#[in a new world or not] unlike this truth... my words will be useless... [regardless of how much meaning I invest in them with age]

[aoitakumi8148]

[Left behind] 𝟙 of 𝟙.

𝓜𝓲𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓐𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼 𝓗𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓐 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓬𝓮, 𝓝𝓸 𝓜𝓪𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓗𝓸𝔀 𝓒𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓜𝓪𝔂 𝓑𝓮.

Come close, and I will touch you. Talk to me, and I will relax. Bound me to your rules, and I will remain a volunteer. Punish me, and I will accept it. Take the organ along with the flower I give you, and your precious life will be saved. Vanish, and the eternity will make us more hollow than ever. We can't continue together, we can't die together, but perhaps the very power of this unhealable wound will help me to keep my bits of humanity...

[jane-fucking-seymour]

Legend of the Six

Chapter 19: Wildfire

Words: 5678

AO3 link

Catherine of Aragon understood a few things.

One, that leading people meant having empathy, and that empathy was particularly hard to come by nowadays.

Two, reports of Blesseds being absolutely unheard of in this part of the Realm (and in the upcoming part of Holbein) seemed to be accurate, with absolutely none responding for her calls for aide.

And three, if her luck continued, she might have to return to the so-called “Six” empty-handed.

The first place Catherine had gone was to a small town on the border of the Realm and Holbein, a place that often served as a Blessed training ground. 

The usually lively city of Nacht was, from what she remembered, one of the most beautiful cities in the region, and often the center of public festivals and charity work. If you needed help - of any kind, really - you could go to Nacht and have your fill. The city served as a place for the sick, the weary, the injured and the unwell to be able to be healed up by Blesseds in training, as well as where the annual Squire Selections took place. Every year, new Blesseds would arrive to Nacht and the Light would lead them to their partners, their assistants, their closest confidants that would help them on their Blessed journey.

In truth, Catherine hadn’t overly believed in the Blessed’s cause before she became one herself - why would she, when the only time she heard about what they could do was through myths and showcases that were more about the powers than their duty? But then she protected that woman, unlocked her Blessed powers, and trained with two of the best Blesseds the Realm had - only the best for the then-queen.

For months, she had studied the more active powers that Blesseds had - mainly, warfare and various aggressive techniques. It would be a bit later, when Mary came about, where she’d dedicate her studies to more passive and healing techniques, but before then Catherine was considered one of the best swordsmen the world had ever seen.

The second best was still considered to be Anna, but the third was a hot topic for the world. It mainly came down to two people who performed consistently well in inter-kingdom tournaments - mainly, Avril and Maria.

It brought Anna and Catherine closer as rivals, and dare they even say friends.

Regardless, Maria and Avril would always go back and forth on third and fourth place finishes. At last count, they were tied in record, though Avril had won their last bout.

It happened on the same day that the new Blesseds would find their own Squires, part of the opening ceremonies for that year’s Squire Selection, and Catherine can’t help but remember with a fond smile how hers went every time she thinks of it.

Catherine knew her selection within the month of becoming a Blessed; after all, Maria had instantly helped her when she was struck by Henry’s men for protecting the scared, vulnerable woman they had chosen to attack. The two had always been close, and it just made sense to her for them to grow even closer.

When she arrived at the ceremony that year, she had been with Maria, having travelled by foot to the Capitol to get to Nacht. She remembers the day fondly, as vividly as her most precious memories:

“Do you think Henry will make an appearance?” Maria had asked. “He said he would, right?”

“He did,” Catherine agreed, “but doesn’t mean he will. I’d be surprised to find him here, he never did think much of Blesseds.”

“He thought they weren’t powerful or something?” Maria asked.

“No, he just thinks they are useless in battle.” Catherine shrugged. “Called Blesseds unremarkable and flimsy.”

“But Blesseds fight for good,” Maria pressed. “Why would he think that?”

Catherine didn’t answer as they moved through the gates of the city.

They arrived just in time for the opening ceremonies, where all of the new Blesseds would formally be recognized by the rest of the group. 

Maria cheered the loudest when Catherine was announced.

Then came the tournament, where the new Blesseds would fight each other, one versus one, in an attempt to showcase the strength of the new class.

Catherine had, by all accounts, won the tournament handsomely. 

There were a few other things - things that were done behind closed doors, open only to the Blesseds themselves - before the final, big event occured: the Bathing of Light and Squire Selection.

Two things happened at that time: first, the new Blesseds formally take the Oath that they took when they first got their powers in front of the rest of the Blesseds in the area, formally recognizing their status and leaving their old, civilian ways behind. They were then bathed in the light of an alter set up in the middle of Nacht, where they would be “transformed” (showcase a bit of their power) and set on the Path of Light. It was more of a formality, a publicized ritual that occurred for centuries before them and would (hopefully) happen for melinia after them.

The second, however, would happen immediately after that ended.

The new Blessed would raise their weapon of choice - their sword, their staff, their hand, whatever they would prefer to use - and it would glow with a brilliant light before a ray of that power would shoot out and touch someone else. That person would glow with light and, if accepted, would be formally recognized as the Blessed’s Squire, their assistant and partner throughout all of their time as a Blessed.

For some, their Squire trained with them from the start and it would just be assumed that that person would eventually become their full-fledged Squire. However, that was not always the case; the Squire is chosen is one of the greatest mysteries of the Realm, and Blesseds say that it’s up to the Light itself to make the decision.

Catherine was the last to make the Selection, as customary for the victor of the tournament preceding the event. She held up her sword and took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she felt something in her heart and soul stir, shoot up into her arm and into her sword, then immediately splinter off…

… and right to Maria.

Maria’s eyes widened as she started to glow, looking down at her hands before she looked up at Catherine excitedly. She took the Oath and became a Squire only a few moments later, ending the ritual in a hug with her Blessed.

At the end, Catherine couldn’t help but ask:

“Did you expect that? You made it look like you weren’t, is all. I couldn’t think of anyone better, and I’m glad the Light agreed.”

Maria chuckled.

“Not really, I never thought I’d be in contention because we never talked about it,” Maria shrugged. “I expected to be jealous of whoever was, if I’m being honest.” Maria winked then, downing her drink. “Guess I don’t have to be.”

Catherine chuckled. 

“No,” she says, holding up her drink. “You really don’t have to be.”

The memory fades from Catherine’s mind just in time for her to see Nacht in it’s current state: burned to the ground, destroyed, looted.

Gone.

Blessed tapestries and banners were burned by the looks of it. To Catherine’s horror, she saw what looks like piles of ashe littering the area.

All Blesseds.

All gone.

She was just about to leave before she heard someone in one of the very few still-standing buildings. With a frown, she followed in, only to find a young girl looking for food.

“Hello?” Catherine asks, and it spooks the girl so bad she screams. “No! It’s okay, little one, it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Catherine softly glows with golden, warm energy, and the Blessed’s magick pays off: the girl starts to calm down a bit.

“Do you know what happened here, little one?” Catherine asks.

“To Nacht? It’s been destroyed for months now,” the girl says, frowning. She’s tense, but she’s not screaming; a better condition, if you asked Catherine.

“Do you know who did it?”

“The Realm. Shortly after the face stealers were revealed.”

Catherine nods. “Thank you. Do you want some coin?”

The girl looks nervous. “Who… are you? You’re a Blessed, I know, but… who are you?”

Catherine tilts her head. “Do you not recognize me?”

“Should I?”

Catherine takes a moment before she shrugs; guess Henry’s pulled her out of the history books or something.

No matter, she’ll get it back once it’s all settled.

“I’m a friend,” Catherine replies, taking out her bag and putting four gold pieces on the ground. “You look hungry. This should help.”

The girl doesn’t move, so Catherine backs up and leaves instead.

She continues walking, looking around the area, trying to figure out if this mission was even salvageable at this point. She didn’t expect Henry to attack Blessed facilities - why would he, when he had deemed them unnecessary? - and now she was afraid that her decision with the Final Mercy were all in vain. If this continued, they’d really be stuck, and Catherine may have dealt the deciding blow…

… but then again, she doesn’t feel like she’s alone. She feels like she’s going to be okay, that this will work out. And Catherine of Aragon is not one to abandon her better judgement, unlike someone she knew.

Someone that, with a chuckle, Catherine immediately sensed.

“Come to say hi, Maria?”

Immediately, she moves to her right as an arrow flies past her head. She looks behind her with a bigger grin at the sight of Lyrena herself.

“That’s not my name,” Lyrena replies, “and you’d be wise to yield.”

“Why would I?” Catherine asks, a bit of pep in her step as she looks back at her former Squire. “You’re not going to do anything.”

“I’m actively trying to kill you,” Lyrena replies.

“Try’s the keyword here, babes.” Catherine quips… right before she pulses away.

“Hey!” Lyrena yells, giving chase.

The two pulse through the area, dodging trees and wildlife and various other hazards as Catherine leads them exactly where they needed to go - exactly where her plan was leading, and where Catherine hoped she wasn’t too late.

All the while, Lyrena is attacking, but Catherine is able to dodge. Not once does she ever raise a weapon against her misguided friend.

When Catherine finally stops, she can’t help but sigh in relief.

“Finally given up?” Lyrena says as she touches down near Catherine.

“Hm? Oh, no,” Catherine says, waving a hand dismissively. “I’m just happy it’s here.”

She makes a gesture towards the thing before them.

“The Sanctuary of Holbein.”

The Sanctuary was a small village that surrounded a series of golden platforms, on top of which was an altar. Though the Sanctuary in the Realm had been destroyed, this one seemed to be in prime condition.

A stroke of luck, just in time.

“Why are you even coming here, face-stealer?” Lyrena growled out. “Only Blesseds are allowed on this sacred ground.”

“Usually, yes, but today is a very important, very needed day,” Catherine replies. “Besides, I’m not a face-stealer, and you know this.”

Lyrena narrows her eyes. Catherine continues.

“You know it, I know you do. You’re just not saying it for some reason. Do you even know why?”

Lyrena takes out her blade. It does not deter Catherine.

“I don’t know, not yet, but I imagine we’ll figure it out when you start swinging that thing at me. I, however, won’t be raising my own weapon. I won’t need it.”

Lyrena rolls her eyes. “Cheeky.”

Catherine smiles. “Only for you.”

And with that, the one-sided fight begins.

Lyrena strikes, Catherine dodges. 

Lyrena strikes again, Catherine simply moves out of the hit.

Lyrena continues to strike, continues her attack… but she just can’t do it. She just can’t catch her former Blessed.

And as the attacks continue, Catherine gets the impression that she doesn’t really want to.

Eventually, Lyrena, tired out for the moment, stops and stares at Catherine. Catherine stands, sword still in its sheath.

Lyrena practically growls in frustration.

“Use it.”

Catherine simply shakes her head, and Lyrena goes for another attack. Again, Catherine dodges. Lyrena is getting more upset now.

“USE IT!”

Again and again, Lyrena attacks, and again and again, Catherine dodges. Eventually, however, Lyrena manages to adjust, hitting Catherine in the shoulder.

Catherine yelps, falls to a knee, holding the shoulder that she just hit. It only hit the woman’s armor, not going any further, but the impact still hurt.

Catherine smirks. 

“Remembering me, are you? My movements, how I dodge? It’s been forever, but I figured you’d adapt relatively quickly.” She smiles. “You know it’s me, yet you’re still attacking. Why?”

Lyrena yells out in anger and goes for the girl again, attacking over and over and over. Catherine, once again, either dodges or takes the hit.

By the end, Catherine ends up on the ground, Lyrena on top of her, blade at the ready to strike a devastating blow.

Catherine just watches.

Lyrena is furious.

“DO SOMETHING!”

“I swore to you, all those years ago, that I would not strike you down unless it’s necessary or in practice,” Catherine says. “And I don’t need to here.”

“I’m literally about to kill you.”

“You won’t do it.”

“Why not?”

“Because you know who I am.”

“You’re a face-stealer-”

“Liar.”

Lyrena narrows her eyes. Catherine tilts her head.

“Maria-”

“Don’t call me that!”

Catherine blinks.

“Oh, right, I get it, you’re not Maria right now because Maria’s not a coward, hm? Lyrena’s the coward? Nice compartmentalizing.” 

Lyrena freezes at the question, so Catherine continues.

“You were lost in your grief, so you believed anything. I get it. It’s human of you to do that. But I would have…” Catherine’s got tears in her eyes now. “I expected you to know better eventually. I expected you to be able to overcome the lies. I think you did, but you never acted on it.” She shrugs. “It’s why you haven’t killed me yet, right?”

Lyrena says nothing, so Catherine slowly sits up. Lyrena is still on top of her, but only on her legs; Catherine’s propped up on her elbows as she watches Lyrena fight with herself.

“I know you know I’m real, I know you knew that since before Katherine was stabbed in the palace. What I don’t know is… why didn’t you say anything about it? Why didn’t you do anything?” Catherine frowns. “What happened to Maria de Salinas, the best Squire in Blessed history?”

Lyrena is shaking, blade at the ready… before it drops harmlessly to the side. Lyrena sags a bit, sitting on Catherine’s legs as she looks down, defeated.

“She lost her faith, Catherine.”

Lyrena shakes her head. 

“Your death… it didn’t feel real from the start. I knew something was wrong. But everyone else was convinced and I… I’m not strong enough, Catherine. I lost you - I had already given into that face. And I just… I wanted to do what you always made me promise I’d do if you were gone.”

Catherine nods. “Take care of Mary.”

Lyrena nods back. “I had absolutely no way to track you. Nothing I used worked. Blessed energy faded. By all accounts… you were dead.”

“Except in the account where you knew I wasn’t,” Catherine says softly. Lyrena shook her head.

“But I had nothing to prove it. Just a gut feeling. So I figured it was wrong, and I took care of Mary instead.”

“And she led you into the Darkness, it seems,” Catherine says. “I can’t help but be disappointed in you, Lyrena.”

Lyrena looks absolutely broken by the statement.

She shakes her head, head down, and all Catherine does is watch her closely.

“I… I’m sorry, Catherine-” Lyrena starts, but Catherine continues.

“Did you kill anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Soldiers. In war.”

“That happens all the time.”

“They were on the right side. They were the defenders.”

“During the different wars that Henry put you through, I assume?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever use banned magicks?”

Lyrena looks shocked at the question, snapping her head up to look at Catherine.

“What? No! I would never-”

“Did you ever aide in the magicks being casted?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then I think you’re still good, in all honesty.”

Lyrena blinks, then tilts her head.

“Why did you come here, Catherine?

Catherine sighs. “I came back for her.”

Lyrena tilts her head. “For Mary?”

“For Katherine.”

Lyrena says nothing as Catherine gets up and moves forward, towards the flame. It’s dawn now, and the flame seems to have gotten brighter throughout the night. Now, as the sun peeks over the mountains, the flame is almost blinding.

Lyrena moves with Catherine, only a step behind her, as they approach. Catherine steps up to the pedestal, watching the flame dance with life and renewed energy.

“And I imagine you’ll take the Blessed Oath once more?” Lyrena asks.

Catherine nods.

“I owe her that much.” She looks back, a soft smile on her face. “And with you as my Squire, how could she ever go off the Path of Light?”

Lyrena raises an eyebrow. “And you think I’ll just… go back to that? After everything I’ve done-”

“After everything Lyrena has done,” Catherine is quick to reply. “Take up Maria again. I miss her, and I think you do too. Let Lyrena go… or build off of her, one of the two. Take Lyrena’s crimes and redeem yourself through Maria.”

Lyrena watches Catherine carefully, clearly struggling with what Catherine was suggesting. 

“I killed people for her, Catherine. I killed and destroyed for Mary - and for Henry.”

“And I’m not saying just completely forget what happened,” Catherine says, tone neutral. “But I think you can grow from it and I know you want to make amends. I see it in your eyes, Maria.”

Lyrena shakes her head. “Please don’t call me that.”

“I’m calling you that because that’s your name. Your actual name. You’re from the light, you’re just, you were just… misguided. Swayed by grief into the dark.”

Catherine offers her hand.

“Let me help you come back to the Light.”

Lyrena takes a deep breath, watching the hand for a moment. It glows softly with Radiant energy. 

For a moment, Catherine really thought her oldest friend would walk out of the Sanctuary right then and there.

Instead, Lyrena nods.

“Okay.”

She takes Catherine’s hand, eyes squeezing shut as she feels Blessed energy pulses through Catherine’s hand and into her body again. Her armor returns to the pristine, gold-tinted form it was back then, and she can feel her eyes pulse with Radiant energy again.

Maria stands tall, once again a full-fledged Squire of a Blessed.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Catherine asks, smile growing as she watches Maria take it all in.

Maria nods in awe, looking down at her hands. “I forgot what it really felt like, to be able to wield this…” she squeezes her hands shut. “The amount of good we can do… maybe it’ll be enough.”

Catherine pulls her Squire into a hug, which Maria happily returns with as much force.

“I missed you,” Maria mumbled.

“I missed you too, love,” Catherine replies, sighing with relief that this worked out as well as it did.

They’re silent for a moment, enjoying the hug, before Catherine pulls back. “We have work to do, no?”

Maria’s smile falls. “What about Mary-”

“She will never walk the Path of Light again,” Catherine interrupts, “but she can still be saved. If anything, her not having her powers now should help save the lives she swore to protect.” Catherine looks into the flame. “We have a plan, so let’s stick to it.”

Maria thinks about it for a moment before she nods, a hand on Catherine’s shoulder. 

Maria nods. “Let’s get to it then-”

Suddenly, faster than what Maria can react to, a woman with wings tackles her. With great speed, Maria is bashed into a nearby wall, leaving Catherine alone where they were just standing a moment ago.

Their attacker pulses towards Maria again, but Catherine defends her Squire.

“Easy now,” Catherine says, shield up as the attack hits it. She raises an eyebrow. “Since when do you have wings, Anna?”

Anna immediately stops, yielding, and smirks. “You like?” She shows off the wings. “It’s those gauntlets I told you I’d get made.”

“They… make you have wings?”

“It’s Peleazar’s wings.”

“The dragon?”

“The dragon.”

“And why do you have those wings?”

“Because he’s in my head now.”

“Your-”

“Yeah. It’s a thing.”

After a moment of silence, Catherine shrugs then turns to Maria. “She’s good now,” Catherine says to Anna, moving to help her Squire up. “She’s with us.”

“That so?” Anna asks, walking towards them.

Maria huffs. “I told you I was going to talk to her,” Maria mumbles, straightening herself out.

“Yeah, well, call it payback for the past few months,” Anna replies, wings now gone. “I’m glad Catherine trusts you again.”

Maria smiles and nods, right before Catherine moves past them and to the alter.

“Alright. Here we go.”

Anna steps back and Maria steps forward as the Blessed and her Squire approach the alter.

Anna keeps watch, looking around to see if there were any unwanted visitors.

As she does, both Catherine and Maria stand at the alter and, together, put their hands into the flame. It grows ten times as big and, with a few words that Anna doesn’t recognize, they set off the start of the Blessed magicks.

It’s a weird feeling, but for Anna, it’s almost like… the souls of past, present, and future Blesseds swirl around them with a warm, wonderful surge. Thousands - millions? - of flames surround them, all slowly but surely turning into an inferno of light.

Anna is in awe, but Maria and Catherine continue the ritual. With a final declaration, Catherine summons a ball of light into her hand and thrusts it into the flame.

The explosion it creates blinds them all for a few moments, but when the flare dies down, they are all at the foot of the alter, staring up at it.

And there, at the top of the altar, is none other than Katherine Howard.

Her clothing has a gold trim to it now, staff next to her apparently made of pure sunlight. She’s levitating off the ground, shimmering wings of what seems to be Blessed energy attached to her back as she slowly comes to.

The girl looks up, then around, then at the wings, then at the people below her. They’re bowing, and it’s confusing.

Gently, oh so gently, the Druid is brought to the ground.

“Are you alright?” Anna is the first to speak, closing the distance between them to help Katherine steady herself. The wings burst into light and fade off.

Katherine blinks, a hand to her head. She frowns, deep in thought, until a hand comes into view. She looks up to find Catherine of Aragon there, smiling gently. Lyrena - Maria? - is next to her. On Katherine’s left is Anna, looking as relieved as she is in awe.

Katherine takes the hand that Aragon offers, tilting her head curiously. “What’s happened?”

“You’ve been reborn,” Catherine replies. “These powers travel from one person to the next… I imagine you got my Mary’s when she broke her Oath.” Then, with an even bigger smile:

“Welcome back, Blessed Howard.”

Katherine’s eyes go wide before she nods, looking down at her hands again before she looks back up. Her eyes glow gold for a moment before she hurries down the stairs, quickly moving to their side.

“They’re coming.”

Anna frowns. “Who?”

“Realmmen. About 500 of them.” Katherine tilts her head, as if listening to something the others can’t hear. “The trees are talking about them… more than they’ve ever spoken to me before.”

“Blessed Druids are fairly powerful usually, and Life itself can strengthen its voice through them,” Maria replies. “It’s not surprising that they’re chatty right now.”

Katherine moves forward, extending her hand. Her staff returns to her - filled with pure Radiant energy, more powerful than it ever was - and she stands tall as the Realmmen arrive.

Catherine stands to her left, Anna to her right, Maria immediately next to Catherine.

“500 vs four is a bit touchy odds,” Anna says, getting her sword ready.

Catherine watches the men for a moment before she takes a step back. “We’re not ready for this.”

“We’ll lose the Sanctuary,” Maria warns, but she’s already caught on to what Catherine was going to do and quickly grabs the stone Catherine offers, opening the portal.

“We don’t have a choice, not when Katherine’s only just returned,” Catherine replies. They all escape safely.

They end up rushing through the living room, Katherine falling to her knees.

“Easy there,” Catherine says quietly, kneeling to gently hold Katherine’s shoulder. “You only just came back, it’ll take some time-”

“What’s going on?”

The four look up to find Cathy and Anne standing there. Anne is absolutely frozen in shock.

“Katherine?”

Kat gives a soft smile and, shakily stands up. 

“I… I don’t know what’s really happened,” Katherine mumbles tiredly. “But I’m back, yeah. It’s me, Annie-”

Instantly, she’s pulled into a very, very tight hug by her cousin.

Katherine hugs back with everything she has, smiling brightly as Anne hugs her even tighter.

Cathy looks over at Catherine. “Was this your plan?”

Catherine nods. “The Final Mercy was to bring her back as a Blessed, yes.”

Anna continues. “We knew she had Blessed powers because of Avril’s detecting us that one night. The three of us talked it over for a few minutes and came to the conclusion rather quickly- well, that and her saving me from a dragon. That helped the argument, too.”

“All Blesseds are required to be reborn to unlock their full potential,” Catherine continues. “So when she was injured beyond repair… well, Jane made the decision for us, really.”

Cathy hums, leaning back a bit in thought. “Do you think Jane knew about that? We both knew she was something special, but she researched Blesseds far more than I did…”

“We’ll get the chance to ask her when we storm the castle,” Catherine replies, but her next sentence is cut off when another woman arrives in the room. “Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth stands tall with a soft smile on her face. “Hello, Catherine. It’s wonderful to see you again.” She looks over at the cousin’s reunion with a smile before tapping Katherine on the shoulder. When Kat sees her, she squeals with delight and hugs the woman tightly. 

“It’s great to see you all back, safe and sound,” Elizabeth says with a soft sight, keeping Katherine close. “Even you, Lyrena.”

“It’s Maria now,” Maria replies. “Finally decided to just… do it.”

It makes Liz smile even wider.

“So,” Catherine says, sitting back against the windowsill. She motions to Katherine, who immediately goes to hug her with a grin. “I take it everyone’s work was a success?”

“Mostly,” Anna replies. “Holbein is holding off what they can, but the mind magicks usage means the Realm has the upper hand by a wide margin. It won’t be long until Holbein falls, but Avril and Bessie are both ready to go and lead Holbein to victory when we are. Oh, and when we’re done here, Anne, I have some gauntlets I need to show you.”

Catherine nods, then turns to her daughter. “How’s Weston?”

“The Revolution is well under way,” Cathy says, “and they’re willing to help us. I have my sister on standby for further orders. They’re not warriors by any means, but a mob’s a mob and they did fight off a full team of Realm soldiers.”

“Maggie’s in the other room, she’s resting after what happened,” Anne says. “She’s a bit out of it, it’s been years since she was conscious, but she’s handling it as well as she can - maybe Catherine can help her further with some Blessed healing or something. Oh, and uh, I got Elizabeth, too, in case you didn’t notice, so… wasn’t too bad of a solo mission, if I do say so myself.”

“Good. And now Katherine is back, and Jane can be handled later,” Catherine says. “This is as good of a shape as we’re going to get. If we want to attack, now’s probably the best time.”

Cathy tilts her head. “Do you have a plan?”

“Nothing concrete, but I think we can figure it out on the way.” Catherine says, moving towards the portal. Maria loyally follows, but Anne can’t help but ask:

“On the way to where?”

Catherine smirks.

“You know the Moonlight Festival that’s upcoming, right?” Catherine asks. When Anne nods, she continues. “It’s the only time where the guards are a bit more scattered than normal. I expect them to be a bit more strained because of the Holbein issue, too, so-”

“Perfect time to strike,” Anne says.

“Well, not like we could wait for much longer, either,” Anna says. “Alright then. Some of us can stay here while the others travel. If we’re fast, we can be well on our way by first light.”

“Katherine should stay here to rest,” Catherine says. “Cathy can tend to the others. Elizabeth might be useful in that regard as well, no?”

“I’ll head on out with you, Maria and Anna, then,” Anne says. “Scout a bit to make sure we’re safe, too.”

“We’ll figure out a place to base ourselves and then move forward with coming up with a plan,” Catherine says. “For the moment, we need to set ourselves up closer to Henry. Once we do that, we’ll be ready.”

With a nod, the group disperses.

As soon as they’re out of the portal, Anna, Catherine, Maria and Anne head towards the Capitol, one step at a time.

As they walk, Anne can’t help but say it:

“Really couldn’t have let me in on the whole make-Kat-a-Blessed thing, hm?”

Catherine winces at that. “... we didn’t know if it would truly work because we didn’t know if any Sanctuaries were left, so-”

“I’m okay with it because it worked,” Anne interrupts. “And Kat’s safe and sound back at base. I guess… giving me false hope would have been worse, hm?”

Catherine nods. “Exactly what we were trying to avoid, yeah.”

Anne nods. “I get it. Just… I dunno, do it faster next time? Feels like years since I last saw her.”

Catherine chuckles. “If I have to resurrect a loved one of yours using ancient magicks again, I’ll be sure to hasten the very strict and formal ritual, yes.”

Anne winks. “Good, we’re at an understanding, then.”

A few hours in, Anne and Maria had gone ahead to scout, and Anna can’t help but ask Catherine:

“Do you think Jane knew this would happen?”

Catherine raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“Well… she did some research on Blesseds, right? And it wasn’t hard to figure out that Katherine would be the next one. Do you think… maybe… she helped us on this?”

Catherine stops. 

“Do you think she did?”

“I think she’s smart and witty and not entirely on Henry’s side,” Anna replies. “I don’t think she’s a good person. But I don’t think she’s against us, either.”

Catherine watches Anna for a moment before she continues to walk. “I don’t know, in all honesty,” Catherine says as Anna catches up, “but I wouldn’t put it past her. We’ll have to ask her when we get to her.”

“If Anne will even let us have a chance to speak to her before she kills her, you mean,” Anna says with a frown, and Catherine sighs.

“It’s my duty as a Blessed to make sure there are no needless casualties,” Catherine rattles off part of the Oath almost mindlessly. “So she’s probably safe from Anne’s blade.”

“Only probably?” Anna asks, but they’re cut off by Maria and Anne returning.

“Find anything?” Catherine asks.

“Only a few smaller squads in the area,” Maria says. “Nothing too major. We’ve found a path that’ll steer us clear of them but still fairly direct to the Capitol.”

“The longer we go, the harder it’ll be to feign detection through normal means,” Anne warns. “We should have Cathy get potions ready.”

“She’s already on it. Now that she has a bit more time with Elizabeth back, she’s been getting to prep things more,” Catherine explains. “We’ll be ready.”

“Once we’re there, I’m sure a few old buddies of mine can help with finding us some good places to lay low,” Anne says as they continue to walk. “Maybe even find us some food and the like, should help with the others’ recoveries.”

“I’ve still got a few friends that can help keep us safe and get us some potions and the like. We can really stock up on what we need for this final push.”

“And I know some guards that owe me a few favors,” Maria says. “They’ll look the other way on a few things. Shouldn’t be an issue.

“See? We’re practically overpowered with how much good stuff we’ve got going for us now,” Anne says with a grin. “I’ll go tell the others that, make sure they know this is in the bag.”

“I don’t think-” Catherine starts, but Anne is quickly portaled back to base.

Anna chuckles. “I think she just wanted to see everyone in the portal again,” Anna quips. “Probably not letting either of them out of her sight ever again.”

“Poor Kat and Mags, they’re going to have to get used to it,” Maria quips.

Catherine chuckles. “She deserves some good news after the hell she just went through. And until we get to the Capitol, she’s more than welcome to do whatever she wants to lift her spirits a bit more.” Catherine sobers up then. “With what’s about to happen… it might never be as happy for her again.”

They’re silent, deep in thought, as they continue their walk.

[lily-blue]

CODE Z3RO | CODE 12

characters: BTS & Red Velvet genre: thriller, futuristic au warning: death summary: The twelve most ambitious and promising university students are welcomed in Choego, the world’s first entirely artificial intelligence-driven city, to compete for five job contracts that could change their life. But what if something goes wrong? What if they get trapped? What if the city suddenly turns against them? Can they find a way out before the countdown reaches zero? words: 4,1K tagged: @philosopher-of-fandoms���

➼ Chapter Index

All Namjoon could think about was Wendy and her lifeless body that had been slowly sinking underneath the flowery soil barely an hour prior. And he hated the whole world for taking her away from him in such a cruel and unfair way. She, out of all people, would have deserved so much better. Better than a tomb and a useless boyfriend like him.

After his short-lived conversation with Yerim that had failed to put his restless heart at ease, his mind started throwing bittersweet flashbacks at the engineer, memories of them fighting over the last piece of toast, him drinking straight from the carton of milk, Wendy complaining about his lame choice of presents for her birthday and Christmas and suddenly he regretted that he had always forgotten Valentine’s Day. Reminiscing about his girlfriend, lipstick stains on the edge of his favourite mug, even their most irritating fights and habits seemed nice thus he wished he hadn’t rushed out of the kitchen so hastily. He should have stayed there and borne with her teasing because deep down he had known very well that it had been her way to cope with the suffocating death lingering around them. If only she hadn’t run after him and rather stayed with the rest of the team, peeling the ingredients, she would have been still alive. But she had chosen him over her pride and it all had been his fault. The thought alone truly drove Namjoon crazy, transparent hands choking him with every breath he took.

Wandering in the dark pit of self-blame, still angry due to the newfound information about the researchers’ decision to keep going with such a dangerous project, he was only pulled back to reality when Taehyung pushed him against the wall of the air-drain and that was when he also realized that it was hard to breathe. Maybe his chest wasn’t heavy solely because of his grief after all but also due to the gas that filled the pipes. Another splendid feature that had been made by the creators. One more way they could have killed them. And funnily, the boy didn’t care about dying anymore let it happen in an abandoned building amongst people or all alone at home while sleeping at the age of eighty.

He could hear the echo of Yoongi’s panting and thinking of Wendy, Namjoon turned to their leader and helped him with the slow crawling forwards. He tore a small piece off of his tee to lift it in front of the guy’s face then reminded him of the importance of breathing through his nose even though it might have been annoying with the cloth touching his eyes and mouth whenever they made a move. They were merely in an arm’s length distance from Jungkook’s dirty shoes when they snapped their heads towards the little girl ahead, her silent cry echoing in the small area. She buried her face into the crook of the young boy’s shoulder, shaking and if anything then it proved that something terrible had happened.

Truth to be told, Namjoon was jealous of them having each other but he tried not to think too much into their close proximity because every single member of the team knew that the boy didn’t like the girl. It was merely the aftereffect of the shock that they all felt due to the death of their former acquaintances. It wasn’t real love. He shouldn’t have envied such a fake bubble of nonexistent affection. But he did nevertheless, yearning for the soft skin of his girlfriend’s palm on his cheek.

The boy didn’t even realize that Taehyung was missing until Yoongi’s loud cough beside him remained unnoticed, silence embracing them instead of the familiar mocking tone of the lilac haired guy. After the initial confusion that was clearly written on his face, Namjoon decided to follow the front of the queue regardless of his dislike of letting someone as dangerous as Seulgi take the lead once again. She was unworthy of his trust, her words were imprecise and her knowledge was markedly limited. They moved towards the computer room as one, trying not to stare too much when they passed the hole where the Marketing guy escaped from the gas and they threw Jungkook’s left shoe down at the next exit point to check whether it was safe. They didn’t want to make the same mistake, Taehyung had made, jumping into the arms of death out of carelessness and fear. So far the gas seemed to be harmless, only making them cough although they couldn’t be sure that it wouldn’t have had negative side effects on their bodies later on. But that later felt out of reach taken that they could have died in any minute. They would have been utterly stupid to care about cancer or such although Wendy must have disagreed. Such a silly thought.

The group stared at the lonely shoe for long minutes before Yoongi climbed down and the others followed, their feet touching the ground one by one. When even Yerim got out of the pipes safely, her trembling hand holding onto Jungkook, they looked around silently in the enormous room with a dozen of computers in it. No one dared to speak about Taehyung’s selfish death hence the buzzing sound of the electronic devices slowly drove them nuts. They were finally inside the killing machine. Yet their limbs were frozen.

‘So… is this it? The main computer that can help us get out?’ Yerim asked in a small voice, her arms besides her sides. She took a step towards the biggest screen and looked up at it with her big doe eyes so innocent as if she was begging them to agree.

‘I think, yeah,’ Namjoon told her not one hundred percent sure of himself but at least he tried unlike their leader who walked next to the girl quietly then passed her by without a word to take a good look at the computer, he was so addicted to, from a different angle.

It was white, a warm blanket as thick as fog, the familiar scenery getting blurry and the IT guy’s limbs froze, legs unable to move. Yoongi snapped his head towards the corner where Seulgi should have been but the room was empty and he had suddenly found himself utterly alone. He furrowed his brows in confusion and lifted his hand in front of his right eye to rub it as if he could have magically gotten everyone back. It felt like a nightmare especially because his palms also became sweaty when he realized that his precious laptop bag had disappeared as well.

‘You ungrateful child! I asked you, I begged you not to go but you needed to prove yourself, hah? Aish. Look where your precious IT major has gotten you! You should have listened to me when you still had a chance. And now you’ll die without me being able to say goodbye. You’re such a cruel boy, Min Yoongi. You have never been easy on my heart!’ a sorrowful plea came from out of nowhere, blaming the prodigal son and begging him at the very same time, yearning for something quite impossible.

The always so rational boy shook his head, hands sliding onto her ears and knees trembling a little as he sat on his heels to find his balance. A tiny part of his sanity was aware of the fact that his mother couldn’t possibly be in Choego as the whole city was locked down and not to mention that she hated public transportation so much that she had barely left Daegu. Yet, his heart churned at the thought that she was close and that he could have talked with her one more time. He wanted to tell her a hella lot of things alongside his useless apologies. More than anything, he wanted her to know that he was grateful for everything she had done for him through the years, that he loved her regardless of their debates and that he felt truly sorry. He hadn’t made it easy for her either as he was ever so stubborn, lacking the ability of letting his emotions be shown without feeling overly anxious.

‘Mom? What are you…’ he spoke up with warm tears piercing his eyes and it was stupid, he knew but he couldn’t help it. It was so freaking realistic, he wanted to smash something or cry out helplessly. He was tired of this whole situation, of acting as if he had been truly hopeful when in reality he craved for reassurance just as much as the others. Under the cold exterior, he was just another human being who freaked out when he saw dead bodies and blood. He definitely hadn’t signed up for being a part of an impossible survivor show, a new generation Battle Royal with a smart city being their biggest enemy besides time.

There was a moment when his mother’s voice became so loud, his doubting thoughts melted into nothingness and he truly believed that it was over. That he would follow Seokjin and the others and die like a rat. It was a frightening thought.

He felt a stinging pain in his shoulder but he decided to not care about it too much until a small palm slapped him and his eyes opened wide. It was Yerim kneeling in front of him, face so close to his own that the boy could see the barely there moles on her nose regardless of the fog. She looked scared yet very much determined as she pulled away and mumbled a quiet sorry. Yoongi shook his head.

