without warning, she lashed out, slapping you hard across the face. The sharp sting of her hand against your cheek was enough to make your head whip to the side.

"Stupid girl," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You think you have power here? You think you get to decide anything?" She took a step back, reaching into her pocket and pulling out another syringe.

Your stomach dropped as you saw the familiar glow of shimmer inside it, brighter and more concentrated than before.

"No-no, don't," you stammered, panic setting in as she approached.

"Don't what?" she mocked, her grin returning with a sadistic edge. "You already made your choice. Let's see if we can loosen that sharp tongue of yours."

Before you could protest further, she plunged the needle into your neck. Pain shot through your body as the shimmer flooded your veins, an uncontrollable heat spreading through your limbs. You let out a scream, your vision blurring as the drug took hold. The world tilted on its axis, the edges of reality fraying as hallucinations crept in. The Chem Barons' laughter grew distorted, their faces warping into monstrous visages. The room seemed to shrink and expand simultaneously, and the voices in your head (the ones you thought had faded) came roaring back with a vengeance.

You clawed at the arms of the chair, your nails digging into the metal as you tried to anchor yourself. Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that it felt like it might burst, and your breathing became erratic.

Margot's voice cut through the chaos, taunting and cruel. "Look at you, squirming like a cornered animal. It's almost poetic."

Your restraints clicked open suddenly, and you stumbled forward, barely catching yourself before hitting the ground. Margot stood over you, her hands on her hips as she sneered down at your trembling form.

"We're taking you topside," she announced, her tone laced with finality.

"Dead or alive, you're worth the same. But I think I prefer you like this, completely broken and barely holding on. It'll make the handoff more entertaining."

Two of her lackeys stepped forward, gripping you under your arms and hauling you to your feet. Your legs wobbled beneath you, the shimmer wreaking havoc on your motor control. The world spun violently as they began dragging you toward the door, your head lolling as you tried and failed to stay upright. Harsh sunlight hit your face like someone slapped you as they pulled you outside. The brightness was disorienting, and you squinted against it, your head throbbing. Air, heavy with the industrial tang of Zaun, and the sounds of machinery mixed with voices. Enforcers.

Ahead, you could see the bridge leading topside, a line of Enforcers waiting at the end with rifles slung over their shoulders. The sight sent a fresh wave of panic through you, and you thrashed weakly in the Chem Barons' grip.

"Let me go," you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

Margot walked alongside you, her expression one of smug satisfaction. "Save your strength," she advised mockingly. "You'll need it to grovel when you're thrown at the feet of the Council."

The closer you got to the bridge, the harder your heart pounded. You were barely holding on, your mind teetering on the edge of madness as the shimmer coursed through you. The voices in your head screamed louder, with the fear and anger that threatened to drown you.

Margot leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered "Don't worry, sweetheart. This is just the beginning." You gritted your teeth, determination flickering within you despite the haze.

The journey to Piltover’s inner walls was a blur of pain and exhaustion. Your legs refused to hold you, the shimmer coursing through your veins wreaking havoc on your body. Every step felt like a battle, your limbs trembling as Margot’s goons dragged you forward. The bright sunlight burned your eyes, and the Piltover’s bustling streets added to your disorientation. All of the voices of the enforcers were sharp as they spoke to Margot, thanking her and her men.

“Good work,” one of the officers said, his tone almost bored. “Your payment will be processed soon. We’ll take it from here.”

Margot smirked, her victory evident in her smug posture. She leaned close to you one last time, her voice a low whisper meant only for your ears.

“Enjoy the next chapter, darling,” she sneered. “If you survive, maybe we’ll cross paths again.”

You didn’t have the strength to respond. Instead, you slumped further as the Enforcers took hold of you, their grip cold. You tried to plant your feet, to resist, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and they dragged you forward without hesitation.

Piltovers inner walls loomed ahead, their pristine white stone a stark contrast to the grime and chaos of Zaun. Everything was suffocating, the streets lined with polished brass and bustling citizens who barely glanced your way. The shimmer made it hard to focus, your vision swimming with colors and shadows that didn’t belong.

By the time you reached the Council building, you were on the verge of collapse. The Enforcers hauled you through the ornate doors, their boots echoing loudly against the marble floors. Of course the air would be cold and sterile, filled with the murmur of voices and hurried footsteps as people passed by.

They led you into the grand council chamber, its circular design intimidating and imperial. The room was bathed in warm light from the massive stained-glass windows, depicting Piltover’s history in vibrant detail. At the center was the imposing council table, its surface polished to a mirror shine, where Ambessa Medarda sat like a queen upon her throne.

Beside her were your parents. Your father’s expression was like stone, his cold eyes fixed straight ahead. He didn’t even glance at you as the Enforcers placed you in one of the chairs facing the council. Your mother, on the other hand, was a picture of worry, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes were wide as they took you in, darting over your disheveled appearance and the faint glow of shimmer in your irises. The moment the Enforcers stepped back, your mother rushed to your side. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it left you breathless.

“My sweet child,” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “I was so worried about you.”

You barely had the strength to return the embrace, but her warmth was a calming sensation to your anxious nerves. She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, her hands cupping your face as she searched your eyes.

“What have they done to you?” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her gaze landed on the faint pink glow in your irises, and you saw her expression shift from relief to horror. “Shimmer…” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Her hands faltered for a moment before she composed herself, but the fear lingered in her eyes. She sat down next to you, her presence a small comfort despite the chaos raging within you. Your father, meanwhile, remained motionless, his gaze fixed ahead as if you weren’t even there. His indifference cut deeper than you expected, and your heart sank. He doesn’t care. He never has.

Ambessa’s voice rang out, commanding and unyielding, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to focus on her words. Your mother nudged you gently, her worried expression urging you to pay attention.

“Listen,” she whispered softly, but her voice carried an undertone of dread.

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on Ambessa. Her sharp eyes bore into you as she spoke, her words cutting through the haze.

“You have become a liability,” she declared, her voice devoid of sympathy. “A danger to the order and stability of Piltover. It is the council’s decision that you be sent to Stillwater Hold immediately.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of her words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Stillwater Hold, the maximum security, isolation, a prison for those too dangerous to be allowed freedom.

“No,” you muttered, shaking your head weakly. “No, you can’t—”

“This is not up for debate,” Ambessa interrupted coldly, rising to her feet. Her imposing figure seemed to tower over you, her presence suffocating. “You will be placed in isolation, cut off from all outside contact. Perhaps there, you will have time to reflect on your mistakes.”

Your mother’s hand gripped yours tightly, her knuckles white. She looked as if she wanted to speak, to protest, but no words came. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and you could see the conflict in her eyes.

Your father, however, barely reacted. He simply stood, his face betraying a flicker of surprise, but nothing more.

As Ambessa turned to leave, the Enforcers moved forward to restrain you once again. Panic clawed at your chest, your mind racing with the implications of her decree. You would be alone, cut off from everything and everyone you cared about. The thought of never seeing Ekko again made your heart ache, but then Margot’s words crept back into your mind.

He doesn’t care about you. He only cares about Zaun. But did he?

You shook your head, trying to dispel the doubt, but it lingered like a shadow. The Enforcers’ hands were rough as they pulled you to your feet, and your mother’s grip slipped away.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you looked at her. “Don’t let them do this.”

The hallway outside the council chambers was dimly lit, while there was golden glow coming from the chamber’s interior. The walls were lined with brass and marble, their polished surfaces catching faint reflections of the soldiers escorting you. Their grip was unyielding as they dragged you forward, your legs barely able to cooperate. Your body felt heavy, a dull ache spreading through your muscles, but the shimmer in your veins still faintly there. Almost like a silent threat waiting to be unleashed. Unpredictable.

Your mother walked alongside you, her hand clinging tightly to yours as if her touch alone could anchor you in this moment. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, her voice choked by the emotions roiling within her.

“You can’t do this to them,” she pleaded to the soldiers, her words soft but desperate. “They’re not a danger—they’re my daughter.”

The soldiers didn’t respond, their expressions stoic. They marched forward with mechanical precision, their polished armor clinking faintly with each step. You glanced over your shoulder at your mother, her hand tightening around yours as if she sensed the impending separation.

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Let me—”

Her words were cut off as the soldiers abruptly stopped, their grip on you tightening. One of them turned to her, his expression a mix of irritation and indifference.

“Ma’am, please step back,” he ordered firmly.

“No,” your mother said, her voice rising in defiance. “I won’t let you take my daughter!”

The soldier’s hand moved to pry hers away from yours, but she held on tighter, her knuckles white. Her desperation was palpable, each of her movements fueled by love and fear.

“Mother,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s okay—”

However, it wasn’t okay and it never would be. With being over dramatic that they would send someone to prison just for being a kind person. What kind of society was piltover, and how you could’ve been so blind.

The soldier’s patience snapped, and he moved to forcibly remove your mother’s hand from yours. The moment he yanked at her wrist, something inside you cracked. All the shimmer that had been bubbling beneath the surface roared to life, seeping in your veins. Heat spread through your body, the sensation almost euphoric.

Before you could think, your body moved on instinct. With a feral growl, you jerked free from the soldiers’ grasp. Your fists flew before you realized what you were doing, one striking the soldier nearest to you with a sickening thud. He staggered back, his helmet clattering to the ground, and you turned on the second soldier with the same ferocity. The shimmer gave you strength you didn’t recognize, each movement fluid and devastating. Your fist collided with the second soldier’s chest plate, sending him stumbling backward into the marble wall with a dull clang. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the shimmer’s intoxicating power coursing through you. The sensation was overwhelming, your limbs felt lighter, faster, and yet there was a wildness to it all, a lack of control that frightened you even as it exhilarated you.

Turning back, you stumbled into your mother’s arms, clutching her tightly as though holding her could tether you to the world and keep the chaos at bay. Her arms wrapped around you immediately, her warmth and familiar scent grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears burned at your eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again.”

“You will,” she said firmly, her hands gripping your face to make you look at her. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but her gaze was resolute. “I’ll find a way. I swear to you.”

Her promise felt like a fragile thread in the storm raging inside you. You wanted to believe her, but every step you’d taken since leaving Zaun seemed to lead only to destruction and despair. The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and you turned to see your father striding toward the chaos, his expression carved in stone. His cold eyes scanned the scene: the soldiers disarmed and you clinging to your mother. His lips twisted into a sneer of disgust.

“Enough of this display,” he snapped, his voice laced with venom. “You’re embarrassing yourself, woman.”

Your mother flinched at his tone, her grip on you tightening as though she could shield you from his words. “They’re our daughter!” she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. “How can you stand there and act like they mean nothing to you?”

“They don’t,” your father said flatly, his gaze flicking to you as if you were a mere inconvenience. “They’ve chosen to align themselves with filth, with criminals. They’ve disgraced this family, and I will not tolerate it.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, and your grip on your mother faltered. The shimmer inside you pulsed violently, responding to your rising anger. You could feel it clawing at the edges of your mind, urging you to lash out, to fight back.

“I never chose this,” you spat, your voice trembling with rage. “You abandoned me long before I ever set foot in Zaun.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, pulling your mother away from you with a firm hand. She resisted, but his grip was unyielding, dragging her back as she cried out in protest.

“Let her go!” you shouted, lunging toward them, but the shimmer’s effects were waning, leaving your body weak and unsteady.

The soldiers had recovered by now, and they seized you once more, their grips like iron. You struggled, but the strength you’d felt moments ago was gone, replaced by an aching exhaustion.

“Take them away,” your father ordered coldly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Father, please—”

“You are no child of mine,” he said, cutting you off.

His words echoed in your ears as the soldiers dragged you away, your mother’s cries fading into the distance. Your heart felt like it was shattering in your chest, each beat a reminder of how alone you were. All of the halls blurred around you as you were pulled toward your fate. The shimmer’s residual effects made the world feel surreal, the edges of your vision tinged with purple. Your thoughts spiraled, looping back to the same unbearable truth: no one was coming to save you.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, a flicker of defiance remained. The shimmer may have weakened, but it had left something behind. A burning determination not to let them break you. Never.

As you were led toward the transport that would take you to Stillwater, you clenched your fists, vowing to fight for every chance to escape, for every moment to prove them wrong. Whatever happened next, you would not give up. Not yet.

There were occasional crackle of old, sparking wires however the hideout was quiet. It should’ve been comforting, this kind of silence, which was a rare occurrence. But it wasn’t. It never would be, not with you missing.

Ekko sat hunched over his desk in the corner of the workshop, his head resting in his hands. The glow of the green light hanging above cast harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the exhaustion etched into his features. He hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t have the luxury of rest, not while you were out there somewhere, alone. Or worse. Dead.

The thought of what could be happening to you tightened his chest. It wasn’t like you to not come back without a word, and the reality of your disappearance had hit him like a freight train. He could still see you in his mind, sitting across the room from him with that subtle smirk you always wore when teasing him. You were always a little guarded, but he could read the warmth in your eyes when you let your guard down around him. That warmth haunted him now.

He slammed a fist down on the table, rattling a collection of discarded tools and blueprints. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

The door to the hideout creaked open, and Scar stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the floor. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, he knew better than to try when Ekko was like this.

“Any word?” he asked without looking up, his voice clipped.

Scar hesitated. “Not good news.”

Ekko turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Spit it out.”

Scar exhaled, crossing his arms. “Word on the street is there’s a bounty on their head. Big money, too. Dead or alive.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and fury.

“You heard me,” Scar said, his tone softer now. “Ambessa is the one behind it. And who else would want that good amount of money other that the chem-barons. So if I had to bet…”

“Margot,” Ekko growled, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as anger surged through him.

“Yeah,” Scar said. “She’s got her hands in everything these days. If anyone’s got the resources to snatch someone up, it’s her.”

Ekko couldn’t think. He grabbed the edge of the desk and flipped it in one violent motion, sending tools, papers, and scraps of metal crashing to the floor. Scar didn’t flinch. He’d seen him lose his temper before, though never like this.

“They took my friend!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “They were safe, or at least I thought they were. I should’ve—” He stopped himself, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“You couldn’t have known,” Scar said cautiously.

“I should’ve kissed them when I had the chance,” Ekko muttered bitterly, his voice barely audible.

Scar raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his admission. “Wait, you mean—”

“Don’t,” Ekko interrupted sharply, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need his commentary, not now.

Scar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, boss, I get it. You care about them. We all do. And tearing yourself apart isn’t gonna bring them back. You need to focus.”

“I am focused,” Ekko snapped, his eyes blazing. “I’ve been doing everything I can to find them. I’ve been working nonstop! But every second that goes by, they could be—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Scar stepped closer, his voice softening. “We’ll find them, Ekko.”

Ekko turned away from his second-in-command, his shoulders slumping. The weight of his responsibilities as a leader, as someone who cared about you more than he was willing to admit, was crushing him. He thought back to all the moments he could’ve told you how he felt. How he should’ve told you. Now, he might never get the chance.

“Do we have any leads?” he asked after a long silence, his voice low.

“Nothing solid,” Scar admitted. “But I’ll keep digging. And so will the others.”

Ekko nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. If Margot had you, then time was running out. He’d seen what the chem-barons were capable of, how they toyed with their captives before discarding them like garbage. The thought of you in their clutches made his stomach churn. He clenched his fists again, his knuckles white.

As Scar left to rally the others, Ekko sat back down amidst the chaos he’d created, staring at the mess of blueprints and tools scattered across the floor. He picked up a small gadget you’d been working on before you disappeared. It was a half-finished invention with wires sticking out at odd angles.

He turned it over in his hands, a lump forming in his throat. You were always so brilliant, so determined to make a difference in this broken city. How could he have let this happen to you?

“I’ll find you,” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “No matter what it takes, I’ll bring you back.” The promise felt hollow in the silence of the room, but it was all he had.

Smoky air filled around the abandoned factory that thick with decay, the scent of rust and mildew clinging to the walls like an oppressive fog. Inside, the dim light of a single hanging bulb swung precariously, casting jagged shadows across the cavernous space. Crates were scattered haphazardly, some half-opened to reveal pilfered goods and shimmer vials, their contents glowing faintly. Laughter and the clink of glasses echoed faintly, a mocking contrast to the somber silence of the building’s other corners.

Ekko crouched in the shadows near a crumbling brick wall, his mask concealing his expression but failing to hide the fury radiating from him. His staff was collapsed and strapped to his back, ready to be wielded at a moment’s notice. He had been tracking Margot’s operations for days, every lead bringing him closer to you. This factory, this desolate place reeking of despair, was supposed to be your last known location.

Inside, three men sat around a makeshift table fashioned from a wooden pallet and a few stacked crates. They were laughing uproariously, playing cards, and passing a bottle of cheap wine between them. Their demeanor was casual, careless. They had no reason to suspect that death itself was crouched a few feet away, waiting.

Ekko’s fingers flexed over the edge of the wall, the faint creak of leather gloves breaking the ambient noise. The goons’ laughter paused, one of them squinting into the shadows. “You hear that?” he muttered, his hand hovering near his knife.

Ekko stepped into the light, his mask catching the faint glow of the overhead bulb. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his presence was anything but. The sight of him was enough to make the men freeze, their drunken haze evaporating in an instant.

“Don’t move,” Ekko said, his voice low and cold, like the steel of a blade. He tilted his head slightly, a predatory gesture that sent shivers down their spines. “I’ve got questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you try to run, you won’t get far.”

One of the men, the burliest of the three, leaned back in his chair with a forced laugh, trying to mask his unease. “Questions, huh? You don’t look like an enforcer, kid. What do you want from us?”

Ekko’s fingers twitched, but he kept his composure. “Where is she?”

“Who?” another man asked, feigning ignorance as he leaned forward, his greasy smile exposing yellowed teeth. “We’ve got a lot of ‘shes’ around here. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Ekko took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots deliberate and sharp against the concrete floor. “Don’t play dumb. The girl you took. The one Margot had dragged out of Zaun. Where is she?”

The men exchanged glances, their bravado faltering under the weight of Ekko’s presence. But it wasn’t fear that made them hesitate, it was cruelty. Disgusting.

“Oh,” the burly man said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You mean your little girlfriend. Didn’t think a leader like you would be so sentimental. What’s it like, knowing Margot’s had her claws in her?”

Ekko’s grip on his staff tightened, though he didn’t extend it. Not yet. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said, his voice like gravel. “… She’s under my protection, which means you’ve made a very big mistake.”

The third man, younger than the others and visibly more nervous, chuckled weakly. “Margot did more than protect her. Injected her full of shimmer. Changed her forever.” He leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. “You should’ve heard her screaming. Begging for it to stop.”

Ekko’s vision got blurred. He didn’t remember crossing the room, but suddenly his hand was around the throat of the younger man, slamming him against the wall with a force that made the other two jump to their feet.

“I said sit down!” Ekko roared, his voice echoing through the factory like a thunderclap. The other two hesitated, their bravado crumbling as they realized just how dangerous this masked vigilante was. Slowly, they lowered themselves back into their seats, though their hands hovered near their weapons.

Ekko released the younger man, letting him crumple to the ground in a coughing heap. He turned his attention to the burly one, his body radiating barely contained rage.

“You think this is funny?” Ekko asked, his voice low and menacing. “You think I won’t rip this place apart to find her?”

“Relax, kid,” the burly man said, though his voice wavered. “You’re not a killer. Everyone knows that.”

Ekko smirked beneath his mask, though there was no humor in it. “You’re right. I’m not. But I don’t need to kill you to make you wish you were dead.”

With a flick of his wrist, he extended his staff and brought it down on the man’s hand with bone-shattering force. The sickening crunch was followed by a howl of pain, and the man clutched his mangled hand to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

“Now,” Ekko said, his voice icy. “Where. Is. She?”

The younger man scrambled to his knees, babbling incoherently. “She’s—she’s gone! Taken to Piltover! The boss wanted to claim the prize money! Please, man, that’s all I know!”

Ekko turned to him, his eyes burning with fury. “Where in Piltover?”

“I don’t know!” the man cried, his hands raised in surrender. “I swear, I don’t know! They took her meet ambessa at the council meeting! That’s all we heard before they left!”

Ekko studied him for a long moment, then stepped back, his staff retracting with a metallic click. “If I find out you’re lying,” he said coldly, “I’ll be back. And you won’t like what happens next.”

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. The factory’s silence returned, but Ekko’s mind was anything but quiet.

You were in Piltover. That much he knew. But the thought of what they might be doing to you, how far they’d gone already, made his blood boil. He blamed himself for letting this happen, for not being there to stop it.

“I’ll find you,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the factory. “No matter what it takes, I’ll bring you home.”

Shivering. The cold was the first thing you noticed. It crept into your bones and settled like a permanent ache, no matter how tightly you wrapped the thin blanket around yourself. The steel walls of your cell reflected nothing but your own hollow gaze, distorted in the warped metal like a ghost haunting itself. The dim, flickering light overhead buzzed incessantly, a monotonous drone that filled the silence.

Days bled into one another. Or were they weeks? Months? You couldn’t tell anymore. Food was delivered regularly, the plates piling up untouched on the small tray by the door. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, but the idea of eating felt impossible. It reminded you of before, of when Ekko had kissed you, then left you in an agonizing limbo of uncertainty.

Back then, you had at least been free. You could wander through Zaun, trying to escape the heartache in the neon haze of the Undercity. Now, there was no escape. No Ekko. No freedom. Just you and the cold steel cage that held you prisoner.

You sat on the edge of the cot, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The shimmer coursing through your veins was a cruel reminder of what had been done to you. It pulsed like molten fire, burning and twisting your thoughts. Your body ached, muscles spasming unpredictably, leaving you weak and trembling.

The voices were the worst. They came in waves, some screaming accusations, others whispering taunts.

“He’s forgotten you.”

“You’re nothing but a burden.”

“This is what you deserve.”

“Shut up!” you yelled, pressing your palms to your ears. But they didn’t stop. Instead, they multiplied.

“You’ll never see him again.”

“He’s better off without you.”

