#Litho: no. Bitch | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

malarkay · 9 months

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Inside the Wire Chapter 15

During their final battle with the Storm Hawks, Cyclonis is stopped just short of destroying the Dark Ace. Victory, however, eludes them. With Cyclonia fallen, and escape to the Farside cut off, they're forced to confront the consequences of their actions.

I.J. Domiwick was, above all else, a schmoozer. He knew how to make people feel listened to, liked, valued. People loved people who made them feel important. He’d learned that from a young age, and, more importantly, he had learned how to capitalize on it.

It was how he had managed to go from castaway to formal meeting with the President of Lithos in less than three months. Decked out in finery one rarely saw anywhere on Atmos, a midnight blue dovetail coat over a gold brocade waistcoat with matching cravat, he felt every bit the role he was playing.

“Mr. President, may I present to you Ambassador Domiwick of Atmos,” Vizsla, the Chief Magistrate of Pripolos, introduced him. He gave a deep, courtly bow and received a head tilt and a small, polite smile from the president in return. President Androcles was a tall, broad-shouldered man with hazel eyes and more than a little grey peppered throughout his black hair and neatly trimmed beard.

“Ambassador Domiwick, it’s nice to finally put a face to the name. I’ve heard all about your ill-fated voyage. It’s a miracle you survived.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. I only wish my ship and my crew had done the same.”

“My deepest condolences. Magistrate Vizsla, have you had any luck retrieving any of the bodies? I’m sure it would provide the ambassador with some closure if he could give his men a proper burial.”

“None, Mr. President. No signs of any of the wreckage, either. I fear they may be lost at sea forever.”

He had washed up on one of Pripolos’ beaches when he came through the tunnels he’d discovered in the depths of Aquanos. It hadn’t taken him long to concoct a story explaining who he was, where he was from, and why he was there. He was an ambassador from Atmos, the land beyond the Barrier Cliffs, sent to establish diplomatic relations once a way to cross over to the Farside had been discovered. But his efforts had ended in disaster. An earthquake had destroyed the passage connecting the two lands, and shortly after, a storm wrecked his ship. He'd been alone when he’d come to after washing up on shore; all others presumed dead.

His story had gotten him an audience with people of increasing power and authority until he finally caught the attention of Pripolos’ magistrate herself. She was a remarkable woman. He’d taken an instant liking to her. But more importantly, she had taken an instant liking to him. His very first meeting with her had turned into dinner. Dessert had followed. Then coffee. And by the end of the night, he was in her bed. That was the moment he knew he would get everything he wanted from these people.

And now here he was, talking to the most powerful man in Lithos, the Farsiders’ name for the Farside. Lithos was a collection of city-states whose borders he didn’t quite yet understand. Back home, things were much more straightforward. A terra was a terra. But here, the people weren’t forced to live on mountaintops. They had no Wasteland, just vast expanses of land and water they called seas, land that was divided into territories via invisible borders. Not that those borders really mattered. Every city-state in Lithos was united into one giant nation with President Androcles at its head. He was what Master Cyclonis wished she was. With all that power, he had expected him to be like her, too. That arrogant, deceitful little bitch; he had been a fool to take her at her word. Having been burned once before, he had gone into this meeting with a healthy dose of paranoia, intent on not making the same mistake twice. But this man, with his relaxed posture, kind eyes, and genuine sympathy in his voice, took him by surprise. A very welcome surprise. This was going to be easy.

“That is unfortunate,” Androcles said. Moving to take a seat, he motioned for him and Vizsla to do the same. “My apologies; I’m sure you’d rather not dwell on painful memories. Let’s speak of Atmos instead. I’m curious to hear all about your homeland.”

He smiled. This is where he would shine. He gave the president an overview of Atmos: history, politics, geology and geography. He made sure to put a positive spin on things. They believed he was here to encourage relations between the two hemispheres. He didn’t need to scare them off with talk of war, especially not one being instigated by some unhinged teenager with peerless magical powers and a taste for world domination. Leading with that would get him nowhere. He then launched into a couple of stories of his adventures that were tried and true crowd-pleasers, ones he hadn’t already told Vizsla. As predicted, they had both her and the president enraptured. He ensured that his last story was one where he had bungled things in the middle but managed to salvage the situation. Never underestimate the power of a bit of self-deprecation. He had yet to meet a person who didn’t eat that up. It seemed the Lithosians were no exception.

“Fascinating, truly,” Androcles smiled, but it quickly faded. “It’s a shame the passage through the Barrier Cliffs was destroyed. I think I would have loved to visit Atmos.”

“There may still be a way,” he said, hesitant yet hopeful.

“How?”

“In Atmos, there’s a legend of a Doorway, a mystical artifact that can open a portal directly to Lithos. I suspect it has a twin that can be found on this side of the barrier.”

“I’ve never heard of such an artifact,” the president confessed.

“Very few people in Atmos have heard of ours either, but I know it exists.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Well, no, not exactly. But I have a sixth sense for these things.”

“Legends and extrasensory perception isn’t much to go by.”

“Maybe not, but I can’t give up. It’s my only way home. I have to find it.”

The president looked from him to Vizsla and then away in thought. After a minute or two of contemplation, he looked back at him. “What is it you need from me?”

“The magistrate tells me that Lithos’ largest library is here in Athephia.”

“The magistrate speaks true.”

“I’d like unrestricted access to it. I’ll need to do extensive research if I am to have any hope of finding the Doorway and its Key.”

“That’s simple enough. Granted.”

“And, should I find ample evidence that a Doorway does exist in Lithos, I would like to lead an expedition to uncover it.”

“And you need me to fund the expedition.”

“That would be ideal, but I’m willing to seek private sector funding if needed.”

“Bring me compelling evidence that this Doorway exists, and we’ll talk.”

“Thank you, Mr. President. You won’t regret this.”

~*~*~

Progress was slow, but no one seemed to mind. The president was content to let him search for information on the Doorway at his own pace. That suited him just fine; it allowed him to split his attention between researching where the Doorway may be (if there was indeed a Doorway as he suspected) and learning all he could about Lithos. That was what he had come here to do, after all: study the Farside and document everything he could so that when he returned to Atmos, he could write his magnum opus. His book was sure to become the bestseller of all time. It would cement him as Atmos’ premier archeologist. The world would be his oyster.

With no competition to worry about and the president not pressuring him for results like the Cyclonians had, he was content to take his time. It allowed him to immerse himself in Lithosian history and culture. And it allowed him to enjoy his dalliance with Vizsla.

Being Chief Magistrate had its perks. A fully staffed mansion was one of them. Her every need was attended to without her having to lift a finger, and by association, so were his. With no need to worry about mundane everyday tasks, they could spend their free time focused on each other. A man could get used to living like this. Sometimes, he questioned whether he wanted to return to Atmos at all.

