#Wrath of the Righteous plug-in

[waywardworldhopper]

Good news, friends! Amelia Tyler also voices romanceable evil characters in both of the Owlcat Pathfinder games!

....... but what if i want to romance the Narrator.

[dartagnantt]

Concubus Patron

PDFs of this and more can be found over on at my Patreon here! You should also follow my new Kickstarter so you can be alerted when it goes live next year!

Welcome to the result of a tumblr thread! I was never really satisfied that the monster manual entry was "Succubus/Incubus". Like, I get that they're two halves of the same thing, and are mechanically identical, but why list two names? Similar to this, I also combine the "Lizardfolk King/Queen" entry to "Lizardfolk Monarch" because that just looks better. Weird specifics aside, patron time!

Enticing Temptation

AKA the concubi's charm action, but weaker. Stronger than charm person though.

Charmed Communication

This is the GOO warlock's awakened mind, but because that's the only 1st level feature, it's obviously weaker, but hopefully interesting

Enervating Caress

The iconic feature of the concubus, very limited, but hopefully fun. Not just a kiss, because I try to not force a player into performing intimate actions. Also, I was inspired by Wrath of the Righteous' Arueshalae mentioning that she can't even touch the player without potentially killing them.

Expanded Connection

Making the starting feature stronger, because the concubus only has like four features, and the last one kind of works as the capstone

Astral Getaway

Behold! A magnificent mansion to take your lovers… or allies… or pillowfort. This was based on the Seeker's capstone, but also it was kind of boring considering the theme. Besides, MMM is available to 13th level characters, so this seemed reasonable.

And now to plug my stuff. I release homebrews weekly over on my Patreon. Anyone who pledges $1 or more per post don't have to wait a month to see them, and also help fund my being alive habit.

At the moment, they have exclusive access to the following:

The Siren's Call

Satyr Ancestry

Sanguine Seeker Ranger Archetype

[Third Casters Revised)[https://www.patreon.com/posts/95594928/?src=Reddit)

I also have three classes, and a splatbook over on DriveThrueRPG to check out:

The Rift Binder. A class specialising in summoning monsters and controlling the battlefield.

The Witch Knight. A class that combines swords and sorcery in the most literal way.

The Werebeast. A class that turns you into a half beast to destroy your foes.

d'Artagnan's Adventurer Almanac. A compendium of races, subclasses, feats, spells, monsters and more!

[ahopkins1965]





Job 13 Bible Commentary

Bible > Bible Commentary

Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentary (concise)

Job

Job 13

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Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentary (concise)

<< Job 12 | Job 13 | Job 14 >>

(Read all of Job 13)

Complete     Concise

Chapter Contents

Job reproves his friends. (1-12) He professes his confidence in God. (13-22) Job entreats to know his sins. (23-28)

Commentary on Job 13:1-12

(Read Job 13:1-12)

With self-preference, Job declared that he needed not to be taught by them. Those who dispute are tempted to magnify themselves, and lower their brethren, more than is fit. When dismayed or distressed with the fear of wrath, the force of temptation, or the weight of affliction, we should apply to the Physician of our souls, who never rejects any, never prescribes amiss, and never leaves any case uncured. To Him we may speak at all times. To broken hearts and wounded consciences, all creatures, without Christ, are physicians of no value. Job evidently speaks with a very angry spirit against his friends. They had advanced some truths which nearly concerned Job, but the heart unhumbled before God, never meekly receives the reproofs of men.

Commentary on Job 13:13-22

(Read Job 13:13-22)

Job resolved to cleave to the testimony his own conscience gave of his uprightness. He depended upon God for justification and salvation, the two great things we hope for through Christ. Temporal salvation he little expected, but of his eternal salvation he was very confident; that God would not only be his Saviour to make him happy, but his salvation, in the sight and enjoyment of whom he should be happy. He knew himself not to be a hypocrite, and concluded that he should not be rejected. We should be well pleased with God as a Friend, even when he seems against us as an enemy. We must believe that all shall work for good to us, even when all seems to make against us. We must cleave to God, yea, though we cannot for the present find comfort in him. In a dying hour, we must derive from him living comforts; and this is to trust in him, though he slay us.

Commentary on Job 13:23-28

(Read Job 13:23-28)

Job begs to have his sins discovered to him. A true penitent is willing to know the worst of himself; and we should all desire to know what our transgressions are, that we may confess them, and guard against them for the future. Job complains sorrowfully of God's severe dealings with him. Time does not wear out the guilt of sin. When God writes bitter things against us, his design is to make us bring forgotten sins to mind, and so to bring us to repent of them, as to break us off from them. Let young persons beware of indulging in sin. Even in this world they may so possess the sins of their youth, as to have months of sorrow for moments of pleasure. Their wisdom is to remember their Creator in their early days, that they may have assured hope, and sweet peace of conscience, as the solace of their declining years. Job also complains that his present mistakes are strictly noticed. So far from this, God deals not with us according to our deserts. This was the language of Job's melancholy views. If God marks our steps, and narrowly examines our paths, in judgment, both body and soul feel his righteous vengeance. This will be the awful case of unbelievers, yet there is salvation devised, provided, and made known in Christ.

<< Job 12 | Job 13 | Job 14 >>

Bible > Bible Commentary

Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentary (concise)

Job

Job 13

Related Commentaries

Job 13

John Darby’s Synopsis

The Geneva Study Bible

John Gill’s Exposition of the Bible

Jamieson, Faussett, and Brown

Matthew Henry Bible Commentary (complete)

Matthew Henry’s Bible Commentary (concise)

Wesley’s Explanatory Notes

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[grazer-razor]

just realized something really cool a few days ago.

in the past, for me, discerning games used to be like "does this game have a certain thing? does it have a T or M rating? what does plugged in say about it?".

but then i saw 2 sets of bible verses.

For when you were slaves of sin, you were free in regard to righteousness. But what fruit were you getting at that time from the things of which you are now ashamed?��For the end of those things is death. - romans 6:20-21

you don't get positive fruit from things of darkness. keep that in mind. now for the second set.

for at one time you were darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Walk as children of light (for the fruit of light is found in all that is good and right and true), -ephesians 5:8-9

things of darkness don't have positive fruit, and the fruit of light is found in everything good and righteous.

i think we've found a really, REALLY easy way to discern media.

take shadow the hedgehog and pikmin 4. both are E10+ games with "fantasy violence" descriptors. to the untrained eye, you would expect these 2 games to be exactly the same. but in fact, they are different. unhealthily different, especially considering that the ESRB is supposed to gauge how appropriate games are.

shadow the hedgehog(the game) is dark, brooding, edgy, and full of wrath and anger. even if shadow does choose to abandon his past in the end, he, in numerous timelines, still blasts the eclipse cannon at a city, kills off both the black arms and GUN soldiers, and even whacks dr. eggman. and then you have maria getting killed, and the fact that certain stages feel like old school doom or wolfenstein, ETC... shadow the hedgehog, as a game, bears BAD fruit.

pikmin 4, while about killing a bunch of wildlife and trying to have your pikmin survive in the process, is mainly lighthearted in spirit(C'MON GUYS LETS GO RESCUE ALL THE CASTAWAYS AND SAVE CAPTAIN OLIMAR! PAW PATROL IS THE RESCUE CORPS ARE ON A ROLL!). even if you don't believe me on that, the game is very fun and enjoyable to play. it's a very good game, and so it bears GOOD fruit.

so, media discernment shouldn't be about relying on outside sources or trying to figure out if games have things like magic or ghosts or something(because some games, like pokemon, can still be enjoyable). what matters is testing the media. asking questions like "what is the substance of it? how does it make me feel when engaging with it? what were the consequences of engaging with it(IE; emotional fallout, ETC)?"

if it is good or bad, the fruit will show. and in fact, bad fruit will be especially apparent, as it says here in galatians 5:19-

Now the works of the flesh are evident... - galatians 5:19.

i still have to figure out MG's, invader zim, FNAF, amongst others though so we'll see how this goes

[zoskas]

YAY fun music tag. i make a lot of transformers playlists in my free time so. cracks my knuckles. Winter Wonderland - Animal Collective absolutely one of the most important TF songs for me, makes me think of the delphi arc, very ratchet centric coming to terms with pharma and also his own age... a little bit of drift’s pov in there as well it’s like a nice blend American Dream - LCD Soundsystem SOOO SO painfully drift to me. this is literally the drift song ever, i think it fits his backstory very well and it ties into a lot of the fanon street stuff. Sedated - Mikky Ekko woow no way another drift song. this comes off of one of my favorite drift 8tracks playlists that i’ve been listening to for years now. genuinely cannot hear this song without thinking of him now.

I hate to plug an entire playlist, but... i really can’t list just one song for drift+wing so here’s my entire playlist I made for them.

The Common Good - DeVotchKa a lot of devotchka songs are cygate to me, but i grew up on this band and this song specifically makes me very emotional so that’s the one i’m gonna share.

It Was Never Meant to Be - Games niche song for a niche character. this really has nothing to do with tracks but i associate a lot of the dancey stuff with him. typing this now i’m also going to jokingly weave it in with SG blaster since the bitch dies and the title is kind of funny for that. trackster forever.

The Righteous Wrath of an Honorable Man - Colin Stetson i actually hate mtmte megatron with my entire heart and soul but i love this song too much not to share it so i’ll put my hate aside to show you guys. always makes me think of him.

Suzanne - Leonard Cohen if you think i’m not dropping a dratchet song in here do you even KNOW ME 400 Lux - Lorde more dratchet :] Superposition - Young the Giant AAND last song for this. i’d feel bad NOT adding a starscream song since he’s been like the og sophie’s favorite transformer so... skyfire/starscream prewar song. these guys were my dratchet before i became obsessed with dratchet. ironically i have no clue what tumblr mutuals to tag so i’ll lowkey be the death of the family tree here. feel free to do this if you want though LOL.. @hecknugg @magnurion @cyclonussexy

Thanks for the tag, @onewingedsparrow! I’m posting this separately since I am going to shamelessly turn this into a long music rec post that’s specific to the TF fandom and to me.

Rules: Share 10 songs you like and tag 10 people

Note: All the links are for YouTube.

Tales of Neverland by J.T. Peterson

Sparrow, this one’s for you. It’s one of the songs that makes me think of you. :)

A True Master by Yi Nantiro

I’ll be putting this lovely instrumental in my playlist for Wing (IDW).

We Used To Talk For Hours by Soulero

A personal favorite that’s currently sitting in my unfinished IDW/MTMTE Rewind playlist.

A Tale of Sea Dragons by Marcus Warner

This instrumental takes me places. Beautiful places.

Oklo by Alpine Universe

This one makes me think of IDW Ravage (and my TFP AU Ravage). If I ever drew him, this is the song I’d play in the background.

What A Wonderful World by 2WEI, Ali Christenhusz, & Edda Hayes

Some may tire of me saying this, but irony is like catnip for me. I think of EarthSpark Tarantulas every time I hear this dark version of the song.

Nobody Knows by The Lumineers

One of only three songs I’ve found so far that makes me think of Ratchet from IDW, specifically in MTMTE #40.

Firefly by Lindsey Stirling

I wasn’t even a third of the way through Rescue Bots Academy Season 1 before I remembered this song and went, “This is so Whirl.” Too bad it’s not on Spotify.

Places I’ll Go by Blonde Maze & Half an Orange

Just a personal favorite I’ve been enjoying recently.

The Game Has Changed by Daft Punk

I watched TRON: Legacy for the first time last week. The visuals and the music are impeccable. I’m not a huge Daft Punk fan, but I love what they did for the film soundtrack. This particular song is the newest addition to my TFP Soundwave playlist. With a color change of two, he’d fit right in if he were dropped into the cyberworld of Tron.

Tagging @karlyanalora and @sphnyspinspin since I think you two in particular will find at least one song here to be of interest. ;)

Now for the other 8: @jl1970 @benadrylcandlewhack @transformersloversworld @stillbelievinginfireflies @acruxwave @starscreamboyfriend @dramamelon @ratch-gadget

There’s no need to go into as much detail as I did. I just can’t resist an opportunity to share the ‘why’ behind songs I find and love. ♡

[thedeviljudges]

the devil judge + the seven deadly sins

so, i made a gifset about who i thought falls under the seven deadly sins. and also shameless plug - please go reblog the gifset i made for this. took me ages to do.

but i figured i might as well make a meta post to correlate. so this is that post. it’s not everything i could discuss. i could be here for hours more, truth be told. but i hope it’s enough to chew on.

while i feel like a lot of these are going to be a no-brainer, i still want to talk it through because idk. i can, and i want to, and i feel like it, lmao.

gluttony

the elite are privileged and have an opportunity to indulge so much more than the general public, but in many different ways. this is shown throughout the show in the fact that they can indulge on luxury food, have political power, they can make a phone call or snap their fingers and everyone must follow their orders.

and the thing about gluttony is that there is always more to be had. you take a little and then realize it’s not enough and so you ask for more. case in point: in episode 11 when sunah suggests that yohan could be the new president, the current one gives her an alternative: dictatorship. because it wasn’t just enough for him to be an actor and the presiding president.

you’ll also know they turn in on themselves - the two other guys in the elite group. one who owns the company and the other dude - i really cannot remember their names and what they do, but y’all know who i’m talking about. it was so easy for them, when threatened, to fabricate documents to give to yohan about each other in order to get ahead. gluttony is only shared in the relationships we have until one realizes they can take a little extra of the pie. it’s the selfishness of having all the leftovers. gluttony cannot necessarily exist without someone else’s sacrifice.

lust

i kind of had an ah-ah moment when i was talking this over with @technitango​. i was trying to decide who was going to be lust because lust is portrayed very, very differently in this show than what most of us are used to. we, of course, know sunah who lusts after a life of indulgence and riches because she equates that with respect more than actually wanting it because it’s monetarily worth something.

but then i realized the public is lust because of their need for justice. i won’t say revenge necessarily because they’re doing as they’re told when given the judge show. but we can quickly see how that evaporates into something akin to bloodlust, for criminals and people who normally get away with shit, to have their fair taste at conviction for their misdeeds. we even see it with yohan’s fanboy club - the lust that comes from adoration and dedication.

and even more so, the public is easily swayed and so is the nature of lust. it follows in the vein of needs and wants, and as soon as new information is presented, however may false, so does the wants and desires of what people want sway. how easy was it for them to turn on yohan for a split second on two occasions - on two accounts of bribery.

envy

envy, above all, is about wanting what others have because you do not have it yourself. it may not be exactly what they have, but a form of it. some people don’t necessarily want money - they want what it can by, which is time, health and material goods.

sunah is the perfect example of this. she envies respect and recognition. she talks about bright and shiny objects, and that’s true to her kleptomania tendences, but more than anything, she wants to be seen as an equal because being poor with a vastly different upbringing means she’s looked down upon by those she thinks matters.

which also begs the question why she feels the need to seek validation from people in higher statuses to begin with when she can be the exception and not the rule - form her own understanding and environment to show others that the typical way of the elite is not actually all it’s cracked up to be - to which we see when she has no one to celebrate her victory with. it’s lonely being at the top. you get to your goal you thought you wanted but then what?

more importantly, sunah also envies family, relationships and simply put, human interaction. she wants to be cared for and treasured, and she looks for that in her position of power. because then all eyes are on you. because then that’s what people care about. what she fails to see is that those eyes are just as fruitless and just as wavering. to be a leader means people loving the idea of you but not you as a person.

“people of envious nature are sometimes stimulated to seek to emulate those who have completed some great achievements and in doing so achieve something great for themselves,” according to Understanding Philosophy.

wrath

while i realize that gaon not might entirely fit the wrath trope, he certainly has his moments, and i think he’s lived with a tampered flame since his parent’s death. he just learned to briefly put it out in the form of distractions and a false sense of righteousness and justice. it isn’t until he meets yohan that someone finally gives him the okay to feel the entirety of his emotions, that lets him breath and tells him it’s okay to feel anger and hurt. and while gaon ultimately chooses not to exact revenge, his wrath is what led him to becoming a judge and walking away from his teenage crimality.

gaon transposed his wrath into seeking justice, transformed it into livelihood, and reformed his narrative so that he was no longer angry and a teen with rash emotions. it was simply redirected and never really forgotten. yohan turned that redirection back around onto gaon’s ultimate heartache. fueled with that, it became easier to justify himself and his actions.

the most pivotal moment of turning his back on this mindset is, of course, the minister’s suicide, where he takes a good look at himself and doesn’t like what he sees. at this point, gaon’s upset isn’t necessarily at yohan but at the situation in which they got themselves into. because the thing is, gaon doesn’t absolve himself from what they did. he doesn’t turn a blind eye to that and try to dismiss it. he owns up to what happened and confesses how he feels to yohan and how he has to leave for his own good, and in some indirect way, for yohan’s, too.

with yohan, his ultimately weakness, despite never admitting to it, is family. his wrath comes in the form of anger when the ones he loves are threatened. yohan lives by a moral code of loyalty because that means you won’t be abandoned, and as a child who lived with that verdict since the day he was born, it’s an ever-pressing theme of his.

thing is, wrath comes in two particular forms for yohan. again, one is family and the second is the rose-colored glasses he’s given himself in his revenge story. he’s always had a goal to presumably make right the wrong for taking away isaac, but within that, 10 years is a long time to plot revenge, to the point where it becomes so much easier to lose yourself to that, to become enraged with it and forget the initial goal all along. we see this in his inability to form the bonding moments needed with his niece and his casual throwaway comments over people’s lives - the comment he made to gaon about moving on to the next plan, and the ultimately nail in the coffin of pushing gaon to leaving him.

his fury has also led him to convince himself his own humanity is nothing short of a lie. therefore, it’s easier to justify the means to an end because of his own self-worth and self-deprecation. it’s almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy: he even admitted to gaon’s mentor that he is an abyss. he’s referred to himself as nothing but an animal or a monster - all characteristics of despondency to survive and to justify what he’s doing. sort of like a catch 22, yohan claims he’s an animal/monster and behaves as such, but because he behaves as such, it means he’s an animal/monster.

wrath for gaon and yohan are very different yet the same. they are slow-burning, and that’s a dangerous type. it’s actually interesting when you think about the fire imagery surrounding the two of them because flames are quick to lap at anything in its wake, to destroy within a matter of minutes. and yet for the two of these men, their internal fire eats them from the inside out, painfully, until they’re almost unrecognizable to others and to themselves.

sloth

sloth was a little more difficult to pinpoint because of its characteristics. it was either the minister versus the mentor, both of which i think could work in this role. however, i chose the minister simply because she’s featured more and intertwines heavily with the plot line.

soth is a medieval translation of the Latin term acedia, meaning “without care.”

the ultimate characteristic of sloth is often identified as laziness, and while it’s easy to argue that the minister hasn’t been lazy in her ability to get where she is, she became as much when she started lying to get to her position. isn’t lying known as the easier way out? it absolves you of responsibility, of putting in the hard work, of apologizing and making things right. in the end, she had a goal and found the easiest solution to get there through her lack of responsibility for the roles she more than likely swore an oath to.

but that also translates into the other attributes of sloth: a failure to do the right thing, lack of emotions for people or of the self, and the fact that it “hinders man in his righteous undertakings and thus becomes a terrible source of man’s undoing” according to The Seven Deadly Sins: Society and Evil.

while i think there are a lot of components of sloth that may not necessarily fit the minister, the apathy and carelessness are enough to showcase her aggression, despondency and restlessness when what little efforts she does put in do not go her way. another interesting thing to note is that many of sloth’s traits correspond with symptoms of mental illness, such as depression and anxiety. it’s an interesting thing to note given the way the minister chooses to end her life.

greed

i don’t know that jinjoo would’ve had any provocation to the limelight if it wasn’t for sunah’s direction, but she’s eager to please and wants to be useful. it’s only natural for her to want more because it’s clear she’s a career woman, loves her job and has a heart for serving the people.