“You’re better off dead.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, hot against the cold air, as you rocked back and forth. You hated yourself for crying, for being weak, for breaking under their weight. But there was no one here to tell you otherwise. No one to hold you and say it would be okay.

You slammed the back of your head against the wall behind you, the dull thud grounding you for only a moment before the spiral began again. The sobs came harder now, wracking your body as you curled into yourself.

“Leave me alone,” you begged the voices, but they only laughed in response. And then, faintly, you heard something else.

“Hey!” The voice echoed down the corridor outside your cell, distant but distinct. Your head snapped up, your breath hitching as you strained to listen.

“Who’s there?” you croaked, your throat dry and raw from disuse.

The faint sound of footsteps grew louder, steady and purposeful. You squinted into the dim hallway, trying to make out the figure approaching the barred door.

“Leave me alone!” you cried again, shaking your head, convinced it was another hallucination. The shimmer had twisted your mind before; why would now be any different?

But the figure didn’t fade. Instead, it became clearer. Taller. Familiar. The scent of machine oil and faint traces of herbs reached you before the figure did, stirring something deep in your chest. Your heart raced as the figure came closer, the flickering light catching on the unmistakable outline of his goggles, his scarf, the curve of his jaw.

“Ekko?” you whispered, gripping the railing of your cot as you pulled yourself to your feet.

The figure stopped just beyond the bars, his hands curling around them as he leaned forward. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

“No,” you said, shaking your head violently. “You’re not real. You’re just—just another trick!”

“I’m real,” he said, his voice firmer now. “It’s me. See! Look at me.”

You stumbled forward, your legs weak and unsteady, until you reached the door. Your hands gripped the cold metal bars, your eyes searching his face for any hint of deception. But there was none.

“Ekko,” you breathed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

His hand covered yours, warm and grounding. “Hi,” he whispered, his voice thick with relief.

You choked on a sob, your knees buckling as you slid down to the floor. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here,” he said, his other hand slipping through the bars to brush a stray tear from your cheek. “In the flesh.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm against your skin a stark contrast to the cold that had consumed you for so long. “I thought…” You hiccupped, struggling to form the words. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I thought the same,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I wasn’t going to stop until I found you.”

Your fingers tightened around his, desperate to hold onto him, to convince yourself that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of your mind. “They said… they said you forgot me.”

“Never,” he said fiercely, his hand gripping yours with equal intensity. “Not even for a split second.”

You buried your face against the bars, your shoulders shaking as the tears came harder. “I’m terrified, Ekko,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You’re real,” he said, his forehead resting against yours through the bars. “I’m real. And I’m getting you out of here.”

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, anchoring you to the moment. For the first time in weeks, the voices fell silent. All you could hear was the steady beat of his heart and the unspoken vow in his gaze.

The air in Stillwater Hold was suffocating, thick with the acrid scent of damp metal and the faint tang of saltwater. The dim, flickering lights overhead buzzed like angry insects, casting ghostly shadows on the cold steel walls. Ekko stood outside your cell, gripping the large brass key in his hand, his knuckles white with tension. His mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes burned with fierce determination.

He glanced at you through the bars, his heart breaking at the sight of your frail form. You looked so much smaller than he remembered, your skin pale and your frame too thin. The shimmer’s effects were evident in the faint tremors in your hands and the shadows beneath your eyes, but there was still a spark in your gaze, a fragile but unyielding fire.

He took a steadying breath and inserted the key into the lock, his movements quick but not careless. The lock groaned in protest, a sharp metallic screech echoing in the corridor.

“How did you get that?” you asked, your voice hoarse but laced with curiosity.

Ekko’s lips twitched into a small smirk, though the weight of the moment kept it from fully forming. “Long story,” he said, his tone light but tinged with weariness. He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him. You could tell from the shadows in his eyes that whatever he’d done to get here hadn’t been easy.

He jiggled the key, muttering a low curse under his breath. “Of course, it has to be the trickiest damn lock in the whole place,” he murmured. You almost laughed at his frustration, the sound foreign and strange in this place of despair.

Finally, with a heavy clunk, the lock gave way, and the cell door creaked open. Before Ekko could fully process his success, you surged forward, throwing yourself into his arms with all the strength you could muster. The momentum knocked him off balance, and the two of you tumbled to the cold floor, his back hitting the ground with a dull thud.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, the breath knocked out of him for a moment. But then his arms tightened around you instinctively, cradling you against his chest as though you might disappear if he let go.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your thin arms clinging to him desperately. “Don’t let me go,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Of course not,” he whispered, his voice breaking as his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head. He felt how much lighter you were, how your ribs pressed against him like fragile bird bones. It was like holding a shadow of the person he remembered, and it made his chest ache with guilt and sorrow.

Your tears soaked into his scarf as you cried harder, your sobs wracking your frail body. “I thought—I thought I’d never see you again,” you stammered, your words broken by hiccups. “I thought I was going to die here.”

Ekko tightened his hold on you, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. “Not a chance,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to stay strong. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your tear-streaked face inches from his. “I missed you so much,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the only thing that kept me going.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The raw emotion in your voice cut through him like a knife, and he cursed himself for not finding you sooner. “Well no need to worry now,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “Im never going to leave your side”

Your arms tightened around him as if you were afraid he might vanish. “I’m never letting you go again,” you vowed, your voice trembling but resolute.

“I wouldn’t let you if you tried,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you close.

As the flood of emotions began to ebb, a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corners of Ekko’s mouth. “By the way,” he said, his tone lightening just enough to catch your attention, “your mom’s got some stories.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “My mom?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Xerah Arvino. Fancy name, by the way. She’s got opinions, especially about me.”

You let out a weak laugh, the sound surprising both of you. “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, his voice teasing. “She might’ve mentioned how you feel about me. Called you out, really.”

Your cheeks burned, the warmth of embarrassment cutting through the cold that had settled in your body for so long. “She didn’t,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

“Oh, she did,” he said, his smirk widening. “Guess she wanted to make sure I wasn’t oblivious.”

Despite your exhaustion, you managed a small laugh. “She’s always been… direct.”

“I like her,” Ekko admitted, his tone softening. “But you, Firefly…” He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the lingering tears. “I knew. I’ve always known.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket. “You did?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How could I not?” he replied, his voice filled with equal parts affection and disbelief. “You’re my light in the dark. Always have been.”

The warmth of his gaze, the steadiness of his presence, filled the void inside you that had felt so bottomless. For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed you might actually be okay. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as his hand stroked your back in soothing circles.

The inside of the air duct was surprisingly spacious, though its tight metallic walls didn’t leave much room for comfort. The hum of machinery vibrated through the structure, and the faint scent of oil and rust lingered in the air. Ekko’s hoverboard hummed softly beneath you, its energy signature blending seamlessly with the subdued mechanical symphony of Stillwater Hold.

“Hold on tight,” Ekko whispered, his voice low and cautious as he steadied the hoverboard under both your weight and his. His body was warm against yours, shielding you from the cold draft in the duct. You obeyed, gripping his waist tightly, your heart racing. Not only just from the escape but from the proximity, his warmth body against your own.

The hoverboard glided smoothly, its propulsion barely making a sound as Ekko maneuvered it through twists and turns. He had memorized the map of this place with a precision that made you marvel at his resourcefulness. You couldn’t help but wonder how many sleepless nights he’d spent planning this.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice steady but his grip on the hoverboard controls firm. His tone, though calm, carried the tension of someone who knew there was no room for error.

After what felt like an eternity, the dim blue light of the exit vent came into view. Ekko slowed the board and leaned forward, pressing a hand against the vent cover. It creaked slightly, and for a moment, you both froze, your breaths held. But when no alarms blared, he pushed harder, and the vent cover fell away, clattering onto the concrete outside.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at you.

You nodded, your heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through your veins. “Let’s go.”

With a quick adjustment, Ekko angled the hoverboard downward, the two of you sliding out of the duct and into the open air. The cold night breeze hit your face like a splash of water, a stark contrast to the stuffy air of the ducts. The stars twinkled above, unbothered by the chaos below, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the promise of freedom.

It took longer than expected to navigate back to your house. The ride was quiet, each of you lost in your thoughts, the weight of the escape pressing heavily on your shoulders. By the time you arrived, the familiar silhouette of the Arvino estate loomed before you, its elegant structure bathed in pale moonlight.

As you approached, panic flashed through your chest. “Ekko,” you said, your voice urgent. “What if someone sees us?”

“They won’t,” he assured you, his tone confident. “Trust me.”

He steered the hoverboard toward a thick cluster of vines that climbed the side of the house near your bedroom window. Landing softly on the grass, he helped you off the board and gestured toward the vines. “Think you can climb?”

You nodded, though your body was weak from weeks of confinement. His hands hovered near your waist, ready to catch you just in case you were to fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

With his help, you made your way up the vines, the rough texture scratching at your hands. When you finally reached the windowsill, you pushed it open and climbed inside, tumbling onto the familiar softness of your room. Ekko followed quickly, landing with a quiet grace that made you roll your eyes at his ease.

The moment your feet hit the carpet, a deep sigh of relief escaped your lips. You turned and launched yourself onto the bed, burying your face in the comfort of your pillow. The softness cradled you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. Kicking your feet excitedly, you let out a laugh that was equal parts relief and joy. “I can’t believe we made it,” you said, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko leaned against the wall, watching you with a soft smile. His arms were crossed, his frame relaxed for the first time all night. “You look happy,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

You turned over, sitting up on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling just above the floor. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you replied, your grin infectious. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

Ekko pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward you, his boots barely making a sound on the plush carpet. His smile remained, but there was something else in his eyes now. Love maybe?

Before you could process his movement, he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of you. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and suddenly, he was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath brushing against your skin.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as his eyes traced your face, lingering on your lips. It was as if he was asking for permission without saying a word. “Hmm…” you whispered to yourself thinking about something, your voice barely audible.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was fighting to keep his composure.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. “Yeah. I just…”

“Just what?” he murmured, his lips quirking up in a small, teasing smile.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

But you couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the way his presence seemed to fill the room. Slowly, as though giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned closer. The world seemed to fade into the background: the room, the night, the fear and chaos of your escape, until there was only him. Standing infront of you, leaning so close that you could feel him breathe.

“Can I?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your lips parted, and you nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first. But the moment your hand slid up to curl into his jacket, he deepened the kiss, his other hand moving to cup the side of your face. The weight of the world seemed to lift in that moment, replaced by a heat that consumed you, chased away the cold and the fear that had gripped you for so long.

Ekko’s breath was warm against your lips, and when he closed the gap between you, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. The kiss was soft at first, an unspoken confession of everything the two of you had held back for the last few months. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him to believe this was real. His lips moved with a desire that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers gripping your hips as though he never wanted to let go. Your hands slid from his shoulders to his jawline, tracing the sharp angles of his face, grounding yourself in the reality of his handsome face.

"You're lips are so soft," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and thick with emotion.

"I could stay that about yours," you replied breathlessly letting out a small chuckle. Your forehead pressing against his as you both caught your breath.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes searching yours. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of this... of you," he admitted, his voice soft but passionate, as though he needed you to understand the depth of his feelings. Of how much he had felt for you ever since the two of you met.

You smiled, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. "Took you long enough to realize," you teased, though your tone was gentle, almost reverent.

His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer, and you could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest. The air between you grew heavier, more charged, as the kiss became desperate. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly, earning a low sound from him that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The need that had been simmering between you for so long now threatened to boil over, every touch and every breath. Adding to the fire between you further.

You shifted slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, and the sensation made your cheeks flush. His grip on your waist tightened in response, his other hand cupping the back of your neck as he angled your face to deepen the kiss. His movements were urgent but deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment, every sound you made, every way your body fit against his.

Ekko's lips left yours, trailing along your jawline and down to your neck, his warm breath sending goosebumps over your skin. His fingers grazed the edge of your shirt, his touch featherlight but electrifying. "I love you," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with restrained emotion. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as your hands slid down his back.

Ekko chuckled, leaning forward to press another kiss to your lips, this one slower and filled with something deeper. His hands never stopped moving, one tracing lazy circles on your back, the other brushing strands of hair from your face. This moment felt infinite, like the two of you had carved out a space that existed only for the two of you. It wasn't until the door suddenly swung open, flooding the room with light. Startled, you froze, your lips still brushing Ekko's, as you both turned to see Anya standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh-oh my! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to- I was just—"

Before either of you could respond, she quickly turned around, flicking the light off as she shut the door behind her with a hurried, "I'll come back later!"

The room went back into the darkness, the only light coming from the moon outside. You and Ekko stared at the closed door for a second, stunned into silence. Then Ekko broke into a quiet laugh. "Well, that's one way to ruin the mood," he said, looking back at you with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You buried your face in his shoulder, groaning in embarrassment. "I am never going to hear the end of this from her," you muttered, your voice muffled.

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you as he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist. "Hey, at least she knows you're in good hands," he joked, leaning back slightly to meet your eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "This isn't funny, Ekko!" you protested, though your tone was far too soft to be convincing.

"Come on," he said, brushing his nose against yours. "It's a little funny."

You couldn't help but laugh then, the tension breaking as you leaned against him, your forehead resting on his. Closing your eyes, the only sound was that of the wind outside.

The early morning light filtered softly through the cracks in the curtains, painting the room in muted hues of gold and pink. The air was still, and there was peace. Ekko’s arm draped securely around your waist as your head nestled against his chest. His warmth was a shield against the cold realities waiting just outside, and in his unconscious state, he held you as if you might disappear. The two of you had found sanctuary, one where, just for a few hours, the chaos of the world couldn’t touch you. The chaos that was caused by just wanting to help others.

That illusion shattered when the door creaked open, followed by the hurried, uneven shuffle of footsteps. The sound pulled Ekko from his slumber instantly. His eyes snapped open, his instincts sharper than ever, and he propped himself up on one elbow just as Anya stumbled into the room. Her hand clutched her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers and staining her dress in it. The sight of her broke through the last remnants of your sleep, and you sat up, a chill running down your spine.

“They… they took her,” Anya gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe as she shut it behind her. Her voice was strained, trembling from pain and urgency. “Ambessa. She took your mother. They know… they know what she did.”

“Anya.” Ekko was on his feet in seconds, rushing to her side and steadying her before she could collapse. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the panic swirling just beneath the surface. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—sit down. Let me—”

“No!” Anya interrupted, her voice sharp despite the agony etched across her face. “There’s no time. They’ll come here next. You need to leave. Now.”

You stared at her, frozen in place. Her words echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like they were coming from underwater. Your chest felt tight, your vision narrowing as her message sank in. Your mother. Taken. By Ambessa. It was too much, all of it crashing down like a wave threatening to drown you. You wanted to scream, cry, do something, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. You felt yourself disassociating, retreating into the safety of numbness that you once knew because facing this reality head on was unbearable. As soon as you try to catch a break, there’s always something ruining it. It was almost as if the universe didn’t want to you be happy.

Ekko’s voice broke through the haze. “We can’t just leave you like this!” he said, his frustration mounting as Anya winced and doubled over. He ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt and pressed it against her wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. “Anya, stay with me. Where is she? Where did they take her?”

“I don't know,” Anya managed, her voice weakening as her knees buckled. “Ambessa… she’s going to lock her away somewhere. She knows what your mother did, how she helped you.” Her gaze shifted to you, her eyes glassy but full of determination. “You need to get out of here before they get here.”

You barely registered the words. The room around you seemed to spin, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Ekko glanced over his shoulder, concern etched across his face as he noticed your vacant expression. “Firefly,” he called softly, but there was no use. Your mind was blocking him completely.

He guided Anya to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands searching for something to stem the bleeding. “Who else was taken?” he asked, his voice steady despite the urgency in his movements.

“Just her,” Anya whispered, wincing as Ekko pressed a cloth against her wound. “I tried to stop them. I swear I did.” She glanced at you then, her eyes filled with an fear that mirrored your own. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get to her.”

You heard the words, but they felt distant, like echoes in a tunnel. Your body moved on autopilot, standing and grabbing a bag, stuffing it with whatever essentials were nearby. Ekko was saying something to you, his voice low and firm, but the words seemed blurred together. It wasn’t until he placed his hands on your shoulders and forced you to meet his eyes that you realized he was trying to snap you out of it.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softening as he searched your face. “We’re getting out of here. You with me?”

You nodded mechanically, though your gaze drifted past him, your focus slipping again. Ekko hesitated, his brow furrowing as he studied you, but there was no time to dig deeper. He turned back to Anya, his jaw tightening. “We’ll get her back,” he promised, though the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Anya sat there bleeding out with her hand holding her stomach, sadly there was too much blood. This was it for her. Your maid the one who you’ve spend you entire childhood with. Playing dolls, hide and seek, how she would help you with your homework due to yours parents being busy with handling trade routes, businesses and being councilors. You thought of her as an older sister, and now she was gone. Dead. All thanks to Ambessa and your father. That worthless excuse of a father.

After everything that just happened, how were you suppose to enjoy anything. The journey back to the hideout was a blur to you, not even focusing on how you moved above everything. The streets of Piltover passed by in a haze of colors and shapes, the city slowly waking to another day. You stood behind Ekko on his hoverboard, your arms loosely wrapped around his waist, your body moving only when the board shifted beneath you. You didn’t speak, didn’t cry, didn’t even flinch when the wind whipped against your face. The world felt muted, like you were trapped in a dream you couldn’t wake from.

Ekko glanced over his shoulder at you more than once, he had a worried look on his face. He didn’t say anything, every time he caught a glimpse of your glowing pink eyes and their unnatural light, it was a reminder of the shimmer coursing through your veins. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing for a way to bring you back to yourself, to pull you from the darkness that seemed to be consuming you. Slowly dragging you deeper into something he may never be able to help you get out of.

By the time you reached the hideout, the sun was fully up, casting harsh shadows across the abandoned buildings that surrounded the hideout. Ekko helped you down from the hoverboard, his hands lingering on your arms as he steadied you. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t acknowledge him either. He led you inside, the familiar smell filling the air, and guided you to the bed he had made for you when you first arrived.

“Stay here,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

You sank onto the bed without a word, your gaze fixed on the floor. Ekko watched you for a moment, his heart aching at the sight of you so lifeless, so unlike the fiery, vibrant person he had fallen for. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and helplessness bubbling beneath his calm exterior.

Hours passed in silence. The hideout was quiet, the usual activity softened as the other firelights gave you and Ekko space. He stayed close by, tinkering with gadgets and pretending not to watch you out of the corner of his eye. You remained in the same spot, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes staring into the middle of the wall.

As night fell, Ekko finally broke the silence. “You need to eat,” he said, setting a plate of food on the table near the bed.

You didn’t respond, and he sighed, pulling a chair closer to sit beside you. “Listen. I get it,” he said softly. “You feel like it’s all slipping away. Like nothing you do will change what’s happening. But sitting here, shutting down—that’s not you. That’s not the fighter I know.”

His words stirred something deep within you, a faint flicker of the person you used to be. You turned to him slowly, your voice hoarse when you finally spoke. “What if I can’t do it?”

Ekko’s expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. “Yes you can,” he said with quiet conviction. “I’m with you every step of the way. We will get your mother back.”

For the first time since the morning, tears welled in your eyes, though they didn’t fall. You nodded, the faintest hint of determination returning to your gaze. Ekko smiled, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he stood. “Please firefly. Get some rest,” he said.

When you finally lay down that night, it wasn’t on the makeshift bed Ekko had made for you. You slipped under the covers of his bed, your presence wordless but clear. He hesitated for a moment before climbing in beside you, his arms wrapping protectively around you as you curled against his chest.

You were left in awe. The mural was breathtaking. Ekko had worked on it tirelessly for hours, the paintbrush an extension of his hand as he brought Anya’s face to life on the wall of the hideout. Her eyes sparkled with the same determination you remembered, her smile gentle but firm. Behind her, he painted a swirl of warm, golden hues interspersed with fiery reds, symbolizing her unwavering courage even in the face of death. When he stepped back, covered in smudges of paint, he glanced at you with a quiet kind of sadness.

“She deserved this,” Ekko said, his voice low. “She gave everything to protect you. To protect what’s left of your family.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. Standing before the mural, you felt the weight of her sacrifice pressing against your chest. A small, fragile part of you hoped that wherever she was now, she could see this tribute, feel the gratitude and respect that burned through your veins. The only family you had left and yourself and your mother. But how long would that last. What if she were to die, who else would you consider family? You surely wouldn’t think of your father. After everything he did to you. No. It was pointless, you had no family.

Ekko turned to you after a long moment of silence, his expression hardening. “We need to talk about rules,” he said firmly.

You looked up at him confused, as your mind left the empty void it was in. “Rules?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not to be left alone. Ever. If I can’t be there, one of the Firelights will be with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

The hardness in his tone left no room for argument, but you still tried. “Ekko, I don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his eyes boring into yours. “What happened with your mother? With Anya? That was a wake-up call. We can’t afford to take risks anymore.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking in. He was right, but the thought of being under constant watch gnawed at your independence. Still, the raw concern in his expression made it impossible to argue further. But knowing how you were, taking risks was going to hard.

“The second rule,” Ekko continued, “is that we plan carefully before doing anything. No impulsive moves. No rushing in without a backup plan—or two, or three. And if things go south, we need to be ready to evacuate the hideout.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of leaving the hideout behind, but you knew it was a necessary precaution. Ekko wasn’t just thinking about you, he was thinking about everyone who relied on him. All the children.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I’ll follow your lead.”

Ekko relaxed slightly, though his expression remained serious. “Good. Now, there’s something I need to see.”

He motioned to the necklace you wore, the one he had given you weeks ago. You reached for it, pulling it from beneath your shirt, but your hands trembled too much to unclasp it. Wordlessly, Ekko stepped forward, his calloused fingers brushing against your neck as he worked the clasp.

There was a soft click of the necklace unlocking, making a shiver down your spine. Ekko lingered for a moment, his warm breath brushing against your temple before he pressed a gentle kiss there. His touch was grounding, pulling you out of the haze of fear and exhaustion that had consumed you.