Even travelling between the mansion and the capital’s vast library wasn't much of an inconvenience, despite their geographical distance. Each city had a centrally located travel station, a large building with shops and dozens of archways lining a wide promenade. Each arch was labelled with the name of the city it was networked with. Powered by a stabilized warp crystal, each arch instantly transported pedestrians who stepped through it to their destination. It was ingenious.

They had quickly fallen into a routine. Monday through Friday, he'd go to work in the morning and come home early in the evening. More often than not, she would already be home, holed up in her office, thoroughly engrossed in what she affectionately referred to as her second shift. The work of governing a city-state never ended. If what she was working on didn’t look critical or time-sensitive, he'd disarm her with shoulder massages, having discovered early on that was the easiest way to coax her away from her desk for dinner and some quality time. The weekends were mostly theirs. Often, there would be events that she needed to attend on those days. Still, they were usually fun and only commanded a few hours of her attention.

Tonight, for example, they were attending a gala at the Lithosian Institute of Crystallography and Technology, a museum, university, and research facility all rolled into one massive campus. He'd often pass by it on his way to and from the library, but tonight was his first time inside. He was not prepared for what he saw when they walked in.

The gala was being held in the main museum. The building was huge, filled with exhibits that exalted Lithosian achievements in science and technology. But what really caught his attention was the large, twisted crystal in the very center of the exhibition hall, glowing a faint, fiery orange. It rotated slowly as it floated above an elaborately carved display pillar. It had no protective glass case. The pillar wasn't even roped off. He could go up and touch the crystal if he wanted to. It couldn't possibly be what he thought it was.

“Is that…?”

He startled slightly when President Androcles, not Vizla, answered him. He'd been so focused on the crystal that he hadn't noticed him approaching.

“The Helix Crystal.”

The Helix Crystal! Here! Unguarded! He looked around surreptitiously for security but saw no one who stood out as a guard. They must all be undercover, then.

“Generous of you to let the Institute borrow it for the gala.”

Androcles looked puzzled. “It’s not mine to lend.”

“Who does it belong to if not you?”

“It belongs to none of us and all of us. No one man should wield such power.”

“Aren’t you worried that someone might steal it?”

“No Lithosian would do such a thing. This crystal is a symbol of Lithos. Stealing it would be tantamount to treason, and justice is swift for those who would commit treason.” He was unused to hearing such steely resolve from the usually genial president.

“Justice would be equally swift for any outsider caught stealing it,” a new voice cut in, and he turned his attention to its source. The speaker was a tall, slender man in his middle years with a strong jaw and flinty eyes. He wore a formal naval uniform: A white, collared shirt with a navy blue tie under a cream-coloured waistcoat. Cream-coloured trousers tucked into brown Cavalier boots. A long, navy blue coat decorated with medals at the breast and insignia of rank at the collar that marked him as the Admiral of the Navy. If that weren’t enough to give away his identity, his auburn hair and blue eyes, identical to his sister’s, would have.

“Admiral Selkirk, we meet at last! Vizsla has told me so much about you,” he smiled, offering his hand to shake.

Selkirk didn’t return his smile, but he did shake his hand. “She’s told me much about you, as well, Ambassador,” he told him in a carefully neutral tone.

They spoke for nearly an hour before Selkirk excused himself and his sister, pulling her off where he couldn't overhear them. Not that he didn't try. He watched them surreptitiously as he engaged other attendees in conversation. Vizsla was slowly growing annoyed by whatever Selkirk was saying to her. He could tell by the set of her mouth, the tightness in her eyes. At one point, she hid an open scowl behind her wine glass, taking a long sip as she composed herself. Not long after, she parted ways with her brother and returned to his side.

Later, when they were back home in bed together, he asked her what Selkirk had said that had bothered her so much. She had tried to deflect, but he wouldn't let it go.

“He doesn't trust you,” she finally confessed.

“Why not?”

She laughed a little before answering. “He thinks you're a gold-digger.”

“To be fair to him, I am an archeologist,” he joked, which earned him a swat from her.

“And a con artist,” she finished.

That hurt.

“I would never lie to you,” he told her.

“I know.”

~*~*~

Several years passed before he got his first real lead on the location of the Doorway.

In that time, he had made incredible progress on his research of Lithos, gathering enough information to fill several notebooks.

He had also grown all too accustomed to life here. Everything was objectively better. The technology was more advanced. Crystals were more powerful. There was peace and prosperity. And there was Vizsla. On more than one occasion, he had questioned his own plan. Did he really want to return to Atmos? He had everything he ever wanted right here.

So he let another year pass while he sat on his lead.

Soon enough, however, he started to feel that itch. The one that had driven him his whole life, a need for adventure and the notoriety such adventures brought. He may be comfortable in Lithos, but what was his claim to fame here?

He was painfully aware of how little respect he had earned besides what was afforded him thanks to his Ambassadorship. He was reminded every time they joined Selkirk for dinner or an outing and had to endure the man’s silent judgement. Vizsla’s brother stubbornly refused to warm up to him.

And so he had gone to the president with his information. He went into the meeting armed with an in-depth presentation and came out of the meeting with the funding he needed to lead an expedition.

He smiled. It felt as if cobwebs had finally cleared from his mind. It was time to finish what he had started.

~*~*~

A month. That's how long it took to discover the Doorway, hidden within the depths of an expansive rainforest. The sheer size of the forest put even Terra Amazonia to shame. He never failed to marvel at how different the landscape was on this side of the Barrier Cliffs. Everything was so vast!

A month spent out in the field had done him a world of good. A part of him had worried that he'd grown too soft for such a strenuous expedition, but he had proven himself up to the challenge. He had missed this. The thrill of the hunt. Hacking his way through the undergrowth by day and sleeping under the stars by night. Deciphering clues. Outwitting carefully laid traps.

And now he and his team had unearthed the Doorway, along with a new series of clues that, once solved, would lead him to the Key. They had radioed their coordinates to the president. An entire company had been dispatched to secure the Doorway in less than a week, and he was provided transport back to the capital.

He and Vizsla had celebrated his success with a weeklong trip to the mountains of Albona, renting a chalet near the shores of a pristine lake. She had scolded him when she caught him poring over the clues to the Key, saying that if she had to leave work at home, so did he.

On their last day at the mountain lake, he made the mistake of asking her if she'd come with him to Atmos.

“Of course, I’d love to visit Atmos with you,” she told him, not understanding what he was asking of her.

“Not to visit,” he clarified. “To live.”

She got quiet, a silence that felt like it lasted an hour, even though it was less than a minute.

