#I was thinking about the Tower to Fury route to be clear

[namelessexistence]

My boy, The Voice of The Broken

[birdmitosis]

Since you sometimes make a distinction between the two different versions of The Fury and The Wraith as well as the Beast and Witch versions of The Wild, would you care to discuss how you interpret the two versions that makes them worth distinguishing?

Oh, sure!

Honestly, I tend to differentiate the shared Chapter IIIs more often than not in my head, even if I don't always specify in writing. This is because I tend to think of all the Chapter IIIs as continuations of their Chapter IIs -- which is why I also find it increasingly hard to ship things like, say, Witch/Thorn and I find it harder to imagine Adversary & Eye of the Needle interacting, unless it's a case of two alternate universe versions meeting.

But I also make more of a distinction between Chapter IIIs that are, in my opinion, very different from one another in some key way. This is definitely most obvious with the Greys, who flat-out have names specifying which is which in fandom (Burned Grey and Drowned Grey are by far the most common in my experience)... But the two Furies and two Wilds also have very obviously different driving desires and motivations, in my opinion.

Adversary!Fury feels empty. She has lost you. If you make it through her torment, she makes it clear that's what she's so upset about. She had a moment of fleeting happiness with you she's clinging onto, she thought she understood something about you, and you left her feeling alone and empty.

On the other hand, if you make it through Tower!Fury's torment, she makes herself clear as well, and it's different. She was furious that you denied her, furious about what you did to her. And now she has broken your will, the way Tower wished, but she's found it to be hollow. It hasn't made her happy. "I am forever a piece unfinished," she says, "A song with no refrain." The song that she wished for, of you choosing to free her, release your goddess upon the world... That can never be. And she is in despair thinking that you will never be able to understand her.

With the two Furies, their differences are also more obvious in The Pristine Cut given the drastic differences between their routes. Yes, there are some similar endings you can get in their chapters (if you have the right voice with you in Adversary!Fury, that is). But it's only with Cold or Broken in Adversary!Fury that you can leave with her, or leave without her, or bury your blade in her heart. And Adversary!Fury's reaction if you defeat her with Contrarian is very different from Tower!Fury's reaction if you defeat her with Cold. And, notably, Broken and Cold only reach the stage of empathizing with Adversary!Fury.

The differences between the two Wilds are more subtle, but IMO are still a significantly different driving force. In Beast!Wild, if you look at what is in your now-shared heart, after she begs you not to make you remember what she was, you find your own fear. But in Witch!Wild, if you choose to look at that concealed thing, after she begs you not to make you remember what you both were... It's hatred. It's both of your hatred. Beast!Wild doesn't want to go back to "the fear and the hunger and the pain"; Witch!Wild doesn't want to go back to "the doubting and the hatred and the schemes." They are both avoiding different things, Beast!Wild seems to more be wanting to avoid thinking about what she had been while Witch!Wild wants to ignore what both of you had been, and while both Wilds feel like it's right to be a single being now, Beast!Wild is the one who specifically talks about having put things back how they were supposed to be. While Witch!Wild shouts about remembering herself, going back to hating and hurting you, before... "I wish I didn't have to."

In comparison, the two Wraiths aren't as blatantly different, but they still definitely have different dialogue before possessing you. It's also possible to get to them in... similar, if backwards, ways. While you can get Spectre!Wraith by just straight-up trying to slay her first thing every time you meet her, well... You can get to Spectre!Wraith by killing her ASAP and then trying to abandon her, and get to Nightmare!Wraith by trying to abandon her and then killing her ASAP. It's easy to just not bother differentiating between the two! But I think the fact that Spectre, even the harsher version of Spectre, has such a different personality and approach from Nightmare, means that Spectre!Wraith and Nightmare!Wraith are still definitely different people even with their strong similarities. They've become quite a bit like each other, though, after everything you have done to them.

...TL;DR honestly I always tend to make a distinction between the different versions in my head, since I think of them still as part of/an extension of their specific Chapter IIs. But some of the shared Chapter IIIs are very very different from each other, in a lot of ways or in a few key ways, and so I tend to differentiate more often with some of them than with others. Because it feels way weirder to talk about "the Fury" without saying which I mean than to do that with "the Wraith." (And I can't imagine doing it with "the Grey" at all.)

[knockknockitsnickels]

I've been thinking about the debate about whether Slay the Princess is a horror game (my answer is "yes") and about how imo Fury is one of the more thematically horrifying routes.

While I was never really scared of her during my playthrough, her whole existence became more upsetting the more I thought about it. I think Fury's route is one of the only times the game fully realizes the horror potential in us (the player) being able to somewhat control the Princess through our perception of her. Whether you got to Fury via Adversary or Tower, it's clear that Fury liked the way she was before, and we took her identity away from her either because we thought it was funny, or because we didn't like how she was.

I doubt everyone's going to have the same interpretation of her chapter (my Fury is going to be different from your Fury, after all) but for me, the whole route made me question my feelings towards Tower, who was originally one of my least favorite princesses. What right did I have to do this to her, just because I didn't like how she was acting? I've turned her into something she hates.

[deconstructthesoup]

Was thinking about the branches of the spiral we see in the Stranger route, and how each of them clearly represent a different chapter 2 vessel and each of them are placed in clear opposition...

And I realized that almost all of the opposite branches are linked in their possible chapter 3s.

"Consumption and betrayal," aka the Beast and the Witch, can both take you to the Wild. "Skepticism and blind devotion," aka the Prisoner and the Damsel, can both take you to the Grey (albeit two very different versions of her). "Rivalry and submission," aka the Adversary and the Tower, can both take you to the Fury. And "terror and longing," aka the Nightmare and the Spectre, can both take you to the Wraith.

The only clear difference is the Razor and the Stranger, and I think that's because they're joined in the fact that while there are minor changes to be taken, they'll both always end in relatively the same position.

[saucy-mesothelioma]

got some stp questions for you!

10. (Explore) What's your favorite Vessel-Voice dynamic?

23. (Explore) Any first impressions regarding [Character]? How about now?

10. (Explore) What's your favorite Vessel-Voice dynamic? From what little I saw of it (wasn't able to do an extensive look through it due to getting physically sick from the "being eaten alive' part which basically left me unable to get through it), I really enjoy the dynamic between The Hunted and The Beast, or more accurately The Den when I ended up getting her. Since The Den is incapable of talking, completely becoming more animal than human, I'm going to focus primarily on The Voice of The Hunted then circle back around to both of them as a dynamic. Even though he's more instinct-based than many of the other voices, I liked how perceptive he was, such as when he realized that our eyes were deceiving us with the mirror because we can feel the wind coming up from where it should be; hell, he ever realizes that it doesn't belong in the world period, and that it's seeped in from "somewhere else"; I personally think he's one of the smartest voices in the whole game (only falling close behind The Paranoid in my eyes. Paranoid's my ride or die). Now put him up with The Den, and you'd get what you would think is a pretty clear-cut chase of predator vs prey. And although it is like that for some of The Den's route, it's the humanity he has towards the Den if you manage to trap her in the tunnel that make their dynamic so interesting to me. In nature if the predator was caught during a hunt, the prey would just keep running and not spare a second glance, but not The Hunted. He actively wants to help The Den, even after being so determined to keep us alive. This isn't an action that one would think to lead to a good ending: if we simply perceive The Den as "predator" and "animal", then the next logical conclusion would be that even if trapped, if her prey comes close enough she would still kill and devour us. But when The Player reaches out their hand towards her, both The Hunted and The Den have manage to overcome their instincts to flee and kill respectively. Despite their very nature, their very instincts, they manage to work together and free themselves from both their literal and figurative confines. And I think that's fucking beautiful.

23. (Explore) Any first impressions regarding [Character]? How about now? I'm assuming this is a "take your pick" question, so I'll go with the opinion of a character that's changed the most since The Pristine Cut came out, which is The Apotheosis. I honestly found her route to be pretty "meh" the first time I got it, which is expected since her route was so short. That being said, even though The Fury was just as short, it kinda made sense to me as to why it was so short: I got The Fury from The Tower and personally it made perfect sense that it would be so quick to end because of the rage she held toward the Player during The Tower's death; a wrathful god wouldn't bother with such trivial things as talk when there's a heretic to be slain. But with The Apotheosis, the original abrupt ending definitely felt like there needed to be more to it, because without the extension of her route she just felt sort've blank and boring. What really got me to change my mind on her was where you take your place at her side as she tries to fulfill her destiny, but Shifty catches her. To see one of the most powerful versions of The Princess so fucking scared as she's being taken hit harder than I expected, and when she lifted the Player up to spare us, the one she initially viewed as being worthless in comparison to her in a last-ditch attempt, my opinion on The Apotheosis changed immediately. In all honesty, that particular ending has become one of my favorite's in the entire game, not just because of how surprisingly emotional it was, but for also completely subverting my previous expectations on The Apotheosis and turning her into a Vessel I actually cared about.

[tai-janai]

Re: Stubborn vs. Hunted in the flowchart, I think the main difference is whether you're fighting for survival or just for the fight/for defiance.

—In Adversary, trying to be clever about the fight and reach a win state leads you to Hunted!EotN, while fighting without caring for your own survival ends the route in Chapter II —In Razor, you get Hunted regardless with the blade because you're acting to protect yourself. You only get Stubborn alongside him if you take the initiative and attack. —In Witch->Stubborn!Wild and Tower->Fury (and maybe Beast->Stubborn!Den), it's kind of clear you're about to die regardless of what you do—but if you decide to (stubbornly) go out fighting despite how hopeless your situation is, you get Stubborn. (This is why it's Stubborn in the former two and not Hunted.) —In Beast->Wild, you get Stubborn by slaying yourself to ensure the Princess cannot escape, despite Hunted's protests (note: this only works if you got eaten for a reason besides playing dead) —If you don't have either of the two in Razor chapter III, you reach Stubborn by trying to fight a Princess who's already proven herself able to easily overpower you... but you get Hunted by dodging her rather than fight, focusing on your survival over victory

(I'd also like to add to the flowchart that you can get Broken if you're trying to survive, but you've already backed yourself into a corner that's impossible to escape. See: Adversary->Broken!Fury (running is pointless and escape is impossible, even though by hiding in the cabin you are trying to not die) and any version of Beast->Broken!Wild requires you to attempt at least once to cut your way out (you don't have enough dialogue options (ignoring the ones that let the Princess free) to die without trying, and if you're in her stomach without the blade you're doomed to fail and get Broken even if you try to claw your way out from the start).)

(I have other thoughts on the flowchart since it's something I had been thinking about a while back and your flowchart has reignited it, but I don't need to start analyzing every route in the game right now.)

oh girl dont think about it too hard i sure didnt

i didnt even want to delve into any of the wild implications cause a) i have no idea which voice goes to her and how they do and b) im not willing to find out cause i hate the wild

i said it but stubborn and hunted are weirdly similar and a lot of their responses go hand in hand. i mean its not that farfetched; stubborn can appear in both versions of hunted's chapter three (wild and den*) even if you give the princess very different reactions.

stubborns just a pain in my ass. ill just kick him off of my unsteadily made flowchart

[modeus-the-misanthrope]

Part 3

While the Adversary isn't the only way to reach the Fury (Something I will bring up in my future breakdown of the themes and visuals of the Tower and her 3rd loop forms.) The Adversary has two ways of reaching the Fury, I will be discussing the one where the player refuses to engage her in battle and how their pacifism causes her mental state to deteriorate.

Now to go into the visual themes, I think showing how she is attempting to either substitute the pain she desired from her fight with the Player with self-mutilation, or as a way to shut out her own thoughts in their absence is clear. (One line the Adversary can proclaim to the player is specifically, "Stop trying to make me think!"). But the obvious element the eye is drawn towards is her chest, specifically how it looks like she has skinned her own chest and then broken several of the ribs to fully expose the heart. Her heart is literally being bared towards the player as she demands they give her a proper recreation of their first fight that was denied to her by the players potential pacifism. The line that drives home her love and fixation on the player has turned into a full blown obsession is more clearly spoken by her alternate stage 3, The eye of the needle. "Show me your worth all this space you've taken up in my head!"

Even in her other form as the Eye of the Needle. She isn't concerned about and won't conprehend that fact she has managed to leave the cabin unless the player chooses to point it out to her. During the fight, the thing she craves the most from the player, she reaches out with a smile, one of the most tender expressions seen on her face during this route, with the players knife sticking out of her chest.

Her themes are all swirled together into a blood tinged cocktail of Love, Obsession, single minded focus, and pain. She is one of my favorite Variations of the Princess, including both of her alternate 3rd loop forms.

The Adversary is a great showcase of how the player affects the princess with themes of fixation on another, obsession, and the harms of both.

The Princess becomes the Adversary when you enter the basement with the dagger and instead of immediately stabbing her, taking a moment to interact. Thus allowing her to fully prepare for you to be a threat to her safety. The impressive physicallity she demonstrates in this moment is more than enough to have got my attention back in the demo. The thrill of the fight to your mutual end seems to be what awakens the desire for violence and her fixation on the player.

Her words as she dies along with the act of laying down next to the player and staring into their eyes as the mutually pass away has an undeniable level of romance to it, as the game itself says, it is a love story. And this love with her only context for interacting with the player being a violent one alters her into becoming the Adversary.

This is Part 1, Part 2 and 3 will be in the reblogs.

[checkingoutforheroes]

B.A.B.Y PROTOCOL.

Part 1.

Avengers x fem!reader

Pt. 2

Genre: Minor angst, more fluff.

Warning: Language! (cursing here & there)

Words: 1746

Synopsis: This takes place in Avengers: Age of Ultron. When The Avengers were at the rock bottom, Nick Fury and advised by Maria Hill, to initiate the B.A.B.Y Protocol. 

Main MASTERLIST

The Avengers gather in the lab after one of an ugly half made robot command a few of the Legionaries to attack them. Currently they are finding out about what or who attacked them. Some of them cleaning their wounds and Thor going out to track the Legionaries. Bruce the only one who starts first. “All of our work is gone. Ultron cleared out every research that we do. He uses internet as an escape route.” Natasha turns and lean her body to a table to say what she’s found. “He’s been in everything. Fails, surveillances. Probably know about us more than we know about each other.”

Holding his right wounded arm, Rhody said “He’s in the internet, he’s in your files. What if he decides to access to something a little more exciting?” By that, Maria has thought something. “Nuclear code.” Natasha looking at them “Nukes? He said he wanted us dead.” Steve interrupt her “He didn’t say dead. He said extinct.” “He said he killed somebody.” Clint said but Maria ask back. “But no one else in the building.” Their conversations cut by Tony. “Yes there was.” He displays JARVIS damaged simulator form and all went silent except Bruce, he checks on JARVIS.

Thor come in angry and straight to choke Tony. Being choke, Tony try talk to Thor “Come one. Use your words buddy.” Thor lift him up a few inch above the floor. “I have more than enough words with you Stark.” Steve walks closer, breaking them. “Thor. The Legionaries?” Thor update them about the Legionaries have the scepter and they have to retrieve it again. For the first time after the attack, Dr. Chow speaks. “You build this program. Why he’s trying to kill us?” Tony just laugh at that question and Bruce disagree. “Tony, this might not be the time to-“ Tony cut his sentences. “Really?! Bruce. We didn’t create a murder bot. Remember New York?” Everyone move their head down facing the floor remembering that event and Tony continue. “A hostile army of aliens charging through a hole in space. We’re standing 300 feet below it. We’re The Avengers. We can bust arms dealer all day but that up there, that’s, that’s the endgame. How do you guys planning on beating that?��� Steve looking at him “Together.” “We’ll lose.” Tony say and Steve still with his answer “And we’ll do that together too.” He looks at everyone and gives the order. “Thor’s right. Ultron trying to draw us out. We start tonight. Do whatever you can to find him. The world is a big place, make it smaller.” Maria stand from her chair. “I’ll escort Dr. Chow to airport. I’ll see you guys in the afternoon.” They all nods and both of them walks out of the lab.