“Come on,” he said, taking your hand and leading you back to his place. His workspace was cluttered with scraps of metal, gears, and tools, but the centerpiece was a large box that you hadn’t noticed before. Ekko placed the necklace into a small slot on the box, and with a faint sound, the lid unlocked and slid open.

Inside, nestled in protective padding, was a sleek wrist device. It was compact but intricately designed, with glowing blue accents that pulsed faintly. You stared at it, unsure of what you were looking at.

“What is it?” you asked, glancing up at Ekko.

“It’s a prototype,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “Took me months to design, and I nearly got myself blown up more times than I’d like to admit, but I think it’s ready now.”

Concern flickered across your face. “Blown up? Ekko—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off. “Relax, t’s fine. I’ve tested it. No explosions, I promise.”

You frowned but nodded, trusting him despite your apprehension. “What does it do?”

“It’s a utility device,” he said, picking it up and fastening it around your wrist. “It’s got a tracking function, a distress signal, and a shield generator for emergencies. If anything happens, you activate this, and I’ll find you. No matter what.”

You stared down at the device, the weight of it unfamiliar but oddly comforting. “You did all this for me?”

Ekko’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I’d do a lot more if it meant keeping you safe.”

He reached into the box again and pulled out a compact crossbow, its design as sleek and efficient as the wrist device. You stiffened at the sight, your stomach knotting with unease.

“I… I’ve never even held a knife, let alone a weapon,” you admitted, your voice barely whisper.

Ekko looked at you, his expression softening. He placed the crossbow gently on the desk and turned to you, taking both your hands in his. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, grounding you as his dark eyes searched yours.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly. “And I’m not asking you to become a fighter overnight. But things are different now. The people who did this to your mother, to Anya. They won’t stop. We need to make sure you can protect yourself if it comes down to it.”

You glanced down at the crossbow, then back at Ekko. His words made sense, but the thought of hurting someone, even in self-defense, sent a chill down your spine. Still, the determination in his eyes was infectious. He believed in you, and for him, you would try.

“Okay,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “Teach me.”

Ekko’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of relief in his expression as well. “We’ll start slow,” he promised, picking up the crossbow and turning it over in his hands. “It’s lightweight and compact, so it’s easy to handle. And it’s more for precision than brute force, which suits you.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly despite yourself. “Suits me? You saying I’m weak?”

Ekko chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, just saying you’re quick. Smart. You don’t need brute force when you can outthink your opponent.”

He handed you the crossbow, guiding your fingers to the proper grip. His hands were steady as they covered yours, showing you how to aim and adjust the tension on the string. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his focus never wavered.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “That’s the key. Steady your hands, focus on your target, and breathe.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your fingers trembling slightly as you raised the crossbow. It felt strange in your hands, foreign and dangerous, but Ekko’s presence steadied you.

After a few practice movements, Ekko took a step back, watching you with a mix of pride and caution. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, crossing his arms. “And when you do, no one’s gonna mess with you.”

You set the crossbow down carefully, exhaling a shaky breath. “Thank you,” you said, meeting his gaze. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Ekko shook his head, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. “You don’t have to repay me,” he said quietly. “Just promise me you’ll stay alive. That’s all I need.”

The weight of his words hung between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. You nodded, swallowing hard. “I promise.”

Satisfied, Ekko reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled back, gesturing to the desk. “We’ll go over more later. For now, you should relax.”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how exhausted you felt. The events of the past few days had taken their toll, and your body ached for sleep. Ekko led you to the corner of the hideout where your shared bed was now set up. You were tired for days, beyond exhaustion. Surprisingly now, you liked to sleep. Maybe, it was because of your lack of energy.

As you lay down, Ekko pulled a blanket over you, his movements careful and deliberate. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “Stay with me,” you whispered.

Ekko hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He kicked off his boots and slid under the blanket beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. His warmth was comforting, and as you rested your head on his chest, you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Zaun. The streets were always treacherous with now people lingered around. Dangerous people. You were walking back from a short supply run as the sun began to set over the horizon, the weight of the crossbow slung across your back almost forgotten as your mind wandered. Ekko’s words about being cautious echoed in your head. Always make a plan, always think before you act. He had drilled that rule into you countless times, but none of it mattered when you turned a corner and saw the scene in front of you.

A little girl, no older than seven, was backed against a crumbling wall, her tiny frame trembling. Two men loomed over her, their gruff laughter echoing down the alley as they taunted her. She clutched a stuffed toy to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. One of the men reached for her arm, and without thinking, you moved.

Your crossbow was in your hands before you realized it, the familiar weight grounding you. The shimmer coursing through your veins dulled your hesitation, sharpening your focus. The first arrow struck the shoulder of the man closest to the girl, a sickening thud silencing his laughter as he staggered back with a howl of pain. The second arrow found the leg of the other man, sending him crumpling to the ground. You moved quickly, reloading and taking aim again, though neither man seemed eager to continue.

“Get out of here,” you growled, your voice cold and unyielding. The men scrambled to their feet, one limping heavily as they disappeared into the shadows without a backward glance.

The girl was still pressed against the wall, her tiny hands clutching her stuffed toy so tightly her knuckles were white. You knelt down in front of her, setting the crossbow aside. “Hey,” you said gently, trying to soften your tone. “It’s okay now. They’re gone.”

Her eyes darted to the weapon lying on the ground, then back to your face. “You… you hurt them that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You swallowed hard, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. “I had to,” you said softly. “They weren’t going to leave you alone. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her grip on the toy loosening slightly. “No. Thank you, miss lady.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps behind you made you tense. You turned to see Ekko, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. Of course, he would show up. He always did. You noticed the small device in his hand and realized with a sinking feeling that it was a tracker. He must have known the second you fired the crossbow.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice low but firm as he approached you. “I told you to think before you act, to make a plan.”

You looked down at the girl, then back at Ekko. “She needed help,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the guilt creeping in. “I couldn’t just stand there.”

Ekko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he crouched beside you. His gaze softened when he looked at the girl. “Hey there,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Mila,” she said quietly.

“Well, Mila,” Ekko said, offering her a small smile. “You’re safe now. No one else is going to hurt you.”

The girl nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little. You reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Do you have any family, Mila? Anyone we can take you to?”

Her expression darkened, and she shook her head. “My mom… she died a long time ago. And my dad…” She trailed off, her voice cracking. “He left. He didn’t want me.”

By hearing those words. Gosh it hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. You glanced at Ekko, who was watching you carefully, his brow furrowed. He knew what you were thinking. Your father had abandoned you too, leaving you to fend for yourself in a world that was cruel and unforgiving. Mila’s pain was all too familiar to you.

You cleared your throat, trying to push the memories away. “Mila,” you said softly, “would you like to come with us? We have a safe place where you can stay.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she didn’t believe you. “Really?”

“Really,” Ekko said, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’ll be safe with us. I promise.”

Mila hesitated, then nodded, clutching her toy tightly. “Okay.”

You helped her to her feet, glancing at Ekko as the three of you started back toward the hideout. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. He waited until Mila was a few steps ahead before leaning closer to you.

“We need to talk about this later,” he murmured, his tone serious but not unkind.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d do it again.”

Ekko sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out and gently squeezed your hand. The gesture was enough to remind you that, no matter how angry or worried he might be, he was still on your side.

When you arrived at the hideout, the Firelights greeted Mila with curiosity and kindness, their youthful energy helping to put her at ease. You showed her to a quiet corner where she could rest, and Ekko gave one of the older Firelights instructions to keep an eye on her. Then he turned to you, his expression serious.

“Come with me,” he said, leading you to his workshop. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” you said, sitting down on the edge of the workbench. “I broke the rules. I acted without thinking. But, Ekko, she’s just a kid. I couldn’t let them hurt her.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “I do. But you can’t just jump into situations like that without a plan. What if they’d had weapons? What if they’d hurt you?” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you again y'know.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You stood and crossed the room, placing a hand on his arm. “You won’t,” you said firmly. “But I can’t stand by and do nothing when someone needs help and you know that. Its not who I am.”

Ekko nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours. “From now on, you need to be careful. Promise me that will you.”

“I promise,” you said, and this time, you meant it.

Ekko pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close to his body. He really did love hugging you. It’s not like you minded anyways, the way he hold you every time he did was endearing.

Shining bright through the sun was heavy as it seeped through the windows. Casting warm beams of light onto the small play area you and Ekko had carved out for the kids. Mila was a different child than the one you had brought in a few days ago. Her cheeks were fuller, a healthy glow replacing the pallor of malnourishment. Her hair, now free of dirt and tangles, was neatly braided in a style one of the older Firelights had taught her. She wore clean, simple clothes that fit her nicely, and the sight of her beaming smile was enough to make your heart swell. You began to love her as a little sister. One who needs to be protected from the harsh world.

You and Ekko sat cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a mix of giggling children who were eager to show off their toys as they invent new games. Mila gravitated toward you, her tiny hands tugging at your sleeve as she laughed at something one of the kids said. Her joy was infectious, and for the first time, you felt a lightness in your chest that had been absent since everything began. One that only appeared when you would share special moments with ekko, or in the past when you would make memories with your mother and anya.

“Watch this!” Mila declared, holding up a toy dragon that one of the Firelights had carved from wood. She mimicked the sound of its roar, moving it around in exaggerated loops. The other kids burst into laughter, and so did you, unable to resist the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Ekko teased, leaning back on his hands as he watched her antics. “Maybe we should make you our official storyteller.”

“Really?” Mila’s eyes widened, the idea filling her with excitement. “Can I, can I?”

“Of course,” you said with a soft laugh, though your voice came out a bit sharper than you intended. Mila didn’t seem to notice, but Ekko shot you a quick, concerned glance. The shimmer was still in your system, subtle but nevertheless present. It would sometimes heighten your senses, making you jittery. It was like holding a storm inside you, and no matter how hard you tried, it bled through the cracks sometimes.

Mila tugged your sleeve again, pulling your attention back to her. “What’s your favorite story? I can tell it to everyone!”

You hesitated, the warmth in your chest flickering. “Maybe later,” you said, your tone sharper than before. “Let’s keep it quiet for now.”

Mila frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. “But we’re not being loud—”

“I said keep it down!” The words snapped out of you before you could stop them, your voice harsh and biting. The shimmer roared in your veins, amplifying your frustration to a level that felt almost unbearable. Mila flinched, her toy dragon slipping from her hands to the ground. The head of the dragon broke from its body, and you watched as it rolled towards your feet. The other kids fell silent, their wide eyes darting between you and the little girl.

Mila’s bottom lip quivered, her hands trembling as she reached for the dragon. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She clutched the toy to her chest and bolted from the group, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Silence. It was suffocating. The other kids stared at you, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. Ekko was on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing as he grabbed your arm and pulled you aside. Away from prying eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, keeping his voice low but firm. “She’s a kid, and you just yelled at her like she did something awful.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said quickly, guilt clawing at your chest. “It’s the drug—it’s messing with my head. I didn’t mean to scare her.”

“You need to get it under control,” Ekko said, his tone softening but still stern. “The poor girl looks up to you. She trusts you. You can’t let the drug make you into someone she could afraid of.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you looked in the direction Mila had run. “I’ll talk to her,” you said quietly. “I’ll make it right, okay?”

Ekko nodded, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before letting go. “You’d better,” he said, though his voice held more concern than anger. “She needs you to be better than this.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed the faint sound of Mila’s sniffles to a secluded corner of the hideout. She was curled up on the floor, her back to the wall and her headless toy dragon clutched tightly in her arms. Her small shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and the sight made your chest ache.

“Mila,” you said softly, kneeling down a few feet away from her. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look at you, her face buried in the dragon’s wooden wings. “You yelled at me,” she said, her voice muffled but heavy with hurt. “I didn’t mean to be loud…”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I wasn’t angry at you, Mila. I’m just… not feeling like myself today but hat’s not an excuse. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

Mila peeked up at you, her tear-streaked face breaking your heart. “You promise you’re not mad?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes i promise you that,” you said, reaching out slowly. She didn’t pull away when you rested a hand on her knee. “You’ve been so brave and strong since you came here, Mila. I’m really proud of you. And I’m really, really sorry for making you feel like you did something wrong.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, she reached out and placed her tiny hand on top of yours. “Okay,” she said softly. “I forgive you.”

Relief flooded through you, and you pulled her into a gentle hug. She wrapped her arms around your neck, her headless toy dragon squished between you. “You’re my favorite grown-up,” she whispered, her voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with emotion. “Well, you’re my favorite storyteller,” you said, pulling back just enough to see her face. “How about we go back and tell the others a story? You can even make one up about a scary headless dragon.”

Mila’s eyes lit up, her earlier sadness melting away. “Okay!” she said, her smile returning in full force. “But you have to help me make it really good.”

“Deal,” you said, standing and taking her hand. As you walked back to the play area together, you glanced over your shoulder to see Ekko watching from a distance, a small smile tugging at his lips. As you stood beside mila and the other kids, you somehow managed to glue the head back to the headless dragon. Now it wasn’t headless anymore. Mila looked up at you, thanking you for fixing her dragon. A smile crept up her face. Even thought it was a small gesture of kindness after you made her cry, she thought it was a big deal. It was precious how mila would think even the smallest things were the best thing. Adorable.

You definitely knew that you still had work to do on yourself. To control your emotions and impulses but as well as being a person Mila could to look up to. However as her laughter rang out again, you felt a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be that person after all.

But was it true? The lines between reality and fiction began to converge. It all made sense as the waterfall’s thunder filled your ears. You stood motionless on the ledge, staring at the mirror-like surface of the lake below. Your reflection rippled faintly, distorted by the spray of water. You didn’t see yourself as you were, but only what you feared you had become. Mila’s tear-streaked face flashed in your mind, her sobs echoing louder than the rushing water. The guilt felt unbearable, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. Your trembling fingers brushed against the edge of the rocky ledge, the cold biting into your skin. A sob escaped your throat as tears fell freely, mingling with the mist around you. You apologizing to mila and fixing her headless dragon was all fake. Your mind imagined it. So right now mila was sad, hiding in a corner as she cried. What a horrible person i am.

“Maybe they’d all be better off without me,” you whispered to the air, your voice trembling as it was swallowed by the roar of the falls. The words left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind. You had tried, tried so hard to fit in, to make Zaun feel like home. Yet every mistake, every outburst reminded you that you didn’t belong. The Firelights were kind, but they didn’t understand you. Mila didn’t deserve your anger, and Ekko didn’t deserve the chaos you continued to bring into to his life. You stepped closer to the edge, the rocks shifting beneath your feet.

The world seemed to narrow as you took another step forward, your gaze fixed on the lake below. You fell silently, the cold air rushing past you before the icy water enveloped you like a second skin. The cold was shocking at first, stealing your breath, but then everything went quiet. You sank deeper, the surface growing distant as the weight of the water pressed in from all sides. The noise in your head didn’t stop, though. It only grew louder, something you couldn’t escape.

Images of your mother flickered in your mind, her smile fading like a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto. Anya’s laughter echoed, only to be drowned out by the sharp voice of your father. You’re not good enough. You never will be. The words clung to you like chains, dragging you deeper into the lake. You thought of Piltover and how it had abandoned you. Whereas with Zaun, you were nothing more than an outsider. Even here, even with Ekko, you felt like a burden. The water cradled you, its silence deceptive as your body floated aimlessly. You closed your eyes, hoping for darkness, for peace, but it didn’t come. Nothing was ever easy for you.

Instead, the world exploded in sound, a loud splash followed by muffled movements cutting through the water. You opened your eyes to see a figure diving toward you, moving with urgency. Ekko. His form was unmistakable even through the distorted water. He was always saving you after you do something stupid. How long would this last? When would it be the last time that he would save you?

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you upward with a strength you couldn’t resist. You felt the rush of cold air as he broke the surface, his grip on you tightened as he dragged you to the shore. His breaths came heavy, his movements frantic as he laid you down on the damp grass.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. He crouched over you, his hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes searched your face. “Do you even understand what you just did?”

You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze. “I—I didn’t mean for you to find me,” you said weakly, your voice trembling. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m tired of feeling like this.”

“That’s not an excuse!” His voice cracked, his frustration palpable. “You don’t get to just give up! And leave me like that.” He paused, taking a shaky breath before softening his tone. “Damn it.”

A small voice broke the tense silence. “Why did you do it?” Mila stood a few feet away, her eyes wide and tearful as she clutched her arms tightly. “Did I do something wrong? Was it because of me?”

Your chest tightened, the guilt suffocating as you shook your head. “No, Mila. No. It wasn’t your fault,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong. I let my anger get the best of me, and I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Mila hesitated, her small hands twisting nervously in front of her. “You said you cared about me. But then you yelled… I thought…” Her words trailed off, her voice breaking.

Ekko placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “It’s not your fault, Mila,” he said gently. “Sometimes grown-ups do stupid things when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t mean we stop caring. You’ve gotta trust me on that.” He glanced at you pointedly, his meaning clear.

You sat up slowly, your body trembling from the cold. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, this time to both of them. “I was selfish, and I wasn’t thinking about what it would do to you. I never wanted to hurt either of you.”

Mila stepped closer, hesitating before reaching out to touch your hand. “Are you gonna be okay now?” she asked softly, her voice still uncertain.

You nodded, tears threatening to fall down your face as you squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll try to be. I promise.”

Ekko sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he helped you to your feet. “We need to find something to help you with this,” he said firmly. “I need the old you back. I want my firefly back.”

There was no way that a cure for shimmer exists in Zaun. And even if it did, even if someone had it, they wouldn’t give it up that easily. Not without a fight. Maybe you had to deal with your new life, the one were you were unstable and unpredictable. How can someone love a person like this. How can someone do deserving of something better like ekko deserve a person like you?

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[kujiba]

||MAY THE LAND CONCEAL YOU, DEAR GRACE||

୨୧ — ꒰ gn!reader | they/them prounouns | Sagau | cultish behavior

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 6

A/n: I had a good shit today so I'll bless you all with a new chapter ( not proof read, correct me in any mistakes)

Jean's clear sapphire eyes gawked at the sight of an empty room, it's walls barely hanging by a thread, an attempt to keep everything in it's place; it's reason being directed towards the widely open area that leaves to the vast outside world.

Her lip's trembled with outrage by how their prisoner (Name), had breached through their defenses and escaped under their noses without anybody noticing only till the last second. Jean's fists tightly curled up into a ball, a fire starting in her heart that will not extinguish till her target is brought to justice.

Only imagining how that person could be running around freely in their lives without any consequences daring to come back and tear their life down made Jean's stomach twist and turn out of disgust.

5 hours till (Name)'s execution.

5 hours till they could find (Name).

Jean's mind had been put on a road, a road she will follow till the end of her lifetime, she dared not to look back at her actions and consequences. For her heart knew what must be done in order to preserve justice among the townsfolk, among her people and friends.

Her gloved hand made it's way to the hilt of her sword and drew it out towards the crumbling barrier "Hunt down (Name)! Issue every individual to hunt for them in the land. Those who successfully capture (Name) will be granted a reward of 2,000,000 Mora" Her voiced boomed around the thick interior, the knights accompanying her gladly followed and raised their own swords as well "Kill the fraud! Kill the fraud! Kill the fraud!" They chanted all together, a declaration of war happening towards one individual.

"Kill the fraud under any circumstances!"

!!!!

"Ugh why do I have to do this again?" You grumbled under your breath with irritation as you wielded a plain sword you had gotten for free from the system tightly in your hands. By your side was the system, navigating you through your needs to grow more powerful and stronger.

MISSION:

Kill 50 slimes [24/50]

Kill 50 hilichurls [12/50]

Kill 3 Ruin guards [0/3]

Rewards: advance to level 25, unlock 4 star weapon, +1 level up to talents

You scowled at the words displayed infront of you, of course it had to have all sorts of missions... You disliked it but deep inside you knew no other choices were displayed infront of you. Taking a deep sigh the tip of your sword met with the strange liquidity substance of an hydro slime, piercing it to death. The details were very much more advanced than you had seen from the game, every move; you felt it. This wasn't a dream, the blood you've taken from hilichurls wasn't a dream, being locked away was definitely not a damn dream.

'No.. What am I thinking, I have to focus on completing this stupid mission' You sighed to yourself contemplating whether or not you're finally safe. Turning your blade against another pack of slimes who had spawned from the ground, you dashed towards the creatures and shredded their bodies into small fluids that fell onto the floor, some also getting stuck on your sword much to your dismay.

As your focus shifted to cleaning off the translucent fluid on your blade the system suddenly began going haywire, loud and consistent beeping echoed through the screen as you were forced to face it to find out what is making that unpleasant sound come from the screen.

" WARNING! WARNING! DANGER IS RAPIDLY APPROACHING [INITIATING AUTO MODE] "

A bright crimson text presented itself on your face, the words reflecting against your eyes as you tried to comprehend what the system was trying to do, your lips quivered trying to find words to say to mutter but only a deaf silence came. Your silence quickly faded as you let out a cry, you felt a sudden strong ache on your shoulder as if something had pierced through you (it didn't help it felt like it was burning too).

Looking to your side your pupils stopped at a blazing wooden arrow had penetrated your own shoulder, crimson liquid trailed down your clothes staining it whole while your own knees decided to give in, dropping to the ground. Round droplets of tears falled down your cheeks for the pain had reached through your brain at lightning speed, your palm grasped the wound tightly, an attempt to stop the bleeding.

"Agh, who..." You managed to mumble out those two words out of your unsynchronized breathing, a pair of (E/c) pupils darted around the vast green land to wiggle out the source of the one who attacked you.

It barely took a second till your sight landed on a familiar brunette at a distance, her gloved hand gripped her bow tightly as she summoned 3 pairs of arrows, aiming directly towards your direction. You were quickly alarmed by the girls actions, your mind quickly flooded with a thousand questions as to why Amber had suddenly attacked you for no reason.