“You know I can't do that.”

He wasn't surprised by her answer. Her life was here. Her family, her responsibilities. Still, he was disappointed.

She picked up on his disappointment, seeming surprised by it. “As the Atmosian ambassador to Lithos, you belong here. Why even ask about Atmos?”

He smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Feeling a bit homesick, I suppose. It will pass.”

She wasn't convinced. “That's all it is? You aren't thinking of stepping down as ambassador, are you?”

“Not at all, forget I asked.”

But neither of them did.

When they got home, she seemed a bit more distant, spending more time with Selkirk and Selkirk’s friend Lynx. He wasn't sure which one of them he hated more. Lynx was a small man, but what he lacked in stature, he made up for in personality. Domiwick found him to be insufferable. He reminded him of some of the more boisterous Sky Knights he had met, which wasn't surprising since he was the head of the Lithosian Air Force.

Not wanting to spend more time than necessary around them and mentally preparing himself to leave Vizsla behind, he threw himself into his work.

~*~*~

The clues led him to the Zoran Desert.

He had foregone his usual expedition gear, opting to listen to the locals when they suggested looser garb made of light linen and a scarf, teaching him how to wrap it around his head.

As protected from the sun and the heat as possible, he set off with his small band of underlings, using strange, lumpy pack animals native to the region to carry them and their supplies. Mechanized transportation was notoriously unreliable out on the dunes.

Luckily, their quest didn't drag on as long as their search for the Doorway had. Three days after leaving the city-state of Zora, they came upon a dark stone pillar covered in ancient markings rising out of the sand. The location matched the coordinates he had decoded from the clues.

Approaching the pillar, he studied it without touching it, wary of traps. It appeared to be scored at regular intervals, and he realized that the pillar wasn't one solid piece but sections stacked on top of one another. Not seeing any obvious traps, he took hold of the second section from the top and twisted. Slowly, creakily, the section rotated. He stepped back, scratching his chin. Of course. A puzzle.

Retrieving his notes, he shuffled through the pages of clues until he got to a cypher. Comparing the markings on the cypher to the markings on the pillar, he saw they matched.

He turned to the others. “Set up camp. It’ll be nightfall soon, and it will take time to translate these runes.”

While the others worked to set up the tents and get started on dinner, he began the painstaking task of translating the pillar’s inscriptions. He worked until darkness fell, and he was about to grab a torch to continue working when a chill went through him, which had nothing to do with how quickly the desert cooled down once the sun set. It felt like he was being watched. Watched from every direction.

He glanced at his workers, noticing that they all seemed unsettled. Strangely, the pack animals were unaffected, placidly chewing the hay they had been given.

He abandoned his work at the pillar to sit near the fire. It made the oppressive feeling ease just enough that the goose pimples on his arms faded. The subtle shift in his mood did not go unnoticed. Soon, everyone had gravitated towards the flames, eating and talking about everything and nothing, as if afraid of the silence that awaited them when they stopped.

But it couldn't last forever. Eventually, it was time to sleep.

Wrapping himself in a thin blanket, he lay down by the fire and closed his eyes. Only to open them again what seemed no more than a minute later. The fire still burned as fiercely as before, but he was alone.

He scrambled to his feet, looking around, but he couldn't see more than a meter in any direction. Beyond that, there was nothing but darkness. Looking up, he saw that there was no moon. There was no vivid splash of stars against the inky sky as there had been moments ago. Nothing but more darkness.

And the feeling of being watched was back, even worse than before.

“What is this?” he demanded. His voice sounded odd, muffled as if even sound refused to travel beyond the barrier the darkness had created.

“What is this?” a voice breathed slowly as if whatever spoke to him had not spoken in years. Decades. Centuries.

Did it expect an answer, or was it just mimicking what he said? He decided it couldn't hurt to introduce himself either way. “My name is Domi-”

“We know,” the voice interrupted him, and dozens more echoed it.

“We know…we know…we know….” they chorused. In the voice of a man. Of a woman. The hiss of a serpent. The screech of an eagle. The baying of a wild dog. So many voices, everywhere and nowhere all at once.

“You come here as a supplicant,” the first voice spoke again. It wasn't a question.

“I came here looking for-”

“We know,” came the chorus of voices again, drowning him out.

“Supplicate yourself.”

He stood rooted to the spot uncertainly until a low growl made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. A figure emerged from the darkness, bearing down on him. A jackal leaping for his throat.

He screamed as its teeth sank into his flesh, as its weight bore him to the ground. And then it was gone. Frantically, he raised a hand to his throat. Intact. He rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, but when he tried to stand, he was driven back down by some unseen force.

“We see what's in your heart,” the voice spoke, and from the darkness, whispers responded.

“No wisdom.”

“No humility.”

“Unworthy.”

He felt a jolt of anger at that. Unworthy? How dare this thing, whatever it was, insult him like that! He tried again to stand, only to be forced to prostrate himself.

The whispers came again, a chorus repeating the declaration. “Unworthy.”

“Turn back. You cannot pass the trials. You will not find what you seek here.”

“I’ve come too far to turn back now,” he said.

“If you die here-”

“I won't.”

The things that lurked beyond the darkness laughed at him.

“We shall see.”

He awoke with a gasp. The fire had died down to dully glowing embers, and the eastern horizon was just beginning to lighten. His men were all still asleep. Getting up, he stoked the fire and set a pot of water to boil for coffee.

He had runes to finish translating.

~*~*~

The sun was beating down on him from directly overhead when he completed the translation. The runes told the story of a great king from ancient Lithosian mythology. Through his research, he’d grown familiar with these people’s myths and legends, familiar enough that it was a simple task to rotate the pillar sections so that the king’s heroic exploits were told in the proper order.

As the last section locked into place, the pillar began to vibrate. Gears whirled, and mechanisms unlatched with metallic clicks as the rune-covered casing pulled away to reveal a central pillar lined with shelves. Upon those shelves sat dozens of ornate skulls that glittered in the sunlight. Some were metal, but most were crystal. There were skulls of solid gold, silver and platinum, many encrusted with jewels. One skull was of the clearest quartz he had ever seen, covered in a delicate lacework of gold filigree. Many were carved from some of the rarest, most expensive crystals known to Atmos or Lithos. Some had jewels set into their eye sockets, brilliant sparkling diamonds, rubies, and emeralds. A few had gold-capped teeth. There was a king’s ransom here, free for the taking. He reached out to touch one carved from a fire opal and hesitated. This was a trap.

Stepping back, he paced around the pillar, studying the skulls before him. Was one of them the Key? And if so, how was he supposed to figure out which? He was beginning to regret not bringing a Crystal Mage on the expedition, but, to his surprise, true Crystal Mages were as rare in Lithos as they were in Atmos, and their services didn’t come cheap. Besides, they hadn’t needed one during the expedition to the Forbidden City. It stood to reason that they didn’t need one now. He just had to figure out how to solve this puzzle.