but like gluttony, greed is also that little thing that plants itself and can take on a life of its own. you start looking for justifications as to why you can’t have more than what you do, and in jinjoo’s situation, she’s already overlooked through no fault of her own. and it’s not that gaon and yohan are doing it purposefully, which is what makes their neglect heartbreaking, because truthfully, they’re after the same thing jinoo is. sure, it looks different and the foundation of it is different, same with their motives. but they’re all three judges on a residing bench working to exact justice - even if all three of them have their own personal agenda. 

i don’t think jinoo fully aligns with greed, but she does want more for herself, and i think that’s only natural. you can tell she has a heart, and she’s keen not to be overlooked. this isn’t her pain point so much as it is she knows her worth and is more than ready to do what it takes to get where she wants. this, in and of itself, isn’t necessarily a bad trait, but we can see how it leads to being deceived, especially for someone who’s been left in the dark for so long.

she is enticed by the glitz and the glamour of being a head judge, but you can tell she feels some remorse and guilt for those thoughts at times. i think her sense of greed is a battle within herself more than it is extremely outwardly.

pride

soohyun’s pride comes in the form of her imbalance with right and wrong. her sense of righteousness and justice is so far leaning, even more than gaon’s. it can be chalked up to her being a cop, but we’ve seen instances of this outside of her role within that agency. her pride doesn’t let her see beyond saving gaon and getting to the bottom of every mystery that comes her way.

it also comes in the form of impulsiveness and her savior complex, putting elijah in danger, for example, instead of waiting for backup. it’s not necessarily from a belief that she can fix things all on her own, but she sees injustice and immediately jumps in. another case in point is her and gaon watching yohan wreck the minister’s son’s car. she’s ready to go stop him, but gaon pulls her back, most likely because at that point, they hadn’t been observing the situation for very long to get a read on it. also the fact that at that point, neither of them truly knew yohan and his capabilities.

but as to where her characteristics come from, we simply don’t know beyond that of gaon. it’s unfortunate because we don’t have much of her backstory, so there is no real understanding why she so firmly believes in entities of regulation beyond keeping her friend out of jail. she prides herself on her work and what she’s able to accomplish, which is why it’s devastating to her to have to protect gaon by cleaning up his bloody handprint.

aristotle is of the belief that, “pride, then, seems to be a sort of crown of the virtues; for it makes them greater, and it is not found without them. Therefore it is hard to be truly proud; for it is impossible without nobility and goodness of character,” from Nicomachean Ethics.

but pride for soohyun isn’t about honors or rewards. it’s for herself and her capabilities, her ability to protect gaon, and the virtues she’s set as the precedent for herself. because sometimes it’s not even about establishing morals and ethics upon yourself. it’s about feelings/intuition, logic and observation. and no, i don’t mean the feelings she has for gaon. there are things that humans do, both actions and words, that we inherently know are bad without someone telling us as much and without the rules of the world seared into our brains. there are some things we know, for a fact, are wrong to us as individuals.

for soohyun, she knows that gaon’s actions, and even her own, have consequences. from what we’ve seen, i think it can be argued that it’s really about not doing those actions to prevent an outcome - not necessarily from a place of being just and right. that doesn’t mean she doesn’t understand good morals/ethics, but again, we have no background of what her internal guidance actually is.

to put this in layman’s terms, we’ll use gaon wanting to stab the conman in his youth. soohyun knows it’s wrong because it will incriminate gaon and therefore she stops it. gaon’s gone to her because he sees her as a moral compass. but is her own internal navigation rooted in justice the way gaon had to find it in the judicial system, or is hers rooted in her pride of keeping gaon safe? she stops him from doing things that will get him in trouble, but is she stopping him because the action itself is wrong or because the outcome will result in undesirable consequences for the two of them?

and of course, there is a flipped argument to be had there - i’m not arguing that gaon stabbing the conman would be right or justified. but what i am saying is that for her, her worldview is the only right one, and when anyone steps out of that, even gaon, it becomes a bit of an issue: the pride she has for that is palpable.

every character indulges

truthfully, every character has at least one form of these sins rooted in their characterization. some are larger than others, but the breadth of it can be explored even further for each. and that’s what makes them more realistic and not just characters written on a page or following a linear progression of their writing deity.

the seven deadly sins are also notoriously rooted in religion. they’re also a defining feature of aristotle’s works that represent the golden mean, in which each vice is parallel to a virtue.

the devil judge is so layered, but i think at the heart of it, it’s about humanity at its core. sprinked in are the philosophies and contradictions and what it means to look in the mirror, what happens when we’re blind to seeing our true selves and most importantly, how much changes when we’re swayed by our own misgivings. it really asks us to understand nature versus nurture, that people must find a belief in something to keep them going, and how futile our hopes and desires can actually be if we’re not carefully regulating ourselves, nevermind the entities established by society to regulate us, too.

the entirety of the show genuinely begs the question as to who is truly right, who is truly wrong, and if it’s even possible to find the correct answer.

[silverandgenosquad]

Betrayal

It had been a day or two after he texted Guin with what he saw. Geno laid in his bed, his brow stuck in a permanent troubled frown, tail whipping about in agitation. Damn it! How was he supposed to go through with something as admitting his own adoptive father had committed crimes against Arkankind?! He was barely still coming to terms with the whole situation as is. 

He knew how... infatuated Silver was for Veryn, but he never knew it ran so deep, deep enough that Silver would literally break his moral code, deep enough to go against everything that he was taught by his old master, Van. And for what? Because it was Veryn? Because he thought maybe this would get him into Veryn’s good graces? 

Geno’s metal claws curled. Did Silver not know how Veryn operated? Veryn hardly cared for anyone, if at all. He certainly didn’t give a damn about the “outcasts” of society squirming around and trying to survive in the Depths, who were actually pretty decent folks that got tossed a bad hand in life (of course there were also some of your typical crazies down there too, but that couldn’t be helped). Silver had to be kidding himself to think Veryn remotely liked him.

But if Veryn didn’t care, a part of Geno reminded him, why would he entrust Silver with something so demonizing that it could ruin their careers and lives forever? Veryn could have told this to anyone else, certainly someone a lot less suspicious and a lot less dirt on their person to hold this info. But therein lay the problem of who else had the expertise to work on and repair such a project, a project that, from all the notes that Geno bore witness to, was an undertaking that was near impossible to upkeep alone, and required someone with intimate expertise in building and engineering.

Specifically, building and engineering around organic parts.

“Old Man, you stubborn idiot,” Geno grumbled, sitting up from his bed. “You really can’t see what he’s doing, don’t you?”

There was no other way around it. Silver was in this much too deep and Veryn would continue to dig this hole for them both.

He had to end this, had to stop Veryn from using the Old Man like this... even if it meant the Old Man got exiled because of his actions.

----

He went back to the computer lab that evening when the Arkan was busy on a project. The touchpad was in the same place as it was the last time, although when Geno opened and unlocked the screen, it revealed the black folder that contained all of the info on Cercil, with some new notes added. They weren’t much, just a quick addendum about a possible spec change to the cybers. Interesting, he wondered. The Old Man must have been in a rush if he was this sloppy with closing out of sensitive information. This was incriminating on major levels. Somebody could have infiltrated it and snatched all of his data and he would be none the wiser. If Van were alive, he’d rip him apart for such carelessness. 

Then again, Van would tear him a new one for going along with Veryn’s plans anyways. 

He plugged in his USB port into the tablet, tapped a few buttons on it. Of course, it was met with resistance and code, a safety measure to keep intruders from stealing material. Not unexpected, Geno would have been more surprised if there was no resistance at all. However, it was surprisingly easy to slip by any encryptions made as he brushed aside warnings and firewalls. Then again, it could've been the skills that he learned from his Old Man that made this a cakewalk. How painfully ironic.

He made two separate copies as he downloaded the files: one to the USB, the other to his phone. It was an accident, this piece of equipment. He wanted a normal USB but got this one instead. He at first found it mildly annoying because it meant less storage space on his phone (it would automatically send stuff to his phone’s drive, and he would need to delete it for privacy and space, and he still hadn’t found a way to override the function). Now he was grateful he never shipped it back. Wireless USBs were incredible - and deathly expensive, it was a wonder he got this one for so cheap. 

He sat down, waiting, keeping a keen eye out. It was a large amount of files to download, and he didn't need (or afford) interruptions. Doubt swam in his head, but he kept reminding himself of his mission’s purpose. It was to stop Veryn from using the Old Man, to stop both of them from creating such... atrocities. Silver was a large supporter of the Accords, especially since he didn't condone the whole cyberizing of the Starmen anyways, which made this whole situation all the more convoluted.

"Old Man, you're smarter than this... so why?" Geno murmured to himself, hugging his knees to his chest. "I don't understand... what do you see in him that would make you go this far?" His tail thumped hard on the ground, resolute. “Whatever the reason, this ends here.”

A charming *ping* signaled the data had finally transferred over to both the USB and the phone. He ejected the USB, double checking to ensure corruption didn't occur during the transfer. Success! Now, he could send them straight to Guin! Although he needed one copy for proof, it didn’t hurt to have another as a backup-

crack!

“Ah, shit!” A violent burst of energy saw the USB in his hands disintegrate in a wad of flames, the Arkan batting away the embers quickly. What the hell was that all about?!

“That’s as far as you get, boy.”

Geno’s blood chilled at the entrance of Silver, his violet eyes glowing in anger and disapproval. “Old Man, how’d you-”

“You didn’t think there weren’t any cameras in this room? That I didn’t see you on the monitors?” The tablet floated up to Silver’s hands, where the old engineer exited the folders and promptly locked them back up, a lot more securely this time. “Now, what in the damned stars were you thinking snooping around in that folder?”

“What was I thinking?” The fear that gripped Geno’s heart was replaced with his own anger and a righteous boldness. “I was thinking of stopping you, that’s what! Everything involving this... this thing, this abomination against nature... against Arkankind... it’s madness!”

“It’s progress, Geno,” Silver countered, teleporting the tablet away - no doubt to his more personal study where it couldn’t be accessed. “Sometimes in order to achieve the unattainable, you must dirty your hands where no else will. Veryn understands that as well as anyone.”

“Veryn’s a jaded old man that only cares about himself,” Geno spat vehemently. “Case in point with this whole base, sending us out here in the middle of nowhere practically defenseless. We needed mercs to protect ourselves for stars’ sake! When hasn’t he done something that he tries to justify by “a means to an end” excuse, huh?”

“What he does is for the whole of the Homeworld, even if some of what he does may not seem favorable to the public.”

“Really? Then what do you call the damn cyborg? Is Veryn planning on turning Arkans into super soldiers now? Are you seriously supporting a man that decides to play pull apart and put back together with another Arkan?”

“Enough.”

The flare of cold wrath in the veteran engineer’s tone was forceful to halt Geno in his tracks, and the Old Man wasn’t even yelling at him. “You’re much too young to understand a single thing that he’s doing, and I will not have you ruin those plans for him. You will not have access to any data archive in this base without my express permission and your rights to them will be completely revoked. In addition you will not bring this up with anyone, else I’ll see to it that harsher punishments are doled out. Understood, Geno?”

It was a command, not a request. Geno knew all too well not obeying would cause... but he had come too far to fail now. 

 Geno’s prosthetic claws curled into fists. “ I thought you were better. I thought you were better than the others on the Council, better than Veryn. I see you’ve become just like them, your vision too narrow to see the wider aspects of things. The only one with any sense is Larzen, only because he knows just how bullshit Homeworld is with its rules. Veryn’s hold on you is too deep at this point.”

But instead of exploding with rage... Geno merely sighed, ears and tail wilting, defeated. “You rescued me all those years ago... and I’m grateful for that. But with everything you’ve told me just now... I almost wish you didn’t, if I knew you were going to follow in the footsteps of the most untrustworthy leader in the cosmos out of blind faith.”

Before the older Arkan could react to such an emotional wound, Geno warped away, leaving Silver alone. 

(Silver and Geno are available for asks.)

[nerdtrekdotcom]

Corrupted Classes

Corrupted Classes

This plug-in for Wrath of the Righteous clocks in at 34 pages, 1 page front cover, 1 page inside of front cover, 2 pages of editorial/introduction, 1 page ToC, 1 page SRD, 1 page back cover, leaving us with 27 pages of content, so let’s take a look!

  The first part of the pdf deals with so-called “Corrupted classes”, representing once pure targets that have been, in some ways,…

[language-minded]

Synonyms for the 96 most commonly used words in English

Amazing — incredible, unbelievable, improbable, fabulous, wonderful, fantastic, astonishing, astounding, extraordinary

Anger — enrage, infuriate, arouse, nettle, exasperate, inflame, madden

Angry — mad, furious, enraged, excited, wrathful, indignant, exasperated, aroused, inflamed

Answer — reply, respond, retort, acknowledge

Ask — question, inquire of, seek information from, put a question to, demand, request, expect, inquire, query, interrogate, examine, quiz

Awful — dreadful, terrible, abominable, bad, poor, unpleasant

Bad — evil, immoral, wicked, corrupt, sinful, depraved, rotten, contaminated, spoiled, tainted, harmful, injurious, unfavorable, defective, inferior, imperfect, substandard, faulty, improper, inappropriate, unsuitable, disagreeable, unpleasant, cross, nasty, unfriendly, irascible, horrible, atrocious, outrageous, scandalous, infamous, wrong, noxious, sinister, putrid, snide, deplorable, dismal, gross, heinous, nefarious, base, obnoxious, detestable, despicable, contemptible, foul, rank, ghastly, execrable

Beautiful — pretty, lovely, handsome, attractive, gorgeous, dazzling, splendid, magnificent, comely, fair, ravishing, graceful, elegant, fine, exquisite, aesthetic, pleasing, shapely, delicate, stunning, glorious, heavenly, resplendent, radiant, glowing, blooming, sparkling

Begin — start, open, launch, initiate, commence, inaugurate, originate

Big — enormous, huge, immense, gigantic, vast, colossal, gargantuan, large, sizable, grand, great, tall, substantial, mammoth, astronomical, ample, broad, expansive, spacious, stout, tremendous, titanic, mountainous

Brave — courageous, fearless, dauntless, intrepid, plucky, daring, heroic, valorous, audacious, bold, gallant, valiant, doughty, mettlesome

Break — fracture, rupture, shatter, smash, wreck, crash, demolish, atomize

Bright — shining, shiny, gleaming, brilliant, sparkling, shimmering, radiant, vivid, colorful, lustrous, luminous, incandescent, intelligent, knowing, quick-witted, smart, intellectual

Calm — quiet, peaceful, still, tranquil, mild, serene, smooth, composed, collected, unruffled, level-headed, unexcited, detached, aloof

Come — approach, advance, near, arrive, reach

Cool — chilly, cold, frosty, wintry, icy, frigid

Crooked — bent, twisted, curved, hooked, zigzag

Cry — shout, yell, yowl, scream, roar, bellow, weep, wail, sob, bawl

Cut — gash, slash, prick, nick, sever, slice, carve, cleave, slit, chop, crop, lop, reduce

Dangerous — perilous, hazardous, risky, uncertain, unsafe

Dark — shadowy, unlit, murky, gloomy, dim, dusky, shaded, sunless, black, dismal, sad

Decide — determine, settle, choose, resolve

Definite — certain, sure, positive, determined, clear, distinct, obvious

Delicious — savory, delectable, appetizing, luscious, scrumptious, palatable, delightful, enjoyable, toothsome, exquisite

Describe — portray, characterize, picture, narrate, relate, recount, represent, report, record

Destroy — ruin, demolish, raze, waste, kill, slay, end, extinguish

Difference — disagreement, inequity, contrast, dissimilarity, incompatibility

Do — execute, enact, carry out, finish, conclude, effect, accomplish, achieve, attain

Dull — boring, tiring„ tiresome, uninteresting, slow, dumb, stupid, unimaginative, lifeless, dead, insensible, tedious, wearisome, listless, expressionless, plain, monotonous, humdrum, dreary

Eager — keen, fervent, enthusiastic, involved, interested, alive to

End — stop, finish, terminate, conclude, close, halt, cessation, discontinuance

Enjoy — appreciate, delight in, be pleased, indulge in, luxuriate in, bask in, relish, devour, savor, like

Explain — elaborate, clarify, define, interpret, justify, account for

Fair — just, impartial, unbiased, objective, unprejudiced, honest

Fall — drop, descend, plunge, topple, tumble

False — fake, fraudulent, counterfeit, spurious, untrue, unfounded, erroneous, deceptive, groundless, fallacious

Famous — well-known, renowned, celebrated, famed, eminent, illustrious, distinguished, noted, notorious

Fast — quick, rapid, speedy, fleet, hasty, snappy, mercurial, swiftly, rapidly, quickly, snappily, speedily, lickety-split, posthaste, hastily, expeditiously, like a flash

Fat — stout, corpulent, fleshy, beefy, paunchy, plump, full, rotund, tubby, pudgy, chubby, chunky, burly, bulky, elephantine

Fear — fright, dread, terror, alarm, dismay, anxiety, scare, awe, horror, panic, apprehension

Fly — soar, hover, flit, wing, flee, waft, glide, coast, skim, sail, cruise

Funny — humorous, amusing, droll, comic, comical, laughable, silly

Get — acquire, obtain, secure, procure, gain, fetch, find, score, accumulate, win, earn, rep, catch, net, bag, derive, collect, gather, glean, pick up, accept, come by, regain, salvage

Go — recede, depart, fade, disappear, move, travel, proceed

Good — excellent, fine, superior, wonderful, marvelous, qualified, suited, suitable, apt, proper, capable, generous, kindly, friendly, gracious, obliging, pleasant, agreeable, pleasurable, satisfactory, well-behaved, obedient, honorable, reliable, trustworthy, safe, favorable, profitable, advantageous, righteous, expedient, helpful, valid, genuine, ample, salubrious, estimable, beneficial, splendid, great, noble, worthy, first-rate, top-notch, grand, sterling, superb, respectable, edifying

Great — noteworthy, worthy, distinguished, remarkable, grand, considerable, powerful, much, mighty

Gross — improper, rude, coarse, indecent, crude, vulgar, outrageous, extreme, grievous, shameful, uncouth, obscene, low

Happy — pleased, contented, satisfied, delighted, elated, joyful, cheerful, ecstatic, jubilant, gay, tickled, gratified, glad, blissful, overjoyed

Hate — despise, loathe, detest, abhor, disfavor, dislike, disapprove, abominate

Have — hold, possess, own, contain, acquire, gain, maintain, believe, bear, beget, occupy, absorb, fill, enjoy

Help — aid, assist, support, encourage, back, wait on, attend, serve, relieve, succor, benefit, befriend, abet

Hide — conceal, cover, mask, cloak, camouflage, screen, shroud, veil

Hurry — rush, run, speed, race, hasten, urge, accelerate, bustle

Hurt — damage, harm, injure, wound, distress, afflict, pain

Idea — thought, concept, conception, notion, understanding, opinion, plan, view, belief

Important — necessary, vital, critical, indispensable, valuable, essential, significant, primary, principal, considerable, famous, distinguished, notable, well-known

Interesting — fascinating, engaging, sharp, keen, bright, intelligent, animated, spirited, attractive, inviting, intriguing, provocative, though-provoking, challenging, inspiring, involving, moving, titillating, tantalizing, exciting, entertaining, piquant, lively, racy, spicy, engrossing, absorbing, consuming, gripping, arresting, enthralling, spellbinding, curious, captivating, enchanting, bewitching, appealing

Keep — hold, retain, withhold, preserve, maintain, sustain, support

Kill — slay, execute, assassinate, murder, destroy, cancel, abolish

Lazy — indolent, slothful, idle, inactive, sluggish

Little — tiny, small, diminutive, shrimp, runt, miniature, puny, exiguous, dinky, cramped, limited, itsy-bitsy, microscopic, slight, petite, minute

Look — gaze, see, glance, watch, survey, study, seek, search for, peek, peep, glimpse, stare, contemplate, examine, gape, ogle, scrutinize, inspect, leer, behold, observe, view, witness, perceive, spy, sight, discover, notice, recognize, peer, eye, gawk, peruse, explore

Love — like, admire, esteem, fancy, care for, cherish, adore, treasure, worship, appreciate, savor