"Amber?...." you whispered out her name and quickly regretted it seeing as her expression stiffened even more: "Shut it. Don't ever say my name out of that disgusting mouth of yours" She stated out her words loud and clear, you could barely even gather any of the previous amber you know and love deep in your heart. The throbbing pain in your shoulder muscle only covered as a nuisance at your disposal, you peered down at your legs that were covered in dirt and small ounces of blood that came from your shoulder.

You hesitantly looked back at amber to see what she was doing only to find out she had been gathering the knights at favonius towards your direction. 'SHIT! SHIT! System!' your desperation reached through the system, begging it to help you in this situation. You shutted your eyes tightly, hoping that you would only hear the systems voice the next moment and not Amber's or any of the knights of favonius.

A familiar voice rang out inside your ears that let you breathe a sigh of relief

[INSTALATION COMPLETE, ENTERING AUTO MODE]

The Ai like voice were very last thing that went through your mind before your vision began to fade along with your consciousness. You felt your body didn't meet the solid ground yet but only remained standing, your mind wondered on events that were taking place while you weren't in control of your own body.

The sounds that you could vaguely differentiate were the sounds of Jean's roaring voice along with rapid footsteps coming your way, you only hoped deeply that once your eyes flutter open again, you will be in a much safer area and far away from mondstat.

✧✧✧

Jean's gloved hand tightly held the hilt of her sword, it's blade reflecting against the golden and copper colored mixture of the sky around them. A small wind blew past her blond locks making her sapphire eyes and stern expression ever the more clearer.

Beside her was the knights of favonius, that included Kaeya, Amber, Lisa and Noelle. Jean's gaze shifted to noelle as she mentally shook her head at the young girls decision to come along. She would've much preferred Noelle to be out of this hunt/battle but the maids persistence was rock solid, she had stated herself 'My loyalty to the knights of favonius is as strong as my love for the creator. I will not let some foolish scoundrel get away with this.'

With a final nod, Jean straightened her back and pointed the tip of her blade towards the direction of (Name), her expression cold as ever towards them: How could she not afterall? This was certainly not a first for someone to suddenly step up and declare themselves as the creator just to gain power and control everyone. Her lips scowled lowly with her gaze piercing through (Name)'s skull.

"Imposter! I, the acting grand master Jean declare you an enemy of Mondstadt. You dare to fool us again with your pathetic tricks? Your head will be displayed at the center of Mondstadt, to show and warn any of your other repulsive companions" As her voice boomed across the vast land her followers roared in agreement, declaring that (Name) was a dunce for even attempting to step inside their borders.

(Name)'s head only hung low facing the ground, their expression unclear but Jean took that as a sign to take charge, she putted her blade infront of her face flat and quickly turned it vertically, she soon casted her ultimate "Wind, hear me!" the very same time she announced her burst a glowing circular anemo field surrounded the knights of favonius as small little dandelions floated in the air.

The anemo field casted as an attack buff for the party as many began charging towards (Name)'s direction. Kaeya being the fastest one and summoned his own ultimate "Don't get a frostbite" he smirked, raising his palm in the air, a glowing white emitted from his hand which then summoned large cryo icicles around his body, those icicles which almost pierced (Name)' s limbs if they hadn't swiftly jumped back and dodged them all.

"Heh, Dodge this!" Kaeya thrusted his sword towards (Name) as the same pure cryo icicles came out of his blade. (Name) was about to dodge once again to avoid Kaeyas attack but noticed how he was smirking the whole time, why was he smirking? (Name) felt someone's gloved hands touch their back: that was because Lisa who had abruptly appeared behind (Name) had her hand on them.

Without a second, a sudden surge of electricity flowed through their body top to bottom, (Name)'s body having some small little violet electrical effects. Lisa hummed in satisfaction, her lips turning upright as she backed away from them "Aha, How dirty." She expressed teased in such a mocking voice towards (Name), after all they were another fraud attempting to cheat through the top.

"Nice one, Lisa" Kaeya added then began clapping both of his hands together "I'll leave the rest to you, Noelle" Kaeya's slate blue eyes fixated on the young maid behind him who only gave a affirmative nod "Time to clean up." Noelle brought out her claymore which then started to quickly glow with a beautiful golden color at her words.

(Name)'s automatic system were slightly damaged by the electricity given by Lisa, but thankfully recovered enough to catch the young maidens claymore in mid air.

Noelle gasped in bewilderment, that action also shook Kaeya, Lisa, Jean and the other knights of Favonius to their core "You..." Noelle muttered to (Name) with her hands slightly shaking "Are you actually?-...." yet Noelle couldn't finish what she was trying to say before getting thrown away by (Name)'s brute strength alone.

She stumbled over the grass and used her claymore to keep balance, her eyes never taking off (Name)'s figure for even a second.

(Name) used the opportunity immediately and ran away from the knights of favonius while they on the other hand were trying to process what just happened.

Jean tightly held the grip of her sword with a face full of confusion and hatred towards the unpredictable individual. Jean bit her lip with her gaze on the area where (Name) previously was, with a long sigh she letted go of her blade, the item fading into small little yellow particles.

"They're still injured. They can't run for long." Jean maintained a stoic expression towards the knights of favonius, yet deep inside, her burning flame of hatred towards (Name) only kept growing by the second.

Kaeya nodded his head to Jean's words and also made his sword dissapere in the meantime. Even though (Name) successfully escaped Kaeya couldn't help but smile "Oh poor Imposter, they should've just complied and come with us" He shook his head in dissapointment of their actions "Now you will have to face the wrath of my dear brother."

The knights of favonius weren't the only people after you, every inch and corner of Mondstadt has people bloodthirsty for your blood to be spilled on their territory. The woods, the caves, the mountains, each one of those have people ready to attack incase the Imposter comes for protection and shelter.

But no one could compare to the absolute beast a certain redhead becomes in the night, where he swore to spill the Imposters blood in his hands and leave their flesh to be ravaged by the animals. His siganture weapon The Wolf's Gravestone, a long and heavy claymore with its design having a crimson red and dark shaded black with rough textures. It's color would shine brighter in the night sky where the moon would reflect it, only those who were killed by the holder could witness the beauty of the weapon and the murderous son of Master Crepus; Diluc Ragnvindr

...

You lowkey felt that all of what happened was just you being high while dreaming cause one; why are the characters you cried, sweat, and worked so hard for trying to hunt you down like you were in the hunger games.

And two, why the heck did you woke up in a dark cave with so much injuries!? It hurts like shit! You would've thought the moment you got your conscious back from the system you would be safe and sound. CLEARLY, alot had happened when the system was taking over your body.

As you were brainstorming ideas on possibilities and attempting to remember how to be like Katniss everdeen a blue screen popped up beside you once again, this time it showed your current stats

...

LVL 17/25

Max hp: 500/1,237

Atk: 234

Def: 100

Elemental mastery: 1,000

Max stamina: 240

Crit rate: 30%

Crit damage: 90%

Energy Recharge: 400%

"... what the hell" Your mouth dropped seeing how fast your stats advanced so much, all that after grinding for 2 hours!? Has the system finally took pity on your sorry ass and gave you a blessing?!

Aside from that your brows furrowed slightly at your health. Your hp bar is currently at orange since your body took alot of blows, classic game design.

But all that aside, it was definitely shocking to see your previous low level stats ascend to higher numbers by only using like 20% of your own body power. And with just that simple buff, maybe you'll let the system live another day..

[System entering automatic shut down after overheating, Duration: 2 Hours]

You take everything back.

'Curse you system! How dare you take over my body and make me wake up like I've just been at war!!' Your hands tightly balled up, clenching tighter and tighter by the second a clear vein popping out of your forehead with it bulging slightly.

Out of frustration the side of your clenched hand met with the surface of the cold, solid ground of the eery cave. The sound echoing throughout the interior of the place growing smaller and smaller by the second,

You quickly regretted that decision though since your hand hurted like hell, the skin turning slightly red because of the impact received from the ground below.

You brought your swollen reddened hand closer to your chapped lips to blow on it carefully, you're severely dehydrated and starving, not to mention the never ending stinging of the wounds on your body you received from the fight.

If you were honest to yourself. Sitting inside a dark and empty cave with nothing but the deafening sound of silence was uncomfortable. The system would return after 1 hour and 29 minutes, so you just had to find out a way to survive without it for a while.

You'd grown used to hearing small little 'ping!' from the system and getting flashed with a bright blue screen on your face. But now it's just you and well... You.

Your (e/c) eyes glanced towards your vision dangling from the side of your hip. You took notice on how it weirdly was glowing all of a sudden, isn't this when a characters burst is charged up?

Unfortunately.

You cannot press Q or any button to just automatically cut into a burst animation, Actually are you a 4 star or 5 star?...

"Dang I think I broke it." You mumbled to yourself while your index finger slightly scratches your cheek, the system was a jerk since it refuses to give you a simple guide on how to do this and that.

Your body shuddered like a leaf as a cold harsh wind blew inside the already dark and gloomy cave. Stands of hair flew towards your face making you looks more haggard than before, but you still protectively turned your back to face away from the intense breeze.

Bringing your legs closer to your chest to emith warmth around your freezing and shaking body you leaned the side of your head on the stone wall then began slowly itching more and more towards the darkness to make a distance from the cave gate since it looked like it was beginning to rain heavily tonight.

To cope with your issues and problems, you instinctively began ranting inside your head with your expression full of dissapointment and annoyance

''Damn reincarnation, nothing good happened! All I got was getting kidnapped then hunted down?!''

If you could freely activate your dendro vision things would be much helpful for you!! But NO your skills are locked away from the system, you're unable to level up or grind to ascension since the knights of favonius and people of Mondstadt could be everywhere!

If bitch was a person they 100% must be fucking with you.

But then, your ranting came to an abrupt halt as the sounds of footsteps began closing in on you. Footsteps that didn't seem to be a mob nor group, but instead coming from one person.

You felt a cold sweat drip down your cheek with multiple scenarios racing through your mind gathering every and any possibility that could happen once they found your hide out.

You quickly covered your dendro vision using your own clothes as a coverage since it was still glowing brightly throughout the gloomy cave, and being the only source of light aside from the radiating moonlight high above the jet black sky with many stars accompanied by it.

"If I can't see them then they can't see me." You internally thought to yourself and quickly took advantage of the caves darkness, using it to cover and blend in with the surrounding area and hide from whatever is out there.

You hoped to yourself and prayed that it was just some random npc who doesn't give a single fuck about you and let you off the hook, what you DESPERATELY don't wish for is some vision holder coming out for you, especially a certain blonde, brown and red haired trio.

"If you can see me through this darkness then you must have some sort of 24/24 vision or something" you lamented in your head while dozing off to some random school memory you had in your past that was until two large pair of black boots stopped directly infront of the caves entrance making you freeze and mentally shit yourself.

"WTFF!! I know those shoes anywhere! Since I worked my ass off to buy that very skin!!" Your mouth dropped to it's lowest seeing as they began to slowly move towards where you were hiding at. You immediately shifted positions quickly and as quietly as you can, using both of your hands to hide any loud breathing or sounds you might accidentally let out.

Your eyes shrinked while eyeing their gloved hand feeling around the pitch dark area you were previously sitting in. Your only choices now was hope they don't find and grab you before ending your right there and then, or make a run for it.

Second choice not looking so good huh

"You can't see me, you can't see me" You repeated endlessly to yourself while trying to stop your body from shaking like a leaf that just got blown over by a strong gust of wind. The person eventually retracted their hand from the dark and took a step back and towards the caves entrance making you sigh in relief.

Your eyes that were ungulfed in darkness looked towards them, their hair color not being much clear to you since you guys were inside a cave without any source of light other than the caves entrance, with a small nod you unconsciously formed a small smile "Thank goodness... Now just go awa-" But that happiness quickly dissolved for you felt a gloved hand roughly grab you by the collar of your shirt and threw you to the caves entrance where the moons light shined down on your body, revealing your presence to them.

"Fuck!..." You cursed under your breath and letted out a rugged cough since your lungs were having a hard time inhaling some air.

Your (e/c) pupils met with a pair of the same black boots that were in the cave that made your breath hitch and stop for a moment, this was your end and you knew it. Out of all the people you had to encounter, you were met with the intense stare and fury deep inside the red heads heart.

Your lips quivered with a severe feeling of fear rush through every part of your body, barely making out his name you desperately did not want to believe in;

"Diluc?..."

3rd Person Pov

There were many stories floating across the nations of Teyvat, Diluc wasn't an exception since his father, Crepus, frequently reader him and Kaeya a small story before bed. A story about a god who was seen as the glory and perfection of the people living in teyvat.

Soft looking (Hair color) locks that glistened under the moons luminosity and was said to feel like brushing your fingertips through a valley of soft fabric, a beautiful body that was carved out by the gods with their own hands to produce what they call 'perfect' for a person; they had carved for 5 months and 20 extra days to slowly built the base for their grace without a stop since they were afraid to even make the smallest mistake for such a large responsibility.

Dilucs vermillion eyes gazed down on (Name) and studied their features from a distance. In all of the stories he had read there was never a same picture for what their grace looked like as they took on many forms throughout their rule. Yet for some reason, What diluc imagined his grace to look like was oddly on point with the person sprawled down on the ground with their hands and pants now dirtied from the soil below.

But no matter what the person or cause, Diluc had come to a conclusion when their grace left. That they had abandoned them all. And he, existed to purge and exterminate anyone who defies his god.

"Don't call me like that you pest" Diluc blurted out towards (Name) which made their eyes widened and their eyebrows wrinkle together, "What?" they muttered with confusion evident in their voice.

Diluc clenched his teeth together and held his tounge back from saying anything unnecessary "It was an idiotic move for you to step inside mondstat territory you fraud." Dilucs right foot stepped forward as yellow particles began to form near his fingers and created his signature weapon, the wolves Gravestone "Burn."

He swung his claymore forward and unleashed a ginormous blazing pheonix that would burn anything in it's path, and that ultimate was coming right towards (Name)'s direction.

"Shit!! Wait! Hold on!" (Name) panicked vigorously as they felt their skin heating up by the second. (Name) attempted to bolt out the way but suddenly felt their left leg get trapped by something, looking down their mouth dropped seeing as they were caught in a bear trap specifically used for hunting boars.

"NONONO SYSTEM!!" (Name) desperately shouted while the phoenix slowly got closer and closer to (Name) making them feel hopeless at the current situation.

**Ting!

''Given conditions have been met, automatically unleashing burst,,

An AI voice rang throughout (Name)'s ears making them hiss and groan in pain, their dendro vision that was covered through their clothes fabric shined brighter than ever making Diluc himself stunned by its glowing aura, one that he had never seen before.

"My grace?"

Just before the blazing pheonix could reach (Name), long ropes made out of strong roots emerged from the landscape and formed a protective shield around them, blocking (Name) from the incoming attack and further damage.

Before Diluc could get back to his senses and spam his burst, even more roots resurfaced and wrapped around Dilucs arms and legs tightly making him groan and drop his claymore to the ground making a loud 'clang!'

(Name) stared at the situation dumbfounded by its power, they shakily looked over to their vision that was now flickering and barely remaining it's iconic glow

"Holy shit I'm op"

They huffed in amazement, slightly terrified yet proud of their new found power even beginning to get sidetracked of their current messy situation.

Diluc stared at (Name) who had sparkles inside their eyes as they were practicing on doing it again but unfortunately failed miserably,

Without even Diluc knowing, his gaze softened at the sight of the joyful individual. It was like watching his own fantasies he had made as a child play out in front of him like a show he yearned his whole life, a dream where he would watch his grace enjoy their life to the fullest with him always being by their side.

But just now, a small blaze ignited deep inside his heart. It wasn't hatred connected to them, but hope. Hope that there was a possibility that the person standing across from him with roots and veins protectively around their body... Was his grace?

Without a moment of hesitation Diluc easily ripped apart the veins that were holding him back and landed on the ground swiftly making (Name) shriek at the sight of the red head slowly making his way towards them.

He stopped when he was only a small distance away then crouched, he kneeled at (Name)'s presence with a soft expression evident on his face though inside he was holding himself back for a rush of excitement and adrenaline coursed through his veins.

"Welcome back my gra-"

[Fixing complete, automatically teleporting you to the nearest statue of the seven..]

(Name) stared at the screen in absolute horror making Dilucs expression shift to one of confusion. He was about to say something till he also made a look of horror since (Name)'s body started to slowly fade away

Terror and anxiety replaced whatever diluc felt at that very moment, were they going to dissapere once again? You can't. He won't ever allow it

"YOUR GRACE!!"

Diluc charged forward, the tip of his fingers about to reach (Name) but they were already gone before he knew it. Diluc dropped to the floor with beads of sweat rolling down his forehead, (Name) had just been teleported away by the system and diluc had to go find them again before the others get to (Name) first.

But the system had surely made a mistake. Because surely they purposely didn't teleport (Name) to INAZUMA where they saw death themselves right?

"Maybe if I pretend I didn't see them then they won't see me.."

And what's with the person that looked like them sitting on top of a statue looking all high and mighty? That's way too dangerous.

...

"I'm so fucked"

[yuesya]

There is a terrible silence that settles, following the Master’s declaration.

You shall faithfully obey your Lord and devotedly serve the Master of your soul, Decarabian!

The words almost seem to echo, among the restless winds that gradually pick up around them. Irritable and wild, sharp and stinging. There is a heavy pressure that coalesces and builds, a string pulled taut. The invisible tension that saturates the air before a storm breaks.

The young god –Decarabian– looks towards the Master expressionlessly.

A wide smile splits across the Master’s face, all teeth. “You’ve caused me quite enough trouble, little one. Now, kneel before me.”

There is authority imbued into that order, and the bird finds its knees slamming into the muddy ground even though the command is not directed towards it. A pained gasp escapes from its throat, not entirely of its own volition.

Its hands sink deep into the mud. The earth beneath its talons is a dark scarlet. Blood.

No no no no–

The Master revels in death and destruction. War forges strength, suffering tempers resilience; all dreams shall be achieved at the end of the road, when I ascend the Archon throne. The widespread ruin that’s wrought in the Master’s wake, according to the Master’s whims and desires… is something that already haunts the bird’s every waking moment, and every dream. An endless nightmare.

But if there is another god that becomes one of the Master’s thralls, one whose aspect is aligned with battle, then–!

Decarabian, kneel.

The Master’s irritation is compounded by impatience; it lances down through the bird’s spine, needle-sharp despite not being the target of the Master’s ire.

And yet–

Decarabian, the one that the command is targeted towards…

Does.

Not.

Kneel.

Instead, the white-haired god raises her blade, and proceeds to drive it through the Master’s chest.

There is a terrible scream. The Master is screaming. Black ichor splatters from the wound, and it burns upon the bird’s skin. Paralyzed and unable to move, there is nothing that the bird can do but tremble beneath the Master’s rage.

“How?!” The Master demands, furious and disbelieving in turn. Then, a choked-off cry of pain; the other god has twisted her blade, driving it deeper into the Master’s body.

“A spell of obedience, is it?” The adolescent god remarks, “How dull. It wouldn’t have made a difference even if it took properly; you’re far too weak to force me to submit to you. And…”

She yanks her blade out. The Master staggers, and crumples to the ground.

“Get up. I’m not done with you.” For the first time, there is emotion in the other god’s voice. A frigid, glacial anger. “How dare you attempt to taint the name of Decarabian like this.”

The Master spits out a mouthful of black blood, then throws back her head and laughs.

“Ah, I see it now… you’re not ‘Decarabian.’ To think that I would be fooled by a trick as simple as this…” the Master shakes her head, slowly rising to her feet. “I confess, I’ve underestimated you, youngling. But you… are underestimating me as well. I may not be a martially-inclined god, but I am a god nonetheless.”

The Master presses a hand to the gaping hole in their chest, adeptal energies coalescing to heal the grievous injury–

Nothing happens.

Black ichor continues to drip down from between the Master’s fingers.

“… What is this?” the Master hisses. “What is the meaning of this?”

The Master’s rage is a near-physical thing, and the bird is suffocated beneath the crushing weight that slams into it out of nowhere. But through that all-consuming anger, there is also a hint of fear.

The other god tilts her head. “Did you really think that I would let you walk away from this?”

“So that’s how it is…” A faint chuckle. Then, a laugh. With a jolt of terror, the bird realizes that there’s a note of madness to the Master’s voice, which cannot mean anything good. It’s– “But don’t think that you’ll be walking away from this, either. I shall teach you of the wrath of a dying god!”

The last words end in a shout, accompanied by the swell of divine power –more than the bird has ever seen the Master bring to bear before, and the force of the gathering energies is enough to burn the air and shake the ground underfoot.

Crazed laughter, accompanying an eruption of divine power–

The world tilts, sky becoming earth and earth becoming sea, and the surrounding waters rise up to eclipse the sun–

Silence. Blessed darkness.

…

…

…

… Am I… finally dead?

“Not yet.”

The bird’s eyes snap open.

Darkness. All around it, everything is pitch-dark. There is nothing that can be seen, as if the bird is floating in the very essence of the darkness itself–

“Pay attention,” the voice in front of him says. A girl. No, not a girl. White hair and blue eyes, divinity enfolded into a human form; this is Dec– … the god that the Master had been fighting. “And watch your step. It’s still dangerous here.”

What…?

A pale hand reaches out, pristine fingers closing over the bird’s own muddy, bloodstained ones with no trace of hesitation. It’s such an inexplicable, oddly gentle motion, and the bird experiences a brief moment of mind-numbing panic, completely at a loss as for how to respond to this.

What’s going on?

“Your god killed herself,” the white-haired girl tells the bird, tugging it along… somewhere. Woodenly, the bird moves to follow. Each step is accompanied by a new jolt of pain from its injuries, “I’m containing the Mistress of Dreams’ mess in my barrier so I can take care of it properly. Right now, we’re in… the rift between dreams and reality, I suppose. I’m taking you outside with the other survivors.”

“… You won’t kill me?”

“No. I can’t,” the god shakes her head. “Not right now, at least. It’s one of the conditions for raising a barrier like this, with precisely zero preparations beforehand and such a large range.”