His concentration was broken by a small commotion from his men. They had stopped what they were doing when he unlocked the column, gathering a respectful distance away from the pillar to admire the skulls. But one, a boy who couldn’t be more than eighteen, had been bold enough to approach, ignoring the warnings of his compatriots. “I just want to get a closer look,” he defended himself. “I’m not stealing anything.” Before anyone could say anything or physically intervene, he picked up a sapphire skull wearing a delicate platinum diadem.

The air shifted the moment the skull was touched. Where there had barely been a breeze before, sudden winds materialized out of nowhere, whipping around them. The wind began kicking up the sand. Domiwick quickly emulated his men as they pulled on their goggles and secured their scarves around their mouths and noses to protect their lungs. A dangerously short distance away, a massive wall of sand was forming, headed straight for them. His instinct was to run, but he worried that if he did, he’d get lost and never find the column again. Or worse, get so lost that he died out here. He wouldn’t last long on his own with no water. He knew that. So he stayed rooted to the spot.

The wall of sand began to shift as it bore down on them, morphing as it did. It wasn't clear initially what it was, but as it got closer, it became more defined. A giant scorpion made of sand was towering above them, too close now to outrun even if they tried. Dark spots writhed along the creature's surface, some falling from their host, plummeting to the ground only to scuttle back towards it, getting swept up once more.

Some of the men stood frozen as it approached. Others ran. He quickly lost sight of those who fled. He did not, unfortunately, lose sight of the boy who had taken the sapphire skull. The scorpion creature lashed out with one of its claws, catching the boy just as he tried to run. He watched in horror as the dark spots swarmed over him. This close, he could see what they were now. Live scorpions. He could barely see the kid through the mass of arachnids that covered him from head to toe. The only thing he could hear over the howling of the wind was the kid’s panicked screams. The screams grew in pitch and intensity as the sand creature lifted its prey, drawing him in close before biting off one of his arms. The boy thrashed, futilely trying to fight until the monster tightened its claw, crushing the boy's ribcage, and he finally went limp. The creature made short work of devouring the rest of the body. Then, it dissolved back into a swirling wall of sand. Scorpions rained from the sky, falling onto those who had remained. He was unashamed of his own horrified shrieks as he and the others frantically brushed them off. Thankfully, they scurried away when they hit the ground. By the time the sandstorm passed them, no trace of any scorpions remained.

He took stock of his men. About half of them were missing. He looked in all directions, but the ones who had run were nowhere to be seen. Hopefully, they'd find their way back to camp by nightfall. He lowered his scarf and pushed his goggles back onto his forehead before the shell-shocked silence was shattered by one of the men breaking down.

“Touch nothing,” he said, rather unnecessarily now, over the sound of the man’s weeping. A couple of them looked at him as if he were mad. He ignored them, his skin crawling at the memory of the scorpions as he turned his attention back to the skulls.

He studied them one by one with renewed interest, careful not to make accidental contact with any of them. One, in particular, stood out to him. The words the voices had spoken to him the night before sprang to the forefront of his mind. They had said that he lacked humility and would fail his quest because of it. And now here, right before his eyes, surrounded by riches, sat a plain skull of smoky quartz. It contained no jewels, no precious metals, no crown. It was by far the humblest skull of the lot. Had the voices supplied him with the Key to solving this test? There was only one way to find out.

Taking a deep breath, preparing himself to run at the first sight of any new sandstorms, he laid his hand upon the quartz skull. He was immediately overwhelmed by a dizzying, pulling sensation. His vision blurred, and his stomach churned as he felt like he was being yanked forward impossibly fast. He staggered when he came to an abrupt stop, stumbling and falling to his knees. When his vision cleared, he looked up. Before him sat a giant statue of what the Lithosians called a manticore. It had a man's head, a lion's body, and a long tail bristling with wicked-looking spines. Beyond it stood a solitary pyramid. He looked around himself to discover that he was, once again, alone.

Pushing himself to his feet, he tried to walk past the statue towards the pyramid. As soon as he moved, cracks began to form in the statue, running the length and breadth of it until the stone shattered entirely, leaving a living, breathing manticore standing where the statue had been. Its gaze fell upon him, and it unleashed a loud roar that made him stumble back.

“Not one step further, mortal, until you have answered my question.”

“Very well,” he said with more confidence than he felt. It wasn't like he had much choice. “Ask.”

“So eager. I am obliged to warn you that once the question is asked, there is no walking away. You answer it and continue or,” it paused, its grin showing off inhumanly sharp teeth. “I enjoy the first meal I've had in centuries.”

He tried not to think about the boy getting devoured by the sand scorpion as he nodded his understanding. “I’m not turning back.”

“Very well,” the manticore said, regarding him shrewdly. “My question is this: If you have me, you’ll want to share me. If you share me, you don't have me. What am I?”

He mulled over the riddle for a minute or two, going over all the possibilities that ran through his head before settling on what he suspected was the correct answer. “A secret.”

The manticore grinned again, its eyes boring into his as if staring straight into his soul. “You know all about secrets, don't you?”

He frowned, immediately on guard. “Is that part of the question?”

“It's an observation,” the manticore answered. “Be very careful. Better men than you have buckled under the weight of such heavy secrets as the ones you carry.” Before he could respond, the manticore stepped aside, presenting him with a clear path to the pyramid. “Enter,” it ordered.

He did as he was bidden, entering the pyramid and taking the only path forward, winding his way through hallways and up staircases until he found himself in a large chamber that was empty save for the statue of a man with the head of a ram. A large crystal rested in his outstretched hand. The Key.

He waited, knowing after all these trials that this wouldn't be as simple as walking up and taking the Key. Less than a minute after his arrival, the statue began to glow blue, and the spectral figure of a fully human man emerged from it. The figure stepped forward and regarded him soberly.

“If it was within my power to stop you from taking the Key, I would,” the man (Oracle?) told him bluntly.

He narrowed his eyes, annoyed at how each of the spirits he had encountered seemed to have such a low opinion of him. He wasn't doing anything wrong. He just wanted to go home and write his book.

“Why?”

“I have seen what will happen if you attempt to return to Atmos. Death and destruction will follow.”

“How? Did the Cyclonians take over Atmos? Because even if they did, they're no match for Lithos.” He'd love to see Cyclonis try. She'd be in for a rude awakening.

“Cyclonia is no longer a threat.”