‘It’s fi—’

‘It’s a hallucination. Guys, it’s a hallucination. They’re not real!’ Yerim’s pitched voice echoed in the air once she stood up, running towards Jungkook so fast as if she felt guilty for not choosing him first. The memory of the younger’s teary eyes froze the IT guy’s limbs because even though it was only a wild guess on the boy’s part, he thought that those tears might have been brimming in her eyes because of her brother who had died in the basement of the local hospital. Just like in his case with his mom, they couldn’t have said goodbye to each other either. That must have been still hard on her. And Yoongi was sure that it would remain the same for the rest of her life, let there be one more hour or year ahead of the girl.

Just like Yerim, Jungkook hallucinated about Seokjin as well but while the eldest had seemed sad in his sister’s dreams, he was quite furious in the boy’s. He blamed him for his own death and screamed into his face, yearning for revenge.

‘You killed me! You killed both of us!’ he shouted and Jungkook didn’t even need to think hard to know whom he was referring to. The elder was talking about Gangnam Girl whose name had been so insignificant back then that the boy couldn’t even recall it. Seeing her begging for help, he had run towards the exit like a selfish child and had refused to mention to the others where she had been exactly or that he had seen her stuck behind the glass door.

The boy was aware of the fact that they were all responsible for themselves at first and only then came the others. He also knew that back then neither of them had known that the city would murder them one by one with its fucked up security system. So maybe others would have done the same as he had done. It didn’t make him a cold-blooded killer, it only showed how desperate he was to get a contract so that he could take care of his poor family. He was a good person, a good person. He was good. Seokjin knew nothing about him and his motives. Otherwise he wouldn’t have been so unfairly judging.

‘I’m sorry… I didn’t…’ he tried to reason but his tongue felt sore and he failed to form the words that mingled up in his mind. There was a helpless teardrop running down his cheek when two tiny palms slid onto his cheeks and his heart could finally rested in a warm embrace. He kept murmuring under his nose though, looking for an excuse that could have cleared his self-conscious. He did feel guilty for both the rich girl and Seokjin’s death.

Yerim didn’t leave Jungkook’s side and watching them, Yoongi pushed himself onto his feet and walked towards Seulgi who was indeed in one of the corners of the room where he had previously assumed. A few locks of her messy hair fell into her face, hands shielding her ears from whoever who was talking to her in her head. Her eyes were teary just like Yerim’s and it made the boy feel uneasy as he slowly made the distance between their bodies disappear.

‘If only, you would have been braver. You could have saved a lot more. But no, you needed to make it worse with that accident in the researcher building, didn’t you? I told you, smoking will kill you one day.’ It was her mother’s raspy voice but she was facing herself as if she had looked into a mirror. She couldn’t bear the sight.

There were lots of people throughout the years who had told Seulgi that she had reminded them of her mother but she had always shushed them away with a small wave of her hand. In her opinion, they couldn’t have been more different from each other as they had never once agreed on any topic let them talking about food or TV programmes that they could have watched during dinner. They had different taste in music, in actors, in holiday destination and in future plans. She preferred to stay in South Korea to build new and better houses on the countryside that could keep the poor warm while the woman wanted her to leave, to move to America and became just as wealthy as the chaebols she hated. Only later she had realized that when she had been in her age, her mother had had a twin sister who had died due to a robbery in that petrol station where she had bought her cigarettes most of the time. But regardless of this newfound information, she still couldn’t make herself quit smoking. She was an addict and life was too stressful.

A shiver ran down her spine when something warm wrapped around her wrists, peeling her hands off her ears with force. Even though she hated the feel of the touch, she was too weak to set herself free. She was stuck in her mind.

‘It’s not real. Snap out of it, Seulgi! You hear me? I’m the one who is real, not them. It’s me,’ a familiar voice addressed her but it was fairly quiet as if it had come from under heavy layers of icy water. So instead of listening to it or asking back who was talking to her, Seulgi kept her gaze on her reflection, on the voice that was blaming her, mocking her with wearing her own face.

She didn’t even realize that she was holding her breath back until insecure fingers started to play with her hair, whispering the same words into her ear over and over again. ‘I’m the one who is real. It’s me. I’m here.’

Namjoon stood in the middle of a room full of people and it was worse than being completely alone because they markedly didn’t want to listen no matter how loudly he screamed at them. They remained still, talking to each other, laughing on ridiculously nonsense jokes and acted as if he hadn’t been there in the first place. He couldn’t decide whom he should have walked up to first to shake a little sense into the emotionless bunch so he closed his eyes and pointed at someone blindly, taking a few unsure steps towards the chosen direction before the blood froze in his veins. He snapped his head at the door on his right, the little girl who had been his target a mere second ago, long forgotten.

‘Namjoon! Namjoon please help! I can’t breathe,’ Wendy said along with a cough that both scared the hell out of the boy and lifted those heavy weights off his chest that made it hard for him to breathe as well. Because his girlfriend was still alive and at that moment, nothing else mattered. Sadly, not even the fear in her voice. Namjoon’s mind shut it out entirely until the girl spoke up again, this time a little weaker after a more painful cough. ‘Something is wrong with the air, it’s suffocating as if the whole building was on fire. Help me!’

There was a loud thud and then silence.

‘Wendy?’ her name, as a question, fell from the boy’s lips while he ran to the door, trying to tear it open. But there was no handle, he could have grabbed.

He slid down along the metal and hit the object with his fist until it became numb and sore. It hurt as it was bleeding on his knuckles but he couldn’t give a damn about the physical pain. The thought of losing Wendy again was much worse because this time it would have indeed been all his fault. It would have been him who couldn’t save her.

‘Namjoon, please. I don’t want to die, not yet. Please,’ she begged him but her voice came from another direction this time that forced the boy’s eyebrows to the middle of his forehead. He looked around in confusion, his gaze observing the crowd but as he paid close attention to the mass of people, he noticed that they had no faces nor ears. They looked like a bunch of lifeless dolls, one could have seen in shop windows. It didn’t make any sense. A few minutes prior he had heard them laugh so hard, he wanted to punch them in the face.

His legs were wobbly when he stood up and turned towards the metal door that changed into a transparent wall. Now, Namjoon could see the hallway in front of the room but the corridor was empty and the air looked fresh.

‘Where are you, babe? Wendy, where are you?’ he asked in despair turning around multiple times, running from one puppet to the other. He pushed a few on the ground carelessly, not bearing the thought of wasting his time while his girlfriend was in danger. He wouldn’t let this shapeshifting building take her away from him now that he got her back.

His heartbeats were so loud that he needed to stop for a minute and calm down otherwise it could have been possible that he would go totally deaf before he could have deciphered the instructions that the girl gave him. So after his short-lived rampage, his movements came to a halt and he closed his eyes to be able to focus more effectively, repeating his question over and over again until he finally got an answer so weak, it churned his heart. It sounded as if it came from a ghost.

‘It’s so dark, I can’t see,’ she claimed and the first thing that came to the boy’s mind was that they had buried her under pretty flowers. Was she calling for him from her coffin? Could she had been still alive underneath, waiting for him to get her out of that stupid hole? Was this freaking city developed enough to heal major wounds, to save lives even when people failed? It seemed so impossible and yet Namjoon found himself believing in his childish ideas. He wanted to believe that somehow Wendy had survived the blood loss, that miracles existed in Choego.

But then came a faint knock from behind his back and this time it echoed on the surface of a wooden door that had a handle.

‘I… I love you. I… I wanted to have a family with you. I… I’m so sorry,’ the girl confessed quietly and it was so out of the character from her, apologizing when she didn’t do anything wrong. Because regardless of their stupid debate that had been started with her comment on his cooking skills, he couldn’t put the blame on her without feeling bitter. He could have also chosen to stay and eat the lunch they had been about to prepare. No one had forced him to run away.

He had wanted to have a family with her too but Wendy had been always adamant when the topic had come up between them at home. She had worked super hard to become an excellent doctor and settling down and having children together would have ruined everything for her. She had wanted to have a stable career before she would have gotten pregnant. Namjoon had usually understood her reasoning and he had loved her so much, he could have waited for her to be ready, but the fact that she had been so against the idea had hurt him nevertheless. So now when he could hear the sincerity in her faint voice, the whole wide world turned into something worthless and insignificant in his eyes. The core of his existence was Wendy and the medic girl alone who had never failed to take care of him when he had caught the cold.

‘I’m coming. Please hold on for a little while. I’m coming,’ he said but the door got further and further away with every step he took.

‘I’m so scared, Joon-ah,’ she admitted and the boy could imagine how hard it could have been for her to show him her vulnerable side. Out of the two of them, it had been always Wendy who had been the stronger.

He brushed the hand off his shoulder when someone touched him then snapped at the intruder harshly for stealing some of his precious time. Yet, the doll didn’t back off, not even when he pushed her onto the ground. No. It stared at him horrified as it put on a familiar face. It looked at him with Yerim’s big doe eyes, unshed tears shining in them like restless stars on the cloudy sky.

‘Namjoon, stop! It’s not Wendy! It’s a hallucination, the fog’s doing,’ Seulgi tried to reason, touching his upper arm tentatively but even for the lightest touch, the boy snapped. He slid his angry gaze to the other girl and gritted his teeth. Seulgi was the last person he had wanted to encounter with now that he was on his way to his girlfriend. The same girl whom he had lost due to the Architecture major’s incompetence. 

‘Let go of me!’ he pushed her further as well, and it was only because of Yoongi that she didn’t lose her balance the same way as Yerim had done. Namjoon was much stronger when he was angry than any of them would have guessed. They simply couldn’t stop him marching towards the door. ‘She needs me. She’s waiting for me. I can’t leave her alone,’ he told them before he speeded up and grabbed the handle.

‘Snap out of it, man!’ Jungkook shouted after him, voice trembling at the end of his sentence. He couldn’t believe what was about to happen in front of his eyes, in front of all of them.

Because one thing was inevitable once Namjoon opened the door and crossed the threshold to step out to the hallway where Taehyung’s body laid. The laser cut him into pieces before he could have screamed. He smelled like roasted meat, falling onto the ground in five different directions.

Jungkook grabbed Yerim’s elbow and pulled her into his embrace on instinct so that he could cover the dreadful sight of the lifeless body parts and the flood of blood on the tiles. Then he also buried his face into the girl’s hair as if it could have functioned as a curtain between the world and them. It couldn’t.

Seulgi kept her eyes on Yoongi and the IT guy just stared at the still figure, dumbfounded. It took him long minutes to collect himself and walk back to the main computer, looking for the control panel of the aircon that could have helped them suck the fog out of the air. As they didn’t need the door to make the air clearer, Seulgi closed it, trying not to glance at the bodies before she leaned her forehead against the door and made an attempt to even her breathing in vain. Even if one of them was Taehyung, it was definitely too much to handle.

The silence that was broken only by the buzzing sound of the computers was suffocating, Jungkook thought, while he fondled Yerim’s hair. This time she didn’t cry like the boy had expected from her. Her shoulders didn’t shake, not even a little. And her stillness was more frightening than her tears had ever been before.

➼  XIII. chapter

[starfaring-princelotor]

The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 1: The Empty Legacy

-

Summary: The world is becoming more and more dangerous, both on land and sea. It’s time for you to face this fight, and dragon, on your own terms. Even if it means siding along with the kingdom who would condemn your kind without mercy.

Warnings: Mention about decapitation. 

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: It’s a medieval-ish AU with dragons. What more could you want?

1 . 2 .

-

[There’s an old saying among renegade sea folk: The pirate that counts their booty are mere thieves. 

War and death have pillaged the water and dirt of the planet for centuries, costing innocent lives from both sides. It was easy to paint the enemy as the enemy, as the one who needs to die before their sword cuts down your soul. It was easy to defend what you righteously believed needs to be defended, whether that be gold or the treasures that come with family and friends. It was easy to embrace that the laws of the sea were, at best, just rumors among the free people. 

And such laws, such rules whispered by the dead man, don’t apply to the mystical wildlife. They don’t apply to creatures who have no loyalty, who have no other moral besides kill and eat for survival. From the trolls of the mountains, to the mermaids of the sea, to the fae of the forests, to the very dragons who control elements with ferocity matching the epitome of death itself, it would do well to remember that a set of fangs have no set order to kill. 

But while beasts and monsters roam, and kingdoms rise and fall to the tests of time, and legends become lingering myths by the breath of the wind, it is the folly of prideful ignorance which murders countless more than the culmination of every bloodthirsty demon known in existence. With that in mind, tread carefully around those you would call allies or friends or like-minded folks. The Codex of Life may preach all-for-one and one-for-all, but deep down, it is a beautifully written lie for the over-eager martyrs. 

Do not fall for such false speech regarding the dichotomy of good and evil. 

Severing a hydra’s head will not kill it. Mana spells are useless against the naga’s of the Ice Plateaus. Beware of the volcano whose smoke takes form of two lovers, for no weapon or mantra can quell their rage should you cross them on a full moon. This collection of knowledge will help spread death, strike fear and hope in the hearts of many, and I leave this to you, my child. 

You will have no legacy to follow. You are the bastard child I left behind to reach that unreachable freedom. You will make your own name amongst the farthest edges of the sea with every gale that blesses your sails. 

You are a pirate.]

Closing the leather-bound journal, you skimmed your thumb over the pressed design of crossbones and cutlass’ on the cover. A legacy forgotten and one you would never know about? Dead men tell no tales, indeed. But regardless, this book would help with the bounty you were debating on facing. The paper was flimsy, hastily ripped off the pole to save for later, but the words were clear as day. And if you were able to complete this task, pocket enough shiny coin to support your entire crew with all the rum and pleasure they could want for years on end, leave behind your own legend, then that’d be enough for you. 

“Seeking Dragonslayers of all kind! Report to Altea, Blessed Kingdom of Oriande!”

Then, hastily scribbled at the bottom.

“Speak to Paladin Takashi of the Black Mane Guild.”

Hefting yourself from your seat, you downed the rest of your mug reeking of ale and moist wood. The jovial band played, the patrons danced, the entire room was filled with fighting life, and it was impossible to not let it flow through you. It felt wrong to hold such a book in this place, the taboo writings from death’s bleeding quill. And so, with a tip of your hat and a silver doubloon for the ever so diligent barkeep, you stumbled out into the chill of the night with nothing but your guns, your sword, and the magical warmth of ale to keep you steadfast and eager towards your freedom. 

But freedom always came with a cost and you paid a leg to chase it. 

When you passed through the heavily fortified gates of Altea, shimmering in that pristine metal forged only by the elves of old, nothing came as a surprise. This place, this kingdom, the people here, were rich with elegance and practically congested in an air of royalty. Prim and proper. Clean, lethal, and ready to strike while looking mystical by default. Alteans, they called themselves. A long generation of the ancient Elven deities, granted with the dwindling power of magic. 

The book states they do not share their secrets with outsiders. Not even to those stupidly loyal to them. 

Imagine the raised brow of confusion when you saw their captain, that Takashi fellow, was a werewolf. So far from his pack, this one. Though, it made sense. Ferocious, fierce, werewolves were not meant to be trifled with, full moon or no. The loyalty of the wolf combined with the logical reasoning of man? Smart. Now, the real question was where did his allegiance lie? 

“Paladin Takashi, I presume?”

Grey eyes, like the foggiest of winter nights, met yours and you saw him size you up with but a flash. Not lecherously, no, more like how a soldier would assess a fight, a situation, a potential ally or enemy. With amusement glistening in YOUR eyes, you found that he couldn’t pinpoint you down. A pirate on land? Joining the fight for a good cause? Yes, yes, you heard it all before. Walking ironies were always meant to be suspicious. 

But pirates had charm and you knew when to use it. 

With a flourished bow, both exaggerating in mock and respect, you spoke through a grin, “Allow me to introduce meself, ser. I be known as Peg-Leg the Kegmaster, cannon crafter and duelist extraordinaire of The Mermaid’s Doom, here at yer service.”

 “A pirate?”

“Aye, a pirate, and if ye gunna be needin’ a slayed dragon, then yer gunna be needin’ what I have’ta offer.”

“To be honest, I’m surprised the guards didn’t detain you at first sight. But, desperate times call for desperate measures,” he replied freely, not at all with a judgmental tone but one of legitimate concern for you, for a stranger.

“An’ I be the perfect one fer those desperate times, mate.”

You placed the bounty parchment on the table in front of him then slid into the seat, onlookers tending to their own business. Coming here, to the central command of the vigilant army, there were all sorts of different kinds of folks around. Some wielding spears and donning turtle shells on their backs, others like Shiro with ears and tails and even fangs of werewolves, feathered harpies whose talons looked lethal enough to kill a shark, and even dwarves armored with fine metal from top to bottom. 

A ragtag group of people, all coming together to fight one monster which has been blighting their landlubbing surface for who knows how long. An honorable cause, but as they say, there’s no honor amongst thieves. That’s why proving yourself right now would be pivotal to your aligned goals. 

“By order of Her Majesty, Princess Allura, I have been bestowed the task of ridding the quintessence raged dragon of the north. Because of this, we can not allow magic-wielders to join our group. I know Peg is not your real name - “ you grinned cheekily, not at all affected by the admonishing tone in the truth, “ - but if you use quintessence to fight, I’m afraid you’re of no use to us on the frontline.”

“Nay, I t’aint one for hocus-pocus witchcraft. You start mutterin’ curses and voodoo gobbledee gook, I scatter like-a flock o’ gulls fleeing from the slimy tentacles of kraken itself.” With a nod to the paper, you continued, “If I were to be speakin’ the truth, matey, I’m here fer the gold. Nothing more, nothing less. Anything to do with yer kingdoms rubbin’ elbows with ya fancy silks are of no concern to me.”

Shiro leaned back, arms crossed, then tilted his head just a bit, not at all unlike a puppy trying to understand some strange phenomenon. He wasn’t a fresh soldier from the pack. Battle scars under his fur showed that this isn’t the first time he’s faced a foe bigger than himself. It was only by his strong connection with his righteous virtues and a debt owed to Altea, more specifically Honerva, that he was appointed captain of this draconic crusade. 

But his trust in his instincts were always on point. That made him invaluable and right now? With watching you smile that smarmy smile, his instincts told him that, yes, you were good. Rogues were a recipe for trouble, add that with the lot of pirates, and you get chaos. An ace up the sleeve, a random boon that benefits all based on the law of uncertainty. Shiro would take a draw rather than a loss any day. 

And he’s dealt with pirates before. Closely, in fact. 

The Paladin rubbed his chin with his prosthetic arm, the smooth surface of quintessence run mechanism offering a small calm for his thoughts. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

“The wind in the sails took ‘em to the sea. I chose t’stay. ‘Tis only a matter of time before this dragon o’ yers starts roosting in other lands and I ain’t one for facing more monsters below and above the waves,” your voice trailed off for a moment before your eyes snapped from his arm to his face, “Nor am I lookin’ to be noosed by yer masters. If this alliance can not be, I’ll be on me merry way an’ ye won’t need ‘ta worry about one more pirate on your plate.”

But he was no fool. Word of the growing stress between kingdoms reached even overseas in the last decade. News about the alliance between Altea and Daibazaal falling out with King Alfor’s death, or rather, “assassination.” It was rumored that the Galra leaders unleashed an ancient dragon, created of pure quintessence, to attack the Elven empire and cripple the nation. After the destruction which nearly annihilated the royal family, it fled to the Kral Zera holy lands, never to be seen again. 

Until now. Shiro repeatedly told himself that perhaps this was just a dead end, a fairy tale told to keep kids safe and sound inside. A story meant to induce fear that the evil dragon can sense wrongdoings and will come eat you to gain more power. All leads he followed led to different answers, and this may be an unaccomplished quest in the end, but if that were the case, then he will serve to protect the innocent at the highest cost. 

“The Black Mane work with several nations, not just one. If you can prove to be useful, be battle ready when needed, and are willing to help all, then consider yourself part of the pact,” he pulled out a folded paper from his pouch then slid it to you, “It’s a contract, rules to be followed while commissioned by the guild.”

“Yer giving me a set o’ rules?”

Now, this is where he let slip a grin hiding familiar mischief, “They’re more like guidelines should you choose to follow them, for your safety and the successful completion of this quest.” 

“Tell me something, cap’n,” you asked, eyes reading but mindful of his attention, “Have ye ever broken one o’ them rules of yers?”

“Yes.” Straight answer with a tone of finality, a tone of that is all I’m saying on the matter.

You signed across the line, temporarily giving your time and life over to this noble cause, “Then do we have an accord?”

Shiro shook hands with pirates before. He’s taken more hands before, too. But what most people would suspiciously think about making deals with pirates were wrong. Honor and loyalty weren’t definitions they followed by their very soul, not like he did, yet as he firmly grasped your offered hand in agreement, his instincts told him one jarring fact.

This deal was empty, but oddly promising. 

[silkpunk]

Fur and flesh to metal and fire: Native woman as embodiment of cultural tradition and anti-colonial re-configurations of steampunk in “Good Hunting”

Introductory note

I’ve seen tumblr posts and opinion pieces praising and condemning the animated adaptation of Ken Liu’s “Good Hunting” in Love, Death + Robots. Whether positive or negative, most comments are brief and reactionary, with some expressing awe towards the steampunk and Chinese folklore elements, and/or disappointment towards its depictions of sexual and racial violence. I’m writing this post as an appeal for viewers and readers to consider the centrality and depth of European colonialism to the narrative, and attempt to interpret the story’s denotations on the dynamics between the European colonizer, the colonized man, and woman in the aftermath of the Opium War. This post draws heavily on Ken Liu’s original text in addition to the Netflix adaptation.

Summary:

The gendered Chinese folklore of the Huli jing and Good Hunting’s subversion

Colonial British “progression” (in the form of steam tech) displaces Chinese folklore

The Body is Political – conquest of body and land

The Empire’s Subjects Strike Back – Re-programming steampunk for decolonial resistance

Personal evaluations on adapting text to film

The gendered Chinese folklore of the Huli jing and Good Hunting’s subversion

The text introduces the huli jing as a figure of Chinese folklore: one that, like the succubus of the West, is a predatory female that seduces and preys on men. It is a folklore that reflects male anxieties of the dangers and dirtiness of female sexuality:

[1]

“You must save him,” the merchant’s wife had said, bowing like a chicken pecking at rice. “If this gets out, the matchmakers won’t touch him at all.” [2]

The huli jing is a figure heavily entrenched in the Chinese psyche as promiscuous, immoral, and sexually devious, to the extent that it even permeates the language: “huli jing” is widely used today as an insult against sexually deviant women (usually against 小三 / 3rd party / side woman, like slut / bitch). Liu’s depiction is thus very explicitly and purposefully subversive in its attempt to give the huli jing a voice, to testify to their innocence (or at the very least, blamelessness):

“She liked her freedom and didn’t want anything to do with him. But once a man has set his heart on a hulijing, she cannot help hearing him no matter how far apart they are. All that moaning and crying he did drove her to distraction, and she had to go see him every night just to keep him quiet.”

This was not what I learned from Father.                                                          

“She lures innocent scholars and draws on their life essence to feed her evil magic! Look how sick the merchant’s son is!”

“He’s sick because that useless doctor gave him poison that was supposed to make him forget about my mother. My mother is the one who’s kept him alive with her nightly visits. And stop using the word lure. A man can fall in love with a hulijing just like he can with any human woman.” [2]

Liu makes his intentions clear in the comment:

In writing this story, I wanted […] to turn the misogynistic huli jing legends upside down. In these legends, usually composed by male scholars, the huli jing is a dangerous feminine creature who uses her sexuality to deprive men of their vitality and essence. My huli jing questions that narrative. [3]

Following Yan’s appeal and the brutal death of her mother, the protagonist Liang and the viewer/reader alike become convinced of her innocence and the huli jing‘s victimhood – we become aligned with her. And indeed, the text seems to unite the native Chinese characters and folklore across gendered and human/demon fault lines against the greater threat of foreign colonizers.

Colonial British “progression” (in the form of steam tech) displaces Chinese folklore

The narrative is set in the aftermath of the Opium War, and the British occupation of Hong Kong (around 1841). Though Yan and Liang reside in a more rural area, the British presence is strongly felt, mainly through the steam trains and railways that come to penetrate the landscape:

I had heard rumors that the Manchu Emperor had lost a war and been forced to give up all kinds of concessions, one of which involved paying to help the foreigners build a road of iron. But it had all seemed so fantastical that I didn’t pay much attention. [2]

The train is widely presented as a symbol of modernity that the “progressive” British colonizers attempt to bring to their “backward” colonies in their civilizing mission [4]. The “advancement” of the steam train is clearly antagonistic to the “primitive” native religion – they cannot coexist, and with colonization, the occupier’s system of logic, truth and tech displaces native belief, practice and magic:

Thompson strode over to the buddha and looked at it appraisingly. […]

Then I heard a loud crash and a collective gasp from the men in the main hall.

“I’ve just broken the hands off of this god of yours with my cane,” Thompson said. “As you can see, I have not been struck by lightning or suffered any other calamity. Indeed, now we know that it is only an idol made of mud stuffed with straw and covered in cheap paint. This is why you people lost the war to Britain. You worship statues of mud when you should be thinking about building roads from iron and weapons from steel.”

There was no more talk about changing the path of the railroad.

After the men were gone, Yan and I stepped out from behind the statue. We gazed at the broken hands of the buddha for a while.

“The world’s changing,” Yan said. “Hong Kong, iron roads, foreigners with wires that carry speech and machines that belch smoke. More and more, storytellers in the teahouses speak of these wonders. I think that’s why the old magic is leaving. A more powerful kind of magic has come.” [2]

Note the privileging of the new and inorganic (roads of iron, weapons of steel) over the old and organic (statues of mud and straw) – the landscape (and later, Yan’s organic body) transforms in this manner. Yan details how the changes affect her: she can no longer transform at will, and barely hunts enough for survival.

Liang is likewise affected. The text explains his decision to leave for British-administered Hong Kong: colonization renders his family’s demon hunting business obsolete, and his father takes his own life:

People stopped coming to Father and me to ask for our services. They either went to the Christian missionary or the new teacher who said he’d studied in San Francisco. Young men in the village began to leave for Hong Kong or Canton, moved by rumors of bright lights and well-paying work. […] As I let his body down, my heart numb, I thought that he was not unlike those he had hunted all his life: they were all sustained by an old magic that had left and would not return, and they did not know how to survive without it. [2]

Regardless of their previous antagonism, human and demon, man and woman alike are dispossessed by colonialism. For the native woman especially, this colonial invasion is particularly intimate, as it occurs at the level of the sexual.

The Body is Political – conquest of body and land

I believe that Good Hunting illustrates how the native woman embodies the culture of the colonized, and thus her body becomes a site of political and sexual contestation. I base this belief on notions from Frantz Fanon’s essay, “Algeria Unveiled”, in which he describes the psycho-sexual antagonism arising between the white French colonizer and the veiled Muslim women of Algeria. Needless to say, real-life accounts differ from fictive re-imaginings, and the cultural configurations of French Algeria and British Hong Kong are definitely inequivalent, yet, they share common rhythms in the dynamic of sexual violence between white colonizer and the exoticized colonial subject.

Fanon explicates how the veiled Muslim woman’s body came to represent the whole culture of the colonized peoples of Algeria:

One may remain for a long time unaware of the fact that a Moslem does not eat pork or that he denies himself daily sexual relations during the month of Ramadan, but the veil worn by the women appears with such constancy that it generally suffices to characterize Arab society. We have seen that on the level of individuals the colonial strategy of destructuring Algerian society very quickly came to assign a prominent place to the Algerian woman. The colonialist’s relentlessness, his methods of struggle were bound to give rise to reactionary forms of behavior on the part of the colonized. In the face of the violence of the occupier, the colonized found himself defining a principled position with respect to a formerly inert element of the native cultural configuration. [5]

In short, the veil, a “formerly inert element” of Algerian Muslim culture, gains significance because it becomes a marker of that culture, a marker of difference, under the white colonizer’s gaze. To eliminate native culture, it is therefore imperative to eliminate the veil, and the native Algerian reacts by resisting this unveiling. In this manner, the Algerian woman’s body becomes a site for colonial conflict. This is why imperial expansion and territorial conquest is inextricably tied to rape – think of the pervasiveness of “rape and pillage”:    

The history of the French conquest in Algeria, including the overrunning of villages by the troops, the confiscation of property and the raping of women, the pillaging of a country, has contributed to the birth and the crystallization of the same dynamic image. At the level of the psychological strata of the occupier, the evocation of this freedom given to the sadism of the conqueror, to his eroticism, creates faults, fertile gaps through which both dreamlike forms of behaviour and, on certain occasions, criminal acts can emerge. Thus the rape of the Algerian woman in the dream of a European is always preceded by a rending of the veil. We here witness a double deflowering. [5]

Thus, it is at this site of sexual contestation of the woman’s body that struggle and resistance takes place. To me, Fanon’s conflation of the woman’s body to the native land and culture allows us to better understand Good Hunting. Yan’s identity as a huli jing already presents her as an embodiment of Chinese “old magic”. With British industrialization and influence, Chinese magic is quelled, and Yan loses her powers, symbolizing the disempowerment of Chinese culture.

As colonial steam technology dominates the landscape, native magic weakens, as does Yan’s body. The violence exacerbates when the characters migrate to the centre of colonial administration – Victoria Peak in Hong Kong. Here, there is a gendered difference in the way Liang and Yan are brutalized. Liang’s engineering talent is discounted – the native’s labour is exploited and undervalued.

“Are you the man who came up with the idea of using a larger flywheel for the old engine?”

I nodded. I took pride in the way I could squeeze more power out of my machines than dreamed of by their designers.

“You did not steal the idea from an Englishman?” his tone was severe.

I blinked. A moment of confusion was followed by a rush of anger. “No,” I said, trying to keep my voice calm. I ducked back under the machine to continue my work.

“He is clever,” my shift supervisor said, “for a Chinaman. He can be taught.”

“I suppose we might as well try,” said the other man. “It will certainly be cheaper than hiring a real engineer from England.” [2]

This is immediately followed by a scene of British clients sexually harassing Yan, now a sex worker.

The dialogue deliberately frames their subjugation as racialized. Liang adapts to colonial Hong Kong but he is not a part of it – he becomes educated in the technical language of the colonizer, replacing his inherited knowledge of magic with that of steam, but his racial difference is constantly referenced (perhaps he’s “white but not quite” [6]). He is a “Chinaman” regardless of ability and any attempt at assimilation. This discrimination occurs in the capacity as employer-employee, master-servant, at the meeting point of the train operations room, the workplace. For the native woman, due to the colonial sexual appetite – the tradition of rape and pillage – violence occurs at the intimate meeting point of her body, on which white expectations of her race are burdened – note how the stereotype of Chinese industriousness is used to pressure her into sexual labour. The colonizers feel entitled to the servitude of both native bodies – the man’s labour, and the woman’s sexual subjugation.

The text notes that this violent encounter leading to Yan and Liang’s reunion happens on a culturally significant date:

“Don’t let the Chinese ghosts get you,” a woman with bright blond hair said in the tram, and her companions laughed.

It was the night of Yulan, I realized, the Ghost Festival. I should get something for my father, maybe pick up some paper money at Mongkok. […]

“It’s the night of the Ghost Festival,” [Yan] said. “I didn’t want to work any more. I wanted to think about my mother.”

“Why don’t we go get some offerings together?” I asked. [2]

Similar to Día de Muertos – the Mexican Day of the Dead – the month of the Hungry Ghost Festival is a time to remember and honour the deceased. It is believed that the gates of the underworld open during the seventh lunar month, and the spirits of the departed return to visit the living. We follow Liang’s thoughts as he realizes it is the night of Yulan, and immediately encounter Yan, which might suggest to us that she is a ghost of sorts coming back to haunt him – she represents an old culture, dead or dying. The story connects the violent encounter, the sexual degradation of Yan’s magic-drained body, to the death of Yan and Liang’s parents, and maybe even the death of Yan herself. Colonial violence corresponds to the death of native culture.

To further cement this idea that the colonized woman’s body is conflated to the land, Yan’s body comes to receive the ultimate abuse from the figure of the governor (or the governor’s son, in the original text). Her sexual perpetrator is not an everyman, but the political representative of the British colonist; where Yan embodies native Chinese culture, her rapist embodies the British colonial administration. He ravages and consumes her body as a colonizer takes and devours territory – I think the showrunners deliberately portrayed him as obese to evoke a grotesque image of imperialist greed and over-consumption of the colonies’ resource. (Of course, this has problematic real-life implications on public perceptions of fat people.) He takes her organic body apart and reconstructs her to his own fetish fantasy of steel and chrome – just as Britain fragments, reforms, reshapes China’s trade, opium economy, and territory (e.g. Hong Kong), to its own will.

Yan’s rape and reconstruction is thus conflated to the political conquest of China and Hong Kong. (Jameson’s notion of the national allegory comes to mind. [7])

The Empire’s Subjects Strike Back – Re-programming steampunk for decolonial resistance

In Good Hunting, the mode of S/F (= speculative fiction / science fiction / science fantasy) enables imagination of how the native can re-appropriate and re-configure the colonizer’s weapons against them. Ken Liu notes:

I think there’s a paucity of good steampunk that addresses the dark stain of colonialism in a satisfactory way. Like many of my stories, this tale has an anti-colonial theme. [Yan] says, at one point, “A terrible thing had been done to me, but I could also be terrible.” It is about as succinct a summary of the experience of being a member of a colonized population as I can give. [3]

A recognizable figure of Buddhism is shown before Liang and Yan move to Hong Kong, in the form of a Buddha statue. Yan is shown in the same frame bowing to it, aligning her with the natives’ religion and again, reinforcing her as a representative of native culture. The next encounter with a religious figure comes in the form of Guan Yin, and if the friend I consulted is not mistaken, it’s possibly the incarnation with 千手千眼 / “The One With A Thousand Arms and Thousand eyes”:

The buddha Amitābha, upon seeing her plight, gave her eleven heads to help her hear the cries of those who are suffering. Upon hearing these cries and comprehending them, Avalokiteśvara attempted to reach out to all those who needed aid, but found that her two arms shattered into pieces. Once more, Amitābha came to her aid and appointed her a thousand arms to let her reach out to those in need. [8]

This statue looks on, and takes up the entire frame as the rapist-governor cries out in pain offscreen while Yan attacks him with her new mechanized strength, her body no longer victimized but newly weaponized, declaring “I could also be terrible”. The Guan Yin statue frames Yan’s act as one of divine retribution – an individual woman’s rebellion that draws strength from a wider colonized peoples and their religion. Though her organic magic had been forcefully amputated and replaced with the colonizer’s inorganic steam tech, the image of Guan Yin suggests that the old culture is not dead, but reborn in a new incarnation, to deliver comeuppance.  

(Personal disclaimer: it is with bitter irony that I must admit my estrangement from these figures – so feel free to add or counter this if you’re more well-informed on the significance of Guan Yin and Buddha here.)

As I’ve mentioned before, Liang’s proficiency in the colonizer’s language of technology functions as a means of his survival, but this same distancing and Othering of him by the colonists keeps him from fully aligning himself with them, and he readily repurposes his mechanical expertise for the antagonistic cause of rebellion, thus engineering not a steam train (weapon of British imperial expansion) but a huli jing (weapon of Chinese folklore and emasculation, albeit the target of emasculation has shifted). The same technology that drove out the magic is now used to empower that folklore.

In these acts of re-configuration, I see an endeavour to visualize how a threatened culture can survive and thrive in the future. Creators like Ytasha Womack emphasize how the S/F genre of Afrofuturism (emphasis on “future”) is necessary for black persons to imagine a future with themselves in it, to provide a vision of empowerment, possibility, and survival [9]. Good Hunting’s narrative, though more of an alternate history, similarly offers a positive possibility in which Chinese culture and mythology is not smothered by colonialism and technological change, but adapted to it:

The old magic was back but changed: not fur and flesh, but metal and fire. [2]

I would also tentatively speculate that perhaps this narrative of colonized man allying himself to empower colonized woman is also driven by an impulse (maybe underlying, at the level of the subconscious) to quell male anxieties of colonial domination and complicity in female subjugation – to re-imagine a history where the figure of the Chinese male is less of a passively helpless witness to sexual abuse, to his country’s subjugation, but an active agent able to empower her. In other words, it could be a case of ‘fantasy as coping mechanism for trauma’ – re-imagining the outcomes of a traumatic past such that the victim-survivor overcomes his abuser (in this case, I see it coming from a male perspective).