The bird blinks, faintly confused. But it understands that the god does not intend to kill it, despite having fought its Master –resulting in the master’s death. As the victor, then, that… means she’s the new Master, right?

So then, “What are your orders, Master?”

“… I’m not your Master,” the Master –not Master?– tells the bird, much to its mounting confusion. “And I don’t have orders. Just go.”

“T-That’s–”

“You can wake up now.”

The bird’s eyes snap open.

… Sunlight. Bright, and blinding. There is warm sunlight shining down upon its skin, accompanied by a cool breeze. And around it, there is the soft, unmistakable murmur of startled human voices… and the bird realizes that the shores are filled with humans. 

Humans who all look confused and disoriented. Varying degrees of fearful, as well. There are also those who are openly weeping, kneeling down and bowing in the direction of–

A solid wall of darkness.

The bird’s head cranes back; up and up and up.

There is a dark dome, rising high up from the ground and stretching into the sky. It covers… quite a significant portion of the Master’s… the former Master’s territory. Is this… the ‘barrier’ that the white-haired god had mentioned? The barrier within which the catastrophic aftereffects of a god’s death were contained? … And the god had… evacuated everyone within it as well…?

…

“Well, well,” a lighthearted voice suddenly sounds jovially behind the bird. “Isn’t this an interesting –oh, no need to look so startled, little bird.”

Long blue hair tied up in a high ponytail, tanned skin the color of sand submerged beneath the waves. This is a god who’s grinning at it, who–

“Your mistress is dead, and yet you, the most powerful of her thralls live… how curious,” the man smiles sharply. Then, in a commanding voice that brooks no argument, “Tell me what happened inside there. Osial, the Lord of the Vortex, demands it.”

[idkhoworwhytell]

an introduction was due

Here’s chapter 3,

I’ve decided in a name for the little guy , hero of the histories 

It’s a little over 1k words 

This isn’t edited 

They heard the boys give a yelp,and low and behold it was just the person they were expecting.

Swords raised at the neck the new link didn’t seem to be in much shock, of anything he seemed to relaxed for the liking of the chain.

“Boys.” Times voice echoed as he and warriors arrived, the boys gave both odd looks becuase they didn’t have said weapons raised.

“Stand down I’m only here to explain this morning, and I have all the proof you need to confirm my identity.” The stranger in there eyes slowly reached behind their back and pulled the sword that all the hero’s have once wielded.

A collective gasp ran throughout the chain, sky was seen looking up and down at the blade.

“Who are you and why do you have that sword.” An oddly defended twilight had his sword pressed up against the strangers scarf.

“ my name is link,” a pause in his sentence , and the boy was seen pulling something from his pocket, a scroll. He unraveled  it and it unfurled from the tip of his head to the beginning of the tree line. “Hero of too many  things.” A slight look of sympathy could be seen in legends eyes but was quickly composed. 

“I’ve given my evidence, now let me explain.”

Before the boys got any chance to butt in, time stopped their conversations and side glances towards the Person.

“From what I’ve heard you were the one who stopped by last night”

A curt nod from the stranger , with the name link like them nodded.

“And gave helpful information about the monsters lurking near hear”

A nod again. The science from the person was starting to get on the old man’s nevers slightly with the lack of answers.

“-and before you give me a speech about why you did that, answer our questions and we will answer yours.”

At this point it was easy to see that wars,time and twilight had slightly cornered the boy and 3 sides covered with his back to the tree , being able to stop sudden movements quicker.

“ as you are expecting answers-“ some stares were quickly made their way. 

“To cover my bases , I’ve dropped my sword, the master sword as you could see, my names link, the name you may call me in place of that is {reader}.

I came to your camp last night beucase I felt an odd number of Hylian presence, something uncommon for this world unless we are in a war.-“

You could warriors slightly perk at his nickname and the mention 0f war.

‘May that be why he has the mask?’

The link, dubbing themselves {reader} continues 

“I’d sensed a a hint of dark magic  off of some of you. I came by to check it out Becuase death seems to walk in masquerades here.”

“The reason you came by id Becuase you were worried about us ambushing you?” 

“Yes sir, i meant nothing more or less on my end, just making sure y’all weren’t darngerous or impeading on anything in this land.”

Times pov:

’did this boy just call a group of 9 hero’s not dangerous?’

i do find it odd he just called me sir, must be  a culture thing.

 I think we got off on the wrong foot with this link. If hes going to journey with us i think its best if we amend this right now, i dont want any hostility.

”i do think your intentions were made clear, but for now i think your going to have to stay with us for a bit.” 

I think this isn’t exactly what this boy wanted to hear. I saw his eyes narrow at me ‘why is everyone so hostile my goodness’ 

“Let us introduce and then we will explain , we have plenty of times tu it is best for you to give us your compliacne.”

”as you’ve said, your names link, but do you know your hero title?-

we can have the sword tell you.”

it feels as of this boy has mixed emotions about it.  He looked at me with almost  a glimmer of despair and remberance, as if the sword was an old friend of his.

the Moment after i said that sky was by my side, the sword seemed to be glowing a  faint blue at its mention. 

 I wonder if this hero has ever met the soul inside?

Sky handed the boy the sword, after a slight chastisement about dropping the sword willingly earlier. 

the sword was grabbed by the hilt out of skys hand, 

 the moment it was grasped we could see a swirl of faint blue cover the boys exposed part of his hand

not long after sky took the sword back and when he did the blue faded.

”hero of the Histories.”

sly said not to long after taking back the sword, directing my Foucus back to history,

”Welcome to our chain History.”

Back too Histories pov

huh, history  never though  i would be called that outside formal situations , the prince(ess?) barley even calls me that .

“ now that you have my title will i finally get an explanation as to hwy you’re here?“ the we’ve been dragging this for to long , unless their staling? 

“Right of course. A we’ve mentioned, we’re n a quest. There’s a an enemy as hes been dubbed ‘dink’- by wind.” 

You could see a proud grin at the mention of his name.

“He’s an enemy which seems to travel through portals to different worlds- throng different points of time.” 

I could see the one in the wolf pelt give a quick glance to him, finally all of their swords lower, ‘ finally how in the world not even slightly Tired?’

“It seems that you were needed as well, probably why we meet.” 

“ let me guess this has something to do with the black blooded monsters I’ve been spotting right?”

” That would be correct  , but since you know our names now  i suggest we get on the road.”

[lottiesnotebook]

It's Friday and time for another lyric prompt! "Wash away the blood on my hands" (Atlantic by Sleep Token) for Cara Hawke Laidir/Lucanis Dellamorte/Spite

Aaaaa your Sleep Token prompts kill me every time. This is technically set post-game, but I have not finished Veilguard yet (I KNOW) so please take any mischaracterisation of Lucanis & Spite with a pinch of salt, I just thought this would be angsty fun.

Cara Hawke Laidir/Lucanis Dellamorte/Spite, hurt/comfort, bathing

@wickedwitchofthewilds | @dadrunkwriting

wash away the blood on my hands

After the end of the world, Lucanis and Spite return to Treviso, to the Crows, to the life of shadows and secrets and bloodied hands that is the only one they have ever known, a weapon honed to a keener edge by Zara Renata, and then by the end of the world. To the hand of Caterina Dellamorte, the woman in who's fires they were forged, the first hand that fit their hilt. Spite resents it, he can tell. Spite resents everything about the return to a life they have never known. Spite, most of all, resents Caterina - every slight and cruelty Lucanis has swallowed or put behind him has been catalogued and stored and pored over by the demon in the back of his mind.

No Talon, they hiss, no orders, no more chains or cells or beatings.

"We are still a Crow," he murmurs. "What would you have us do, if not what we've always done?"

Not this, Spite whispers, not for her.

He knows what Spite wants, which is almost worse than when he could pretend that the demon's desires remained a mystery to him. Now he knows how entwined they are, he knows that every desire Spite voices is an echo or a reflection of his own, and that makes it harder to repress or resist, when he has grown used to indulgence, beneath the Lighthouse's roof.

He wants- they want Rook, their leader, their lover, the gentlest hand to ever have held their blade, the thief in the night who stole their heart and still lay with them till morning, but he cannot ask her to come to them. She may have claimed to love the Demon of Vyrantium, to accept the man they were, but it's easy to love a killer when a war against gods makes them a hero. He cannot imagine Cara Hawke-Laidir living among the Crows, Cara with her face like glass which hides nothing from him, Cara with her heart wide open for a friend or a lover or a blade. His grandmother has taught him by example what happens to those a Talon loves, what it costs to survive among their kind.

Even if Cara were capable of becoming such a person, of loving him in what passes for peace as well as in war, he cannot ask her to become anything less than the golden girl who burned like a piece of the sun beneath the waves, any more than he can be other than what he has always been - an assassin, a Crow. He cannot watch her brightness become further dimmed by grief or ruthlessness or shadows, any more than he can leave behind the work he loves, the life he has been honed for since childhood.

So he does not ask, despite Spite's nagging, despite Cara's letters. He replies to her, of course, with every endearment he knows (mi sol, mi corazon, cariña) - he cannot quite bring himself to let her go (and even if he could, Spite would not allow it). He sees her, when his travels take him north to Rivain, or their paths cross on the road, and every time she teases: Are you scared I'll ruin your reputation, Demon of Vyrantium?

He knows what she is really asking: Do you still want me? Do you still need me, now you and Spite can speak without me to translate? Is there a place in this new world for us? He does not know how to answer her. Spite will not accept an answer that drives her further from their arms. He cannot make her an offer that will change her beyond recognition.

He likely should have expected her to take the decision into her own hands, but in this sense, at least, Spite has always known her better. He can feel, but not name, the growing excitement and anticipation as he returns to his chambers after an assignment in Tevinter that left too much blood on his hands and too much travel on his skin, and he longs for his demon to quiet their hisses of sea-salt and cinnamon and sweet, sweet rage.

There is a bath already drawn in his room when he opens the door, when usually he'd have to call for one, or sleep in his filth rather than face anyone with the phantom blood clinging to his skin. The surface of the water still steams, breathing the tempting scents of rosemary and lavendar into the air, and it is so close to all that he wants that he cannot trust it. He hovers in the doorway, eyes darting between shadows, waits for the trap to spring.

Listen! Spite demands. Safe! Home! I smell her, why don't you?

"I didn't poison the water, if that's what you're wondering." Her voice passes his ears to the base of his spine - by the time he recognises it's her, his shoulders have already untensed, his gaze has softened, he's become loose-limbed and vulnerable as only she can make him. "Not that you don't deserve it," she adds, rolling into view from behind the curtains of his bed, crow-black and Rivain-gold and so lovely she has a fist wrapped around his heart from across the room, her nails digging into the tenderest spots. He is frozen with joy and with want, even as Spite flares behind his eyes:

"Rook! Rook! ROOK!"

It is Spite who crosses the room, who tangles their hands in her hair and pulls her into a devouring kiss. They catch her laugh in their mouth and swallow it down like honey as her quick, clever hands unpick the fastenings of their jacket and slide it from their shoulders.

"Good evening to you too," she grins, and her voice is a low purr that brings Spite alive with the promise of mischief, and sets guilt-stained desire roiling in Lucanis' gut, because he wants her even now, with blood on his hands, with the filth of his clothing marring the sheer white of her shift.

"He wouldn't let us write," Spite grumbles, "Would've told you to come sooner. We wanted you, all of us."

"Lucky we know better then, right?" she says, her fingers curling in their hair, and Spite leans into her grip and purrs low in his chest like a cat.

"Always," Lucanis agrees, catching her hand in his, kissing it. Her hands are so soft, for a Lord of Fortune, though he knows she wields a blade well enough when she must. "But- I did not wish you to see me like this, cariña." It is easier to wear blood on his skin when she is not there to see it.

She arches a brow. "Covered in dirt and smelling of travel? You've seen me in worse states."

"You know what I mean."

She leans back, holds him at arms-length to look him over, her head still tilted at a quizzical angle. She does know what he means, but she's going to force him to say it aloud regardless: "Do I?"

The dirt on his leathers has already smudged the pale froth of lace that covers her sun-gilded skin. "I will not come to your bed fresh from a kill, with blood on my hands."

Illario has often boasted of the thrill of bedding a lover fresh from an assignment, but they are not cut from the same cloth, and Lucanis has always preferred solitude, though Spite seems to disagree.

Cara's hands are still busy - they unpick the laces of his breeches and slide them from his hips, and Spite reaches for her with a lust Lucanis does not quite feel yet-

But she knows this, of course, and dances out of their reach, placing the bed between them.

"Lucky that I've come to yours, then, and that I've already run you a bath," she tells them, nodding to the tub by the fire. A flick of her fingers sets the water to steaming once more, and Lucanis wants to be clean as much as Spite wants to touch her, but they can bargain for this - he might feel more ready to bed her, if that's what she wants, when they are something close clean.

He almost groans aloud as the warm water takes him, and actually does when he feels her hands card through his hair, rubbing circles into his scalp, releasing the scent of rosemary into the air from the soap she's brought him.

"Cara mia," he breathes, they breathe, united, once more, by their trust in her careful hands. "This is not fit work for you."

"Probably not," she agrees, retrieving a pitcher that she pours over his head to rinse away soap and dirt. "but for you, I'll do it."

"I do not want-" Spite stops his tongue before he can lie to her - he cannot claim she is unwanted here. He negotiates, rephrases, selects words that are not a lie: "This is not a safe place, or a happy one."

"But it's where you are," she points out, irresistible as the tide. Her strong fingers dig into his shoulders, rub away months of tension and internal strife with no greater magic than the touch of her skin.

"I know, but-"

"Lucanis," she says, over his objections. "I know you. I know who you are, and what you've done, and why you think it's better if I stay away. And you know me. Do you really think I'm going to accept not getting what I want, after all this time?"

She wants them, he knows, he has known since the first night she pulled them into her bed. But there is a difference between knowing something and feeling it. There is a difference between hearing her say I love you, and feeling her hands wash the blood from his skin. In this moment, he knows which feels truer, and lets himself believe her fingers when her words are not enough.

[yumenotambourin]

I will now try to type all the lyrics of the British Elfilis Song by memory

GAZE UPON THE ANGELD MIGHT

AS WINGSOF DEATH UNFURL IN FLIGHT

THE GOD OF WAR THE SPOIL OF LIFE

FROM DECADES UNDER STRIFE

A NEW DREAMLAND FOR ME TO REND ASUNDER

FEEL THE MIGHTY ROAR OF TBE CONQUEROR'S THUNDER

AS THE SKY CRACKS OPEN AND WIDE YOU'LL KNOW YOUR SMOLNESS

INSIGNIFICANT AMONG ඞ NEW WORLDS

YOURE THE HEART AND IM THE FIST

WE CANNOT COHEXIST

IN A UNIVERSE WHERE THE STRONG EAT THE WEAK

'NEATH THE FLAG OF CONQUEST

COMPASSION MAKES A RULER MEEK

WORLDS BEND BEFORE MY BLADE

WATCH THEIR PEOPLE FADE

THEYRE BUT FUEL FOR THE FLAMES OF WAR

THEY CANT STEEP(?) MY REVENGE I'LL ALWAYS CRAVE MORE

IN MY CAPTOR'S FORGOTTEN LAND

ALL LIFE SHALL TURN BACK TO ITS PRIMAL STATE

ANIMALS THAT BOW TO THEIR GOD

SERVITUDE tO THAT WHICH COULD CONQUER THE STAR

TO THE AXIOM!!!

HERE YOU STAND

AS THE FORCES OF (SOMETHING) BEYOND YOU

CASTS YOUR LAND OF DREAMING

INTO THE COSMIC DARK

MAN AND BEAST ARE ALL ONE

UNDERNEATH MY ULTIMATE THUMB

WITNESS THE DEATH OF HOPE'S FINAL SPARK

[Now Welcome to Elfilis ASMR]

IM THE STORM THAT APPROACHES

YoURE BUT ANTS TO MY BLADE

YOU RESIST LIKE ROACHES

BUT LIKE EVERYTHING YOULL FADE

AS THE DRUMS OF WAR BEAT

AS YOUAY DOWN BLEEDIMG

I SHALL FINALLY (REPEAT??? IDK STOP BEING BRITISH)

RETRIBUTION FOR YOUR MEDLEY

THERE'LL NEVER BE ROOM

FoR THOSE WHO STAY STRONG

SO YOULL MEET YOUR DOOM

TO THE STARS ERELONG

LAY DOWN ILL GRANT YOU

DEATJ SO SWEET AND PAINLESS

DO NOT SEE THIS WAR THOUGHT

GIVE AN ACQUIANCE

KNEEL BEFORE ME AS HEAVEN STANDS

A SIGN OF YOUR INEXORABLE END

SIMPLE BEINGS LIKE YOU CANT COMPREHEND

MY CRUSADE OF BLOOD

RuN AWAAAAAAY

BUT YOU CAN NEVER ESCAPE THE SPEAR OF FATE

TWO BEINGS COLLIDE ABSORB ASSIMILATE

YOUR FATE IS MARKED IN BLOOD SO BEHOLD MY RESPLENDANCE

AS I CAST TO NIGHT THIS NEW WORLD

OOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOO

OWALDTJJWDLTJWDLRI

STILL YOU FIGHT ON

STILL YOU REBEL

THIS WORLD IS GOOONE

WHY THEN DO YOU CLING TO THIS HEEEEEELL

[Welcome back to Elfilis ASMR: the squeaquel]

SO BE IT SO BE IT SO ˢᴼ ᴮᴱ ᴵᵀ

LET THEM DIG YOUR GRAVE

IN A

🇬🇧FORGOTTEN LAHND🇬🇧

WHERE

NONE SHALL REMEMBER YOU

NONE SHALL REMEMBER YOU

NONE SHALL REMEMBER YOU

NONE SHALL REMEMBER YOU

[I love their british echoes]

THIRTY YEARS AND HERE WE ARE

BLOOD AND TEARS AND HERE WE ARE

WORDS THAT GRATE INTO THE RECESSES OF MIND

NOW HERE WE ARE TO EXTERMINATE YOU KIIIIIIND

STOLE MY NAME AND POWER LOCKED ME IN THE TOWER [ok Rapunzel]

LEFT ME TO ROT IN A PRISON OF THOUGHT

READY TO BRIMG ABOUT THE FINAL HOUR

[Here we go!]

RUN RUN CHILD

WHAT COME WHAT MAY

[Everyone cheers]

TWO PLANETS COLLIDE

ON YOUR FINAL DAAAAAY

TORN APART BY GRAVITYS HAND

ASHES SCATTER ACROSS

🇬🇧FORGOTTEN LAHND🇬🇧

TAKE YOUR FINAL BREATH

GAZE UPON

THE RECKONING OF THE FREEE WILL OF THE MULTIVERSE

THE CHAINS OF GOD

FALL AND FREE ME OF MY CURSE

OF TJE TORMENT MAN

DARED TO IMPOSE ON MY REFULGENCE

I SHALL SUBJUGATE YOUR NEW WORLD

ALL RETURNS TO MATTER I SHATTER THE SkY

LOOK ME IN THE EYES

AS TWO PLANETS APPROACH THE LIMIT OF DESTRUCTION WORLDS OLD AND NEW IN FIRE SHALL DIE

[elfilisfuckingdies.mp4]

MY CONQUEST WONT BE DETERR3ED BY YOU

THE GOD OF WAR WILL HAVE THEIR LONG DUUEEEEE

[du-dududududu du-dududududu du-dududududu du-dududududu]

STILL YOU FIGHT YOY YEARN FOR HOME

EVEN WHEN YOURE ALL ALONE

IF YOU WANT YOUR HOME SO BADLY THEN

VERY WELL!

ILL CONDEMN YOU

AND YOUR LAND OF DREAMS TO HELL

SOAR THE SKY IN FIRE

SALT THE EARTH RETIRE

YOUR RESTSTENCE COSTS YOU THE WORLD UOU HOLD DEAR

SEE WHAT COMES FROM DEFYING MY SPEAR

RUN RUN CHILD

YOU CANT RUN LONG

[Everyone cheers]

THE PLANETS' DESTRUCTION

IS YOUR FINAL SOOOONG

WITNESS WHAT COMES OF YOUR LAST STAND

BURY YOUR NEW HOPE IN TJIS FORGOTTEN LAND

TAKE YOUR FINAL BREATH

GAZE UPON

THE LIGHT OF THE DEATHNOF THE GODLY STAR

YOUR DREAMS ARE GONE GoNE

WATCH THEM FADE FROM THIS LAND FROM.AFAR

STRUGGLE AS YOU MIGJT

WITH THE VEHICELZ OF THE FALLEN

yOU WILL PERISH TO THIS NEW WOOORLD

ALL RETURN TO MATTER I SHATTER THE SKY

LOOK ME IN THE EEEEYE

AS TWO PLANETS APPROACH THE LIMIT OF DESTRUCTION

WORLDS OLD AND NEW IN FIRE SHALL DIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[elfilisfuckingdiesagain.mp4]

✨️My spirit never shall lose its way, for chaos rises another day✨️

[inthecourtofthecrimsonmage]

Perhaps it was time. After an adventure quite literally out of this world, it was only time I returned home, properly this time. As if I could call this wretched icehole home. They kicked me out once and that was enough... I can't believe I believed their lies. "Eorzea Tour", they told me. Nay, it was just to get rid of me. No amount of goodwill the Fortemps gave me or the glory of ending their stupid war will make me feel at home again. But return to my coop I must. At least, that's what I rationalized this drive to be.

These streets have never been the same since the Calamity. Dark, dreary, and cold. A perfect setting for my epic prose... but they didn't deserve my writing. Perhaps they could have funded a proper rebuilding of the Firmament without the help of adventurers if they let me promote my works properly. But, it's long past that now. It's better to let sleeping dogs lie, after all. While walking through the streets of the place I once called home, I stumbled upon a strange scene...