Make — create, originate, invent, beget, form, construct, design, fabricate, manufacture, produce, build, develop, do, effect, execute, compose, perform, accomplish, earn, gain, obtain, acquire, get

Mark — label, tag, price, ticket, impress, effect, trace, imprint, stamp, brand, sign, note, heed, notice, designate

Mischievous — prankish, playful, naughty, roguish, waggish, impish, sportive

Move — plod, go, creep, crawl, inch, poke, drag, toddle, shuffle, trot, dawdle, walk, traipse, mosey, jog, plug, trudge, slump, lumber, trail, lag, run, sprint, trip, bound, hotfoot, high-tail, streak, stride, tear, breeze, whisk, rush, dash, dart, bolt, fling, scamper, scurry, skedaddle, scoot, scuttle, scramble, race, chase, hasten, hurry, hump, gallop, lope, accelerate, stir, budge, travel, wander, roam, journey, trek, ride, spin, slip, glide, slide, slither, coast, flow, sail, saunter, hobble, amble, stagger, paddle, slouch, prance, straggle, meander, perambulate, waddle, wobble, pace, swagger, promenade, lunge

Moody — temperamental, changeable, short-tempered, glum, morose, sullen, mopish, irritable, testy, peevish, fretful, spiteful, sulky, touchy

Neat — clean, orderly, tidy, trim, dapper, natty, smart, elegant, well-organized, super, desirable, spruce, shipshape, well-kept, shapely

New — fresh, unique, original, unusual, novel, modern, current, recent

Old — feeble, frail, ancient, weak, aged, used, worn, dilapidated, ragged, faded, broken-down, former, old-fashioned, outmoded, passe, veteran, mature, venerable, primitive, traditional, archaic, conventional, customary, stale, musty, obsolete, extinct

Part — portion, share, piece, allotment, section, fraction, fragment

Place — space, area, spot, plot, region, location, situation, position, residence, dwelling, set, site, station, status, state

Plan — plot, scheme, design, draw, map, diagram, procedure, arrangement, intention, device, contrivance, method, way, blueprint

Popular — well-liked, approved, accepted, favorite, celebrated, common, current

Predicament — quandary, dilemma, pickle, problem, plight, spot, scrape, jam

Put — place, set, attach, establish, assign, keep, save, set aside, effect, achieve, do, build

Quiet — silent, still, soundless, mute, tranquil, peaceful, calm, restful

Right — correct, accurate, factual, true, good, just, honest, upright, lawful, moral, proper, suitable, apt, legal, fair

Run — race, speed, hurry, hasten, sprint, dash, rush, escape, elope, flee

Say/Tell — inform, notify, advise, relate, recount, narrate, explain, reveal, disclose, divulge, declare, command, order, bid, enlighten, instruct, insist, teach, train, direct, issue, remark, converse, speak, affirm, suppose, utter, negate, express, verbalize, voice, articulate, pronounce, deliver, convey, impart, assert, state, allege, mutter, mumble, whisper, sigh, exclaim, yell, sing, yelp, snarl, hiss, grunt, snort, roar, bellow, thunder, boom, scream, shriek, screech, squawk, whine, philosophize, stammer, stutter, lisp, drawl, jabber, protest, announce, swear, vow, content, assure, deny, dispute

Scared — afraid, frightened, alarmed, terrified, panicked, fearful, unnerved, insecure, timid, shy, skittish, jumpy, disquieted, worried, vexed, troubled, disturbed, horrified, terrorized, shocked, petrified, haunted, timorous, shrinking, tremulous, stupefied, paralyzed, stunned, apprehensive

Show — display, exhibit, present, note, point to, indicate, explain, reveal, prove, demonstrate, expose

Slow — unhurried, gradual, leisurely, late, behind, tedious, slack

Stop — cease, halt, stay, pause, discontinue, conclude, end, finish, quit

Story — tale, myth, legend, fable, yarn, account, narrative, chronicle, epic, sage, anecdote, record, memoir

Strange — odd, peculiar, unusual, unfamiliar, uncommon, queer, weird, outlandish, curious, unique, exclusive, irregular

Take — hold, catch, seize, grasp, win, capture, acquire, pick, choose, select, prefer, remove, steal, lift, rob, engage, bewitch, purchase, buy, retract, recall, assume, occupy, consume

Tell — disclose, reveal, show, expose, uncover, relate, narrate, inform, advise, explain, divulge, declare, command, order, bid, recount, repeat

Think — judge, deem, assume, believe, consider, contemplate, reflect, mediate

Trouble — distress, anguish, anxiety, worry, wretchedness, pain, danger, peril, disaster, grief, misfortune, difficulty, concern, pains, inconvenience, exertion, effort

True — accurate, right, proper, precise, exact, valid, genuine, real, actual, trusty, steady, loyal, dependable, sincere, staunch

Ugly — hideous, frightful, frightening, shocking, horrible, unpleasant, monstrous, terrifying, gross, grisly, ghastly, horrid, unsightly, plain, homely, evil, repulsive, repugnant, gruesome

Unhappy — miserable, uncomfortable, wretched, heart-broken, unfortunate, poor, downhearted, sorrowful, depressed, dejected, melancholy, glum, gloomy, dismal, discouraged, sad

Use — employ, utilize, exhaust, spend, expend, consume, exercise

Wrong — incorrect, inaccurate, mistaken, erroneous, improper, unsuitable source

[xanyoules]

xan youles | anything that’s dead shall be regrown

I used to believe power was a hot iron, burning metal and bubbling water. Power was crushing an ant under a new boot or snatching the voice of another, holding it in a tight fist.

That is a man’s idea of power.

Power is the sunrise. Watercolours of orange and daisy-yellow leaking into the sky, a slow spread of sunlight that dances over freckles and sinks into skin. Power is a small cloud journeying to visit different eyes — light and free.

When I was a man — Jarvis, a soldier — and ants deserved to perish, I crushed them. Foes were real and I made them — attracted them, too. I did not know one little ant, more determined than the corpses under my heels, clung to my ankle and made her home in the crevice of my foot. Two years later, we meet again.

But, I am not a man anymore. I have not been for quite some time.

An ant’s bite still poisons me, inviting ugly pink to swell on my body, to mark me out as bitten. But why does one bite another? Some, they feel hunger which must be satisfied. Others, they want to be seen.

As the itch demands to be scratched, it must be asked: am I defined by who chooses to maim me?

The ant still plays the man’s game of what it means to matter.

The descent of Ra, Sol, uMvelinqangi, Surya, Gun Ana, Päivätär, Alexandra: drunk down, lighting up my belly. I am infused with the old gods, of ancestral, quiet, ancient power where a man means nothing.

You may have known of me when I was a caterpillar.

Words are my sky — some I stole from God, some I learnt, some Xan gave me. Writing poems in the backseat of the car to block out her sobbing, writing worlds to escape the one I walked on.

We know when we are Medusa; the wronged woman, the victim of another’s wrath. We forget to look when we are being Athena, the wrath, the woman who believes she was wronged, despite the truth. We close our eyes, tune out, travel distances, to avoid seeing ourselves as the Goddess of War, righteous and desperate to hurt — yet she is you, and you are her. Feeling the weight of her bloody sword and her righteous red hand is the only way you get to decide who you are — Athena, Medusa, or someone new.

As Athena — you — bite, do you turn me to stone? It cannot be, not when I tear my heart out of my chest and feel its soft, silky, beautiful beat in my palm.

If I could, I would take you home. You, little ant, were never made for my ankle. Your wrath belongs to another, and you deserve to sleep. However, it is not my choice. I cannot scoop you with my finger and send you on your way. I am not a man. I am not a soldier.

Men speak of fire, of her destructive, transformative power, a weapon and a beauty. But we, we are the air: Gemini and Aquarius. We know the sharp twist of the wind can turn cities on their heads, upside down and inside out. Air can be a sword — or it can be distance. Miles, and miles, and miles of distance — where Athena need not slay Medusa, where an ant need not follow an ankle, where only the sunrise connects us. Glorious, freeing air between us — my name no longer on your fingertips or your tongue.

Power does not lie in the punishment. Power is feeling the spotlight burn your eyelids and relishing in your audience’s applause, the addictive rush pulsing through your veins, and pulling the plug. Let men do as men do — scream, fight, kill, destroy themselves as they fight air. Real power is behind the curtain. It’s the soft freedom of letting go.

[existence-overwhelming]

Thy Reality Consumed

Dusty Viscera

Author - Player Characters - Doom Slayer, Demons, Ruby Rose, Yang Xiao Long, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna and Bartholomew Oobleck. Word Count - 14,510 Description - One of the countless incursions carried out by the forces of Hell begins, and the timing couldn’t be any worse for those on the receiving end of it all. But so long as the surviving bastion of a bygone era remains--innocent blood shant be spilled like it did on that day.

Fear.  Among many things, fear has proven to be and still is the most effective motivator, the single thing capable of delivering utter control unto any man, woman or child. Fear drives the desperate into taking spasmodic action in a feverish attempt to prolong their life; it has a profound effect on a war, either crippling or bolstering the resolve of entire armies; and yet the most impactful result fear could bring about were in the reputation of important icons located throughout the annals of history. Examples of such terrifying individuals were Genghis Khan, Vlad the Impaler, Elizabeth Báthory, and Gilles de Rais--they dominated those of a lower status than themselves by way of intimidation, cruelty, and often psychopathic violence.  But such cruel savagery was limited to not just the malign-hearted. When the need for individuals capable of such inhumane barbarity rose, the civil called upon their most stalwart members to take up the arduous mantle of the monster. In the name of all that was morally just and good, these men and women were to spread untold horror, paranoia, and dread into the hearts and minds of all those who’d dare threaten the laic. Through this, fear could also function as a tool for the righteously benevolent. And it had been that very fearmongering icon of righteous deliverance that had quite literally given Hell a run for its money.  The unholy denizens thought themselves the pinnacle of cruel and abhorrent bestiality, but they hadn’t even scratched the surface of true brutality. As such, they were vastly unprepared for the stark visceral barbarism forced down their individual throats by the castigator of the fallen dimension.  Immediately preceding the assimilation of Argent D’nur, the bastions known simply as the Night Sentinels struck hard against the oncoming demonic legions. Betrayed and now facing an inexorable defeat, they let loose a primal fury never once thought possible by even the most iniquitous of heathens. The forces of hell were battered and routed, again and again, but with every battle, the utmost minute casualties of the doomed bastions whittled their numbers down little by little. Yet their ferocity never waned, resulting in a prolonged subjugation that only came to an end when the Icon of Sin’s advent--one aspect of the inconceivable price the exploited Sentinel had to pay--marked the final stages of the dimensional convergence. With this, the untold legions of Hell were wholly loosed upon Argent D’nur: eventually overwhelming even the stalwart guardians of the Argent Wraiths.   Despite the incredulous advantage of their numbers, however, it was not until all but one Sentinel remained standing did they shed their first drop of innocent blood. Until only the leader of the Night Sentinels, who was by far leagues ahead of their colleagues, stood as the last bastion of a doomed existence, the demonic wretches failed to lay a claw on a single noncombatant. Such was the unparalleled choler and sheer might of the dreaded Night sentinels. In the end, though, Argent D’nur was toppled and subsequently made one with the chaotic discord of Hell’s fiery landscape.   Yet even this interplanar spectacle could not fell the dreaded leader of the now fallen Sentinels. Rather--seeing the flagrant insolence in which the abominable spawn treated with their once-home, as they perverted the scenic lands and architectural masterpieces, merely invoked an even greater enmity. Such vehement antipathy gave the survivor an unquenchable desire to bleed the entirety of Hell dry--to see rightful judgement brought to the villainous scum and their vile ilk for what they did. And satiate this thirst they did, again and again without end.  Leaving naught but carnage in their wake and bringing total butchery to the foul anathemas, the survivor of the Night Sentinels carved an appalling renown among the hellish hoards. They came to refer to this force of unbridled slaughter by countless names: The Hellwalker, the Unchained Predator, the Scourge of Hell, and the Doom Slayer are but a few.  But this tale has been spun numerous times before, anyone that’s someone knows of the Doom Slayer’s one-man war against the forces of Hell and all who would try to exploit it. Not many, however, know of the countless times this force of nature followed the bloody mire’s natives through tears in the fabric of reality to squash any and all of Hell’s plans to invade and assimilate even more dimensions.  These are the tales I wish to weave for your virgin ears. So gather around and listen closely to the Hellwalker’s bloody escapades.

The crimson ether’s stagnant, torrid and muggy climate bore down on the haphazard hellscape as Hell’s ambient chorus screeched its discordant melody. Suffering interwove with excruciating agony to form the harmonious resonance of the damned, as the profuse pungency of brimstone, molten rock, voided bowels, gore and creeks of partially congealed blood neatly tied up the scenery. It was an everyday experience the Doom Slayer had long-since grown accustomed to.  Unlike most days, however, he had the commodity of constant movement to help overlook the footling sultriness. But such expeditious locomotion was stripped from him, as this was among the seldom instances when he voluntarily ceased the progress of his unremitting warpath--among the few moments where the constant bloodshed and utter extermination of all things demonic ground to a halt. Despite the anxious itch that afflicted him during this self-instated suspension of hostilities, the Doom Slayer wouldn’t cause even an iota of disturbance among the unholy populace. For he would remain in the lackluster and utmost bare bone encampment set up in one of the many alcoves littering the cliff faces of the Krueger Bluffs, a series of cliffs that bordered the Burnt Basin--a deep bowl of jagged obsidian glass that held a lake of boiling blood and dots of land poking above the vivid scarlet here and there like flaky fingertips. What brought the Scourge of Hell to this damnable basin resided at the very center of the bloody lake: a platform and grand altar constructed of flesh and bone erected atop the largest island found jutting above the opaque depths.  Amassed atop the wicked structure was an unholy legion of Hell’s crooked denizens: clouds of meandering Lost Souls, Imps, Prowlers, Hell Knights, Cacodaemons, Mancubi, Hellrazers, countless caged Pinkies, clouds of meandering Specters, and Summoners, all of which undoubtedly served the lone Baron of Hell residing among the riffraff. This sinful and abhorrent aberration lounged on a miniature throne, fashioned from innumerable skeletons, whilst examining that which laid before him. Seeing the macabre adornment that displayed its lofty position in the anarchic hierarchy of Hell decorate its sacrilegious form invoked a rage the Doom Slayer struggled to bridle. But he managed to do so, as allowing the white-hot wrath that kept his body moving to the rhythmic beat of murder would render the lengths he went to to get here for naught.  Having lost his sense of time long ago, the Doom Slayer could not recall exactly how long it took for him to arrive at his current location. Nor could he remember just how much time passed for the insidious structures to be constructed and the equally nefarious entities to congregate on top of it. All he could say for certain was that it had been quite the lapse of inactivity on his part. It proved worthy of such a lack of action, however, when the profane Archviles--creatures that served the role of Hell’s ungodly priests--finally, finally made their advent.

Huddled around the blasphemous altar, painted with a spattering of gruesome offerings, the Archviles performed dark constant dark and impious rituals. They had begun such irreligious activities quite some time ago, and none of them gave an inkling of ceasing. With a disgusted sneer, the Hellwalker tore his gaze away from their profane presence and turned it to the root from which all this stemmed. A fracture, a tear--a literal rift in the fabric of space-time made visible.  The plane of existence commonly associated with the descriptions of the land of sin was a literal hub for interdimensional disturbances. It did not happen exceedingly frequently, as such things tended to crop up whenever another plane prods the barrier, but when it did anomalies like the one the demons were crowded around popped up. Normally imperceptible to the naked eye, Hell’s natural energy--combined with Argent energy--provided such phenomena with the medium to manifest as fractures in the air, on the ground, or wherever they might crop up. When this occurred, the possibility of manipulating and expanding said rift to force a gateway connecting to whatever existence decided to stick its nose where it didn’t belong opened up. And on account of Hell’s prior history with such things, the denizens were more than happy to violate the borders set between its dimension and the rest.  Suffice to say, the Hellwalker didn’t take to the prospect as fondly as the demons did. Subsequently, whenever he caught wind of a rift’s appearance, there wasn’t a thing in all the planes that could prevent him from plugging it up. But until the abominable priests successfully forced open the passage, he could do naught but bide his time. For the only method of permanently patching up such a tear in reality required for the portal to be created first, or else the rift could simply be exploited again and again until the gate was finally opened. So, despite how it irked him, the Doom Slayer could do naught but wait for their sacrilegious rites to be completed.  But even the Unchained Predator’s patience had its limits, and such a limit was put to the test countless times as body after body of the Unwilling were dragged to the bloody altar. A good thirty bodies were brought and scattered about the profane protrusion like worthless rubbish. Each served as nothing more than a sacrifice to feed whatever demonic powers were at work. Then, after the next fifteen, something finally occurred.  Following the forty-fifth sacrifice, after the lifeless carcass joined its fellows, the already putrefying flesh began to meld together. It was akin to seeing a watered-down gelatinous mass getting manhandled, forced into merging with countless other like substances as each was malformed and twisted. Virtually reduced to mere pale white crimson playdough, the meat tore itself from the gaunt creatures’ skeletons before inching up the stony item of satanic worship. Eventually coalescing into a single mass of sinew, muscle, and visceral gore--a formless blob of meat and skin and hair and bursting blemishes under the control of the hellish priests. With a flick of the wrists, the damnable Archviles commanded the ichor to drain from the disgusting mass--leaving it dry--to form a great pentagram around them and their altar. Then the blood coagulated, before adopting an incandescent scarlet hue that soon outlined the profane clergyman, too. While glowing, their bodies fell limp and hung in the air like a slab of meat pierced by a gruesome hook. After a lapse of inactivity, their forms seized and contracted spasmodically--each unnatural spasm and bone-breaking contortion heralded the portal’s advent. The Baron of Hell leaned forward on his throne, interest piqued.   It took little time for the blob of gore to react to the Hell priest's seizures: twitching and undulating in sync with its unholy masters. Before, finally, it began to squeeze and contract all of its stolen mass directly underneath the rift. More boils and pustules popped and sprayed their sick fluid about the grey stone as the sinew and organs began to wrap around each other, developing a sort of frame around the rip. Then the rest of the pale flesh proceeded to sheath the frame, filling in the gaps and occasionally forming a hook that dug into the very rift itself. And once the organic machination became whole, the various hooks digging into the disturbed space began trembling ever so softly. Then the priests' bodies splayed out like languid Starfish, vehemently undulating as the entire manifestation of gore began to pull in all directions. Gouts of blood and other fluids spewed forth from the meaty contraption as it began to develop splits and tears here and there, but it continued to pull and tug on the margins of the rift. A ghastly screech emanated from the disturbance as if someone was peeling layers of metal away with their bare hands and only grew louder and louder with each passing second. Vivid red arcs of jagged energy streaked out from the widening rift, as the horrific squealing transcended into a malign chorus of dissent crying out against their foolish efforts to defy the sacred barrier between dimensions.  These irregular bolts of red death raced up along the stony platform, leaving naught in its wake, and finding their way onto the occasional unlucky demon--each unfortunate individual turned pitch black as their flesh was charred, before exploding into a cloud of scarlet mist. Suffice to say, all but the greater demonic entities frantically danced to avoid meeting an untimely, grisly end. Among such creatures was the Baron of Hell, who, in his boredom, plucked an unwitting Lost Soul out from the air and gingerly crushing it between his fingers. Then he regarded the priests, barked something, and curtly interrupted whatever superfluous, ceremonial niceties drawing out the profane rite. This did little to accelerate the process, however.  The visceral manifestation of unholy energy continued to strain the fissure, pulling it apart in every direction. A trembling distortion beset the very space about the sluggishly expanding opening as scrapes of foreign benign darkness began trickling through. And with one final convulsion of both the priests and the shaped viscera, like that, it was done. Splitting at the seams, effectively destroying itself, the macabre amalgamation of gore wholly tore the rift asunder into a wide gaping maw that peaked out into a black haze unfamiliar to the constant red tinted light illuminating the entirety of Hell. It was a veil of shadows unlike those native to Hell. They lacked the insidious animation, that skin-crawling fluidity akin to the dark depths of an abyssal trench. And the stark malign nature found in the hellish place’s seldom patches of shadows was absent. Unless the dimension beyond the opening was caught in a perpetual state of darkness, then it was probably nighttime. Barely visible dots of white flittered through the insidious wound, unsuspecting, before dissipating when exposed to the blistering heat of the profane plane. Snowflakes? Was the breach in existence exposing a plane currently under the effects of winter? When was the last time the gentle hue of snow and the joy of the ever-changing seasons greeted the warrior’s hardened eyes? He could not wholly recall. Or perhaps it was merely innate particles of the tear itself.  Once ajar, the Doom Slayer watched as the decorated Baron heaved his hulking form off the morbid throne and approached the portal. This opening towered over even him and stretched out wide enough to fit three of him with arms outstretched. He then turned around, slowly, to face the onlooking legion. Without warning, the hellish denizen rose a balled fist up into the air before bellowing out something--the Hellwalker’s distance kept the words from reaching his acute hearing. Then the demonic hoard joined their master’s bellowing cry, throwing their clawed fists above their head, before blindly charging through the opening. And their leader made to join their zealous stampede, but stopped and threw a look over his shoulder before passing the threshold. For a moment, the Baron’s paranoid eyes gazed in the direction of the Doom Slayer and, in turn, the last bastion glared back. But whether the demon managed to see anything or naught was never made clear, as he returned his attention to the task at hand and crossed the barrier.  And as droves of the damned filed through the gap, the Unchained Predator began moving to give chase.