 Next morning.

A young girl wearing her café’s uniform walking with a headphone on her head. While walking, she notices a guy snatches a bag from a lady. That lady screaming asking for help while her baby crying to see her mother in terror from across the street. You bring down your headphone and chase that guy. Thanks for your training, you almost keep up that guy until he stuck in an ally, nowhere to go.

“You wanna give me the bag or I’ll take it from you?” You said. Looks like he’s stuck.

“Fast legs.” He said.

“I had trained before.”

“I’m not a bad guy.”

             “Well, good guys don’t snatch a bag from people especially in front of their baby! You gave me the wrong impression though. Now, give me the bag and go.”

             “I’d like to see you take it.” “You asked for it dude.” You move forward and fight him hand to hand combat. Actually, you are a bit surprise by his technique. He’s not so bad but you have been train by a professional back in the academy.

You’ve been caught one day and some guy wear uniform took you somewhere. You thought it was a juvenile school because you are just 15 that time. Turns out it was S.H.I.E.L.D. They gave you test by test and found out that you good at combat and a little bit good at common sense. After you graduated, work job by job. Gang to gang. Mob to mob. You can’t do that kind of job anymore. You want to be good and yes, you did stop working with the dark. You washed your hands and works at Donut Do It. It’s not your vibe but it is fine for your fresh start. After you slap that guy, you hear a woman voice call your name that has been long unspoken by anyone including you.

 “Baby.” A woman called.

             “Normal people doesn’t know that name.” You said while choking that guy.

She said “Maybe because you’re not a normal girl.”

             “What do you want Maria?” You ask that woman.

You immediately know who he is. Fury. “Oh God, not you too. Okay, for the record, honestly, I haven’t commit any crime that violated the laws.”

“You.” A deep voice man said.

You can hear Maria smirk when she asks you “Are you sure about that?” “…today. You didn’t let me finish. I didn’t commit any crime, today.” You said. Fury tell you to let that guy go and you look at that guy “You’re with them?” He tries to answer even you’re still choking him. “Y.. YE.. Yes!” You release him and slap him real hard right across his face. “That’s for wasting my time. Fuck off.”

Fury look disbelievingly at you. “Was that necessary?” You look back at him “What? Caressing lightly on his soft cheek?” Maria interject “That’s the opposite of what you did.” You try again just to tease her. “Okay. I, tap his soft cheek?” Maria raise an eyebrow at you “Try again.” You surrender. “Fine. I just 180-degree angle slapped him. He’s a trained agent for God sake. He’ll be fine.” You turn around about to walk back to your work place and Fury stop you.

“And where do you think you’re going young lady?” He asks you.

             You turning back. “ Work. Turns out I have a job now papa bear. Thanks for the recommendation letter though. Now, will you excuse me, I have go to work. Hope to never see you two again. Babai.” Again, Fury stops you. “You are not going to that Donut Do It.” You tilt your head to him. “I told you I work there and I’m going. If you two want donut, you know where to find it. Mention my name and you’ll get 30% discounts.” Maria’s face changes when she talks this time. “This is serious and urgent, Baby.”

“We are gathering as many as best agents that we have, and you are one of the best, Baby. Come with us and we’ll brief you.” Fury said and you stop him from saying any further. “Look, I’m gonna stop you right here papa Bear. That is where you are wrong. Aren’t you guys seen my record? I know what good is but I’m far away from good. There is still red blood stain painted on my hands that I could never leave. Even if I wash it thousands time, it won’t come off. What makes you think I’ll do it?” You feel your left chest aching but you ignore it.

Maria answers you. “Because everyone deserves a chance to be and do good. To start over. Yes, you can’t wash that much blood on our hands but this is the chance for you to do something good in your life. A do-over. You actually do something good after the academy. Take out those mobsters down, those gangs. You went inside to get the intel and you burn them to the ground and made those cities safe. Then, you just proof us again just now by caught that robber.”

             You huff and look down on your feet. “You set that up.”

Maria look at you. “But you didn’t know that. Yes, Baby. We’ve seen your record. Detail. You are far away from where you are before the academy. Or after. I mean you did killed people.” You crunch your eyebrows at her “Hey!” Fury turn to talk. “Help us this time. After that, it’s all up to you. We are no longer bugging you. You are no longer in our record. I’m not wasting my time coming here if we don’t need you.” “I thought you miss me.” Fury huff and talk to Maria “I’ll wait in the car.”

             “He never begging. That kind of begging, what he did. Is it that bad?” I ask Maria and she nod with worry face. “Earth level threat. That’s all I can say right now. Come with us to tower and we tell you more.” You let out a long sigh. “Me? Out of all agents, me?” Maria walk closer to you. “Please Baby.” You’re now messing with her. “It Earth level threat and you want a baby to involve? What kind of adult are you? Put a cute baby in danger like that. Unbelievable.” She smiles more than earlier. “The kind of person that will make sure there will be chicken drumets and spaghetti carbonara every day for your meal.”  You silently look at her and playfully sigh and she knows you better. “Caramel pudding and fluffy pillow too.” The ache in your chest getting hard to ignore now. You ask Maria some time and turn back from her. You bending, breathing like your doctor teach you and massage your chest a little. Must be from running earlier.

“Hey, are you okay?” Maria ask, worry if you are sick, but yes you are sick.

             “Yeah. Just shock. Did you say fluffy pillow? You ask her, not wanting to let her know first. They need your help, that’s what you are going to do. Help as much as you can. She let out a giggles and wrap her arm around your neck. “Yeah, you are coming with us, like it or not.” You both walk toward their car where Fury is waiting. “How many pillow though?”

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Thank you for spending your time reading this. Feel free to reblog or ask me anything, thank you in advance!

Part 2 is coming!!

[razieltwelve]

Piggyback (Final Rose)

Taren huffed and puffed as he kept up with his big sister. He had asked Averia not to slow down just because of him and Fury, but he knew that he would have been left behind long ago if she’d gone at anything close to her full speed. Up ahead, the dirt path gave way to thick, almost impenetrable forest.

“Where did the path go?” Taren asked.

“The path?” Averia’s lips curved up into a faint smile. “The path hasn’t disappeared. It’s just not where you’d expect. The terrain up ahead is so uneven that travelling on foot would be extremely difficult, even if people cut a path through the forest.” She shifted her gaze up to the trees. “Which is why people don’t travel on the ground.”

Taren blinked and then followed her gaze. Small notches had been cut into the trees. Those were Yun wayfarer markings, which were designed to show people the way in areas where they might easily get lost. “Oh.” From the looks of it, people were supposed to leapt up into the trees and then travel from branch to branch. “I don’t think I’ll be able to do that.”

“Of course not,” Averia said. “You’re six years old. I’d be surprised if you could.” She bent down. “Hop on. The waterfall we’ll be visiting is about four miles away.”

“You don’t mind carrying me?” Taren asked.

She chuckled. “No. I don’t. Besides, I grew up with Diana clinging onto me like a barnacle. You’re bigger than she was at your age, but I’m a lot bigger now than I was back then. I could carry you forty miles without slowing down at all. Four miles will be easy.” She paused as Fury gave a meaningful cheep. “And, yes, you can hitch a ride too, Fury.”

Taren climbed onto her back, and Fury hopped onto her head.

“Are you going to be okay there?” Averia asked Fury. “I’m going to go pretty fast. If you fall off, I can catch you, but it’s not going to be fun.”

The chocobo replied by using his Aura to effectively stick himself onto her head before giving her a light peck. “Kweh!”

“All right then.” Averia chuckled. “Hold on tight, Taren.”

The little boy nodded and tightened his grip. There was a brief pause as Averia took a moment to map out her route in her head before she exploded into motion. The wind whipped past as they soared upward to land on the branch of the first tree. Taren gave a cry of delight as his sister shifted into an effortless sprint before launching herself forward again to land on another branch and then another and another. 

The miles passed in the blink of an eye as she raced through the trees, her footsteps sure and each jump timed and placed to perfection. He heard the sound of running water, and Averia leapt one last time, high enough to clear the trees as the waterfall appeared in front of them.

It was a massive thing, a towering wall of water that loomed up more than five hundred feet. The water at its base was a churning mass, and the thunder of it was almost deafening.

“Wow.” Taren stared. “It’s huge.”

“It’s not the biggest in the region, but it’s not small either.” Averia pointed. “As part of the Trials, people are often asked to climb it.”

“As in...?”

“As in up through the water. You can’t see it, but there are enough places to hang on if you can use your Aura well enough, presuming you don’t drown during the attempt. Basically, you’re expected to have developed your strength and stamina to the point that you can hold your breath the whole way up with the help of Aura.”

“Oh.”

“They don’t let you use your Semblance, which makes it tougher. It’s a good exercise, overall.” Averia shrugged. “But that wouldn’t be half as fun as what we’re going to do.” She eased him off her back. “How would you like you to walk up the waterfall?”

“Walk up it?”

There was a brief flash of light, and Saviour’s power settled around him. “Follow me.”

Taren watched as Averia walked across the surface of the water, her footsteps leaving not so much as a single ripple. She nodded at him and gestured for him to follow. Some people might have hesitated, but he didn’t. If Averia asked him to walk across the water, that’s what he’d do. She wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t possible.

He put one foot on the water and then grinned. He was standing on the water. She must have done something to him. Fury followed suit, and the chocobo chick chirped excitedly as he too walked on the water without difficulty. It was something adult chocobos could do with ease, but he had yet to master the skill.

“Come on.” Averia led them up to the waterfall, and Taren noticed that none of the spray was hitting them. Her lips twitched, and she began to walk up the waterfall, her body horizontal to the ground. “What are you waiting for?”

Taren put one foot on the torrent of water and then stepped forward. He found himself walking up the vertical surface beside his sister with Fury following in their wake. “Cool.”

“Yes. Cool.” Averia gestured. “Walk around, have a look. We’ve got plenty of time to reach the top.”

Taren danced a merry jig across the waterfall before hurrying off to explore it. Without having to worry about falling or being buried under the deluge, the waterfall was actually really interesting. Averia had been right. Beneath the water, there were clearly places someone could use to climb. There were also some tenacious plants clinging on, and he even spotted a burrow of some kind that belonged to one of the water-loving lizards that often dwelt near the rivers and streams in Oerba.

Eventually, they made their way to the top, and Taren turned to stare at the view below. It was beautiful. A huge swathe of the forest was spread out below them.

“This is great.”

“It is.” Averia picked him up again and settled Fury back onto her head. “Come on.” She pointed to several towering cliffs that loomed several miles away. “We can have lunch up there.”

X     X     X

Author’s Notes

Taren had a very interesting childhood. The forests in Oerba are always imposing, but the terrain can get particularly rugged as the flatter ground gives way to the foothills and lower slopes of the mountains. That’s where you can get huge waterfalls and other spectacular natural features.

The wayfarer markings are based on Ancient Yun. They’re kind of like road signs. All Yun and Dia know how to interpret them, and it’s generally recommended that anyone travelling in the area either learn or bring someone who knows with them. Taren can read them, but that won’t help him much here since he can’t do the whole leaping from branch to branch thing yet.

This trip is something both Averia and Diana have taken in the past, so Averia thought she’d take Taren (and Fury) along to see it.

[rorikoa-xiv]

Where There’s Smoke

The desert sun beat down on the Silver Bazaar as Talon stepped through the town gate. Adjusting his shades, he scanned the stalls and stonework for anyone of interest. He eventually settled on a black-haired midlander waving his finger at some men in wet, raggy clothing.

"I thought you sailors were supposed to have spine! Instead, you--" The furious fellow turned to see the stranger approaching him, and let out a tired sigh. "Yes? Can I help you?"

The miqo'te shrugged. "Maybe. I'm lookin' for anyone who knows about the recent sahagin sightings."

The hyur let out a bemused chuckle. "Sahagin! Don't you talk to me about sahagin! Do you have any idea how much trouble those bedeviled beastmen have made for my master's enterprise?"

"Quite a bit, I'm guessing." Talon set his hand on his hip, and cocked his head. "Care to elaborate?"

Taking a deep breath, the man bowed his head in greeting. "Aurton, servant of master Adalymo Totolymo, owner of Totolymo Munitions. And you are?"

The miqo'te straightened his posture and patted the wand on his hip. "Scorching Talon, of the Ashen Wolves. Here to solve the fishback issue."

The servant looked to the sky and clasped his hands. "Oh, thank the Traders! You must help us retrieve our grenade cores before the saha--"

"Whoa, hold up!" the Ashen Wolf threw his hands out. "Grenade cores!? Shit, I get that you're in the gunpowder business, but enough of those things can level a damn tower if you ain't careful!"

Aurton cleared his throat. "Which is precisely why we can't well leave them in the hands of their scale-skinned thieves. My men here were sailing from Vesper Bay when they were driven from their boats at spear-point. Had to swim their way to shore."

The seeker glanced at the drenched men and thumbed his chin. "Didn't occur to you to maybe take a land route?"

"And get gutted by tolls at Horizon?" The hyur crossed his arms.

One of the sailors, a dunesfolk, shook his head and muttered something obscene. The midlander shot him a look of disdain, and he zipped his lips.

"Tch, tch, tch… you know, I've monkeyed around with a grenade core once or twice." Talon rolled his shoulders, and clapped for the black-haired man's attention. "Whatever those two-legged guppies want with 'em, they must be putting 'em someplace dry. Otherwise the things'll go inert."

The hyur gave one last menacing look to his employee, then rubbed his neck. "The boats my men were on aren't meant for deep-sea travel, actually. It's unlikely they went far with their cargo."

The lalafell perked up. "A-actually, I might know where they are!"

Aurton cocked an eyebrow. "Well… go on then. Daylight's burning."

"Was sorta hopin' there'd be a bonus for telling?" the dunesfolk said with a nervous chuckle.

The servant's mouth went agape, then twisted into a sneer. "Why, yes! The bonus is, you get to keep your godsdamn job, Babayori! Now spill it!"

"A cave! A cave!" A look of terror appeared on the little man's face. "There’s some grottoes in the desert islets off the coast! I steal away to 'em now and again to catch forty winks and I, uh… that is…"

"Ohoho, you filthy little filcher!” The hyur stomped his way toward the dunesfolk. “First you try to shake me down for my own product, then you admit to napping on the job?! Well that's it! Your sorry ass is--"

"Enough!" Talon put himself between the two. "This ain't getting us anywhere. Look… Babayori, right? Can you take me to this cave where you think the sahagin're hiding?" The lalafell nodded emphatically.

The Ashen Wolf turned back to the midlander. "Then how 'bout this: let the little dude take me to the cave, and if I find the cores, we call it a job well done." He then glanced at the small sailor. "Oh, and you keep this schmuck on the payroll."

Aurton's brow twitched. "Keep him? Pah! And just what's your interest in his job security?"

"Can't really say." The mage shrugged back. "Just feelin'... generous. Alternatively, I can leave the same way I came, and you can sort this out yourselves."

A cool breeze rolled through the bazaar. The hyur inhaled, and eyed his employee. "Thank your lucky stars, Baba… you've got a deal, miqo'te. Get going."

The sailor and the seeker began making their way to the pier. With his boss well out of earshot, the dunesfolk spoke up. "Hey… thanks again, mister Talon. My family and I owe you one."

"Ah, don't mention it." the thaumaturge said with a wide smile. "Guy was a friggin' asshole. You've got my deepest sympathies." The pair laughed boisterously as they continued down the dock.

*********************************************

The nauseous scent of fungus and rot yawned out of the pitch-black cave now looming before Talon and Babayori. Just within its mouth were the stolen boats, with their cargo nowhere to be seen.