Finally, I think this ‘weaponizing the colonizer’s own tools against him’ works on a metafictional level as well: the English language has long been the medium and weapon of English / white supremacy. See Macaulay’s minute on education in which he basically appeals for Indian colonial subjects to be educated in Eng to transmit British ideas, modes of thinking, systems of thought [10]. English language and literature works to naturalize anglo-imperialist modes of reasoning, to colonize the imagination. I like to think that for Chinese-American Ken Liu to tell this story in English is a re-purposing of the language to bite back at the colonizer. And if we regard the steampunk trope as a playful British fantasy of Victorian-era aesthetics, Liu’s re-fashioning and appropriation of the trope – to infuse it with a tale of colonial vengeance – is akin to Liang and Yan’s appropriation of the colonizer’s own weapons. Liu’s act of writing Good Hunting may be exemplary of how “the empire writes back with a vengeance”, to quote Salman Rushdie [11].

Personal evaluations on adapting text to film

I find that the animated adaptation has a heavier “male gaze”, a term coined by film critic Laura Mulvey: mainstream cinema is a product of patriarchal institution, and most films assume the perspective of a male, while the female is configured onscreen as erotic object [12]. To borrow Linda Williams’ words, “the bodies of women figures on the screen have functioned traditionally as the primary embodiments of pleasure, fear, and pain” [13]. The animated adaptation appears more explicit in its spectacles of female nudity and victimhood, evident in the shots panning up Yan’s legs as a harasser raises a cane to lift her dress; over her struggling, restrained, unclothed body; and over her face contorted in fear and disgust. I’ve wondered if this is necessitated because the showrunners need to show her ordeal whereas the writer only need tell it – in film, we do not get to hear her recount of suffering and survival as much as we see it. Yet, I’m fairly convinced the perspective has a focus that deliberately eyes the female form for sexual gratification –  exemplified by shots of her glutes, bust, and unnecessarily bared breasts.  

Science fiction, steampunk and machination has high visual appeal; they delight and enthrall as visual spectacles. It is unfortunate when narratives that indulge and play with such spectacular concepts remain coloured by patriarchal desires, and become so heavily infused with the sexual indulgence in disempowered women. This conventional fanboy approach to steampunk / SF – the entitlement to consuming fantastical tech and women –  almost repeats the desires of the European colonizer-rapist that Good Hunting condemns: 

In a city filled with chrome and brass and clanging and hissing, desires became confused” [2]. 

It is my personal conviction that the adaptation somewhat diminishes (but doesn’t erase!) the anti-colonial impact of the original text through its lapses into the impulse to consume the colonized woman’s body – the same impulse that the text works so hard to undo. So, as much as I enjoyed this and most other episode of LDR (because as a series, it’s not that much different from other mainstream depictions of women i.e. I’m sensitized and used to it), it would’ve benefited greatly from a purposeful questioning of, and distancing from, the mainstream male perspectives of science fiction.

Concluding Remarks

Even with these shortcomings, Good Hunting is undoubtedly rich in cultural meaning and purposefully, powerfully anti-colonial. It is vital to acknowledge its value in destabilizing colonial mindsets and tropes, instead of shallowly and reflexively dismissing its whole narrative for containing sexual and racial violence, and how it doesn’t comfortably fit into contemporary, widely-accepted, Western expectations of ‘girl power’.

Ken Liu’s text does not bemoan the victimization of Chinese culture in the post-Opium War period of colonization, but re-configures, upgrades, modernizes, adapts the old magic to its new technological environment, with the stubborn anti-colonial tenacity for continued cultural survival.

References:

1. “Good Hunting”, Love, Death & Robots, Netflix

2. Ken Liu, “Good Hunting”, 2012

3. Ken Liu, Story Notes: “Good Hunting” in Strange Horizons, 2012

4. Science and Technology: Transport: Railways - The British Empire

5. Frantz Fanon, “Algeria Unveiled”, A Dying Colonialism, 1965

6. Homi Bhabha, “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse”, 1984

7. Fredric Jameson, “Third-World Literature in the Era of Multinational Capitalism”, 1986

8. Wikipedia, “Guanyin and the Thousand Arms”

9. Steven W Thrasher, “Afrofuturism: reimagining science and the future from a black perspective”, 2015

10. Thomas Babington Macaulay, “Minute on Education”, 1835

11. Salman Rushdie, “The empire writes back with a vengeance”, 1982

12. Laura Mulvey, “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema”, 1975

13. Linda Williams, “Film Bodies: Gender, Genre, and Excess, 1991

[wildcardwriting]

In the Face of Adversity, A Flower Bloom #1

[My Hero Academia/Boku no Hero Academia]

Next Chapter | In the Face of Adversity, A Flower Blooms on AO3

Summary:The fact he was given some mystical bullshitty flower power quirk should have been the first hint that his life sucked. Unfortunately, life hated him far too much to let sleeping dogs lie, and feels he needs to suffer more.(Yoko Kurama-esque powers Izuku and a world made to crumble beneath its own weight.)

XXxxxxXX

Chapter One: Into Diverging Paths and Vicious Thorns

XXxxxxXX

The fact he was given some mystical bullshitty power over flowers should have been the first hint that his life was going to suck.

Unfortunately, life hated him far too much to let that be the end of it. By the time he had reached eight years old, yet another thing happened that completely and utterly made him curse the world.

For one thing, no one but him seems to see the small fragments of light that fell from the sky. It was like shiny snow falling from the sky. His mother didn't seem to notice it and neither did anyone else. When he mentioned as much to Kacchan he was given one of those dismissive and irritating looks before being pushed away. Eventually, everyone called him a liar and it got to the point where he didn't mention it to anyone. He'd just shrug and go about his day.

He didn't mention his new quirk to his mother or anybody else, first because he thought it was a stupid quirk, and second because he had seen what happened to kids who had terrible quirks. Ichikawa from class 3-A was bullied because all he could do was put his hair on fire. Naomi from class 2-B could enlarge the size of her breasts at will and as such started getting some rather dubious offers from the student community and those are just the ones he could think of off the top of his head. The list went on and on. People who had dumb, terrible or useless quirks were thrown to the bottom of the social ladder. If they tried to fight back they were scorned by their teachers and family members alike for acting out in anger. To the world, it was their fault for being born weak, while people who had strong quirks were above it all.

He watched this and started to write in his notebooks. Pages that were once filled with his analysis of heroes started becoming filled with harsh words against the people around him. He had no one to talk to and no friends to help him, so little by little, he grew cynical and cold. In another universe, he might have been nicer, more resilient but in this one, he grew cold against the world.

How could he not?

In the face of such pain and despair, he grew angry and vicious.

This was not the world he wanted to live in.

(And so he wrote. Pen in red ink and anger against the world.)

XXxxxxXX

[Age 8.5 to Age 10]

If the flowers in his neighborhood seem to last longer and be brighter, more vibrant than anywhere else he never let on why. His quirk was stupid enough already. The last thing he needed was to be bullied for his stupid flower power or if an adult had found out, sent to juvie for unauthorized quirk usage.

Time passed and he got older and older and several things changed in his life.

Kacchan had long abandoned him, instead spending his time with all his little groupies and bullying him whenever he was seen. His mother sensitive soul that she was, became more fragile and more sensitive since he was declared quirkless. She started micromanaging him, getting him a phone and demanding to know where he was every second of the day. If he was late with a text or a phone call she would get upset. She didn't ask about dreams or goals or hopes for the future. She simply told him to focus on school and put brochures of menial jobs on his desk every so often. She didn't use her quirk in the house. She didn't talk about quirks. It was almost like she was ashamed of him. Her looks of love turned into looks of pity and she demanded more out of him.

Better grades, better this, better that but the more she asked the more imprisoned he felt.

And he got that.

He understood why she was sad and frustrated but in the back of his mind he couldn't help but hate her a little. He had told her about the shiny snow and the plants but she wouldn't listen to him no matter what he showed her. The fact that he was titled quirkless by some doctor seemed to invalidate him as a person in every single way. The doctor said he was delusional and refusing to face the truth and she believed the doctor instead of her son. His worthiness as a person wasn't equal to his quirk, because he was still a human being even if he didn't have a registered power. But still, she didn't see that. She treated him for all intents and purposes like a very stupid, very troublesome pet and she was the caretaker fed up with him.

But it was manageable. Sort of.

Unfortunately, when word got around the neighborhood, people started to whisper behind his back, and they started to point at them, made fun of them as they held them up is an example of what not to be.

"Look at them," They'd say. "That's what happens when your son is quirkless."

"No wonder the father abandoned them." They'd whisper.

And on and on it would go. They speak of dark things, of secrets and affairs and divorces, to the point that he was feeling constantly angry to the people around him. He was smarter than they all thought he was and noticed their actions a mile away. They always stopped talking as soon as he neared them and pointed at him. It was obvious they were talking about him.

It started to get to him after a while that he was feeling a little less than charitable and he acted out in the only way he could.

If Satou-san garden wouldn't grow, or Nana-san found rotting vegetables in the fridge every so often or any of the dozens of things that went wrong in the neighborhood, well that had nothing everything to do with him.  Things just happened. Bad luck couldn't have happened to set of worse people. Still, he was careful not to do anything too severe and not too often lest anyone start getting suspicious about a quirk being used. Even those moments of lashing out did nothing to tame the loneliness he felt.

With his mother away at work constantly he looked towards the computer to give him some company, diving deep into the internet and started exploring. He watched dozens of videos on dozens on subjects and when that got boring he switched off to reading anything he could get his hands on. Wheather that was manga or medical knowledge, he read anything and everything. He browsed cookbooks and math books and social studies books. He read about princes and kingdoms and policies and laws.

Every day was something new and exciting that was waiting to be explored.

If he felt like learning something special, then he learned it using Youtube videoes for guidance. The subject didn't matter, because when he was online he was a person. He had everything he could ever want online. There were chat forms and fanfiction forms and everything under the sun. For the first time in his life, he felt alive. Because online, no one knew who he was.

He could gush about the newest manga chapter or the newest medical discovery and people talked to him. It was so amazing.

He was happy for a little while until his mom came home.

She was always grumpy when she came home. Stressed and worn, she was an office lady that refused to come home. Even though there was no need to work, (Hisashi sent them enough money to live on) she had gone back to work. Maybe it was her attempt to escape the situation at home, maybe it was guilt, regardless nothing was ever the same since that appointment to the quirk doctor a few years ago.

It used to be that when Izuku came home dinner would be waiting for him on the table. Now he made dinner and took care of the house. He had learned what most people learned in their early twenties. He could cook and clean and wash the laundry. He knew how to pay the bills and when to put out the trash. He had become an adult in the body of a child. The internet had enabled him to learn everything he needed to know while his father's money had given him financial freedom his mother refused to even contemplate.

Unlike his mother's pay which she put into a bank account, his father's support was wired into an account linked to debit card. The money was sent automatically every month at a certain time and day. It was a substantial amount good for taking care of a child and good enough for a mother being out of work. His mother had given him the card a long time ago and had never asked for it back and since she was never home she never received the bank statements either. Izuku used the money to buy everything from groceries to plant seeds. He spent the money on frivolous things and an online school that he granted him a level of freedom he knew his mother would never allow him.

He prepared himself for a life outside that house and he did everything possible to ensure it. Someday he knows his father's money will run out, and when that time comes he knows he has to be ready. There may even come a point when his mother leaves him, so he needs to ready for anything. So he trains during the early mornings before he heads to school.

He practices his quirk with the various plant seeds he buys, and random weeds that he brings in from the outside. He practices controlling them and making them do things. He practices everything. He tries to make them grow bigger, smaller, wider, heavier and even turns them to dust. He tries to mutate them, and change them from a non-poisonous plant to a poisonous plant, and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. He learns to form flowers instantly from seeds and turn them back.

Besides his little experiments and his little pranks his quirk mostly goes unused, until he stumbles over a certain anime and suddenly he's filled with possibilities.

There are suddenly a million and one things he can do with his quirk.

Poisons, and Homeopathic healing, and even fighting. Minamino Shuichi used flowers as his weapon and to heal his teammates so why couldn't he? Sure, he may not have had spirit energy but the principal was still the same. Kurama could use plants and so could he.

He just needed to try.

XXxxxxXX

I have no f****** idea what I'm doing. This fanfiction wrote itself. I didn't plan for it and the plot is probably Swiss cheese. I have no idea if I'm going to continue it or leave it as a One-Shot. Let me know what you think. Keep in mind I have issues with this anime, so many issues. So if I do continue it, expected to be sassy, sarcastic and probably somewhat random if not a little cracky.

Next Chapter | In the Face of Adversity, A Flower Blooms on AO3

[septic-heart-and-mind]

“Loved” | “Imprisoned” (JSE Ego Fic) Chapter 13 [END]

I’ve finally done it, I’ve written the last chapter of my JSE ego fic!! Sorry it has taken so long and THANK YOU to everyone who has read it, and for the comments I’ve had - that means a lot to me! And thanks to @thesepticimprovisor23 for writing your JSE ego fic as this is what inspired me to start mine in the first place 💚

For anyone who hasn’t read it or wants to re-read: 

“Abused”, Chapter 1: (x) “Trouble”, Chapter 2: (x) “Friends”, Chapter 3: (x) “Magic”, Chapter 4: (x) “Two Stories”, Chapter 5: (x) “A Foolproof Plan”, Chapter 6: (x) “To The Rescue”, Chapter 7: (x) “Road to Recovery”, Chapter 8: (x) “Healing”. Chapter 9: (x) “Free”, Chapter 10: (x) “Brave”, Chapter 11: (x) “Life Sentence”, Chapter 12: (x) (or search #ImprisonedFic on my blog) 💚

Chase’s POV

I cried in my mother’s arms, wondering why my father never loved me and wishing I had one who did; Mum held me close and soothed me, staying with me for hours as I poured out my heart to her. I told her about the fact that I still kind of loved him despite my hatred for him, and she understood; she didn’t judge me or think it was strange, in fact she seemed to believe that it was completely normal and understandable. I questioned why he hurt Mum, but I told her that I didn’t blame him for what he did to me because I was a useless son who deserved it. I deserved to be hated. Mum wasn’t having any of it, though, and she reassured me that this was just what he wanted me to think. She told me that I was a lovely boy who deserved all the love in the world, and what he did to me was a reflection of his evil nature and nothing to do with me as a person. She reminded me of her love for me, my friends, and the fact that Stacy was head over heels for me. My heart warmed, realising just how I loved I really was, and I started to feel a bit better. Mum seemed to know just the right things to say to me when I was upset. It wasn’t long before I was calm and began to feel tired, so I got settled into bed and Mum lovingly said goodnight; she kissed my forehead, told me she loved me, and then she left. Now I was alone, I had to try and prevent my mind from racing again so that I could get to sleep. I found myself thinking about Stacy, imagining her warm voice in my ears and her sweet eyes looking at me as she smiled, and my breathing became slow and deep as my body relaxed. I smiled a little as I remembered her telling me that she liked me and the magical first kiss we had, and the beautiful memories lulled me to sleep. I soon fell into a dream, and I saw Dad - but I wasn’t afraid of him. He was just stood there, looking at me with unthreatening eyes, and he didn’t seem to tower over me like he did in real life - not because he was actually shorter, but I didn’t feel as small around him because I wasn’t intimidated. It was strange because everything around us was white, almost like heaven, but I knew neither of us were dead. The floor and walls were plain like snow, and all I could see was the door that Dad had walked through. No-one else was around, just me and him.

“Dad?” I said a little nervously.

“It’s okay, son,” he reassured me, a gentle smile on his face.

“Aren’t you going to hit me? Say something horrible?” I stammered, confused.

“Of course not,” he replied in a kind voice, “Why would I do that to you?”

“You hate me,” I trembled, almost in tears at those words.

“I don’t hate you,” he corrected me softly, his hand gently on my shoulder. “I love you.” My heart seemed to stop for a second. He actually said the words. He loved me. My dad loved me.

“You - love me?” I checked in pleasant disbelief, my voice a little shaky as I feared he was toying with me.

“Yes, son,” he confirmed with affection, “I love you.”

“Really?” I asked again, unable to take it in.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “I love you, son.” I threw my arms around him and he held me close like he never wanted to let me go. I could feel the affection as he embraced me, and I knew that he really did genuinely love me. This wasn’t an act, he wasn’t just messing with me for a cruel joke - he actually loved me! I held him a little tighter, still struggling to believe it was true, and he placed a kiss upon my head. “I have to go now, son,” he sighed sadly.

“No, no, Dad, don’t go,” I pleaded, tears in my eyes. One rolled down my cheek.

“Don’t cry, my boy,” he said gently, caressing the tear away with his thumb.

“Please don’t leave me,” I begged him.

“You have to wake up,” he explained. He then turned round and headed towards a door, the only one I could see.

“No, don’t go!” I cried as I ran after him. He was only walking, yet I couldn’t catch up with him, and eventually he disappeared through the door. “No!” I wept, thumping the door with my fist. I then opened it, and all I could see ahead of me was what looked like a black void. “Dad!” I called, before stepping out. I immediately fell, descending through the abyss of darkness; it seemed to go on forever, but I sensed I was about to hit the ground - but that was when I woke up. I sat up and I called out for him, before quickly realising it was all a dream and my dad didn’t love me at all. I missed the version of him that did, and I burst into tears. Why couldn’t he be like that in real life? Why did I have to have an evil monster for a dad instead of the loving character I had just interacted with? Unexpectedly, as it was late, my phone started vibrating on my bedside table; it was an unknown number, but I decided to answer it out of curiosity. “Hello?” I stammered, apprehensive as I waited for the reply.

“Chase?” a familiar voice answered. Dad. He must’ve somehow snuck a mobile phone into his cell and remembered my number. Frightened, I wanted to end the call immediately - and he knew that. “Don’t hang up, son,” he pleaded. His tone was strange to me because it seemed too gentle, but it was definitely him speaking. I was extremely confused. “I need to see you,” he confessed.

“Really?” I stuttered, taken aback.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, “Come see me as soon as you can. Please.”

“Why?” I asked, perplexed at his sudden interest in seeing me.

“I told you, I need to see you,” he repeated, although not getting angry like he usually would when I questioned him.

“It’s not like you miss me,” I stated sadly, but he stayed quiet rather than responding. “Unless… you do miss me?” I wondered as I wished it was true. He didn’t correct me, or say something horrible about me meaning nothing to him. “You do…” I gasped. I couldn’t believe it and I was so excited and elated. “I’ll put in a visiting order tomorrow,” I announced to him.

“Thanks, son,” he replied gratefully, before hanging up. I couldn’t quite take in what just happened, and I rubbed my eyes to check that it wasn’t just another dream again; I realised that I was fully in reality, yet I still couldn’t believe what had just occurred. It seemed so sudden. Had he really changed that quickly? Had he had so much time to think that he had actually come to his senses already? Did my father really miss me? Maybe he even loved me… I so desperately wanted it to be true, so I clung to it tightly with both hands.

As I had promised, I put in a visiting order the following morning. Although, I ended up regretting it later that day, when I saw a story on the news all about him. It made me have huge doubts about him, whether I would in fact be safe to go and see him. I was reminded of what he’d done (I use ‘reminded’ loosely, as it wasn’t that I’d forgotten - I never would), and I began to be unsure whether he’d changed or not. I heard the news reporters talking to people who knew him.

“How does it feel to know you were on the same street as this evil man?” they asked.

“Really strange, I never even knew he was like that,” a woman replied, “He always seemed so friendly, like a family man. He was nothing but kind to me, I can’t believe it was all just an act. It just shows you never really know who people are, do you?” The report cut to another place with different people.

“How did he seem to you?” the reporter questioned a man.

“He never seemed like an evil psychopath, that’s for sure,” he responded. “He was clearly hiding his true self from everyone, so that no-one would figure out what he was doing behind closed doors. He’s sick.” There was another cut, to another person he knew.

“What’s it like knowing that a friend of yours used to abuse his own wife and son?” the reporter asked.

“It’s crazy, he didn’t seem like the abusive type, he was so charming,” she answered, “Then again most psychopaths are like that. Good at fooling people to hide their wicked side. I feel sorry for them having to go through that and I wish I’d realised something so I could’ve made it stop.” The last cut followed.

“What did you think of this man, did you think he could do anything like this?” the reporter prompted.

“Well, something was always not right,” he confessed, “But I didn’t know it was anything like this. I noticed some odd things, like when I looked after Chase once and he seemed reluctant to go back home afterwards. I did wonder why…” He looked down and sighed. “I guess I know now.”

After hearing this news report and what everyone said about finding out the truth about my dad, seeds of doubt were planted in my mind about going to see him; I voiced these concerns to Mum, and her response watered the seeds, however she did advise me to do whatever felt right and not what she told me to do. Although I was questioning whether I would go or not, part of me was so desperate for my dad to love me that if there was even a tiny chance that he did, I needed to find out and hear it for myself. It did seem highly unlikely that he had suddenly had a change of heart, but I had no idea what it was like in prison - maybe if I knew that it would make more sense and would seem more possible. Regardless of that, it wasn’t impossible - and if he somehow had started to love me, I had to experience that. Yet, I still struggled with the decision and couldn’t be definitive about it yet; I couldn’t shake the fear I had, especially after hearing what all those people said about him. He had pretended before, so I knew I shouldn’t really trust him - and yet I still couldn’t help but feel like I needed to out of desperation to be loved by my dad.

A week passed and, despite all the doubting, I went to see him; Mum took me but I knew I had to visit him on my own this time. Whatever it was he wanted to say, it was clearly for me. I tried to imagine how it might go; I envisioned him telling me how wrong he was, and that he was actually sorry. Maybe he would tell me that he had been beaten in prison and that made him realise. I hoped that he would say the words I’d longed to hear from him all my life. I was still nervous when I saw him though, as the fear wouldn’t just magically go away after all he had put me through; it was impossible for me to just forget all that and feel safe like nothing ever happened. It was the strangest feeling in the world when the two of us saw each other. His eyes looked just like they had in the dream, unthreatening and gentle - and perhaps even caring. I squeezed my eyes and opened them again, just to make sure that I was awake and that this was really happening. It was, as I was still here in the visiting room with him approaching me. He was soon sat opposite me and, from what I could tell, he was actually glad to see me.

“What’s changed, Dad?” I asked confusedly. “Why am I here?”

“I’ve done a lot of thinking,” he announced. “And you’re here because… because there’s something I need to tell you.”

“I don’t understand,” I stated, puzzled, “I don’t get why you need to tell me anything. You hate my guts, you always have.”

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking. You get a lot of time for that here,” he explained.

“And what have you been thinking about?” I wondered.

“Everything I did,” he answered. “You see, I got a taste of my own medicine last night, and that kind of opened my eyes. I was wrong.”

“You mean that?” I checked.

“Yes,” he replied sincerely, “That’s why I brought you here. To tell you I’m sorry… That I miss you…” It didn’t sound like he was finished.

“And?” I prompted him.

“And…” he hesitated, “I love you.” My dream had come true. He said it, he actually said it. I looked deeply into his eyes, and what I saw seemed to confirm the words he had just uttered.

“You.. you love me?” I reacted in surprise, tears of joy pricking my eyes.

“I love you,” he reiterated, his hand gently placed on top of mine.

“You actually love me?” I repeated in disbelief. He nodded, and I burst into happy tears. I was about to say something, when he took his hand away from mine and sat back - laughing, the gentleness in his eyes gone and replaced by the darkness that usually dwelled there. My tears transformed to ones of fear and pain from his betrayal and deceit.

“You’re really more gullible and desperate than I thought,” he mocked me. “I didn’t think my plan would actually work!” He turned to look at two of his mates who were also visiting people, who were smirking back when they saw his evil triumph. “He fell for it,” he laughed to them, before turning back to me. “You really are a fucking idiot,” he taunted me. “You wanted it so bad that you actually believed it, didn’t ya?”

“You’re - so evil…” I wept, my lips quivering.

“I don’t fucking care,” he smirked.  “Just like I don’t care about you.” I sobbed then. “Oh, shut up, you’re pathetic. Get out of here, go away.”

“Why don’t you love me?” I asked in a tearful, shaking voice.

“Because you’re worthless, now get lost,” he answered nastily.

“Please love me, please,” I begged in desperation. “I’ll do anything.” He laughed at me again, but I continued to plead with him. “If I’m evil too will you love me then?” I questioned as tears streamed down my heartbroken face.

“I’ll never love you,” he stated darkly. My heart’s pieces shattered further.

“Please,” I sobbed.

“Get it through that thick skull of yours, I hate you,” he replied, clearly enjoying my emotional torment. He stood up to return to his cell, and I impulsively threw my arms around him like I did in my dream. I did it almost as though I could make him love me if I held him tightly enough.

“Please love me!” I wept loudly, “Please!” He aggressively pulled me away from him, before glaring into my eyes and getting a little too close to my face as he often did to intimidate me. It worked every time and I was filled with fear.

“I will never love you, you pathetic - worthless - freak,” he spat, making me whimper with terror, before shoving me to the floor. He was immediately taken away back to his cell, while I slowly and shakily had to pick myself up. Everyone was staring, and a lot of the inmates were laughing at me. I ran out of there, crying my eyes out; I was holding back somewhat, though, and I fully let it out once I got away from them and that horrible place. I sobbed so hard that I could barely stand, feeling like I was suffocating and choking on my tears as my entire body shook and I gasped for air. My legs were starting to give underneath my weight, but Mum managed to catch me just in time to keep me up.

“Come here, baby,” she said softly as she took me into her arms, and I sobbed heavily into her. She shushed me and soothed me like a little child who had just had a bad dream, slowly stroking my head as she embraced me lovingly.

“I’m such an idiot!” I sobbed loudly.

“Shhh, you’re not an idiot, my darling. You’re not, I promise,” she comforted me softly with affection.

“I’m a freak!” I wept heartbrokenly.

“No, don’t you say that about yourself,” Mum replied gently. “It’s not true, sweetie.”

“I’m worth nothing!” I lamented, “Nothing!”

“You listen to me,” Mum said caringly as she looked deep into my eyes, cupping my face, “You are not worthless. You matter - so much.” She then caressed my face as she spoke. “Do not believe that evil, twisted monster. He’s so wrong, sweetheart, so wrong.”

“He hates me…” I cried sorrowfully, “He’ll never love me…”

“He doesn’t know what love is, honey,” Mum sighed as she held me close again. “You don’t need him, darling, you’re better off leaving him here to rot and forgetting about him. He’s not worth your tears, baby. Not a single one.” Despite knowing she was right, I still couldn’t stop sobbing. “Shhh,” Mum continued to soothe me. “We need to get you home, darling. Away from here. Come on.” Mum helped me back to the car, still reassuring me, and she assisted me with getting in. She got in on her side of the car and settled into her seat, before looking at me and taking my hand. “It will be alright, my love,” she said with a gentle smile. “You don’t need him, you’ve got me. And I love you.”

“I love you too, Mum,” I sniffled, managing to slightly smile back at her. She caressed my cheek and kissed my forehead, before we made our way home. Dad’s words were still ringing in my ears, and my heart ached as I desperately wished that what he had told me wasn’t just some sick prank. I felt completely and utterly stupid for believing him. How did I trust him after all he’d done to me? Why did I trust him? He’d faked being nice to me before to stop strangers from becoming suspicious, so I should’ve known that it wouldn’t be hard for him to pretend to care about me as a twisted joke. I should have seen it for what it was right away but, as he said, I was so desperate for it to be true that I believed it. I was a fool, the idiot that he told me I was. I felt like I deserved the heartbreak I got for being stupid enough to fall for his deceit. How on Earth was I that gullible, especially knowing what he could be like? I texted Stacy about it when I was home, telling her about how idiotic I felt for believing him; she thought what he did was evil, but she didn’t agree that I was stupid. She said that he had just taken advantage of me because that’s the kind of person he is, and that it didn’t reflect my intelligence at all. I told her everything he said about me being worthless, a freak, and that he would never love me… Stacy reassured me that I wasn’t the things he called me, and that it didn’t even matter that a monster like him hated me because he wasn’t worth thinking about. She reminded me that it didn’t mean I was unloveable, and she mentioned all of the people that she knew cared about me (including herself). I was still upset about what happened, but she somehow lifted me so that things didn’t seem so bad.

She brought me some comfort by saying that he had no power over me anymore, because I was never going to see him ever again; he couldn’t bully and abuse me or my mother anymore, and he was having to pay the price for what he did. It was unlikely that he would get out and, if he ever did, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to find me. I went into my phone’s contacts and I deleted his number and all the old messages I had from him. I wanted to erase him from my life as much as possible, so that no longer had any ties to him. We didn’t have many photos together, but we did have some to keep up the façade when anyone was round the house; I got all of the ones with him in them and I ripped them to pieces, before putting all of the shreds into a fire so that they were gone forever. Mum cried over her wedding picture, wishing that she had never married such a monster, but she soon threw that into the fire too as she didn’t want to be tied to him anymore either. She planned to file for a divorce as soon as possible, so that all our connections to him were severed. Unfortunately for me, I would always be related to him whether I liked it or not - but I didn’t have to call him Dad anymore. I was sure that Mum would find someone else eventually, and whoever it was had to be better than him - and he would easily take the title off him. I would proudly call almost anyone Dad instead of my real one, because hardly anyone in the world is as evil. My dad had a hole where his compassion and love were supposed to be, and instead it was nothing but darkness and hatred. It didn’t matter anymore because I no longer had to have anything to do with him, although I couldn’t undo the damage he’d done. Maybe that would be there forever, a life sentence. Even if it wasn’t, he would still have power over me for years to come yet. What he did to me scarred me terribly, physically and mentally, and it would take quite some time to move past it all. I knew I would struggle to trust and get close to anyone, and I already flinched when people tried to touch me even in a kind way - not to mention all the nightmares and flashbacks I had. My mother and I definitely had a long road ahead of us, but at least we had one thing that my so-called dad would probably never have. Love.

Months Later…

Seán’s POV

We had all prepared for our charity event, and we were beginning to get both excited and nervous about what we were doing; knowing it was for a very good cause definitely helped with the feelings of apprehension, and it certainly made it impossible for any of us to back out. There was no going back, we were committed. Because of how shy and anxious JJ is, he kept something quiet when we were planning what to do for the charity - he didn’t mention his fear of heights. When he’d eventually told us, it turns out he was too scared to say anything and he didn’t want to seem impolite by rejecting our idea. Of course, we reassured him that we wouldn’t have thought that of him; now that we had no choice but to go ahead, though, we had to convince him to go up the mountain with us despite his fear. He was terrified, the poor guy, but he agreed for Chase. Every time he got really wound up, I reminded him of what we were doing it for and he would find the strength to carry on. He was inspirational, really, all of my friends were. JJ really symbolised what abuse is like, though; Chase had to carry on with his day-to-day life even with what went on behind closed doors, and he put on a brave face in front of everyone so that no-one knew his pain. JJ was doing the same, battling his way up the mountain despite terror and doing his best to hide just how much he was struggling. He would often say he was fine even though we could all see that he was petrified. I frequently saw his legs wobbling as we walked, which worsened as the height increased, and his breathing was more or less always shallow and shaky. Yet, he stayed strong and he never gave up; everyone was amazing, keeping each other going no matter what. We were all tired and in pain, and we weren’t particularly comfortable at that height (although not as bad as JJ), so it was an incredible task for all of us; we all kept that in mind and we supported each other with every step. I hated the height too, so JJ and I stuck together all the way as I understood how he felt the most out of everyone. I even held his hand towards the end, heading towards the highest point, and I didn’t care who saw me do it. There wasn’t exactly many people around anyway, but I wasn’t really bothered about what people thought. I was supporting my friend and there’s nothing wrong with that; even if it had meant something else beyond being platonic, there’s nothing wrong with that either. Eventually, after a long and hard battle, we reached the summit and  we were all overcome with emotion. Pride, happiness, relief and tiredness hit us like a ton of bricks, and we all shared hugs of elation as we told each other how proud we were of one another for completing it. We took pictures to prove that we made it, and just for our keepsake, before having a rest as we knew we would have to make our way back down. It wasn’t just to regain our physical energy, but to mentally recharge and prepare for the journey ahead. The hardest part was over, but we still had a long way to go yet before we were truly finished. We were still exhausted when it came to restarting our trek, but it was something that we knew had to be done; again, as we did during our ascent, we thought about Chase. Anti was in our minds, too, as he wasn’t doing the walk with us; he wasn’t able to train for it like we did, because of his trauma recovery. By the time he was doing well enough, he didn’t have sufficient time to prepare like us. He and Chase planned to do something of their own, though, but not until we were done because they didn’t want to try and outshine us. Our descent was another long haul in every regard, and we supported each other all the way down. In both directions, there was pain and struggling and tears - but even more intense emotion was yet to come as we defeated the monumental mountain. We’d done it. There was more crying and hugs, pride and joy pouring out of each and every one of us. We took and shared more photos, before giving out another embrace to each other. Chase was with Anti, so we decided to do a video call to catch up and show them how ecstatic we were. Both of them were immensely proud of us all, and there were tears from them as well when they realised just what we’d done for them, for charity. All of us as friends felt a vast love between us, and the tragedy of Chase’s abuse turned into one of the happiest days of our lives, which felt truly victorious.

Chase’s POV

It was after this charity event that I really and truly realised how loved I was, and I knew who my best friends were. They had all just done an amazing, awe-inspiring task, something that I never imagined I would be able to do, and all because of what I suffered. They did it for charity, but they also did it for me; they told me about how they thought of me when it got difficult, and I found that truly moving. I couldn’t help but cry on the phone to them as I was filled with love and pride. I felt more connected to them than ever, despite the physical distance, and it was the least lonely and isolated I had ever been in my life. It really felt like I had won over my father - we had won, good triumphing over evil and love over hate. It just shows how powerful love truly is, and what people will do for you when they love you. Even after all my father did to me, I was able to feel like I mattered and feel loved; I could be happy, laughing in the face of all his twisted acts towards me. He couldn’t make me feel small anymore, as love lifted me up to the height of the mountain that my friends ascended. Of course, I wasn’t over what he did to me and I still had scars, but that didn’t mean he had defeated me. I was still living life, and I was being loved more than he would ever be. The fact that I had love and knew how to give it was enough on its own to make me victorious over him; one of the most precious things in life was mine to keep and to share, while he was yet to discover it. After this event was the start of a new journey, as I felt more like I could start to move forward from my past - and I began to feel like I had a future away from everything that happened to me, a future that I controlled instead of fear. My friends raised a massive amount of money - £10,000 each! We threw a huge party to celebrate, and this was like the beginning of a new chapter. A clean slate, a blank page where I could continue to write my life - with me holding the pen instead of my father, its ink made of love and happiness. I didn’t have to reread the pages he wrote anymore, nor did I have to let them influence where my chapters were led. Now that I was the author of my life, I could decide the future of my story - and whenever I felt uninspired and demotivated, a proverbial writer’s block, I had the one thing I needed to reignite the spark in me and set my heart alight with positivity again. I had life’s most beautiful two-way gift, the greatest part of human existence, and I kind of felt sorry for my father for missing out on this. He would never know or understand love or kindness, friendship or family, compassion or empathy. He wasn’t truly like a human as he was without those things; to be without love in one’s heart is to exist without the essence of life. I was complete even without him, one of the people who made me, and my life had a deeper meaning because of the people I cared the most about. I didn’t need a father who despised me because hatred is unnecessary, so it was time to focus my attention on the people that mattered, the people that gave me the affection that everyone should receive and more. They were a reason to live, a reason to keep fighting back against the mental damage he caused, a reason to be happy despite all I’d endured. I was loved and that was all that mattered. It wasn’t easy for me to forget him, I couldn’t erase him from my mind completely - but I didn’t have to let him win anymore. Every time I was happy, every time I faced a fear, every time I loved - I was defeating him over and over again, dancing among the memories and lighting up the shadows of my mind.

[auroratabey]

Chapter One: Back on the Wagon (Part 1)

A young witch’s longcoat swept a cloud of dust up into the darkness after a loud crack announced her arrival. She lowered a bandana from her mouth, breathed the desert air in deep, and stepped into the wilderness of the Sierra.