The Oracle’s casual, matter-of-fact tone left no room for misinterpretation. He laughed. So the Sky Knights had finally put them in their place? It couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch of backstabbers. “I don’t see how my returning to Atmos is a problem, then.”

“Death and destruction will follow,” the Oracle repeated. “Leave the Key with me, and you may return to the life you have made for yourself here in Lithos and live out the rest of your days in peace. Take the Key and…” the Oracle trailed off and stepped forward to lay a hand upon his forehead. Sounds and images flickered through his mind. The clash of battle. Screams. Terras burning. He saw Selkirk, Lynx, and others he didn’t recognize. They felt important, but the visions flashed by too quickly for him to process what was happening. Then, there was nothing but pain and darkness. When awareness returned to him, he found himself curled up in a fetal position on the ground. Sitting up, he looked around. The Oracle was gone. Only the ram-headed statue holding the Key remained.

He stood slowly, his eyes locked on the Key the whole time. The Oracle’s warning and the visions he had been shown had all been a test. It hadn’t been real, could never be real. How could it be? The idea that his return to Atmos would spark a war was preposterous. Resolutely, he approached the statue and snatched the Key from its hand.

He was almost home.

~*~*~

Did he feel guilty telling everyone he hadn't found the Key during his expedition? A little. But if he had, they would have moved the Doorway and its Key to a more secure location, making it much harder for him to slip away. He did regret running like a thief in the night, but he didn't know how to tell Vizsla that he had been lying to her for years, that he wasn't actually an ambassador sent by Atmos to establish contact with the Farside. He didn't want to see the disappointment in her eyes or, worse, listen to her claim that her brother had been right about him and that he had just been using her the whole time. It wasn't like that. Okay, it had started out that way, but he really had grown to care for her. And if she had seemed amenable to going with him to Atmos when he brought it up, he’d tell her the truth and take him with her now. But she hadn't. So, what else was he supposed to do?

The morning of his planned departure, he got up, shouldered the bag he had packed the Key and all his research in, and kissed her goodbye after telling her not to wait up for him that night. He had made a show of working late the entire week, feigning obsession over uncovering the actual location of the Key.

He ‘worked’ until around 9:00 at night. The Lithosian Institute of Crystallography and Technology never truly closed. It was always open to scientists, mages, professors, and students working on their research. But they were few and far between at this hour, and tourists rarely stuck around the museum past dinnertime, leaving it abandoned but for the stray docent. Which worked out perfectly for him since that was where the government was keeping the Doorway until the Key was found. Until it could be used to establish diplomatic relations with Atmos, it was just another curiosity to be admired.

He looked around as he entered the museum, finding the place deserted. This really was working out perfectly. Not wanting to test his luck by wasting time, he made a beeline for the Doorway, then hesitated. Only one exhibit stood between it and the Helix Crystal. His fingers itched as he stopped to look at it. If he brought it back to Atmos, he truly would cement himself as a legend, and his name would be remembered forever. And what difference did it make if it ended up sitting in an Atmosian museum instead of a Lithosian one? He wouldn't consider taking it if the Lithosians used it for something like Atmosia used the Aurora Stone to power the Beacon Tower. But they weren't, so really, what was the harm?

Mind made up, he snatched the Helix Crystal from its pillar with one hand as he dug the Key out of his bag with the other. He moved quickly to the Doorway, fitting the Key into its slot and stepping back.

Nothing happened.

Then the Doorway pulsed an angry red and expelled the Key. It clattered to the ground, frissons of electricity licking across its surface as it shorted out. There was a shimmer as the illusion around the crystal disappeared, leaving a spent shielding crystal in its place.

Impossible! That was impossible! The Oracle had confirmed that it was the Key, hadn't it? He stepped back, head swivelling left and right to check that he was still alone. He couldn't afford to have anyone walk in now. Not until he had returned the Helix Crystal. He needed to get out of here and regroup, try to figure out what went wrong.

“Looking for this?”

He spun around to find Vizsla standing behind him, holding the Key. She looked so betrayed. His mind went blank momentarily before he blurted out the first thing that made it past the shock. “Where did you get that?”

“Did you really think you could hide it from me? In my own house?” she asked coldly.

“You went through my things?”

“Don't you dare! Don't you dare try to turn this back on me! You lied to me. Why? Who are you really?”

“You know who I am.”

“I thought I did. But then you started acting strangely in Albona, and I began to suspect there was something that you weren't telling me. When you came home from Zora, I knew you were lying about not finding the Key. You did a poor job acting like you do when you hit a dead end. So yes, I went through your things, and I found this. Selkirk gave me the fake to plant in your bag, and we’ve had the Doorway under surveillance ever since.”

“You dragged Selkirk into this?”

“You left me no choice. Do you have any idea how hard that was for me? I have been defending you against him for years! So I ask you again, who are you, and why are you here? I suggest you answer truthfully because if you have to be questioned further, the people asking the questions aren't going to be as nice about it as I’m being.”

He frowned, deciding to answer her honestly. Not because of the threat but because she deserved the truth. “I.J. Domiwick, archeologist. I didn't lie about that.”

“But you're not an ambassador,” she guessed.

“No.”

“And are all Atmosian archeologists thieves?” she asked, nodding to the Helix Crystal he still clutched.

He could feel his face heat with rare embarrassment. “You must understand, this crystal is practically a myth in Atmos. It would be heralded as the discovery of the century!”

“You didn't discover it; you stole it!”

“No one would need to know that,” he said, wincing when her expression changed from anger to incredulous disappointment.

“Selkirk was right. You really are just a con artist, aren't you?”

“That's not fair; I take my work seriously. I discovered the Doorway and the Key through countless hours of research and hard work! You know that,” he said, anger burning in the pit of his stomach at the accusation that he was nothing but a fraud. He threw the Helix Crystal at her feet. “Keep it. Just give me the Key, and I'll be on my way home.”

“You won't be going anywhere,” Selkirk said from behind him. The hell he wouldn't. He spun around to face Selkirk, aiming a punch straight at his face. The other man threw an arm up, deflecting the blow and answering with a punch of his own. It all happened too fast. He failed to block it, staggering back as the punch caught him in the eye. He reached for his machete but was grabbed before he could draw it. Before he knew it, he was disarmed, his bag taken from him, handcuffed and forced to his knees by two soldiers who kept a firm grip on his shoulders.

“I gave you the Helix Crystal back. What more do you want from me?”

“The truth,” Selkirk answered simply.

“You already have it. I'm an archeologist.”

“Why did you lie about being an ambassador?”

“Because I needed funding! I came here to explore the Farside and write a book. That's not easy to do with no money.”

“Is that all I was to you?” Vizsla asked him. The hurt in her voice made his chest ache. He craned his neck to look at her over his shoulder.