As the miqo'te began climbing off, the dunesfolk stopped him. "H-hey, just so we're clear, you're not expecting me to go with you, right?"

The thaumaturge gave a halfway grin, and shook his head. "Wasn't countin' on it, no. You just keep the boat here for when I come back with your boss's shit." He then hopped from the boat, conjured a flame for light, and headed in.

The sailor saluted him and nodded. "Come back safe, you hear?"

Deeper within, the pyromancer had to narrow his eyes. The damp air hampered his lightsource, and the skittering of vermin filled his ears. A chill ran down his spine as some unnatural growl echoed all around him.

Hurrying his pace, he stumbled upon a trail of webbed tracks leading to a tight passageway. The mage smelled something putrid coming from the other end, but it was interlaced with the scent of smoke.

"Found you." he said, and ducked into the passage. He anxiously whispered a prayer to Azeyma, and soon found himself in a dry, dimly-lit cavern.

Rotting fish and half-eaten rats littered the ground. Pinching his nose, the Ashen Wolf slowly moved forward until something caught his eye.

Several crates lay at the far end of the room. They smelled like charcoal, and had a faint glow. Talon hurried over and began inspecting them.

Finding nothing suspect, he carefully opened one of the crates. Inside were many densely packed orbs, emanating dry heat. He plucked one out, and gazed into its orange glow with a nostalgic smile. "Bee-youtiful…"

KSSHHHICK!

The thaumaturge screamed as something cold and steely plunged into the base of his back! He fumbled to try and pull whatever it was out, but a slimy foot planted itself on his back and kicked him to the floor!

His wand fell into the dirt beside him. Gritting his teeth, he crawled toward it, but a sudden stomp on his spine held him in place.

A pair of mucus-filled voices hissed above him. "Keep thisss one alive; fear will make its flesh tassstier for brothers!" laughed one voice. "No, no!" growled another. "Sssmoothskin is wielder of fire! Burning, burning! Too dangerousss!"

Talon jerked and wriggled to escape his attacker, but to no avail. He felt the weight shift above him, and could almost sense the sharpened steel hanging above his neck.

At just that moment, the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard from the cavern's entrance. Babayori's voice echoed out, "You let 'im go, you big ugly whoreson!" The lalafell swung his oar wildly, only for it to thud against the scaly back of a sahagin thrice his size.

The creature let out two irritated grunts, and turned to the little man. In the faint light of the lantern on his hip, the sailor could make out a towering, violet monstrosity, armed with a trident. Most frightening to him, however, were its two hideous heads.

Both of its faces twisted into scowls, and roared at Babayori. He fell to the ground in terror, and crawled back. The abomination stomped toward him, preparing another thrust of its weapon.

FFFOOSH!

An orange flash filled the room. In an instant, a whip made of flame was coiling around the creature's waist, and slithering up its body. It let out a blood-curdling howl, and turned to see Talon propped against the crates, gripping his wand.

With growing fury, the beastman took several heavy steps toward the Ashen Wolf. "These onesss will eat your entrailsss!"

Babayori watched with awe and horror as the thaumaturge pulled out a grenade core and focused on it. When the sahagin had nearly reached him, the glow from the core dimmed into nothing, and the fire-whip burned even brighter.

With a yank of the wand, the coil tightened, searing through the creature's scales before tearing it into a pile of smoking chunks.

As the scent of charred flesh filled the room, the miqo’te fell to the ground and rolled onto his back. Through harsh breaths, he beckoned, "Good… work, Baba… n-now… c'mere…"

The lalafell rushed to his side, and began inspecting him for any visible injuries.

"W-wait. First… left pocket… yellow vial. Need it…" Talon shut his eyes, and felt a bitter liquid pour into his mouth. Swallowing it all, he sat up. "Alright… better. Now, I need your help to patch my wounds, but after that, we get those crates and get moving. Two hauls should be enough."

The dunesfolk's eyes widened as he poured a canteen over a makeshift binding. "Two hauls? After all that? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The seeker's brow twitched, and he barked back. "I'm not sticking around for that… thing's friends to show up. And I'm definitely not leaving them their plunder!"

He then lifted his shirt, and cringed as a whiskey-soaked cloth was used to bind his wounds. "Fuckin' circus freak… what in the hells were these guys doing playing with that much firepower, anyway?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure." Babayori replied as he rummaged through the thaumaturge's pack. "But at least you helped stop 'em, huh?"

"No." The pyromancer grabbed the sailor's hand when he was offered a potion. "We helped stop 'em."

[the-headbop-wraith]

3 _ 44 _ Not the Best News

  The light flashed green, but Arthur wasn’t paying attention. The action didn’t quite ignite in his mind, though he was looking right at it. Lost in his thoughts, searching for guidance to connect the now to a future he didn’t understand. Did Lewis not trust him? He didn’t get it.

 A crackle of static burbled through the radio.

 “Lights green.”

 Arthur shivered. “Yeah. Just checking for traffic.” There was no rebuke on that, though the intersection was bare of vehicles aside from one car creeping forward. The town shut down pretty fast following six PM.

 Streetlamps flashed through the windshield at off intervals, flooding black through the van interior. The rose tinge of Lewis eyes glittered, his shape near insubstantial within the periodic dips of flare bursts. Sometimes, Arthur thought he saw the death suit and skull, despite knowing Lewis would not drop his living guise unless his focus broke. It must suck, maintaining that sort of concentration.

 “Y’know, you don’t have to look that way around me,” Arthur admitted. “I actually don’t mind Sir Bones Esquire.” Lewis generated a sound, but he couldn’t place if it was a hiss or static.

 “I prefer to look not like I crawled out of a grave,” he muttered. The face didn’t move, but the shimmering ember shifted to check Arthur. “Thanks for the offer.”

 Arthur shrugged his shoulder. “I try and keep the board clear. Whatever works for you, I’m game.” It wasn’t resentment, it was something else seeping off of Lewis.

 “You too,” Lewis uttered. He leaned back a little in the seat and crossed his arms. “You got a lot on your mind. You wanna, I dunno, talk?”

 Arthur sniffled. “Not really. It’s, well….” He flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Maybe later, I gotta tell you some things. Not bad or anything, but it’s pretty heavy. I might… y’know, never mind. That pizza was heckin’ good. How many times did you burn ‘em.” The radio sputtered.

 “Five, I think….”

 “Awesome.” Arthur pulled into the carport for Kingsman Mechanics. The lights were all out, the parking lot empty; the space barren, but for the vehicles dropped. He climbed out of the driver side and shut the door. On the other side, Lewis swept through the grill of the van in a swell of light and embers.

 “Dude, c’mon,” he uttered. “Don’t risk the gas tank.”

 “It’s ethereal fire,” Lewis rasped. “Absolutely harmless.” He walked with Arthur to the front doors, the keys already twinkling.

 “Hard to tell with you.” Arthur slotted one key, then the next. Until, Lewis brought his hand close, sparking a smoldering ember at his palm. Arthur jolted. “Shit! Warning, next time.”

 “Siento.” At the entrance Lewis waited, while Arthur popped inside and gave the building a brief exploration. Within seconds, Arthur returned and beckoned.

 When exiting out the entrance corridor, Arthur flicked a switched on the panel and activated the lights throughout the main work floor. “Okay, the boxes are upstairs by the door of my work room. Stacked. I meant to grab them, it didn’t happen. You can’t miss them.” The details dropped, he skittered out of Lewis company, sprinting across the work floor.

 “Where are you going?”

 “Need parts for my arm. I was kinda in a hurry, excited I was gonna get out of here before Viv started texting me. I didn’t want her to worry.” He spun around, throwing a finger gun Lewis’ way. “I’ll be up in a sec.”

 “What else did you forget?” Lewis departed on his alternate route to the dark corridor, leading to the stairway. “Should I grab the kitchen sink, too?”

 After a beat, Arthur called back in a sharp whisper, “It couldn’t hurt.”

 The worktable was as he left it, which was what he liked. He pulled open the drawer where he kept a sturdy case for the tools he routinely transported in or out, depending on his schedule. There was a specific method for undoing the clasps without the aid of a second arm, it was a little awkward to do since it required the use of his knee. It mostly kept the case stationary while he pried up the latch, but his movement was so practiced it took a mere five seconds. In a smaller drawer beneath the table surface, he kept the soldering wands for minute detail work. If he could, he wanted to get the remedial delicate stuff. It was simple enough, but tedious—

 Crack!

 Arthur jolted and whipped around, instincts on high alert. His eyes flashed around the room, studying the vehicles left prepared for tomorrow’s shift, the rotary lifts and supply carts spaced throughout the work floor. What was that? It was loud, the clamor reverberated through the hollow garage, emphasizing isolation and a prowling threat.

 “Um… Uncle?” he called. No response. Not good. Arthur reached behind him and clenched a wrench. “Who’s there?” He didn’t risk calling the name of the one that should be, but the fact an answer was NOT forthcoming was worst of all. It was okay. It would be okay. He took a breath and crept forward, moving behind a small car and checking through the windows – searching through the tinted glass for an amateur hasting to relocate amidst his momentary ‘distraction’. The silence peeled apart his senses, he should pick up someone breathing or even their deepest thoughts. Was anything missing? He couldn’t tell, and it wouldn’t matter. Someone was here, he was certain.

 After taking a short trip around the work floor, he scurried to a far wall and set the wrench down on a table, then jammed a fist into his vest pocket. Before his fingers could grasp at his phone, the hair on his nape prickled, spurring him to whip about. With a yelp, he backpedaled from the hulking shape. His yelp was more of a ‘YEEE!’ and his retreat sent him staggering, when he brushed against the corner of the desk.

 “Who the fack?! Hey—” He tumbled to the floor, as the shape snatched at the wrench abandoned upon the table. He rolled until his arm was situated under him, and sprung onto his feet. “Who the—” His voice sputtered, the wrench gave a menacing CLANG! upon skipping across the concrete floor.

 At first, he did believe in his heart that this was Lewis. In the dark and sinister parts of his memories, Arthur believed that the spirit had crept down to invoke some cruel ploy to torment him. But as the shape swept through the dull glow of light, he could cleanly distinguish that this was a grunting, breathing, agitated man in a mask. The intruder person kept weaving in and swiping for his arm, intent on incapacitating him through crude means. A shame that Arthur was much too spry and hardwired for evasion, the vandal didn’t expect such resistance either.

 The irony of everything, that a masked person would intrude in the shop and assault him. What the hell? He got enough of this crap on rando assignments, this was break from that drama. So much for that fantasy.

 Did something crash, elsewhere? Oh boy, oh shit!

 “Man, you don’t wanna do this!” Arthur vaulted over the hood of a van and zipped around the side. The big guy was quick too, though not as agile. He huffed and puffed, pursuing like a bear on honey. “You really don’t wanna! I’m warning you! Yikes!” With a lunge he crashed to the floor - he cleared the table, but got snagged by an impact drill and its cord. “YOU! You’re getting into some bad shit!” He screamed bloody murder and scrambled to his feet. The intruder hauled up a whole muffle and swung it down – cracked the concrete and missed his foot by an inch.

 Arthur sprang one way, then the other around a small convertible. Intruder followed, swishing the muffler like a damn katana. In a risky slide, he dove by and scrambled to one of the rotary lifts with a jeep suspended. He shimmied up one tower and clambered through the vacant side door, scarcely hauling his legs out of the way before Intruder with muffler could swing and knock his knees off.

 “I’m tellin’ you! You gotta leave,” Arthur went on, speech breaking. A fleeting glance surveyed the room, but established no sign of eyes or fury. Still time before this guy got cooked. “For your own—” The muffler collided with the arch of the jeep and the jointed pipe glanced his shoulder. The world twisted as he toppled backwards, and off the hood of the jeep. It was oddly reminiscent of those dreams, the nightmares. He knew what came next.

 Unexpectantly, his body collided with a stack of empty boxes.

 The masked intruder gulped down cold air, more excited than winded through the exertion. They glanced around, where was it? In all the ruckus, their mind blanked on where they dumped it. Turning, they spied something that made them abandoned the search cold turkey. This was entirely due to the large hand snagging their shoulder, and flinging them like a doll. Heat and an overwhelming scent of char clouded their senses, dissipating only when they descended from the short flight.

 The trajectory sent them on a collision course for a flatbed cart, which they tumbled off and skidded across the floor. They didn’t stop, barely checking that their legs remained connected to their spine before retreating from the scene. Exit! Escape! Where was the way out! As they fled, they patted at their sleeve and mask, embers scored their clothing – The hell? The intruder was unable to make sense of where they went, and crashed into a work bench. With admirable grace, they recovered, a pronounced limp following; metal parts and tools clanged in a cacophony of symphony across the floor. They kept going, not chancing a look back and barely examining the area through the sparks dazzling their eyes.

 Posed from throwing whoever that was, skull and death suit, eyes blazing, and fire still crackling at his ribs. Lewis would have given chase and done some real damage; there might’ve been something like self-control, perhaps even a capture if he was feeling generous. However, he couldn’t detect Arthur, and the figure buried under boxes was unresponsive to all the horrendous business afoot. He was not playing possum; Arthur couldn’t fool him.

 “Arthur?” his tone withered, and became distorted. He glided closer to the comatose figure and towered, gazing down. With hesitance and some second thoughts, he reached down slowly—

 Right through the heart he’s shot! A full slug punched directly through his facade and tore the locket clear off his coat front. WOW. What a mistake that was. Lewis twitched, fists clenched tightly at his sides. The last time he felt a sensation like that, it was after falling a considerable amount and choking on his last breath. He could almost feel the heavy tempo of a heartbeat fade out a second time.

 HE

 DID

 NOT

 LIKE

 THAT

 Directly behind Lewis at a two-meter pace, Uncle Lance stood with a rifle, barrel smoking. It was a good and clean hit, the gray wall on the other side visible through the incision torn through. He waited, uncertain what should happen next. The thing in front of him, how could it be described? It looked vaguely man-like, it had the shape of a person. Except for the ‘head’, and the gap above the open collar where a neck should occupy.

 Lewis cocked his head and let his skull swivel, peering back. Another igniting thunderclap, and the spirit snapped around fully, cowering. Fist trembling beside his hip.

 “Yu step back from m’boy, ya reject Hall-oh-ween Deck-ARATION!” Lance gave the rifle a crank and took aim. As he watched, the vacant hole in the torso filled in with a strange, glossy light. The chunk in the shoulder sizzled, and what looked like fire crackled over the rich color of the suit. A skull and suit; a very malevolent and pissed looking skull. “YA HEAR!”

 Terrible and antagonistic ruminations boiled through Lewis’ consciousness. An endless fall, the impact – mind fractured and every piece of his body dislocated. Shadows sweeping in, swirling around that bent figure high-high above, and the jewel glittering at the center of its sneer. Wild, unruly cackles clattered across the walls of the abyss, mocking his pain. Drinking up the agony spilling across the sharpened stalagmites, as every ounce of care and thought drained away.

 He glided toward the attacker, taking another bullet seamlessly in the abdomen. Ribs next, splintering – each patch of destruction inflicted, vanished in a swell of heat conjured by his blazing soul. The pieces and sharp fragments of Lewis fitted back, reworking a bizarre pattern of that day many-many moons ago. Rising, the bitter aversion for this betrayal. Abandoned, isolation and pitiless grief that followed. The loneliness, and sense of loss saturating his very essence. Corrupting, robbing him of warmth and tenderness, replacing everything with whispers and fire. Another piercing bolt, to his lower arm – a wild shot. Panic infused.

 Someone was very deserving of all this pain. It would feel better to share it, cleave a sliver loose. Release a portion of that fury threatening to boil over like a raging, scalding tsunami. Let them feel a taste of the bitterness that plagued him.