She had been after it for months when the trail went cold. But after weeks of no luck, a whisper of mysterious sightings and disappearances she overheard in a dank no-maj dive bar led her there. Strictly speaking, she wasn’t supposed to be on that trail to begin with, or, at least, that far ahead of the authorities. But no-maj disappearances, she knew for certain, weren’t at the top of MACUSA’s list anyway. And, as far as she was concerned, a bounty was a bounty.

She stopped and squinted. The blackened peaks of the Sierra surrounded her, their valleys sharpening the winds that cut through her bones and whistled, surrounding her with the eerie crackles and moans of what little life survived there. 

A fire flickered ahead, just a speck, and she moved toward it. She considered lighting her wand, but remembered she couldn’t afford another run-in with Aurors, much less another agonizing afternoon spent in her former office, now occupied by the biggest pain in her ass. And while it was unlikely anyone else, magical or not, would be able to spot her in that darkness, she continued with just the distant fire as her guide. Talking to strangers wasn’t exactly her favorite, but whoever the campers were, there was a good chance they knew some helpful clue to point her in the right direction.

With every step, she sensed something familiar growing. Magic always leaves a trace, and she was sure it had been there, and might be there still.

It occurred to her how strange it was to feel something so alive in a place so desolate, despite the knowledge that a hundred years earlier this land flourished with the life, magic, and harmony of its Native stewards. Legend had it these lands never forgot their original caretakers, that the dirt and stone and water and scant greens were imbued with the longing of their return, and wariness of any who later trod there.  It was an ancient magic that made her spine tingle, and her arms prickle with goosebumps, but somehow it wasn’t foreboding. In fact, there was something about the sensation that was inviting, like a gentle greeting after a long absence. 

“Who’s that?” a gruff voice greeted her as she reached the edge of the camp.

She hesitated. A young man sat huddled beneath a blanket, wide-eyed and afraid -- she felt she recognized the expression, but couldn’t place it. To his right was a much more imposing figure, with a long, unkempt beard and suspicious eyes.

“I said, who’s that there?” the bearded man repeated, and she noticed his hand hovered over a wand-holster.

“Sorry,” she said lightly, “I didn’t expect to run into anyone else out here, least of all a wizard.”

“Ah, you’re a witch, then,” he replied, brightening, his hand returned to his lap, “Shoulda guessed it, I s’pose, what with you bein’ all the way out here without a pack er nuthin’ like them no-majs dreamed up.”

She nodded, mustering a smile.

“Still ain’t answered my question, though,” he said, gesturing to an empty seat by the fire, “What’s brought you out in the middle o’ nowhere?”

“I heard some no-majs talking about something strange going on around here, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“Spend alotta time with no-majs, do ya’?” he said, his eyes narrowed.

She considered her answer carefully.

“On occasion. Besides, when no-majs see something strange, there’s usually treasure nearby. Even if they can’t see it.”

He held his gaze on her, and, after a moment, laughed.

“Ain’t that the truth! Too blind. It’s a danged miracle they survived this long,” he mused, laughing and elbowing the man in the blanket, who stayed quite still, “Much too blind. And useless. So you’re a curse-breaker, huh? Gringotts?”

“Not officially,” she grunted, the memory of her dismissal still all too vivid, “I heard there might be a cave around here with something worth digging up. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

“Freelance, huh? That’s the life, ain’t it? Me n’ my buddy here, on the other hand, we’re on a delivery job, fer our boss. Got ourselves a contract -- inked, so to speak.” And he unconsciously touched his left arm.

“That so? What’re you delivering?” the witch asked the man in the blanket.

“Oh, don’t bother with ol’ Mack here. He ain’t made a peep since he thought he saw a wampus this mornin’. Anyhow, even if he made a peep, t’wouldn’t be much worth listenin’ to. Ol’ Mack here’s ‘bout as useful as a broomstick in a tornado.”

But the man in the blanket’s eyes met hers, and she finally remembered where she’d seen that look. And the old man noticed.

“Anyhow, lemme show you what we got here,” he said loudly, pulling a large, aged book out of the rucksack behind him, “This here’s got the name o’ every ancient and noble pureblood family in these here United States. Gimme any name and I’ll tell ya’ if they’re pureblood -- or if they ain’t worth nuthin’ at all.”

He turned to a page that was dog-eared, presumably for moments just like this, and pointed.

“There, Crassley, that’s me. William ‘Bill’ Crassley, atcher service. Now, your turn.”

“Oh, you won’t find my name in a book like that,” she said, and, when the old man’s eyes flashed, added, “My folks weren’t from around here. Mom was a dragonologist from Korea, and dad...he was a healer. Taíno.”

The first part was almost true. Her mother, she was told, was Korean-born and American-raised. She traveled to the Dominican Republic in hopes of finding the Caribbean Nightcrawler, a breed long thought extinct, when she was injured and later nursed by a young doctor from a nearby village.

The doctor, her father, wasn’t magical, though his ancestors were known to live peacefully with the magical community for centuries. That is, before witches and wizards from Europe made their way west. She remembered the bedtime stories he told of a lost people, betrayed by the very travelers they intended to help. She remembered sitting quietly at the top of the stairs, well past her bedtime, listening to him and others she didn’t know scheme to reunite and to rebuild what their ancestors lost to tragedy and time. She watched as he pored over ancient histories and lore, and scraped together what he could of the traditions the ancient Taínos left behind. But he did heal people, with modern no-maj methods, sure, but also with the plants and herbs and anything else the earth provided him, and with his soothing touch. And that, the young witch decided long ago, was more powerful than magic.

When her parents died and she was shipped off to Ilvermorny, the young witch learned the meaning of the look Bill and so many others gave her, and what it meant to reveal the full truth. So she often chose her words carefully, and steadied her gaze.

Bill watched her closely. 

“I hearda them Taínos,” he said darkly, “Buncha half-bloods, ain’t they? That is, if ya’ count what they call ‘magic.’ Ain’t even got wands, do they?”

“They don’t believe in separating no-majs from us, no.”

“Couldn’ta been very powerful, their magic, then, I reckon,” Bill said, shaking his head, “Di-luted, probably. Shame. All that good magic blood gone to waste. High time someone came along n’ put it right, ‘afore s’all gone.”

That kind of talk, not new nor uncommon, had recently grown louder.

Since the Salem witch trials, MACUSA and general magical society unanimously agreed to isolate, conjuring up an impenetrable wall between themselves and no-majs, which stood for centuries. At least, until just a few years prior, when the ban on inter-blood marriage was lifted. For many, the end of the ban meant hope, at long last, and the prospect of coming out of hiding. For still many more, it was the last straw.

The rise of a new and ruthless dark wizard in Britain emboldened the purist community around the world. As far as the young witch knew, the one who called himself Voldemort had never set foot on American soil, but his presence was felt far and wide, regardless -- as little as MACUSA wanted to admit it.

She loved her parents and their history, but at times found herself keeping them a secret, frustrated with how difficult it was to find her place in a world that never intended for her to exist.

Her jaw clenched.

“An’ what is it, exactly, you believe?” he asked, slowly.

His holster was suddenly in his hand, and she glanced at the man in the blanket.

“Well,” she started, as she slowly lowered her right hand to her side, “I don’t believe ol’ Mack here’s a friend of yours.”

At that, Bill unsheathed his wand and pointed it directly between her eyes, but the young witch was faster. With a quickdraw and a flick, she caught his wand and sent him crashing to the ground.

She stepped forward to make sure he was out cold before turning her wand to Mack.

“Finite incantatem,” she said.

Finally, Mack relaxed.

“Th-thank you,” he croaked, “I-I really thought...I mean, thank you.”

“That’s okay,” she said, helping him to his feet, “I’m only sorry I didn’t stun him sooner.”

“You and me both.”

“So you’re a wizard.”

“Yes, ma’am. Half, anyway. Same as you.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, I'd never seen a pureblood get trigger happy for half-bloods before.”

With that, the witch blushed. An unfamiliar warmth flooded her chest for a moment, and she shook it off, clearing her throat.

“We should tie him up before he causes any trouble. Incarcerous.”

“Righteous.”

“Why’re you all the way out here, anyway?” she asked, rifling through Bill’s belongings, picking up his book, “Why didn’t he just kill you on the spot?”

“That’s friendly,” Mack scoffed, “I don’t know. He said something about cracking some kind of gnarly cave open, paying a price, etcetera, etcetera. Snapped my wand in half. Next thing I knew, I was here.”

“Here, take his wand. It won't be as good as yours, but it’ll do until you Apparate to MACUSA.”

“Okay, I hear you. Just two things: why am I going to MACUSA, and...how does one Apparate?”

“You need to turn Bill in. You can’t Apparate?”

“I didn’t quite get that far...”

Bill stirred.

“And you won’t get further now.”

As the other two watched, Bill shifted slightly and maneuvered his hands, which were still tied behind his back.

In a second a chorus of loud cracks filled the air, and they were surrounded by a dozen masked men with wands raised.

The young witch quickly cast a shield, grabbed Bill’s books and Mack, who in turn snatched a clump of a howling Bill’s hair, and the three vanished under a hale of red and green light.

[rauthschild]

State Of War Now Exists After Trump Declares “We Will Never Submit To Tyranny”

By: Sorcha Faal, 

A bleakly worded new Security Council (SC) report circulating in the Kremlin today expressing alarm about the actions by foreign powers along Russia’s Eastern Strategic Military District, says as this great power struggle between the United States and Communist China grows more concerning by the hour, Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov has just informed all international parties concerned in these grave events that “Using ultimatums to talk to us is useless and pointless”, while at the same he assessed: “In the United States there are political forces that seek to fan such racist sentiments and utilize them for their own gain that we can witness practically every day”—an assessment based on the facts and evidence indisputably proving beyond any doubt that the United States now exists in a “State of War”—that’s internationally defined as a state of actual armed hostilities regardless of a formal declaration of war, and whose overwhelming evidence supporting has seen between 26 May 2020 and 5 September 2020 a confirmed 12,045 incidents of civil unrest that includes nearly 570 violent demonstrations in nearly 220 locations spread all across the United States, whose insured damage alone because of this violence is now estimated at a staggering $2-billion—and further to be noted, is a “State of War” openly confirmed as existing by President Donald Trump—who yesterday stood surrounded by his nation’s founding documents to address the American people about the full dimensions of this conflict and the grave peril their nation is now facing by his stating:  

On this very day in 1787, our Founding Fathers signed the Constitution at Independence Hall in Philadelphia.

It was the fulfillment of a thousand years of Western civilization.

Our Constitution was the product of centuries of tradition, wisdom, and experience.

No political document has done more to advance the human condition or propel the engine of progress.

Yet, as we gather this afternoon, a radical movement is attempting to demolish this treasured and precious inheritance.

We can’t let that happen.

Left-wing mobs have torn down statues of our founders, desecrated our memorials, and carried out a campaign of violence and anarchy.  Far-left demonstrators have chanted the words “America was never great.”

The left has launched a vicious and violent assault on law enforcement — the universal symbol of the rule of law in America.

These radicals have been aided and abetted by liberal politicians, establishment media, and even large corporations.

Whether it is the mob on the street, or the cancel culture in the boardroom, the goal is the same: to silence dissent, to scare you out of speaking the truth, and to bully Americans into abandoning their values, their heritage, and their very way of life.

We are here today to declare that we will never submit to tyranny.

We will reclaim our history and our country for citizens of every race, color, religion, and creed.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0HaXZgPD1VU&feature=emb_logo&ab_channel=BlazeTV

President Donald Trump stood surrounded by the founding documents of the United States on 17 September 2020 to inform the American people (6:53 mark in above video) of the State of War their nation exists in, and vowed to them that “we will never submit to tyranny”.

According to this report, little known to the vast majority of the American people is that their President is unlike any other leader in the world—as upon them being sworn into office, their sworn duty is not to protect its citizens, its businesses, or even its own nation, but a document known as “The Constitution of the United States”, and whose oath states: “I do solemnly swear that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States”—which makes clear why President Trump stood before this ancient document yesterday to make his vow to the American people  that “we will never submit to tyranny”.

Most assuredly not being lost on President Trump when he stood before The Constitution of the United States yesterday, this report details, was that he was following in same exact footsteps laid down before him by President Abraham Lincoln—who, like President Trump today, faced a bitterly divided nation on the brink of war—and was why two months before the American Civil War started on 12 April 1861, it was preceded, on 22 February 1861, by President-elect Lincoln standing in Independence Hall in Philadelphia-Pennsylvania, where The Constitution of the United States was signed, so he could address the American people and warn them of the perils to come, with his stating:  

I am filled with deep emotion at finding myself standing here, in this place, where were collected together the wisdom, the patriotism, the devotion to principle, from which sprang the institutions under which we live.

Now, in my view of the present aspect of affairs, there need be no bloodshed and war.

There is no necessity for it. I am not in favor of such a course, and I may say, in advance, that there will be no bloodshed unless it be forced upon the Government, and then it will be compelled to act in self-defence.

President Abraham Lincoln stood at Independence Hall (above, far right on podium) on 22 February 1861 to inform the American people that if forced, he would act in self defense to preserve The Constitution of the United States.

Most gravely unfortunate for the greater masses of the American people watching in helpless shock this week as socialist Democrat Party terrorists threw eggs on children and assaulted elderly citizens attending pro-Trump rallies, this report continues, is them failing to understand that the violence and chaos they’ve so far witnessed are just the warm up to the horrors soon coming—as at this very moment, over 80 socialist Democrat Party terrorist organizations funded by socialist-globalist leader George Soros are preparing to flood America with chaos and violence after the 3 November election, and who are vowing “We’re Going to Fight Like Hell”.

Critical to know about these socialist Democrat Party terrorists preparing to unleash hell on America and its citizens, this report notes, is that they are following a war document created by George Soros funded Transition Integrity Project (TIP) deceptively titled “Preventing a Disrupted Presidential Election and Transition”—that begins by stating without any evidence or facts that: “The concept of “election night,” is no longer accurate and indeed is dangerous”—and is followed with 22-pages describing everything these socialists plan to do in order to throw America into chaos and prevent President Trump from winning this election—and is war document created by a group of over 100 current and former senior government and campaign leaders, academics, journalists, polling experts and former federal and state government officials, and who’ve already “war gamed” out everything they plan to do.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7WGvn6N1qPE&feature=emb_logo&ab_channel=TheWhiteHouse

What the American people should now be urgently planning for ahead of this socialist Democrat Party war document being implemented, this report details, is what they are actually going to see happen—as among the many things these vile socialist forces are preparing to unleash on America, they will include the mass assassinations of police officers and anyone found supporting President Trump, all food and fuel deliveries being stopped as trucks are attacked, in order to cause mass starvation and famine, as well as gangs flooding into the suburbs and rural areas of America to destroy and terrify those believing they are safe—all of which when became known about by American political commentator Glenn Beck, saw him fearfully releasing a video to the American people yesterday and warning them:  

We're being set up for a civil war.

The Left is grooming us for an Eastern European-style revolution this election, and they're not even trying to hide it any more.

The playbook for Mainstreet USA is the exact same that has been used in places like Ukraine, initiated by the same people in order to completely upend the American system.

It all points to something dangerous happening in November if we don't act now.

The American people can’t say that they weren’t warned, only that they didn’t listen.

With it now being revealed that even Black and Latino men are no longer supporting socialist Democrat Party leader Joe Biden, this report concludes, yesterday he appeared at a leftist CNN town hall train wreck event in yet another failed bid to boost his approval, where aside from his refusing to even acknowledge that Communist China is a grave threat to America, when one of his own supporters said to him “Mr. Vice President, I look out over my Biden sign in my front yard and I see a sea of Trump flags and yard signs”, he didn’t have any answer or explanation as to why this is so—which makes it no wonder why popular Australian Sky News host James Morrow is now saying that Biden’s fading mental faculties at public events has gotten to the point where it’s almost “elder abuse” for him to remain on the campaign trail—though in reality, it appears that Biden doesn’t have to do anything, because his socialist comrades are doing everything they can for him—with this being best exampled by former Kamala Harris press secretary turned into top Twitter communications official Nick Pacilio, who along with his censoring Tweets by President Trump, saw him flagging as “child sexual exploitation” public footage of Biden touching young girls so the American people couldn’t see it, after which he approved a repugnant video lyingly claiming that President Trump and Republicans were pedophiles, which is now being followed by top Twitter official Carlos Monje leaving his job so he can directly work with the Biden campaign—but for the most blatant example of Biden’s socialist comrades coming to his aid, this was just evidenced in the socialist Democrat Party stronghold State of Pennsylvania—where yesterday the socialist Democrat Party judges on its Supreme Court threw the Green Party off of its presidential ballot so they couldn’t siphon off votes from Biden like Jill Stein did to Hillary Clinton in 2016—that they then followed by issuing a 63-page ruling ordering that ballots postmarked 3 November will be counted as long as they are received by 5 p.m. the Friday following the election—but who then said: “Ballots missing postmarks or with illegible postmarks will also be counted, as long as there is no indication they were sent after Election Day”—thus begging the question as to how it can be determined when a ballot was sent in if it doesn’t have a postmark, or the postmark can’t be read?—which unmistakably and irrefutably proves these socialists will print up as many fake ballots as they need to defeat President Trump—though one supposes President Trump is wise to this game and will do something about it before it happens.

[sosadandyetsoamazing]

about page

Sorry if it’s long, but I realized that I write the opposite of what most people assume about Jemma even when I don’t add the chitauri element. I’m assuming you already read the rules and know about season 2.

about her alien side, if you want more details the longer version is at the bottom: 

Jemma had Chitauri DNA since her birth, just a trace of it at first, that came from her great-grandfather’s experiments on himself (with the help of Roxxon). Her Chitauri DNA’s development was triggered by the Chitauri virus that infected her in season 1, which started changes in her not-so-human body. Jemma knew about the experiments since before SHIELD but naturally never told anyone; she refused to even think about it outside of making a secondary life-goal her intention to erase any trace of not human elements from her body. Unless we plot otherwise or we write the starter where your muse finds out, by default if we write threads set in later seasons I’ll assume that: she told Fitz about her alien status after Daisy recovered after being shot in season 1. In season 2 she told Daisy and then Coulson after Porto Rico and the inhuman powers reveal. Then May. The others found out later when she either told them or showed her real skin.

About her superpowers: she doesn't have all Chitauri abilities, but:

-she eventually develops thermal vision , but has trouble controlling it. -she can't survive a shot to the head unless she's made herself ready for it, unlike the actual chitauri. She can make her skin become hard enough to protect herself from bullets when she focuses on it (and in that case it shows scales) and to not break herself while using super-strength, but she's not invulnerable, she can still feel pain and she has no perfect control on it especially when emotional. -her eyes can turn yellow, seemingly when she’s using any of her other powers or is too emotional. -given that shapeshifting depends on ingesting someone first, she has no idea if she can turn into someone else, but she can at least hide her wounds and make herself look healthy, though they are still there. It requires constant focus however, so if she stops thinking about looking like her previous intact self for even one second, her wounds and bruises will show up again. -she does have extra strength and an amazing memory like the Chitauri do. But while she was already used to her mind working on a higher level, her body is mostly human and many factors are involved in how dangerous it is to use her strength on purpose.

 A very important canon divergence that I ask you to read from beginning to end: 

whether I write her with a Fitz rper and they are dating, or I write her in other ships, she will NEVER be the hope to someone’s doom (it has to be mutual). In this blog she will keep being bad at guessing people’s reactions to her words/actions, she won’t always know what to say, she’ll prefer to help with little actions, though obviously she’ll do her best to be nice to the people she loves and encourage them, and she will feel rejected and useless if that doesn’t work. She will keep being passionate about science but more about biochemistry, she was never emotionally equipped to be a doctor or therapist. Prosthetics are her thing with some help from Fitz, and she’ll work together with him on sci-fi issues since they are both out of their depth and both geniuses. She will not be able to repress every negative emotion for years straight and will need to be comforted too.  Jemma is messed up by traumas and PTSD, she doesn’t have an inhuman power that allows her to repress everything and keep functioning perfectly. She found pretty easy to kill in the past and uses it to her advantage and to protect her friends when they hesitate, can be cruel to people she’s angry at, hypocritical as hell when it comes to wanting her friends to be healthy and talk to her, has shown several times to feel both self-hatred yet also superiority towards many others, is only warm to close friends (season 1 team in particular) and more wary to others as well as downright rude behind her nice smiles and smug. She claims to not break rules in season 1 but her behavior says the opposite. She’s not very self-aware. She’s sassy and salty. I’m not bound by tvshow budgets so she will learn to fight as early as possible to keep people from getting hurt for her again and she’ll use all the tech available when on missions. Covering her face is a must before battle since she can’t out herself as alien-like/make people think she’s inhuman without endangering her family. Speaking of which, her little sister is back in her life around season 3  when Jemma finally tells her she’s a SHIELD agent and didn’t ‘abandon’ her to be a party planner. Their mother can go from neglectful and toxic to straight up abusive depending on the universe, in the latter’s case she’s more likely to be able to put herself in the shoes of other victims of abuse and be less harsh against them if they genuinely want a second chance, something she’d normally deny depending on the harm they caused.   

Important things to know when it comes to my characterization, but from now on ONLY bolded things are important:

-She never had a problem with anyone over being different, just like in canon. She was worried about another alien virus when it comes to the Diviner, she was worried Skye would die over her changes until told she was inhuman, that it was part of her DNA and accepted it, she wants Raina dead regardless of her powers, and we all know she didn’t leave Fitz because she couldn’t ‘accept him’. If Daisy rpers agree, Jemma went to the safe-house with Daisy to keep her company since she was in less danger than anyone else. Which means she was there when the other SHIELD attacked, Gordon took only Daisy away, Jemma attacked Bobbi and Calderon too, was shot/ICEd and taken back to the base, where she kept being antagonistic and was kept an eye on because identified as an alien - she only pretended to cooperate when May came back. If Jemma didn’t go with Daisy she was outed as alien and fought against the attackers but passed out from the gas. She’d have killed them until shot down once awake if Fitz hadn’t been there to explain what was happening. Canonically Gonzales meant to keep Daisy too, they wouldn’t let someone who just came out as alien or part alien walk away free, she was if anything another proof that Coulson couldn’t be trusted.

-In s3 she and Will stayed friends. Things went slow with Fitz because she needed a long time to recover from Maveth. She did get together with Fitz, but unless I'm writing with a Fitz rper, eventually they realized that they weren't the people they fell in love with long ago, that there was too big of a lack of communication and too little helping each other because too involved in each other's traumas, and so they broke up some time before the Framework, right after Fitz's investigation about Radcliffe. They intended to get some distance from each other to feel better after solving this last Aida issue, but then the Framework happened. Dekes are welcomed, but his grandfather wouldn't be Fitz unless plotted otherwise.

-She couldn't make herself invulnerable to Jiyera's torture in season 3, she couldn't let Hydra find out what she is and decide to torture Fitz instead. However after she escaped she didn't need to free Andrew Garner for help, she accidentally broke him free when using her powers. 

-She joined more field agents during the six months of break between season 3 and season 4, using her powers to do good but still feeling very wrong. She also understood Daisy's need to leave after Lincoln’s death and was happy to help her survive away from SHIELD, using her 'double agent' status with Mace to keep her friends safe and help inhumans. Though she did scold Daisy over expecting her to step back and only show up to be a doctor.  

-After the Framework, a newly traumatized Jemma wants to help her friends and Fitz, but she realizes that it's all too much right now, and she's in no position of being supportive. She also can't risk getting arrested. Coulson himself suggests her to leave with Piper and the others, and tells her that they'll call her if she's needed. So she does that, and goes back to look into her past, into who she is, as well as agreeing to see a SHIELD therapist to discuss her situation some day. It's all open to plotting, crossovers can happen due to portals, and when it comes to aos I ask to not be involved in plots such as characters' deaths aside from her having been told about Coulson and having seen him before he died in Tahiti if we must incorporate it in our plots.

thank you so much for reading, if we are mutuals and you want to let me know you read it, feel free to like this page!

The longer version of how she came to be part chitauri if you are interested: 

Jemma's great-grandfather's DNA was mixed with alien's by Roxxon, an evil organization that still exists to this day. No one in the family beside that man showed any special abilities, beside Jemma being a genius. Still, the child was told stories about how special she was by her grandmother, and the intention behind those first attempts to prepare Jemma was to reveal the truth once she'd be an adult and able to handle the news. But even as a kid she was a curious, skilled biochemist all too happy to experiment in her house's laboratory, and she ended up finding odd things in her DNA and questioning her family. So she was told the truth before joining SHIELD at age sixteen - whether SHIELD knew or not is to be determined - and she wasn't sure if she should believe any of it or how she felt about being part alien, so she elected to ignore it for now until able to research and learn more. Until, of course, the Chitauri attacked New York, aliens became 'real' to the public, and Jemma didn't have the courage to tell Fitz, her best friend in the world, or even to think about it too much, that she was part alien too. Jemma joined the Bus for field action as in canon but also to have the opportunity to deal with more alien samples and tech and study herself, even try to modify her own body to be completely normal even though the differences at the time were still minimal; sadly, everything went wrong. She was infected by a chitauri virus, which attacked the human side of her body and would have likely either killed her directly or by destroying the plane she was in and taking her friends with her, and the fact that she was given the anti-serum in time and the electrostatic shock that followed resulted in having her chitauri side awoken and her body actually start to change. Jemma began to notice odd things and tried to keep them secret while studying herself - and she realized that yes, the chitauri were the ones used in the experiments involving her great-grandfather much like she had feared.

[xdcvilwithinx]

My Father’s Sins Are Out Tonight || Self-para

TAGGING: Evan Grey III, The Demon Azareal, (mentions of Evalyn Grey, Evan Grey, Sr.) LOCATION: Fallcrest Forest, en route to the Nexus TIME FRAME: New Year’s Eve, Nearing Midnight GENERAL NOTES: After doing her part to get as many of the wounded as possible to the triage unit, and overtaken by the anger of knowing the war is one giant distraction, she heads into the forest intent on stopping the real plan

Last night had been the very first time she’d transitioned into her full demon form, and Evan wasn’t entirely sure it was something she was comfortable doing on a regular basis. The physical pain brought about her body rearranging itself, and the aesthetic of it all aside, her full demon form seemed to augment her succubus powers to the point that it didn’t matter what kind of energy she felt around her, she was going to siphon if for herself.

It had been a rush at first, being to heal almost immediately instead of having to wait. But then she’d noticed how indiscriminate the siphoning was, and how her full demon form was making her fellow soldiers weaker on the frontline, and she could allow that. So she’d but a clamp on it and hadn’t dared to go near that level of rage again.

Until now.

As she watched the new frontline near the school struggling to hold out until midnight, when the magic would wear off enough on those things to make them easy targets, Evan couldn’t help but think about how all of this was just a giant distraction. These creatures served no further purpose than to divert all supernatural focus, leaving the real target completely unprotected and up for the taking.

Throwing a few more energy balls at some bezerkers and a feral to weaken them for the others, she began to retreat from the frontline and head in the direction of the forest. Evan had a plan in mind, but there was no way in hell she was going to risk draining any of the people that had essentially become their last line of defense. 

Once out of sight, she shimmered to a random part of the forest and tapped back into the power from before. As soon as her vision turned red, she wasted no time in tapping into her sensing ability. Her father was near and he was one of the men responsible for what was happening to her town. After all, regardless of how much her grandfather wanted to distance what he believed to be his own daughter’s greatest mistake from the Grey name, the truth was that by virtue of being her mother’s daughter, the blood of the original Gray witches that helped to found this haven ran through her veins.

But so did his.

The ancient Incubus Azareal, conquerer of lands far and wide, had mistaken a powerful witch for a simple human to siphon and drain. Instead, he left behind a child who would be connected to him for as long as they both lived. And it was this very connection that Evan tapped into now, stretching her sensing abilities to their very limits in a bid to get a read on where exactly the Scions currently were in relation to the Nexus. It took almost everything in her, but she finally managed to sense him and based on where she located him, Evan shimmered to a part of the forest he’d have to cross to reach what he wanted. Wasting no time, she took out her athame and began to carve symbols on specific trees, shimmering from tree to tree in an effort waste even less time.

Evan was just making her way to the middle of the area, when moonlight caused the tell-tale ripple of someone shimmering before her to become apparent. She didn’t have to wait until he was corporeal to know it was him, however, once he caught sight of her an unsettlingly large smile spread across his features. “I see you’ve managed to tap into your full potential. I’m impressed. You’ve managed to shed the mask of humanity all on your own,” he goaded.

“If you find the mask of humanity such a burden to bear, then why are you still wearing yours now?” she countered, not really interested in the reason, but needing him to shed the glamour in order for things to fall into place. It seemed that her mother was right in having once told her she inherited her temperament from her father, as all it took was that simple question for him to revert to his true form as well. As soon as he stood before her, a staggering seven feet easy, Evan couldn’t help the laugh that began to pour of her from deep within her chest.

The laugh was such, that one point she even doubled over attempting to catch her breathe, and Azareal was forced to finally ask, “And just what the bloody hell do you find so entertaining child?”

The half-demon managed to regain just enough composure to state, “I just really hope you didn’t have somewhere else to be tonight...”

No sooner had the words her lips, than her father was shimmering in an attempt to get to the Nexus, failing miserably as the ward that Evan had prepped the area with caused him to get no further than maybe a few feet. This didn’t stop him from trying at least another five times, Evan’s laughter serving as a soundtrack to the entire ordeal.

Her laughter was only cut short when she felt his taloned hand clutch at her neck and lift her clear off the ground. Bringing her eye-level to himself, red on red, he growled out, “I don’t know why you find this so funny. After all, if I can’t get out of this place neither can you.” The words were followed a menacing squeeze to her throat, clearly meant to intimidate her into lowering the ward.

However, Evan simply leaned in a little closer and ground out, “Perfect set up for some long overdue father/daughter bonding, no?”

Her answer came in the form of being flung by the neck, coming to a stop only when her body collided with the invisible -but very much solid- ward of entrapment that she’d enacted. The second shot, from hitting the ground after, knocked the wind out of her a bit. As she struggled to get back to at least a sitting position, Azareal advanced on her determined to show no mercy regardless of whether this was his daughter or not. He didn’t have to voice it. Evan could sense it. All of it. While both in their true forms, their connection was its strongest, and for some reason he hadn’t had the forethought to attempt to temper it on his end.

She could feel his rage mounting, and she wasted no time in  siphoning what she could so that enough strength came back to be on her feet and shimmering to the other end of the entrapment. There were only two ways he would be getting out of here: wait out til midnight, when the ward would be rendered useless and hope to still be in time at the Nexus. Or, the one she could already feel he was option for: kill the enactor of the ward have the spell break with them.

Evan had managed to check the time shortly before carving into the trees. Though her sense of time had been a bit warped by everything that had happened since then, she knew all she had to do was hold out for ten minutes - five of which had likely already passed. The girl didn’t have any grand delusions of actually surviving a one-on-one battle with her own father, but if she could at least hang on until midnight, there was a chance the Nexus could remain undisturbed for at least another year.

It was with this in mind, that she sent out the first energy ball at the much older demon. His attention was quickly focused on dodging her shots, as even though she wouldn’t be able to kill him, being a supernatural herself, her magic would certainly cause him harm as if mortal. Unlike her, his demon makeup afforded him wings, which he fully used to his advantage by hovering above ground.

Evan took a running start at one of the trees near him, and once her foot hit the bark she shimmered to twice as high up and did the same when the second foot came down, giving her the height and launching point she needed to drive her athame into one of her father’s wings. Using her own weight, she then dragged the blade down the length of the wing, and then landed on the ground, shortly followed by a very disgruntled seven foot demon.

Though she knew she was likely staring into the face of her own death, Evan found that there was no shaking to her resolve. She’d spent her entire life being regarded as a mistake, told she wasn’t worthy for a number of reasons that were all beyond her control. As she stood here in front one of the very sources the lifelong curse upon her name, her shirt torn, her body bruised, and the world now silent as her hearing aids had finally given out from the recent damage, none of that mattered. Because in her final stand, she would make sure it was worth something.

Standing her ground even as Azareal began to take a running start at her, Evan simply waited for the impending contact that she knew was to come. It had to be nearing midnight, and even if it wasn’t she was wiling to go out so long as she took this asshole with her.

When it happens, she isn’t entirely sure what order things occurred in, but by the time all is said and done, Azrael has managed to take a deep swipe at her face with enough force to have her on the ground, bleeding profusely, and back to her humanoid form. Granted, for his troubles, he himself is now laying about a foot away in a pool of his own demonic, inky blood as an athame protrudes from one of his temples. Evan tries not to think too much about how ironic it is that this should be their first and last meeting as everything slips into darkness.

[orangebatsanctuary]

Welcome to today main course~ get ready to relish to the hearty dish!

On a Wing & a Prayer by hakumei_hogosha

The grand brand-new AU action-fantasy depicts the beautiful InaSure love that will take your breath away. But before you taste the heavenly sugar, you have to pass through the hellish salt first *evil grin* 

Read on OrangeBat Sanctuary website:

http://www.orangebat-sanctuary.com/hakumei-hogosha

or click ‘Keep reading’ below.

Bon appetite reading!

Love,

Rosiel

*Title page’s art by hakumei_hogosha

On a Wing & a Prayer by hakumei_hogosha

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 Tags:

Alternate Universe (AU), Post-Apocalyptic, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Angels, Automata, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Minor & Major Character Deaths, Canon References (S1&S2, Extra Day/24.5)

  Summary:

Against all odds -- be it time, space or fate -- he always reached me. No matter how much I denied and defied him, he always thwarted my efforts. So even if it may be impossible, for it to happen I pray; I pray for such a miracle.

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   Prologue

⊱Slaine⊰

 A door was silently closed and quietly, an ashen blond young man walked into a dark room. Upon approaching the opposite side of the room, he pulled a curtain back and let some light in before nestling in a wooden chair seated next to a bed. Once seated, the ashen blond retrieved an old book from his coat pocket albeit with a slight grimace. Momentarily he rubbed his left hand, where a worn bandage wrap was loosening. Underneath, a whip-like wound seemed to have opened once more and started showing signs of festering.

 The ashen blond hastily wrapped the wound again as he mumbled to the person resting in bed, “One moment Milady. I know. I know how much you want to hear that story again.”

 He offered a polite smile when looking to the person he addressed -- a sleeping beauty of long blond hair, ghastly yet still beautiful. He breathed shakily while his eyes momentarily watered, glossing over at the sight and before swallowing hard, he cleared his throat. Firmly he began to retell the story the sleeping beauty loved dearly.

 “Beyond the azure sky and stars above,

Our kingdom once resided.

In a foreign land, rigid and red

 Struggling, forsaken and isolated from Mother Earth

Our empire of Vers stood

Yet Blessed we were

 Blessed by the Power of the Gods!

Thought transcending matter

Wildest dreams becoming reality

 Green with envy our fellow man were

-- the Terrans were

So were we

-- Jealous of our fellow man

 Land abundant with resources

Limitless air

Food beyond krill

 And without fail, in our fallacy

We waged war (although we hated war)

Until (our so-called) justice be done

Though the heavens may fall

 And so it did

The moon shattered and the sun set the world ablaze

All were slain

 And life went on

For it all to begin again.”

 The ashen blond sighed and looked at the name of the poet. He traced the name when resuming to speak, “Written by a poet with your namesake, Milady Asseylum…”

 For a moment the young man waited for a response that he knew would never come and yet out of old habit, he continued this charade of a conversation. He let his imagination, his recollection of the sleeping beauty, of his childhood friend to fill in the other half of the conversation.

 “Yes there is truth Milady. Based on the ruins, our town is founded on a different type of earth compared to the neighboring towns. The description of the Vers Empire also can be correlated with the description of the fractured planet named Mars,” the young man continued.

 He nodded and smiled gleefully, “Where can the correlation be made? Mars is the name of the ‘red’ planet close to our Earth. Unlike Earth however it lacks an atmosphere so its cold… ‘rigid’ as described. Furthermore… ‘blessed we were…’”

 The young man’s expression became sullen as his voice trailed.

 “Stay back Slaine!” A voice from the past echoed in the back of his mind.

 Slaine face palmed and grit his teeth; he tried to hold back a sob.

 “This is my vengeance!” A man with burgundy wavy hair exclaimed. He adorned a military uniform and stretched his black wings, in hopes of intimidating his foe, a young woman of emerald eyes and blond hair.

 The woman brought forth both of her hands, facing her palms to the winged man, and exclaimed, “In the name of Asseylum vers Allusia, I demand you to sleep!”