The Scourge of Hell approached the perilous edge of the cavernous opening’s maw, hands tightly balled up and quavering with anger. His eyes never once broke line of sight with the artificial Hellmouth, the abhorrence burning like thriving embers in a roaring bonfire. One hateful thought prevailed above the haze in his mind like a festering wound: “These sacrilegious heathens shall suffer tenfold more for daring to defile the very soil of another dimension.”  At this point, the Doom Slayer could no longer differentiate between the causes of his vehement rage. Everything simply blurred together into one malformed haze of disdain and negative emotions, poisoning his hardened heart and nipping at the ends of his frayed soul. But this toxic infection, brought on by the abominable denizens of Hell, could never diminish the clarity of the morals and beliefs he lived his life by--before and after the fall of his home plane. No amount of taint from this hellish landscape could rob him of who he was and where he originated. In this regard, he believed with smug satisfaction, the endless droves of the nightmarish legions failed to accomplish what they set out to do. And he’d be damned twice over before he let the foul demons a second chance at achieving what they couldn’t with the lives of Argent D’nur.  A brief flash streaked its way across his consciousness, breaking the monotonous muddle of hostility and abhorrence. Images of lush greenery and breath-taking scenery interspersed with snippets of long-forgotten faces and voices. Something benign and forlorn tugged at the dulled harpsichord strings of his stony heart, for a fleeting moment it felt as if the weight of losing his home in its entirety finally began to press down upon him. But then he shrugged it off, returning to the task at hand as the old haze set back in.  For a moment, the Hellwalker beheld the machination magnetically appended to his person at the hip. The familiar sight of bluish-gray metal greeted his eyes, as well as the strobing lights emanating from the few buttons found on its handle. He carefully plucked the device from his side and brought it up to hold out in front of his chest, scrutiny divided between the interplanar rift and this tool.  It was an ambiguous shape too fickle to decide on whether it preferred looking straight and sleek or resembling the curved angularity of a dog’s hind leg. Thin crossbars curved from either end of the handle, curving and weaving together to form a bubble about the entire thing, leaving an opening on one side to permit one’s hand to slip through and grip the main device, as well as a slit towards the very top end of the thing. In the complex intertwined strips of metal resided a vague symbol: twin swords spearing a heart with an abhorrent and yet sagely benevolent monster’s deadpan visage--only the Doom Slayer knew its meaning. And a constant hum exuded throughout the metal, causing an endless vibration to reverberate the material. This device served as his weapon, the instrument of his wrath--the last remnants of technological fruit his reality bore, a dreaded Argent long-blade.  Tightly he gripped the machination, kneading one of the buttons with his thumb, before returning his stalwart gaze to the planar anomaly. With Argent long-blade clutched in hand, he approached the maw’s edge. The intense scrutiny he cast out examined the dwindling legion, finding that some of the demonic hellions were staying back to act as the Hellmouth's sentries. Good, he thought, then I shall have an interlude to wet my appetite before the main event. His feet now tittered on the edge of the precipice. There wasn’t a qualm to break the bloodlust beginning to cloud his heart and mind--the foul denizens of this place of brimstone and fire would know the fury of the Night Sentinels. Then, without so much as a second thought, the Doom Slayer took a single stride over the rocky opening’s periphery and shouldered his fate off to the laws of physics.  Akin to a javelin lancing towards its target, the Hellwalker careened through the sweltering ether. The screeching wind tore about his helmet like a bat out of hell, whipping about his bulky metal clad form like a storm, as the ground rushed up to meet him. But he never once took his eyes off of the bleeding wound, a grim sight that invoked memories he did not particularly desire to recall. Flashes and glimpses of a bygone time in a forlorn place lost to the annals of time. Each of which merely served as a reminder of why such a passionate anger continued to bathe his soul with white-hot abhorrence.  Bastions were left to guard the Hellmouth and the Archvile priests, keeping a vigilant watch over the profane icons as they carried out their sacrilegious rite. The Doom Slayer could only chuckle inwardly at the demons’ piteous attempt to maintain control, and he wondered just when they would learn the inexorable fate that befell all of their endeavors. But if they desired to walk towards the inevitability of death rather than run and prolong it, then by no means should he deny them their longing for such sublime release.  The ground below was nearly upon him, not but tens of yards separated his feet from the craggy lip that marked where the cliff faces merged with the curve of the bowl. A fleeting pang of pain pinched at the sides of his temple; an immediate stream of consciousness warned him of the proximity of the rocks below, briefly touching upon its lethality before advising him to shift the suit’s usage of its Argent energy cells’ power into the three-dimensional pressure compensation system. He complied mechanically, said instantaneous thought traversing the neural link to give the order to his armor directly. In but a fraction of a second, the energy usage of his suit’s various systems diminished as it bolstered the aforementioned pressure compensation.  A smoldering orange-crimson hue began emanating from the metallic material, highlighting his intimidating form in a frightening glow. Simultaneously, a low hum resonated from the worn metal. The cracked bloody stone below reached out to grip the last bastion with its craggy fingers, vehemently grounding the once airborne individual like a fallen airplane. A thunderous crack then reverberated throughout the dried-up basin, as the hum and glow abruptly waned until naught remained but a dull ghost of what they once were and the stone underfoot fractured. He regarded the information provided by his HUD to find his suit’s Argent Cells’ reduced to twenty-three percent--just enough to maintain the core systems as well as the combat systems. Seldom times like these brought a wicked smile to his masked face. Luck seemed determined to keep favoring the Doom Slayer, and that was quite alright in his mind.  In the distance, the Hellwalker spotted the demonic sentinels begin to divide themselves into two groups. One group expeditiously hurried to meet him head-on, an asinine attempt to cut his assault short. And the other seemed dead set on entrenching themselves about their profane priests. This saddened him, in a way, as they wouldn’t know the joy of dying together--as brothers-in-arms--but he doubted demons had such a capacity for sentimentality.  Gripping the hilt of his weapon tighter, the Doom Slayer glanced down the lip for but a second before striding forward and beginning his descent down into the Burnt Basin. Today seemed a fine day to add to the already profuse levels of blood in the lake of ichor.

The descent had been short and quick, and yet by the time the Doom Slayer’s feet made contact with the crimson sludge, breaking the thin surface skin of coagulation, the oncoming horde of hellions was already upon him. Perhaps, he thought, the intelligence of the Imps and Hell Knights have grown since I last did battle with them? There was merit in this line of thought, for the level of the bloody lake--it came up to his waist--impeded his movement. But in all likelihood, they probably hadn’t an inkling as to the fact such a sludgy substance would hinder him. He never attributed mental prowess to the lower echelons of hellish denizens.  Several condensed orbs of crackling fire careened through the vile either, trailing behind it wispy tails of fiery crimson energy, and aimed to strike him in the chest. But with a flick of his wrist and a press of a button, he swatted them out of the air and sent them plunging into the blood. The humming intensified in but an instant as a brilliant light stretched out from the device’s opening. It took the shape of a longsword’s blade, except there wasn’t a lick of flowery detail to admire. It was of a simple triangular design that extended out for several feet before tapering to a point. And other than the appearance of constant fluidity in the blinding Argent energy it was comprised of, as well as the hilt, there was nothing overtly impressive about it.  Crying out in protest, the imps responsible for the projectiles beat the ground with clenched fists before reaching back and charging up yet another volley. Meanwhile, the more courageous of the lowly demons charged in with their Hell Knight brothers--the latter spearheading it. In response to their eagerness to perish, the Doom Slayer tightened his grip on the device until his knuckles turned white and began striding through the ichor to meet them head-on. Of course, even with hampered movement, he could still move at an equal pace with them.  One of the Knights, whilst running, leaned forward and launched itself into the air, showering half congealed blood everywhere. As it sailed, familiar tails of wispy energy trailed behind not only its body but its hands as well, specifically the one it kept raised above its spherical head. Due to its sheer mass and the strength behind its initial jump, the Hell Knight came careening towards the Hellwalker incredulously fast. But the ease with which one could predict the end of the demon’s trajectory always proved to be the attack’s fatal flaw.  He leaped forward, tucking and rolling, and avoided all but the resulting impact’s spray of blood. Then he swiveled about with a sweep of his hand before hewing into the monster’s back, feeling meager resistance as the blade of energy glided through muscle and bone like tissue paper. It managed to bury half of the blade’s length into the soft flesh.  A satisfyingly agonized wail met his ears until the discordant screeches of its fellow daemons rose above it, one of which, an imp, drew nigh to melee range. The Doom Slayer grinned wickedly.  Jerking his free hand forward, he dug into the gaping maw splitting the Hell Knight’s grey skin until fingers met bone--screams of anguish responded. The Imp continued its approach. Then he clawed through muscle and sinew until he found purchase on the item he sought. The Imp got within range. With a wide smile, he yanked back on the bony protrusion he vehemently clutched before an explosion of blood and loose bits of crimson flesh and tiny white fragments to some macabre jigsaw puzzle decorated the front of his armor like a serial killer’s arts and crafts project. Snapping bone and rending meat graced his ears as the lengthy cord connecting the Knight’s mind with the rest of its body pulled free from its fleshy case with a sickening sucking of air sound., inch by inch until the entirety of the bony rope--even the bulbous head!--was freed.  Then, in a single fluent motion, the last bastion swung the grisly mace, talk about disembodied, up and over his head like a pendulum, before bringing it back down and cracked the ghoulish toy into the head of the oncoming Imp. The two met with a flourish of split flesh, shattered bone fragments, and a mixture of grey and scarlet ichor. He released his hold of the now broken weapon and watched the now spineless corpse of the Hell Knight topple over in unison with its brained comrade--they made quite an unorthodox piece of modern art.  While caught in the admiration of his handiwork, one of the few other Knights lunged forward, bringing its foot into the Scourge’s side and sending him careening several feet back. But the damned champion refused to fall prone, vehemently digging into the clay-like ground beneath the bloody lake and scraping along the lake bed until coming to a full stop, sending crimson wakes rippling across the otherwise stagnant surface. He held his head up high, screwing both eyes up into a baleful leer pointed towards the heathen. It roared in protest of the audacious scrutiny before unceremoniously dropping to all fours and leaping forward once more, clawed digits outstretched and aimed for his heart. The Imps and three other Hell Knights rushed to join the fray, three of the eight imps close enough to circle around and lunge for his flanks. And not but several feet behind them and closing in, fast, was yet another fiery volley. It seemed as though they were perturbed over something, and with the cruelest of smirks, the Doom Slayer wondered what he could have possibly done to anger them.  He flicked his wrist, flourishing the blade, before brandishing its wicked length. Oh, how he enjoyed these moments.

Pitched combat, even in its basest forms, is an unequivocal art-form of the utmost caliber. In this respect, it is anything but an exaggeration to describe a battlefield as a painting--a masterpiece composed with hues of red and black and silver and white and grey and azure and a rapturously macabre somber atmosphere. Every inch of land could become a palpable canvas at a moment’s notice, and it never shied away from depicting disturbing themes and controversial subjects. But seldom do even the artists responsible for each rendition possess the stuff required to control the flow.  Most believe the only true masters of this described flow of bloodshed are the commanders, the officers, those in charge of the warriors doing the bloodletting. This sometimes proves true, however, it does not dictate who can and who cannot direct the painting. Truly, polished medals and high-ranks do naught to appease the lofty standards of this sultry mistress known as combat. She is a cruel and covetously demanding dame of the utmost perfection, in a morbid way, that will rip a father away from his newborn babe just as thoughtlessly guide a naive child to safety through the clash of fire. As such, only the warriors with the utmost grit and audacity can force this salacious seductress to bend the knee and obey like a submissive bitch.  Among these scant individuals, the Doom Slayer ranked among the greatest. This icon of righteous vengeance never stopped, not even for a second, until fear and terror became synonyms for the psyches of his enemies. He never ceased the bloodletting until the gallons of crimson could fill an ocean. And there was never a moment in recent years that he refrained from splitting flesh and tearing limbs, never once held his punches, and always sent heads rolling. Which is why he garnered the utmost respect and obedience from the scarlet-cloaked mistress.  And this submissive confidante was particularly pleased with how this addition to the Hellwalker’s collection seemed to be panning out.  With a deft twist of the hand, the Doom Slayer brought up the humming blade to ricochet several of the volleyed smoldering shots. He could not deflect all of them, though, but the searing anguish that singed each point of impact simply fueled his bloodlust. These few returned phosphorous-like orbs zipped through the air, careening into the sunken sternums of the imps closest to him and boring and preemptively cauterizing a hole that left the profane denizen's chest cavity utterly exposed. They crumpled out of sight, bodies dropping below the ichor before their still breathing brethren could do so much as blink in disbelief. But the vehement choler that pierced their outraged screeches and guttural roars provided everything the Slayer could have wanted and more. These remaining Imps impulsively leapt forward, two on either of his flanks, with claws outstretched and wicked dagger-like teeth bared. A whitish red foam trailed from the corners of their craggy lips as the hellish plane's natural luminescence reflected off the bloody water's surface and brought out a malevolent sparkle in their eyes. Eyes, windows to the soul, were so full of vim and vigor. If you could not discern the level of life and resolve a man had through the manner in which he carried himself, then one need look no further than the eyes. And, oh, how the Doom Slayer longed to watch every last scrap of the light drain from those damned infernal windows. In said fleeting moments, he knew the sick delight such a sight brought him would make him forget the horrors of years, decades, whole centuries past.  Firmly stamping one foot through the thick and partially coagulated ick, he launched himself up and above the blood just in time to use one of the lunging demons' heads as a makeshift foothold. He felt the others' claws find purchase on his legs but otherwise paid it no mind. The searing pain that resulted from their sharp digits digging through the armor and biting into flesh only goaded him to keep going. He forced the fiend's head down as the muscles in his leg extended, the other's coiling in the fleeting moment it left the muddy ground below the bloody liquid. Then, as the Imp began flowing through the motions of falling flat on its face, the Doom Slayer brought his opposite leg up to plant his foot onto the knotty small of its back before using the inclining springboard to propel himself several meters up in the air; the profane denizen subject to the bastion's nigh indomitable strength vehemently lodged into the soggy soil below. A resulting shower of dazzling sparks sprayed out from where the Imps' claws were effectively ripped out from the suit, leaving decent piercings all along the lower torso.  Once up in the air, he used the momentum to pivot around and directed the hilt of his blade down at the cluster of demons. The glowing crimson hue dimmed until the Argent Energy no longer extended from the handle's mouth. Then, with a twitch of the finger, a nearly inaudible click heralded a shift in the weapon he brandished. Its flowery cross-guard receded and stowed themselves away in micro-compartments hidden along the handle, and once exposed the entire item began to change. At first, it split itself in half, horizontally, with a seam along the pristine metal, and then another seam vertically divided the shaft in an incredulously lopsided manner. Several jets of heat-saturated air spewed from the vertical crease, heralding a sudden split along the aforementioned line. While the back half remained unaffected, the two larger halves extended forward until they formed a perfect sixty-degree angle. Then the upper halves of the back tilted back before extending and fitting into sockets that were once hidden within the make of the armor’s wristguards.  The open slit that permitted the blade portion to protrude shifted, moving from the top to the middle of the side and then producing several spindly appendages that sluggishly rotated around the mouth. Each resembling the spinners used in tandem with a spider's silk gland. When it was all said and done, it bore an uncanny semblance to a crustacean's claw.  From the opening emanated a distinct crimson fiery glow, of which expanded and expanded until the spinners pierced the expanding orb and began to manipulate its shape, bending and stretching the energy into a plethora of different three-dimensional objects, squares and stars to name a few, until the emanation resembled a tangled spiderweb. Once its final dimensions were determined, the orifice it secreted from emitted an intangible force which compelled the intricate webbing of Argent to propel countless small pellets from the accumulated mass.  The droves of smoldering crimson pellets cleaved through the air, leaving a visible trail where the ether was pushed aside for a moment before they collapsed in on themselves. They peppered the rippling liquid of the bloody lake, impacting and detonating against both the disturbed surface and the fiendish Imps. Each projectile tore through the muscle and flesh of the demons like tissue paper, shed their boiling alien ichor like tens of water balloons with each audible pop, blew holes into the already perturbed bloody liquid, and melted their barbed bones like molasses in a microwave. One of the abhorrent things lost more than half of its mass from the merciless onslaught; another had its head blown off, inch by inch, into a spray of red mist before the section connecting the lower and upper halves of its torso was literally carved away; and yet another had the meat from its hips up to its collarbone melted away until it was down to the freshest layer of the body--the stark, gore-strewn bone of the spine and rib cage.  When the red hail ceased to fall, the little that remained of the Imps collapsed into and disappeared beneath the darkening surface of the lake. And the Doom Slayer continued carrying through the air towards the remnants of the entities that meant to intercept and deal with their kind’s ultimate nemesis.

Heavy boots clomped against the crimson rock of the hellish blood lake’s center island, laden with the bodily fluids and visceral remains of the fallen. Liquid lapping at the edges of the protruding slab of slick rock was drowned out by the profane whispers of the parted portal. The Doom Slayer’s vigilant gaze was steadfast, wholly locked upon the grisly sight of the altar and its damnable congregation of priests. Yet these gaunt, hovering and cloaked creatures failed to acknowledge his advent. So entranced by the task at hand were they--not even the disappearance of their guardians reached their apprehension.   Sauntering up to the circle of Archviles, his hand tightened its grip upon the hilt of his blade. Memories surfaced for but a moment before he forced them back down. This was no place to recall such things.  Pacing around them for a moment, the Slayer stopped behind the apparent leader of the assembly. This one’s back faced the portal it and its cabal tore asunder. He glanced back and examined the rift for a moment, fruitlessly trying to peer through the pitch black atmosphere which laid beyond. Then his gaze returned to the priests and their fiendish rite. Once again he felt his grip coil ever tighter upon his instrument of death, but he stayed his rage--now wasn’t the time to enact justice upon the wicked. Not until he dealt with the incursion beyond, that is. Otherwise, the world beyond would be left to deal with the droves of demons on its own.  He approached the altar with a slow, meticulous gait as the hilt he held shifted to its projectile mode. The many spindles of the device, from a ball of Argent energy, wove a vast and intricate scarlet web. Upon completion, the Slayer stuck this pulsing web of condensed Argent onto the center of the sacrilegious tabernacle, allowing it to idly draw from the profane energy the Archviles focused into maintaining the portal. Then he turned and marched off, towards the dimensional gateway.  Striding through the rift, the Doom Slayer felt something he’d forgotten countless millennia ago--coldness. The air of the foreign dimension suffused his heated armor with its frigid touch, icy fingers wriggling their way through the cracks and gaps of the material and brushing against his irritated skin. And the ubiquitous illumination which lit up the whole of Hell stayed back at the border between its own plane of existence and the other. Now only the light of the pale moon overhead cut through the mundane dark of night.  Looking around, he found himself standing at the back of the partially dispersed legion of demons which charged through the spatial opening. Said gate seemed to have parted and led into the center of the ruined and dilapidated remains of a city intersection. It reeked of sulfur and putrid body odor. The cacophony of the fiends’ discord shattered the serene silence, their abhorrent cries and devil tongue insulting his ears with their mere presence. And this horde of fiends, headed by the tower of muscle that was their decorated lord, congregated around an area like the onlooking audience of an arena stadium.  The demons shouted and cried out in their broken tongue, vile words composed of even viler sounds. An undercurrent of echoing pops and thunderous cracks intermingled with the occasional clash and clatter of metal was present. He picked out few words amid the chaos, the profane tongue of the damned still alien to his ears. “Death!”, “Weaklings!”, “Soft-flesh!” and “Hatchlings!” were but a few. And rising from the fiends’ discourse were the voices of unseen individuals, their high-pitch indicating youth and possible femininity from all but one, and they shouted to one another in yet another language he could not understand. Every so often--a pained cry emitted from one of the several voices.  Memories forced their way to the surface in a violent fury.  The young and the infantile cried out.  Whimpering children met his ears.  An unbridled rage was set free.