 As the thing approached ominously – clear malevolence burned in the pits of the skulls eye sockets – Lance became steadily more alarmed. There had to be a way to stop it. Someway, he had to put an end to it. But it was apparent brute force wouldn’t do it in. He backed away, nearly colliding with a supply cart.

 “Stop!” he snarled. “You can’t do that! No! S’not possible! I won’t believe it!” The next projectile tore through the apparition’s center, but before the echo faded the gaping breach vanished. Lance buckled backwards, gun dry. “ARGH! What are yu made of!”

 The rifle swept from his grip and the spirit hosted him up by the front of his vest, yanking him clear off his feet. It glared into him with those intense, blazing embers bristling deep within the cavernous eye sockets. “The souls of the innocent….” Lewis wound back an arm, fingers twitching—

 “A bagel?”

 Lewis froze. “Artie!” He dumped Lance and whipped around, shooting to the cluster of busted boxes. Before he could lean down, he hesitated – the lights about the work station flashed. “What… happened? I, uh… you’re hurt.” Arthur was sitting up, holding his neck and quivering under the drill of pain in his head. It was vibrant, he could almost feel it in his own skull.

 “Honest, I don’t… remember. Oof.” His hand reached over and touched the empty spot of his shoulder.

 The confusion was apparent, as well. Lewis needed to wait and see what Arthur came forward with. It might confuse Arthur if he bombarded him with questions, or prompts; he didn’t get a good view of the whole scene. Aside from the flush of rage that compelled his reaction. This couldn’t be rushed, and the other needed time to adjust and come around. Especially since Arthur appeared uncertain of what happened, despite his poor negotiations.

 “Did you… try to dump me off somewhere? High?” Now, Arthur peered up at the looming shadow. He couldn’t gather much of Lewis’ features, aside from a towering silhouette and the heated fuchsia orbs peering down. It was super unnerving. “That seems like somethin’ you’d do. Fuk… m’back.”

 Lewis smashed a fist into his palm. “That person! This guy!” A puff of flame sparked at his collar, and the embers in his skull snapped into hostile pinpoints. “I don’t know what happened, but he threw something. And then, you FELL! It – uh, I thought….” His speech sputtered into harsh screeches, staccato and hard to distinguish.

 “I’ll go ahead and take your word on— No, wait. I don’t remember some guy.” Arthur flinched, his head ached too. “I remember running, and I know I was scared shitless.” Lewis gawked down at him, for once it was endearing and mortified despite circumstances. “Some… guy?”

 “In a mask?” Lewis cocked his skullish brow.

 Arthur nodded. Ooh. Hurt. “That I remember, I think. Fuck… damn. You didn’t go after him?”

 “You. FELL.”

 Arthur pinched his brow. “Okay. Shut up. You… I can barely understand you. What? I’m the one that—” He withered, trapped in place by the barrier of boxes bent around him. The barbaric cry could terrify morally questionable crocodiles.

 The wild and furious snarl was Lance’s doing. He crept in closer to the spirit with his arms outstretched and two fingers locked together forming a significant and easy to recognize T. Or X. No, it was a definitely a T. A crucifix, like in the movies.

 “Evil… BOO! I banish yu!” Lance scooted in closer, edging out around at an imaginary tether which directed him toward Arthur. Determination in his eyes and sweat on his brow, his beard frazzled, that glare did not loosen from the invading spirit. “I don’t believe in this spook fun house nan-sense, but I’ll not have yur sort here terrorizing my kid!”

 A touch annoyed Lewis drooped. He debated straight up punching Lance’s lights out or stuffing him in a car trunk. Anything to get him out of the way, if only for a couple minutes. They didn’t need this.

 Arthur groaned. Everything was loud and annoying, it wasn’t just Lewis. His grumbling kicked up into a theatrical scream, “A g-g-ghost! Here! You’d better leave, disgruntled… apparition? Fuk, I don’t have the pharmacy enough for this bullshit.” He leaned to the side, moaning. “I mean, eeek! Argh! Spirit! You had better leave, before… I dunno, you’re banished by my dear Uncle’s very clear, um… exorcism. Or whatever he’s doing. OOoooOOooOOOOOoooohhhh….” Under his breath, he spat, “For fuk’s sake, you’re compelled to obey!”

 Lewis crossed his arms and leaned a little away from Lance. “Yeaaahhhh, gunna hit that up with a hard no. Not really in the mood, capiche?” He glowered directly down on Lance, right at his face with gloved hands outstretched with that ridiculous T. “Stop that or I’ll give you something to bitch about.”

 Arthur took a sharp breath. “Why do you hafta be so pissy?” Everything. HURT.

 “Stop with the language, and I might consider an attitude adjustment.”

 Arthur screwed his eyes shut. “Uncle Lance, that’s not gunna work.”

 Lance fizzled out. “Ehh.” He gawked at the skull, and the skull glared back. For the life of him, he could not begin to figure how it was suspended there. “Then… what will work?” He shuffled the remainder of the way to Arthur and crouched down, protectively. His gaze never wavered from the hostile… it was a ghost, wasn’t it? “What d’we do? How d’yu get rid of it?”

 “We don’t get rid of HIM,” Lewis huffed, pointing at Lance. “HE gets an ice pack for Arthur. Keep an eye on him.” In a flash of sparks, Lewis vanished – the extinguished cinder formed an outline before the ash hit the floor.

 The unexpected flare forced Lance to recoil, more from the vibrancy than any anticipated retribution. Once the haze faded, he searched around. No sound, no evidence of the spirits presence – aside from that familiar burning. That wasn’t important, what was important was Arthur.

 “Yu’re the expert. Is there… a pesteecide? Tell me, and I’ll get it done.”

 Arthur struggled to get up. “It’s a….” He flopped back, it was worse than a ballpit, made worse by the throbbing in his head and shoulders. He could remember up to the jeep, then it all got somewhat fuzzy. Lance assisted in easing him off the crumpled mold of his shape, nice and easy, careful not to rush. “He’s like a thorn bur, you try plucking it off and you’ll get third-degree burns.”

 Lance blinked. “WHAT?! Is that whut happened to your neck?!”

 This was not needed right now. And the guy, their mysterious assailant. Where was he now? Arthur couldn’t debate it out too hard, though some of the ache was fading, subsiding into a monotonous drum. He groaned in his throat.

 Then, on the floor. He noticed it beside one of the crushed boxes, snowed in by packing peanuts. The cracked locket. Despite dislocation, it persisted to pulse in time with the throbbing in his ears.

 “Shit-shit!” He scrambled out of Lance’s grip and snatched the thing up; it took a beating by the looks. The hinge creaked and unexpectantly the door swung open, threatening to pop off. Cursing, he struggled to hold it one handed without the whole thing coming apart. Without meaning too, he saw within. There was a photograph. He inched down, squinting at the textures and shapes, trying to make sense of what was there. He didn’t know there was—

 A dark hand snapped the locket from Arthur’s grasp and shut it. He bristled. Lewis had returned. The spirit looked downright sinister, as he set the ashen artifact back to his chest.

 “I didn’t—” Lance grabbed Arthur and heaved him back. Lance’s valiant efforts halted, when Lewis unceremoniously shoved him off. An icebag settled on Arthur’s head.

 Lewis knelt on one knee, one hand loaded with supplies. “I’ll invoke my deeply nefarious plot for revenge at a later time. When you’re fixed and patched, and likely better apt to outrun me.” He adjusted the last few items in his hand, by tucking a water bottle into the crook of his arm and twisting open a pill bottle. “You get one of these.” He set aside the pill bottle and popped the cap on the water bottle, enough to break the seal.

 Sprawled on his back, Lance observed with a perplexity beyond known rational. “Okay. What is goin’ on ‘ere?” He moved upright and jabbed out a hand toward the spirit. “What is this thing, really?”

 Lewis glared. “Rude.”

 Arthur swallowed the pill and took the water bottle. “It’s not the strong stuff.” Rather sip, he pressed the chilled bottle to his neck.

 “The strong stuff will put you in a coma, and as much as I’d prefer that, I need you awake for awhile. It’s a concussion, not a concession.”

 “Mmm, I’m lovin’ the bedside manner. You’re such a dish.” He took a sip and let the water warm before he swallowed. “Oof.”

 “Thank you for noticing, I’ve been wor—”

 “What in blazes is goin’ on!” Lance exploded, figuratively. “Arthur Kingsman! Explain! Should I call a priest, a medic! Or… what! What m’I suppose to do? Yu’n Viv-vi dealt with this’n supernatural mischief! Professionally! I can’t have these….” He jabbed a hand the spirits way, grasping for words, “…these critters, creeping into my shop! I need somethin’!”

 Arthur hung his head and sipped more water. On the sideline stood Lance tapping his foot, veins popped on his face. This was such a mess he wasn’t sure what to say or do, where to begin. “I need another pill.”

 “No,” Lewis grated.

 “Arthur,” Lance grumbled, tone stern but considerably nerfed since the eruption. “Tell me somethin’. What am I supposed to do here? I wan tu help.”

 “It’s me, Uncle Lance. Lewis Pepper.” Arthur choked on the water he was sipping. “You shot me, by the way.” Arthur made a sound, but if it was human or not was the riddle. “Maybe don’t inhale….”

 Lance stiffened; teeth clenched. For a full minute he didn’t say a word, but his sturdy outline quaked. “No!”

 “Well,” Lewis chattered, “You didn’t… kill me, I’ll give you that. Don’t worry. But you did shoot me, like, twenty times.”

 “It was four!”

 “Whatever.” The Lewis spirit fixed Lance with his scalding ember eyes, not looking pleased. And there was some familiarity in that expression, despite how feral and agitated it was now. Despite it being a bleached skull, lacking traditional and easily mapped expression.  “It didn’t feel nice.”

 “Impossible! Yu can’t be Lewis!” Lance stamped a foot. “Yu are not Lewis! That dusn’t work!”

 Arthur exhaled, catching the attention of both. “Can you not shout?” He pinched the water bottle in his arm crook and adjusted the ice bag on his neck, before it slid off. “He’s Lewis, okay? He’s not alive, but he is Lewis. We sort of… Viv-vi and I, ran across him awhile back.” How to explain THAT mess! “He was there, and we had car trouble….”

 “Funny story,” Lewis broke in. “Thrilling in a lot of ways. Quite the adventure.”

 “No! No-no-no-no-no- no-no-no-no! And NO!” Lance swung his arms out, declaring, “Lewis Pepper is dead, gone! He’s never coming back! You said so yuserlf! Yu and Viv-vi, you kids gotta let that go.”

 Arthur face palmed against the water bottle. Oh boy.

 Lewis rose to his full height, was it possible he made himself taller? He became a looming, malevolent shadow with piercing eyes. “And maybe I don’t want to let them go. Have ya ever thought of that? Uncle Lance?”

 Arthur dumped everything and leapt up. He caught Lewis by the tie. “That’s it! I’m calling time out!” To Lance, “Uncle, this is Lewis! He’s dead, it’s a long story, and it is my— ”

 “A bitch!”

 “You! Lew? What’s gotten into you?”

 Lewis hunched over placing his skull inches from Arthur’s face. “He. SHOT. Me!”

 “And? You can’t feel it!”

 “It hit me right in the feels! Nineteen times!”

 Lance hooted, “It was four, ya dumb spook!” He flinched when Lewis looked his way, eye sockets flooded thick with flames flickering. “I don’t BELIEVE in this bogus heebie-jeevies! Why d’I hafta look at it, when I don’t believe in it? This ain’t right!”

 “That’s offensive,” Lewis shrieked, “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

 A ringing chimed loud and brilliant in the momentary calm amid the fury of the storm. Arthur staggered away, first jamming a hand into his pocket and realized his phone wasn’t there. Of course she would call. They were super fucking late, they should’ve been back days ago.

 Arthur pushed through the office doorway and fumbled for the light. In his alarm, he forgot it was on the side of his left arm. He gave up, and went straight to the buzzing receiver on the desk.

 “Lords, I hope they don’t kill each other….” He shifted around and checked out the doorway. “Or, I hope Lewis doesn’t— Viv-vi! HEY!” The icepack was sorely missed. “No, everything’s fine. What, uh… gave you that idea? What about my voice?”

 Lance squeezed into the office, rifle in hand. “It doesn’t belong ‘ere. End of discussion.”

 Lewis hung in the doorway, eyes flashing and flames swelling off his shoulders. He was going to ignite something. The whole shop would implode, just like the mansion. “I’ll tell you what doesn’t belong here! We need to exorcise that nasty attitude! See how you like it!”

 Arthur pulled the phone from his ear and fitted the mouthpiece into his palm. “WHY! Did you two follow me.” He shoved the phone to his shoulder. “No! We, er… yu see what happened here, we’ll— I really can’t explain. I need an adult.”

 Lance reached for the phone. “Lemme talk to her!”

 Arthur sprang back, holding the phone high above his head. “No!”

 “Te satisfaría? If I show you? Arthur, I need a mirror.”

 Arthur climbed onto the desk, screeching into the phone, “Vivi, for the love of holy doughnuts, please come here, asap! I don’t care if someone sees Mystery! You! Here! NOW!” He slammed the phone down and scrambled off the desk, completely losing his footing in the process and nearly faceplanting. “Can you both NOT SCREAM bloody murder for two minutes! Five minutes? S’all I’m asking!”

 After that outburst, both Lance and Lewis clamped up. Arthur shoved his way out the door past Lewis, and crossed the floor back to where he abandoned the ice bag and water. He plopped down on the ground with his back to them, his lone hand fastened to his springy hair, and wilted.

 “Fuck.” Lewis swayed, drawing a hand up to the front of his suit. He eased a ways out beyond the portal but paused, once more fiddling with his tie. To the side, Lance was inching out.

 The look on Arthur’s face, he’d never seen an expression on his nephew quite like it. Except when…. Lance’s first instinct was get to him, the lad was distraught – the intuition an understatement – Arthur needed… a word. Support. But an arm slashed through his path, stalling the reflexive drive. He nearly refuted the action, the protest was on the tip of his tongue. But something snatched the words away, his throat became dry. For the first time in a long time, he was at a loss.

 Given the chance to observe the spirit – as it were – a moment to examine the features, it’s strangeness; a sense of familiarity soaked into him. When it wasn’t glaring or coiled up, he could get the feel for something else. Like a shadow stamped into the world he understood, a vivid memory of someone he could easily recognize from a distance. An unmistakable figure, distinct from a crowd. This… thing, it looked nothing like Lewis Pepper, but the gait it carried, the movement of its arms, it was unmistakable. Somehow, he knew this… thing, but dissension saturated the connection, and its presence was disjointed. It wasn’t alive, yet it was here. Most important of all, it wasn’t going away.

 “You, uh… I think he’ll be fine.” When Lance spoke, the smoldering returned. It did NOT like him. So, what was it? What, not who. It couldn’t be…. “I’m… gunna sit down, fer a bit.”

 Lance left for the breakroom and made himself a pot of coffee. When he returned from the recess, pot in hand and a stack of Styrofoam cups; Arthur was still seated far from the office, but updated to a stack of boxes that bore his weight. He gave a brief nonintrusive examination, only to confirm he was still breathing and not in any sort of apparent pain. From there, he went to the office to clear his thoughts and keep an eye on the area.

 The lights hadn’t been turned on at all, and he almost forgot about the… thing. In the shroud, he nearly missed it seated at one of the chairs facing the desk, eyes aglow, the faint shimmer of its stylish hair. It sat arms crossed tightly, one leg slanted over the other. It didn’t respond when Lance entered.

 “I think you have a story to share.” Lance sat one cup in front of the spirit and poured some coffee. The spirit refused to acknowledge his presence, and almost appeared photographic in its uncanny stillness; it wouldn’t even look at him. He reached over the side of his desk and pried open a drawer, and from the drawer, pulled up a small tray with containers of sweetener and nondairy creamers. “You a lil sour? What’s up?” He poured a cup for himself and blew at the harsh steam. “Not doin’ nothin’ but broodin’.”