 The man spat and with great spite, yelled, “I refuse! For my fiancee, for my flesh and blood I demand retribution in kind! You have no power over me! ARGH!”

 Asseylum struggled and golden emblems began to appear around the man. A barrier of light separated the man from Asseylum and her companion. Simultaneously, the man was being pushed back into the earthly wall, where chains of light manifested and coiled around the man.

 “It’s useless, Orbital Knight of the past! Desist!” Asseylum exclaimed.

 The man chuckled after finally giving up on his futile struggle. He smirked as he realized, “You may have won this skirmish but do not think this is the last of me, Princess Asseylum.”

 “Princess?” Slaine repeated in confusion.

 The man momentarily was surprised at Asseylum’s comrade but only chuckled under his breath.,“How absurd this hand fate has dealt… To think even in this life, we are still bound by our roles of back then.”

 “What do you mean?” Slaine tried to inquire only for the man to still return his smug smile before being entirely encased in golden light.

 Asseylum fell to her knees but was caught by Slaine. She breathed with great labor as her heart was giving out. She had overexerted herself, perhaps far too much for her body to handle.

 “Asseylum please! Save your strength and--”

 She took his hand into hers and shook her head. “It’s… too late for that… Slaine… Please… protect Lemrina… She’s the last… to be able to stop  him. He’ll return and… I…”

 “Asseylum!” Slaine cried when noticing her grip was weakening.

 She smiled before her eyes closed what she considered her last time. “Please… If he acquires… the family… Aldnoah… he’ll…”

 Her hand fell limp much to Slaine’s growing despair. Over and over he screamed her name.

 A knocking came to the door. “Are you there?” Asseylum’s sister asked from the other side of the door.

 The young man closed his book and asked, "Do you believe in angels, Lemrina?"

 "Do you believe in miracles, Slaine?" The woman queried back.

 The ashen blond huffed. "Touche, Milady. But the angels I speak of exist."

 "The Orbital Knights? They're not the angels that are heavenly and holy as literature makes them to be. Far from it actually..." Lemrina continued to retort back and had entered the room, making her to Slaine.

 "No. They're no different from devils. Perhaps they're worse than devils."

 "How did the prayer go again? Lead us not into temptation but deliver us from evil?"

 "I do not see your point, Milady."

 "Neither do I see yours. Slaine, you know full well how I have scavenged the world for the finest doctors and naught is there to awaken my sister."

 "Yes. By the wealth invested in your family, the descendants of the Royal Family that established the long forsaken Vers Empire... you have looked at every corner of the world... the known world for a solution. The solution we seek Milady--"

 "Slaine you wouldn't mean..."

 The young man stood up and offered his hand to Lemrina. Weakly he smiled, a ghost of his former smile the woman thought, and he nodded. Taking his hand, the two walked outside the manor and towards the rundown factory where Slaine's father worked away at a relic of the past.

 "My father has uncovered a relic called the Tharsis. If we are deciphering the runes correctly... it has a power over time."

 "Time?" Lemrina repeated.

 "Imagine... if we could go back in time and undone what had occurred. What if we were to prevent our fathers from activating the Aldnoah?"

 Lemrina chuckled. "You speak of impossibilities Slaine."

 "What about the miracles you speak of, Lemrina? What if we could go back to how things use to be?" Slaine dared ask the question, voice the wish she longed for.

 The woman was at a loss of words and her eyes watered. She lowered her head with her fringe hiding her eyes. "That would be too good to be true... There has to be a catch."

 Slaine patted Lemrina's head. "If you really want to obtain something... Lemrina... sometimes you have to be willing to pay regardless of the price."

 Lemrina grit her teeth and faced her dearest friend, whose smile was filled with resignation. "What price do you speak of?"

 He shook his head. "I don't know. I can't say. Activating the Aldnoah before brought back spirits of the past -- the Orbital Knights. One nearly killed us all in that room... surely… one of them will aid us."

 "Slaine... Please..." Lemrina begged as she lightly pulled at Slaine's sleeve.

 Slaine took her hand from his sleeve and squeezed, "Regardless of what happens, you're the princess I'll always protect. I promised your sister after all."

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    Chapter One

⊱Lemrina⊰

 Like lightning and thunder, an alien light and a death cry enveloped the room. The smell of seared flesh filled her nostrils, the burning sensation watered her eyes yet nothing remained in her heart. The shock had vacated her fear, her anger and her reason.

 The void before her physically had only slowly registered in her mind and yet her hands had long made quick work. Her forearm bled an eerie yet matching color to the glow and with her damaged legs, she crawled desperately forward to the focal point of the catastrophe, the mangled, butchered cadaver, and dashed her spilled blood upon it. She knew not why but she knew if she were to do so, something would be done. Demented it may become. Cursed she may become. But death it will no longer become and no longer would she be alone.

 Drip. Drip drip. Drip...

 Then silence.

 A hitched breath and a prayer to the heavens above and to the damned below. Anything for a miracle or a curse.

 Nothing.

 Her heart sank. She closed her eyes and her fists shook as the mad scientist began to cackle. Little did the man realize he had murdered his son. "No," she thought, "He knew but did not care."

 The man's madness abruptly turned into fear. A jerk here. A jerk there. Slowly the cadaver came to life.

 Her eyes watered and she thanked the gods. It dug its bloodied fingernails into the metallic floor and began to sit up. Life seemed to return but it would be too good to be true. Soon her heart became cold at the sight and the sound. Crackling bones. Unnatural bends and moves.

 Lifeless turquoise eyes met hers.

 Slaine had not returned.

 The cadaver leaned forward and hugged its sides. Drool mixed with saliva and blood dripped from its mouth. It gagged and hissed as something cracked even more than before. Another crack. One more and soon it fell to its knees and the source of the sound erupted. Where her blood had touched, began to sear and glow like the light before.

 "No!" She internally cried and grimaced.

 She wanted to look away but she could not. She tried to block her ears as once more the scientist began to maniacally laugh. Nothing she had done prevented the scientist. It only impeded. His work had come to completion. It was bearing fruit.

 The blood on the floor had mixed with hers and unnaturally collected and climbed into the cadaver's back. The cadaver groaned and tears ran down its cheeks as the blood seared its flesh evermore. Tearing. Reconnecting. Rebuilding. Rewriting.

 Flesh met with the blood and the blood unnaturally cooled as its liquid form danced and derived itself into coils and wedges. It began to resemble gears of various sorts.

 Her blood had become the medium to realize the madman's dreams. Aldnoah did not answer to her alone. It heard the madman. It heard all. It granted all. It served fate above all.

 Wings of god blessed metal adorn the cadaver's back. No longer entirely a corpse it was but neither was it entirely human nor robotic. Whatever it was, it was the first of its kind... and nothing of what it once was.

 The cadaver turned its head unnaturally like an owl, from Lemrina and to the mad scientist, the cadaver's human father and now perhaps its creator.

 "My son!" The mad scientist Dr. Troyard warmly greeted and offered opened arms. It was a spectacle to behold how the very murderer showed more emotions to the grotesque transformation of his former kin, blood and bone.

 Calmly, the cadaver straightened itself and slowly, somewhat stiff as if adjusting to its restored body, walked forward to the scientist. The two did not embrace as the doctor surveyed his former son more closely, walking around and then touching, tracing his hand along the newly formed mechanical wings and finally to his son's cheek. Paler, abnormally paler did his son's perplexion look. Abnormally in such a manner of not looking organic or human, more pale than he had originally been.

 "Fath...r..." It spoke. The first word it had said since its awakening and the scientist's eyes watered. Finally the two embraced.

 "Just like a newborn! Oh to think the power--" Dr. Troyard had began to babble only to cough and blood escaped his lips in place of his words.

 He coughed as he froze in place, it was only when the cadaver walked backwards and pulled out its right arm from the scientist's rib cage. Looking down the scientist's expression paled momentarily before evermore, maniacally smiled in perhaps accepting fate's hand upon him. In the grasp of the cadaver's blood-soaked hand laid the scientist's still beating heart, still linked to the many capillaries, arteries and veins. It was fascinating yet fearful. Never before did he see his insides with his naked eyes but he too knew full well what this meant -- he was moments' away from death's embrace in the hands of his former son. This cadaver was not his son.

 No... it surely was as the scientist finally looked to his son in the eye.  The doctor had seen this expression countless times; he knew them well... far too well. What shred of humanity, of fatherhood that remained in him ached and for this last moment he felt the entirety of his failure. How many chances had gone past his fingers? How many times did he turn his son away in the name of this research, this very research that had taken his son just as it had torn away his wife before. He had not learned and now he was to pay the last thing he had to offer.

 "Dad... you should come early today. At least today... M... Mom would appreciate it." His son had once told him while the scientist worked on improvising the assembly line. He did not heed Slaine's advice and soon after, his wife had left him.

 Bitterly Doctor Troyard had once more withdrawn into the collapsing factory, his last haven and semblance of happiness from his married life. The two had discovered this place and decided to restore it to its former beauty. Years had past, responsibilities and thorns of reality corrupted that dream.

 As Doctor Troyard had slugged more of his vodka and rested upon the assembly line, gazing to the night sky in the gaping hole of the ceiling, his son had made his way. "You leaving too?" Dr. Troyard bitterly asked; he had dulled his senses. In the end, did their presence matter to him now when his wife, who once shared this dream of restoring the archaic technology their forefathers once bore, had left him?

 He should have suspected as once she bore his child, the time she committed to their dream would dwindle into nothing and more, she would ask for him away from this dream. He dared not let this dream die.

 "No." His son calmly answered and leaned on an adjacent part of the assembly line. "I'll only remind her of her life here... and anyway, I would like to see you achieve what she considered an unattainable dream."

 Doctor Troyard was at a loss of words and chuckled to himself. Little did his son know how much he resembled his mother.  The difference was his son knew very little beyond the fog of this town they lived in. He knew very little of what broader horizons awaited him if he were to leave.  Doctor Troyard knew yet as much as he knew what future awaited the two if they were to continue this seemingly fruitless pursuit, how hard their life and how many more losses they will incur, he could not bring himself to send his son away. He could not do what he should have done as a father.

 And now he was paying for it. Aldnoah had answered his desire to revive the forgotten technology of eons past and the noble wish his son had for him to see this impossible dream come to fruit... only to become its vessel. The mad scientist's knees buckled and with his last ounce of strength, he had reached for his son's cheek and tried to speak. He tried to apologize yet how little those words meant now.

 In one quick stroke of movement, the cadaver crushed the removed heart and released its fingers and digits one by one. He let the oozing blood spill on the collapsed corpse. For a moment it looked at the corpse but not a moment more before turning to what hung in the hangar before them.

 Lemrina groaned as she tried to get herself to sit up. The pain of her wounded legs had dulled but the fact she begun to not feel anything scared her. A conclusion had dawned to her and she knew it was most likely true and nothing could be done at this point. She eventually got herself to sit up and once more brought her attention to what was unfolding before her. To her surprise, the cadaver had approached her; it was within her reach and as much as she longed to caress Slaine's cheeks in her palms, she knew this was nothing but an illusion.

 The cadaver had kneeled before her and then bowed, bringing its right forearm over where its heart would be. "Heiress of Aldnoah," It began and slowly retracted its arm, from its chest and grasped Lemrina, an arm under her legs and another wrapping around her back. The cadaver had picked her up and brought her forward to that which hung from the hangar. Lemrina held her breath as the cadaver's cold embrace was nothing like Slaine's former warmth. Heiress Aldnoah it  had addressed her as... Aldnoah the name of the lost technology their forefathers had used... to humanity's initial destruction. And yet for some reason, it was perhaps humanity's last hope of revitalizing the world they called home.

 She gulped as the cadaver brought her ever closer to the edge of the walkway they were on. Was he going to drop here considering how helpless she was, unable to walk on her own two feet anymore?

 "Heir..ess..." It addressed again and she turned to face it without a second thought. She chided herself when trying to remind herself this was no longer Slaine... yet she was weak to that semblance of his voice, although no longer filled with life and the hope she adored.

 "Yes... Slaine." Lemrina acknowledged and still held her troubled expression, she was uncertain how else to address it. Her expression paled as she realized hanging lump of metal before her had risen its head and faced her. Its once dead eyes illuminated and like the cadaver as if claiming what remnants of life the cadaver, the eyes brimmed with a turquoise glow.

 The cadaver did not reply and so Lemrina dared ask, "What... exactly is this relic of the past  did Doctor Troyard unearth and try to revive?"

 "Tharsis. A Kataphrakt capable to foresee the future." It curtly responded and faced Lemrina. For a moment she swore she could see Slaine still dwelt in the reanimated, "your wish is our command, Milady."

 Her eyes widened as the wholesome truth of what Aldnoah, fate had dealt her, sunk in. Just like Doctor Troyard, she acquired what she had asked for... albeit twisted and morbid, eternally and like a growing sickness in her heart, her heart sank realizing and dreading she had ever wished this fate upon her love.

 Never will Slaine leave her side but never will he be her equal. They could never fall in love.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Two years later...

 Stratus clouds loomed overhead. Endless, steady rain continuously fell and pitter-pattered on the lone black umbrella. Underneath the umbrella, a pink-haired woman dressed in a black gown sat in a wheelchair. Her eyes downcast and her hands resting on her lap. The wind blew and without hold, the umbrella flew elsewhere.

 The woman remained still. Her attention was fixated on a lone epitaph underneath a willow tree.

 "I take your hand one more time.

I cast your hand away this last time.

 I'm sorry my dearest friend.

I'm sorry to have fallen for you.

I'm sorry for having cursed you.

 Please forgive me.

No. Please don't forgive me.

I know too well you will forgive me.

 You were the kindest soul of all

Too good for this world

Much too good for me most of all."

 She chuckled to herself and sighed. It had become a mantra, a prayer to someone long gone or to heavenly above whose ears have long gone deaf.

 Once more she visited a hollow grave. More so then her own parents but she could not bring herself to mourn, to weep for their passing. There were no heartfelt feelings for them in comparison to the one before her.

 She was in the wrong. She knew she was in the wrong. Parents always loved their children; perhaps she misunderstood their love. At least that is what Lemrina is always told. She did not care either way.

 Her heart throbbed and hurt most looking at this grave for her dearest friend, her long dearly departed.

 "He will never find rest," she thought bitterly and truthfully.

 She looked upward and cast her cold, piercing blue eyes forward. In the distance, she could see a clearing among the junkyard's piles of rubbish where an angel seemed to aimlessly wonder. At least that was how the townspeople perceived it to be. Little did anyone beyond her household know the terrible truth.

 The angel was an abomination. However it was not the most horrid. The most horrid was its creator -- her.

 Her eyes had long dried up. There were no more tears. Her voice had long become hoarse from all her screams and pleas for a different reality, for time to go back or perhaps everything to be a dream.

 Lemrina chuckled again to herself and leaned back into her chair, gripping tightly to her useless thighs. She would never walk and yet this was the least of her pain. Her gaze went from the junkyard and to the left, toward the second floor of her mansion where a curtain recently was pulled in.

 "Ah," she realized. Her eyes had fallen to the window belonging to her sister's room.

 Even now, her sister still was more fortunate than her. Bitterly even in her sister's pathetic state, Lemrina couldn't help being jealous --

"If only she knew how much the world preferred her over me."

"If only she knew how much he longed to see her wake up and call his name."

"Things would be better if it was she that became the cripple and not the comatose."

 Such thoughts once more plagued and ravaged Lemrina's mind. She shook her head, trying to shake them away from her conscience to little, to no avail before turning to face her butler.

 "Milady..." Her butler, Harklight, softy addressed her. His voice ebbed with hesitation and a thin sliver of objection to where she wish to go.

 "Harklight," she said in an attempt to match but in a far more bitter and spiteful tone. She did not care what her butler had to say.

 Creaking wheels came to a stop as a pair of dress shoes dared not step any further. The woman sitting upon the wheelchair silently exhaled deeply and opened her eyes, narrowly looking to her surroundings. Resentment, regret and resignation adorn her features yet she remained steadfast.

 She knew the gravitas of where she was and what had occurred here. Before her, the decrepit factory was filled with dust and showed signs of being abandoned for many years. No sign of recent activity could be seen from inside. Control panels and assembly lines were caked in dust and falling into disrepair. The Tharsis had long been repaired and no longer resided in the decrepit factor. Where it was, Lemrina did not have the faintest clue yet it mattered not. Years have passed and without fail it was certain Lemrina had full reign over the automaton and the one under its charge.

 As if it unconsciously knew, the automaton had made its way to where she was now. Her butler gulped and subconsciously released his hold on her wheelchair. The automaton dropped down from the gaping hole of the ceiling and softly landed by fluttering its robotic, rusting wings much like a bird.

 "Good afternoon Slaine." Lemrina greeted and similarly, the automaton greeted her yet by kneeling before her and kissing her offered hand.

 After kissing her hand, the automaton looked upward to her. Remorsefully she smiled at the abomination her friend had become and caressed its left cheek. Lemrina pondered to herself. She had to tell him, even if it really wasn’t him. She had to selfishly for her own sake. Only it could offer some semblance of solace, peace of mind of the conclusion of their odyssey to awaken her sister.

 “How I longed to see you smile once more…” Lemrina wishfully thought.

 “Heir...ess?” It asked in his voice, void of any emotion. So close it was to being her dearest friend yet such a far cry. Whatever humanity he had was ripped apart him, figuratively and literally.

 She struggled to hold back her face twisting into utmost remorse. She swallowed hard and summoned, focusing every ounce of concentration she could muster.

 “Slaine is not really here… just like she won’t be… and soon I won’t.” Lemrina convinced herself. One deep breath and she had reclaimed her composure. “Slaine,” she addressed with her full attention and began, “as much as I have tried… I fear time has run out.”

 Lemrina paused, taking in the sight of the automaton before her. Her eyes watered and her breath became ragged for a moment. She could easily recollect and imagine how he would have reacted upon hearing such words. Fear. Despair. Struggle. And most of all… hope. Even in the darkest and hardest of times, Slaine would still try his best to seek a way to make the situation better or what good there was in the situation.

 There was nothing expressed in the automaton. Expressionless, emotionless and eternally waiting for a command from Lemrina.

 “She will not wake Slaine,” Lemrina finished and lowered her head, “ever again.”

 “...”

 The pink-haired woman took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Of course it would be silent for…”

 Her train of thought was disrupted. In the corner of her eye, she could see tears falling down the automaton’s cheeks. She gawked at the automaton which had risen to its feet. It spread its mechanical wings and fringe hid its eyes.

 “Then Milady’s barrier will fall and the Orbital Knight Saazbaum will break free. We need to escape post haste, Milady Lemrina,” the automaton informed and offered its hand.

 His mistress shook her head. She smiled even more peacefully than before and crossed her hands on her lap. “Thank you Slaine but this time, I will be the one to stay behind.”

 “Count Saazbaum’s objective will be to acquire the Aldnoah activation rights and abilities you hold Milady Lemrina. As Heiress, your well-being is--”

 Lemrina had reached forward, resting a finger on its lips in an act to silence it. A tear ran down her left cheek. “Slaine…” She spoke in a weaker voice, “you must flee. More so than me… It is inevitable for Saazbaum to acquire the Royal Family’s ability of Memoria. It is not inevitable, however, for him to be unable to use it indefinitely. As long as he does not obtain the Tharsis, there is hope.”

 “Milady… pardon me for speaking out of turn but what hope is there when the Orbital Knight, a wielder of unspeakable power from the distant past gains the ability to rewrite history?” Harklight dared ask.

 The butler’s mistress had remained quiet with her attention still fixated on the automaton. Its tears had long dried yet their trails remained on its cheek.

 “You’re still in there aren’t you Slaine?” Lemrina asked rhetorically and took one more deep breath. “Surely you are… and now, now you no longer need to be bound here.” “Flee Slaine,” she commanded much to Harklight’s surprise -- a surprise perhaps the automaton shared.

 It had remained in place.

 She exclaimed again in an authoritative manner, “Go! Don’t fall into Saazbaum’s hands! This is my last order.”

 Lemrina was about to repeat herself yet stopped as this time, the automaton -- with some hesitation -- levitated upwards before taking flight again through the opening in the ceiling. Seeing the mechanical wings glisten in the sunlight of the rising dawn, Lemrina wiped one of her own tears.

 “Shall we find refuge elsewhere?” Harklight asked.

 “No need after all--”

 Harklight groaned as he was thrown to the other side of the room and standing before her, a man stood dressed in a burgundy uniform covered in dust.

 “Saazbaum,” she addressed and gripped her wheelchair’s armrests tightly.

 “My princess…” The man acknowledged with a disturbing smile and approached her, pointing his cane to her neck as a threat. “Even to the bitter end, you still give me trouble.”

 Lemrina smirked and although short, she relished in the moment of the Orbital Knight’s detestment against her.

 “Any last words, Princess Lemrina?” Saazbaum entertained.

 “...”

 “None at all? Hmph. Suit yourself.

 As the cane dematerialized into an eerie red beam and struck downward towards her piercing blue eyes, she closed her eyes and welcomed death. There were no more words for her to say, only a prayer that she hoped against all odds would be heard and granted by the heavens above -- “Please be free Slaine.”

   ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

   Chapter Two

⊱Automaton Slaine⊰

 Quick sequential bounces could be observed among the forest canopy as the automaton soar ever heavenward. Once at the peak of the tallest tree in the forest, it turned to a dominating fire that loomed in the horizon. The land and its people the automaton once guarded burned in the distance. The Vers Empire once more had fallen.

 Reaching forward in one hand, the automaton tried to grasp the fire in the distance. Hoping it did for feeling warmth or an undeniable scorching fire, it dared to grasp the unattainable yet stupidly, for the distance was too great. Only the night’s chilliness and the dissipating water vapor was in its hand. It withdrew its hand back, forming a fist and then released. There was nothing, only a slight dampness.

 It peered its gaze upwards once more to see the slowly but surely dying fire in the distance. Soon there too wouldn’t be anything there. Nothing meaningful to warrant its services anymore.

 Furthermore…

 “This is my last order.”

 The heiress’s last command prevented him from going back. For now at least.

 The automaton grimaced -- a behavior it knew was abnormal for an inhuman object such as himself -- yet the urge overwritten its protocol. It rested its palm on where a heart for a human would have resided only for there to be nothing of such value located there for the automaton. However it hurted there. It throbbed where there were no physical abnormalities and everything read normal to its parameters.

 “Just like the tears,” it noted and recalled when fleeing the factory and looking one last time to its heiress. “Perhaps I’m malfunctioning… I no longer have a master… and the last order is too broad.” It assessed.

 The metallic plates resting on its left side shimmered and aqua runes appeared but such seemed like a normal phenomenon. The automaton closed its eyes and dropped down from the branch, only slowing its descent with a few flaps of its wings. Once on the ground, the automaton unsheathed several daggers in its left hand and opened its eyes. Its turquoise eyes glimmered in the darkness, coldly staring forward at its unveiling predator.

 “Thank you Tharsis,” The automaton said under its breath and the runes pulsated momentarily as if a reply before fading. Residing in the automaton’s left eye, the profile of the coming threat appeared.

 The automaton’s predator adorn the burgundy uniform of the Orbital Knights from the distant past. “Count Maryclian…” Slaine identified.

 “I knew you Terrans were not to be trusted! As ordered by Lord Saazbaum, I shall execute you in Her Highness’s memory!” The aristocrat laughed hysterically and riled his head back, cackling ever more loudly. He revealed his small black wings and evilly grinned. Red sparks lit around him and in their place, long burgundy mobile laser guns manifested. A laser was aimed at the automaton, which proved to no longer be in its original position. The laser went through the afterimage of the automaton that now hovered overhead before giving chase.

 “You’re a slippery devil.” Count Maryclian commented as he chased after the fleeing automaton. “But can you escape my Herschel’s attacks?”

 The count soared to the moonlight and waved his right arm to the sky. More burgundy sparks appeared overhead but this time lights seem to fall towards the automaton.

 Slaine grimaced as it momentarily turned to face them. As it anticipated most of them, its movements began to slow down.

 Count Maryclian continued to smile arrogantly. “Even with your predictions, you can’t cope with this many.”

 The automaton somersaulted into the air and brought both of its hands together. In place of the daggers, two white shields appeared over its arms. The automaton eyed the river below and immediately, red beams shot from beneath its shields. The rising waters evaporated and offered a smoke screen cover as the automaton continued fleeing.

 “Well, well, you’re fairly clever after all.” It had amused the count who once more pursued the automaton. “Nevertheless! Futile, futile, it’s futile!” The count exclaimed as he manifested a laser gun and added to the barrage.

 The additional shots fired hit their target and the automaton was forced to abandon one of its shields. It spun and faced the confident count.

 “Is running all you can do, you inferior scum?!” The count added.

 The automaton landed and knelt, still maintaining its gaze upon the count who levitated before him. “Not running anymore? Then again… there’s nowhere left to run.”

 “...”

 “Cat’s got your tongue?”

 The automaton rose from its knees and back flipped, falling into what seemed like a bottomless ravine.

 “You’re the one who has nowhere left to run.” The automaton finally spoke.

 As the count’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, the automaton was almost within his grasp and showed its back to him. Or so he thought. Within a blink of an eye, the automaton turned to face him and reached towards him, empty-handed. However the automaton was far from empty-handed. The count breathed his last as something sharp in the darkness had impaled him in the neck. Cold steel glistened in the coming moonlight and the ghostly visage of a white colossal machine hovered over the automaton; it’s right mechanical arm had fully manifested over the automaton’s. Its arm was the source of the blade and had reached towards him.

 “The Herschel’s greatest weapon is a simultaneous attack from all directions. But here, your attacks are confined to just one.” The automaton explained and let its hand fall back to its side. Only its lifeless turquoise eyes peered at him.

 The count struggled for air, gasping and tried to mouth one last remark. The automaton unnaturally smirked and one last shudder went up the count’s spine. “Even in this lifetime, you are again bested by an ‘inferior Terran scum,’” the automaton added as the tangible hologram of the Tharsis disappeared and the count’s dying body fell beside the automaton.

 With his dying breath, Count Maryclian declared, “I am far… from the last… Another will… take my place… and you… you’ll be unable… to keep running.”

 The automaton said no more and turned to leave but stopped in its tracks. It hunched over and reached for its right arm, the runes furiously pulsated. The metallic plates cracked and rusted. Its right wing fell apart and only the bare structure remained.

 The count huffed triumphantly, “Even you… have a limit. You too… are an Orbital--”

 “SILENCE!” The automaton yelled and with its damaged right arm, tossed a blade at the count, who had been silenced once in for all. “ARGH!”

 Slaine fell to his knees and gripped his right shoulder. The panels that layered his right arm started to fall off, revealing unnaturally pale skin. He grit his teeth and rose his left palm, once more tears fell from his eyes and an unfathomable pain enveloped his heart.

 “Is this… sorrow? I’m not human… I’m… I’m… ” Slaine asked in a distressed voice and wept. “Milady… what is the point of running if you’re no longer here? What purpose is there left for me?”

 “None at all.” Someone said from behind him.

 Slaine’s breath hitched; a terror he had felt long ago surfaced and the fear ran down his spine. No matter how long, no matter what lifetime it was, Slaine could never forget the owner of that voice. It was possible now. He wished it was not the case. He knew it was so. As much as he was aware that there was no point and no need to confirm, Slaine slowly turned his head over his shoulder.

 The all too familiar cane came rushing down and he was pushed down to the ground.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 The automaton swayed lifelessly as Count Cruhteo yanked several components from the automaton’s back. Already, the automaton was without its left leg and barely its arms kept him suspended from the ground. It seemed Count Cruhteo had taken Slaine back to the his family’s junkyard and into one of the various abandoned warehouses’ littering lot. Slaine was certain of such when seeing a pile of orange metal panels, which his father had long ago gathered up. It had caused a false alarm to his parents thinking they had found a relic of Aldnoah for the panels were giving off readings indicating Aldnoah exposure. In truth the pile constituted parts for one of the warring faction’s Kataphrakt -- a Sleipnir if Slaine recollected correctly -- which lacked any Aldnoah technology and in turn, killed any hopes of rebuilding it to its former glory.

 “To think you would go so far as to defile my Tharsis by merging with it to keep living,” the count commented, entertained at the sight.

 The turquoise light in its eye flickered. One by one, the automaton acknowledged its removed, failing systems and returned its monitor to be vacant of such parameters. Its vision resembled like back then. As if it could hallucinate and struggle to remain aware, the concrete walls and the leaking pipe dripping ever so frequent were overlaid by metallic walls and cold light from futuristic lighting of the current world’s time.

 “How regretful Milady Asseylum must be… to put faith in inferior scum like you…” Count Cruhteo commented, unamused.

 The automaton was literally on its last leg before it would no longer function. Count Cruhteo knew and took it upon himself to slow down, to relish and enjoy the final moments of this torture. It knew. Slaine knew he should wish for this to end sooner, to end his misery quick or get this over with. However no such wish, no such fear of the approaching death washed over him. He was… at peace. Perhaps he had already accepted death and this was now really just a long, fleeting moment. No, perhaps this is what he had been looking for all this time.

 Slaine closed his eyes and smiled to himself. So many nights. In many daydreams, dreams and nightmares alike. He had reached towards the abyss, to the endless horizon for something he could not recollect or identify. All he knew he could not help reaching for it, desperately and longingly. Whatever it was, whoever it was he missed it dearly. It was the world to him. Foolishly he tried to obtain yet as time goes on, each attempt became more laborsome, more difficult. More impossible.

 “Why?” He asked himself so many, countless times. He mauled. He debated.

 “Because you had sinned. You had deceived. You had soiled her dreams.” A voice once answered him.

 “That is right,” he realized and whimpered. “But even so, I keep reaching for it. Whatever it may be.”

 He sardonically laughed to himself and withdrew his hand, looking to his palm. “Is there any point in this struggle?”

 “Yes,” A different voice answered. It was different and not one of the cacophony.

 “Why?” Slaine asked it.

 “I don't know.”

 “Will I find out why?”

 “No but you can try.”

 Slaine opened his mouth to speak. It was to naught as no words came to mind. Only raw frustration filled his throat in the form of sobs and incomprehensible, unpacifiable cries. He was a fool. No one is really ever truly ready for death.

 “Try?” Slaine bitterly repeated to himself. He was out of time. This was the end with the approaching count grasping at the automaton’s hearth of life.

 “I’m sorry Milady,” Slaine began as his final words to himself. Even to the end he still couldn’t grant her wish, a wish surely she said more for his sake than her own.

 “So you’re giving up?” The different voice asked.

 Slaine’s face contorted into bewilderment.

 “Who’s there?” Count Cruhteo demanded and looked around, alarmed.

 “He can hear it too?” Slaine wondered.

 The ground had began to rumble. Particles of light started to assemble between the count and his prisoner.

 “This light…” The count began to realize.

 “Aldnoah..!” Slaine identified and his heart sank. Another orbital knight was appearing and this time, seemed to answer his call.

 Soon the concentration of light became blinding and the voice seemed to have become more corporeal. Somehow Slaine could make out an assembling form of a person turning towards the count. A gust of wind, a blast of some sort was directed at the count who immediately flew to the other side of the room, where the wall gave way.

 By the time Slaine blinked and opened his eyes again, he met the gaze of a pair of crimson eyes and brown hair. A young man about his age stood before him, offering his hand. Unlike the other Orbital Knights, the man lacked a pair of wings; he only had one on his right.

 “Bat,” The man addressed.

 Slaine didn’t understand why but he knew what the man meant when he shouldn’t. He had never seen this man before yet his ‘heart’ ached and his eyes watered. A great sorrow. A great longing. A warm… encompassing feeling was enveloping him and soon as the tears fell, Slaine whispered, replying a word he too found incomprehensible but felt right. “Orange.”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

Slaine awoke to the loud thud of being placed on a rotting wooden chair. As he looked around, he pieced together that he had been taken to an abandoned shopping market and that man was rummaging through a pile of rusty machines. He went about opening the various machines up and scavenging for parts. As Slaine changed his gaze to himself, he found one of his arms rested on his lap and he was missing his left leg. Only his right side seemed intact but barely functional. Slaine took his detached arm from his lap and looked at the joint; the wires were fried and had to be replaced if he wanted to reattach the limb beyond mere appearance.

 He sighed as in his current state and location, ideal repair was definitely a pipe dream. He waved his detached arm forward; there was a more pressing matter beyond his repairs and it was a matter that definitely needed to be addressed. With the right motion, he managed to make the hand of his detached arm point at the brunette. Thankfully the brunette was now clothed. Notably the man had chosen rather heavy clothing -- perhaps not very keen on the cold weather. He wore black cargo pants,  an orange turtleneck and a darker brown v-neck sweater over the turtleneck.

 “Why are you doing this?” Slaine voiced.

 The man remained silent when he stood up, pulling out a long pipe from a pile and studying its contour. He mumbled to himself, “This looks good,” which clearly meant the man was paying little to no attention to Slaine much to his chagrin.

 Slaine facepalmed with his detached hand and groaned, “Are you… even listening?”

 “I heard you,” the man he had named ‘Orange’ finally answered.

 The ashen blond breathed in. He could tell he was malfunctioning as he could of sworn a migraine was settling in when he tried to figure where to begin or how to go about this. Slaine had inadvertently summoned an Orbital Knight but no ordinary Orbital Knight. From the profile the Tharsis shared with him, the man that stood before him was ‘Kaizuka Inaho’ and was accredited as the ace of the warring faction against the Orbital Knights. Furthermore the voices of the other ‘Slaines’ -- particular the ones of the time Kaizuka Inaho originated from -- roared in his mind. Hate. Loathing. Demands. Frustration without cease. Utmost despair filled his very being and tore him from inside.

 As himself, Slaine couldn’t relate. Kaizuka Inaho… Orange had saved him from falling into Saazbaum’s hands. Slaine could still grant his mistress’s last wish. More so, he felt responsible for calling for someone from the beyond. The fact he was outliving the two women he held dear was heartbreaking and hard to bear. The thought of another potentially falling because of him was a fate he would not dare.

 Slaine mumbled, finally taking the step to voice his concern, “I… don’t know.. How but you need… to go back… wherever you came from. I’m being chased… and I’m on the run… and…”

 He looked up to find the brunette had walked over, only to compare the pipe to Slaine’s remaining leg. Again Slaine found himself frustrated and moped in growing defeat. “You’re not listening… really…”

 “You’re not going to run anywhere without a pair of legs,” Inaho reasoned and traced his hand along the pipe, somehow he had precisely cut the pipe in a manner for perhaps a knee joint to be added. “And I promised.”

 “Promised?”

 CLASH!

 Inaho had grabbed Slaine by the waist and jumped back onto the top of a shelf. At the entrance of the shopping store, everything was beginning to disintegrate when a bowl-cut man walked forward. He too was dressed in a military style yet did not bear the blood red color and instead a gray trim.

 Slaine’s eyes glimmered turquoise for a moment and he could see a profile of the person before him. “Sir Trillram… Pilot of the Kataphrakt Nilokeras.”

 Trillram laughed. His expression clearly showed he enjoyed the task he had been given. As he waved his hands, either side of the shopping market began to disintegrate. Inaho could see at any time the very infrastructure of the building would buckle and give way.

 “There’s no escape!” Trillram exclaimed and charged to the brunette.

 “Tsk,” Slaine bit his lower lip. In his current form, he was nothing more than dead weight.

 “That barrier seems to disintegrate everything it touches…” Inaho said aloud.

 Slaine turned to Inaho in confusion. Again someone else had taken over. “You took him down before!”

 Trillram had caught up and reached for Inaho who narrowly dodged, back flipping through a window. The two had landed outside and just in time; the building was giving way especially as Trillram’s barrier took out the last of the building’s structural support.

 “I have little recollection of before.” Inaho revealed… much to Slaine’s chagrin or so he thought.

 The Orbital Knight growled as he landed, “You dare mock me?!”

 “WATCH OUT!” Slaine yelled when Sir Trillram had leaped forward and Inaho had not dashed backwards enough. Slaine manifested a white shield with his remaining arm and overcharged it with energy, causing a backlash explosion to make up some, if not more distance.

 Inaho coughed and seeing the knight opposite of him getting up as well, Inaho immediately noticed smoke from his left. Slaine’s remaining arm had power surged and whatever remnants of the shield was dissipating into sparks. On the other hand what alarmed Inaho most was how Slaine groaned and was seemingly in excruciating pain, grasping for his arm. It was upon closer inspection, Inaho realized his robotic friend was more than he appeared -- where the machine met and entwined, human flesh could be seen underneath.