“No. I truly do love you. You have no idea how close I came to giving up my search for the Doorway and staying here with you.”

“Touching,” Selkirk cut in. “Unfortunately, I don't believe a word of it. You were sent here for a reason. We will find out why, one way or another.”

“I'm telling you the truth!” he told Selkirk before returning his gaze to Vizsla. “Please, you believe me, don't you?”

It was his turn to feel betrayed as, wordlessly, she shook her head no. Then the world went dark as a bag was thrown over his head.

~*~*~

Domiwick wasn't sure how long he had been here. He scratched feebly at his itchy cheek. If he were to judge the time based on the amount of facial hair he found there, he’d guess about two weeks.

It felt longer.

He couldn't do much more than lie on the cold floor. He was weak from hunger, exhausted from lack of sleep, and everything hurt. He had a throbbing headache that refused to go away, and his hands shook no matter how hard he tried to force them to be still.

The door opened, and a full-body shudder ran through him as the last person he wanted to see stepped into his cell, flanked by two of his black-clad goons.

Skarn.

He was a Saurian, Lithos’ nightmarish version of Bogaton’s Raptors. Standing roughly two hundred centimetres tall, he was a hundred and twenty kilograms of pure muscle. His only clothes were a pair of wide-legged black pants that tapered to the ankles and matching boots. It was all he could wear. Most of him was covered in tan-coloured scales. But sharp, dark brown spikes crested the top of his head and worked their way down his spine, getting shorter and duller as they approached his waist. More spikes protruded from his shoulders, the backs of his arms, and his tail. Two more curved up from his temples. They looked like the horns that devils were always portrayed as having in storybooks. Unfortunately, that wasn't where his resemblance to a demon ended. His tail whipped slowly back and forth as his gaze locked on his, like a cat sighting its prey, and he smiled.

Domiwick scrabbled back until he hit the far wall of the cell, trying to put distance between them, though he knew it wouldn't save him. He wanted to cry. He realized he was crying when the first salty tears reached his chapped lips. He licked them away. He was so thirsty.

His muscles screamed in protest as Skarn’s assistants dragged him to the center of the room and hauled him to his feet, shackling his hands high above his head. Pain wracked his body as his legs shook, not up to the challenge of supporting him. But every time his knees buckled, his shoulders would have to bear the brunt of his weight. Shoulders that had been dislocated more than once during his time here before being forced back into their sockets without a single care. It was excruciating, and they hadn't even begun yet.

Skarn drew the instrument these people called a sakit from its holster at his belt, and he lost control of his bladder. He should have known this was coming when they walked in empty-handed. Of all the tortures he had been subjected to, the sakit was the worst. It was a pronged rod, about thirty centimetres long, whose sole purpose was to bring pain. Skarn, who considered himself a master in the fine art of interrogation, didn't usually favour the sakit. He preferred more creative methods. For him to threaten the sakit immediately meant that he was in an impatient mood. This session would be particularly brutal.

Skarn stopped in front of him. If he noticed his accident, he didn't comment. "Admiral Selkirk is growing impatient with your continued defiance.”

He hung his head, closing his eyes as he breathed a shuddering sigh. “I've already told you what you want to hear.” And he had. Skarn had fabricated an entire story about him. And he, eager to make the pain stop, had willingly parroted it back to him. He wasn't an archeologist; he was an Atmosian spy. His journals full of notes weren't research for his book; they were intel he had gathered to aid an Atmosian invasion of Lithos. His theft of the Helix Crystal wasn't a crime of opportunity; it was an attempt to secure a power source for the terrible weapon of mass destruction that Atmos wanted to unleash upon them. He repeated it again now.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me it's true.”

He lifted his head, looking Skarn in the eyes. “It's true.” He flinched when Skarn bared his teeth, a sure sign of his displeasure.

“You don't believe that.”

“I do,” he said desperately. “I swear I do!”

“You don't. But you will.”

He slammed the end of the sakit against his bare chest. His shirt had been taken from him long ago. The prongs stabbed into his flesh, and Skarn activated the device. The pain was immediate, searing and inescapable. It felt like his blood had been replaced with lava, fire racing through every artery and vein.

He screamed and didn't stop screaming until the session ended over an hour later.

~*~*~

Androcles leaned back in his chair at the head of the table, sinking further into his thoughts as the emergency meeting dragged into its third hour. All twelve magistrates were in attendance, along with the heads of the Defense Committee.

Admiral Selkirk had instigated the meeting and was doing the lion's share of the talking. He and Magistrate Vizsla had been the ones to uncover Domiwick's treachery and hand him over to the Central Security Defense, who had, in turn, obtained a confession and unearthed the full extent of the threat they faced from Atmos. In theory, at least. Androcles neither liked nor trusted Skarn, the director of the CSD. He didn't trust his methods nor the validity of any information gained through their use.

He could believe that Domiwick had lied to and used them, though it was embarrassing to admit that he had been taken in by the man's charms. But he did not believe that he was a spy. For starters, he'd drawn far too much attention to himself since day one. He'd also been in Lithos for years. Was the Atmos so patient that they'd hold off their invasion for years while awaiting his return? Admiral Selkirk had been adamant that Atmos must have had no choice; they had to wait for Domiwick to find the Doorway since the way he had come through initially had been destroyed. But they had activated the Doorway and sent a scout through, only to discover that the portal on the Atmosian side was entirely dependent on the Doorway remaining active on the Lithosian side. They wouldn't be able to reliably stage an invasion from their end. It didn't add up.

He said as much now, constructing his argument against the Committee's proposed attack on Atmos. He didn't believe that the Atmos posed a clear and present threat to them, and he was against launching a preemptive strike and dragging all of Lithos into an unnecessary war. The Committee could earmark as many resources as they liked to monitor and guard the Doorway, but he would not support an invasion.

His words prompted more arguments for or against the proposed war, and finally, it was time for the magistrates to vote. The city-states of Jacta, Nilvale, Pripolis, Ekasa, Klora, and Aetheria voted in favour of an invasion. Albona, Athephia, Delponis, Oniodale, Zora, and Tagate voted against it.

He would have to act as a tie-breaker. Before he could cast his vote, General Lynx stood and stormed out of the room. Admiral Selkirk watched him go before locking eyes with him. "You will regret it if you vote no." He then met the eyes of the magistrates who had already cast their votes against his proposition. "You all will."

Androcles' shoulders stiffened as he sat up straighter. He wouldn't be threatened into changing his vote. It was easy for Selkirk, Lynx and General Beryl to sit here and warmonger. They weren't the ones who would be sent to the frontlines to fight and die in the war they so desperately seemed to want. He had his people's well-being to consider here.