 There was a change in the spirit. The gleaming eyes were now locked on the white cup steaming in front of it.

 “I don’t understand how this works,” Lance admitted. He plucked up the dislocated phone from the desk and set it back to the receiver. “Am I supposed t’say a special codeword? Is there a ritual, an uh… Ouiguh board.” The lamp on his desk flickered, came on, and then the bulb popped in a firework splash. Lance winced, sharply withdrawing his hand. Okay, what the FUCK. “Did yu do that?”

 “Not on purpose.” Praise the stars, it spoke. “Check on Arthur.”

 He wasn’t certain if that was a hint, or a direct command. “Juz did. He’s fine. This is mah office, by the way.” He managed to get a sip of his coffee. “I won’t harass him with this, not now. And I won’t wait for Vivi-vi. Before we get tu this…. Yu say a person….”

 “Guy in a mask.”

 “All right.” Lance nodded. “Before we pop that can of worms, before any of that. You’re here. I’ll go so far as admit that. But,” he gestured vaguely. “How did this happen?” Those vibrant eyes flicked up to him.

 “It’s complicated.”

 “Hmm. Don’t like t’way you said that.”

 “Funny. I could care less what you think.”

 Lance took another sip, and set his cup down. “Listen. Ghost Lewis.”

 “Just Lewis,” the spirit had a wispy, sometimes airy way of speaking. The voice didn’t come from it, which made sense, because it didn’t have a mouth. “I’m still Lewis. The only difference, I lost custody of the body.” He huffed, and a bright flame flashed from its neck collar. Lance leaned back in his chair, uncertain what to make of… everything.

 “Lewis, then.” He moved his line of sight out of the office, once more checking on Arthur. “Y’know Arthur’s m’boy, and I won’t have yu tormentin’ him.”

 For a few minutes Lance sat, mulling through a history he thought was sheltered away in the deep parts of his memories where he preferred not to dwell. His fingers pressed tighter around the defenseless cup in his grasp, the warmth seeped through the insulated material and into the thick gloves he wore. The white of the cup cut through the bleak patterns of the gloom, reminding him of the brightest sheets he’d ever seen – specks of crimson and brown, where the bandages couldn’t stifle the work to recreate a shoulder. Arthur delirious and agonized, unaware that he was maimed as badly as he was. The details were unattainable, shattered and cast out a window. Nothing helped, no amount of medication.

 Something happened. Vivi lost her memory. It was awful. Mystery was gone, vanished entirely like a… well. Arthur was beyond consoling, overrun by trauma, nearly splint in two. There was no way to construct a complete narrative, aside from it being a terrible Accident. Irreversible. Lewis never came back, and Arthur insisted that would never change. And they had to accept that.

 If he held the Styrofoam cup any tighter, it would spill all over his desk. Lance rubbed at his face, trying to quell his thoughts. Those nightmares kept him up some nights, but he was a master of not showing on the worst days. Arthur had enough to deal with, and apparently more so these days. He sighed, still refusing to raise his gaze to the thing seated across from him, trying to dwell on the mystery of how it could be so devoid of warmth despite what looked like an ember wavering near its shoulder. He tried once more:

 “He’s said some things I don’t fully grasp, admitted stuff I don’t have a full spectrum or insight intu.” He rubbed a thumb over the rim of the cup, gazing into the dark depths of the liquid within. “‘E’s been through enough, he’s regretted t’things that happen’. Losin’ you… I don’t even think he realized ‘iz arm was gone, not until—”

 “Uncle Lance.” It was almost heartening, the way the spirit – Ghost Lewis. Just Lewis – persisted to refer to him as Uncle, same as his friends. The same way he did when alive. “I lost my life, and all of that had a negative effect on me, on my… prospect for living, and being.” The spirit moved, uncoiling his arms and gently caressed the vibrating heart at its chest. “It’s a topic we try not to touch on. I tend to stray far away from it all.”

 How easy it touched upon the subject of its demise, as if it was all a matter of inconvenience. Was it meant to comfort him? Lance took a sip. “Juz curious, but… was there plans to… accept and reconcile, or something?” The eyes narrowed at him and the bristling embers constricted into a needle point dot.

 “What are you getting at, now?”

 Lance blew at the steam in his cup. The eyes of the spirit flashed, agitated by something, some unknown insult. “I’m not getting’ why your still ‘round. Aren’t spooks supposed to do’n the, is it the crop circle thing?”

 Lewis cocked a rigid eyebrow. “Cross… over? No. Nope, it’s not a requirement for certain cases.”

 “I have a suspicion that there’s more tu it than—” Without warning, Lewis bolted up from the seat – the flash of movement shocked Lance, in that it was vacuum less and silent. Only the light dousing out, as Lewis’ wide shoulders zipped out the doorway. The embers once swirling his space extinguished altogether, plunging the room into total darkness.

 The catalyst must’ve been the racketing dog yaps, which entered onto the work floor. Soon after there was Vivi, racing over to the middle of the room and dashing her eyes around. Mystery was her guide, leading directly to the side wall where Arthur had remained hunched over. Arthur gave her the barest attention when she reached his side and leaned low. An exchange of words followed. Then, Vivi raised her sight to the office doorway.

 Without a word, Lewis approached the group, arms clasped behind his back. When Lance emerged from his quarters fully and the light ensnared him, Vivi set her eyes upon him, and they became saucers. In retrospect, it did explain some things, though not nearly enough if Lance was honest. Something about all this didn’t settle right, and at the core of this drama was his boy, Arthur. If he couldn’t enlist Vivi’s aid in this, he might have to pursue other drastic means. But it wouldn’t work to be reckless. Being reckless is what nearly got him socked in the face, by something that claimed to be Lewis Pepper.

[thebmatt]

FFXIV Write 2021 Prompt #15: Thunderous

thunderous – relating to or giving warning of thunder, very loud, powerful, or intense

It had been something of an eventful few days for the Warriors of Light. A cure for tempering, found. A civil war within Limsa Lominsa, averted. The first step towards peace with a beast tribe, taken. Had it not been for the strange towers appearing all across the star, not to mention Fandaniel introducing them all to his new version of Bahamut, it might have actually been called a good few days.

It was all of these events that had brought them to Gridania on this day. Kan-E-Senna and her subordinates within the Twin Adder needed to be briefed on all that had occurred, so they could begin making plans for how best to use their soon-to-be arriving flock of porxies. Privately, Rheika thought it would be hilarious to just let them all arrive and watch the chaos unfold as the Elder Seedseer and the Hearers of Stillglade Fane attempted to figure out just why there was a sudden mass of flying pigs in their city, but alas, getting their beastmen neighbors untempered and beginning overtures of peace was too important.

They’d spent the past few bells getting her up to speed on all that had transpired, explaining how the porxies actually functioned, how to route any communications that needed to be passed to the Scions concerning the towers, describing the appearance and capabilities of this “Lunar Bahamut”, and the like. Many had offered to make the report in their stead, but for now there was little for the Warriors of Light to actually do at the moment, and since they’d been present firsthand, they felt themselves the logical choice to inform the remaining Alliance leader who’d not yet been apprised of recent events.

As they left the Lotus Stand, emerging from the path that led to the Seedseer’s private altar into Gridania proper, Rheika gave a brief nod to both the Serpent Officer and the Conjurer stationed there, and briefly looked around. As usual, there were plenty of blue-robed conjurers going about the business of dealing with the many bureaucratic matters Stillglade Fane was responsible for. Petitioners asking for blessings for their harvest, permission to sell new wares within the city, a few asking for healing. Rheika fought to keep a sneer from her face. Gridania was for all intents and purposes a theocracy, nothing allowed to be done without the blessings of the Elementals.

She didn’t particularly trust the Elementals. She might have been born here, but her community of Keepers of the Moon generally paid them no mind. They’d lived there for generations without so much as a thank you to the elementals outside of simply taking care of the place they lived in, not over hunting or despoiling the land, and no nature spirits or treants had ever so much as bothered them. Any talk she’d ever heard of the Elementals had long since come to resemble talk of Primals rather than some benevolent forest Gods that allowed people to dwell within their boughs.

Learning how Stillglade Fane actually functioned had made it far worse. The “Hearers”, the blue robed conjurers that made up the staff of Stillglade Fane, were barely able to actually  hear the voices of the Elementals. Mastery of that particular skill was unique only to the small population of horned humanoids known as the Padjals. Their small numbers meant they were spread out through the Shroud dealing with major problems, with the only two permanently in Gridania being E-Sumi-Yan (who was permanently needed within the Conjurer’s Guild as head teacher) and the Elder Seedseer herself. Both were endlessly busy, far too much so to handle all of the requests from the citizens that needed to be answered. Thus the Hearers had developed a series of rites and rituals to attempt to divine the Elementals’ will, which they utilized in answering the day-to-day petitions brought to their doors.

Rheika had never known what exactly these rituals consisted of, but Dahkar had attended a small class on them as part of his training as a Conjurer. As an adventurer, he was not expected to serve as an official part of the Fane, but the Hearers made the class open to all students of the guild, in case they perhaps wished to utilize them in their travels through the Shroud. He’d told her what he’d learned in the quick lesson, most of the rituals consisted of what was essentially the casting of lots using leaves and sticks, and using their best interpretation the patterns that emerged. It had all seemed utterly foolish to her, and she’d seen more than one instance of a Hearer going rogue and forcing his own interpretations of the Elementals’ will onto others, only to be revealed as incorrect later on.

Rheika hated this place. She wanted to get out of here and head back home to the Rising Stones as quickly as she could. Her fellow Warriors of Light were following behind her, chatting amicably about dinner plans. They had a few other matters to discuss, but outside the guild was a poor place to do it, the Hearers did not care for loitering without official business. She traipsed forward, making for the aetheryte shard placed not far from the Guild’s entrance, already envisioning her destination, the city’s main aetheryte plaza, in her mind’s eye. She’d almost reached the shard when a series of voices reached her sensitive ears.

“-please, you must do something!”

“The girl’s only seen twelve summers!” “I’m sorry, but such is the will of the forest.” “But that’s not right!”

Rheika stopped, her hand inches away from attuning range. The words played over in her head. “Twelve summers”. “Will of the forest”. “Not right!”. She turned to look in the direction they’d come from. An elezen, a hyur, and a lalafell, all similarly garbed with upset expressions on their faces were speaking with a Hearer. The Hearer, a hyur man, was making a series of exaggerated gestures as if talking to children.  Rheika wasn’t entirely certain what to make of the petitioners, perhaps a blended family or workers at an orphanage, but it was clear that a girl in their care was needing help, and their cries were falling on deaf ears.

Few things enraged the Warriors of Light more than the inflicting of suffering on children.

She turned to the others, who had noticed her change, and looked to her with anticipatory expressions on their faces. She held up her palm, then tilted her fingers away from herself twice, a clear back up and wait signal. The others immediately backed off and stood away, near the treeline. She nodded, and turned to walk up behind the Hearer. She tried to keep the anger bubbling within her down as she spoke, only mostly successfully. “Excuse me, but what is going on here?”

The hearer didn’t even turn around, simply sighed and waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Move along, outsider, if you’ve business with Stillglade Fane, you must wait, not interrupt-”

“Listen up, you moss-addled twat! First of all, I was BORN in this forest. Second of all, turn your ass around and LOOK at who you are talking to!” Rheika thundered.

The hearer turned “How dare you? If you really-”. His words cut off with a gasp. “Y-you’re Rheika Aliapoh. One of th-the Warriors of Light!”

“Good boy.” she replied sarcastically, crossing her arms and giving him a disapproving look. “Unfortunately for you, you used your turn to piss me off. So now, I’m talking to them.” She looked over to the trio of petitioners, her face more sympathetic. “Hi, I’m Rheika. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

The hyur woman wiped away tears falling down her face. “H-hi. My name is Lina….my daughter Dani is sick. We think it’s Greenrot. She’s holding strong now, but it’s getting worse. We came to the Conjurer’s guild for healing but…they’re saying it’s the Elementals’ will that she die!”, Lina said as she burst into tears. The Elezen male put his hands on her shoulders and looked at Rheika. “We’ve been friends with Lina for years, and we all moved in together when times got tough for us all. Mani’s like a niece to us. Please, can you….” he trailed off.

Rheika nodded to him and turned back to the hearer, absolute fury in her face. “And you’re just going to let that girl die?”

“I-it’s not like I WANT to, but-”

“It’s a fairly simple fix, hearer. One quick Esuna cast. Hell, I’ve only had rudimentary conjury training and I know it. Surely a big bad hearer like yourself ought to be familiar with it” she said, venom dripping from her voice. “Less than a few minutes of your time, and that girl gets to live. And you’re gonna sit there and let her suffer and probably die. A CHILD.”

His face contorted into an ugly sneer. “Look, I wouldn’t expect a keeper of the moon like you to understand, given how much your kind seems inclined to just take whatever they want from the forest without-”

Rheika reached back towards the gunblade she carried strapped to her back, stopping just short of actually grabbing the hilt. “You keep talking. Give me a reason.”

“You come here to this place and try to tell ME, who has trained to hear the Elemental’s voice for years, how to do my job? You can’t POSSIBLY understand-”

“And what about me, Hearer?” intoned Dahkar’s steely voice as he stepped towards them, coming from behind Rheika. “Surely you’re not such a tremendous idiot as to believe I cannot understand, correct?”

The Hearer spun to regard him, anger on his face immediately vanishing as he blanched. Dahkar was over seven fulms of very angry looking Au Ra, clad in the pristine white robes that the Hearer had only ever witnessed the Padjals wear. “Y….you’re…you’re the one the Padjals trained in the White? But…you’re not even of the forest!”

“Wrong answer. The correct response is ‘No, Dahkar of the White, Warrior of Light, I know you understand. Also I’m going to apologize to Rheika and throw myself at her mercy before going to heal the diseased child’. Do you see the difference?”

“I….I will not be spoken to this way!” the man said, stamping his feet. “I am a Hearer, charged with listening to the wills of the Elementals and ensuring the people of Gridania live according to their will, lest we awaken the Greenwrath! Who are you, a man clearly of the Far East, to question how-”

“Gonna stop you right there.” Dahkar growled. “First of all, you really should stop making judgements about where someone is from based on what they look like. I might have been born in the Far East, that’s true, but I’ve lived in the Shroud since I was a babe, just like Rheika here.”

Rheika smiled innocently.

“Secondly, I’ve been through Conjurer training, clearly. I’ve seen how the Hearers work. The only people who can directly hear the Elementals, much less communicate with them, have horns on their head, and I don’t mean this kind” he continued, tapping the large black-scaled horn on his own head. “You and I both know a lot of being a Hearer is using your own good judgement and hoping the rituals you’ve devised over the years give you the correct result. Lot of room for error there.”

The Hearer pondered that for a moment. “Well, yes, I suppose there are instances of Hearers being wrong. I do recall that kerfuffle with the animal exhibits outside the Leatherworker’s Guild…” He looked up in realization, then began delivering with the gusto of a professional orator.  “Ah, but even you must admit that if the people lose faith that the Hearer’s word is that of the Elementals, then chaos shall reign in the city! Every pronouncement we make will be endlessly questioned, or even ignored! The peaceful symbiosis we have achieved will be undone, and the Greenwrath will be upon us all! Yes, surely even you must agree to that?!”

Dahkar’s laughter drew the attention of other nearby Conjurers, who were suddenly very interested why their fellow was loudly arguing with a Warrior of Light and a White Mage, no less. “Or you could simply exercise better judgement and not leave the healing of the citizenry that are supposed to be in your care to blind chance, perhaps? Or are you going to seriously tell me you think the Elementals have an opinion on the health of a single member of the community?”