 “Orange..!” Slaine said, mincing his words, “He’s coming.”

 “You’re--” Inaho stopped; Slaine glared daggers at him and would not budge on this discussion. The brunette turned to the approaching knight. “No matter. I see his weakness,” Inaho stated and quickly demanded, “give me a knife. Now.”

 “Heh. As you command,” Slaine obliged by rummaging his forearm and dispensed one of his daggers.

 Upon grabbing the dagger, Inaho charged forward to the knight. A sonic boom occurred when the two had collided. The knight screamed in agony for Inaho pierced him in his right eye and seemed to dig the blade deeper into the knight’s skull.

 “I knew your barrier had gaps,” Inaho began as he dug the dagger deeper into Trillram. “Ground contact surfaces, for instance. You can’t put up a barrier under your feet. If you did, you wouldn’t be able to stand.” He elaborated, “The very invincibility of your barrier makes it impossible to completely cover yourself in it.”

 "Im-impossible." Trillram whimpered and keeled over with his hands falling to his sides. The feathers of his wings flew into the wind and dispersed into fading golden sparks of light.

 Inaho withdrew the dagger and returned to his companion, kneeling down to him. It was clear Slaine was far worse than before they had arrived at the shopping center with the sight of the automaton’s turquoise eyes once more flickering. Soon Slaine’s left eye had permanently stayed dark.

 “Looks… like you… you… you still can…” Slaine tried to speak yet his ability to vocalize was also becoming compromised. “Do… it… N-now… Run--”

 Peering down with his crimson eyes, Inaho shook his head and rejected that notion, “I can’t do that.” He instead continued their discussion before like if nothing that had just happened took place,” As I said before and will say again, I promised to save you.”

 Slaine’s brow contorted. His breath became uneven and could swear he heard -- felt -- the ghost of a heart beat. Slaine fumbled, trying to reach for something on his chest. He didn’t know what and again, tears he should not shed flowed down his cheeks without stop. As he feebly whimpered, he could feel his joints slowly become rigid and his internal commands to himself become unresponsive. He no longer could see; the optical drive had finally given out for his right eye. The only functionality he had left was mere tactile input; he was nothing better than a human-sized balance and thermometer.

 Inaho picked Slaine up and from the tilt of mass, Slaine could guess the brunette was looking for the nearest sign of civilization. Even without any knowledge of Inaho’s current whereabouts, Slaine was certain he could piece it together. Slaine could feel the temperature starting to rise; dawn was upon them and surely civilization will cast a shadow, bringing to light where Inaho should head.

 “Now rest, Bat. Next time you wake up, I’ll see to it you’re good as new.” The brunette said, stepping forward into a particular direction.

 “He must have found a destination,” Slaine thought and without further capability, he entered a dreamless sleep, leaving himself entirely at the brunette’s hands both figuratively and literally.

    ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

     Chapter Three

⊱Inaho⊰

 The sun was overhead by the time Inaho had managed to dredge into town. If it weren’t for the increasingly heavy pile of unresponsive technology, Inaho presume he would have made it sooner. He somewhat regretted not considering that alternative for noon in the town meant the busiest time in the center of any town and the mere fact he had one angelic wing in addition to a rather sophisticated lump of machinery on his back, he was drawing undesirable attention. Inaho could not back out so easily either; it would simply just draw even more attention and make him even more suspicious.

 “Hey there Mister!” A tall blond man with freckles greeted and approached him unnaturally friendly.

 “Hello…” Inaho followed suit while eying the people around; the gaze of the townspeople seemed to have lightened up upon engaging the blond.

 The blond man wore an olive green mechanic’s one suit garb and brown army boots. He wrapped an arm around Inaho’s shoulders much to the brunette’s chagrin and started to guide him over to a nearby building, more than likely the man’s workshop as the two places shared a very similar odor -- oil and grease.

 “My name’s Calm, Calm Craftsman and you are?”

 “...”

 “Hey… I’m just trying to help you out here. Surely you’re in business trying to sell that expensive Aldnoah tech--”

 Moment the blond had railed Inaho into the workshop, Inaho kicked the door shut and spun kick the mechanic against the very door.

 “Ouch!”

 “He’s not for sale. Rather I would like to repair him.”

 “Him?” Calm questioned and eyed the robot. As the mechanic looked, just as Inaho suspected the mechanic caught sight of the abnormality in the robot. “No- no way. Who created this?”

 “Can you repair him?” Inaho asked, ignoring Calm’s question and implicitly making it clear Inaho was talking business.

 Calm’s initial gregarious expression faded with a sigh. The mechanic had slid down the door after Inaho’s kick. He rubbed the back of his head after crossing his legs, crossing his arms afterward and debated. “I could… but it won’t be easy. Biocompatible parts aren’t cheap.”

 “And converting?” Inaho suggested.

 The mechanic’s left brow rose; clearly wherever Inaho had been spirited away, the world had yet to discover how.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 A door closes shut.

 Thud.

 Inaho sighed after closing the door into his bedroom. He had secured lodging on the upper floor of the town’s pub in exchange for working as its chef. The pub made for an excellent base of operations for Inaho considering the circumstances. The pub’s owner, the barkeep served as the deputy officer for the sheriff and was a kindred soul in helping Inaho keep his companion secret… or so he presumes for the time being. It was a minor detail he had to overlook for the time being.

 Initially Inaho had considered and been offered by the mechanic Calm Craftsman’s to stay at his workshop but the brunette could not. Lying down at the foot of the bed, Inaho looked to his right and at the automaton in disrepair.

 “His safety can’t be guaranteed even with non-Orbital Knights,” Inaho commented and sat back up.

 He crawled on all fours and now that he could idle without worrying about pursuers, Inaho inspected his ‘automaton’ companion more closely.

 “He’s definitely not entirely an automaton as he has implied…” Inaho discerned when gauging if he had to already change the bandages he placed on Slaine’s left arm.

 The automaton breathed and for a moment, Inaho could see its eyes move under its eyelids.

 “Definitely human… to some degree. He’s dreaming,” Inaho further assessed.

 Sitting back up, Inaho could tell how much more human the automaton was than not. Underneath the initially silvery white metallic chest plate, human flesh -- unnaturally pale -- could be seen at the edges and where there were veins, lines resembling copper wire connections seem to meet and entwine.

 “Very human looking in origin,” Inaho hypothesized and yawned, stretching his arms and one wing before eying the bathroom, then the automaton.

 Inaho brushed the automaton’s ashen blond hair and looked at his hand, frowning.

 “Dust…”

 As he suspected, he would need to do some maintenance to the automaton before going to bed.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Another day’s work was done and Inaho returned to his bedroom. The brunette pulled a wooden chair from the small dining table in the other side of the room and placed it next to the twin-size bed. Sitting down, he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees and gazed upon the individual currently occupying his bed. Inaho was certain without a doubt now that his ‘automaton’ companion was not simply a machine. A sentient AI? A human undergoing advanced medical treatment for this era?

 There was not enough clues for Inaho to work off, let alone he could not scavenge for such information without cluing those that sought his companion. Unfortunately this too was a detail he had to overlook for now except it was far from minor; it was rather pivotal.

 “No. It’s not pivotal…” Inaho argued with himself and formed fists with his hands, he grimaced upon seeing another part of the machinery dull in color and its humming cease. Another piece of machinery had stopped working; another piece Inaho would have to rake his brain to figure how to repair or strike a deal with the local mechanic. “I need to get him back up and running. The only secure course of action can be made with him. He is the only one that can offer answers regarding the Orbital Knights and--”

 Inaho hissed as he gripped his head, another migraine was in the making and they were happening more often. Initially he had hoped these were a byproduct of flipping his sleep schedule. However…

 The brunette struggled onto his feet and haphazardly walked to the other side of the room, where he turned on the faucet. He retrieved a rag that he had now left conveniently next to the sink and drenched it in the water. Now routine, he turned off the faucet with one hand and in another, draped the wet rag onto his lone right wing. The cool water on the wing lessened the pain Inaho was experiencing in his head. It made very little sense to him. The wing was without a pair and too small to practically fly with.

 Where did he get such an appendage? A ligament? He didn’t know what else to describe it. It was useless as far as he could see but having it removed seemed fatal considering how intricately and deeply linked it was to his ability to feel pain. Regardless, the pain soon subsided just as quick as it set in. Inaho did not discard the rag though and approached his companion on the bed.

 Inaho removed the bandage wrap he had placed around the one remaining, attached arm of his companion. The bandage wrap had dried blood stains and was overdue for being replaced. Before doing so, Inaho used the rag and wiped down the unnaturally pale human flesh, gently especially where machine met man.

 “Aldnoah…” Inaho thought to himself when seeing the machinery glimmer upon contact a gold color, which he could never forget. He had seen it somewhere, many times before.

 Somewhere he recollected following someone in a lab coat and towards a room filled with that light. The person turned; his silhouette long lost to Inaho. It was a haze; it was all a blur.

 He could only see a smile -- a bitter, sad smile. His heart ached but not as much. He caught himself thinking, “At least he’s no longer resigned.. .he’s moving forward.”

 “Who is he?” Inaho asked aloud before he clutched his head again when he actively tried to concentrate on the memory. As he tried to see who he was talking to, the person began to dissipate. Inaho reached out, offering a hand and this time, he found himself sitting in a cockpit of some sort. Various screens surrounded him and were malfunctioning. Inaho could not open his left eye; something was dripping heavily over his left side of his head.

 This time Inaho could make sense of someone being with him. His heart skipped as that person verbalized that they were there with him. As Inaho rose his head to look to that person, he could see the olive green military uniform and the blue insignia -- the UFE icon. None of that existed in this current world. Had he gone back to whence he came? But then what about Bat?

 Inaho blinked and next he found himself reaching out to that same person from before except now she laid in her own growing pool of blood. He struggled as he could no longer bend his left shoulder.

 “Don’t… Don’t get near her.”

 “That voice--” Inaho began; his body already turned once.

 He could see his gunman’s uniform yet he dare not look upwards, instead Inaho’s body turned again and this time Inaho reached for something cold and steel. As Inaho went to turn around, once again trying to look at the person’s face, everything turned black..

 Inaho woke up with a jolt.

 “NAOOO-KUN!!!” A female voice downstairs hollered.

 Inaho rubbed his eyes and peered at the nearby nightstand; it was already 4pm in the afternoon. How did time fly so quickly?

 It was time again to repeat the routine. Life goes on.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Two weeks later…

 “There,” Inaho said aloud before falling to his side, lying down next to his half-machine half-human companion.

 It was a momentary triumph as Inaho had finished the last of the repairs to Slaine. Slaine was now entirely whole; his limbs were reattached and from the rudimentary testing Inaho had done, surely they were operational. Now it was only a matter of the ashen blond to awaken. Inaho could feel his eyes grow heavy; he had worked nonstop for the last two days to make this happen and did not slack off on his duties at the pub.

 Any moment the ashen blond could wake up and at that moment, Inaho could see a decent probability of the ashen blond leaving without a trace. Inaho couldn’t resist closing his eyes anymore, the nauseating and pulsating headache was back and worse.

 But this time the pain was worth it.

 Inaho dreamt of being in a hospital room of some sort. He had gotten hurt and someone had visited him. He could see who his visitor was; it was the same person that had stood before him in the room illuminating with the golden Aldnoah glow. The visitor wore a heavy windbreaker yet underneath the same attire Inaho had recognized even in the current place he was -- a military uniform, surely of a lower rank to an Orbital Knight -- and more alarmingly, the visitor looked exactly like the automaton.

 Pale blond hair, enchanting turquoise eyes and a smile so heartbreakingly resigned yet ever so hoping for something better. Slaine would not leave him without a trace especially if the Slaine of this memory and the Slaine of where he was were the same person. His visitor said in a struggling voice, “"I'd like to imagine. To dare dream. To look..." Slaine gulped and looked at him with watery eyes. "To look forward to honestly talk with you....”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Inaho began to wake up; he slowly then rapidly blinked his eyes to focus and saw Slaine realize his left arm was reattached. The automaton had brusquely sat up and with both hands, reached for what constituted his new left leg. Rotating his left ankle, Slaine could see the new limb too was functional.  

 “How long… was I out?” Slaine blurted and then covered his mouth, peering over his shoulder to see if the brunette had woken up. Inaho found himself uncharacteristically closing his eyes shut for a moment as the ashen blond turned, who sighed in relief and looked to his new leg again. Slaine bent his knee and slowly but surely got out of bed on his own. As he lightly balanced and tested the amount of force he could apply on his new leg, he smiled. The automaton seemed satisfied with Inaho’s handiwork. The automaton turned to the brunette and reached for the blanket, which was when Inaho decided now he would ‘wake up’ by slowly sitting up and stretching with a yawn. Slaine held his breath as he waited for Inaho to focus on him.

 “...Slaine?” Inaho asked as groggily as he could sound.

 The ashen blond was taken by surprise at Inaho’s identification; he had yet to properly introduce himself, “Y-you remember?”

 “What’s wrong?” Inaho asked.

 Slaine looked away, touching his new left leg. “N… nothing at all. Your repairs… they are working very well.” Slaine attempted to compliment. Again the automaton gripped at his chest where a heart should be.

 The brunette remained quiet and maintained his gaze on the automaton. Slaine returned the stare although he knew his eyes were barely cooperating with him; they had watered and his sight was becoming blurry yet he refused to cry. The automaton was displaying unnatural unease considering what he had said about the repairs. “Is something still not functioning correctly?” Inaho pondered and again repeated his earlier inquiry, “Now Slaine, what’s wrong?”

 Noting Slaine’s guard was down; Inaho pulled him back onto the bed.

 Slaine grimaced and once more tried to notion for the door with his gaze. Inaho forced Slaine to close his eyes by pulling the automaton back on the bed with his back much to his discomfort and pinned him. The brunette would not let him sidestep the question any longer.

 “What was that for?” Slaine asked, trying again to avoid a question. Slaine covered his face with his left forearm.

 He grit his teeth as he felt a sob climb up his throat. The back of his forearm was becoming wet and his eyes felt warm. Slaine could hear Inaho sigh and then the covers shuffled with Inaho readjusting his position. Inaho sat next to Slaine and tried to remove Slaine’s forearm. Slaine resisted with his other arm, which Inaho quickly seized.

 “Let go..!” Slaine tried to yell but his voice came out weaker.

 “No.” Inaho calmly refused and with a little more struggle, Inaho pinned both of Slaine’s arms to either side of Slaine’s face and entwined their hands. The ashen blond was crying.

 “Slaine,” Inaho chimed his name in Slaine could have sworn was said more emotionally, more warmly than before. He caressed the automaton’s cheek before resting its head over Slaine’s left shoulder.

 “Slaine… don’t bear everything on your own. Trust me,” Inaho said and Slaine could feel Inaho tightened his hold on their clasped hands,

 “But… the Slaine you refer to… he’s long gone.” Slaine finally confessed and looked elsewhere, anywhere but at Inaho.

 This truth finally seemed to sink into Kaizuka Inaho who released Slaine. Inaho had withdrawn and sat back up. Slaine too sat up and bitterly smiled.

 “You’ve been saying that a while,” Inaho finally spoke, “you speak as if this is a foreign world to me and from what I’ve seen thus far, I can see that. However to say you are not the Slaine I know and he’s long gone… you are implying something.”

 Slaine clasped his hands on his lap and closed his eyes, having faced downward into his lap to hide his growing sadness. “Yes… I cannot determine the exact length of time it has been since… your time but it has been many years… possibly thousands of years. The Aldnoah technology for example is perhaps different from what you remember.”

 “Yes,” Inaho agreed and then reached for his right shoulder. “This is also different. I am human--”

 “Were human,” Slaine corrected. “I don’t know how… but you were brought back by Aldnoah into this time… You’ve long passed away chronologically speaking.”

 “I see… so you mean the Slaine I address has long passed as well yet you identify yourself as Slaine,” Inaho noted.

 Slaine’s eyes opened when recollecting that detail. He had so casually responded to such a name. Slaine reached again for something that clearly he didn’t have -- something that had once wrapped around his neck. Clearly a previous timeline Slaine had rubbed off on him. He shook it off and tried to remind himself of what he really was.

 “I was… once a human named Slaine, Slaine Troyard, but after… my human counterpart… failed at activating a relic of Aldnoah technology… I became this… automaton--”

 “Wouldn’t cyborg be more correct?” Inaho interjected. “After replacing your leg and fixing your left arm, I went to see if you needed other repairs. Your entire right side and head are human.”

 Slaine blinked in confusion and slowly shook his head. “No..?”

 “The technology of this era seems further regressed than mine, even for the Aldnoah technology… so the fact you cry would be abnormal for an automaton if I went by what you said. However you clearly do not fully understand your condition.”

 “My condition?!” Slaine yelled and scoffed. His brow crossed as he lashed out, “What could you possibly know of my situation? How could you understand? I’m not human! Does a human have metallic wings growing from their back? Does a human not feel pain when they’re ripped apart?”

 Slaine beat his chest with his hand and felt tears running down his cheeks. They were clearly not helping his case. “Thanks to the Aldnoah Milady Lemrina bestowed upon me, I still recollect my human life…” He stifled a sob when recollecting the cacophony of voices that torment him. He corrected himself, “lives… my past lives… I can remember pain… yet as this… this machine… as Count Cruhteo once again shredded me… I felt nothing… Only a hollow memory of pain… of fearing death and--”

 The ashen blond fell silent as the brunette rested his hand on Slaine’s chest and traced.

 “You’re right… you’re not the Slaine of my time,” Inaho confirmed. “He bore scars that tore his flesh even after many years from the war and suffered dearly whenever he heard something resembling a whipping sound. However… your entire chest… it’s smooth and it’s clear to me now… when I arrived... you were about to be…”

 Inaho stopped when he looked away; his brow too became crossed. “Perhaps I…”

 Slaine shook his head as he took one of Inaho’s hand into his. “Perhaps you delayed my inevitable fate… yet I am thankful. You have my gratitude.”

 Inaho blinked and faced Slaine, who dared not look beyond the hand he had taken into his. He continued to voice his gratitude, “You have given me a chance to find a way to grant her wish.”

 “Her wish?” Inaho wondered. “Seylum-san’s..?”

 Slaine shook his head again to which Inaho figured, “Different Asseylum too I see…”

 “No… from your time, my mistress was her sister Lemrina vers Envers…” Slaine explained and released the brunette’s hand before standing up. “However my pursuit has nothing to do with you. You are out of your timeline or have been taken from the afterlife… I know not how to return you so maybe… you can take this time as a second chance at life.”

 Slaine released Inaho’s hand; the automaton proceeded to the window and could see it was early morning. Inaho must have taken them to a nearby town for he could see some people beginning to walk outside. They must be staying at an inn or pub of some sort. It was beyond Slaine as to how Inaho pulled it off considering they had neither money nor a trustworthy appearance to easily acquire lodging.

 “While you continue on the run from the Orbital Knights with no end in sight until they captured you for some reason?” Inaho queried.

 The automaton didn’t turn to face and simply nodded. Slaine touched his right shoulder where some aqua runes once again appeared. In his right eye, he could see the Tharsis reveal information he telepathically requested. Clearly Saazbaum had found a way into the vault where the other Orbital Knights’ information was stored and was activating them, bringing them back to life to hunt him down. The count would not relent until his revenge was realized and it could only be realized by either finding where his Kataphrakt’s main body was or repurpose the Tharsis Slaine inadvertently carried within him.

 “If it was my time, there was at most 37 and that would be feasible… you could have outlasted them but considering the time span and your track record…”

 “It may be an impossible but…” Slaine mumbled and could see in his reflection the bitter smile. He could also see what Inaho was pointing out earlier. His eyes no longer resembled that of a machine. They looked completely human down to the very watery gloss. “Milady Lemrina believed in miracles… it’s the least I can do  in her memory.”

 Inaho stood up and stretched, proceeding towards the door.

 As Slaine turned to follow suit, he was surprised. Inaho had turned facing him, expectantly and waiting with a hand resting on his waist.

 “Then we should consider a plan of running where they cannot reach us.” Inaho suggested.

 “Us?” Slaine picked up.

 “However before leaving we should consider supplies such as rations. You may be in denial of being even half human but it’s clear your body is in need of supplements at the very least. Your right arm is suffering a high degree of muscle atrophy,” Inaho spoke as he approached the door, turning the knob and incidentally led Slaine downstairs.

 Before going down the stairs, Slaine stopped and somewhat spoke in an authoritative manner, “Wait…”

 Inaho turned at the foyer of the stairs just as Slaine had commanded.

 “You’re going to..?”

 “I know nothing of this world yet it’s clear the Orbital Knights still pose a threat. Even if you are not the Slaine of my timeline, you are still Slaine and I will protect you as I promised.”

 “Even if--”

 Inaho sighed, clearly getting irritated and pushed forward down the staircase, “I promised you back at the shopping center. I see no difference from now and then.” He then paused as something dawned to him, “You wouldn't perhaps have a tracker on you?”

 “Of course not! Why would I--” Slaine interrupted and realized, resting his hand once more on his chest.

 Inaho caught on and vocalized, “Nevermind… perhaps there is now a way to acquire Aldnoah readings… and considering how interconnected you are with--”

 “NAO-KUN!” A woman exclaimed and embraced Inaho.

 “Nao… kun?” Slaine pondered.

 “Ah! Robo-san! I see you are functional.” The woman observed. She released Inaho and offered her hand, which Slaine took into his for a handshake.

 Inaho filled Slaine in. “It is Yuki-nee’s nickname for me.”

 The woman pouted and gave Inaho a nogging. “What kind of manners is that?! Properly introduce me!”

 The brunette obliged. “Slaine, this is Yuki-nee… Yuki per se and she runs the pub here. She has been allowing us to stay upstairs with me helping her cook during the evenings.”

 “I… see… Thank you for the hospitality,” Slaine said and bowed. He too offered, “now that I can walk… if there is anything I can assist with do not…. Hesitate to… ask?”

 Inaho noted Slaine's voice trail off; surely the ashen blond was finding Yuki’s behavior bewildering. Stars could be seen sparkling in Yuki’s eyes and within moments Slaine was in her embrace, perhaps too tightly even for his comfort.

 “You’re gorgeous! You really look like a doll!” Yuki praised, rocking him in her embrace.

 Yuki released Slaine and for a moment, fell silent. She clearly was taking in the information and crossed her arms, nodding. “I see. It makes sense considering Robo-san is rare and many bandits have been on your tail trying to steal him away!”

 “Bandits..?” Slaine mumbled. Inaho could see that Slaine was trying to determine the alibi he had used to to convince the pub owner to allow them lodging.

 Inaho clearly continued the charade. “Yes and we may be overstaying our welcome. I would not like to get you involved.”

 “I understand. Still! Take your time and make sure you’re properly prepared for the road. Robo-san seemed to have taken quite a beating from your last encounter.” Yuki advised.

 “That reminds me…” Slaine went and asked, “What town is this? How far is it from Vers?”

 “Oh yes. I forgot. How rude of me to forget!” Yuki realized and grinned, waving her hands. “Welcome to Shinawara, Slaine-kun!”

 “Er… thank you.” Slaine blushed. He would really regret if something bad were to happen to such a kind person as Yuki.

 She chuckled and continued, “As to how far it is from Vers… no wonder you were so battered. I heard a wildfire had burnt the town to the ground and how the dead were rising from there. Hmmm… if I recollect Vers was north, northwest from here… and it takes a few days by buggy to get there.”

 Yuki patted both of the young men and chuckled. “Now you two must be hungry… well Nao-kun at least. Don’t worry too much Robo-san Slaine-kun. How about you sit down and let me make you something.”

 Yuki had ushered them to the nearby counter, where the two sat and she proceeded to the back after picking up an apron. Inaho spoke a little louder as Yuki clearly was starting to work at the stove, “Don’t put the heat too high.”

 “I know! Just you wait, Nao-kun!” She yelled back.

 “A few days…” Slaine repeated and from the information, the Tharsis projected a map once more to Slaine’s optical nerve. “How long have we been staying here, Inaho?”

 “Two weeks… it took awhile for me to find the parts so I ended up having to make some dealings with the local mechanic here,” Inaho informed.

 “That long..? And no one came?” Slaine asked in complete surprise, especially as Inaho nodded.

 Slaine rested his chin on his propped, crossed hands and thought. He focused on the projected map and started to consider possible routes the Orbital Knights could use only to be brought back from his little world when Inaho tapped him.

 “I think they have changed tactics,” Inaho said in a low voice. Someone had walked in and the bell had chimed.

 Yuki greeted after coming from the kitchen and placed two plates of food before the two men,

“Welcome! I’ll be right with you! Please take a seat wherever you like!”

 The ashen blond was confused for a moment. The Orbital Knights they had encountered thus far were rather hard to miss considering their attire and furthermore, seemed to pay little attention to their surroundings as they tunnel visioned on their goal.

 “They don’t seem entirely too different from my timeline as they continue to proceed one at a time but…” Inaho elaborated and with his eyes, hinted for Slaine to look at the most recent visitor Yuki was serving. “They are learning to adapt more to this world. Does she look familiar to you?”

 Slaine ran through the list of profiles the Tharsis had provided and proceeded to do a quick comparison between the visitor and the images. Within moments, a match was confirmed just as Slaine was about to ask what made Inaho suspect the visitor was one.

 “Countess… Femieanne…” Slaine identified and added, “pilot of the Kataphrakt Hellas.”

 Slaine cursed under his breath as he realized he had spoke aloud and the suspected visitor smirk, suspiciously standing up and facing them.

 “It’s nice to see you are still operational Tharsis,” the countess said.

 “Ma’am…” Yuki began but was interrupted as Slaine and Inaho too stood up.

 “Let’s take this outside,” Inaho stated and immediately stood in front of Slaine, gesturing his arm before Slaine to further indicate he was Slaine’s vanguard.

 The countess huffed and crossed her arms, gigantic golden wings materialized behind her. She sneered, “Going outside will make no difference. Terrans outside, Terrans inside.”

 “Yuki-san!” Slaine exclaimed and tossed a handful of daggers at the countess, who dodged in a direction distancing her from Yuki. “Run!” Slaine demanded and could see the barkeep jump behind the counter.

 “Heh… you think you still have that luxury, Tharsis?” Femieanne asked as she walked to the side, Slaine and Inaho began to pace opposing her. As she walked, an orb appeared where she had been -- six to be exact. As each one materialized into a metallic arm that floated and stretched its fingers, she addressed each one, “Marax. Botis. Ronove. Halphas. Raum. Vine.”

 With each arm now materialized, the three exchanged stares waiting for the first move. Slaine caught sight of one of the arms flexing its fingers and formed a fist -- charging towards him. Slaine unsummoned his daggers as he jumped back and manifested a beam of light.

 The countess laughed profusely as Slaine’s efforts were wasteful in that it only deflected the rocket arm.

 “Tsk.” Slaine grimaced and then noticed Inaho had made a run for the back. Slaine followed suit and as they jumped over the counter, he saw Yuki putting in ammunition into a handgun. She hovered a finger over her lips and winked.

 “Pardon us,” Inaho mumbled under his breath.

 “You know where they are,” Yuki said as she offered cover fire.

 Running through the kitchen, Slaine was astounded with Inaho’s familiarity of Yuki’s kitchen, which seemed haphazardly maintained. Pulling back a curtain and opening a questionable refrigerator, Inaho retrieved a rifle.

 “Hellas, was it?” Inaho asked.

 “Er.. yes?” Slaine confirmed while Inaho handed Slaine some magazine rounds.

 “She utilizes rocket arms… six only.” Inaho observed and elaborated while removing the safety from the rifle, “For her to have destructive power...  she has to increase their impact by their speed.”

 “The fists increase their hardness by becoming a single, giant molecule. Bullets cannot destroy them,” Slaine informed.

 “No. They can be destroyed,” Inaho disproved and as he suspected, a rocket arm flew through the narrow entrance of the kitchen towards them. Its fingers flexed as it reaffirmed its fist formation. In that instance, Inaho shot two bullets, which hit their mark. The fist was deflected off its course and clearly showed damage. Inaho explained, “Their molecular structure seems to revert back when their fingers move.”

 “I see…” Slaine noted and adjusted his parameters of his energy blast but was interrupted when Inaho warned him.

 “Here one comes, Bat.”

 With insufficient time, Slaine only again deflected the rocket arm and pulled Inaho to his feet. “We need to take this outside, preferably at higher ground. We’ll drag more people in!”

 “Higher ground…” Inaho considered and looked to Slaine’s ‘wings.’

 Slaine huffed and could see what Inaho was thinking. “My right wing is fried. There is no way I can fly, let alone carry you with me.”

 Inaho gripped Slaine’s hand harder and the ashen blond noticed the brunette’s hand started to glow orange. “Don’t worry, I’ll compensate. Trust me!”

 Slaine grit his teeth, reaffirming his grasp of the brunette’s hand and as they charge through the wall-sized window, Slaine kicked off the windowsill for some lift. The automaton flapped his wings to take flight. He was caught by surprise when noticing how much distance they had from the ground.

 “Your ability--” Slaine started to ask.

 “Gravity manipulation,” Inaho quickly responded and slightly turned to find the countess as well as the other five rocket arms trailing behind them.

 Clearly they had done some damage to the countess’s morale for the woman was furious. “Marax..!” She called and then gestured for two of her rocket arms to approach.

 Inaho lowered his rifle and retrieved something from his back pocket. Slaine grunted when feeling a strong tug from behind; he soon noticed Inaho had harpooned a wire of some sort to the two arms. “Pull them closer!” Inaho demanded with Slaine obliging.

 Countess Femieanne let out a frustrated deathcry seeing another of her two rocket arms destroyed and sent another, even faster than before.

 “Get directly behind it!” Inaho exclaimed.

 Slaine grit his teeth as he lunged Inaho upward, aerially looping behind the rocket arm, where Inaho targeted the back of the rocket arm.

 “As I suspected… their tails have no armor… meaning their engines are also vulnerable.”

 Descending once more from above, Slaine reported, “Two more coming in from aft!”

 “Maintain course,” Inaho replied and noticed the barkeep Yuki walking out with an even more mean, heavy duty gun and took aim.

 Just as they were about to hit the ground, Slaine changed trajectory at last moment. Yuki snickered as she let a round of bullets go, “Only remembering me when you need help!”

 Two more explosions could be heard from behind them. Slaine smiled while he circled back towards Yuki; it was time for them to take care of the countess herself. His plotted course was abruptly stopped.

 “She’s gaining distance!” Inaho realized. Countess Femieanne was even closer than expected and was approaching at an alarming rate.

 She barked, “HOW DARE YOU HARM MY CHILDREN!”

 Slaine quickly went back to flying further down the road. “Use your rifle to throw off her trajectory!” Slaine yelled.

 Inaho refuted, “She’s too big!”

 “I can’t dodge her while carrying  you!”

 Countess Femieanne had caught up and was within an arm reach. She smirked, “I’m going to crush you like the bugs you are.”

 “She’s almost on us, Bat!”

 “Keep quiet, Orange!”

 Slaine pushed back harshly and nosedived, narrowly dodging the countess.

“You dodged me?!” Countess Femieanne voiced, caught by surprised.

 "He stalled out to lose altitude?" Inaho pondered at the impressive last minute maneuver.

 The countess shook it off and resumed her pursuit. “The same trick won’t work on me twice!”

 Slaine grimaced when Inaho noted, “She’s back on our tail.”

 “I can’t pull out just yet!”

 Again Countess Femieanne had caught up and she was certain this time she would triumph. “It’s all over!”

 The countess gasped as Slaine changed his flight plan and she was met with a surprise.

 “Get out of our town you demon!” A man with a stubble demanded and fired a bazooka at the countess, whose golden wings disintegrated upon impact.

 Moments later, Slaine dropped Inaho off and landed on the ground.

 “Is.. is it over?” Slaine blankly asked, completely appalled at how they narrowly yet seamlessly survived.

 Yuki walked towards them, her machine gun resting over her shoulder and she grinned, offering a peace sign towards the man with a stubble. “Nice work Sheriff Marito!”

 “Heh,” Marito rubbed his nose and showcased his pocket liquor, “can’t have someone mess around with my deputy officer!”

 “Deputy… officer?” Slaine repeated and noticed Yuki wink upon hearing him.

 “Now what in the world is--”

 “Saazbaum of the Vers Orbital Knights’ 37 Clans has arrived. Please make your peace, Slaine Troyard,” a booming, ominous voice declared.

 Looking to the source, the four found a man dressed in a burgundy jacket stood on top o the center building’s roof top.

 Inaho walked forward while forming a fist with his left hand. He had a bad feeling about this. “Yuki-nee, see to it Slaine is kept safe. I’ll hold him off,” he ordered.

 Slaine refuted, “Don’t be stupid! You don’t know what his combat capability is! You can’t win alone!”

 The brunette reloaded his rifle. “I don’t need to win. I only need to slow him down.”

 “Inaho…”

 Yuki rested a hand on Slaine’s left shoulder and asked, “You aren’t planning to act as a human shield, are you?”

 “That’s an ineffective means of buying time,” Inaho reassured and reminded, “Now go. Hurry.”

 “I like your reckless courage, warrior of Earth. But you will have no mercy from me!” Saazbaum said in acknowledgment to Inaho’s indirect proclamation of a duel. “Blade field engaged. Sword drawn.”

 “I’ve seen that weapon before somewhere…” Inaho noted and with a sting on his mind, he momentarily recalled a glimpse of a Kataphrakt he once took down. “That weapon!.. It’s--”

 CRASH!

  ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

   Chapter Four

⊱Slaine.2⊰

 He could neither hear the sound of the collapsing ceiling nor the hollers from Yuki and Marito. The past overlaid before him. The only sound he could hear was the fall of a jewelry trinket. He could recollect a silver amulet adorn with pale blue gems. It was an heirloom. It was a memento of his long deceased father.

 “No,” Slaine tried to convince himself, to remind himself that this was not his memory.

 However it was to naught. The past paved way for the future – a future he no longer needs. Slaine grasped for the missing weight upon his chest, for the trinket that was not his in this realm. Everything was happening in slow motion; everything seemed surreal. Everything... was pointless.

 Inaho had been tossed past Slaine; he  landed in the back wall of the pub. It was only then that Slaine came back to reality and ran to the brunette's aid.

 “Inaho!” He cried and could see Inaho had started to bleed somewhere on the left side of his head.

 Slaine grit his teeth; his heart lunged as he began to remember a memory which many voices from that fog – that cacophony of voices – scream “DON'T!”  

 “DON'T!” A bullet fired; a golden blond leaned back.

 “DON'T!” Another fired and she was gone, lying in her own pool of blood.

 “Slaine, get out of here,” Inaho ordered as he rose his left hand that glowed orange. He was again using his gravity manipulation ability and tossed one of the pub tables at the count. It was a wasted effort; Inaho was clearly fighting a losing battle and scrambling just to buy time.

 The table immediately disintegrated upon contact while Count Saazbaum walked forward calmly and without a hint of fear or hesitation; he was confident with every nuance of movement. He was certain he had won. Slaine was sure.

 “That- that barrier...” Slaine mumbled; he started to feel a growing panic to find something – anything – to delay although his heart knew there was no point.

 Count Saazbaum was upon them and peered down at Slaine, the count's shadow overcast. The count's eyes remained fixed with Slaine's who knew his were entirely enveloped in fear. Count Saazbaum was surely relishing every moment for he simply picked up the brunette by his bleeding head in his right arm, lifting the young man and leaving him dangling.

 “Please...” Slaine felt his voice give out; his mind was going blank. He didn't want to lose someone important again.

 “Oh?” Count Saazbaum asked in a teasing voice and for a moment, his grasp on the brunette seemed to lessen as if debating to oblige.

 Slaine lowered his head. “I surrender. Ju-just let him go.”

 “Slaine!..” Inaho groaned; it was clear the brunette didn't want this.

 Slaine bitterly smiled and on his own two feet, approached the count to further display his willingness. The count smiled and once again tossed Inaho to the side.

 Now Count Saazbaum placed a hand over Slaine's left shoulder and humored, “Shall we?”

 Inaho struggled onto his knees and reached out, the orange glow struggled to stay alit. Slaine shook his head and pulled the hidden handgun from the count's waist, moderately surprising the count – even more so when the ashen blond aimed it at Inaho.