Heh. Another victim of the Temple Knights. While Ser Aymeric might now be in charge, he couldn't possibly hope to root out all the corruption within the Knights in a lifetime, or more. Ishgard, for all its holiness and glory, is no stranger to the darkness that befalls such a lofty position. While the hunt for heretics may be over, those who challenge the ideals of Ishgard are not well received. Perhaps it was a blessing I was exiled instead of labeled a heretic then, for my poetry has been given new life through the grand adventures I've had. Not so for this poor sop.

...?! A laugh echoes through my mind, one all too familiar. "...So you've finally opened your eyes. I always knew I could believe in you." Just as I was left pondering the meaning of such words, the presumably dead and disgraced knight called me back to reality. His name was Fray, and he offered me an opportunity, one I would be none the gladder to agree. For someone with a disturbed mind such as myself, it seemed only natural to walk the path of righteous fury and darkness, and here I was being given both lock and key. I took the soul crystal in one hand and the sword in another.

And thus I picked up the blade under the title of a Dark Knight. So much for the waifish twig that was too weak to take up the lance then, hm?!

[blazerwyvernmaster]

Rating FE4 Maps P2

Girl of The Spirit Forest

YAY, I'm talking about FE4 again!

BTW, if yall just want to rate maps from other games too,

I've played through FE4,FE5,FE7,FE8,Echoes,Three Houses, and I'm playing Engage.

Though it may warrant a new series. ANYWAY!

Story

Unfortunately, in the last chapter, our princess was in another castle. Gandolf took her to Verdane. So that's where our next stop happens to be.

It's probably good to mention that pretty much all the battles in this game are full on wars. And I love it.

Anyway, Eldigan takes a visit to be cool and says he'll protect you from any possible invaders, as that's what buds do. Later on, he will uses his actual fucking demon blade on a regular ass man. And doesn't kill him. God he's cool. It would be a shame if I had to Insert spoiler here.

After that, we learn that Edain is OK! The youngest prince of Verdane, Jamke, saved her behind the back of his two, more evil brothers. And also freed an actual thief. Be tells them to run away, but can't go with them because he has to deal with his father.

In the meantime, you learn about Ayra. She's working for one of the princes of Verdane in order to protect Shannan, her nephew, who is a child. She doesn't seem evil. I wonder what would if you lured her away from the castle and killed that stupid dickbag prince?

Oh, she joins! Which is weird because your kingdom and hers are at war?? But it's fine. I'm sure deciding to have the prince of a warring country in your custody will lead to no problems whatsoever.

Then you kill Gandalf. Fun times.

Manfroy and Sandima talk about the backstory of the Loptyr Cult over the kings dead body. They also talk about finding a lady with the best holy blood.

Edain talks Jamke out of murdering you! Yay! And then Sigurd makes some unwise decisions regarding a mysterious forest lady named Deirdre.

That will not come back to bite him. I'm positive.

Aaaand THATS BASICALLY IT!

Never expect me to make a good story synopsis.

I like the story of this chapter. It gets a lot more interesting since you can already see how things have already started to unfold and change for future events.

Gameplay

While I did wish the game once again explained how castles worked,it's really not hard.

I like how you can figure out how to stack the weapon triangle, terrain, and authority stars with the first few enemies.

I also love the Dew pitfall. It gets Dew some levels... but thieves aren't very useful in this game, so it doesn't matter. It does by Edain some time to escape.

Ayra's recruitment is very stressful and difficult. Not to say that it's a bad thing, but thr safest solution I had was just having Finn hide in the forest and pray she didn't reach him.

The worst part of this chapter is near the end. I know the game wants you to get Deirdre by having Sigurd more through the forest, but there was definitely a way to do it without forcing your entire army to slow down to a crawl. And you have to deal with Jamke too! For me, that meant killing some of his squad, then retreating and praying Edain didn't die while I tried to talk to him. The recruitment on this chapter can be downright frustrating at times.

Also, I like the Lex brave axe secret. It's funny and incredibly random, and it makes him become a god. It's the reason I promote him first.

Eldigan showing up to beat up Elliot with his actual fucking demon blade was cool as hell. And if you're good, you can probably use this opportunity to train Arden, who you definitely parked at the castle at this point.

Anyway, with that all said and done, I think this chapter deserves

7/10

Don't ask what the rating system is based on. Idk either.

[nahirdinboon]

Pomp and Circumstance, Part 1

One year before Ser Lex's Witchlight adventure...

“Squire Ollex, please step forward.”

Oh good gods, this is it. Lex nodded to Herald Lambelin and stepped forward, nervously tugging on his gauntlets as he approached the raised dais in this meeting chamber. He glanced to his left and right at the assembled members of his knightly order, all standing in orderly rows to witness this momentous ceremony. His gaze moved over the collection of knights of varying ranks, trying to avoid meeting their eyes while seeking out one in particular.

At last, he found where the other squires were at parade rest and saw the one he was looking for. Lex smiled at the comforting presence of the earth genasi, those sapphire eyes gazing back at him, a warm smile spreading across that chiseled marble-like face that made him smile in return. Though it wasn’t the same as both of them making this walk together, at least he would still be able to share this moment with Ghibrail in some form.

Lex stopped at the steps of the dais, his eyes moving away from his rock and to his mentor. Lady Cynlanil Dawnstrider, Matriarch of the Knights of the Radiant Shield and one of many heroes who fought beside his moms in the Great Undead War, stood before him in her white and gold ceremonial powered armor. A ghost of a smile crossed her face as she looked over his choice in ceremonial vestments, a white linen tabard with a gold circle in the middle, paired with a red cloak. An unmistakable homage to her own attire. The elven artificer-paladin nodded to him, and then it was showtime.

Lex knelt before Lady Cyn, the room quiet as he took a knee, his hands sweaty in his gauntlets as Lady Cyn led him through the words of his oath. It took him a moment to find his voice, but with each word, found confidence and resolve that echoed throughout the hall. “In the name of the Knights of the Radiant Shield, I swear my loyalty to you, Lady Cynlanil Dawnstrider, Matriarch of our Order. As the moon rules the tide, as the rain refreshes the grass, as the sun imparts life to all, so your will becomes my desire. As you command, I will obey. As you request, I will comply. May my service always please you, and may my eyes lose their sight if I invoke your wrath. My heart, my mind, and my axe are yours from now until my final day.”

Lady Cyn nodded and said to him, but in a voice that carried across the chamber, “Do you swear to be the shield of this world, to protect the people who call this material plane home from the dangers that lurk outside its borders?”

Lex nodded and recited the second part of the oath. “Yes, my lady. No matter how long the road, how dark the night, or how dangerous the peril, I shall be their shield until all roads come to an end or the need is over. I shall protect the people who call this material plane home, else may the road cease to lie beneath my feet.”

“Then by the power vested in me by Helm, god of protection, and witnessed by those assembled here this day,” Lady Cyn intoned, drawing her sword Dawnblade and igniting the divine blade to light up the room, “I hereby dub thee Ser Ollex Nahirdinboon, first of his name, son of Drexa Nahir and Thuldia Moordinboon, and knight of the Radiant Shield.” She tapped his shoulder lightly – heh, lightly with a blade of light – then sheathed it as she finished with the words, “Rise and be recognized.”

As Lex stood, the chamber exploded in a cacophony of cheering, clapping, and stomping, causing his already pink-skinned face to turn a brighter shade of red from all the attention. The next few steps were a daze of being handed his letter of knighthood and the shield that every new knight receives on being formally brought into the order, followed by a cavalcade of congratulations from all the knights who had gathered for the ceremony…

[venusphacelia]

Tag Dump

[ariicandy]

“..One string broken by a close family, replaced by another friendly figure..”

…………..: ♡ :……………

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SPOILERS ON We Will Be Reunited Quest AND A BIT OF SUMERU’S STORY QUEST

This is Lumine as the traveler btw

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♡

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Swords hitting one another fighting, defending oneself, fighting an Abyss Herald as of self defense. As it tried to escape by making a “portal” Dainsleif used his elemental power catching them before it enter, but a mysterious sword suddenly came out of nowhere and was ready to attack Dainsleif but lucky he was able to dodge it in time. The traveler’s eyes widened on who drew the blade…

It was her brother..

.

“C-could it be..!?” Paimon spoke stunned. “Aether!” Lumine yelled out loud that the walls echoed from her brother’s name, “I’ve finally found you!” “Wait your brother and the abyss..” paimon looked at you a bit sad. “Lumine, why are you with Dain?” Aether spoke looking at you irritated. You and paimon looked at each other in shocked from that question your brother asked, Lumine asked herself why does it matter if we’ve been separated for so long and he chose to asked you this.

“Aether..We meet again.” Dainsleif spoke. “WHAT!!” Paimon shouted “You and the traveler’s sibling have been!?!?” Lumine looked at Dainsleif and back to her brother, her own brother with the abyss? “Lumine..until my plans to engulfed the thrones, my war with destiny will see no end.”

…

Confused…Lumine was so confused on what their brother was saying..a war? She was scared and trembling with thoughts on what he was doing. “Once you have reach the ends of your journey just as I did, you too will see the true nature of this world.” The abyss herald was now making a portal for them to back to the abyss, “Though we need not rush, brother. I have more than enough time to wait for you. If you do try to process to stop the abyss,” Aether turn and stopped to finish. “then I will no longer see you as my dear sisters as before all those years ago.”

Lumine heart ached from that sudden thought her own brother thought? Him seeing their own sibling, his own sister as a family member? Lumine started walking towards Aether trying to check up to him to stop making him saying those stuff. “We had always… had enough time.” Dainsleif caught up with him while you didn’t make it…

.

.

That’s where it all went downhill, all Lumine could think about for the rest of their days thinking about what he said,”then I will no longer see you as my dear sisters as before all those years ago.” Kept rewinding everyday and every night, every dream turning into a nightmare, every thought now just repeating the same over and over again. Could someone save them from their misery and sadness from their very own sibling? Yes..Lumine found someone to reattach the string what was once broken and so torn apart now being band new, being reattached as a new string replaces that sad old tragic string, memory, of that incident into a new sibling figure. That person was you..

You are the person Lumine finds as a sibling, the one who saves her from all their trouble, the endless thoughts, nightmares, and memories she keeps thinking about..was just by meeting you made that loneliness go away.

SUMERU QUEST SPOILERS

“Hahaha! Well, well. We meet again, traveler!” Paimon screamed,” Ah! The Abyss Herald! What are you plotting to do in this strange place?” Lumine getting in position for an attack. “Strange place? Hehehe… You needn’t worry about such things, they don’t concern you!” As the abyss herald responded to paimon it got ready to attack. As Lumine hit its shield, she didn’t make any damage to it. Huh? Wh—Why can’t we beat this guy…? Paimon doesn’t get it. We’ve faced others like him before, what’s wrong this time?” Paimon said in confusion. “Traveler, through you may have managed to avert countless crises before, your good fortune was bound to end sooner or later. It’s time you realize how weak and powerless you really are!” Lumine called out, “My journey will not end here! I still must find my brother!!” “Your brother? Meahahaha! Oh, how pityful traveler, are you really so ignorant? Or are you just living in complete denial?” “His highness has long since forsaken you. Your meager existence in his highness eye’s is that of an annoying bug only to be stepped upon! The bonds of love and family which drive you to find your sibling are utterly gone! Your journey is meaningless!” Those words from what the Abyss Herald said dropped Lumines heart, did he really find her not a family no more? “If my brother seeks not to see me as their sibling, then I will also not want to see him as my brother. As I have found someone else as a sibling who cares about me, who treats me good, helps me with my problems, and comforts me than leaving me behid not trying to go look for me!” Paimon said as shocked from those who came from the traveler, Lumine, paimon couldn’t put her finger who Lumine was saying who they found as a sibling. “Oh? Looks like you finally realized how he doesn’t love you no more, but don’t you fret now. Today will be your last. Now die!” As the traveler was preparing to get their sword they were greeted to be back in the cave where they found Haypasia. “What just happened? I was in a near attack by the abyss herald, how did I end up back here?” Lumine questioned in her mind.

But that doesn’t matter no more, she was already looking forward to their new sibling

.

.

.

.

And that was you.

They were looking forward to replace the string that was broken from her dear brother to you being their new sibling figure they look up to now, who they trust for you to comfort her, to care for her, and to look out for her. They want you, reader, as their new sibling as her own rejected them

[suna-reversed]

Sukuna Ryomen x reader

the VI acts of falling in love with a curse

tags/warnings- mentions of blood and violence, major character death!, reincarnation, suggestive themes but no smut, historical AU, soulmate AU

you can consider this an AU fic for “in your arms tonight”

quotes taken from Anne Carson, Natalie Wee, Nikka Ursula, Richard Siken, Madeline Miller

i. the beginning

“it’s rotten work”

“not to me. not if it’s you”

“you are a fool.” his laugh is bitter and dry.

“and you are my salvation.” you whisper.

the facade of mockery on his face fades, all that remains is the destruction, like the ruins of a town plagued with war, still burning with the impending threat of the actual doom that is to come.

“you do not know what you are asking for, it may-” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, “...it will- destroy you.”

“destruction is all that I’m familiar with.”

and that is all he feels in his chest, the exploding of dynamites and landing of missiles as the wall he’s built around him comes crashing down with one simple gesture.

he cannot help but move his lips against hers.

ii. the unbecoming

“like any unloved thing, I don't know if I'm real when I'm not being touched”  

sobs rake through your body, as you cling onto the white fabric he always wears with all your life. he brings his hand up to caress your cheek but you flinch. his eyes darken with a look of maddening vexation.

he tries again- and this time, you ease into his touch. his heart clenches as you look up at him, fear in your eyes, the sight of the bruises littered across your cheek making him clench his fist. he brings his lips to the top of your head, gently mumbling,

“who did this to you?”

you say the name and he is already halfway apart from you, ready to annihilate the one who caused his petal such harm. but there’s a tugging force on his sleeve, catching his attention. all the ire in his mind fades away as you crawl over to him, wrapping your arms around his middle,

“please-” you sniff, fiddling with the cloth clenched in between your fingers,

“just hold me.”

he almost laughs at how she thought that he could ever deny her.

iii. the spring

I think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

“what are you doing?” your small giggle echoes late into the empty forest.

the side of his lips simply twitch up as he continues his ministrations, hands expertly wringing through your hair as he presses down kisses against the nape of your neck every now and then.

you relax back into his chest, looking over the view that the hill you sat on top provided you with. you know you have to leave before anyone finds out, but you can’t help but savour all the time you can get.

you both walk down together, his large hand encasing yours, rubbing circles onto your ring finger and you feel your face heating up. you catch your reflection in the pond and a gleeful laugh escapes you as you throws your hands around his neck. and perhaps love like this is unheard of, but it is love nonetheless.

he cannot help but feel his heart flutter as he sees her keep the flowers he braided into her hair throughout the day.

iv. the ruination

“sorry about the blood in your mouth, I wish it was mine.”

“i-i’m so sorry- i tried to stop it.” he feels a wet trail of drops falling onto his neck, but he cannot tell if they’re from your tears or from the scarlet pouring through his mouth.

how did it come to this? the mortals who ravaged him were long gone. he knew he’d make them suffer until their last breath. but oh- why was his petal there? why did you try to fight against them only once they had already half battered him to death?

his head stayed lolled against your lap, eyes burning, the stench of blood thick in the air. the sky was all shades of lilac and alliums- was the sweet scent in the air from the flower bed his hollow corpse lay on or from the daisies in the hair of his precious dove?

he never thought love and betrayal would feel the same.

v. the rebirth

“this is the way the world ends / this is the way the world ends / this is the way the world ends / not with a bang but a whimper.”

your eyes are wide, face bewildered, but you remain quite as he tugs you out from the doorway of your husband’s house and through the forest- towards the top of the hill.

the light in your eyes seems to have burned out- your energy drained from the struggle and fight you had to put up with in the last few days- or has it been months? the ghost of your lover coming to wake you in the middle of the night feels like an act of liberation.

he does not fail to notice this. and oh does he make sure you know that he’s alive in flesh and bone as you’re splayed out across the green blades, his body above yours as he makes you see stars but it’s not the ones in the night sky.

your sweat drenched foreheads are pressed together and you’re smiling against his lips but tears continue to fall down your cheeks. he pretends to not notice how you don’t wrap your arms around him when you leave or how you simply stare through him as he tells you he’ll get you out of here.

he cannot help but laugh as he finds your body floating in the river the next day, laugh as he holds you to his chest, laugh as he braids the flowers out of your hair and tucks them into the vial he wears, and laugh as he walks away from the ruins of the village aflame.

if he was destined to bring ruination, he may as well rain his wrath upon all.

vi. the end.

“I could recognise him by touch alone, by smell. I would know him blind, by the way his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”

his chest is hollow but his heart still stops as his eyes meet hers.

it is centuries apart and he barely feels the jerk of his opponent throwing him against the pavement, barely feels the knife slit through his throat. he’s laughing and he cannot stop.

fate has once again decided to play a sick joke on him. he is well aware of it as he rips off the arm of the man trying to make him bleed. is he naive enough to not know that gods don’t bleed?

she is talking to the vessel he encapsulates and it’s your face and your voice and yet, it’s a stranger altogether. there’s an unfamiliar familiarity in her eyes as he reveals himself but she doesn’t know him- so she stumbles back in surprise and he thinks this is where it ends.

but then she’s smiling, a smile as warm as the sun, and he know he’d do it all over again- he’d ruin himself a million times over for her, even in another lifetime.

Sukuna cannot help how his lips curve upwards as she tilts her head, eyes filled with curiosity and fascination as she says,

“so you’re the one yuuji’s been telling me about.”

Taglist- @bakugohoex @tsuki-kusa @laura-marie-16 @captainmads2092 @notpmaosan @madamlindsay @jotazinha @osmosly @p-each-y-day @mikiminaccch @lilshortcakess @saturnmoon @mahitochan @menaintshit23 @half-baked-biscuit

[gaiuswrites]

Original Sin | Darksaber!Din

Pairing: Dark!Din x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+ older for the love of all things holy)

Word count: 3.4k~

Summary: Things change after Grogu leaves. People change. No one is exempt.

Warnings/tags: DUB CON?¿, masturbation (m and f), inappopriate use of darksaber, sex toy (...), Dark!Din, Dom!Din, sacrilegious references, really dark shit, i am so sorry

Update: This should go without saying, but as it turns out, it’s in need of being said: every word written in this fic is my own; any likeness to any other work is coincidence, regardless of how bizarre. I don’t mean to offend anyone or raise suspicion, as I am certainly not a plagiarist (literally couldn’t be even if I tried: I am equal parts too incompetent, too busy, and too lazy to steal from someone else. Fellow writers can attest, I’m an absolute garbage reader and fall behind on almost everyone’s work. There’s an embarrassing amount I haven’t read.) Please reach out to me personally if you have any concerns. I respect everyone here like you wouldn’t believe. Sending love to you all. Be well. ✨

Notes: When I go to hell (it really is only a matter of timing, and not so much a question of if anymore), this fic will rank number one on the list of reasons why I’m sent to my eternal timeout. This... I'm twisted. I have issues. God help us. Seriously, this is basically a horror show. I bow down to the Darksaber!Din content creators who came before me, and the original artwork that inspired me to write this— thank you for lighting this (descending, dirty) path. I HAVE TAGGED A FEW PEOPLE HERE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INTERESTED but really— REALLY— there’s absolutely no pressure. Cheers friends x ( gif credit: @skyshipper )

Masterlist | Read it on Ao3!

The days stretch long like morning yawns—hours passing on creaky bones, slow and congealed inside the metal womb of the Crest.

It wasn’t always this way.

They used to be filled with pitter pattering— with wily antics and vanishing acts that could baffle even the most veteran of illusionists— with prying frogs from tiny, green hands and giggling as blocks and baubles floated through the hull. Laughter. There used to be laughter here.

But that was then. The child is gone now. The Razor Crest is quiet.

Time fills itself like this; there’s little for you to do now but wait. Wait for the dusk to blur into the dawn. Wait for your food to cook. Wait for the shower to warm. Wait for the parts you ordered to arrive at the port. Wait for Din to come back—to come home.

Home. You used to be so certain—you’d bite the head off anyone who questioned otherwise— but you’re not so sure this is home anymore. Its not that anything has changed. No, the galley, the carbonite pods, the cockpit, the deck—it’s all still here. The scuffed walls, the durasteel, the littered crates and packed arsenal. But—

It’s different. It feels different. Something is...

off.

You can’t quite put your finger on it. Its intangible, but it’s everywhere—like gas. Invisible to the naked eye, but encircling you all the same. Choking you.

Killing you.

There’s no good explanation for it. You feel eyes on you when there are none. You find yourself glancing over your shoulder, knowing full well you are alone. Something keeps snagging you, pulling at an unseen thread. The corners of your peripherals tugging at you. Beckoning.

Was that a shadow? No.

Is someone there? It’s just you.

There is a tickle at your ear - a constant - dancing along the shell of it. Wherever you go, it follows.

Home home home. It only feels like home when Din is there, safe and sound at your side. But even then, even Din—in all of his plated exterior—even Din has succumbed. Even Din has

changed.

The truth is, Grogu left and a part of Din left with him. There’s less of him now— more, too: there’s less where it matters, and there’s more where there shouldn’t be.

You don’t remember when it started—when he first disappeared. When the spark in him died, and he was reignited anew.

When this Other became.

On multiple occasions you’ve caught him murmuring into the bellied dark of the Crest with a bent spine, hunched over himself as if he’s shrinking—enveloping in in in as far as the beskar along his chest will allow him to cave. You can never pick up what he mutters, but you catch the sounds of his teeth and lips brushing together, hissing. It’s not Basic; you’d recognize it if it were. You don’t think its Mando’a either. It’s too sharp— too vile. There’s none of his language’s elegance in it.

“Did you say something?” You asked once, poking your head around the doorway, eyes resting on the shine of his helmet.

A beat—and slowly, he unfurled, rearing to his full height and like a sentinel he swiveled, pivoting to face you.

“No.”

Your throat bobbed. “Oh, I-I thought I heard-”

“Come here, mesh’la.”