"The answer is no. Prepare to repel an invasion, should Atmos attempt one, but we will not launch an invasion of our own," he said with finality.

~*~*~

Beryl, the imposing Tauran General of the Army, had been the hardest to convince to go along with their idea. Still, she had seen the necessity of it in the end. Selkirk understood. He wished it didn’t have to come to this, either. Androcles was a good man. But he was wrong about Atmos, which put all Lithos at risk. He couldn’t stand idly by and wait for them to be attacked. He had sworn to protect his homeland when he first joined the Navy, and his feelings hadn’t changed in the years since.

After the emergency meeting, he’d gone to Androcles privately and tried to convince him one last time to change his vote. That had gotten him nowhere. He’d done the same for the Magistrates, to no avail. They left him no choice.

He, Lynx, and Beryl began to plan. They quietly began moving their men into position. The Central Security Defense had been adept at identifying the people they’d need to make this work. Skarn hadn’t needed any convincing as Beryl had. He knew a war would be good business for the CSD. Selkirk didn’t let his distaste show. He needed Skarn as an ally. Thankfully, they didn’t have to interact with him much. He was content to continue working from the shadows. For now, he had him extracting every last bit of information about Atmos from Domiwick, with orders to execute him once he had outlived his usefulness. That would be a mercy. He’d seen him the last time he’d stopped by CSD headquarters to keep Skarn apprised of their plan’s progress. The husk that remained wasn’t Domiwick anymore. He almost pitied him.

Ultimately, it only took a month for them to be ready to execute their operation. It proved shockingly easy. In a single, bloody day, Lithos became theirs. Every magistrate who stood against them was dead, along with their families, closest confidants, and most loyal staffers. New magistrates, ones who were loyal to them, were installed in their place. The capital was purged of everyone the CSD identified as a potential problem. He was the one who got to kill Androcles. He was defiant to the end, bravely trying to fight back, and had died on his feet. It was a good death for a good man. He was happy for him.

No new president was raised in Androcles’ place. Instead, Lithos would remain under the direction of the Defense Committee. A state of emergency was called, and martial law was declared throughout Lithos. The rest of the month was spent putting out proverbial fires, quashing protests and would-be rebellions. And then, once the dust had settled, they began to mobilize. New troops were conscripted and trained. Factories began to churn out weapons. Their fleet was converted into airships, and their sailors were retrained to sail the winds instead of the seas. The Doorway was heavily guarded and closely monitored.

Soon, they’d be ready.

#storm hawks #storm hawks fanfic #storm hawks domiwick #inside the wire

4 notes · View notes

tewwor · 3 months

Text

𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁 — 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙺𝙴𝙳 . . .

𝟿𝟿𝟿 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Kubo Yua

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Fujisawa Asana

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: tba

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Imperceptibility

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Security

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: ^

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Much easier to keep herself completely hidden ( yes, even her scent / aura is completely null ), but she goes above and beyond to help others on missions. Is able to hide entire buildings, but must use markings and wards to extend the potency. On the quieter side, but extremely observant. Can choose when others notice her and how much can be picked up on.

𝙰𝙲𝙴 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Ari Yoonji Im

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Bin Malchin

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Robbery gone wrong

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Summoning

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Informant

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Thief

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Annoying and so incredibly persistent ( especially to litho ) — it’s a miracle if they don’t get on someone’s nerves, does extremely well to meet the monthly quota and even helps others if they have the time aka iris, flexible beyond reason and is able to get extra good intel from the places she can hide away in, slippery as an eel and extremely deft in getaways, often has trouble with what is summoned and makes it everyone else’s issue as well, definite adrenaline junkie.

𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙵 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Yoo Serim

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: TBA

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: TBA

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Sensory deprivation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Cook / alchemist

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Chef at Outta this World! restaurant

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Very passionate chef that’s essentially an alchemist who can enhance senses and abilities, but it always comes in the form of some disgusting mystery ( redacted ) meal. Like a failed recipe in any cooking game where it's a gross looking dish. But it tastes so, so good, and it's probably the best thing anyone’s ever tasted. Also 10000% uses monster parts / less used ingredients to showcase each dish. Has no formal training as an actual chef.

𝙲𝚁𝚄𝙾𝚁 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Amine Kovač

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Damjan Alaoui

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Fatal head injury during sanctioned MMA match

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Healing blood

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Healer

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Unemployed

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Was an uprising MMA fighter in his past life. Unfortunately, he sustained a fatal head injury and passed soon after. The newest of the Marked, and is having an incredibly tough time adapting. Doesn’t quite have hemophobia, but does get queasy at the sight of a lot of blood. Which.. doesn’t bode well since he learned his own blood has potent healing properties. Is usually anemic, still has a penchant to push himself to help regardless, needs to have his hand held to meet the monthly hunt quota. Is truly #babey.

𝙲𝚁𝚄𝚇 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Josiah McCarthy

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Syrus

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Undisclosed

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Bone manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Overseer

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Underground fight organizer; black market dealer

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: The oldest Marked member to date. Has seen the rise and fall of numerous successes and ruins across the world. Very busy man between the black market supply demand, traveling underground rings, and — oh, almost forgot to mention he deep undercover as the Marked overseer in North America. Has criminal ties out the wazoo. Horrendously stoic and puts on an air of undeniable power. The most organized bitch you'll ever meet. Is always up to date with his active members. Likes raspberry flavored things.

𝙴𝚅𝙰𝙽𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝙲𝙴 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Aarav Singh

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Ravi Anand

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: tba

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Power seal

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: ???

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: ????

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Very new to this and is struggling with the concept of The Marked. There's a lot of potential with his ability, but he mostly uses it to seal powers and demand a dance off. Theater kid TM. Was heavily into the paranormal in his past life. Kind of really freaked out that those things actually existed / he can see them now. Bro Frat Dude Guy Rizzler extraordinaire

𝙶𝙾𝚂𝙷𝙰𝚆𝙺 . tw : child abuse, neglect, suicide

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Iza Byrne

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Eda Gallagher

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Homicide–suicide

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Acidity manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Cleaner

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: TBA

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: There's something tragic about Goshawk in the seams of her being. Yet the aloof behavior and quick to spark annoyance does well to hide it. Not a day goes by where a single thing’s out of place. She dresses smart and sharp. Understands that appearances are a reflection of one’s self. While her morals may be skewed, she’s no slob. She stands straight and proper, oftentimes has a commanding air about her. Very much the type that completely lacks a maternal drive and understanding, but sometimes she tries in her own way. Usually by throwing money at the issue until it goes away.