Rheika idly watched them continue to go back-and-forth with their arguments. In truth, she was hardly interested in the debate. She was more interested in keeping the count she’d quietly started running in her head ever since drawing the Hearer’s attention to herself.

Now, she reckoned, that count had gone on long enough. The Hearer was now going on a tangent about equilibrium in nature when she interrupted him. “Thanks for hopping in there, Dahk. I was afraid I was losing his attention”

Dahkar turned to her and smiled, crossing his arms. “Reckon we gave them enough time to get it done?”

Rheika turned towards the path that led from Stillglade Fane to the rest of Gridania. “Well, I can’t see any sign of them, so I’d say it’s definitely gotta be close enough.”

The Hearer sputtered. “What…what exactly are you two talking about?”

Rheika smiled ever so sweetly at him. “Aren’t you forgetting about someone, Hearer? Or rather, ‘someones’?”

The Hearer, shocked, spun around. The three petitioners were no longer there, and as he frantically looked around the area, he saw no sign of them. “What? Where…where did they go?”

Dahkar laughed again. “Well, if we timed this right, our companions have hopefully gotten them back to their dwelling by now and are using their own healing skills to cure the little girl! They might not know anything about Conjury, but they’re pretty good in their own right. Fearless is an expert in Sharlayan Astrology, and Franks has revived the teachings of the Scholars of ancient Nym!”

The Hearer was dumbfounded. He flailed about, as if he felt like he should do something, but had no idea what. “But…the Elementals…what if this angers them? What if…”

Rheika sighed through his abbreviated rant and cut in “If the Elementals get THAT upset over this, then I’m sure the Seedseer and the other padjals can calm them down, like they have to do entirely too often anyway. Given how little they seem to care about the million other things affecting the Shroud, I doubt they’ll even notice.”

She turned to regard the other assembled Hearers and other Conjurers. “But if they do? And Kan-E-Senna can’t get through to them?” She smiled. “Well, my friends, luckily for you, we’re the Warriors of Light. We have a fair amount of experience dealing with powerful beings made of aether that care little for the lives of the mortals around them.”

She crossed her arms and smiled happily. “So I wouldn’t worry. We’ll be here to protect the people of Gridania and the rest of the Shroud if it comes to that!”

She turned and walked out of the Fane. Dahkar gave a confident smile (which most non-Au Ra would agree looked more sinister than simply confident) and nodded to the assembled Hearers before turning and following her out.

The Hearers would spend several days debating their words and whether or not they should bring them before the Seedseer. In the end, they simply opted to wait and see what would come.

[nukyster-blog]

Changing course chapter 2) Dorestad; The Centrum of Wine and Slave Trade

Chapter 2) Dorestad; The Centrum of Wine and Slave Trade

.-.-.

With the same vigorous spirit, the overseers filled up the cages and their travel continued. As Ivar tried to relax his stiff back against the iron frame of his cage, the road slowly changed from murky grime to a pattern of cobblestones. Reserved, he made no attempt to speak to his partners of misfortune and tried to memorise the route they were taking. Aside from him, two older men traded information. They spoke with heavy dialect, still Ivar was able to overhear the essence: the country they’ve been shipped too was called Frisia, which was part of the Frankish empire, since Charlemagne’s invasion. Soon, Ivar learned that the language of the overseers was called Dietsc and that their travel would end at the auction in Dorestad; the centrum of wine and slave trade. Grey clouds formed an impenetrable fortress for the sun and therefore harvested all warmth. Specks drizzled down onto the heads of the soon to be slaves; aggravating Ivar’s black mood.   The Gods were pissing down on him, it was a clear sign of their disappointment, which Ivar shared. He should have fought in Wessex, instead of being his father’s obedient little lapdog. Look where his uncharacteristic meek behaviour had brought him; caged, crossing a grey, dead-beat country.

Robbed of his leather tunic, Ivar was an easy target for the cold; the rain effortlessly seeped through the thin fabric of his clothes. The absence of decent meals and a good night's rest made hunger gnaw on his stomach and cluttered his mind. The breeze had been mild at first, but now numbed his face, hands and feet. With no buffer from the cold, his body started to lose heat rapidly. Ivar’s teeth clattered behind his bluish lips when their trip ended at an imposing settlement.

The carts stopped abruptly at the city’s centre; a marketplace of comprehensive size. Foreign chattering rumbled between sellers and buyers, haggling over the best products for the best prizes. Crates for vegetables, fruits, grain and cheese lay tactically on display while the seller shouted, trying to overrule others with their volume. Massive barrels were being pushed onto carts, exporting the finest wines throughout the country while vendors shook hands, collecting their fee. Live stock was being ushered through the crowd, calves abruptly separated from their mothers, chickens were being sold in cages, so small that the animals started to peck at each other. Ivar soon realised he wasn’t different from the cattle being pushed and pulled around. In the middle of the market, there was a small stage where a group of possible buyers had assembled in lines, eager to buy the best of human merchandise. Men, women and children were put up for display. One by one, an overseer showed off their muscles, healthy teeth, shiny hair. And like meek lambs, the slaves passively let them. Most kept their eyes at their feet or at the horizon; their gazes shared the same emptiness and dejection. Ivar’s cart was one mainly filled with elderly men, a few young children and a pregnant woman. Their cart was the last to be auctioneered and the audience had drastically decreased once the first men of their cart came up for display. When Ivar was pulled up the stage by the overseers, parts of the lost attention slipped back. Audience members paused their chattering, turned back to lay their eyes on the crippled. Mocking and laughter echoed through the air when the overseer tried to point out Ivar’s well developed upper body in a bid to minimize the focus on his handicapped legs. Throughout his life, Ivar had become indifferent to the cautious stares and quiet whispers that bubbled up every time he dragged his sorry arse through Kattegat.  But to have his disadvantages pulled up for full display while a crowd of Christians pointed, stared and ridiculed him was unforgivable. Rage riled up his temper, fury warmed up his numb limbs and made him jerk loose from the overseer. With all the passion his wavering body could muster, he pulled himself along to the wooden edge. A scream seated deep from within, forced its way out of Ivar’s mouth. Like a beast, he howled; startling and scarring the spectators. A young boy was being hoisted up his mother’s chest, as Ivar produced unhinged hollers. The overseers swiftly stepped in, putting an end to the rebellious act. It wasn’t the first blow that silenced him, neither was it the second, nor the third. It took a solid hit of a baton between Ivar’s ribs to make him moan and fall. There was nothing glorious about taking the beating, it was a lost cause; three vital men were towering over him while they kicked the living daylight out of him. One managed to repeatedly hit the same spot; the kidneys. A fist slammed his eye shut, his skull ricocheted onto the wood and as blood pooled into his mouth, Ivar slowly saw all the light fade away. A flock of ravens circled far above him, cawing ominously. Ivar managed to tilt his chin up and plead: “forgive me father, for I could not avenge you,” before embracing the darkness, like an old friend.

.-.-.

Blinking his one good eye, a montage of angered, shocked faces. Blinking again, blood still seeped from his busted lip.

A piece of rotten fruit smashed against the side of his face. Laughing, sneering, taunts spoken in unfamiliar tongues.

Another cart. Wrist twisted behind his back, aching and chained. Knees scraped over bloody planks of the stage. The smell of hay and mildew, cold, aching limbs and not enough strength to lift his chin up. Tilting his head then. A giant grinned down at him from high above, showing a mouth full of blackened teeth and gabs. Crows feet radiated from the corners of the Giant’s grey eyes, revealing the amusement of watching Ivar’s battered state.

The Giant handed a few coins to the overseer, but the man refused and without further notice Ivar was given away for free. The ride that followed was one of pure agony. The cobblestoned road made Ivar’s beaten body toss, turn and tumble. With his wrist shackled behind his back, it was impossible to keep himself in place. All that remained was simply to endure, which was easier said than done. The searing pain coming from his ribs made Ivar gasp for air like a fish on dry land. That sound earned him a soft chuckle from the Giant, sitting up front at the buck. The man clacked his tongue, ordering the horses to trotter. The acceleration made the motions grow in multitude. Ivar’s body was tossed from side to side like a rag doll until he was knocked out due to the intensity of the pain.    

.-.-.

A/N: So I tend to enjoy beating the shit out of Ivar a little too much. And this is just the beginning, because this cocky little bastard needs to understand his new place in the world. I don’t think you’ll be too shocked, but Ivar’s going to have some difficulty accepting his ‘new place’.

Also Dorestad was a real city. I’m from Holland and always love to somehow merge a little tat of my ‘world’ into the story. So there you go, little bit of Dutch History!

Xoxox Nukyster ( I hope I got all the taggings right, if not excuse moi, still new on Tumblr)

@youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @xbellaxcarolinax @saldelys @shannygoatgruff

[oceanera12]

Winter Soldier!Steve

I don’t see enough of this AU

And when I do it is ALWAYS Stucky So let’s take a different route on this bad boy, shall we?

First movie follows the same story line up to the train section.

Don’t know how and don’t think too hard about it because AU but somehow Steve is the one thrown from the train, not Bucky--

BUT

Bucky isn’t Steve. Because when Bucky “dies” Steve breaks down and cries. 

When Steve “dies” Bucky stares at the point where his friend fell in shock as he realizes he’s failed his friend. His stupid, punk, friend who survived getting beaten in back alley’s, illness inducing winters, allergies, the deaths of both parents, and a freaking government science experiment. His friend is gone and all he has left of him is a metal frisbee.

Yes, he is sad. But he is mostly ticked.

Zola is found by Barnes before the other Commando’s because Barnes rips off the flipping door, grabs Zola around the neck and starts choking him (and almost kills him), but the Commando’s manage to snap him out of his death rage and Zola is taken in (albeit very afraid and very bruised)

After some “interrogation” Zola admits to Barnes having a variant of a super soldier serum from his time experimenting on the soldier. Stark looks into it, confirms the fact, and suddenly Barnes finds himself in charge of the Commandos and is given Steve’s shield.

He agrees to do it on ONE condition. In the public reports of the incident, Captain America is still Steve Rogers and will always be Steve. If anyone asks, Bucky died on that train, not Steve because gosh darn it, Bucky is not going to let his friend fade into the background again.

Bucky and Peggy have a friendship and an understanding between them. Whatever happens next is for that little guy in Brooklyn.

Bucky makes a very ruthless Captain America. He does his job with efficiency and speed. The Commando’s back him up whole heartedly.

The movie plays out pretty much the same with the Red Skull fight and Bucky getting on the plane (he doesn’t kiss Peggy, geez), and then going to crash the ship in the ocean.

The radio call is different. In the call, Bucky makes Peggy swear to tell the public it was Steve in the plane. This was Steve saving the world, not James Barnes. “Because that kid saved me before he saved anyone else.”

Then he asks Peggy to tell him about how she first met his punk brother. She obliges, tears running down her face. She doesn’t know when Barnes was cut off but by the time she was done the radio had gone dead.

Seventy years later, SHIELD pulls out a frozen Captain America. Most everyone is confused when the man is brown haired, not blonde, and upon closer inspection they find whoever this is, it is NOT Steven Rogers.

Fury pulls up the redacted reports and very old, very disclosed files before finding the truth about Captain Rogers and that the person they have found is Sergeant James Barnes.

James doesn’t bolt out of the hospital room SHIELD staged. He points out the inconsistencies, the radio game being wrong, etc, then sits down and basically asks when they are going to start torturing him for information.

Fury comes in, tells him he’s been frozen and when Bucky doesn’t believe him, Fury takes him on a tour around New York City.

Bucky requests if they release anything on Captain America being found, to say it was Steven Rogers, who is now being very recluse and does not want any attention.

Avenger’s plays out slightly different. 

For one, Tony and Bucky don’t butt heads as much. Actually, Tony thinks Bucky is Steve Rogers at first (he still really doesn’t like Steve because of how his Dad talked about him) and is extremely confused when James takes off the mask and introduces himself as Sergeant James Barnes. Then Tony backpedals on that information and does his own research on it. Tony’s the one who finds the SHIELD weapons, James is angry at Fury and actually sides with Tony

For another thing, Bucky doesn’t get along with Thor very well. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s a stupid blonde but it’s just bad memories.

Nat and Bruce are fine with James, as is Clint when he comes around.

Everyone beats up the aliens and Loki and it’s a win, win.

In between movies, Bucky hangs out with Tony to catch up on modern day (because Tony really likes watching him be confused/learning pop culture and James needs it because what are these references?) Bucky tells Tony about the “real” Steve. The kid before the shield. I wouldn’t say Tony loves Rogers now, but he definitely understands him better and has a little more sympathy for the guy.

This is important because Winter Soldier is up

Bucky meets Sam while running. Sam doesn’t know who he is at first until they are introduced, then kind of confused because isn’t Barnes dead? But he doesn’t bring it up and leaves it at that because this guy is clearly suffering from PTSD and a soldier not used to being home.

Mission with Black Widow, goes to see the giant battleships in the sky, and Bucky isn’t Steve. But he also knows this is a bit much/extreme for a constant military station so he doesn’t support the project because, yes there are aliens. So why are we looking at threats on the planet and not in space???

Bucky calls Tony and chats with him for a bit about it (he feels uncomfortable talking to Peggy because it’s not fair that Steve doesn’t get to see her). Tony points out the pros and cons of the project and cracks some jokes. Overall, not extremely helpful but helps clear Bucky’s head a little.

Nick is attacked, runs to Bucky, Nick is “killed” and Bucky chases after the killer. Similar roof scene (*note: I don’t know if Steve has the metal arm. If he does, I’m thinking it’s the right arm, not the left. Don’t know why, just think it should be that way if it is) and Winter Soldier vanishes

Okay, so-- Fury says to not trust anyone. And Bucky sure as heck doesn’t trust Pierce. But I feel like Barnes is more trusting than Steve (I’m serious, the Winter Soldier experience just threw that trait out the window). So Barnes trusts Widow enough to actually leave her with the drive and not put it in a vending machine (also tells her not to show it to anyone-- which she doesn’t.)

Just going to say the movie carries out the same for the most part (including contacting Falcon) EXCEPT--

When Bucky pulls the mask off Steve he calls his name out and we still get shot at and captured. Rescued by Maria Hill, find Fury, etc, etc.

THEN Bucky calls Tony Stark from a payphone, who’s confused as to why Captain America is wanted on the news. Bucky tells Stark about Steve. Tony probably doesn’t believe him at first because, “Hello, Barnes? He’s dead. Has been for a long time. You hit your head or something?” But Bucky explains and suddenly Tony finds himself diving into old S.H.I.E.L.D. files and reading up on Soviet science experiments from the cold war.

Also, Tony comes to help blow up the carriers because heck to the no, Hydra is not using his technology, no siree.

So Falcon and Stark are flying around the carriers and taking care of goons, when Falcon gets shot down Stark goes after him and when everything is falling apart, Stark tries to get close to Barnes to grab him, but can’t because of the big guns.

Meanwhile in the Bucky vs. Steve fight, we get the whole “trying to kill one“ another thing, but I feel like Bucky is way better at pushing Steve’s memory buttons and Bucky is a little more willing to punch Steve because he knows Steve wouldn’t want to kill him. So Steve figures out “wait, I know this guy” just before they hit the water.

When they crash in the water, both are semi-conscious and they are found by Stark who flies both to his compound and calls the doctors to come work on these two sad super soldiers.

Now Steve doesn’t remember everything. But he knows that: One, Hydra is going to be after him if they find out he’s still alive. Two, these people that helped him either knew him or know of him somehow and he really doesn’t want to hurt them. Three, his name is Steven Rogers and the punk from earlier is James Buchanan Barnes.

So Steve pulls a him and goes, “Nope, not putting you in danger” and the first chance he gets he flees Avenger’s tower and disappears into thin air.