And you did. You always do.

The darksaber appeared on his belt one day, shortly after the child went away. It came, only once, and there it stays. Indistinguishable - inseparable - there is no dismembering the two. It accompanies him in all things; when he pilots, when he hunts, when he eats. It sleeps by him.

By you, too.

Din has always been stoic—of scant words and physical timing—but now he is a golem. A silent, shrouded figure. His Creed is broken, and you wonder maybe - briefly - if Din is broken as well. He is never unkind to you. He is never threatening. But he is never him. His eyes— the oaky comfort you once found in them— have blackened. He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man.

And within that pit he has born rage. Immaculately, it has sprung from him as woman did by Adam’s rib. Like mold growing upon stale fruit does he have this—this wrath. It crept through him. It stalked along his soft flesh— his tawny hide—and it waited; patient, there in the shadows, it waited for him. Waited for him to turn his back, to close his eyes and drop his guard— leeway, an entrance— as to slip in undetected.

To inhabit.

The virtue and love that once thrummed within the heart of him has burned away. Charred. Only this of him remains; this insatiable lust— for blood sport, for the promise of split knuckles and fractured bone, for you.

For all of you.

Now, Din goes out on bounties like he needs it—like it’s oxygen. He lives off it. He’s sustained by the rush, by the adrenaline laced chemicals pumping through his arteries. He’s gone for days and weeks on end and when he returns, he fucks you like he’s been starved. Out in the wilderness without a morsel to eat, he devours you. He’s ravenous as he tears his way across your body—all too pliant for him, all too willing—letting him feast on the nectar dripping from your heat.

You can feel it in his foot steps as he storms the ship, the bassy echo of it. You can see it in the pitch of his visor. You can feel it in his cock as he slams into you, night after night after night—ceaselessly. Tirelessly. Unnaturally. The number of orgasms he wrings out of you is countless—his need so incurable, you have to fight to stay above it all; you have to war against your urge to slip away completely.

Din is one grey choice - one hair trigger - from coming undone.

And you should be scared. You should be terrified—he should terrify you. Like scalding water, you should flinch away at the mere sight of him—at the warning steam that rises from his pauldrons. This predator, unhinged and off his leash—a great, crushing beast at which you are at the mercy of.

But— you aren’t.

You couldn’t place it at first: the gnawing. The gnawing at your insides like maggots festering upon a grizzled carcass hanging limp at a wet market. You couldn’t name the tremor in your gut. You gave it epithets as best you could, you gave it placeholders - fear, worry, intrigue - all until one day it spilled. One day it seeped past the tremble of your stomach and sank lower, lower,

lower.

It settled in your cunt—the gnawing. And you named it Want.

You want him. You want this—you’re addicted to it. This sin like led-lined velvet, you want to roll in it until it poisons you, until you’re smothered with it, just like it’s smothering you now— blanketing you as you mewl naked in your bed, knees knocked together. Your eyes roll back into your skull as you frantically work circles into your clit with the all consuming thought of him: his teeth at your shoulders, his hand around your windpipe.

You’re nearing your finish, the promise of that tight coil unraveling there - there - right before you. You’re so enrapt in it—in this dizzying, wanton act—you don’t register the ramp lowering. You don’t hear the carbonite chamber whir, his quarry freezing over, or his foot falls sounding their way to your bunk.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

You gasp, frightened eyelids wrenching open as his baritone timbre crackles through the hull. The Mandalorian stands there, backlit by the glow from the galley and he looms—expressionless. Haunting. You blink at him rapidly, batting away the desire that’s glazed over your eyes.

“Y-You’re back,” you stutter lamely. You try to smile. You try to distract him. “I uhm, I didn’t hear you come in. I thought you wouldn’t be back until, u-until..."

Your excuses fade, mouth parched dry. The film of his visor gives you nothing. He is unknowable, but you feel it - sense it - that energy—unbridled and rippling off of him in sick, suffocating waves.

“I’ll ask you again,” Din starts.

“What-" he steps towards you, darksaber hanging heavy at his hip, “do you think-" you shimmy up your cot, shoulder blades digging into the steel sidings, “you’re doing?”

Your heart thunders against your chest, beating until you’re sure it’ll burst.

“I’m-"

I’m sorry you almost say, and you have to force yourself to gulp down the apology. You know he doesn’t want it, and he knows you wouldn’t mean it even if you offered it to him.

Your brow wavers. “I-"

He rips away the sheet you had drawn up over you and reflexively you jerk back, revealing the gloss on your fingers and the patch of hair above your mound, shimmering shamefully—exposing you, mocking you under the dim lights.

“What’s this?” he asks, and fuck he’s patronizing you. He’s smirking—you don’t have to see it, you can hear it in the curving lilt of his voice as he drinks in the sight of your very obvious indiscretion, laid bare before him. You can’t bring yourself to answer him—you can hardly look at him—and you bristle, hair on your arm prickling up.

“You fuck yourself speechless, little one?”

Your cunt throbs, burning and contracting around the orgasm that was snatched away from you and fuck, you’re drowning in him. Din is tar—he’s an oil slick, and you’re plummeting through it—gasping for air, for the surface, for sunlight. He’s everywhere—his broad frame, his voice, his scent like copper and smoke. You can barely breathe through the thick of him.

“Answer me,” he growls, leather croaking at the clench of his fist.

“Yes—yes,” you utter, proceeding with honesty, no matter how pathetic. “I missed you,” you squeak out.

Din cocks his head, a smug look scowled onto his visor. “You missed me?” he purrs through a sneer and you nod, precious and small, worrying the inside of your lip.

He sinks one leg and then the other onto your bedroll, just between your parted feet, kneeling before you. The flimsy spring mattress squeals under his weight—all of that armor, all of that boiling soot trapped within him.

“How much?”

For a moment, you must look confused. Puzzled. Your eyebrows furrow as Din unclips the saber from his belt, rolling it over in his hand. You rake your gaze up from it, dilated pupils landing on the unforgiving black panel there.

“You claim you missed me. Prove it.”

Your cunt bottoms out.

He crouches over you, tracing along your inner thighs with it's steel shaft and you bury your fists into the cot. You don't know which to look at: Din or the rod in his hand. “Tell me you want this. Tell me you trust me.”

Fuck, it feels like you’re going to rattle apart. There isn’t an inch of you that isn’t humming—isn’t seizing up wild. “I-I trust you,” you mouth softly. And you do, whether you should or not—you trust him with your life, to make or ruin.

“Fuck, you’re wet mesh'la,” he appraises darkly, leaning in to run a leathered digit through your seam, parting your curls. Your legs twitch, heels of your feet digging into the bed. “So ready for me. So eager."

Your eyes dance frenetically down to the handle and back up to him as he aligns the saber with your pussy. The blunt end of it touches your lips and you shudder, instinctually fidgeting away from it. Din splays his hand on your knee, anchoring you in place. “Shh,” he coos, rubbing a thumb soothingly into your skin. It doesn’t feel sweet. It feels sickly, cloying— like arsenic.

You don’t dare breathe as he prods the shaft into you, inch by terrible inch. It doesn’t matter how slicked and wet you are from touching yourself, your walls strangle the foreign intrusion. Your body resists.

“Fuck,” you sob. Your throat, your pussy, all of it— it’s all compacted. It feels so fucking tight, both words and air fighting to get out and in all at once—everything inside you constricting.

“Show me,” he grits through clenched teeth. “Show me how much you missed me.” He drags his gloved digit over your clit, pressing down onto it until you see stars, fizzing in front of your vision. “I know you can take it, sweet girl. Be good and show me.”

Be good. Be good for him. Be his only vice.

He continues to swirl at your bundle of nerves and you’re nearly thrashing with it— with all of this— hair fanned and mussed against the pillow as you writhe, swallowing his saber to the hilt. Fuck, you’re so full. Maker, you’re stuffed with it; with the cold, uneven edges, the ridges woven into the grip of it— and he slowly - tortuously - delves the handle in and out of you, hitting against your cervix with every thrust.

You can only mumble. Your lips have gone slack, your mind is cavernous. All you can do is quiver and beg— beg for release. Beg for it to end.

Beg for more.

“Oh gods, oh g- Maker, please—”

Your bleary eyes shoot open as you’re silenced by the grip of his gloved hand.

“No.” Din pinches your jaw in the web of his palm, fingertips dimpling your cheeks. “No, your God isn’t here,” he seethes, low and deadly, graphite venom dripping from his lips. “Pray to me.”

Fuck.

Trembling, your lips pucker ugly and sloppy as you babble uselessly in his stony grasp, chin crinkling with a whimper. “D-Din.”

He inhales sharply, mouth snaking into a wicked grin behind his helm. “That’s it. That’s my good girl.”

He’s deboning you as he would a fish. Practiced, he plucks you into messy pieces—gutting you through your open maw. His ministrations are crawled. They’re slothed and carnal with arrogance and pride and it’s not enough—its all together too much, but still—it’s not enough. You’re hungry. You paw at him, scraping over his breastplate.

“Din, please—more," you gasp feverishly, eyes blown wide.

A blip of static huffs through his modulator. “You want more, you filthy little thing?” He gives you another squeeze, indenting scorch marks into your face.

You nod—you try to, his grasp is too firm, rooting your neck to still. “Yes.”

Din groans, all but obliging you as he begins to fuck you harder, pistoning through you as he thumbs your nub with his rough pad.

“Din-”

You’re whining now, tinny and depraved. It’s wrong. Every part, every second of this, is wrong. Immoral. But you can’t stop the way your body convulses at his every touch—you can’t stop the heat roiling in your core.

“Din, Din baby- fuck fuck fuck-”

It’s like he’s trying to split you in two—all of you. Your pussy, your mind, your soul—he’s bisecting you. Divvying you up to bits of nothing. It’s only then that horrid realization occurs to you, winding through your addled haze as he fucks you deep and splintering: you’ll never be whole again.

And scarier still—you don’t think you want to be.

No, you want to be these loathsome shards. You want to be broken glass. You want to draw blood.

You want to be possessed by him.

“Fuck yourself,” he pants, his cock straining violently against his trousers, begging for relief. “Be good and fuck yourself. Let me watch.”

Be good be good be good

He leaves your clit and you whimper at the loss. Your face is stained with tears. The salty trails cascade down to mingle into your hair, into the sheets. You’re vibrating, but you do as he says and you reach down, recoiling when you touch the chilled metal tip. Tentatively, you pad along it, settling on the end that’s peeking out from you.

A pained sound rumbles through Din as you wrap your fist around the saber, and your eyes flit up to meet his, hidden somewhere behind his helm. Hurriedly he unbuttons his pants in a flourish and removes himself from his constraints. He’s pulsing and proud, flexing up against his stomach, the veins choked to bulge along the angry, silken shaft of him.

Finally, you begin to move the hilt—finding an aching, undulating rhythm and he can’t fucking take it. He rips his helmet off, letting it clatter to the floor.

“Din,” your pray, “Din, I think I’m going to-”

You’re wrecked – fried like a livewire– as you look for him, as you search and search—for that warmth, for a trace of him left there. The Din you knew, the Din you agreed to fly with all those months ago, the Din you love. You think you see it sometimes—in the slant of his mouth, the bridge of his nose— but here, now, he is gone.

He is a pit.

Din Djarin is a pit of a man, and you want nothing more than to fall. Standing on the ledge of him, staring down into the abyss—you want this. You want to fall. You want to jump.

“Tell me you’re mine. Tell me, sweet girl— tell me.” He’s fucking his fist raw, humping into his palm as desperate as an animal.

“I’m yours,” you mewl. Furiously rubbing your clit with one hand and spearing yourself on the rod of his saber with the other, your hips buck and spasm. You snap. A blinding light sears through you, ricocheting off every scrap of muscle and tendon sewed up in your body. “Just for you,” you cry, “I’m yours I’m yours I’m yours—”

Your ragged sobs mix with the lewd slaps of skin as Din pumps himself, hot ropes of his release spitting onto you— painting your pussy, the divot of your navel, coating along the slope of your tummy.

“Look at you—fucking, look at you,” he moans throatily, easing through his rough strokes as he softens.

Your chest is heaving and you feel dumb, empty—like a puppet, arms and legs moving on phantom strings. Din removes the handle from you with a wet squelch; a viscous strand of your juices clings on, obscenely connecting your pussy to the base of it, and you rasp—the wind punched out of you with its gaping absence. You gush. It dribbles out the slit of you, leaking past your abused hole and soaking into the bedroll.

When he unsheathed the saber from your scabbard, he took a part of you with it. You’re so fucked out—you’re practically a parsec away— it went unnoticed.

Undetected.

It brushed past you. You didn’t feel it—you didn’t recognize the whisper that has slithered in in it’s place, nestling within your swollen folds.

Breeding there.

“Beautiful,” Din murmurs, placing it on the mattress beside your head, the chrome of it gleaming with your slick. He bows his head to lick a path up your cunt, laving you clean as he climbs higher and higher, tonguing off his seed from your stippled skin. “Fucking beautiful, mesh’la,” he growls. “Mine—all fucking mine.”

You’ve gone heavy. You’re too heavy to keep your eyes open—you’ve been hollowed out and you’ve got nothing keeping you tethered here. You start slipping under in slow motion—intervals between languid blinks lasting longer and longer. You’re spooled in a knot of tangled limbs with Din’s mouth, fervent and needy, flaying you open as he sees fit— with his hot mouth and teeth, suckling your breasts, biting at your nipples and bruising your pretty neck.

It’s not long before you hear it again, as you have before— as you always do: the faint caressing of speech, of lips forming language you cannot understand—made indecipherable in your strung out high.

“D’you say something?” you mumble, half conscious—half dreaming.

Din laps a long stripe up your throat, his stubble sanding your skin. “No.”

You sigh, breathy and girlish, as his fingers find your mound, dipping into you once again. He makes you cum twice more that evening. You barely have the strength to watch him do it.

/

Finally, when he’s satisfied—when he’s spent with driving you mad, making you rile— he grants you respite. He permits it – generous, charitable - and you sleep like the dead, soundly through the night until—

until you don’t.

Eyes. You feel them somewhere— there are eyes on you. You stir, stuttering in your sleep to squirm in the dark. You don’t know what you’re listening to at first. It’s a sound of some kind, a noise. There is a hiss—

A frigid hand seizes around the bloody organ pulsing in your ribcage.

No, not a hiss—it’s a voice. It’s— no-

You pat around for Din beside you but he’s gone—he’s long gone and his vacant spot has grown cold without him—and your nails dig into the sheets, desperately clawing into the fabric.

Inside you.

The voice, the sharp hush of it—it’s inside you. It speaks from inside your own mind, its forked tongue fluttering against your ear.

‘Wake up, sweet girl.’

/

Tags (IM SO SORRY): @djarinsbeskar @pedros-mustache @krissology @keeper0fthestars @read-and-rec

[storyarcscribe]

His Waking Nightmare

Fandom: Star Wars / Obi-Wan Kenobi (Disney+ series)

Cateogory: Gen

Summary: This is glimpse into the mind of Darth Vader and his thoughts during Obi-Wan Kenobi, Episode 3.

Words: 1530

Characters: Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi

Category: Character study, POV, angst, action

Warnings: Mature - Violence, Blood

A/N: This contains heavy spoilers for the Kenobi Disney+ series. Let me know what you think! I have room to explore this further as the season progresses. This has been crossed posted on my a03 page as well.

His nightmare will become the Jedi’s nightmare.

And soon, he will burn the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

◾️◾️◾️◾️◾️

Anakin.

The name of a man who died broken, powerless and afraid.

It was a name of weakness.

Darth Vader despised that name.

The bearer of that name was betrayed by those he loved.

A man who was frightened of his own power and potential to be the most powerful being in the galaxy.

It was a name not uttered by any living thing for nearly a decade.

Darth Vader murdered that name ten years ago.

It was lost. Gone. Forgotten.

Until that very moment.

The very moment Darth Vader felt it ripple across the Force. It shattered, like a piece of glass across his mind as he rested fitfully in the bacta tank.

The only thing worse than that name was the one who spoke it.

The one who betrayed it so dearly.

A Brother…

Father…

Friend…

Foe…

Enemy.

The Sith Lord’s eyes snapped open.

The name, Anakin, may be dead, but Obi-Wan Kenobi was very much alive.

Behind his respirator, Darth Vader smiled.

-

“Where is he?” Darth Vader articulated to the holoscreen from his throne on the dais.

The heat of the planet’s core elevated the temperature naturally of the room, but it particularly boiled his fury further, as he listened to the Third Sister’s report.

“The Grand Inquisitor means nothing.” Vader snapped, unable to take the her lies.

His hands gripped the throne, reigning in his fury as he leaned forward. “Kenobi is all that matters now. Is that understood?”

“Yes.. My lord,” the Third Sister answered, reverently.

Thank you… my Master.

He could taste her fury, her anger, and her cold ambition across the Force. Such power was a weapon to use for his advantage.

And Kenobi’s downfall.

“I have been watching you, Third Sister.” He commended as he watched her accept his facade of praise.

She lifted her chin. It was not a look of defiance, but one of devotion. As if he was the salvation of her entire existence and purpose in life.

I will do whatever you ask.

Good.

“I know what it is you seek.” He continued, baiting her. “Prove yourself, and the position of Grand Inquisitor is… yours. Fail me, and you will not live to regret it.”

I have failed you, Anakin. I have failed you.

She stared at the Sith Lord. The unadulterated rage in her eyes was now honed into the blade he needed… and one he could discard later.

The holoscreen ended.

He stood suddenly, moving to the window looking over the molten planet.

Soon.

He sensed his meeting with the Jedi Master would be soon.

He gazed into to planet ground, his anger burning as hotly as the day he last saw his former Master.

His nightmare will become the Jedi’s nightmare.

And soon, he will burn the Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.

_

“My Lord, we have located Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

The report rang in his ears once again as they landed on some backwards mining planet.

How fitting his once Master would choose to die on on a planet befitting of a useless, old man.

His respirator was the only sound, echoing loudly in his ears.

The Stormtroopers lined the streets with the town’s folk sheltered in their homes.

Hiding from the monster stalking their streets.

Death incarnate.

He could feel the mothers’ grasping unto their young ones… the soft cries of sons and daughters muffled by their parents’ shoulders… the prayers whispered by the elderly over their tables.

But more importantly, he could feel something else… A presence he had not felt in over ten years.

He stopped.

Rain. The smell of rain.

Then it was gone.

Goodbye old friend.

No.

NO.

Where did it go? He searched again. Where did he GO?

He lifted the woman in the building next to him through the Force, choking her to death.

WHERE ARE YOU? He shouted from his mind.

Another man, he lifted and choked. Their struggle filled his rage.

SHOW YOURSELF. His mind screamed as he snapped the neck of some boy begging for his dead father.

He continued to walk forward, choking another citizen as he searched.

And searched.

And searched.

Vader ripped the top off a stand, where a couple clung to each other in fear.

As they should fear him.

He desired to drag their pain out longer.

But then he felt it.

Rain. That feeling of rain.

One that cools the earth after a hot day. A summer rain.

There.

His head swung to the left.

Kenobi.

No, he was gone, and the space was empty with only crates lining the wall.

And then the Sith Lord tasted it.

Fear.

Not just fear… but the fear of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Darth Vader slowly moved towards that fear, like a hurricane on the horizon after a summer rain.

-

Patience was one thing Anakin Skywalker lacked in his lifetime. And it was one thing Darth Vader gained through his training and powers as a Sith Lord.

He watched his former Master struggle to catch his breath of the town's outskirts. Kenobi was lost in his dread as it continued to grow and grow the longer Vader circled him in the shadows.

Darth Vader ignited his lightsaber from a distance away.

The red glowed off the iris’ of Obi-Wan Kenobi.

For ten years, Darth Vader dreamt of this moment. The day he would finally make his Master suffer.

Kenobi ran.

Darth Vader sheathed his light saber.

Good. Darth Vader would relish in this chase and prolong Obi-Wan’s soon to be waking nightmare.

-

“You cannot run… Obi-Wan.” He spoke from his shadows.

Kenobi ignited his lightsaber. The illumination of the blue showed the face of Kenobi fully now as he gaped across the sands, searching for him.

Vader allowed himself to gaze at the man who once knew Anakin Skywalker.

The Jedi Master’s eyes were creased with age, and his hair sprinkled with white and grey, longer than when they last dueled. He was older, no mistaking that, but the look in his eyes remained the same. Focused, calm, strong.

The eyes of a Jedi Master.

The eyes of someone who would soon die by his hand.

Vader left his shadows, approaching Kenobi slowly. He watched as the Jedi looked over him. Ten years had passed, and yet Kenobi’s look of pity and sorrow were the same.

“What have you become?” He asked.

Vader contained the snarl at his throat. “I am what you made me.”

Kenobi ran again.

He didn’t care.

Obi-wan would soon be dead.

Tired of this game, Vader ignited his saber, meeting his own with Kenobi’s.

Darth Vader advanced on Kenobi, attacking him with knowing blows, testing the old man’s skill.

Pathetic, he thought, watching Kenobi scramble in his footwork.

“The years have made you weak,” Vader sneered.

I’ve become more powerful than any Jedi.

Obi-Wan was silent watching the Sith Lord stalk forward.

Vader attacked with a hammer down of his saber, leaving Kenobi needing to use both hands to keep his grip.

Kenobi fell to his knees.

“You should have a killed me when you had the chance.” Vader chastised.

If you are not with me, you're my enemy.

Obi-Wan stood, nicked a pipe, letting steam cover his escape.

Vader walked through the smoke, swallowed by the fumes.

Anger led his footsteps as he approached Obi-Wan again and raised him into the air with a Force chokehold.

Obi-Wan struggled, his lightsaber falling to the ground.

Finally.

Vader relished in sounds of pain. It was the sound of a man who caused him so much pain. So much anguish. So much loss.

Vader was finally here. This was his dream made reality.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the source of all his pain, suffering, and anguish since he was a child, was here. Finally at his mercy and power.

And he would make this a slow death.