The Slayer lunged at the first unfortunate daemon to fall under his red scrutiny, and with the rippling strength of a thousand men, he plunged either hand deep into the flabby folds of flesh that made up its back. His sword clattered to the cement underfoot. The mancubus’ glutinous jaw parted to unveil its gratuitous rows of yellowed, crooked teeth before loosing a thick guttural roar in agony. So shrill was the pain, its crescendo rose above the voices of its peers and garnered the attention of all but their repugnant lord. All combat ceased as the once combatants turned and watched the Slayer’s vehement display unfold.  Only the sounds of the past reached his ears, though, and the writhing fiend’s insufferable screeching did nothing to ease the burden pressing down upon the interior of his skill. He bellowed an enraged sound which drowned out even the mancubus, one that chilled the blackened souls of any demon who was unlucky enough to hear it, before digging the tip of his right boot onto the small of his victim’s back and jerking himself up onto its fat shoulders.  It’s one bulbous eye flicked up to gawk in horror.  He dug his armored digits into the abomination’s meaty neck and yanked back, ripping the weighty head off its shoulders in a messy display of tearing tendons and stretching strips of fatty flesh, like plucking an egg from the nest. Its spine followed after. Jets of crimson ichor spewed forth like a fountain, the rupturing of skin and bone grotesque in its resounding audibility. Then its cries were silenced forever more. And yet the eye still stared, blinking once. Its tongue lolled out of its disgusting maw and hung limp to the side. The body staggered a single step forward, naught more than a dead twitch, before falling to its wrinkled flabby knees and collapsing to the ground.  The fiendish audience was left speechless, too shell-shocked for words.  Using the spine as a grip, the last bastion reared back and lobbed the freed head across the vast distance to the center of the horde. It slammed against the back of the aberration’s muscled neck with a wet smack--caving in and exploding like a bloody water balloon upon impact.  Body tensing and standing at attention, the wicked lord raised his head and threw a glance behind. The glowing red embers that were its eyes fell upon the visage hell priests carved into the rock as a warning to all. A warning the lord never treated with even a modicum of seriousness. Its angular brow inched up, a furry caterpillar resting above its eyes, as a smirk spread across its vile lips. Jagged yellowed daggers lined up against one another as several rows in its mouth. An amused mien sat heavy on its cocksure countenance. The demon about-faced and extended its left arm and hand, gesturing to the Slayer.  “Unchained Predator,” it greeted in its hissing, haughty tone. “It’s fortunate you’ve come--for me, not so much for you.”  The horrid thing had an incessant habit of chewing on nothing, affecting its hoarse and gravelly voice in an odd manner. Almost like it always spoke while eating.  A throaty laugh curled past its pierced, craggy lips. “I had planned to beget the favor of my lord by subjugating this insignificant plane, but with you here, why--there’s no end to the praise I shall receive!” Its arms spread out in a grand gesticulation. “I shall ascend above this demeaning station I have been cast into!” It gazed up at the ever-reaching black sky and spun around in a circle, inch by inch. “And then I shall receive all that I rightly deserve! All shall bend the knee to me! I, Tapnuilohr, Slayer of the Hellwalker, shall be feared! I shall become a Lord of Sin!!”  The Slayer reached down and plucked a chunk of rubble off the debris-strewn ground.  “And it all starts--” it faced the man anew “with your dea-”  Rage pulled the Slayer’s arm back, clutching the debris, and then drove him to yank the same arm forward. The ruined concrete surged out of his hand, whistling through the dark ether faster than the eye could track. Once thrown, Tapnuilohr’s speech was cut abrupt when the improvised projectile ran through one of its beady black eyes. The quasi-lord’s hand shot up to cover the now scarlet leaking mess of black jelly which struggled to remain in its small concave bowl. It growled and bellowed in anguish, akin to the grinding of rocks, as the force behind the debris sent it backpedaling several steps. Each thunderous thud of its cloven feet punctuating the ephemeral pauses for breath between each pained roar. Once it composed itself, though, the fiend threw a furious one-eyed leer at the expressionless slate of the Slayer’s helm.  “Impudent whelp, you heap of filth!” It rose the hand not covering its mashed eye and jabbed a clawed digit in his direction. “End him!!”  And while the terror the Unchained Predator’s presence, alone, invoked--the fear of disobeying their lord, as well as the courage imparted through their immense numbers, overrode any and all reluctance in their sinful little minds.  When the ire of the horde shifted from the youths, who had yet to make themselves known, everything save for the oncoming daemons faded away. The lightless ether burned a fiery crimson, singeing the edges of the bastion’s vision with the muddled shadows of the past. Chaotic and boisterous, the resounding discord of the damned intermingled with the echoes of lives and people long since returned to dust that nipped at his perception. Boiling blood coursed through his veins. Either hand clenched and squeezed until his knuckles were white. Wispy lines of dark red trailed up out from the gaps and seams of his helm and its faceplate, and a thick shadow descended upon him, darkening and blurring the features of his armor like a shroud. A nigh-tangible miasma of wrath and ruin permeated from his very presence. And then a fleeting moment of lucidity washed over him, allowing a familiar voice to cut through the blistering rage.  <Rip and tear, until it is done.>  Then his blinding anger returned, more vehement than before.

Leaping through the air, a Hell Knight held its meaty fist above its head as Argent accumulated around it in a wreath of green flame. It was exceptionally foolhardy.  The Slayer reared back and threw his fist forward. It connected with the abominable knight’s in a vehement crack of spasmodic resistance. Then the condensed Argent dispersed across his bracers, charring the metal. Bodily fluids sprayed out from rupturing veins and tearing flesh, bone splintered and peeled back like a banana peel as momentum carried the fiend’s outstretched limb through the immovable pillar of rock that was the man’s fist. It was like several layers of rolled up tissue paper being thrust against the razor edges of two crisscrossed blades. And once the creature’s arm had been peeled open up to its shoulder, a profuse explosion of ichor painted the surroundings.  It landed with a heavy thud, fell to one knee and clawed at the gaping stump of its arm. The metallic sting of blood weaved its way into his nostrils. An agonized bellow crawled up its throat. Not one to miss a beat, the Slayer pivoted. He drove the knife-edge of his heel into the small of the fiend’s back. The crack of bone resounded as the abomination now bent at an unnatural angle. It fell over dead.  Several shrill voices screamed from all around. He turned and swung the same bloodied battering ram. Its wide arch caught the closest of his new assailants. Red and green and grey fluids sprayed out from the once-head of the Imp. The gore splattered across a small mound of debris.  The hammering of his heart roared in his ears, challenging the cries of the horde for supremacy.  A paltry weight slammed into his back. He could feel the tearing of flesh between his shoulder blades and along his right shoulder. The infernal mass latched onto him, sinewy legs wrapped around his waist. It slashed and scratched at the metal and the flesh it protected.  Before he could reach up and take hold of the pathetic thing’s head, the squealing of a third demon drew nigh. Still spinning with the momentum of his prior swing, he’d come face to face with the pink bull so many fiends considered a delicacy.  The Pinky rushed him, its great tusked maw ajar, and plowed head-first into his solar plexus. It was like bashing your head into a pillar of solid iron. A grunt forced its way past his clenched jaw. His breathing had been disturbed following the collision, and he fought to retain whatever air he had in his lungs at the time. Strength drained from the muscles in his legs, giving up several inches of ground to the demon’s brazen charge. Pain bloomed from his shoulders and back.  He steeled himself and dragged air down into his lungs, the sound reminiscent of a throaty croak. Then he dug the heels of his boots into the fractured asphalt. One of the Imp’s hands slapped and grabbed onto the visor of his helmet. He thrashed his head back and forth. An ear-splitting cacophony rose up from the conflicting forces. Bits and pieces of black rock sputtered out from where the metal broke through, vivid sparks cascading from the points of contact. Their movement ground to a halt.  The Slayer shot his curled fist up and brained the piggy-backing Imp. A carousel of stars spun before its eyes. He then pounded the same hand against the Pinky’s forehead once, twice, and thrice. Its skull caved in with a wet sucking sound. Either of its luminous scarlet eyes bugged out, eyelids going slack. A thick pink mass lolled out of its mouth. But it wasn’t enough.  Seizing its two lower tusks, he sucked down another breath of air as he began straining his forearms in opposite directions. The splitting of flesh and whining of the sow met the Slayer’s ears. Pinkish blood spurted out from the waxing fissure dividing the Pinky’s head down the middle. Its whining crescendos, replaced with frantic squealing and gurgling. Bone strained and cracked until finally giving way and breaking in two. Then muscle and sinew and ligaments followed right after. Finally, the seam wrenched ajar like a banana peel--shattering a jar of pinkish red ink and splashing its contents everywhere.  Its once whole tongue was hewn in twain, swaying this way and that as ichor trickled down the tips like leaky faucets. What minuscule grey matter its skull guarded now dangled by its stem. The Pinky’s body fell limp and crumpled into a puddle of its own blood.  With his hands freed, the Slayer jerked his shoulders back. The spasmodic motion loosened the sure grip of the rider. He reached back and took hold of the aberration’s collar, digging each finger into the skin and around the bone. A single yank of his arm ripped the Imp off his back. The anguish of its claws being torn out stung him like insect bites.  The scrawny creature flipped up and over his head. He threw his first up and clasped the side of its hip. It lurched to a stop above the Slayer’s head. An immediate jerk of his arms wrenched the body down. Taking a knee, he smashed the center of the Imp’s back against the edge of his thigh. A crack heralded the shattering of its spine. Its body twitched and convulsed several times before the tension dribbled out of every muscle. Then he shunted the limp weight away.  Standing up with a roll of the shoulders, the Slayer flexed either arm and clenched his fingers. The muscle-bound tree trunks strained beneath the armor. His eyes narrowed, sweeping across the legion surrounding him in a red haze. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as air flooded and vacated his lungs in spasmodic breaths.  Each demon surrounding him hesitated, reluctant to tempt Fate like their fellows did. But this did naught to diminish the Hellwalker’s tireless fury.  He took a long drag of the air before throwing his arms to either side and howled into the night, head tilted back and raised towards the sky. The vehement, resounding bellow reminded the fiends of fear, of terror and dread. And as it reached Tapnuilohr’s ears, echoing throughout the whole of the ruins, the cacophony of a nearby collapsing building dwarfed the vocal testament to rage for but a moment.  The Unchained Predator had only just begun to slaughter.

Tapnuilohr enjoyed toying with mortal insects, took a sick pleasure in it, and as such was especially fond of playing with the five unfortunate souls he and his horde encountered straight out of the rift. Not even the advent of a nuisance such as the Doom Slayer could detract from such bliss. After said individual arrived, he left the matter in the hands of his peons and continued toying with the only of the five mortals still standing.  Bartholomew Oobleck--the name of the man barely holding himself together. It was the one he knew, that is. Who knew if his four concubines’ prater heard before each subsequently fell unconscious was to be believed? And this mere man, this Bartholomew, proved quite entertaining. For, unlike the other four, his albeit frail frame had withstood far more punishment. Not only that but his every attack hit harder than the women. As such, more of the whelps Tapnuilohr called followers met their end by his hand. Thus the fiend took particular interest in the man once all four of his mistresses fell.  Prior and proceeding the Slayer’s advent, Tapnuilohr toyed with Bartholomew. He batted the insignificant man this way and that like a rag doll, guffawing all the while. Yet whenever he was knocked down, he stood back up onto shaky feet. Every time his meaty ham of a fist slammed into the other’s side or his tree trunk cloven feet cracked the man across the cheek, he struggled back up to his feet.  No matter the attack, no matter the thunderous show of strength, Bartholomew refused to stay down.  However, no entertainment lasted for as long as you’d want it to. In this case, the Doom Slayer’s unwillingness to lay down his life like a good dog spoiled the daemon’s fun--just as Tapnuilohr had just begun to squash the man beneath his foot, too.  A cacophony rose up from the collapsing building and a tidal wave of dust nipped at the sound’s heels. Tapnuilohr eased up on Bartholomew, stepping back and throwing his gaze over his shoulder. What faint moonlight there was dissipated as the dark brown cloud engulfed the whole scene. But this discord paled in comparison, not but a moment after, to the bellowing roar of the Doom Slayer. On and on it dragged, reaching up and piercing the high heavens with his vehement fury. Those with little spine among the assembly were shunted to the ground, quivering like maggots.  The dense haze of debris did little to obscure the baron’s vision, his smoldering pupils cutting through the screen to rest upon the enraged disposition of the Unchained Predator. Gore decorated his armor like a litany of war medals, and blood painted the metal a new hue. Slowly but surely, the cloud began to disperse and settle onto the craggy ground.  Dust and debris stuck to the ichor-splattered suit, dying him a muddy maroon.  Two blazing, seething scarlet orbs bled out from the ocular region of the helmet.  The insignia emblazed upon his forehead and the back of each hand glowed with the same fiery intensity.  Wispy trails of red curled up towards the sky from either orb.  A black shadow seemed to perpetually cling to him, muddling his features.  Hate and fear exuded from him in profuse waves, each nigh-tangible.  Every demon amassed around him took an instinctive step back, unadulterated terror etched into their visages. And for all his bravado and gumption, when faced with Hell’s boogeyman, Tapnuilohr was no better than a sniveling wimp. But he couldn’t allow his underlings to see him in such a state, not to mention allow them to defy him due to one man--no matter how horrifying.  “You pathetic whelps!” he bellowed, shifting and turning around from Bartholomew. “He is but one man--he bleeds just like you lot!”  The fiends looked from their master back to the Slayer several times, finding themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place. And Tapnuilohr knew he was losing control of the situation, and that fact infuriated him to no ends.  Fear gave way to overriding rage as he stomped forward, tossing aside imps like rag dolls with each thunderous step. His cloven feet cracked the asphalt, his clawed fingers balled up into ham-sized fists. The terror of the man’s presence skirted the edges of his apprehension, probing the margins of his psyche as red blinded him. Dark green energy began to coalesce around either fist like a raincoat, crackling and popping when exposed to the cold atmosphere. His eyes, akin to smoldering coals, glowered with unadulterated hate.  The Slayer’s gaze did not shift or waver for even a moment, further infuriating the Baron.  “You think just because you’ve frightened the dreams of sniveling babes, you scare me?!” he roared not but ten long steps away from the other. “I am Tapnuilohr, do you hear me! Tapnuilohr the Bloody-handed! And you will kneel before me in fe--”  The darkened form of the Hellwalker blurred and in the fraction of a second, he was hurtling towards the Baron’s head. Whatever bravado his indignation invoked drained from his visage, just like the now ice cold blood. Death incarnate had launched itself at his head without so much as acknowledging the insignificant, hollow threats which spilled from his mouth. And as the mere foot distance which now separated them dwindled like the individual granules of sand in an hourglass, Tapnuilohr came to the startling realization of just how small he was compared to the Scourge of Hell.  But a final moment of defiance flared up inside him.

Feeling the immense weight of the abhorrent abomination lift up off of his person, Bartholomew made an effort to pick himself up off the asphalt. The world was a fuzzy mishmash of unfocused lines and partially blurred shapes--he’d lost his glasses at some point during the confrontation. Yet the chorus of carnage and putrid stench of death continued to come in as clear as a picture taken of a transparent waterfall on a cloudless sunny day. This included the anguish which set his entire body aflame.  He hadn’t expected to encounter these appalling entities here in the ruined city--there should have only been Grim and potential criminals on the mountain. Those he’d been prepared for, those he felt the girls could deal with. But not this. Especially not with the sheer number that poured out from the bizarre rift that parted the ether before them.  They were surrounded and overran. It was inexorable. However, he thought for sure they’d have been able to escape before anyone was badly injured. So he either overestimated the team’s abilities or he underestimated their unknown enemies. Or was it due to the lackadaisical nature of Ruby? The bullheaded aggression of Yang? Maybe the overweening of Weiss? Perhaps Blake’s hypocrisy and the resultant friction it begets in the group as a whole? Whatever the reasons, they were in their current situation and no amount of retrospection would get them out of it.  Thankfully, whatever higher powers that might be deemed it appropriate to interrupt the apparent leader of the abominations, before it could deal a finishing blow. Whoever this individual was--the entities trembled in their presence, whereas they laughed and guffawed when faced with the girls and himself. And for a moment, this terror even spread to the leader.  But then it stomped forward, bellowing its language of grating vowels and harsh consonants as it approached the armored man. He couldn’t understand the reasoning behind this entity’s sudden aggression, they both witnessed the sheer ferocity and brutality of the man--albeit less so for himself due to his circumstances. Yet the sheer contempt which radiated from the thing was nigh palpable, seconded only to the murderous aura which exuded from the individual’s presence.  As it towered over the man, though, Bartholomew wondered just how the fight might go. He overpowered the abominations which heeded the beckon and call of the great behemoth that led them, but they were not like their leader. It was of a power that far exceeded the peons it surrounded itself with. Was it more than the new arrival could handle?  The professor squinted and tried to focus his vision on the fuzzy silhouette of the armored man. A sudden sensation washed over his body, causing goosebumps to crop up all across his skin. For a moment, it seemed as if the whole world’s breathing hitched in his presence. One might describe it as the cosmic position of the planet being displaced several centimeters in response to some unseen force giving way to an insurmountable power. In a split second, where the individual once stood was naught but empty space; just like that, he was gone. Then he watched a baffling scene play out as if caught in molasses.  With a deafening crack, the lumbering abomination drove a fist into the side of its left knee, bending the joint at an unnatural angle, and jerked his entire body in the same direction. Gravity yanked it to the ground, and the sudden change in position narrowly saved it from oncoming death as the same individual rocketed past its head with a shower of shards and ichor. His momentum carried him ways away from the target, pulling him to the pavement with an ear-piercing crack. The sudden solidity of the earth did little to jar the stalwart bastion of metal and strength; he began to skid across the asphalt, deep runnels through the black asphalt trailing behind him. And after a moment, he came to a gradual stop directly in front of Bartholomew--clutching one of the curved horns of the behemoth in a gauntleted hand like a child’s toy.  There was a piercing keening noise, then, which emanated from the entity as it pawed at the stump its right horn had been reduced to. A trail of stomach-churning fluids stained the asphalt. But the truly grisly sight to behold was the individual.  The proximity made the murderous intent and vehement fury exuding from his mere presence as thick as molasses. It was arduous to breathe when exposed to such an overwhelming aura. His eyes moved from the professor to each of the students, and then back to himself. This begot a single thought in Oobleck’s mind: “Was the enemy of my enemy truly my friend?” Yet when the man’s gaze shifted up from the concrete and onto him, there was an overt lack of interest. Nay, not a lack of interest--rather no aggression, no directed hostility. In fact, it felt like those glowing coals hovering over the eye slits of his helmet didn’t even register Bartholomew’s existence.  Despite all that, though, a sliver of empathy trickled out from the abyss of rage and hate that had swallowed the individual whole.