Thanks, Steve. Thanks a lot.

Age of Ultron, nothing really changes. Tony is also looking for Steve and Bucky is a little more on top of things and tells Tony that Steve might have had something to do with his parent’s deaths but he’s not 100% sure.

Civil War. Okay, bear with me for a second because I can see Bucky actually being Pro-Accords. Not one hundred percent of the actual document but the idea behind it because “yes, people need to be held accountable for their actions” but also “you can’t save everyone no matter how hard you try, trust me I know that better than everyone, but that doesn’t mean you just sit there and do nothing because some government people tell you no, you can’t get involved.” (Basically Black Widow’s stance on this whole thing)

So when “Steve” bombs the accords, Bucky knows that’s not him and tells Tony as much (who doesn’t believe Barnes completely, but willing to give him a chance because of the past) and since Bucky technically signed the accords he has more pull in what happens to him and Tony is way more willing to listen.

Which means Bucky and Tony track down Steve in that apartment with actual permission to do so, on the condition they take the “Winter Soldier” into custody.

I’m not really sure what happens after this because Tony is going to find out about his parents, one way or another. Maybe Bucky’s stories about his old friend will keep Tony from trying to kill him. Maybe they won’t. Who knows? Heck, Zola may not even make it through the front door because Bucky is allowed to talk to Steve as the “therapist”

So end this AU however you want, I think it’d be pretty accurate. I’m just going to say the Accords got thrown out the window and Bucky and Tony start helping Steve recover from Hydra. Yay!

[arahul-abyssia]

The Endless Cycle

My second story for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern ’s Nintember event! This one sees another entry in story as ancient as a certain kingdom, but there’s... well, let’s say a few twists...

~~ Treasure, Sword, Adversity, Growth, Evil ~~

All his hard work was being undone right in front of him. As far as the eye could see, the storms were clearing and the waters were brightening, the mountains were becoming calm again and the trees were regaining all their bright colors. The day before, the shadowy miasmas that emanated from his fortress were spread from border to border across the kingdom; now, all that remained of them was a thin mist around the walls, and they were still visibly receding as the sun shone brighter and brighter. It was clear to him that his defeat was fast approaching.

Hmph. As if that’s at all surprising… 

He was no mere would-be conqueror of the Kingdom of Hyrule; he was Ganondorf, one of a long series of incarnations of the ancient Curse of Demise, and it was his destiny to fight against and be defeated by one who bears the Spirit of the Hero and wields the Master Sword and one who carries the Blood of the Goddess. Such was their never ending cycle. Such was the way it always had been, was, and always would be.

It was not as though he had not tried to find an alternate route, but no creature can win against the hands of fate. He had tried to cast aside the shadows that lingered around him wherever he went, he had tried to guide away the monsters that watched him from the wilderness, following him in hardly-veiled secret and prostrating themselves before him when no civilized creature was looking, and he had tried to ignore the dark impulses within him that told him to bring destruction and ruin to the land.

He had tried, and he had failed. Eventually, he realized that it was no use trying to avoid his fate, and so set about casting his incarnation of terror upon Hyrule, so that a Hero and Princess may arise and bring his downfall. If he could not have peace in life, perhaps there was peace in death, or banishment, or being sealed away or turned to stone, or whatever his incarnation of defeat was to be.

To some extent, he regretted the problems he had caused. He knew firsthand the consequences of using tainted waters and having one’s home and shelter destroyed. Were things truly up to him, not one of his blights would ever have been manifested. But, fate and the Curse had other plans for him and the kingdom, and he could only hope that, after they brought his downfall, the Hero and Princess could make things right again.

The steadily loudening tapping of boots upon stone told him that his adversaries had passed every obstacle he had laid for them within the fortress and were now rapidly ascending the wholly unblocked spiraling stairwell that led to his room at the top of the highest tower.

In five… four… three… two… one…

With much unnecessary force, the door to the chamber burst open, revealing the two who were to be his end, their eyes filled with the fires of determination and quiet-yet-righteous fury. In the Hero’s hand, the legendary Master Sword, glowing with a power that could banish and strike down all evil that dared cross its path, and in the Princess’s hand, the mythical Bow of Light, glowing with a divine radiance that could pierce the shadows themselves.

“So, the saviors of Hyrule have finally arrived… to defeat the source of the evil that plagued your land, to bring about the return of peace and prosperity, to—”

An arrow of light grazed his shoulder, exploding into a gleam burst upon the wall behind him.

“Cut the crap, Ganondorf! We didn’t just march our way through your uninventive puzzles and rehashes of dungeon protectors for you to spew some fancy words about what we already know. Shut up and ready your weapons already so we can fight you and defeat you!”

Ganondorf closed his eyes and sighed. It seemed this Princess Zelda had not changed in the slightest. He had come across her once before, on a trip to the castle in the early days of his fall to the darkness. He did not remember the exact details of the event, but he remembered vividly that she did not care one bit to act like royalty, much less one who is said to hold divinity in her veins. Her gait was casual, her language was coarse, and she had nearly no respect for the norms of nobility. Though she cared for her subjects, no one would think her a princess if not for prior knowledge or her clothing.

“If that’s the way you want it, so be it.” He thrust his hands out to his sides, a double-ended trident materializing in his right and a long curved blade in his left, then moved into a fighting stance. Though he had no formal training whatsoever with one-handed wielding or dual-wielding, something told him that he would find no struggle in doing either.

The two heroes shifted their stances as well, and their battle began. The dark powers within him allowed Ganondorf to shift through the shadows in the room, throwing blasts of dark energy at his opponents between profanely empowered strikes of his weapons. However, their skills and coordination far outmatched his own, and within a short few minutes, he could feel their blows beginning to take their toll. He felt a change in his darkness, as though the curse itself demanded a change in his tactics and spells, and he moved to the room’s center, taking a defensive position and wreathing himself in shadows.

“It seems you two are quite powerful indeed. What a shame it is that we must fight…”

“If you’re so uninvested in this battle, why not just admit defeat now and make this a whole lot easier on all of us?”

Ganondorf began channeling dark energy into a great sphere of shadow. “Because fate does not work that way… I have no choice but to stand before you two as your enemy, in another incarnation of the eternal cycle. No Link, no Zelda, and no Ganon in all history could avoid their place in their incarnation, and each and every time, no matter what it put before the heroes, the darkness always fell to the light in a climactic final confrontation. Why should our story be any different?”

Zelda braced herself to dodge or deflect the attack.

“...It already is…”

This was enough to give them both pause. The dark warrior dismissed his spell and the princess loosened her posture as both turned to stare at the latter’s companion, his infamous silence broken.

“What do you mean ‘it already is’?”

“Our story… is very different… from the legends…” It was clear to Ganondorf that this Link was not accustomed to speaking longer thoughts or giving extended explanations. “Like… our bodies… we are not… what the legends… say we should be.”

The boy gestured at the three in the room. The dark wizard looked down at himself instinctually, realizing that the boy was right; in the legends, the Hero and Princess were Hylians, and Ganondorf a Gerudo, with flaming orange hair and skin tinted a sickly green by the evil within. But it was he who was Hylian now, with untouched dark skin and hair the color of the night sky, and his adversaries showed no signs of Hylian blood; the boy before him held the Master Sword in a scaled, clawed, webbed hand, a trademark trait of the Zora alongside the fish-like tail attached to each of their heads, and the girl glared at him down a beak that could only belong to a Rito, her bow held in hands that much resembled the feathers on her wings.

“And… the legends… have little technology… compared to now. Even the times of the Divine Beasts… we have so much more than them.” He turned his head to look out the window at the sprawling Kodai City, its staggering towers glowing with blue and orange lights. Even Ganondorf’s own fortress and tower incorporated some amount of the splendors of Sheikah technology.

But it doesn’t matter… It can’t matter… right?

“So what if things are a bit different from the legends? That doesn’t change the fact that there’s an evil person, right in front of us, that we need to defeat, so things can go back to normal! I’m getting tired of having to be ‘Zelda.’”

Ganondorf stared at the girl. If her name wasn’t actually Zelda, then that meant that—

“Don’t give me that look! I’ll bet your name isn’t even Ganondorf! Mine certainly isn’t ‘Zelda’, and his isn’t ‘Link’!”

The Princess was correct; he had taken the name as a sort of title when he realized what his purpose was, what the shadows of fate wished him to do. It hadn’t crossed his mind that the same would apply to the two sent to defeat him.

“Ugh… now that you’ve mentioned this, all I can think about is all the other stuff you’ve told me from those musty old books of yours. Wasn’t there something about a previous incarnation having the genders or roles all mixed up, or whatever?”

“Yes… one version of ‘Zelda’ was a prince, and his ‘Link’ was a girl. Another one had a Hero who only wielded the Bow, and the Princess held this Sword.”

“And no one talks about this?!”

“People don’t like to talk about the legends these days… they think it’s dwelling on the past…”

The dark wizard stared in awe as his adversaries discussed the history of the Curse, and the many apparent changes from the very first legends that far preceded his own oddities. If the Curse had deteriorated so, then perhaps…

Perhaps I do have a chance… 

The two turned their attention back to Ganondorf. Perhaps they had come to the decision on their own, or perhaps they saw some change in his eyes or posture, but they began to approach him, Link slowly extending his hand. “So, Ganondorf… would you like to return to the light?”

“Obviously you won’t be forgiven immediately. There’ll be a long list of reparations for you to do, since, you know, you blighted every single region in the kingdom and caused harm to countless innocents, and those reparations mean a lot paperwork for me, which I really don’t want to do…” she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, “...but I was taught to try to avoid solutions that involve violence and murder, so if that’s the trade off, I am all for it.”

Maybe it was as though they had pierced and torn down a veil in his mind, or perhaps flipped a switch he thought broken beyond repair, but he, almost without thinking, stretched out his own hand to the Hero’s, prepared to join them in a life of light.

And then a burning pain filled his chest.

Surprise and panic filled the eyes of the two before him, the Hero’s hand faltering. As a fiery haze began to build in his vision, he was dimly aware of the wreathing shadows beginning to writhe, not only covering his flesh and clothing, but passing into them, too. He collapsed to his knees, dimly aware of Zelda shouting something at Link and him responding frantically in return, but in far too much agony to properly comprehend it.

You will not escape your destiny.

The voice that filled his mind was old and cruel, like the very concept of darkness and evil given a voice. He tried to shut it out, but it wriggled its way through every tiny weakness in his defenses, growing ever louder and drowning out the shouts of the youths. Now on all fours, he lifted his hand toward them one final and desperate time, then collapsed as a golden light, brighter than anything he had ever seen, shone before him, and the haze and voice gave way to utter silence.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When his senses returned to him, Ganondorf found himself lying prone on the stone floor of the chamber, his head aching. After a few seconds, he attempted to push himself up, but he found that his limbs felt far weaker than they had only moments ago. He tried and failed several more times before other hands, two far smoother than his and two far softer, pulled him into an upright position on his knees. Slowly, he looked up, and found two familiar faces staring back at him, their mouths twisted in bright smiles that anyone could mistake for mocking glee.

“What… what… just happened to me?”

“Well, if the dark stormy figure outside is anything to go by, I’d say we just expelled the shadows from you.”

“...Stormy figure?”

The two proceeded to duck under his arms and lift him to a proper upright posture, supporting him on their shoulders, then guide him onto the tower’s balcony. Above it was a great storm made of darkness, shadows, and evil he could feel permeating the air. A black whirlwind twisted down from it to the field below, where at its base stood a humanoid form with glowing red eyes, glaring up at the three in the tower with nothing but hatred and malice.

Ganondorf looked between the two. “But… how?”

At this, Link and Zelda merely smiled and pointed to his hand. On each of the three was a fading golden triangle composed of three smaller ones.

“The power of the treasure of the Golden Goddesses... the legendary Triforce… it can work miracles when united, and directed, toward a common goal…”

“Most think the power is lost, buuut the versions of us seem to have a knack for stumbling across it again and again and again.”

The former dark wizard looked from his hands, to those of the heroes, to the heroes’ faces, to the storm, to his hands again. He felt like his mind was trying to process this sudden turn of events at high speed while he couldn't even think at normal speeds, and having weakened limbs and a lingering headache was far from helpful.

“Alright, rest here, you’re way too weak to help us in this fight right now--Link, come on, we have an ancient evil to defeat, once and for all!”

And as the two vaulted off the balcony and glided to the field below, Ganondorf--no, that was no longer his name or title--the newly purified man could not help but let his face drift into a peaceful, genuine smile.

[tragedybunny]

The Blade’s Edge - A League of Legends Fanfiction - Chapter 20

Hello, Lovelies. Here we are again, closer to the end. Thanks for waiting for this. You all mean the world to me. ❤❤❤

They had a simple arrangement. She was the weapon to be used on his enemies. Things get more complicated when emotions bleed into what should simple. Now the two of them find themselves on the precipice of something that was entirely unexpected.

“WAKE UP!” I can’t, everything hurts. The blackness is soothing. “Get up girl!” I force my eyes open despite the blinding pain.

Through bleary vision, I find a massive black bird perched on my stomach, though I can’t feel its weight. “Bea?” No, my thoughts are muddled, that can’t be Bea. I cough, the dust swirls, and my vision begins to clear. I take it in with dawning horror, a creature of blackness and wings that came from some nightmare.

“Wrong.” Its voice reverberates with power and rage and I shudder unintentionally. “Now get up, Noxus requires your service.”

As the world comes back into sharp focus, I see it’s red eyes boring into me. I’ve seen them before, in the birds that gather wherever he goes, in those moments where Jericho lost control. I inhale and pain radiates out from my core. My mind still struggles to grasp the situation, and I utter the only words I can think of. “You can talk?”

“What did you think? I was some mindless gibbering thing?” It sounds offended and I laugh weakly. Of course, the demon he shares a body with is as prickly as he is. Or maybe it takes from him the way he takes from it. “Enough. Are you going to save the Grand General or not?”

I let my eyes close for a second. Opening them, I try to push myself to sit, but pain forces me back to the ground. “I’m useless, go find Darius.”

“He’s not here!” It thunders at me. “Likely that is very much by design.” It walks along my chest to my face, poking what I would loosely describe as a beak at my chin. “YOU are here. If you don’t get up he will die and the Empire will fall.” It takes to the air, flying, maybe, my mind is still pulling things together. It perches on a piece of rubble and stares at me.

I finally force myself up, letting out a pathetic sounding cry as I do. I’ve been his weapon, his lover, his confidant, his wife, why not his savior as well? I cough, causing the dust that’s settled around me to rise again, and I force my legs under me, to start bearing my weight even as the shake. I rise despite the screaming pain now in my abdomen, the real possibility I’m bleeding inside. Behind my rage and disorientation, fear is starting to take hold, fear for him. Will I be enough to save his life. “Fine, where did they take him?” I stretch, testing knees and ankles, hoping they will hold up.

“Finally, I can see some of what he sees in you. So you choose to save him, this you do willingly?” It tilts its head, a gesture that’s disturbing in its bird-like manner.

“Yes, now tell me what I need to do.” I order it, perhaps too bold, but I feel as though I could die at any moment. I don’t need the ridiculous games of some demon, I need to get moving.

“Perfect.” It’s beak clicks with a resounding snap. With a flap of ethereal wings, it rises from its perch, taking to the air and rushing straight at me.

I feel a burning ignite in my skin as it makes contact with me, disappearing in a blaze of flickering black and red. A fire ignites in my veins and I collapse back to my knees for a moment. My breath comes in strangled gasps as my body knits itself back together. The pain is surreal, and I know something inside me was terribly broken. Soon enough though, I am standing, a sureness of purpose filling me, creating confidence such as I have never known. It’s as though all the knowledge and power in the world are mine for the taking. Is this what he feels at every moment? In my hand a dagger of spectral force forms. I aim and let fly it, watching as it buries itself in the bricks. Perhaps I can do what needs to be done after all.