Ten years of waiting deserves the time to give the torture Kenobi deserves.

Vader carefully tipped over the flammable mining materials between the two of them. He ignited it with a stroke of his lightsaber, still maintaining his grip on Kenobi throat.

It’s over Anakin. I have the high ground.

You underestimate my power.

Underestimate it, Kenobi did indeed.

“Now you will suffer, Obi-Wan,” Vader hissed, drawing him over the fire. Vader’s nightmare would now become Kenobi’s nightmare. “Your pain has just begun.”

Obi-Wan cried as the fire burned his shoulder. Obi-Wan continued to whimper even as the fire went out.

“Bring him to me,” Vader stated, barely acknowledging the Stormtroopers around him.

His torture would be written in the history books. He knew that the suffering of Obi-Wan Kenobi would be felt across the Force for centuries.

His plans were stripped the moment Kenobi’s allies helped him escape.

Even as Darth Vader stood over the flame between where he gripped the life of his former Master, he knew that this was not the end of his battle.

He would not be so greedy for pain. For torture. The Jedi would not be able to run anymore. No more escapes.

He will kill Obi-Wan Kenobi once and for all.

And the name Anakin will never be spoken again.

[alicee1]

Loyalty rewards

God! Technoblade x Warrior! GN! reader

Warnings: blood, sacrifices, violence, mentions of death

Word count: 2.0K

Synopsis: In the Blood God’s temple every other week the strongest warriors battle one another to satiate the blood lust of their God. You have defended your position as winner for the past three months, gaining the interest of the Blood God himself. 

Requested: no

A/n: The Roman Empire has always been my favorite part of history, and when this (kind of) Roman based idea formed in my head i just couldn’t ignore it. I don’t have any regrets.

Rules, Masterlist

You stood atop of the cold stone platform, crowds of people staring at you as the fight continued from the safety of their seats. The arena like temple surrounded you, safe for the sky where the sun shone brightly down on you.

Today was the day of the sacrifice for the Blood God, so he may be satisfied and heed the city of any attacks and wars. For if he would be deprived of the sight of blood too long he would come and take it himself.

The strongest warriors fought against one another in these temples. A simple, weak, sacrifice would not suffice for the Blood God.

It had led you here, armour brightly reflecting the sun and a sharp sword clenched in your hand as chants echoed through the stadium.

By now you had drowned their chants out, focusing your mind to the battle to avoid the fate of becoming a sacrifice once more.

For the past 3 months you had stood in this temple, every other week battling for the sake of your life.

Perched over the tunnel you had come out of at the start of the fight loomed the statue of the God, his beastly form with dangerous tusks and clawed hands holding a large blade, eyes made from the largest ruby stones harvested. It towered to the top of the stadium, large and impressive.

Across from that statue stood another, displaying the God in his more human like form, his mask obscured by a large skull but with the same blade in its more human like hands.

To the sides however stood smaller statues, both the exact same as they depicted a man with loose fitting robes and large black wings behind him to match. He was the God of death.

Despite having more than enough of his own temples, there was always at least a small place to commemorate him within the Blood God's temple, for he followed in the trail of destruction the other left behind.  Dark and silent as the night he took the broken souls left behind by the ruthless God.

The sound of metal clashing against one another didn't make it over the loud chanting of the crowd, the words 'blood for the Blood God' echoing through the temple.

You managed to hit your opponent with the black metal sword you held in their side, not able to slice through the thick layer of armour but it did enough damage to distract them.

Slowly but steadily you had chipped away at them, you were faster, more agile, in your movements which had proved to be your saviour throughout nearly every fight.

When you managed to land the finishing hit, the side of your sword knocked hard against their helmet.

Under normal circumstances the helmet they wore would've prevented them from collapsing, only causing light headedness and dizziness.

Now however, where the circumstances where everything but normal, the blood loss, exhaustion and adrenaline that had slowly started to thin out, took their toll and with that last hit it was enough to knock them out.

This didn't mean you had come out unscathed either however, ragged breaths lefts your lungs as the warm liquid dripped down your arms and under your armour.

Technoblade watched from his palace, his realm, which was large, luxurious and worthy to house a God. The chanting of the voices within his head deafening as they demanded blood.

It was a common reoccurrence during offerings, as there was usually at least some sort of sacrificial ritual going on somewhere. Despite that, the more chants, the louder they grew within his mind.

With a city as large as yours, one that housed many strong fighters and had proven themselves as a form of entertainment, the chants in his head were deafening as he watched the sacrificial fight take place.

Normally the winner would die of their wounds after the battle, allowing for two new contenders the next week. Those who didn't often stood still heavily wounded in the temple for their next fight to defend their place. It had always been an easy battle to win.

However for the past months he had noticed that time and time again the same fighter stood on the battle field, wielding the same black sword despite the more common weapon, an axe.

He watched you curiously win the battle once more, tapping the throne decorated with swords, regular skulls and the legendary wither skulls with one hand as he watched.

You had pulled the helmet of your opponent, holding their limp body up by the hair on their head like you had done time and time again for the past weeks.

Presenting the broken warrior to the sky to allow the God to pass judgement, forcing the warrior to put their faith into the hands of their God one last time and see if he would answer.

The crowd roared. You had grown to be crowd favourite, your speed and agility entertaining as you put up a show during the fight, entertaining the public as much as you did the God.

Your blade was still drawn, although it wasn't uncommon for a sacrifice to die during the battle, the true purpose was to keep them alive and give the Blood God a chance to spare their life and add it to his army of hounds or allow them to die.

As a warrior, the Blood God was one of the most important to serve and to please, and during the sacrificial ritual you would put the life of the soul in the hands of the God one final time. It was a tradition passed down over centuries as the empire grew, your city being the capital.

Throughout history it had happened occasionally where the God would send down a pig like creature, clad in glowing black armour, wielding a golden axe, to come collect the defeated warrior's body and soul to take with them.

Legends told that they were part of the hound army the God had, past souls that had once been sacrificed as well and been collected as well.

Myths spoke of the God and his hound army, the souls of the warriors reincarnated in the pig like or wolf like beasts that came to collect the still alive souls of those worthy before they were handed over to the angel of death and send to the underworld.

Only those who had left a lasting impression were remembered by the God by their name, forming the strongest and most important part of his army.

The hounds joined the God to the battle field when he craved blood but was deprived of it by a city or empire, slaughtering everyone in sight to satiate the hunger.

You waited as seconds passed, the chants only growing louder as moments passed. As usual, no beast appeared to collect the broken warrior before he would serve his last purpose as sacrifice, stilling the God's hunger for blood until the next ceremony.

The sharp blade you held in your hand was still pressed against your opponents throat, waiting for seconds more before finishing the deed.

The body collapsed into itself at your feet as the hair slipped from your fingers, a dull thud sounding so much louder than it should have in the arena.

A small, but satisfied smile formed on the God's face at the sight, you stood covered in blood on the stone with the body at your feet. The smile on your face matched his, although it was a little more tired in comparison.

He may have been unsure during the last sacrificial ceremony, but he was sure now. Why wait for you to lose a fight and arrive broken to his realm, his palace, when he could take you right then and there.

It had been a while since he had come down to one of his temples directly, but as he stood up it didn't take long for him to appear within the tunnel that led to the battlefield.

The crowd silenced at the figure that walked from the tunnel, as there was only one being that could do that. He didn't look like one of the beastly monsters that had been described in stories of old.

A skull hid his face from view but the ruby glint of his eyes reflected the sun, the pink locks that peeked from under the mask, left only one deity who it could possibly be.

Sinking to your knees at the sight of him, the temple grew quieter than it had ever been. The crowd questioned if you had killed your opponent too soon and now you would pay the price with your own life to compensate.

Your gaze was pointed to the ground where you could see his figure inch closer as it reflected in the deep red liquid that had pooled around you.

The Blood God stood in front of you now, peering down at your definitely smaller figure. He was still a God and it showed in his proportions, tall, muscularly built, with a blood red cloak hanging from his shoulders.

His voice held a power to it as was expected from a God, although monotone, it held a subtle undertone of amusement as he spoke up.

"You have defended the first place for the longest period in a long time," he noted, eyes piercing as he looked at you, bowed down before him.

A small nod came from your head as you carefully looked up at the God as he towered over you.

"You have been one of the strongest and most loyal follower I have seen in a long time," he allowed you to look up at him fully now, an amused smile tugging at his lips, barely visible from underneath the pig skull,

"The freedom you have seen so far has been an illusion created by those above you. I can grant you true freedom if you return to my realm with me."

He stretched out his hand to you, thick and worn gloves covering his hand as you could see the burn marks from wielding a weapon for years on end. It took you barely a moment to think as you placed your hand in his, feeling the friction between your two gloves as he pulled you to your feet.

Your blade was still clenched in your dominant hand as you sheathed it, looking around the arena like temple once more as the crowd stood in awe, their eyes glued to the scene in front of them.

A sight they would behold in their lives only once, and tell generations to come.

As time would pass it became a story, faded into a myth as the sacrifices continued. A never forgotten ceremony to quiet the insatiable lust for blood that the God held.

In the temple however, soon a new statue stood, smaller but unmissable beside the massive statue of the God. One of a warrior with glowing eyes made from the purest jewels the empire held, a pitch black sword held in their hand as they stood confidently beside their God.

The reality didn't differ much from the stories that spoke of your new life in his realm, it was luxurious and free, befitting a divine creature like the Blood God and now you.

Sometimes, when villages or cities left the sacred ceremonies to please their Gods in the dust, you ventured out. Beside the powerful figure that controlled the army of hounds now stood a second figure, cloaked in glowing armour identical to the God's as you rained down the attacks on the unfortunate settlement.

From that one day in the temple forward, you stood right beside the Blood God himself.

[author-morgan]

Kryptic ↟ Deimos

forty - are you not entertained masterlist But the great leveler, Death: not even the gods can defend a man, not even one they love, that day when fate takes hold and lays him out at last. Death submits to no one, not even Dread and Destruction. They are both weapons of flesh and bone, of warm blood and beating hearts, and they cannot be controlled.

"I'VE COME TO fight," Lesya announces, standing before the gates of the arena. She nor Deimos had ever ventured to the fighting pits, but there are many among the Cult who had —all fodder for the Beast of Sparta. Today, his reign would end by her hand. 

"For glory or for riches?" The old gatekeeper asks. No one came to the arena in Pephka seeking an honorable death anymore —the age of heroes is gone. The crowd may cheer and sing praises of the champions, but the walls of the arena no longer shook as they once did when contenders stepped onto the sands. 

"So long as the crowd sees blood spilled, why does it matter?" Lesya refutes, impatient. The gatekeeper sighs. He has no doubt the woman before him is a warrior. The whispers of demigods walking amongst the realm of men have traveled on the winds. Lesya is not here to become a Hero of the Arena, but Skoura thinks she has the makings, even if it is vengeance burning in her laurel eyes. "I am here for Belos," she announces, and she will not leave until he is slain —body lying cold in the sands of the arena.

But the Beast of Sparta is only one of the champions, and scores of men lay between the twin blades on Lesya's back and Belos himself. Skoura motions around to the monuments celebrating the champions, and the scores of defected soldiers and mercenaries come to try their luck. "Then you must carve your way through the other contenders to see the ranks of our champions," he says. My blades are ready, old man, Lesya thinks, tired of the conversation —she has come for blood, for vengeance, not for conversation. Skoura motions above, and the gates to the area begin to swing open. "Your name, fighter?" He asks.

"Enyo," Lesya answers, no hesitation —the name which will strike fear into the heart of all those who knew of the Cult of Kosmos.  

SHE BRACES HER weight against one of the wooden pillars supporting the netting above the arena floor —forehead slick with sweat against her forearm, chest heaving with exertion. The crowd still shouts and cheers from above, and among them, she finds her brothers. They do not hail her as the others do. Their faces are a solemn mask of concern that one could almost mistake for pity. 

Scattered around the sands are no less than twenty-five corpses. There were no more left to challenge her except for Belos himself. Straightening, she steps back —staggering, finally feeling pain blossom in her thigh. There's a bloody cut just below the tassels of her dark leather belt. Lesya goes to the nearest corpse, ripping a long strip of linen from the man's chiton, and binds the wound, quickly.

Deep from the labyrinth of the pits comes the booming echo of a war drum —impending doom and dread. She paces the sands like a caged beast kicked one too many times. 

The drums grow louder as the iron gate at the far end of the arena lifts. Belos strides forth with his massive shield and labrys held aloft. From behind him stride a dozen more men wielding shields and spears, maces, and swords. Whispers made their way through the arena that the disgraced champion of the Cult of Kosmos had come to fight —Belos would not chance losing to her. "You've come to die, whore?" He bellows, knocking the broad head of his labrys against the bronze shield —the crowd erupts in roaring cheers. 

The vanguard encircles her, weapons leveled and shields raised. She curses Belos for his cowardice. That he hides behind weaker men and cannot face her alone. Lesya stands her ground at the center, leaving one blade sheathed on her back, daring one of the Spartiates to make the first move. A heartbeat passes before one of them acts, thrusting the end of his spear forward. She catches the wooden lance and rips it free, breaking it over her knee, and spins —ducking under the man's shield. He lets out a wail of pain when she thrusts the splintered end of the lance into his chest. His cry is silenced by a quick cut to the throat and a warm spray of blood. 

 Another tries the impale her with a dull spear, but she rolls forward, under the blow, and springs back to her feet, driving the other half of the broken spear into his thigh and her own blade upward through the chinstrap of his helm. "He's cheating!" Timotheus grits out, leaning onto the wooden and rope railing, looking down into the arena. No other champion fought with a host of men to protect them. "We have to help her!"  

"We can't," Tundareos reminds him, unable to tear his gaze away from his sister. "The rules," he utters, "it would forfeit her life." Lesya hammers her blade into the man's ribs, cracking through his exomis, skin, gristle, and bone. Pressing deeper as blood sluices from the gash and over her hands. She rips the blade back, and he falls in paroxysms of agony, unable to breathe with the blood filling his lungs. 

Two more lunges at her, and one scores her breastbone through the linen of her chiton with a swipe of his spear, the other nearly crushing her head with a heavy iron mace. Too many, Lesya curses, knowing she grows slower with each blow absorbed and strike dealt. And Belos, the Beast of Sparta himself, weighs the moment to strike the killing blow. Kosmos will reward him handsomely for bringing Enyo's head back to Delphi. Lesya scrambles backward, knees knocking against one of the weapons racks. 

The iron banded wood is rough and splintering under her fingers, but she surrenders her blades and hefts up the shield, stooping low as the iron mace swings above. Before the man can turn to swing again, Lesya smashes his face with the iron boss —breaking his nose, forcing the mace from his hands. Discarding the shield, she rushes to recover the mace and heaves the heavy weapon high above her head before chopping downward with a harsh scream. Blood spatters when the flanges bite into flesh and bone. The man crumbles instantly, his skull split wide open, and the crowd grows louder still —drunk at the sight of blood.

Belos remains behind her bidding his time, leaning on the heel of his great two-handed labrys. She hears the whistle of the sword cutting through the air and ducks, twisting out of the way, recovering a discarded spear. A swift cut to the backs of his knees and the Spartan falls, unable to stand again. His misery ends as Lesya thrusts the spear through his throat, pinning him upright with blood gurgling from his gaping mouth. The last of the vanguard protecting their champion, but then Belos is upon her without mercy. 

Lesya steps back and out of the sweeping arc of his axe, feet sliding on the slick sand. Regaining her balance is almost impossible. As quickly as she evades one blow, the next comes. Belos roars, aggravated, and throws aside his shield, using both hands on the labrys. She dances around him, always out of reach, but then he charges forward like a raging bull and pins her against the wall of the arena with the wooden lance pressed into her throat. 

The Beast snarls, pressing harder and pushing upward, the tips of her toes leaving the ground. For the briefest of moments, Lesya begins to panic —she has never met a foe she could not overcome— but Belos will not claim her.

Kicking out, her foot finds purchase on his bent knee, and the leverage is enough for her to reach back and unsheathe the blade on her back. He tries to pull it from her grasp, but his grip falters, and Lesya drives the blade into his shoulder with a harrowing scream. Belos drops his labrys, and Lesya darts around him, picking up a dulled sword from one of his defenders as he pulls out the blade and throws it down, recovering his axe.  

Belos feels the cold bite of iron just above the inside of his knee. He swings his axe down as Lesya quickly jerks the blade back, then his left leg twists and gives, blood spurting from the gash. 

The champion tries to stand in his stupor but cannot rise, and in place of the roaring crowd is only stunned silence. She takes the labrys from his grasp and uses the blade's edge to knock off his one-horned helmet, revealing the disfigured face beneath —one half marred by flames, the taut mass of scarred flesh pulls his lips into a permanent, sickly grin. Belos grits his teeth, fingers curled around the hilt of a dagger at the back of his armor, one last chance. It is not enough. He moves to strike, but Lesya kicks the blade from his hand and begins to pace around him —a rusting iron sword held tight in her bloodied right hand.  

She steps behind him and jerks his head back. Lesya will make sure Belos looks upon her as he draws his final breaths. Her cry is harrowing as she saws through Belos' thick neck with the dulled sword, but then she severs the last tendons, and his head comes free —body flopping forward, still twitching with the last beats of his cruel heart staining the sand. 

Lesya stumbles, lifting the maimed head high for all to see. The crowd erupts a mix of cheers from those blood-drunk and protests from those who know what this defeat means —upheaval in the rankings of the arena. She paces to one of the spear racks at the center of the arena, skewering the champion's head on a spike next to the decaying head of another felled contender. The Beast of Sparta is slain.

But the deafening roar of the crowd fades as Lesya steps away. The blood-lust stupor dissipates, ushering in pain. Her leg gives way, streaked with blood and the fabric of her chiton is torn open. The blood on her hand is dark and drying —not her own— but when she presses a hand to her side, it feels as though she's been touched by the Monger's hot poker again, and the blood on her fingertips and running down her front is bright red, slick and warm. Lesya looks up at the crowd, wishing to rise once more, yet she cannot do so. For a wavering moment, she straightens, then falls —laurel eyes turned upward to see a full moon shining down through the netted ceiling.

TUNDAREOS IS THE first to fling himself from the stands and into the arena, feet carrying him toward his sister as soon as he hits the sand. "Lesya!" She does not move. He falls to his knees at her side, skimming the burgeoning bruises and open wounds. Her eyes are open wide and darting around. For the first time, Tundareos sees fear in his sister's eyes. Even demigods fear death. Time is not on their side, and they will find little aid from those who head the fighting pits. "Fuck," he hisses, moving swiftly —stripping off his chlamys. 

Covering the wound, he brings her hands over the cloth and urges her to press down to stay the bleeding before lifting her into his arms and starting toward the gates. "My–" Lesya grimaces, voice fading as she points to the bloody twin blades lying on the arena floor "–my blades." He curses her for worrying about something so trivial, but Timotheus sees what she is pointing at and reclaims the two blades, following his brother —and fearing it may be too late.

They come across a Spartan camp on the shores not far from the arena. "Hold!" The Spartiate at the entrance calls, leveling his spear to stop them from coming closer. The small group looks to be vagabonds who've lost their way, but as they draw closer, the soldier sees a woman covered in blood with hair like flames. The men with her have little regard for their safety, expressions of worry twisting their faces. The Spartan lowers his spear but not his guard as they draw nearer. 

"Do you have supplies to spare?" Timotheus asks, desperate and hoping they will not recognize him as a former Athenian commander. Their arrival brings the rest of the Spartans occupying the camp to the entrance.  

"I know her!" One of the hoplites points out. It was hard to forget fighting alongside a copper-haired goddess of war. "We fought together on Pylos." He'd seen her save Brasidas and face down the champion of Athens. It's a sight he will not soon forget and is enough for them to welcome the trio into the small camp, albeit reluctantly. They point to the captain's tent, and the soldier most skilled in medicine joins them.

The Spartan peels back the stained chlamys and grimaces. It is not a clean-cut, and they do not have the means to properly suture the flesh back together, but she would not have made it to Lato for better treatment. He calls for water, linen, and boiled wine then looks back at the two men who accompanied her. It does not seem possible one renowned across Hellas for fighting like Enyo or Eris with the strength of a dozen men should be wounded in such a manner. "The fighting pits," Tundareos says, sensing the question before the Spartan can ask. 

He does what he can with what little supplies he has. The bleeding ceased, and the dried blood and sand washed clean from her side and leg. Only time will determine if the copper-haired demigoddess of war will live to fight again. "The wound is clean, but–" the soldier spares a glance back at the thick linens wrapped around Lesya's middle "–I have seen men die from less," he confesses. Demigoddess or not, she still bleeds like every other man, and only someone of great strength and with the gods' favor could overcome such a wound.  

Tundareos shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose when he sees Lesya stir and wake. "By the gods," he starts, "you're a bigger fool than I thought." She turns her head to look at him as he paces. "Were you trying to get yourself killed?" He doesn't try to hide the anger in his voice. Tundareos spent his life searching for his sister, and now that he's found her...he cannot bring himself to think of losing her —to know he'd given up his life for this. Lesya doesn't answer, the pounding in her head is nigh deafening.

"Is that why you wanted to come here?" He asks. But death would be too easy, and the gods were not so merciful as to let it end. She turns her head, feeling hot tears slip from her eyes. I am still Enyo, after all. "I will not pretend to know what you feel, Lesya, but if you continue to do this, it will kill you," Tundareos says, and Lesya knows he's right. There is little choice for her, and they both know it. "I will not watch you do this to yourself."

Lesya grits her teeth, forcing herself to sit up —the pain is almost paralyzing. "If I do not hunt them," she says, breathing labored, "then they will never stop hunting me." She will have no peace until the last cultist is snuffed out, ripped from this world by the roots. Until then, she must pursue them and break their hold on Hellas —must find Deimos. "I am a fool," Lesya admits, barely a whisper. "But–" she shakes her head "–what they did to me. I can't forget, and I won't forgive." But revenge is its own executioner.  

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