 “Don't. Don't come near me. Don't make me take your left eye in this timeline,” Slaine declared. He could see that the very act took the last of Inaho's drive to fight; he could see the brunette's crimson eyes widen and his complexion turning pale. He was surely having a flashback from the past.

 The ashen blond swallowed and could feel his brow contort. This was the last thing he wanted to do... he didn't want to make someone suffer on his behalf.

 Slaine turned over the gun to the count and added, reiterated, “Stay away... I'm not the Slaine you swore to protect.”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 The next time Slaine came to, he awoke to something he had not heard in years -- his own, authentic heartbeat.

 “What… what… are you doing to me?” Slaine voiced out. His voice came out more hoarse and less autotune than he recalled.

 “Perhaps not everything from the past comes back entirely the same. You do not know my ability as a knight, do you?” The count mused and spoke from overhead, somewhere behind Slaine.

 The automaton tried to speak but unspeakable pain began to overrun his senses. Light accumulated and engulfed the disembodied automaton. Metal components began to drop to the ground and the cords rattled before running wild from being short circuited.

 “Like my Kataphrakt in the past, I incorporate the abilities of others. In this world Slaine, I acquire the abilities of others with the Aldnoah activation factor such as your Tharsis’s ability of knowing the past and possible futures. Right now, on the other hand, I am primarily using the Aldnoah ability of another Orbital Knight -- restoration. You cannot hide anymore what you really are Count Slaine Saazbaum Troyard.”

 Tears ran down Slaine’s cheeks as light agglomerated and soon newly formed hands covered his face. He weeped, sobbed and cried. He begged the count to stop but it was far too late. Slaine’s once dulled senses seem emblaze -- most of all the pain of what he had done to himself.

 “Rejoice Slaine. Reclaim your birthright. This is a new world. The sins of then no longer chains us. They now guide us towards a brighter future.”

 Slaine dug his nails into his left shoulder blade. Blood streamed relentlessly as the restoration Aldnoah surged through him, restoring him to what he had become -- an Orbital Knight.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Slaine awoke to a voice calling out to him in the distance. He must have fainted from the pain.

 “Slaine!” The voice yelled again; it was Inaho's.

 “I told you to stay away… but of course you’d come. You always did,” Slaine thought as his eyes met Inaho.

 The past and now again overlapped before his eyes. The prison door had opened and unveiled a man with an eye patch and dressed in the opposing army’s uniform. The door to where he was being kept had bursted open, where the very man he recollected stood, Inaho did and breathed heavily, catching his breath.

 It was too late. It always was.

 Slaine smiled one last time and closed his eyes. He straightened his back and peered his forehead toward Saazbaum’s fine hold on him. Slaine fully stretched his  newly restored left wing. The all too familiar turquoise glow began to emanate from him.

 “You--” Saazbaum growled and pulled at Slaine’s hair. “I won’t let you have your way Slaine Troyard!”

 “In the end nothing can be changed. It was all to naught. It was impossible after all… but…” Slaine opened his eyes slowly, he could see the power gather in Saazbaum’s palm over Slaine’s forehead. It was beginning to blind him but Slaine turned his attention elsewhere, once more at Inaho who was running towards him once again, reaching with that hand trying to obtain what he sought.

 This time it won’t make it. Slaine will see to it.

 The ground ruptured and they began to lose their footing, soon falling with the forming debris. As everything started to become monotone and mute to Slaine, he was unnaturally calm. He saw all he needed. The Tharsis had answered his beckoning and as Inaho was about to reach him, the Tharsis had gotten a hold of Inaho, pulling him into the safety of its robotic palm, leaving Saazbaum and Slaine to free fall into the abyss below.

   ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

  Chapter Five

⊱Inaho.2⊰

 Inaho coughed, slowly rising on all fours and looked upward. The sound of dripping water and distant trembles could be heard. More immediately, he heard the sounds of adjusting gears and pumps. Inaho sat up and met the gaze of the mechanical colossal that saved him… against his will.

 “Tharsis,” He addressed.

 The machine’s eyes pulsated, perhaps acknowledging him. Inaho sighed and looked around. No sign of the count and his prisoner…

 "Slaine…"

 The brunette stood up and hopped off the machine’s hand. He lessened the severity of his drop with a few gusts of his one wing. Inaho reached for his left shoulder blade. He tried to focus again. Earlier he felt the warmth and it had clued him in on where Slaine was.

 Only a cold, void sensation filled him. Could Slaine have..?

 Inaho dared not continue the thought and pressed forward.

 “Judging from the fractures on the wall--” Inaho began to assess before hearing something unexpected behind him.

 Where the Tharsis use to be now was particles of golden light, which gathered before Inaho.

 “Aldnoah…” Inaho concluded and found himself facing a clear replication of the automaton except it was for certain entirely robotic. There was nothing in its construction that resembled being human.

 “I advise against what you are planning to do Kaizuka Inaho,” The automaton voiced. Its voice was entirely lifeless, monotonous and yet… in the same octave as Slaine’s.

 “You’ve used Slaine as your basis.”

 The robot did not speak. It could tell Inaho had more to suspect. Inaho continued his assessment, “You have been shielding Slaine like an exoskeleton. That is why he is able to use  his ability seemingly infinitely and why he possessed rather human-like characters… far too human-like.” The last bit was hard for him to voice. Inaho had easily glossed over those details; he considered the majority of Slaine’s original construction versus the now-obvious peculiarities.

 It still did not speak much to Inaho’s growing annoyance. Perhaps it was not going to speak and in a more literal sense, abide by the rules binding its existence -- the laws of robotics or automata, assuming there were any differentiation between the two. Inaho returned his attention to the wall and soon went about what he had originally intended.

 Only then did the miniaturized machine speak, “Continuation of this course of action has a high risk.”

 Inaho paused before speaking. He had to figure out what his newly acquired companion had to offer. There was no time to waste. Saazbaum was going to do something to Slaine and whatever it was did not bode well for whoever and everything involved, either.

 “Who designated your task and what is your task at hand?” Inaho finally queried.

 Immediately -- unlike before -- the Tharsis answered, “Slaine Troyard issued his final order to protect you at all costs.”

 “Typical. Protect Hime to the bitter end and now me.” Inaho sighed. It should have been blatantly obvious what Slaine had done. Slaine was always like this. Everything and everyone the ashen blond had treasured -- always were the things and people Slaine prioritized over his own well-being, his own happiness, his own… everything.

 Inaho grit his teeth and once more shook off the growing fear and likelihood of Slaine being…

 The robot interjected Inaho’s train of thought; it proposed a different course of action, “The Orbital Knight have is not within the vicinity. It is possible for us to avoid intercepting with him and leave the battlefield.”

 A moment and another passed; Inaho did not answer. It was a waste of breath to him to reject the robot’s suggestion as it would surely go at length against his current actions. Inaho logically knew the unnecessary risk he was going to place on himself and how it contradicts the robot’s orders. Surely there had to be a way around it--

 “Wait,” Inaho realized with widened eyes and approached the robot. He was inches away from it as he repeated what it had just said -- primarily the detail of concern. “Final order you say?”

 “Yes.”

 “What do you mean by final? Slaine wouldn’t be--”

 “Slaine is still alive and 2.47 kilometers from our current location. However I am unable to pinpoint the enemy threat’s exact whereabouts but it is safe to predict the threat is within Slaine’s vicinity.”

 “Which direction?”

 “The shortest route involves breaking past this wall and heading north-northwest.”

 Without a moment to spare, Inaho approached the wall and rested his palm. His brow crossed as he tried to use his newly discovered ability.

 “I advise against this Kaizuka Inaho.”

 His concentration was interrupted and he sighed, annoyed. “I. Do. Not. Care.” Inaho addressed and exaggerated, enunciating every word in their entirety. Surely the machine recognized something about his tone of voice to forego whatever lecture it would systematically impose on him.

 To his surprise the machine huffed and smirked; it was replicating Slaine’s expression entirely. “Typical. Just like my pilot.” It commented.

 “Pilot?”

 “Before thought transcended into matter, creations like myself were not as interactive and required manual input through the handling of a pilot.”

 “Slaine Troyard would be--”

 “He is-- Correction was.”

 “Was?”

 “He severed our connection before the fall.”

 “Severed?!” Inaho repeated in alarm. His voice surprised even himself. Never before did he feel so emotionally affected. It was clear his judgment was impaired yet he really couldn’t afford it. His other half…

 “Yes. I assume he did so to delay Count Saazbaum as long as he could. By severing his connection with me, Count Saazbaum could not have used Slaine as a liaison to make use of me.”

 “What would be the advantage of--” Inaho stopped. “By having you -- since he doesn’t have a machine--”

 “Kataphrakt--” Tharsis supplied.

 “Kataphrakt… He cannot continuously use his abilities indefinitely.”

 The Tharsis nodded.

 “If that is the case, surely Saazbaum would--”

 “Correct. I am bound to be his final destination. Before that is to pass, I must ensure your safety,” The Tharsis finished.

 “My safety cannot be ensured,” Inaho stated and reached for his left shoulder blade. “Without Slaine, I am not whole.”

 “You have never been whole to begin with,” Tharsis refuted, “Many times my pilot was before you. Not once did either of you acknowledge your bond.”

 Inaho grimaced. Of course they had not and he was a fool to not consider. His ignorance was his crime and one he could not shrug off as not knowing. The hints were there and it was in Slaine’s character to not be so easily identified. Inaho was the one at fault; again he failed him.

 “I still have a chance,” Inaho mumbled before shaking his head. He spoke louder and more firmly, “We still have a chance.”

 The Tharsis fell silent and remained unmoved. Again it smirked much like Slaine; the Tharsis approached the wall and much like Slaine had done before a shield manifested over its arm. The wall gave way after the sound of a laser cutting through filled the room.

 “We should make haste then Kaizuka Inaho. I can only confirm Slaine is unconscious and breathes. His actual state of injury and the aftermath of Saazbaum’s newly acquired ability are things I cannot confirm remotely,” Tharsis informed.

 Inaho dashed every so often just as the Tharsis levitated and proceeded barely ahead. “Please Slaine. Just awhile longer. Wait for me.”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 After two kilometers, the two reached a rather ornate area. The damaged walls began to resemble a barely disturbed ziggurat. Pillars filled the widening hall and at the end, a large double door made of onyx faced them.

 The Tharsis had landed on the ground and eyed the door, it voiced its concern, “As predicted, the threat is here. Count Saazbaum is with Slaine.”

 “I see. Then we are expected. We have no capability of surprise--”

 “We do.”

 “You aren’t suggesting--”

 The Tharsis smiled with recognition and pushed the door open. The machine seemed to mock the brunette, relishing in Inaho’s troubled and appalled face.

 Inaho could not stop it. It was the most efficient plan even the reincarnated strategist could recognize.

 Within seconds of the door turning, Count Saazbaum had begun his attack on the miniaturized robot. A barricade of lasers had shot from their right and the robot flew into the other wall. A dash of crimson -- Count Saazbaum -- passed Inaho and securely pinned the Tharsis. Although futile and not entirely at full strength, the Tharsis manifested its shields and brought forth a different weapon -- a weapon Inaho had not seen even the automaton had used in the past -- large blades. Count Saazbaum slashed his left arm at the blades, which immediately cut upon contact. The count’s arms had become coated with an ability Inaho had seen before -- Trillram’s dimensional barrier.

 “Surrender Tharsis. You’re mine,” The count declared. The outcome of the battle was long ordained.

 Seeing the count was entirely focused on the humanoid Kataphrakt, Inaho looked for Slaine, who still remained unconscious north of Inaho. Inaho rushed over and after cradling Slaine in his arms to see for any wounds, he heard the count a few steps away. Count Saazbaum levitated and the defeated Tharsis weakly hung from the count’s left hand.

 “He brought that fate to himself but perhaps the better of the two outcomes,” Saazbaum went.

 Inaho looked over his shoulder, “What have you done?”

 “He is an Orbital Knight. He has sworn servitude to the Royal Family and has been acting independently. I was going to fix that but alas he disrupted me when I was rewriting him.”

 “Rewriting… him?”

 Saazbaum smiled menacingly  and proclaimed, “No matter. You both are no threats to me any longer. Consider it mercy and good will that I shall allow you to see the birth of a new world.”

 Did the outcome of the world matter? This time? Had they not fought for it once before? Can they not forego it just this once?

 He had forgotten once. He dared not forget again and if whatever madness Saazbaum does result in the destruction of this world, then at least Inaho wanted to be with the person he most cared about. This time he didn’t want to leave him behind.

 The count laughed victoriously and made his leave. His footsteps echoed in the distance and soon became inaudible to the running water of all the broken pipes around them. Inaho had let the count go without a fight; he went with the Tharsis’s plan…

 “...W…” Pale ocean blue eyes started to open and he mouthed something barely audible.

 Inaho could feel water well up in his eyes. Slaine was blank as a slate. What Slaine had done to ‘protect’ Inaho resulted in Saazbaum’s doing to be interrupted and instead of having his memories rewritten, they were entirely wiped.

 The ashen blond came to and Inaho sniffled. The tears ran down his cheeks and the ashen blond curiously,  not intentionally wiped the falling tears. Were they tears of relief? Thankful, the ashen blond was alive and in reach? Or were they tears of sadness? Now together they, were as good as strangers.

 “That’s fine,” Inaho thought to himself when cradling Slaine’s cheek and noticing the ashen blond relished in his touch, resting his cheek evermore into Inaho’s palm. Inaho breathed shakily. His heart was unease; something was off with this situation yet he dared convinced him otherwise, “A new world is coming… we can start over again… surely this time, right Slaine?”

 He rocked Slaine who seemingly was clueless of what Inaho was thinking. Of course with no surprise Inaho could see the concern reflect in Slaine’s eyes. Slaine recognized the brunette was hurting. Slaine had always recognized his emotions faster than anyone else. They had been each other’s worst nemesis. They had been each other’s significant other.

 This time though. This time Inaho is with him. This time… they can begin again. They won’t start as enemies. They are there for each other. This time… without fail…

 Inaho embraced the ashen blond tightly and let a sob escape his throat. He buried his head in the ashen blond’s neck.

 “You are free of the chain of misery, Bat. I’ll see to it.” He swore to himself with Slaine unaware, tries to console Inaho with gently rubbing Inaho’s left shoulder blade.

 “This was how it should be,” Inaho convinced himself.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 His mind was blank. His sight both saw and did not see. His feet knew not where to tread but where to go. Was it a feeling? Was his logic so deeply rooted that he knew where best to go?

 Whatever it was be it self-preservation or vulnerability, he did not care. He simply was… there when he came to upon that familiar porch. The familiar bell rang and the long-haired brunette of this timeline greeted him, unsuspecting him and thinking perhaps it was another random customer.

 He was not wrong in that assessment for she did not immediately rise to greet him. She had already said her peace of a typical greeting to her new arrival. “Welcome! I’ll be right with you. Sit wherever you like,” she would say and what he had heard so many countless times the last time he was here.

 It was both discomforting and comforting to hear such words. A sense of normalcy seemed in place upon hearing her voice. Inaho knew she was not the same Yuki of his timeline, perhaps a descendant, perhaps a reincarnation or simply someone that miraculously aesthetically looked like an exact copy of her. It was sad to be so familiar with her yet be so far from the relationship he once had with her in another life, another place, or another time altogether.

 However even if this was not his Yuki, this Yuki carried the same mannerism he treasured most of his sister. When her eyes met his, her eyes had widened and sparkled. She dropped whatever she was doing, whatever she was holding and slowly but gradually sped to his side. Concern was all over her face as she knelt to his crouched level and reached him gently as if he would break.

 He could see her mouth move yet perhaps his hearing had finally gone. God knows how many explosions and whatever unspeakable disasters he had ventured and narrowly escaped unscathed with his companion. He did not need to hear them. He did not need to decipher what she was saying by reading her lips. He felt what she was trying to convey. His heart knew although his expression remained unmoved.

 Inaho had fallen to his knees as Yuki called someone among her customers -- seemingly a doctor who had already was making his way to them -- and was relieved of the burden he bore.

 “Pl…” Inaho tried to speak yet his throat was dry. His sense of feeling was returning and it was clear how shaken he truly was, how overwhelming the reality of his situation was now had sunk in.

 Yuki hugged him tightly and rocked him, resting his head on her shoulder. Over and over she repeated, eventually Inaho could either hear or hallucinate some semblance of what she was trying to say, “It’ll be okay. Everything will be all right. Don’t worry. You did well. You made it. It will be okay.”

 His breath came ragged as he felt an unnatural shudder overcome him. He sniffled in her embrace. He knew what she was trying to say. He knew there was nothing more to be done. It was out of his hands at this point. He had done everything at this point yet… he could not help thinking, wanting to do more, anything.

 And then it occurred to him as Yuki released him, staring at him in the eye and clearly enunciated every syllable of what message she wanted to convey.

 “He will be fine.”

 That’s all he wanted to hear, to believe and to hope would occur.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Inaho could not decipher how many days it had been, let alone grasp much of what he did each passing day he had arrived at Yuki’s renovated bar. The orders came and go. The customers, new and regular, arrived and departed. Life went on.

 It was only when he went upstairs to his room, he began to feel again the stillness of time and the uneasiness, the anxiousness ebb at him. Before, Inaho had taken it for granted when considering the automaton resting on the bed could be easily reactivated once he finished his repairs. Now, that was no longer the case. The automaton was as he had thought -- it was truly a human that clung to a thin thread of life thanks to Aldnoah -- and now whatever humanity was there, was now gone. No, humanity was never the question. The person, the individual, the spirit of the person living before him was always in question.

 Approaching the bed like clockwork, Inaho retrieved the foldable metallic chair from next to the door he had opened and pulled up to the bedside. Before sitting down, Inaho reached over to his sleeping companion and combed away with his fingers, the ashen blond hair that had flown over his eyes. He then readjusted the blanket and finally sat down on the chair, leaning back with his hands resting on his lap. Inaho absentmindedly stared forward at the open window, watching the curtains dance in the slow breeze. For a moment he slowly closed and open his eyes, momentarily recollecting past days he had sat at this very spot and how he seemed the only fixated point; before him, a storm had past and he had not moved. It was only due to Yuki and the doctor of the town, Doctor Yagarai’s interference that Inaho’s companion and bedroom did not completely become soak in the cold rain. Days past and the heat was unbearable. Only the night made it seem like a midsummer’s dream with the crickets and fireflies about with the cool air.

 “Wait for me Slaine” Inaho remembered coining. It was a line he had said so many times in his past life. He recalled how in a similar situation like this, the ashen blond was miraculously alive after suffering a fatal wound and telling Inaho how unfair he was being.

 Inaho stood up upon noticing the time on the nearby nightstand; he had to report downstairs. He had promised Yuki he would go down a half hour past six. He would ‘eat’ and then work throughout the night into dawn. Before leaving the room, Inaho once more brushed Slaine’s fringe and rested his hand on his cheek. Inaho pecked briefly on Slaine’s cheek; he did not know if this Slaine reciprocated those feelings.

 “I’m not the Slaine you seek.”

 “I am not the Slaine you promised… the Slaine you refer to is perhaps long gone.”

 The brunette presumed perhaps that is what the ashen blond of this world would tell him. Slaine would deny his feelings, thinking Inaho was projecting them upon him. Slaine would remind Inaho how unfair he was being, treating and recognizing Slaine as someone he clearly was not.

 “Slaine…” Inaho struggled to speak, to find the words to properly convey them, “Don’t belittle my feelings. We may have come from different worlds, times… whatever you want to label them as… but it does not matter. It does not matter if you knew our past lives or can project our future paths…” Inaho could feel himself rambling; he started to see the irrationality in his current behavior yet he could feel his heart growing lighter, “I love you Slaine. I love the you, you are now. Before me. Presently. Here.”

 Inaho went on his knees, taking one of Slaine’s hands into both of his and rest his forehead. “So please… please wake up. Come back.”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Inaho awoke to the sound of a wind chime. He had fallen asleep in an uncomfortable position and tried to sit up yet found most of his joints had gone numb.

 “What do you think?” Yuki asked.

 The brunette blinked. He was slightly surprised Yuki could tell he was waking up especially from the angle of how he slept, he could barely see her face. He could only tell Yuki had fixated something on the window -- chances are a wind chime of some sort.

 “It… sounds… wonderful.”

 Inaho brusquely sat up much to his body’s detestation. He gawked for he met turquoise eyes that curiously blinked at him.

 Slaine had woken up.

 “Slaine…” Inaho blurted.

 The ashen blond tilted his head. His brow contorted as he tried to make sense of what Inaho had said. Inaho frowned when slowly regaining hits wits, berating himself,“No. I shouldn’t have done that. He is a blank slate.. With the power of Aldnoah and--”

 Inaho could see he had made a terrible mistake when the ashen blond started to grip his left temple. Yuki had approached him, embracing the ashen blond and tried to calm him with a slow, quiet hush. The ashen blond was taken by surprise at the act and hugged his sides, clearly shuddering at the contact. He grimaced with his eyes starting to tear, reaching particular to his left wing.

 “It’ll be alright. Take it slow. You’re among family,” Yuki said slowly and in as kind of a voice she could muster.

 Slaine motioned to speak however his breath came shakily and his voice was not cooperating. It didn’t matter for Inaho. Just like back then, Inaho could hear Slaine through their unspeakable bond as each other’s halves. Slaine’s left wing fluttered and momentarily glowed aqua.

 “I’m scared. Who are you? Family? They’re gone! Wait what family?” Slaine’s thoughts came through to Inaho, who was thankful to hear such thoughts; it reaffirmed their bond was still in tact even after what Count Saazbaum had done.

 Inaho removed Slaine’s hands from Slaine’s sides, uncurling Slaine’s fingers and entwined them with his own. The brunette gently squeezed and took one hand up to his lips, gently pecking the back of Slaine’s hand.

 “Don’t worry. I’m here. I’ll always be here for you. You’ll never be alone… for you’re my other half. We’ll always be together,” Inaho reassured.

 Slaine took back one of his hands and like before, like the Slaine Inaho knew, reached for his chest. However this time Slaine looked to him, squarely and directly, wholeheartedly. Yuki had released Slaine from her embrace, smiling at what unfolded before her.

 “See!” Yuki inadvertently tried to reaffirm and patted Slaine’s head, “Now how about we get you something to eat?”

 “Uh…” Slaine pondered yet his stomach’s growl answered the question.

 Inaho smiled and struggled to his feet, asking the two albeit more so to the ashen blond, “Scrambled or rolled?”

 The brunette had started to head to the door except was stopped by Yuki’s vocal insistence.

 “I’ll decide! I’ll take care of breakfast, Nao-kun!” Yuki immediately rushed to the door, getting ahead of Inaho.

 He quickly figured out why the sudden change when feeling a gentle tug on his navy knitted sweater.

 “Ah- sorry, I-” Slaine stumbled for words and looked away blushing.

 Inaho turned around and sat on the bed, reaffirming his grasp on Slaine’s hand, which he withdrew. The brunette leaned onto Slaine’s hunched over form and nestled his chin  on Slaine’s hair.

 “It’ll be alright. We have all the time in the world. Take your time,” Inaho said aloud and promised to himself, “I’ll make sure of it. I promise you.”

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 A wind chime jingled lightly as a gentle breeze brushed along an open window. The curtains rose with the coming wind and as the curtains rested, the flaps of a bird could be heard. A bird had landed on the window sill only to hop a little more inward when a finger approached towards its beak. The bird nestled against the finger. The ashen blond chuckled and soon rubbed under the bird’s beak.

 “Good morning,” the ashen blond greeted the bird and somewhat sat up, taking a peek outside to find only some cirrus clouds in the distance and endless blue wherever the sky stretched towards the horizon.

 A pair of strong arms tightened its embrace on the ashen blond’s waist and grabbed the blond back inwards the bed. The bird abruptly left.

 “I-Inaho!” Slaine screeched.

 A crimson eye cracked open from underneath the blankets and once more the bush of brown hair nestled deeply, into their embrace. Slaine sighed, giving in and spoiling Inaho.

 “We need to get up Inaho. Yuki-nee is going to scold us again if we don’t rake the leaves before dinner. We have delayed far too long as it is…”

 Inaho refuted, objectively and unsurprisingly to Slaine… albeit in a groggy voice. When did the brunette become such a sloth? “We are still in the middle of autumn and there are still leaves to fall. It is better to let them all fall before collecting them.”

 “I know Inaho but that’s-- be…” Slaine blushed and held back a whimper. Inaho had sucked on Slaine’s neck, having risen up just a little bit.

 The ashen blond grimaced, slightly annoyed as Inaho emotionlessly stared at him with rather fabulous bed hair. Slaine hit Inaho with a pillow within reach, demanding, “Get up Orange!”

 Slaine continued to playfully smack him with the pillow but Inaho would not budge. Inaho tightened his hold around the ashen blond's waist and nestled his head. He would make certain these sort of days would continue.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 The wounds Slaine had acquired and endured when he was becoming an ‘Orbital Knight’ left no trace upon his restored form. Inaho could presume the restoration had erased even scarring. It was perhaps one of the few positive things the count had done on Slaine. Maybe the memory wipe could also be considered a blessing.

 Inaho could feel his heart flutter and the inability to stop the corners of his lips from rising upward. Slaine’s smiles and laughs warmed his heart. He was void of the hardships and suffering he had endured in this lifetime and the many lifetimes he had foreseen. However even this happiness and peace seemed fragile still. Something felt unnatural to Inaho and increasingly, that something was becoming more obvious.

 Slaine nearly fell when following Inaho out of their bedroom; the ashen blond had become strong enough to walk on his own and to help out at the pub yet soon after waking up from bed, Slaine’s struggle to easily walk out was becoming clearer.

 “What’s wrong, Slaine?” Inaho inquired although already suspecting what it most likely was. Rising his head, Inaho could immediately confirm his suspicions with the ashen blond’s crossed brow and the sight of his eyes losing focus -- eyes that glimmered ever so frequently aqua, “Aldnoah…”

 There was no way around it; there was no way to deny Slaine’s identity as an Orbital Knight. Extracting the Tharsis from him simply only left him with a finite amount of uses; it did not entirely rob him of the ability he was gifted with.

 Slaine looked to the brunette before once more shying away. He apologized, “S-sorry… I was… getting dizzy again…”

 Inaho remained silent for a moment, staring at Slaine’s eyes and waited for the glow to subside. In moments they had returned to their normal tranquil turquoise shade; at that time Inaho helped Slaine back onto his feet and stabilized him. He misled the ashen blond into thinking Inaho was his lucky charm.

 “T-thank you Inaho. Without you, I’d be lost I fear,” Slaine mumbled, surely overpraising him.

 The brunette shook his head, physically trying to shake off the lie he had inadvertently caused. “It’s nothing… but perhaps we should ask the doctor to check on you.” Inaho hesitantly voiced his concern.

 Slaine fell silent upon hearing the suggestion and looked to his right, a habit Inaho was all too familiar as nervousness. “Yes… that… may be best… it’s been happening a lot more recently hasn’t it?” Slaine asked.

 Inaho’s heart sank slightly but he quickly tried to mask the uneasiness. Surely Slaine was picking up on it through their link. Inaho tightened his hold on Slaine’s hand, trying to convince not only Slaine but himself, “Let’s see what the doctor says.”

 He hoped it was really nothing. He knew otherwise; he knew better.

 Slaine had no recollection of how to use his ability and each time he used it, another feather fell, another speck of his life force was gone. Forever was all too far a fantasy and a forgone dream yet to make now seem everlasting, every moment counted. Having him forget everything of his life before now seemed to have made Slaine happy. Alas, soon this ability -- the ability to see projections of what had been and what will be -- would surely be something Slaine would have to come to terms, come to use.

 “Could he somehow be rendered unable to use it?” Inaho had once considered. He had little to no idea even for his own ability how it works. He only understood that he willed it when he wanted to make something within feasibility to happen. If that is the case then… did Slaine inadvertently be trying to remember?

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

 Moments past with Inaho remaining in the room unmoved. Only when the front door downstairs closed shut did Inaho realize how long he had remained in the room alone. He felt his feet drag.

 “I would prepare if he does remember.” The doctor’s words echoed in his mind.

 Soon he found himself before the bedroom’s door. He hesitated to grasp the doorknob. Slaine was waiting for him on the other side.

 “I don’t think it’s possible to prepare for that situation doctor,” Inaho thought rhetorically and turned the doorknob, walking in.

 The window remained open. The curtains danced in the wind. Moonlight seeped into the room and in the center of the silent sight before Inaho, the ashen blond sat in bed looking out. Inaho’s heart grew heavy. How did Slaine go about acting like he knew nothing of what had happened before? How can Slaine have started afresh knowing full well what Inaho had done to him in another life?

 Slaine turned and the outline of his one wing cast a shadow in the moonlight. “Inaho,” the ashen blond warmly spoke. The ashen blond offered open arms. Inaho couldn’t hide anything from Slaine as the brunette crawled into bed, embracing the ashen blond. “What’s wrong?” The ashen blond asked. “I wouldn’t think anything bad was uncovered from the check up… was there?”

 Inaho shook his head while well buried in Slaine’s chest. Slaine paused for a moment; Inaho could guess the ashen blond was pondering why he had become so sullen. “I see…” The ashen blond went, “then… what is wrong? Or would you rather not talk about it Inaho?”

 The brunette rose and loosened their hug. He could not bring himself to face the ashen blond. The doctor’s advice continued to reverberate in his mind. Preparation was impossible in the long-run. Lying would and could not take place of facts. Surely as well whatever Count Saazbaum had planned would eventually reach them. Everything that led to that point now and then.

 “Inaho?”

 Without thinking Inaho caught sight of the the turquoise eyes before looking down. Slaine’s shirt had been left unbuttoned, surely from the doctor’s visit. His chest was bare.

 “No scars like then… Smooth…” Inaho reminded himself and rested his head once more.

 “Inaho… please. Please tell me what’s wrong,” Slaine pleaded and repeated. Inaho could see Slaine’s hand reach for Inaho’s chin but Inaho would not let him reach. The brunette backed away and looked elsewhere. This was unlike him. He was doing everything he didn’t want to be doing. He didn’t want to worry Slaine. He wasn’t protecting him as he swore back then.

 Inaho clenched his teeth as he heard Slaine’s breath became shaky and the ashen blond face palmed. “In… Inaho-san…”

 “San…” Inaho noted and saddened. The first few days Slaine had awakened came to mind.

 “You once told me…” Slaine continued. Inaho reached to wipe one of Slaine’s tears.

 “You said I was your other half… If that is the case… Then…” Slaine mumbled but could not continue his train of thought. His shoulders shook as he wept.

 “Slaine…” Inaho tried yet his voice came weak and distant. It was heartbreaking.

 “Why… If we are together… I…” Slaine looked up and a weak, bitter smile formed.

 The past overlaid before Inaho. So long ago Inaho had faced his perceived-rival, now defeated and so resigned. Nothing had changed, even after all this.

 “Why do I feel so alone?”

 “I can’t hide it Slaine… I’m not strong like you. But…” Inaho smiled, bewildering Slaine and kissed the ashen blond on the lips, longingly and dearly. “Slaine. I’m sorry.” He apologized. "But I too believe in you. Together… Together we can think of something neither of us could have alone.”

 “I-it’s fine Inaho-” Slaine tried to say but Inaho interrupted him with another seal on his lips. Slaine reddened and before attempting to push the brunette back, “In-Inaho please.”

 “The reason why I don't want you to remember… the reason why I fear your power Slaine…” Inaho started before pausing to look at him squarely, “is because you were fatally wounded… multiple times. You died once in this world already and..  I nearly lost you.”

 “So you were keeping me in the dark… to protect me?” Slaine asked, trying to make sense of what Inaho was telling him.

 Inaho nodded and left a trail of kisses down Slaine’s neck. He grasped Slaine’s left hand,  removing it from Slaine’s face and kissed it. Inaho entwined his fingers with Slaine and left a trace upon Slaine’s knuckles. Simultaneously Inaho maintained eye contact with Slaine, looking at his other half alluringly. Slaine was becoming more and more flushed. His bottom lip trembled.

 “In… Inaho…” Slaine spoke in a needing voice yet with a tinge of alarm. Inaho could see the ashen blond’s eyes glow. Correspondingly Inaho’s hand glowed orange and soon Slaine’s glowed blue.  

 “I'm here Slaine. I know. Let your power loose. Trust me.”

 Slaine shuddered and felt himself weaken, collapsing onto Inaho. Slaine’s right shoulder blade burned. It was not a painful burn however. It was… intoxicatingly warm. Slaine turned his head from Inaho’s neck and before him a ghastly blue outlined wing. The ashen blond struggled, startled and looked between the wing and Inaho who smiled. Inaho rested his forehead on Slaine’s, closing his eyes.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

When Inaho reopened his eyes, he noticed he had become separate from his corporeal form. He could see his physical body support Slaine and the two rested on their bed. Surveying his capability as a spirit, Inaho discerned he could oddly see his reflection about the window and in the window -- he had two wings. One of which carried the aqua glow.

 “Slaine!” Inaho thought in a panic and hastily looked around, floating through the walls of the bedroom outside the very pub or into the halls. There was no sign of Slaine. Visually.

 As Inaho came to a stop, Inaho could hear muffling sounds. He had originally suspected it to be the wind picking up as night had fallen yet the more he listened, the more he recognized the voice. No. Voices.

 Inaho could feel his heart grow heavy when he could identify all the voices. They all belonged to Slaine but each individual voice had a different mannerism and tone. However none of them were the Slaine he was seeking. The Slaine he sought was not speaking a comprehensible word.

 The brunette had closed his eyes for a moment to hone his hearing and only opened when he pinpointed the source of the voices. He soar upwards, towards the shattered moon and found who he was looking for. Without a moment’s delay, Inaho rested a hand on Slaine’s right shoulder. The crying ashen blond peered upward from his withdrawn, shrank self.

 “In-Inaho..!” Slaine cried and embraced him.

 “I’m sorry. I made you wait again,” Inaho apologized and hugged him back while looking forward. A man wearing the emblazoned uniform of an Orbital Knight stood before Inaho and Slaine.

 “Count Slaine Saazbaum Troyard,” Inaho addressed.

 The knight offered a polite, small smile. He did not look at Inaho back and instead seemed more attentive to Slaine who remained nestled in Inaho’s chest. The longer Inaho gazed at the Orbital Knight, for a moment his attire changed to that of a pair of pale blue clothes and then again to a lab coat. If he concentrated even more, Inaho could see the knight’s appearance ever so often, flickering like a time-lapse.

 “Kaizuka Inaho,” the knight finally responded. Its voice however was not singular. Inaho could piece out one voice saying the very same in a far more bitter, hateful manner. The brunette was sure he could -- if he willed it -- recollect when and where a Slaine had said that to him. However he saw it as a wasted effort. Even if the knight before him came from the same timeline or world Inaho originated from, it mattered not to Inaho. The Slaine he had sworn to protect and promised to save was the one in his arms.

 The two continued to lock eyes on one another until something caught Inaho’s eyes -- lights. Traces of light started to appear around them, descending towards the town below them. The lights resembled shooting stars at first but when Inaho looked at them more closely…

 They were robotic arms and laser beams. They greatly resembled the Kataphraktoi technology the Orbital Knights had used.

 “Hellas and Herschel,” The Orbital Knight identified; perhaps Inaho’s thoughts of the subject transferred to the Orbital Knight just like it did to his Slaine. The Orbital Knight did not entertain his curiosity and seemed to continue to inform. He spoke coldly and authoritative -- a similar mannerism when the Orbital Knight had delivered speeches in broadcasts of a war so long ago, “Count Saazbaum has infiltrated the town and in sixty-one seconds he will have reached Yuki-nee. Forty-nine seconds later he will reach us if we maintain the present course of events.”

 Inaho’s eyebrow rose as he realized what Count Slaine Saazbaum Troyard was informing him and when he once more looked downwards, he could see the projection of Count Saazbaum having entered the pub. The immediate surroundings around Inaho and the two Slaines had changed to inside the pub where Yuki had collapsed by Count Saazbaum’s hand.

 The Slaine in Inaho’s arms stood up and went upwards to the ceiling. “We need to get out of here and away--” Slaine proclaimed, disappearing from sight.

 ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

The next time Inaho regained his bearings, he had been dragged outside to the outskirts of town by Slaine’s doing. Slaine released Inaho’s hand and turned to the appearing visage of Count Saazbaum.

 Slaine questioned in complete bafflement, “Having the power to rewrite history infinitely was not enough for you?”