The deafening sound of ravens pierces my mind and I clutch my head for a moment, trying to silence them. Then I see it, an image forced into my thoughts, a chamber below the forbidden center of the Immortal Bastion, a cage of stone, the route clear to me as though I’d tread it a thousand times. I take off down the ruin of the stairs, full tilt, leaping over the rubble with ease. The noise hits me as I descend to the bottom, soldiers falling into order, officers taking command. A din permeates the background, unrest is growing in the city in the wake of the explosions. I vaguely recall hearing the noise of the multiple blasts before blacking out. My heart bursts into agony, I was alive to hear them because Jericho had me pinned under him, using the demon to protect me.

I fight back a cry. Would he have been able to escape if I hadn’t stopped him to talk? What if I can’t save him? Godsdamnit why do I still care so much after all the pain? “The Grand General is missing...Secure the City...Form up for search parties...send word to the Hand…” I fly through them, catching snippets of conversations, startling those that catch a glimpse of me. “Was that?... It can’t be...Commander?”

There are no guards left at the gates that lead into the fortress proper. Here the central towers rise from the ground, a forbidden haven of dark magic. In the shadows, wandering paths lead to doors, some secret, some not, that give entry down into very bowels of the fortress. I instinctively know the one I’m looking for, slightly hidden as it is, my fingers activating the concealed lock as though I’d done it a thousand times. I enter into the stone hallway opened before me with caution, still unsure of the power I temporarily possess. It’s only moments before I stumble on the first of the traitors, one of my former Guild members. He hears my steps and spins to face me, smile wide. “What luck, the Usurper’s whore.” He begins a charge.

“I don’t have time for you.” A spectral blade flies from my hand driving deep into his throat. Another forms almost without thought and I bury it in his chest, watching as he falls. With his dying breath, the ravens come, bringing me his secrets, burning my mind with them. I see Talon and my rage is reignited, he leans in to speak. “Once we deliver the false Grand General to her, justice will be done.”

I shrug off the vision quickly, trying to focus on my current reality, there’s no time for it to distract me any longer. I hold onto my fury at Talon, a fury that’s simmered for years, ready to unleash it when needed. I should’ve known he’d be involved. I sprint ahead, the small shaft of light from the outside fading. The only other light comes from torches set along the walls, glowing sickly green as though their illumination was from some foul magic. Another comes into view from behind, I leap onto her back, blade to her throat. She’s gurgling blood before she even can react to my presence.

There’s a fork ahead, hard right, again I simply know the way. One more guard stands before the open doorway to a large chamber, a sword already drawn. Concentrating and curious I bring my hand up, crackling bolts of energy emerge from it, similar to something I’d seen Jericho do. The guard twitches and flails, and I close the distance, another throat slit. More ravens, my head feels as though it will burst, I choke back a scream from the pain. Finally, the last of what I need, the key to the cage, and the word in old Noxian that will activate it.

The opening leads to a landing, then a set of stairs descending to an open torch lit chamber that reeks of earth and decay. A small band mills about, possibly twenty or so, I duck below the rail of the landing and try my best to get a count. Not truthfully as many as we had thought when he’d finally shared his suspicions with me, but that doesn’t mean more aren’t coming. On the other end of the chamber, as though they are purposefully avoiding it, is the cage of stone. Inside I just barely make out Jericho’s form, he’s not on his feet, and my heart catches in my throat. I need to get to him.

I know I’ll be spotted if I take the stairs, only one way to go, and I hope I know what the demon will do. A quick jump and I bound over the side railing of the landing and drop down into the shadows beside the stairs, a fall that could kill. I tuck my legs and try to land with the least amount of impact. Pain still blossoms in both my knees, too far down it seems, but it could have been worse. A sensation of warmth washes over me and the pain fades, I know whatever I did just healed. No time to think more on it, I sprint off toward the cage, throwing a glance at the conspirators to ensure I haven’t been noticed. They seem to be wandering aimlessly, perhaps waiting for something or someone, and at least keeping their distance from where I need to be.

I circle around to the back of the damned thing to keep concealed and I have a moment to study it. Petricite, of course, that’s how it works. Ancient inscriptions of old Noxian encircle it, the same faint green emanating from them as the torches. And then I finally let my eyes settle on him, he’s seated with his knees pulled up to his chest, a grimace on his features. I hold myself back from crying out to him. “Jericho!” I whisper desperately instead, kneeling as close to the cage as the demon will let me. His eyes open slowly and he turns to face me, taking my breath away. Blood runs down the left side of his face, matting his hair down over an angry, swollen bruise, and his nose looks broken. Rage like I’ve never known wells up inside me and I feel my hands begin to shake. THEY HURT MY HUSBAND. I shove it down, for once I’m fighting to not give in and lose control.

“Kitten?” That nickname is a blade in my heart, regret for what I said the last time I heard it engulfing me. “What are you doing here?” He seems to have trouble focusing on me. I need to get him out of there before that head injury does him in.

“Rescuing you.” I smile slightly, desperately trying to put him at ease.

He shakes his head, I should have expected his resistance. “It’s too risky for you alone. Leave, help secure the Empire for Darius. It needs him.” He really thinks this is an order I’m going to obey.

“We both know it’s you the Empire needs. And I’m not really so alone.” I coax out the demon’s aura, and I feel it change me as I watch his dawning recognition. I send it back to resting in the depths of my soul before I can attract unwanted attention.

He closes his eyes for a second, and I can tell he’s resigning himself to not arguing with me further. Finally he exhales and opens them. “If you must.” The slight tremor in his voice says so much more than his words alone and my heart aches at the sound of it. “Kat, I…”

“Shh.” I cut him off, feeling the hot sting of tears in my eyes. We don’t have the time. Before the turmoil can get the better of me, I stand and suck in a deep breath. “Thank me later.”

I turn, wiping my eyes, and stride out from behind the cage toward the milling group. “Hey, idiots!” No going back now. “Where’s the moron in charge of this shit plan?”

All eyes now turn to me, some of them whisper to one another. Through the demon I can just barely hear them. How did I get here? What am I doing? Are there more to come? One hooded figure steps forward to speak out loudly. “Finally, I’ve waited for this for months. One step closer and I’ll sink my blade into you.”

That voice, the Guild betrayer revealed at last. When I think on it, it never could have been anyone else, but it stings deeply and I wish it had been. I’ll mourn later though. “Ah, Inara. Couldn’t find your own way out of my shadow? Had to throw in with these traitors to feel important?”

She breaks from the crowd, charging forward to stand in front of me. So easily played. “Did you actually think I would follow you? You’re-”

“Shh.” I hold up my hand and cut her off, I don’t have time for theatrics. “You assume I care.” My hands reach back and grip my daggers, it’s not time to reveal my little surprise yet. “Fight me or remove yourself from my path.”

She sputters, I’ve stolen her momentum. “Enough Inara, I’ll handle my darling sister.” His voice comes from the back of the crowd, at last, the nobody who would’ve replaced me.

They part and let him through, the deference paid to him that I can only assume is a mark of leadership. The smug look on his face nearly pushes me over the edge. Years of hatred and bitterness stoke my rage, but I reign myself in, I need to keep control. I give him a quick look over as he approaches, and there, on his belt, is the amulet that serves as the cage’s key. “Let him go Talon, this is the only warning I’m giving.”

He throws back his head and laughs, how typically irritating. “You really came to rescue the Usurper? After everything he’s done? And to think, I tried to offer you mercy for Markus’s sake. I spent months warning you what was coming.”

A growl escapes me in spite of my efforts. The stalker, it was him, when I look into every dark spot of my life he’s there. I inhale and assess the situation, I can’t lose control now, I’m so close. I don’t need Talon dead, I just need to get near to him. And if I stoke his anger, he’ll go right along with what I need. “He’s the rightful ruler of Noxus and you are a traitor.” I stare him in the eyes, daring him to act.

“I’m a traitor?” He scoffs at me. “Who’s here to beg for the life of their father’s murderer? Who’s been playing whore for that same murderer until recently?”

It’s my turn to laugh now. “I’m not here to beg. I’m here to present a challenge. One duel and we’ll see who’s the better of father’s pupils. I win and the Grand General goes free. You win and you may do as you wish with both of us.” I mentally urge him to take the damn bait.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” I bite my tongue, he really doesn't want me to answer that. “I have him in my control, and justice will be done for father once our Matron arrives. I don’t need to answer your challenge.”

I lock my eyes on his and smile with all the malice in my soul. “Oh Talon, you poor confused moron.” Time to play all my cards. “Jericho didn’t kill father.” I lean forward, smile ever widening, and entranced, he mirrors my movement. “I did. Sunk my dagger down into his throat, and watched him bleed. It was glorious.”

He gives a primal scream and I take a step back, landing in a defensive stance. “You bitch! I’m not shocked you wielded the blade. But he had his hand in it.” He snarls again in frustration, eyes still wide with shock at my revelation. “Fine, I’ll accept your challenge, to expose you as the failure you are.” He almost makes it too easy.

At his signal, a loose circle forms around us, drawing a collective intake of breath. Before most could even react, several blades fly from his hands. I dodge them, intentionally slowing myself, and feel one nick my shoulder. I see a smile tug at the corner of his lips, he’s satisfied with what he thinks he’s done. Let him believe he is superior. I retreat a few steps and strike, a dagger loosed in his direction, meant to graze, striking only his thigh.

I leap toward him, following its path, swinging wildly, missing as expected, my momentum carrying me forward. I feel his blade carve into the flesh of my back and I bite my lip to keep from crying out as hot blood trickles down my skin. I push the demon down, refusing to let it heal the minor wound. Behind me, he gets confident and lets out a chuckle. “Losing your touch Kat? You’ve spent too much time playing Lady of the Manor.”

“Fuck you gutter rat.” I hear his sharp exhale, he always did hate being reminded of where he really came from. I turn and another of my daggers goes his way, just a hair too wide. He grins and that should seal it. He leaps at me with every bit of that uncanny agility he’s always possessed.

He’s on top of me before most would even be able to comprehend the situation, a downward slash meant to cut straight into my heart. I surprise him by slamming my body into him rather than attempting an escape. It serves as a distraction and brings me close enough to wrap my hand around the amulet and tear it from his belt. The price is that the blade meant for my heart drives deep into my shoulder and I cry out as my arm goes limp. “You could never beat me. You’re a failure who doesn’t deserve his legacy.”

“Idiot!” Now the demon makes itself known, veiling me with its power. A glance around reveals growing horror in their faces. I feel them, the wings unfurling from me, I find myself standing just above the ground, as fire sings in my veins. I use the moment and take a leap toward the cage, the distance covered in one single bound. My wounds burn as my body stitches itself back together before I land in front of the door to the vile thing. “This was never about beating you!” Talon begins to rally them leading a surge toward me. I slam the amulet into the circular depression on the door, breaking the circle of glyphs, feeling the power drain from my body. “Amon-ana-noxa.” The words ripped from the secrets of a traitor’s soul.

The sound of the lock reverberates through the chamber like thunder and the inscriptions cease to glow. I draw my daggers, readying myself for the onslaught as I feel that incredible power pass by me. “I’m going to enjoy tearing all of you apart.” My heart leaps to hear his voice, strong and confident again.

Within seconds he’s beside me, power and rage emanating from him. There’s hesitation among the conspirators and they slow. “Are you cowards?” Talon shouts, growing desperation evident. “There’s still only two of them.” He’s gone too far down this path, he can’t turn back now.

Jericho looks down at me. “No mercy.” He commands, my Grand General, and for a moment I feel a sense of awe for him that reminds me why it is he who controls the Empire.

“Understood.” I assess our situation, no matter his seeming power of the moment, I doubt he’s fully healed. We need to be quick about this. I’ll be more effective at their back lines. “I’ve got an idea, give me a hand getting behind them.”

He nods and holds out his hands, hands cupping them together. A quick run and I leap into them, the demon’s strength easily propels me behind them. My dagger finds its first target as those in front get close enough to feel the force of an arcane blast.

One turns to me and I make a swift movement, running him through before sending a blade through the air into the first that tries to break away. Several screams pierce the air, Jericho is easily dealing with those that have closed in on him. I spy Inara within the melee and set my focus on getting to her. I leap to retrieve my thrown dagger and then to my next target, opening their throat from behind. I look up, and two of them held still by arcane energy are being dragged back to Jericho.

Another falls before me and my path to Inara is clear. I ready a blade for the traitorous bitch. Over those still remaining, I see Talon make a desperate leap toward Jericho, blades flashing through the air. “Enough!” He roars, demon fully loosed, rising to meet Talon in the air, scorching those that still remain around him. I feel a chill that prickles my skin and notice a strange mist that has begun filling the chamber.

It feels me with a sense of unease that pulls my attention from the mob that is now breaking and running. “Talon, we need to leave, now!” Inara pleads. I’ve lost track of her in the chaos. No, they can’t do this and just walk away. Blackness seeps into the edge of my vision, I’ve contained my fury far too long. Not willing to let them escape, I scan the crowd for them. They need to pay for what they’ve done. Another of the cabal rushes past me and I grab her to open her throat, still searching for my now singular focus. There, a doorway with a pair of figures entering it. “Damn it!’ I snap and charge toward them, this isn’t over.

“Kat don’t.” He shouts after me, but it’s too late. Lost in my thirst for vengeance, I’m already following the passage from the door deeper into the catacombs, the mist thickening around me.

I catch them just as they turn sharply and plunge into a room illuminated by a haunting blue-green light. They’ve disappeared as the mist conceals all here, and quickly I find myself disorientated. A voice snaps from within the mist. “You fools, what have you done?” It’s her of course, the Black Rose Matron. How could this plot have come from anyone else?

A deep resonant laugh echoes throughout the mist, it’s origin lost. It freezes the blood in my veins and I suddenly feel like a child, small and alone. “It can’t be!” LeBlanc’s voice holds a rising panic that leaves me even more shaken. Her frantic chanting fills the air as I try to turn and retrace my path back out of the chamber.

“Behold this lovely little consort of death who strays so close to me. Come further into the mist, come to me, join me in my kingdom, Katarina. I will make great use of your talents.” Trance like at this malevolent presence, I’m rooted where I stand, his terrible voice filling my head. I know I should flee, but I can’t. “We will do many great things with you serving at my side.” I can’t think, but I feel myself begin to move, drifting further into the mist.

Pain blossoms in my core and shakes me from the stupor. A force grasps me and begins to pull on me. “Get away from my wife.” No, he shouldn’t have followed me, he should’ve escaped. The pulling cannot move me from where I’ve been stuck, and soon it dissipates.

Again, that sinister laugh echoes around us. “Your ‘power’ means nothing to me, Grand General. I am the embodiment of forces you cannot even comprehend.”

“I comprehend well enough the fragility of your ego, you who must brag from the shadows.” The entity lets out a primal growl. “Come on out and face me if you are so mighty.” My head begins to clear, Jericho’s taunting served as an ample distraction, no doubt as he planned. He laughs at the creature and now free, I fly towards the sound.

It seems as though I travel farther than the chamber should have allowed. “I’ve slain countless who would dare threaten me and you’re no different.” He sounds so close, but I can’t find him. Panic begins to take hold, is there no way out. “Kat.” He’s there before me, grasping my hand, pulling me to him. The mist begins to thin.

“Well played Grand General.” It sounds as though it is fading away. “Know this, when I return, she will be the first thing I take from you. The second will be your Empire.”

No more time for bandying words, neither of us react, focusing on navigating our way out of the chamber. Leblanc is still somewhere in mist and there may be threats above in the city as well given the explosions earlier. We need to get to someplace safe where we can fortify our position, plan, undo whatever harm that has been done.