If the confounded demon hadn’t shown such a brazen act of defiance, his death may have been swift--one does not usually experience much anguish when the entirety of their head was splattered across the ground. But in skirting around the Slayer’s trajectory, Tapnuilhor sealed his fate.  He skids to a halt before a thin, scholarly man who was still collapsed on the black ground. The four women he saw not but several moments prior were on the ground, unconscious and likely bleeding out. Inside him, the inferno brought his blood to a broil. But when his gaze rested upon the relatively well-dressed man, bloodied and yet refusing to stay down, the fire waned for but a moment. And in the lessened oven of hate, memories of times long gone resurfaced anew. Had he been as strong as this man, then perhaps...  But there was no time to further the thought--the keening of the fiend reinvigorated the flame. He stepped back and reeled with the horn clutched in hand. The machinations in his mind turned the shearn appendage into a missile, a razor-sharp boomerang ready to spill the blood of the wicked.  Spinning around in one fluent motion, the Slayer heaved the horn and flung it forward at an arc. It was similar to watching a chakram being thrown as the tip whipped around and around like a saw blade. The sheer force with which it split the air begot a high-pitched whining noise as it careened its way into a crowd of fiends. Much like throwing a wrapped package of meat into a wood-chipper, it was a bloodbath.  Ichor sprayed out like a set of showers in a locker room, each body caught in the horn’s path torn to ribbons as if in a grinder. It was all the same in the red tint of his vision. The object even impaled a few on its length, carrying each with it as momentum launched it into one of the many ruined structures of the city. A great upheaval resounded throughout the many streets as cement and metal crunched, broke and were sundered. Then a cloud of smoke poured out from the very same building, bleeding out and suffusing the area in all directions. It was like a smoke screen, it grated eyes and irritated nostrils as both’s respective sense became muddled.  Not the Slayer’s, though--whether due to his helmet or the lust, he knew where his prey resided. The red of his vision almost highlighted each one, his smoldering pupils piercing through the haze. And perhaps it was for that very reason that the now outlined demons began to flee. They turned tail en masse before dashing back towards the portal, some in other directions, each scrambling or pushing or trampling over one another--all to get as far away from their waking nightmare as possible. Primal instincts working at their finest. But those who didn’t run for the rift met with a terrible demise.  The man darted to each animated bag of meat, always leaving behind an afterimage wherever his movement waned enough for the mortal eye to track. It’d be like a flashlight flicking on and off to anyone watching from the sidelines. One second a fiend was alive and standing, then they were a pile of gore the next. No one saw the bastion land a single blow, let alone the one that killed; all but the ephemeral afterthought of his presence was a blur of motion.  As he carried out his work, the sound of a large mass scrapping along the asphalt reached his ears. Then a voice exclaimed, “Cowards! The lot of you!” broke through the cacophony of battle. Despite its brave front, the owner could not hide the quaver and desperation in its tone. “Not fit for the maggot heaps, all of you! Each and every one, you’ll know what it truly means to be in pain when I’m through with you!”  He stopped dead in his tracks, remnants of a summoner’s head clenched in one hand like a shredded rag. Glancing to the side, Tapnuilhor was what he saw. Crumpled to the ground, prone and shouting out to those fleeing past it, with one clawed handheld to its snapped knee and the other inching along the ground, the thing was dragging itself along the ground. It, too, moved towards the opening. The haughty always kept blowing hot air, even after being brought low.  A tight frown creased his split lips.  Uncurling his fingers and shaking the wads of red, white and gray from the nooks of his gauntlets, he stepped to the side and settled his eyes on the abomination. A sneer would have contorted his visage had Hell not already ingrained a perpetual hating scowl and furious frown upon it. He took one step forward, then a long stride and another. The still stagnant veil of dust could not save Tapnuilhor from his wrath, nothing could.  It must have heard the heavy falls of his boots because the chastising was quick to turn to pleas for help and its pace picked up. Whatever concern it had for its limb went out the window, now using both arms to pull itself along. Even with both arms, though, it’d never reach the portal before their paths intersected. His strides were too long and far too fast. The great, lopsided head snapped back and forth with fretful frequency, the one good beady black orb of its face dripping with dread.  “Waitwaitwait!!” cried Tapnuilhor. “Oh, Great and Mighty Slayer of All That Is,, please bequeath the sniveling, undeserving maggot that is I your mercy!”  He continued to tromp.  “I-I can help you! Yes, yes even someone as lowly and undeserving as I can aid you in your conquest of the Umbral Plane! I have more use alive than dead!!”  He brought up either fist, clenching his knuckles until they audibly popped.  “O-or-or--or...! I-I-I can get you anything! Anything at all, for I am a Baron, no one can question my requests! Name your price and I’ll--I’ll...!”  With a crack of bone, the Slayer planted the sole of his boot into the base of the demon’s neck. It was pinned, now, under his sheer strength. Then he began stepping up and onto the whole of its girth.  “Anything, I’ll give you anything!!” Its voice was noticeably constricted. “Please don’t--”  The Hellwalker reached for and took hold of the creature’s only other horn, yanking it back. His crimson orbs, the ones bleeding from the slits in his helm, met with the terrified gaze of Tapnuilhor. Its facial features twisted in fright, grimacing and desperate to shrink out from under his glare as the color drained away. Each finger curled around the bone until several thin, web-like fissures stretched out from the points of contact. The demon howled but was cut off by his other hand jerking for and grabbing the upper half of its jaw, digits digging into the roof of its maw and knuckles pushing back the thick slab of meat that was its tongue. Then three low, hoarse words crept out from the lower region of his helm--a series of sounds so clear that they were the only thing it could hear, even amid the rest of the world’s noise.  “Give them back.”  Brimming with venom, his was a curt statement that heralded the Baron’s demise.  He wrenched his hand back. It, the mouth’s roof, gave way like liquid candy. Crimson sprayed out as sinew and veins stretched, snapping and spurting bodily fluids. Eventually, flecks and globs of dark jade green began mingling with the hues of red as the nasal cavity burst open and added its own ichor to the shower. Then the black jelly of the eyes and their stringy, twine-like optic nerves joined the fray as he continued to tear. Soon his hand reached the forehead, to which he responded by yanking the opposite hand perpendicular to the direction said mitt had been carving. His fingers plunged in and shattered the bony barrier of its cranium due to the shift, causing him to scoop out a handful of gray matter and fragments of white bone as the appendage emerged anew from the top of its skull.  Then Tapnuilhor’s body fell limp, its ruined head being the only part held up off the asphalt. Once finished, he released the horn, huffing before stepping off the neck. Looking around, the Slayer saw several stragglers from the prior slaughter. They were using the environment to cover distance faster than they would just by running. Meanwhile, the droves that decided to flee for the portal back home were avoiding him as they dashed past, circling around where he stood. Treating him as if he was a plague carrier.  The cloud started to disperse in the rolling wind. He could still make out the fiend farthest away, see it scaling a small building far off, and it was entirely possible that he could reach it, too, in a matter of a few seconds or so. And he wanted to, oh how he wanted to feel each demonic bone crack and blood vessel pop in the palms of his hands. But as his body readied to spring back into action, a calming voice drawled in his head and broke the epinephrine high.  <Time is of the essence, my champion.>  His head rose up and oscillated all around. Without the red haze, he spotted the altar and a few of the priests among the fiendish bodies. The evergrowing orb of Argent, too, was in sight. It was a timed detonating emanation of his blade, one which was reaching the end of its fuse. And once it exploded, the rift would seal--forever.  So he glanced around at the man and unconscious girls, scrutinizing them. In his moment of clarity, he truly acknowledged the fact that they hadn’t been torn limb from limb before he got there. Not only that, but for one to still be clinging to life and consciousness after being reduced to a plaything of a Baron? Such a feat wasn’t something to be taken lightly, especially by him of all people. Hell and its denizens were no pushovers, after all. Though they were certainly in no condition to fight anymore, nor did the man on his own stand much of a chance, but if there were more people like them in this dimension? Then he felt confident that what few abominations survived and fled to elsewhere in this world could be dealt with without him.  About facing the prone man who was staring back at him. The Slayer made a quick gesture, knocking his fist against his chest thrice, bidding his fellow warrior goodbye and good luck. Before finally turning around anew to charge for the rift and fiendish droves, snatching up his tool from the ground and placing it where it’d normally reside.  Then the haze returned and his hands extended this way and that. Chunks of meat and a mist of ichor were left behind with each fallen corpse. Hell’s sweltering heat gradually interposed itself over the welcomed chill of night, bit by bit, each intense wave begetting memories of aeons past.  A tight frown creased his mouth.  Reinvigorated was the now sundered horde’s clamor at the sight of their monster giving chase. Some lashed out with claws, tooth or projectiles from sheer desperation. They met their fate headlong by his prompt retaliations. And those unfortunate enough to be within his proximity suffered a similar end. Those that remained scattered to the four winds, wading through the lake and towards the walls of the bowl.  While popping out a Hell Knight’s head and spine, the Slayer could hear a shrill whining. It originated, he found, from the Argent orb. The condensed scarlet ball now hovered a foot off the top of the altar, an undulating spider’s web of the same energy spread out from the center point and siphoning all it could from the available sources. If a manifestation could be bulging, burgeoning like a mouth filled to bursting with water, to be engorged, then this was certainly what it’d look like. As such, since he last saw it, its size had increased close to a hundredfold. Now it was whining, throbbing and pulsating as it struggled to contain what it’d already garnered.  It wouldn’t be long before the sphere reached critical mass.  The Slayer spun the head by its spinal column, overhead like a sling, and cast the whole thing to the closest of its brethren. It collided with a wet smack, caving in against the demon’s collar and dazing it for a moment.  Behind, the whining crescendoed into an exponential shriek as waves of energy made his hair stand on end.  He dashed towards the fiend, corpse in tow. Then, in an instant, the dead body was flung at the Knight like a doll. Their impact knocked the wind out of the still breathing one, as well as its balance--the momentum carrying both several yards back, together.  Shrieking turned to screeching and the rolling tide of energy caused the air to crackle and pop.  Just like a shadow, the man was already behind the two bodies. He reached out and wrapped either arm around the jumbled mess of limbs and torsos, tensing his legs for but a moment. Then he dug his feet into the ground before jumping back with all his might in the moment that followed. After, he tucked both legs up and behind his protective wall of meat, letting the immense speed of their collective bodies take him along for the ride.  There was an abrupt sound from the Knight before the deafening bellow of an eruption silenced the world.  What was felt in the waves before were droplets dripping into a lid compared to the deluge of the full release. The blood-red rock of the island was rent in all directions. An immense surge of force scattered chunks of debris and bodies alike, ravaging those unfortunate enough to be on the island to naught but viscera and scorching their flesh and the stone black with superheated air. This blistering heat ate its way through the protective metal around his arms, singing the hair and burning his skin. And even through the bulk of the two Knights, the Slayer could feel the Argent’s power like a punch to the gut. His only saving grace was the distance put between himself and it before the detonation and the very mass of the shields in front of him.  The wind screamed in unison with the world as both whipped past his helmed ears. He could hear the discord of the lake’s blood as it was tossed around by physics, rolling and lapping and trying to combat the explosive force while also attempting to fill in the new gaps and spaces opened up to it. An odd shift in the ether occurred, one which overcame the eruption’s disturbance, and unsettled the man.  When the ball exploded, the resulting force caused the rift to collapse--that’s how he always closed the portals. And when it did, it was like reality had begun coughing and hacking vehemently. The entire world always seemed to drop an inch from its resting place. He’d feel an ephemeral vertigo of sorts, an inward sucking that left him colder on the inside than before. Then everything reorientated itself to the new settings and it’d all fade. It just wasn’t something you could just adjust to.  And when things did normalize, he and what remained of the Knights’ bodies skipped once across the lake’s surface. The sudden loss of momentum was jarring and broke his grip on them. Chunks of meat dispersed and he began tumbling, end over end, through the air. Despite the adrenaline numbing his body, of which wanned bit by bit, the detonation compounded by the water’s smack left his everything throbbing in pain.  Then he skipped across the blood for the second time.  And then a third.  A fourth.  Fifth and sixth and seventh, each closer together than the last.  Two more skips later, he finally lost inertia’s drive and was left floating face down in the ichor after slamming into the surface. Half conscious, he was fighting against the inexorable crash to stay awake. The taste of burnt copper was against his tongue and on his lips, both his own and not of his. And the lake’s water lapped at his armor, seeping through the gaps. Then the perpetual light of the Umbral Plane was blotted out by an immense shadow.  He glanced above, neck aching as it craned, and saw the source--a spinning hunk of island debris the size of a small building. And it was already three or so feet away from colliding. It was the last thing he saw before blacking out.

All the Slayer knew, then, was black. Perpetual dark pervading an endless void in which he floated, listless. Emotion and thought had no place here, no meaning, nor did things such as direction or substance or time. He, too, had no purpose. No reason to be or amount to anything beyond a formless congregation of self cast adrift amid the abyss.  Was this death? Had he finally carried out his penance for all the sins committed in a time long since gone? Could he be free of the shame that befell him from transgressions past? Or did his eternal damnation for said acts come to plague him in the afterlife, too? If it had, then the man was at peace with his fate. To never be forgiven and lost among the nothing of death for eternity--it seemed a fitting punishment. Better to not beget memories of old to those lives he forfeited aeons ago, anyhow.  Then, where naught should have been, he felt pain.  Burning anguish.  A lone flower leading the charge of a whole field in bloom.  Then came a voice, stern and familiar.  <Rise--your work is still not through.>  Next was a flash, then the dark was gone. Replacing it was a less infinite black, the burn of oxygen-deprived lungs and the crushing weight of the rock as well.  Emotion and thought had purpose anew, and both returned to his psyche with one vehement and unanimous list.  Air!  Strength and feeling flooded back into his body. Each muscle and every fiber of his being contracted as one. Bracing his arms against the rock and positioning his feet beneath him after wriggling either pair out from where it pinned them, he exerted his whole body. He lifted the stone up and off the lake bed. Once he could establish his footing, he proceeded to lurch forward and propel the rock out of the blood like a missile. Nearly sweeping him off his feet again by the current that manifested from such force.  Air!  His lungs cried for air!  Without really thinking, the Slayer chose a direction and leaped towards it. Despite the dense nature of the partially congealed blood, he was still able to push through and zip up to the surface with tremendous speed.  The mallifying lake was upset anew as her burst forth from its crimson depths. Malformed and gelatinous of the ichor sprayed out in all directions. His pale blue-gray and bloodstained armor was a blur as the streaked towards one of the basin’s walls. For a moment, it felt like being in the void again, soaring through the ether. Then the scarlet steep filled the entirety of his vision, and he promptly smashed into the rock.  Gasping, he latched onto two of the stone outcroppings of the wall and began alternating between coughing, sputtering, inhaling and exhaling. Then he sucked down, even more, air, heedless of whether or not each mouthful reached its intended destination or not. Oxygen felt like a lozenge made of sandpaper going down his throat, scratching it raw yet alleviating the anguish of asphyxiation.  After a moment or two, he dug into the rock with the fingers of one hand until they were snug in the hole and found a place for either foot to rest. He released his hold of the other outcropping the opposite hand still held onto and glanced back, close to dangling off the cliff face. Far back, were the remnants of the island that the rift and altar once resided. The ichor was still trying to fill in the new gaps. A faint distortion hung in the atmosphere causing the blood beneath it to ripple. And the few stragglers of Tapnuilhor’s horde there was were wading through the lake, aimless.  Their incursion had been stopped dead in its tracks once again. And another litany of demons fell to his might. Yet it was not enough.  He swung back around and slammed his hand into the escarpment, puncturing the rock. Then he reached up to do the same with the opposite. And again with the prior, forcing each pocket to open wider with the tips of his boots as he made his way up. Thus began the ascent up the wall. He still had work to do, after all. No time to rest, not if the wicked didn’t.  On he went to finish his life’s work--there were still demons to rip and tear.

[the44thpilot]

Spark Plug, Confrontation/Reconciliation scene

Ok so I’m super excited to post this one because I’m super proud of the way the tension shakes out in the first half! I think we really get to see both Bucky’s and Eva’s worst sides here, which is always something I like exploring. The second half is pretty self indulgent because if the first half ends up in my fic, I don’t want all that conflict fizzling out in the next scene.

For context, I wanted to have Eva have a twin brother named Carter who is very manipulative and wants her to join back up with him. Basically he’s this fic’s version of Magneto. Enjoy!

As always, italicized sections aren’t italicized cuz I’m lazy :) also please excuse any typos, it’s late and I had a caffeine withdrawal headache all day.

Word Count: 1877

———-

Eva sat at the board room table, staring down at her hands as she wrung them together. Her heart thumped in her ears, threatening to induce a headache, which was the last thing she needed right now.

You did nothing wrong, she reminded herself. You don’t have anything to apologize for-

The door behind her swing open, banging into the wall. She jumped, turning in her seat to see Bucky stalk into the room. He snatched the back of the chair directly across from Eva, his dark gaze never wavering from the spot between her eyes.

An uneasy silence hung in the air like a thick fog. Eva and Bucky stared each other down, Eva’s brow furrowed in defiance and Bucky’s jaw tight with barely-hinged wrath.

Finally, after an eternity, Bucky grabbed the file that had been sitting in his lap and slapped it onto the table, letting the photographs within splay out in front of Eva. Her heart jumped a bit at the images of a totaled motorbike wrapped around a tree.

“Well?” Bucky growled, unblinking.

Eva held her gaze as well, refusing to waver. “Well, what?” she asked, cocking an eyebrow and letting a tiny smirk play on her lips.

Bucky’s nostrils flared. He jabbed a metal finger at the photo closest to her.

“That’s my bike,” he said, his voice low. Eva clenched her jaw to keep her lip from quivering; she had expected Bucky to be mad, but the look he had on his face could melt steel.

“I needed it,” she replied. Her resolve was fading faster than she had expected, and the righteous defiance she felt dissipated at an alarming rate. Stand your ground, she reminded herself.

“Needed it, huh?” Bucky nodded, tilting his head at her. “So you stole it, destroyed it, and came waltzing back in here thinking I wouldn’t fucking notice?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“Didn’t mean to?” Bucky shouted, any semblance of fake calm vaporizing in an instant. “I don’t fucking care if you meant to trash my bike, Eva! Look at this! Look at how fucking irresponsible you were!”

“Irresponsible?!” She hissed back. “I was trying to help save somebody I care about! You were the one who told me to ignore a cry for help!”

“Because it wasn’t a cry for help, Eva. It never is. Not from him.”

“You don’t know that-”

“Goddammit, Eva, Carter’s got you on a fucking leash, and you’re too blind to notice!”

“He needs me!” Eva shouted, leaping to her feet. “I’m his sister, damnit!”

“Yeah, sure, he needs you. He needs you as his muscle,” Bucky spat back. “That’s all you are to him. He doesn’t care about you! What he cares about is how many people you can hurt for him!”

“Yeah, you know all about that, don’t you?” Eva retorted, lowering her voice. “Mr. Winter Soldier.”

Bucky straightened, obviously caught off guard. “What?”

“Got my hands on your file,” she answered. “I know everything. Cold War, the Kennedys, the Starks. How long were you planning on lying to me about being a hit man for the Nazi party?”

Bucky exhaled, gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles. Eva took a few steps toward him, emboldened and spiteful. She reached Bucky in a few strides and began jabbing a finger into his chest.

“I know you’re responsible for some of the most high-profile assassinations of the last century. I know you’re a fucking murderer. So don’t you dare talk to me about hurting people.”

Bucky and Eva locked gazes once again, him towering over her and her planting her feet, refusing to move. A second of silence passed, then, in the next, Bucky lashed out and grabbed the front of Eva’s shirt, whirling her around and slamming her back into the wall making her grunt at the impact. She scratched at his metal fingers wrapped in a fist around her shirt fabric, but they didn’t budge. She could feel his breath on her face and it was all she could do not to flinch away.