𝙸𝚁𝙸𝚂 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Kang Ilseul

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: An Sehun

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Serial killer victim

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Entity bonding

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Safe haven keeper / medicinal supplier

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Greenhouse nursery worker

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Chillest of them all ( perhaps even worldwide ), notoriously lazy outside of the greenhouse, drags his feet to meet the monthly quota & has been subject to slight deterioration on occation, upholds his word of providing solitude and peace for those that seek refuge to recoup in the safe haven beneath the greenhouse, typically the mediator between polar opposite agents, seldom lets other agents know what entity he is bound to ( if at all ), unable to meet the eyes of stranger right away in order to slowly deduce what they are ( practiced enough to make it seem natural ), often curates personal tea blends for the agents he’s the closest with — vector & litho

𝙹𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙸𝚃 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Ines Ortiz

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: TBA

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Overdose

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Body temperature manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Techie

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Freelance hacker

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: A bit too proficient with technology that’s starting to crosses over into biotech. Implemented a way for overseers to see health status of active members (and alerts healers when conditions are critical ). Likes to stir up shit just ‘cause. Doesn’t like talking about the past and doesn’t like to be alone. Very drawn to anything spiritual / paranormal.

𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶𝙵𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝚁

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Shira Kantor

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Adina Sofer

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Hit and run

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Matter ingestion

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Cleaner

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: TBA

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: The counterpart to the lesser liked cleaner, Goshawk. Funnily enough, both of them became a Marked around the same time. While Goshawk is one frigid bitch, Kingfisher is blistering with compassion. Where Goshawk hadn't been enough in her former life ( oop — lore drop? ), Kingfisher had been too much. She's the funky aunt, the faunt, of the group. A little-lot strange. Has plenty of rumors circulating her like flies to rotten meat. She cleans via eating — flesh, organs, bones, and all. That being said, she keeps a travel size toothbrush, paste, dental floss, mouthwash, tongue scraper, and whitening strips on her at all times. She doesn't want to do this — you have to understand, but it happens anyways. The mental toll of it can come at a later time. Always at a later time. It's often alluded to how Kingfisher was a mother in her past life. She never mentions it, but the way she's attuned and comfort others is a clear indicator.

𝙻𝙸𝚃𝙷𝙾 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Lionel Accardi

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Cecil Russo

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Murder / drowning

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Ink manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Forger

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Bookstore owner

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Crankiest around thus far but highly efficient in his position, isn’t hindered in meeting his monthly quota & refuses to help the greener of the marked simply because he can’t be bothered, complete workaholic, handsome and he knows it, has a fear of deep water but doesn’t have a phobia of it, values his time and hates distractions aka ace.

more headcanons here.

𝚁𝙴𝙼 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Alon Galvez

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Angelo Mendoza

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: TBA

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Hypnokinesis

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Handler

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Pawn shop owner

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Reborn to calmly knock everyone off their asses, forced to babysit most of the problem makers. Usually divvies out the more complicated hunts and helps newbies picking easier ones. The only person that can handle Ricochet. Has the vibe of smoking at least six cigarettes at the same time. Glossy shoulder length hair — no, you can't touch it. Isn't usually one for spite, but has induced chronic insomnia on people that have crossed him.

𝚁𝙸𝙲𝙾𝙲𝙷𝙴𝚃 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Raayan Iyer

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Vidanth Bajwa

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Headshot

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Absorption Infusion

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Trainer

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Janitor at some precinct

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: All he knows is to fight, break, defeat. Never give up. Never back down. Sink his teeth in and never let go. Return the pain and rage threefold even if it tears him apart in the process, 1000% beat up litho once for reasons unknown ( has an incredible low tolerance for attitude and litho’s full of it ).

Doesn’t remember his past. But maybe, that’s for the best. Lived a regular life with a loving family and 9 to 5 before being kidnapped. He was pitched against other people to kill or be killed as entertainment for others. There was hardly any rest. No benefits or rewards other than keeping his life time and time again. His hands had been shattered once. The agony of it hardwired into his brain to be extra careful to avoid reliving that kind of healing. He met a girl with wits razor-sharp and hair bright as flames. Fell deeply in love with her as both a dear friend and eventual partner. That, of course, was pitted against him. His last fight was against her. She did die at his hands at her choice. Held her broken body as close as he could as he wailed and cursed everything about this shitty life he was forced into. Not able to think, he turned on the captors only to be shot down immediately. So he does not remember why he chose to live again after.

𝚂𝙷𝚁𝙸𝙺𝙴 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Choi Siwoo

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Kim BeomSeok

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: TBA

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Physical restoration

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Weapons dealer

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Blacksmith

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: Cares more about his craft than anyone. Get enraged when his weapons are treated like shit ( even though he can restore it to perfection ). Leaves his hovel of a home once every blue moon, while also somehow hosting the most at home parties ( ?? he's not sure how that works either ). Incredibly good host but will beat you with your own shoes if you don't take them off at the entrance. Has a fairly popular online shop and big Youtube/Tiktok following regarding his blacksmithing.

𝚅𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙾𝚁 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Han Seojun

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Nam Hoseok

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: Drive by

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Holy fire manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Healer / seeker ( of new agents ) / retired trainer

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Forensic artist

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾:The local funky uncle of the marked, meets the monthly quota without too much hassle, has never detailed his past and what haunts him and doesn’t intend to, very easy going & quirky & open-minded, genuinely loves to support others, is keen to find newly made agents before their second chance can be snuffed out so soon, often treats others to a good meal if there was joined effort for a hunt

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴𝚁 .

𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Awan Umar

𝙱𝙸𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴: Rusul Zamar

𝙲𝙰𝚄𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷: TBA

𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈: Rift Manipulation

𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙸𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: Transport / wheelman

𝙾𝙲𝙲𝚄𝙿𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: TBA

𝙼𝙸𝚂𝙲. 𝙸𝙽𝙵𝙾: An observer at heart, collector of secrets by trade. In another life, they ran jobs not too far off from 0. It primed them for how frequent, brutal, and necessary death can be. In this life, they came back on the wrong side. Placed across the world, in a culture they had no familiarity with. Still, they were taken in by the local Marked sect. Taught to be methodical — it's every person for themselves. Monster eat monster world, leaves them all with the ugliness of human nature at their core. Yet when their first sect gets swallowed whole and made into ruins… What were they to do? They still wanted to live. They still had so much to learn. They let themself into this sect by sheer desperation. Oddly enough, they were accepted despite the sudden invasion. They don’t fit in. Never wanted to. But things are different here. They’re different here.

There’s no feeling in their hands. Tearing open rifts where it’s never meant to be does that. Their hands are still completely functional, and they play it off as nerve damage for x,y,z reason.

Often asked to run messages and hates it.

Opening and closing rifts too frequently takes a toll of them. Any rift they do create is only in present time. No past, no future — trust them, they’ve tried.

#* & the marked — lore .

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