“You know nothing,” he growled past gritted teeth.

He released her shirt, letting her drop to the ground and get her footing back as he gathered up the photographs from the table.

“No outside contact,” he said “Your break hours will be spent within fifty feet of either me or someone I approve. Curfew at nine-thirty.”

Eva bit the inside of her cheek. “Thought you said I wasn’t a prisoner here.”

“Keep doing shit like this, and that’ll change,” he said, waving the file in the air. With that, he grabbed the handle to the door leading into the hall and slammed the door behind him.

——–

“Get up,” Bucky growled. “Plant your feet this time. Do it again.”

With a whine of protest, Eva pulled herself from the training room mat and took her stance. Sweat dripped from her hairline, and nearly every muscle she had protested. Her and Bucky had already sparred for two hours straight this morning, and Bucky wasn’t giving any indication it would stop soon.

He rushed at her, feigning right and shoving her to the mat again.

“What did I just say to you? You’re standing with your feet too close,” he said, turning from her. “Get up, you’re doing it again.”

Eva ducked her head under her arms, curling into herself and groaning in response.

He whipped his head around to face her again. “What was that?”

“I said fuck off,” Eva answered, rolling to her knees.

Bucky clucked his tongue on his teeth, folding his arms. “Guess I did ask.”

Eva looked up at him, confused. “You’re cracking jokes now? I thought you thought I was the scum of the earth for the whole bike thing.”

“That’s what you think, huh?” Bucky said, more of a conclusion than a question. He shook his head. “No. No Eva, I don’t think you’re the scum of the earth.”

Eva sat back on her calves, waiting for the hammer to drop. “Coulda fooled me.”

“I know.” Bucky knelt to the mat, then sat back right next to Eva. “Looking back on it, that’s what it must have seemed like. But that’s not what I think of you.”

Eva cocked an eyebrow, but let him continue, wondering where he was going with this.

“Truth is, I couldn’t give a shit about the bike,” he confessed. “I mean, yeah, I’m pissed that my ride is trashed, but a bike is a bike. I can replace it any time I want. Hell, Tony could probably make me one with fucking rocket boosters if I asked. What I can’t replace,” he said, looking at his boots, “is you.”

Eva blinked. “Uh… Buck, I’m flattered, but you’ve got quite a bit of years on me-”

“Don’t-” he interrupted, raising a hand to stop her. “Hear me out. What happened yesterday wasn’t because I was mad about some stupid bike. Anger isn’t even the word for it, really, because that wasn’t what I felt at first. When I heard you had gone off on your own to find Carter, the first thing I felt was fear.”

“Fear?” Eva questioned, surprised. “You?”

“Yeah. Happens more than you think,” he smirked.

“Wait but-” Eva shook her head. “Why were you afraid?”

“I was afraid for you,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I was afraid that the last time I would have ever seen you would have been during lunch yesterday. I was afraid you were hurt. Worse, even, knowing what we know about your brother.”

“Bucky, I’m not fragile,” Eva said. “I’m not stupid either.”

“No, I know you aren’t-”

“Then will you stop treating me like it?” She said, more pleading than demanding. She sounded tired. “Jesus, the one time I try to do something good, something right, everyone does everything in their power to stop me.”

“Eva, I know you think you’re going to help him. You probably think you’ll save him, even. But-” Bucky paused, choosing his words carefully. “Your brother has made it very clear that he isn’t interested in getting better. He isn’t the sort of person we try to reform. He’s the type we stop.”

Eva bit her lip, looking at her hands and saying nothing for a long while. “You don’t think people said the same thing about you?” She challenged, finally.

Bucky sighed. “No, I think that’s exactly what they said about me. This is different.”

“How? How is it different? He’s out there, being used by- by someone-”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. I know he wouldn’t have done any of the crap he’s been accused of, not of his own volition.”

“Eva, how well do you know your brother?” Bucky asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

The question took her off guard. “Well enough.”

“You know how you keep reminding me how you read my file? I read yours. It’s a pretty common thing we do around here.” He leaned back so he was lying face up on the mat, staring up at the ceiling. “Yours said you don’t have all that close of a relationship with him.”

Eva purses her lip. It was true- before she was fifteen, she didn’t know Carter existed.

“That begs the question though. Why do you care about him so much?” Bucky asked, turning his head to look at her. “I mean I get you two are related, but you didn’t see him for years. Why the attachment?”

Eva shrugged. “I honestly can’t tell you,” she confessed. “I can’t describe it. It’s like, whenever I’m around him, I get this overwhelming urge to protect him, you know? Like- I don’t know, it’s something I’m obligated to do.”

“Does he ever tell you that? That he wants you to protect him?”

“Well, no.” She answered. “It’s just a feeling I get.”

Bucky nodded. “He’s a mind-reader, right?”

Eva side-eyed him, hesitating before he spoke. What was he getting at? “Yeah. So?”

“Do you ever think… Do you think he uses it on you-”

“No,” she said, cutting him off. “We promised each other. Neither of us use our abilities in each other.”

“Okay,” Bucky answered. “But how would you know if he was?”

“I-” Eva gaped. She didn’t have an answer.

“Listen,” Bucky said, lifting himself up so he was sitting and scooting closer to her, covering her hand in his. “I know he’s your brother. But he’s also a terrorist, Eva. He’s hurt a lot of people. You can’t just ignore that.”

Eva swallowed, staring down at the mat again. He was right, and she knew it. Carter was an enigma to her in this way; when she was around him, he seemed so frail and in need of help that everything in her screamed that she needed to fend off any danger that threatened him. When she wasn’t around him though, the evidence of his power was too glaring to ignore.

“What do I do, then?” She asked.

“Let us being him in, like we’ve been trying to do. We’ll detain him, question him about what he’s been planning, shut it down, and hopefully put him somewhere where he can’t hurt anyone else.”

Eva nodded. “That’s not the worst plan.”

“It’s the one we’ve got.”

[jackywroteabook]

5 Minute Fiction: “SUPERMAN”

{Just a little taste of the writing you can expect in one of my full-length novels, without the sheer number of hours, willpower, & commitment it takes to finish it. All short stories are representative of my writing voice, content, characters, settings, moods, & themes of my general fiction. Enjoy a quick snapshot of the kind of writing a genuine, award-winning Jacquelyn Eubanks Novel™ has to offer. All short stories take approximately 5 minutes or less to read. Like what you read? Buy my books on Amazon (The Last Summer & The Last Time) and follow me on social media (@JackyWroteABook).}

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I remember him in flashbacks. It’s the little things that trigger memories. Last weekend, I was cleaning out his basement and came across a box full of cassette tapes from the nineties. I pulled out each rectangular tape and examined the labels running along the side, noting the bands and album names written in his blocky handwriting, now faded or smudged. One particular tape caught my eye: Crash Test Dummies’ “The Ghosts That Haunt Me”.

           His favorite.

           Tearing through the boxes almost in a mania, I finally uncovered his old stereo system, the one with three CD slots, huge speakers, and two cassette tape places. I plugged it into an outlet and blew the dust off the tape slot, placed the cassette in, clicked the door shut, and pressed ‘play’.

           A sob caught in my throat as the baritone’s voice wafted through the room, crooning to the piano ballad about Superman.

           I close my eyes and am plunged into a memory of sitting in Daddy’s lap, listening to this song while he sings along, my curly red hair tucked under his chin. I can feel his throat vibrate with the notes and his whiskers scratch like sandpaper against my cheek. He smells of cigar smoke and some kind of cologne that I never learned the name of, but he always wore it. I’m no older than three.

           The hot, silent tears slide down my cheeks like that moment when you reach the top of the rollercoaster and the only place you can go is down, down, faster and faster, at such a steep incline that your stomach drops and you feel like you’re falling and suddenly you can’t contain it anymore, and you just scream.

           My father was a man who didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. His actions spoke volumes.

           We were never rich, but my dad made enough to provide a good life for his family. I remember one Christmas, my family was ready to go on our first real vacation – as in, no tents, sleeping bags, or dehydrated backpacking food. We were going to a ski resort in Montreal, and my sisters and I were so excited to finally see real snow after living in southern Arizona our whole lives. I packed my suitcase full of the essentials days before we had to leave – my stuffed animals, a nightgown with Barbie on it, my blankie, and some Froot Loops – and I was so excited that I could hardly sleep. Two nights before Christmas, Dad called everyone into the living room for a family meeting. He explained that we weren’t going on the trip anymore. He looked somberly down at me and my two little sisters, reached for our mother’s hand, and drew in a breath. He then explained that there are a lot of people less fortunate than us. As simply as possible, he told us that the Bank was going to take away another family’s house if they didn’t pay money.

           “How much money, daddy?”

           “A lot.”

           He explained that rather than go on a trip this Christmas, we were giving the money we would’ve spent on vacation to the Bank so the family, who had little girls just like me, could keep their house.

           He never told us who the family was.

           I never learned how much money he gave them…but, as an adult with a job and children of my own, I can take an educated guess.

           Dad spent decades working for the same company, and he hated it. He told me he’d dreamt of being a jet fighter pilot, but his eyesight was so horrendous that it was impossible. So he settled for a job he didn’t enjoy, and it drained him. Hours upon hours, he labored in a DuPont plant mixing chemicals to create car paint. He couldn’t stand the wrath of his superiors on the corporate end, and he never could get close to his coworkers. He was a natural introvert, yes, but he didn’t associate himself with people who degraded his integrity. The men at his job smoked pot during lunch breaks, blew all their Friday paychecks on hard liquor, and frequently invited him into a prostitute trailer parked behind the factory. He didn’t agree with that lifestyle and was persecuted for it mercilessly. Often, the only companionship he found at work was from the radio, which he listened to while eating lunch in the car.  

           There are things I distinctly inherited from Dad. His passion for politics is a perfect example. I remember nights spent in front of the TV, Tom Brokaw broadcasting the news, my dad and I sharing pita bread and hummus or crackers with canned sardines or smoked oysters. The salty, oily taste of fish in a tin acts as a trigger. During those quiet times spent together, he liked to pass on thoughts and wisdom.

           The only person he ever hated was Bill Clinton. He despised that man, and whenever the president appeared on our screen, Dad would shut the television off in a huff. When I asked him why President Clinton bothered him so much, he just shook his head and uttered, “I can’t respect a man who cheats on his wife. How do you trust someone who lies to the very person they promised to always be faithful to?”

           I never questioned the morality of my dad. He was a righteous man who read the Bible, attended church, and believed that beer is a sign that God loves us and wants us to be happy.  

           He had that exact phrase – it’s a Ben Franklin quote – on a T-shirt. His best friend, Robert, had a shirt to match it. They were closer than brothers, and I remember Uncle Bob was always at our house bearing gifts and pearls of wisdom for us girls. He and Dad joked that the hope of America rested on my shoulders, and that it was my duty to keep my reputation as spotless as possible so I could be president one day. I never forgot their faith in me, long after Uncle Bob waded into the deep end of atheism and then went under, completely submerged and drowning in the bitterness of his refusal to acknowledge a god. We never saw him again, and even though Dad said nothing, I know losing his best friend like that was worse than if he had died.

           Dad’s father died when he was fourteen, and from that moment on he took on the roll of Superman for his mother and brother during their grieving. He loved his father more than words can express, and I knew it; spread throughout my childhood were bits and pieces of Papa, appearing in the forms of a watch Dad always wore, a Free Masons ring, a case full of World War II medals, and a brown leather recliner that he and I always sat in. Dad always loved World War II movies. I never said it aloud, but I always figured those movies helped him feel connected to his father.

           In high school, I was bullied and sexually harassed by a gang of undersexed pubescent boys. Every day I would make up outlandish excuses to stay home, or halfway through the day fake sick and get sent home early. Finally, Dad caught on to what was happening, so he went directly to the principal so the harassment would stop. To our dismay, my sexist principal simply had a chat with each of the boys that consisted of approximately two sentences: “She’s obviously mentally unstable. Just leave her alone and the school won’t have to deal with her problems anymore.” Needless to say, this didn’t help the situation; if anything, it was reassurance to the boys that our principal was on their side, and they could continue torturing me without fear of punishment. That’s when Dad decided to take things into his own hands: he signed me up for taekwondo and taught me everything I needed to know about dealing with assholes. By the time I’d reached a black belt and gotten in two fights at school (both in self-defense, of course), I may not have been well-liked, but at least I was left alone. Dad taught me that I didn’t have to be afraid because all the strength, courage, and confidence I’d ever need was already within me.      

           When I was twelve, I decided that baseball was my favorite sport and I promptly became obsessed with it. In fact, rarely a day went by that I wasn’t glued to the TV, engulfed in a Dodger’s game. I came to know every player, every team, every score, stat, and skill in Major League Baseball. And before I knew it, Dad was joining me. He never, to my recollection, was a baseball fan. But something changed, and all of a sudden he was the one keeping track of scores and standings and waiting for me to join him in watching the game. On my birthday every year, we drove all the way to Los Angeles to watch a Dodger’s game. Just me and him. It was wonderful. On the way home from one of those birthday games, I was falling asleep in the shotgun seat when I heard him whisper, “Thanks, Mack-ster, for reminding me of how much I love baseball.”

           I later learned that baseball was his dad’s favorite sport, and the two of them bonded over listening to Dodgers games on the radio when he was a child. After his father died, his love of baseball died, too.  I promised myself that I wouldn’t let the same thing happen to me when my dad died. If  he ever died.

To me, Dad was more invincible than Superman. He never showed weakness, but he had a quiet empathy that bred an old-world, gentlemanly air about him. He seemed timeless, and even as the years passed he was consistent in character and looks. That’s why our last Daddy-Daughter Night left me numb and disbelieving, as if reality could not be as frigid as the touch of his words.

It was a Tuesday night. He called me up and suggested we go out to Luigi’s, our favorite Italian restaurant. I met him at our usual booth, situated under a wooden overhang covered in fake grapes hanging from vines. It smelled like tomato sauce, basil and garlic. A basket full of breadsticks sat in front of him on the red-and-white-checkered tablecloth, a dish of olive oil and parmesan cheese next to it. We carried on our usual conversation through the appetizer – calamari – and the salad course – with bleu cheese dressing, like always – when the air thickened with words not yet uttered, suppressed and even withheld. I could sense this cloud suffocating and separating us. There was something he wasn’t telling me, I knew, but I couldn’t reach him through the smog of sensitive silence. Finally, when the waiter delivered our entrees (eggplant parmesan for me, veal parmesan for him), he spoke.

“I’m dying.”

His words made the cloud evaporate so quickly that it created a vacuum, a black hole sucking out every emotion, every word, every thought, every sense until I was left with only shock. The breath caught in my throat, and I could feel my chest tighten with the realization that Superman had a kryptonite: Cancer.

I broke down sobbing within a matter of seconds, the tears flooding my eyes and pouring down my face as if a dam burst, throwing away all lessons he’d given me on “mental toughness”. And, to my absolute horror, he started crying, too.

It was the first – and the last – time I ever saw my father cry.

He died that spring.

And the man who shaped me into the person I am, the legacy he left behind, the impact he made on other lives – they are still a part of me, a part of the world, even though he’s no longer physically here. I feel his presence in objects, in sounds, in scents that trigger memories and bring him back to me intangibly. He did everything he could to leave this world better than he found it. He was the greatest man I ever knew.

The last notes of the song echoed in the basement, spreading a warm, bittersweet wave of nostalgia through my body reverberating in my soul as I hung on to the last line of lyrics:

And sometimes I despair the world will never see another man like him…

[truthandlove]

Rhema from 6/12/2016:

The Rhema granted today, starts with Jesus speaking and transitions to the Father speaking.

Today, Lord Jesus says, "groupthink is group deception." Do not seek to gather around yourself those that agree with you. If you love the comfort of any heard, it only means that you're not plugging into My life. And if you are disconnected from the vine, you are dead and fruitless. I say this to My children, "RECONNECT to Me." I have not left you, but you have wandered from My side. You are on earth to be My ambassador--to represent Me seven as I represented My Father.

The enemy of your soul loves distraction and division. I understand that it's getting harder and harder not to get distracted and caught up in this or that issue. You must seek me. You must seek me like a David sought me. You must seek me like Abraham sought me. That is, with your WHOLE heart; I deserve no less.

For David had a heart of lovingkindness like mine. And Abraham loved me and was my friend. I seek restoration for you and your restoration comes in the process of your communion with Me. You were not on this earth to argue with people for Me or about Me; you are on this earth to worship Me and love Me. This is how my life and truth flows out into a deceived world.

And what does love mean? It means speedy obedience. Love means completing the work that I've given each of you to do. Do not get caught up in distractions, for time is very precious and every moment spent means you have one last moment left in which to live for me and to represent me to this world. In this way (by living for me and representing me) you receive more of the lavish gifts that my father has predestined for you to enjoy throughout eternity.

I tell you the truth, no one is perfect but the Son of God. Each of my precious Saints will fail and fall short time and time again. Each of my Saints will not receive the full measure of blessing that was available to them, because they forfeited opportunity after opportunity -- responding to their fleshly impulses, and their urgings to create their own identity out of: accomplishment, status, achievement, and recognition in the eyes of other mere humans. That is how to utterly fail at life, and I want you to instead receive the glory and majesty of the identity that is available to you and is the true you--the identity I bestow upon you as my son or daughter.

All the things you want are ultimately found only in me. The love, belonging, acceptance, purpose, joy and all the rest, come with you being who I've made you to be -- not through achieving success by some worldly standard. I tell you the truth, this world is passing away. And all those that live by the value system of this world will be swept away with it in its passing.

But he who does the will of My Father will abide forever. And My Father's will is this: that you believe that Jesus Christ is the Messiah, sent from the Father to be the Lamb of God-who lived, was crucified and resurrected, and returned to the father. This is the foundation of truth, of reality, of righteousness,

The world does not abandon it's petty status, deceitful riches and it's vainglory to acknowledge the existence or the truth of who Jesus the Christ is. For it is only when you see the Son of God as He IS that you receive your identity as a Son of God. Until then, you will spin your wheels trying to be good-trying in vain to find acceptance in My holy eyes.

Abandon this dead end behavior, for you cannot hope to compare to My righteousness. This is why I had to bestow it upon you. I don't ask you to be righteous in your strength; I ask you to have faith. I don't ask you to do big things for me; I ask you to receive my grace. I ask you to stay connected to Me -- as the branch is constantly receiving the divine life through the divine vine. There is no other way to bear fruit. There is no other way to please Me but by FAITH.

As it is, you are caught up in many fruitless things. You're neglecting to keep the main thing the main thing. The identity of My Son and your identity in My Son is EVERYTHING. You will never change this world by trying to do good works or by arguing with it. Change, true change of heart, is always supernatural, it is of My Spirit. True change that the father seeks comes only from a display of grace, a love-intervention.

I did not put you on this earth to go around judging other people; you are here to love them with My love--and I assure you that My love through you towards them IS My judgment towards their hearts and lives. Remember how Stephen simply told the crowd the Scriptures, and through My truth (My Spirit IS Truth and real Life) they were convicted to their core! So it is that My light through you is completely sufficient to point out to everyone the darkness in them. My Holy Spirit does all fruitful conviction, so stop trying to convict people in your own initiative -- for no good comes from that, as it is of you and not of Me.

My prophets made themselves so small and nothing in order to receive grace, to receive me, and with me, they received everything glorious. I am love itself and you cannot hope to fake your love for me. I called and loved the prophets for they loved me and did not seek to keep their material life, such was their seeking after me. This is how my prophets received from me everything that is Eternal, and worthwhile. I tell you the truth, there will be no regret in their faces throughout eternity!!!

You can only do good through Me, for I alone AM good. You can only change this world as a vessel for me. Discard your religious agendas. Discard your attempts to look good in your own eyes or in the eyes of others. Don't you remember the Scriptures? Don't you remember how I made all of my prophets scandalous and unacceptable to society?

They abandoned themselves to receive Me, and thereby received an eternal glory with me in my love. They had to lie naked in public. They had to marry prostitutes. They had to let themselves be sawed in half. My son was lifted up beaten, bloody and naked in the most shameful manner imaginable. A helpless failure in the eyes of this world, but this world got it all wrong! My prophets were pathetic and ridiculous in the eyes of the world. But they loved Me enough to do the unacceptable, to do the selfless things I asked. They loved Me and so I loved them and appointed them to great glory! They had no earthly respect or status, and yet I have pointed my prophets to speak to Kings and nations and those kings could not stop one single word from me from coming to pass!!

Lay down the idols of your small understanding as to how to make your life work. Receive me instead. Do not operate from your own mind but from the mind of Christ. Do not operate from your own love but rather from the love of Christ. This is how you abide in me and in my love. Did I not say this is how you will bear much fruit?

Learn to understand love as I love. Learn to understand power as I flow power through you. Learn to understand glory as I live in Glory. Learn to appreciate my majesty and want it more and more. This is how you purify yourself. This is how you save your soul from this dying world. I alone am life. And my son became life as you and on your behalf to infuse my life into you. As my strength and life is infused into you, you can do all things pertaining to my will.

This is all I ask, all I want--be a vessel of honor, receive from me and in turn, impart me to others. I never needed you to be my vessel. I never needed to save you. The fact is that many people who are better than you (smarter, more gifted, more self-disciplined, etc) I have appointed them to wrath. I did not give them the grace to respond to my grace. But I have called you to a high calling in heaven by being willing to be less than nothing on this Earth.

I never chose you for who you are; I chose you for who I could be THROUGH you. Get through this through your head, my child. And by that I mean truly believe Me. I understand that your struggle is not so much with sinful behavior as it is with simply believing me. When you simply believe Me you simply act when, how, and where I instruct you to act. You cannot possibly have a greater life or a higher reward than through the obedience of love. I may make you obscure. I may place you on display. I am the holy potter, so what is that to you how I choose to have your life appear to others? But you, live for me.

My Son left you this command that you love each other as he loved you, for he demonstrated My love to you. If you are caught up in you, you are in the way - blocking the sap from the vine. If you're caught up in the status systems of this world, you are in the way, and in danger of perishing along with Babylon. If you are caught up in gathering friends to agree with you, to endorse you, in their approval and likes, then you were in danger of losing My good pleasure in you. I am jealous over you! I want you all for myself! I want to monopolize your heart and mind! Anything that strays from Me is something far, far less.

Does My Word not say, "fix your eyes upon Jesus -- the author and finisher of your faith -- who for the joy that was set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and sat down at the right hand of the father" where he lives to make intercession for the Saints to me.

You cannot do better than My begotten Son! My son loved Me. My son obeyed Me. My son laid down his life. My Son did not cling to His divine glory, He was so in love with Me and willing to fully participate in anything I planned and willed for his life! You will NEVER begin to understand my Son's sacrifice on this Earth. You will never fathom how much I love him! You still don't understand how much he loved you and how much He loves me!

My son did many unreasonable things and things that were meager/paltry/minuscule (of no account) in the eyes of this world. He is your example. He is the first fruits. He is your older brother in inheriting all things. You will not inherit more than him; rather, he will share of his inheritance with you. What did I give Jesus for living pure love towards me? I gave him everything! I gave him all power and authority, all majesty and dominion, all glory and rule-and I gave it to him forever and ever!

Do you think you can do better than this? Of course not. Then follow in the steps of my son. Love with his love, obey with his obedience, devote yourself to me with his devotion. Your flash cannot do this, but my son killed your flash with his own body. My son not only CAN do this, he DID do this. My Word says that my son is your life. My son said that if you received him, living waters would overflow out from your core - gushing out of your heart/belly to a dry and needy world, thereby transforming barrenness to lush fruitfulness!

This is how you change the world: through my love and my grace. The world will argue endlessly and the world has endless distractions. This world and it's meaninglessness is passing away, but he who does my will will abide forever!

Invest your life in loving me, in seeking me, in repentance and returning to me. When this world sees unreasonable and lavish Grace coming from your life -- meaning sheer goodness poured out towards someone who is clearly undeserving and unworthy, it will stun it's paradigm of thinking. That will force the worldly to reconsider their paltry perspective; it will show them there is something more. It will show them that they are not as they thought they were--they are not wise in their own eyes. Instead, they are needy and blind and naked and poor!

I can only save the needy and blind and naked and poor. I cannot save the self-sufficient. I cannot pour into a vessel full of itself. Will you let me lay claim to all of your heart, all of your devotion, all of your praise and worship? Will you let me establish you in glory, close to me where we enjoy intimacy forever? Throw away the dead weight of distraction and meaningless arguments, and come alive to my grace in and through you this day. None of your own endeavors will stand, but each of my Words will stand forever.

[liveinvictoryeveryday]

Wed Mar 27 Psalm 119:97-120 Psalm 81, Psalm 82 Jeremiah 8:18-9:6 Romans 5:1-11 John 8:12-20

Romans 5:6 You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 7 Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. 8 But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

9 Since we have now been justified by his blood, how much more shall we be saved from God’s wrath through him! 10 For if, while we were God’s enemies, we were reconciled to him through the death of his Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through his life! 11 Not only is this so, but we also boast in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.

Reunited

Have you ever been estranged from someone or something you love? Have you ever felt the guilt nd the shame from knwing better but doing worse? Think about a time when ou felt like an outsider and nothing you could say or do could change the situation because you brought it on yourself. As highly as we like to think of ourselves ,we have not been as good as we think we are. We have fallen prey to doubt and despair. We have played with the truth and bathed in darkness. And that is where GOD chose to express love towards us. While we were at our worst GOD gave the best gift ever, Christ.

Romans 5 lays out the compelling story of our being reunited with GOD or our reconciliation. This concept highlights a sense of being detached from the true source of our supply and then plugging back in. We were estranged from the CREATOR, and instead of waiting for us to get our acts together, GOD reaches out to us as we were so we could become who we can be. We have been reunited with the LOVER of our souls. We have been granted a second chance. This second chance includes remembering who we can be in GOD. The passage from Psalm 82, says “Psalm 82:6 “I said, ‘You are “gods”; you are all sons of the Most High.’ 7 But you will die like mere mortals; you will fall like every other ruler.” Until Christ came we were destined to live and die like mere mortals due to our bad choices. But now, when we were making bad choices God recycles the trash we made of our lives and tells us we can be treasures. YOU may be down, but fear not, GOD in the person of JESUS got down and dirty to lift us up.

Point to Ponder: What has caused regret or shame in your life? How do you love yourself after you have fallen? Who needs to be reunited with you today?

Lent 2019 Day 22 “Reunited” Wed Mar 27 Psalm 119:97-120 Psalm 81, Psalm 82 Jeremiah 8:18-9:6 Romans 5:1-11 John 8:12-20 Romans 5:6 You see, at just the right time, when we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. 

[lauraoliviamua]

SYNONYMS FOR WORDS COMMONLY USED IN STUDENTS’ WRITINGS

by larae.net

Amazing- incredible, unbelievable, improbable, fabulous, wonderful, fantastic, astonishing, astounding, extraordinary

Anger- enrage, infuriate, arouse, nettle, exasperate, inflame, madden

Angry- mad, furious, enraged, excited, wrathful, indignant, exasperated, aroused, inflamed

Answer- reply, respond, retort, acknowledge

Ask- question, inquire of, seek information from, put a question to, demand, request, expect, inquire, query, interrogate, examine, quiz

Awful- dreadful, terrible, abominable, bad, poor, unpleasant

Bad- evil, immoral, wicked, corrupt, sinful, depraved, rotten, contaminated, spoiled, tainted, harmful, injurious, unfavorable, defective, inferior, imperfect, substandard, faulty, improper, inappropriate, unsuitable, disagreeable, unpleasant, cross, nasty, unfriendly, irascible, horrible, atrocious, outrageous, scandalous, infamous, wrong, noxious, sinister, putrid, snide, deplorable, dismal, gross, heinous, nefarious, base, obnoxious, detestable, despicable, contemptible, foul, rank, ghastly, execrable

Beautiful - pretty, lovely, handsome, attractive, gorgeous, dazzling, splendid, magnificent, comely, fair, ravishing, graceful, elegant, fine, exquisite, aesthetic, pleasing, shapely, delicate, stunning, glorious, heavenly, resplendent, radiant, glowing, blooming, sparkling

Begin - start, open, launch, initiate, commence, inaugurate, originate

Big - enormous, huge, immense, gigantic, vast, colossal, gargantuan, large, sizable, grand, great, tall, substantial, mammoth, astronomical, ample, broad, expansive, spacious, stout, tremendous, titanic, mountainous

Brave - courageous, fearless, dauntless, intrepid, plucky, daring, heroic, valorous, audacious, bold, gallant, valiant, doughty, mettlesome

Break - fracture, rupture, shatter, smash, wreck, crash, demolish, atomize

Bright - shining, shiny, gleaming, brilliant, sparkling, shimmering, radiant, vivid, colorful, lustrous, luminous, incandescent, intelligent, knowing, quick-witted, smart, intellectual

Calm - quiet, peaceful, still, tranquil, mild, serene, smooth, composed, collected, unruffled, level-headed, unexcited, detached, aloof

Come - approach, advance, near, arrive, reach

Cool - chilly, cold, frosty, wintry, icy, frigid

Crooked - bent, twisted, curved, hooked, zigzag

Cry - shout, yell, yowl, scream, roar, bellow, weep, wail, sob, bawl

Cut - gash, slash, prick, nick, sever, slice, carve, cleave, slit, chop, crop, lop, reduce

Dangerous - perilous, hazardous, risky, uncertain, unsafe

Dark - shadowy, unlit, murky, gloomy, dim, dusky, shaded, sunless, black, dismal, sad

Decide - determine, settle, choose, resolve

Definite - certain, sure, positive, determined, clear, distinct, obvious

Delicious - savory, delectable, appetizing, luscious, scrumptious, palatable, delightful, enjoyable, toothsome, exquisite

Describe - portray, characterize, picture, narrate, relate, recount, represent, report, record

Destroy - ruin, demolish, raze, waste, kill, slay, end, extinguish

Difference - disagreement, inequity, contrast, dissimilarity, incompatibility

Do - execute, enact, carry out, finish, conclude, effect, accomplish, achieve, attain

Dull - boring, tiring„ tiresome, uninteresting, slow, dumb, stupid, unimaginative, lifeless, dead, insensible, tedious, wearisome, listless, expressionless, plain, monotonous, humdrum, dreary

Eager - keen, fervent, enthusiastic, involved, interested, alive to

End - stop, finish, terminate, conclude, close, halt, cessation, discontinuance

Enjoy - appreciate, delight in, be pleased, indulge in, luxuriate in, bask in, relish, devour, savor, like

Explain - elaborate, clarify, define, interpret, justify, account for

Fair - just, impartial, unbiased, objective, unprejudiced, honest

Fall - drop, descend, plunge, topple, tumble

False - fake, fraudulent, counterfeit, spurious, untrue, unfounded, erroneous, deceptive, groundless, fallacious

Famous - well-known, renowned, celebrated, famed, eminent, illustrious, distinguished, noted, notorious

Fast - quick, rapid, speedy, fleet, hasty, snappy, mercurial, swiftly, rapidly, quickly, snappily, speedily, lickety-split, posthaste, hastily, expeditiously, like a flash

Fat - stout, corpulent, fleshy, beefy, paunchy, plump, full, rotund, tubby, pudgy, chubby, chunky, burly, bulky, elephantine

Fear - fright, dread, terror, alarm, dismay, anxiety, scare, awe, horror, panic, apprehension

Fly - soar, hover, flit, wing, flee, waft, glide, coast, skim, sail, cruise

Funny - humorous, amusing, droll, comic, comical, laughable, silly

Get - acquire, obtain, secure, procure, gain, fetch, find, score, accumulate, win, earn, rep, catch, net, bag, derive, collect, gather, glean, pick up, accept, come by, regain, salvage

Go - recede, depart, fade, disappear, move, travel, proceed

Good - excellent, fine, superior, wonderful, marvelous, qualified, suited, suitable, apt, proper, capable, generous, kindly, friendly, gracious, obliging, pleasant, agreeable, pleasurable, satisfactory, well-behaved, obedient, honorable, reliable, trustworthy, safe, favorable, profitable, advantageous, righteous, expedient, helpful, valid, genuine, ample, salubrious, estimable, beneficial, splendid, great, noble, worthy, first-rate, top-notch, grand, sterling, superb, respectable, edifying

Great - noteworthy, worthy, distinguished, remarkable, grand, considerable, powerful, much, mighty

Gross - improper, rude, coarse, indecent, crude, vulgar, outrageous, extreme, grievous, shameful, uncouth, obscene, low

Happy - pleased, contented, satisfied, delighted, elated, joyful, cheerful, ecstatic, jubilant, gay, tickled, gratified, glad, blissful, overjoyed

Hate - despise, loathe, detest, abhor, disfavor, dislike, disapprove, abominate

Have - hold, possess, own, contain, acquire, gain, maintain, believe, bear, beget, occupy, absorb, fill, enjoy

Help - aid, assist, support, encourage, back, wait on, attend, serve, relieve, succor, benefit, befriend, abet

Hide - conceal, cover, mask, cloak, camouflage, screen, shroud, veil

Hurry - rush, run, speed, race, hasten, urge, accelerate, bustle

Hurt - damage, harm, injure, wound, distress, afflict, pain

Idea - thought, concept, conception, notion, understanding, opinion, plan, view, belief

Important - necessary, vital, critical, indispensable, valuable, essential, significant, primary, principal, considerable, famous, distinguished, notable, well-known

Interesting - fascinating, engaging, sharp, keen, bright, intelligent, animated, spirited, attractive, inviting, intriguing, provocative, though-provoking, challenging, inspiring, involving, moving, titillating, tantalizing, exciting, entertaining, piquant, lively, racy, spicy, engrossing, absorbing, consuming, gripping, arresting, enthralling, spellbinding, curious, captivating, enchanting, bewitching, appealing

Keep - hold, retain, withhold, preserve, maintain, sustain, support

Kill - slay, execute, assassinate, murder, destroy, cancel, abolish

Lazy - indolent, slothful, idle, inactive, sluggish

Little - tiny, small, diminutive, shrimp, runt, miniature, puny, exiguous, dinky, cramped, limited, itsy-bitsy, microscopic, slight, petite, minute

Look - gaze, see, glance, watch, survey, study, seek, search for, peek, peep, glimpse, stare, contemplate, examine, gape, ogle, scrutinize, inspect, leer, behold, observe, view, witness, perceive, spy, sight, discover, notice, recognize, peer, eye, gawk, peruse, explore

Love - like, admire, esteem, fancy, care for, cherish, adore, treasure, worship, appreciate, savor

Make - create, originate, invent, beget, form, construct, design, fabricate, manufacture, produce, build, develop, do, effect, execute, compose, perform, accomplish, earn, gain, obtain, acquire, get

Mark - label, tag, price, ticket, impress, effect, trace, imprint, stamp, brand, sign, note, heed, notice, designate

Mischievous - prankish, playful, naughty, roguish, waggish, impish, sportive

Move - plod, go, creep, crawl, inch, poke, drag, toddle, shuffle, trot, dawdle, walk, traipse, mosey, jog, plug, trudge, slump, lumber, trail, lag, run, sprint, trip, bound, hotfoot, high-tail, streak, stride, tear, breeze, whisk, rush, dash, dart, bolt, fling, scamper, scurry, skedaddle, scoot, scuttle, scramble, race, chase, hasten, hurry, hump, gallop, lope, accelerate, stir, budge, travel, wander, roam, journey, trek, ride, spin, slip, glide, slide, slither, coast, flow, sail, saunter, hobble, amble, stagger, paddle, slouch, prance, straggle, meander, perambulate, waddle, wobble, pace, swagger, promenade, lunge

Moody - temperamental, changeable, short-tempered, glum, morose, sullen, mopish, irritable, testy, peevish, fretful, spiteful, sulky, touchy

Neat - clean, orderly, tidy, trim, dapper, natty, smart, elegant, well-organized, super, desirable, spruce, shipshape, well-kept, shapely

New - fresh, unique, original, unusual, novel, modern, current, recent

Old - feeble, frail, ancient, weak, aged, used, worn, dilapidated, ragged, faded, broken-down, former, old-fashioned, outmoded, passe, veteran, mature, venerable, primitive, traditional, archaic, conventional, customary, stale, musty, obsolete, extinct

Part - portion, share, piece, allotment, section, fraction, fragment

Place - space, area, spot, plot, region, location, situation, position, residence, dwelling, set, site, station, status, state

Plan - plot, scheme, design, draw, map, diagram, procedure, arrangement, intention, device, contrivance, method, way, blueprint

Popular - well-liked, approved, accepted, favorite, celebrated, common, current

Predicament - quandary, dilemma, pickle, problem, plight, spot, scrape, jam

Put - place, set, attach, establish, assign, keep, save, set aside, effect, achieve, do, build

Quiet - silent, still, soundless, mute, tranquil, peaceful, calm, restful

Right - correct, accurate, factual, true, good, just, honest, upright, lawful, moral, proper, suitable, apt, legal, fair

Run - race, speed, hurry, hasten, sprint, dash, rush, escape, elope, flee

Say/Tell - inform, notify, advise, relate, recount, narrate, explain, reveal, disclose, divulge, declare, command, order, bid, enlighten, instruct, insist, teach, train, direct, issue, remark, converse, speak, affirm, suppose, utter, negate, express, verbalize, voice, articulate, pronounce, deliver, convey, impart, assert, state, allege, mutter, mumble, whisper, sigh, exclaim, yell, sing, yelp, snarl, hiss, grunt, snort, roar, bellow, thunder, boom, scream, shriek, screech, squawk, whine, philosophize, stammer, stutter, lisp, drawl, jabber, protest, announce, swear, vow, content, assure, deny, dispute

Scared - afraid, frightened, alarmed, terrified, panicked, fearful, unnerved, insecure, timid, shy, skittish, jumpy, disquieted, worried, vexed, troubled, disturbed, horrified, terrorized, shocked, petrified, haunted, timorous, shrinking, tremulous, stupefied, paralyzed, stunned, apprehensive

Show - display, exhibit, present, note, point to, indicate, explain, reveal, prove, demonstrate, expose

Slow - unhurried, gradual, leisurely, late, behind, tedious, slack

Stop - cease, halt, stay, pause, discontinue, conclude, end, finish, quit

Story - tale, myth, legend, fable, yarn, account, narrative, chronicle, epic, sage, anecdote, record, memoir

Strange - odd, peculiar, unusual, unfamiliar, uncommon, queer, weird, outlandish, curious, unique, exclusive, irregular

Take - hold, catch, seize, grasp, win, capture, acquire, pick, choose, select, prefer, remove, steal, lift, rob, engage, bewitch, purchase, buy, retract, recall, assume, occupy, consume

Tell - disclose, reveal, show, expose, uncover, relate, narrate, inform, advise, explain, divulge, declare, command, order, bid, recount, repeat

Think - judge, deem, assume, believe, consider, contemplate, reflect, mediate

Trouble - distress, anguish, anxiety, worry, wretchedness, pain, danger, peril, disaster, grief, misfortune, difficulty, concern, pains, inconvenience, exertion, effort

True - accurate, right, proper, precise, exact, valid, genuine, real, actual, trusty, steady, loyal, dependable, sincere, staunch

Ugly - hideous, frightful, frightening, shocking, horrible, unpleasant, monstrous, terrifying, gross, grisly, ghastly, horrid, unsightly, plain, homely, evil, repulsive, repugnant, gruesome

Unhappy - miserable, uncomfortable, wretched, heart-broken, unfortunate, poor, downhearted, sorrowful, depressed, dejected, melancholy, glum, gloomy, dismal, discouraged, sad

Use - employ, utilize, exhaust, spend, expend, consume, exercise

Wrong - incorrect, inaccurate, mistaken, erroneous, improper, unsuitable

(via heart)