 Saazbaum smirked. “Mishaps happen. Clearly I had an err in my judgment to keep both of you alive. As long as you both remain, my seat of power will always be in question. Also…”

 Saazbaum rose his cane pointing to Slaine and soon Inaho who stood between the two in an act of defending Slaine. “To know one past is to know one’s future. Your ability to see both is one I cannot go without.”

 Slaine lowered his head, his fringe covering his eyes. He sardonically huffed to himself, holding back a sad bout of laughter. “So even in this timeline… we must cross again?”

 “Feeling remorseful now? Perhaps you really are not my son,” Saazbaum mused and withdrew his cane, “Enough of this.” The count glared as he commanded an array of orbs transforming into rocket arms and balls of light akin to the Kataphraktoi Hellas and Herschel, “Fly my servants.”

 Inaho grasped Slaine’s hand with his right just as Inaho waved with his left an orange barrier thwarting the arms inward. “Slaine,” Inaho curtly addressed, narrowly dodging the laser shots with Slaine tagging along.

 Slaine shook it off, releasing Inaho’s right hand and turned back, manifesting one of Tharsis’s shields over his right arm. Opening his hand, palm forward at the approaching lasers Slaine shot back with similar energy blasts. “Sorry. Sixteen from one o’clock to five.”

 “Too many,” Inaho remarked and frowned. With both of his hands illuminating orange, he gathered energy into his palms.

 “I know,” Slaine rebuked and frowned, shooting several blasts upward overhead.

 “Giving up again, Troyard?” Saazbaum intimidated and dashed forward.

 Seemingly pointlessly, Slaine shot more beams of light except at the count himself who did not suffer even a scratch. Saazbaum was also utilizing the shield the Kataphrakt Nilokeras had.

 “Energy sword activate!” Saazbaum exclaimed and lifted his cane that correspondingly glowed red.

 “Now Inaho!” Slaine beckoned with his left arm, which Inaho quickly grabbed to offer more momentum and Inaho reversed his gravitational burst onto the count. The count spat blood as the gravitational force caught him off guard and pushed him back.

 “Just like before, the barrier needs a gap and every time you use a different capability, you make yourself vulnerable,” Inaho assessed.

 “No matter. I’ll rewrite you until you’re no more!” Saazbaum proclaimed and teleported to them.

 Slaine grit his teeth as he back flipped in mid air to try to make some distance. Saazbaum still managed to grab his ankle.

 “Slaine--” Inaho called out yet the ashen blond only shook his head, eyes peering at the brunette determined.

 Inaho looked down to the cliff and with both glowing hands, ushered an earthquake from below or so Saazbaum initially thought. Within moments, Saazbaum could feel himself being tugged downwards.

 “I will not go down without a fight!” Saazbaum desperately screamed and tightened his hold on Slaine’s ankle.

 The energy blasts that Slaine had shot earlier had returned back down and pierced through the Count’s legs and wings.

 Slaine prepared to plummet, closing his eyes with the count. He would not take the man’s life again. He had no right to take another; if debts could be carried over lifetimes, then he surely had one to the count.

 A prayer, a voice from the past spoke next to his ear, “Slaine please be free.”

 “Lemrina,” Slaine realized with his eyes opened and his claim on his life renewed.

 “Did you think I would forgive you?” A Slaine from the past exclaimed.

 Slaine slashed through the count’s arm that clung to his ankle with the pointed edge of his shield and spun kick the count further down. With the second volley of shots Slaine had shot earlier, the fog below cleared and revealed a pocket black hole which the count was accelerating ever faster inward.

 Saazbaum fruitlessly reached upward to Slaine with his dismembered arm yet soon withdrew. He could recollect a sight once past, an array of warnings and static.

 “That’s right this isn’t where I should be.” He thought to himself as he began to feel his end was near.

 Looking up, Saazbaum could see the sad silhouette overhead, peering down on him.

 “Not too shabby… my son…” Saazbaum said to himself, recalling a similar knight he once had in the past.

 With the last sight of the burgundy uniform, Inaho closed his hands and formed fists. Similarly the black hole mimicked the behavior and dissipated. Inaho took a deep breath, once more taking a long moment staring where the count had been and confirming that he was no more. It was further cemented when hearing his other half’s sniffles behind him. He sighed upon seeing the shaking figure, floating upwards and embracing him.

 His other half cried and clung, desperately to him. He wept for the things that had come to past once again. Once again his other half could not save those he cherished. Again he lost a father he barely got to know.

 “Are... are we doomed to repeat the same mistakes no matter how much time passes? No matter the circumstances?” Slaine asked Inaho.

 Inaho wanted to tell Slaine 'no.' He really did yet knew full well, even Slaine himself that the likelihood of repeating is so much more astronomically higher. It is human nature to be stubborn, to not learn from past mistakes. It is also however... human nature to learn, to overcome them together as a unified people.

 None of that mattered to the brunette. None of it should matter for Slaine as well, the brunette thought and cupped both of Slaine's cheeks. With his thumbs, Inaho wiped the most recent tears before gently, slowly settling on Slaine's lips.

 “It doesn't matter Bat. That was then. That is not now. If it is meant to be, then it will be,” Inaho conveyed through his thoughts, knowing full well through their renewed, bond that Slaine received them.

 He could see Slaine raise his arms to protest only for such to quickly subside. Inaho had slid his right hand on Slaine's back and caressed the ashen blond's right wing, which corresponded with his. He could feel his own handiwork yet it didn't bother him as much as the ashen blond. Inaho easily could understand why; Slaine's ability to feel had returned from the Count Saazbaum's  handiwork and the wing the ashen blond too bear was surely more receptive to such sensations. Slaine's knees were beginning to buckle as he was weakening; surely if they were not floating – more exactly Inaho wasn't keeping Slaine afloat – Slaine would have fallen over. Slaine gasped and was becoming more and more flush as Inaho continued to run his fingers through the right wing and with his other hand, tightened his embrace around Slaine's waist.

 “In-Inaho...” Slaine struggled to say; his breath was heavy and hot.

 Slaine rested his head on Inaho's shoulder and whimpered, trying to hold back a moan when Inaho playfully bit at Slaine's exposed neck.

 “St-stop!” Slaine begged although his body and thoughts said otherwise.

 Inaho obliged... for the time being as he released Slaine's neck and could see Slaine raise his head with great determination. Slaine was surely a hot mess and Inaho had barely done much – a fact Slaine was too aware especially when Inaho's small smile seemed to only grow upon the two sharing this realization.

 Inaho rested his nose on Slaine's after seeing how Slaine blushed even more somehow and could no longer keep eye contact. “Don't worry. We can take our time.”

 “But I'm not--”

 The brunette narrowed his eyes and this time sealed Slaine's lips forcibly, letting something slip in to stun the ashen blond. Inaho could feel his other half start to lose the strength to keep himself standing and once more released him. “You're the Slaine I love. Here. Presently. Now. With me.” Inaho enunciated, emphasizing each  word purposely.

 Slaine tried to speak again but stopped. His shoulders were beginning to tremble again; he was beginning to cry again and started gripping his chest. Inaho let these tears go; they were definitely tears of happiness. Slaine continuously asked why through their link but he did not answer. Inaho was sure Slaine knew better than even himself. The brunette could feel a warmth resonate from the ashen blond and it seemed to envelop him entirely too.

 This was surely happiness.

   ⋆⋆⋆★⋆⋆⋆

    Epilogue

⊱Slaine.3⊰

 A gentle breeze passed much to Slaine's relief. He picked up the wooden basket and looked up at his finished work – several sheets of table cloth blew in the wind and were newly washed. It was a welcomed breeze considering he hung the cloth to dry.

 “Smells nice,” someone complimented from behind.

 Slaine could feel his ears redden after hearing such a voice. As much as he tried to not feel, his right wing tingled in anticipation. Inaho was clearly having fun teasing him implicitly.

 “Y-you've smelled it plenty of times. S-surely you've grown nauseous or have become desensitized in smelling it...” Slaine tried to lessen the compliment.

 It was futile. Slaine could feel warm hands embrace him from behind and someone's chin brushing along his left shoulder, taking a nice long whiff of his exposed neck.

 “Not again!” Slaine groaned and facepalmed with his free hand.

 “Why not?”

 “We already sleep together... b-bathe together... you should know...” Slaine bit his lower lip; he could not bring himself to utter anymore words.

 Inaho lifted his head and released Slaine from his embrace much to Slaine's relief. It was hard enough to still remain steady on his feet. Slaine knew his sensitivity to both physical and emotional stimuli was higher than normal due to his long connection with the Tharsis life support system. However Inaho made it extremely more difficult. The brunette may seem emotionless and quiet externally yet he was far from such. Slaine sighed and removed his hand from his face. Inaho had fallen silent longer than normal.

 “Sorry,” Inaho apologized; he must have figured out what he had inadvertently done. Slaine had started clutching his chest, leaning back onto Inaho who had yet to move from behind Slaine. He closed his eyes; Inaho's feelings were so strong. It was beyond Slaine as to how they could be so while the brunette remained physically expressionless as a brick wall.

 But he would not have it any other way. The wave of emotion was so direct and overbearing, Slaine had no choice but to acknowledge, to accept and to give in.

 “It's fine Inaho. Thank you... Thank you...” Slaine responded after taking a deep breath to calm his heart. Somehow the novelty of this occurrence had yet to become lackluster; each time it felt like Inaho was confessing his feelings to Slaine for the first time.

 “I'm not the Slaine you swore to protect” was no longer something he could bring himself to say. Just the mere thought already made Slaine feel the intense disapproval and anger from Inaho.

 “Don't belittle my feelings. Don't deny them. Don't deny who you are and who you are not,” Inaho would constantly tell him both vocally and telepathically.

 Slaine could not anymore. He could feel the sincerity, the support, the endearment, and most of all, love.  It was not a love like devotion. It was not the love Slaine had for Asseylum in this timeline or the others. It was not a love that Lemrina and Harklight had for him out of admiration and duty. It was a love for who he truly was-- no, who he truly is.

 “We probably should get back to the chores... shouldn't we, Inaho?” Slaine queried with a smile; he tried to hide his so easily shed tears. “Yuki-nee is going to scold us again at this... rate..?”

 Slaine blinked as he momentarily shivered; something cold and metallic had been wrapped around his neck. He dropped the basket he held in his other hand. His eyes were immediately drawn to a silver amulet resting on his chest. It was not ornate with blue gems; rather with various sized gears in multiple shades of brown and gold. Somehow the amulet was akin to the memento he had in another life while resembling the wings he adorned as an automaton.

 “Inaho...” Slaine grasped the amulet and had turned to face the brunette who offered the more frequent small smile.

 “I was once told it was a charm to ward against evil, a charm offering divine protection,” Inaho commented, “but you told me that was not entirely correct for it was also for--”

 The ashen blond squeezed the amulet lightly, becoming familiar with its weight while simultaneously speaking with Inaho, “For a prayer.”

 “Was it answered?” Inaho asked.

 Slaine chuckled and covered his mouth for a moment, to poorly cover the renewed blush. Once more gazing back at his other half, Slaine could only nod. He could not bring himself to verbalize it; even now he still prayed.

 “Regardless of time, space or fate... you had continued to pursue and reach me. No matter how much I denied you, you always thwarted me at every turn. Even when deemed impossible, you still reached me. Always. So even if a time comes for it to truly be impossible, I pray for this miracle to happen again.”

  ~Fin

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   Author's Note (A/N):

             On a Wing and a Prayer is the result of an ambitious undertaking to write something in canon and in an alternate universe. My previous contributions to the AZ Fandom have been post-canon and in the same universe as the canon or to present-day reality. To further illustrate 'ambitious' I had gone so far as to interweave the canon content into the fanfic in a different order than they occurred while (I hope) making sense.

           The universe the fanfic occurs in is inspired by the atmosphere of several animes and literature works that I hold close to my heart. I leave it to the reader's' imagination as to what exactly those are but I will say, I had aimed for a world after the canon -- so far into the future -- mankind had to regress back to survive and rediscover its origin. Aldnoah had to be rediscovered and even in this change of time and world, the cast are still bound to the roles they had once played... or so I initially started with. I aimed to challenge each of his or her character development to see if he or she was capable of learning his or her mistake in the canon.

           Again it was quite the task. I gravely underestimated the gravitas of world-building and even overdone that aspect where one could say I became reliant on the intrigue and the mysteries of the world -- not the actual writing. So there are some ideas that didn't make it to the final product, be it for lack of polish or lack of smooth continuity if included due to a fear of word limit.

           That being said it has been an enjoyable struggle writing this work and hope to you, the reader find some enjoyment in this adaptation of Aldnoah.Zero.

Acknowledgements:

I would like to thank the Blue Roses Network for encouragement -- particularly TururaJ and Himmelreich for the moral support, and paperballoon, fishdad and KuMikka for helping out with this monstrosity metamorphosis! Last but not least I would also like to thank Rosiel-sama, Rosiel_AZ for allowing me to be a part of the AZ Community.

  hakumei_hogosha

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[ecotone99]

[HF] The Teacher

It is the glory of God to conceal a thing: but the honor

of kings is to search out a matter.

Proverbs 25:2

Brandon Wells stepped out of the Ergosphere and had a look around. Before him stretched a fertile plane of cropland enclosed by craggy cliffs to the northwest. The cliffs continued to rise further to the west where a mountain with a squat, rocky summit stood fortress-like. The land beyond the plain was green, gentle, and sloping, punctuated by undulating hills and rocky bluffs. Turning around, Wells saw that the timeship had landed at the edge of a large and tranquil lake. Cupping his hands around his eyes to filter the bright, midday sun, he peered around the edges of the sea and estimated it to be at least ten miles wide.

Wells dropped his hands and sighed through compressed lips. He could have stood on the shore and assimilated all the geographical details within view, and he still would have been lost. Without the navigational computer, there was no way for him to know where he was on Earth or when he was in time. He looked over his shoulder at the Ergosphere. Smoke was wafting out of the hatch, along with the acrid smell of burning electronics. Wells shook his head, disappointed at his own carelessness. He had overtaxed the engines, overconfident in the durability of his vehicle and arrogantly proud of his ability to pilot it.

With nothing else to do but wait, Wells went back inside the Ergosphere, retrieved a coffee thermos, and sat on a large, flat rock by the shore. The situation was hardly dire, he knew. It was a mere delay, really. He had already activated the self-repair function. As soon as the fire suppression system cut off, the Ergosphere would begin fixing itself. The chrononaut would be on his way in less than an hour.

Feeling his mood lighten, Wells unscrewed the thermos and poured a cup of coffee. He was grateful that he had thought to bring his leather jacket with him. He had lost his shirt, literally, in Bosnia, and was clothed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Although the sun was warm and pleasant, the air was cool, and the wind coming off the lake made it even chillier.

Spring weather, Wells thought. Late March or early April, maybe?

It wasn’t until he heard the sound of approaching footsteps that he began to worry. Someone was using the land to farm, the crops were clear evidence of that, which meant he was close to human civilization. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might have attracted unwanted attention from the locals. Turning, he saw a man coming towards him, following a dirt path that led to the edge of the lake. Wells quickly dug into his pockets and found a pair of wireless earbuds. He put them in and then pulled his translator out of his back pocket, but his heart sank when he saw the aluminum case dented, its glass touchscreen shattered.

Dammit! Must’ve been a rougher landing than I thought.

Wells had brought the prototype with him as an afterthought, a backup just in case his Bosnian didn’t pass mustard. He hadn’t needed it in Sarajevo, but he needed it desperately then. Wells kept pressing the “on” button, hoping to see the screen flicker to life, but it remained a useless block.

“May I sit with you?”

Wells spun around, surprised at hearing English. Perhaps he was closer to home than he first thought?

Wells composed himself and nodded. “Of course.”

The man stepped around the rock and sat down, adjusting his wool cloak as he did so. He appeared to be in his early thirties and had handsome Mediterranean features: olive complexion, a long nose, dark eyes and hair, and a long face. Wells spent more time than was considered polite analyzing the man’s face. It looked troubled.

“Got a lot on your mind, friend?” asked Wells.

“That’s funny,” the stranger replied. “I was just about to ask you the same question.”

Wells went silent. He did have a lot on his mind: Sarajevo, Ferdinand, the War, his failed experiment… “I’ve had a rough day,” he said.

“Would it help to talk about that which troubles you?” the stranger asked.

Wells kept quiet, unsure of whether unburdening himself to the stranger was a good idea.

“Perhaps I’m really the one in need of a sympathetic ear,” said the stranger.

“What troubles you?” Wells asked. If the stranger was determined to start a conversation, Wells intended to keep it strictly one-sided.

“Some men want to kill me,” the stranger said.

He said it with such nonchalance that Wells found himself parroting the man’s words, as if he had misheard. “Some men want to kill you? What for?”

“I spoke the truth,” the stranger said with a shrug. “They took offense. I must decide what to do, and soon.”

This guy doesn’t need a sympathetic ear, Wells thought. He needs a therapist, and maybe police protection.

“What are your options?” Wells asked.

“My father is very powerful,” the stranger said. “I could very easily call upon his army, and they would slay my enemies.”

“What’s the alternative?”

The stranger’s reply was curt. “I let them crucify me.”

“Fight or die,” said Wells. “Those are your only two options?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“If your father is as powerful as you say, why doesn’t he tell these guys to back off?” Wells asked.

The stranger stared out across the lake, and his face became as placid as the waters. “Above all things, my father respects the power of choice. He’s left the decision up to me.”

“Well, what do you think you’re going to do?”

“I don’t want to die,” the stranger replied, his lips curved upwards in a wry smile. “But I also don’t want to kill anyone. The truth is, I’m more afraid of abusing my father’s power than I am of dying.”

“That’s a problem,” Wells said.

“That is obvious.”

A contemplative silence descended as both Wells and the stranger looked out to sea. The chrononaut dumped his lukewarm coffee and refilled the thermos cup. He then reached inside his jacket and produced a Zero candy bar. Discarding the silver-gray wrapper, he broke the bar and offered half of it to the stranger.

“What is this?” the stranger inquired, taking the morsel between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s a delicacy from my country,” Wells said. “I promise, you’ll like it.”

Wells took a bite, watching expectantly as the stranger nibbled on the candy bar. Soon, his half of the sweet confection was gone. Wells offered the man some coffee to wash it down with. The caffeine and sugar seemed to have a positive effect on the stranger, and he smiled.

“Excellent,” he said. “Very excellent. Thank you.”

“My pleasure,” Wells replied, finishing off his half of the Zero bar. He sipped his coffee.

“I get the sense you come from far away, my friend,” the man said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Your ship, for one thing,” he said. “It looks built for strange seas.”

Wells turned and gazed at the Ergosphere. “It certainly does, doesn’t it?”

The smoke was gone, and there was a rhythmic tapping coming from inside, a sound not unlike a cooling hotplate.

The self-repair mechanism hard at work, thought Wells.

“Now that I have told you something of my woes,” the stranger said, “tell me about yours.”

Wells took a slow, thoughtful sip of coffee and thought, Well, it’d be awfully damn rude to clam up after he spilled his guts. He handed his coffee to the stranger, who drank the liquid in gulps.

“I made a mistake,” Wells began. “A big mistake. I thought I was doing a good thing, but I ended up making a bad situation worse.”

“What is this terrible thing you did?” The stranger’s tone was consoling, like having a friend’s arm around his shoulder at a funeral.

“I saved a man’s life,” Wells said. “He was an important man, someone whose death would’ve caused a great war. Except it turns out war was inevitable, regardless of whether he lived or died.”

How could Wells hope to explain it? How could he put it into words? He had traveled back in time and prevented the assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, the spark that had ignited the First World War. Wells had set out to test whether changing history was possible, and he had done so, at the time believing his actions would have positive effects on the future to which he returned.

That had not been the case.

By saving the archduke, Wells had only delayed the outbreak of World War I by eight months and extended its termination by over a year. He had doubled the number of lives lost and shifted the fates of countless others. No one in the new continuity had ever heard of Ernest Hemingway but neither had they heard of Adolf Hitler or the Nazis. The Great Depression had come sooner and lasted longer. There was no Second World War, but there was also no atomic energy, no space race, and no such thing as an MRI machine. The best computers were the size of refrigerators. The average life expectancy of an American was fifty or sixty rather than seventy or eighty. Transistors were a relatively recent invention.

Wells had made a year-by-year inspection of the new continuity, which likely contributed to the Ergosphere’s eventual breakdown, and ultimately deemed his experiment a failure. Ignoring his better judgement, he had programmed an excessive time warp, one large enough to carry him to the end of the universe, past the big crunch and past the big bang—such was the nature of cyclical time—so that he would swing back around and arrive in his original continuity.

That last big jump had proven to be too much for the timeship, and the engines had stalled somewhere after the Iron Age, and momentum had carried him to the shore of some nameless inland sea.

“So I let him die the way he was supposed to,” Wells continued. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded distant, as if he were speaking from deep within a cave. “I let him die so that millions of people that didn’t die before would live.”

“It troubles you that an act of mercy made a massacre even worse,” the stranger said.

“Very much,” Wells admitted.

The stranger breathed a deep sigh and shook his head. “It’s an awful thing to have that kind of power,” he said. “Always having the temptation to use it, and always wondering when and how it should be used. Still, the power exists, and we have it.”

Perhaps if Wells had been less preoccupied, he would have noticed that his conversation with the stranger had taken an odd turn. He had said little, yet the stranger was inferring much, and his intelligence was uncanny, and up until a few moments earlier, Wells had begun to wonder if he wasn’t further away from home than he had assumed. All this was registered in some remote part of Brandon Wells’ brain but went unacknowledged by his conscious mind.

“Are you saying we shouldn’t use the power we have?” Wells asked.

“I’m saying neither of us can afford to be reckless because we are powerful,” the stranger replied.

“You must be a philosopher,” Wells said.

“I’m just a teacher,” he said. “Though some days I wish I could’ve stayed a carpenter. I think it would’ve been a simpler life.”

“Fewer people would be trying to kill you, I think,” Wells quipped.

The teacher smiled a crooked smile. “Probably.”

“You know,” Wells said, “I’ve been thinking…Socrates faced a dilemma similar to yours. He publically criticized his government, so the Athenians manufactured a bunch of charges against him, and after a show trial they forced him to choose between exile and death.”

“I can see where you’re going with this,” the teacher said, “and I won’t run.”

“You might live longer.”

“It would be a living death,” said the teacher. “I’m no coward.”

“Then I’m afraid you’re going to die,” Wells said. “And the world will be the poorer for it. There are too many fools on the loose.”

Musical laughter erupted from deep within the teacher’s breast. “Has it ever been otherwise?”

Wells wanted to laugh, but he couldn’t find enough good humor within himself to manage even a half-hearted chuckle.

“No, I must follow the path my father laid out for me, even if it leads to death,” the teacher said. “That just leaves you, my friend. What are you going to do?”

Wells cast a backwards glance at the Ergosphere. “Go home, I guess. Dismantle the ship.”

“That would be a waste,” said the teacher.

“What would you do?” Wells asked.

The teacher smiled as if he had anticipated his question and replied, “It’s the glory of God to hide a thing, but to seek out the hidden is the honor of kings.”

Wells nodded. “I think I understand.”

“I knew you would.” The teacher stood and stretched, working circulation back into his legs. “I must be going now,” he said. “My friends are waiting for me.” He embraced Wells and kissed his cheek. “Go safely, my friend. I’m glad to know that there is one less fool on the loose.”

The teacher turned and began walking back inland, following the same path he had used to reach the lake.

“Hey,” Wells said, “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Look me up when you get home,” the teacher said, continuing along the path. “I’m not hard to find.”

What’s that supposed to mean? “But…can you at least tell me where I am?” Wells asked. “What’s the name of this place?”

The teacher turned and called out a single word, “Galilee,” and then continued along his path.

submitted by /u/SteampunkSherlock [link] [comments] via Blogger http://bit.ly/2DMNbDU

[speedofcattle]

Genocide, Not Apocalypse

Sometimes, I’ll admit, I write some really long essays on some really specific subjects. These essays are usually fun for me to write, but they are often for something of a niche readership and are probably of little overall importance in their content. This is not one of those essays.

The point of this essay is to put into words a simple argument for a perspective on the world I would like more people to take in the current political climate. I believe this argument might actually be of some importance because it concerns the narratives by which we understand not only our lives, but the future history of the world we live those lives in. The argument in question can be summarized quickly in the following statement: When looking to future national or global events in the world that seem to promise disastrous consequences, it is best to consider the possibility that such an event could result in a genocide, not an apocalypse.

This requires some breaking down, so I’ll start by addressing the “why should I care?” factor. Some might argue that there is no point in worrying about our narratives of the future because history is determined by things out of our control and will unfold however it was destined to regardless of what we think. This, I would argue in response, is built on a false premise that our thoughts don’t interact with the world around us. I don’t think it’s much of a stretch to claim that the thoughts we think influence our actions, which in turn influence the world. What’s more, I also don’t think it’s a stretch to claim that there are certain patterns by which we think of the world. When we discuss what we believe to have happened in the past or what might happen in the future, we are telling each other stories, or narratives, about the world. These narratives may or may not be true, but they tend to influence people’s thoughts about the world regardless of their “truth”. If narratives influence our thoughts and our thoughts indirectly influence the world, it would follow that narratives have some kind of bearing on how we conduct ourselves in the world. Thus our cultural narratives about the past and future are indeed important to keep track of if we want to feel like we have any insight into how we might end up impacting history in unexpected ways.

Having hopefully settled this point, I would now like to turn attention to a particular type of narrative that has been prominent throughout much of recorded human history: the apocalypse. Apocalypses exist in myth and religions all over the world and are currently enjoying a spike in popularity as the central events of a number of movies, TV shows and video games. The general arc of an apocalypse goes something like this: a population lives for a period of time by a set of rules and morals before somehow disgracing itself by becoming immoral; this could be accomplished by way of breaking anywhere from one rule to all rules, but a “slippery slope” is often implied (eg., if they start stealing, it’s only a matter of time before they start killing, etc.). During this period of immorality, a great change occurs seemingly in the reality of the world itself that is separated from the immoral actions of the people, though it is taken as a sign of some kind of divine dissatisfaction with the people’s immorality. At the pinnacle of the apocalyptic narrative, a great catastrophe happens and the world itself is effectively destroyed and built anew, usually by the now-explicitly-real divine being which is often some kind of metaphor for the material consequences brought on by the people’s immoral actions. The divine being, however, often also brings about a kind of “salvation” through this apocalypse: sometimes those who were good are rewarded in the new world, sometimes the whole point was that the world had become so wicked it simply needed to be destroyed in order to make life bearable again. The apocalypse thus ends with a “golden age” of restoration of the proper order of the world.

One interesting thing about the apocalypse is that it never happens - it exists almost by definition on the ending margins of history. There have been no recorded apocalypses in human history. In fact, it is largely expected that the apocalypse itself would signify the “end of history”, making it literally impossible to occur if one considers all events to happen within history. I know what you’re thinking: just because it hasn’t been observed, doesn’t mean it isn’t going to happen. That’s true, but it misses the larger point I’m trying to make here, which is this: the narrative of the apocalypse is ultimately one that denies humanity any agency in history with regard to its occurrence. When it happens, it happens regardless of what any individual or group has done to stop it; it arises out of some kind of deterministic necessity. It is an unstoppable force of divine judgement, a punishment for a humanity that has pulled too hard at its leash. In a way, it is nihilistic; nothing you do matters, just sit back, relax and enjoy your collective impending doom. So why is it such a popular narrative?

I can think of at least three possible prominent answers to this question and I’m not a big fan of any of them. The first is simple laziness; since the apocalypse is unpreventable and nothing can be done to even change its course, the individual is suddenly freed of their burden to feel responsible for anything. The interesting thing about this motivation is that it liberates both the morally-bound and the intensely immoral - the former see the impending judgement day as a chance to see all the evildoers wiped out without having to lift a finger, while the latter see it as a libertine’s fantasy in which no action can be evaluated by its consequences. But I expect more people are drawn to the apocalypse by one of these next two reasons. The first of these is a hatred for others, a desire to see some people “dragged down to your level”. In this view, the apocalypse is a kind of “equalizer”, an event in which all the world’s “heretics” will finally be punished. This is not unlike the laziness motivation for the “morally righteous”, but it is motivated more by hatred than any kind of laziness; there is a sadism at work in this perspective, a sneering at the rest of the world that seems so backwards as to be deserving only of such extreme punishment. The flipside of this view is the masochistic self-hatred; here, we find the person who admits that they feel worthless and think that the rest of humanity is no better, therefore we all deserve to die in the apocalypse.

No matter the motivation, the apocalypse remains an ideal that never actually realizes itself. This, however, does not stop its narrative from having an effect on the world in the meantime. Anyone familiar with more “extremist” religious doctrine might notice how the apocalypse is held over people’s heads as a kind of moral high ground, a threat used to scare people into conforming to a particular moral path. I would argue that the apocalypse narrative reaches far beyond the religious; the biggest sources of apocalyptic narratives in modern culture can be found in discourses on climate change and nuclear warfare. For over the last half-century, an incredible amount of fictional narratives have circulated detailing what are effectively God’s-eye-view revenge fantasies that threaten to “destroy the world” through nuclear or environmental apocalypse. It doesn’t matter if these fantasies are written and consumed by atheists or believers; their new “God” is now “nature” (or “human nature”), a kind of inevitable force equivalent to the older conception of God that exacts its vengeance on humanity for daring to overstep its boundaries.

In non-fiction media, too, the apocalyptic narrative hovers just outside the margins. It is seemingly expected that we will either blow each other up with toxic weapons that will make the whole world a barren rock, or we will push the environment past a “point of no return” at which point the ensuing climate change will re-shape the earth into some form equivalent to the post-nuclear-apocalypse waste land. To point out a specific example in politics, we need look no further than the reactions to Donald Trump’s election as US president in 2016. Granted, the suggestion that some would vote for Trump seemed, to some liberals, sin enough for humanity (or at least America) to deserve some kind of “punishment” in return. But the apocalyptic narrative goes deeper as old fears about nuclear warfare and climate change re-surfaced as more potentially “real” futures. If you stand in just the right point on the media (and social media) map and listen closely, you can hear the frequencies start to attune themselves into a monologue: “We don’t deserve the earth. We don’t deserve ‘humanity’ and ‘humanity’ doesn’t deserve to live. We [or at least the part of us that we don’t want to acknowledge as being a part of us] elected a leader that represents everything bad in the world, everything that goes against ‘nature’ - guns, oil, nuclear weapons, all the sins against our [supposedly peaceful] ‘Mother Nature’. We are unworthy, Mother. Please, Mother, make it all go away and destroy us once and for all!” After which the monologue ceases as the collective speaker collapses into a spiral of apathy and despair.

Because this is the true result, purpose, even, of the apocalyptic narrative: it is not a call to action on any issue but an empty framework that hangs over our heads threateningly. To put it simply, the apocalypse is inevitable and breeds either apathy or useless anxiety. Having established all this, one might be tempted to ask if there is an alternative framework by which we can view the world, one which might actually have the potential to inspire people to act rather than simply give up. My answer to this question is to try and re-frame the same “apocalyptic” issues from a new angle, that of genocide. Though genocides are culturally seen in a similar kind of horrific light to apocalypses, there are two big differences between them:

We have recorded historical evidence of past genocides, therefore a genocide can actually occur within history.

An apocalypse kills everyone, while genocide only kills everyone of a certain group. 

Why genocide? My first argument is that, all things considered, I believe genocide is actually a more likely outcome of the kinds of issues at hand today. Nuclear warfare would certainly be disastrous and has potential to kill off much of the population. However, while it could affect the entire world in our modern global capitalist ecosystem in which every nation is depending on others for some kind of product or sustenance, I find it unlikely that it would kill off the whole world’s population. Certainly it could make some parts of the world uninhabitable, but other parts of the world not threatened by the war could very well go on to survive and live on within their own “corners of the world”. And while I’m no climate scientist, I am aware of the fact that different climate scientists (and no, not just the ones bought out by oil companies) have different predictions about exactly what the results of climate change could be. Some expect it could end up drastically re-arranging the climate in different areas of the world, making some uninhabitable, much like the nuclear war scenario. However, as previously established, this hardly means “world destruction”, or even the destruction of humanity overall. People are fairly resilient, especially in times of hardship. They do whatever they can to survive, even if it means radically restructuring their lives in order to accommodate new changes.

Speaking of the survivors of these events, there is a particular group I’d like to call attention to that are probably going to be the most likely to survive: the rich and powerful. The rich and powerful either already have access to mass amounts of resources needed to survive or are better at procuring them than the rest of the population. It is not hard to imagine the aftermath of nuclear war or climate change quickly becoming a “survival of the fittest” in which most of the world’s underprivileged population dies off while the “strong” survive - indeed, this is practically the exact plot of the countless “post-apocalyptic” libertarian fantasies that dominate modern video game narratives. Or perhaps consequences will be a little less severe; maybe only one country will “lose” the nuclear war, or maybe it will only be the most impoverished “third world” countries that will be hit hard by climate change while the “first world” continues to live their lives as usual. The terrifying result could thus be that a genocide indeed occurs (“an entire country” or “large populations in the third world” affected still means millions dead), but the privileged nations that survive the genocide are hardly aware that it has happened. It is a “quiet” genocide, one that will mostly be attributed to some sort of “historical necessity” (see Hiroshima) or “biological consequences” (see indigenous genocide in the Americas). It is one that could happen over and over again, as long as the cause of genocide never reaches an apocalyptic scale. Arguably, such genocides are already occurring in the world at the moment.

But when a mass death/killing is labelled a “genocide”, the narrative changes so drastically as to differ radically from that of the apocalypse. Consider the holocaust of the Second World War: there is a very clear story told by the victors here in which the Nazi aggressors committed an evil act of mass murder against an underprivileged Jewish population. There are even those who will grant that some Nazis were “swept up in the current of history” and weren’t totally aware of the genocide they were committing, a position that seems to “naturalize” the killing. Dubious as this argument may be, it is mentioned to allow for the potential parallels with other kinds of modern genocide that might occur. The important conclusion to the genocide narrative (its “moral”, if you will) is that other nations recognized the genocide for what it was and stepped in to take action to prevent its further/repeated occurrence. This being said, some express regret that these nations had acted too late and already allowed millions to die, but this only goes on to highlight how important it is to make use of agency in such a situation. Because ultimately, human agency to stop a catastrophe is present in the narrative of a genocide, whereas the apocalyptic narrative distinctly lacks such a thing. The latter is nihilistic, while the former tells us it’s not too late.

An important note here: some might argue that a genocide is a horrible enough occurrence so as to violate some moral law by which no one can claim that humanity is at all “good” or “worthy of surviving”. There is sometimes a sense that even knowing of the human capacity to commit genocide is, in some sense, already the “mortal sin” that qualifies humanity for an apocalypse. There are complicated philosophical arguments about morality, existentialism and agency to be had here, but I will sidestep those with a slightly annoying response: the majority of humanity doesn’t seem to think so. Most people seem to want to keep living, and if they see problems with the world, they hold on to hope for a better world in the future. Some might call that naive; I would say such a thing hardly matters. How can it? If our history of violence isn’t enough to push everyone to mass suicidal longing, why would we expect tenuous philosophical debates to? The Second World War certainly caused a massive re-configuration of moral and existential philosophy, but humanity has continued to live past it and will continue to into the future. To me, this points towards exactly the kind of resistance I see in humanity that makes me dubious of claims that a supposedly “apocalyptic” event like nuclear war or climate change would really wipe us all out.

Having compared the two narratives, I will now return to the first claim I made. Why do I believe we should be looking at issues such as nuclear war and climate change as issues of potential genocide rather than as potential apocalypse? The simple answer is that by the nature of the narratives, a genocide is seen as something preventable, while an apocalypse is seen as something inevitable. Why does this matter? To be frank, if either of the two modern issues I have harped on in this essay turns out to be truly apocalyptic in scale, it doesn’t actually matter. An apocalypse, by definition, means that the situation was really out of our hands all along and it wouldn’t make a difference whether or not we believed we had the agency to stop it. If either, however, turns down the path of a genocide instead, then the belief that we have agency to stop this genocide is important in establishing a course of moral action. If we believe that we have no agency and misdiagnose the situation as an apocalypse, one part of the world’s population might live on in a state of apathetic malaise about the state of the world until one generation dies and a new one replaces it, while another part of the world will simply die and/or suffer in a situation that might have been preventable. If we, however, correctly understand the situation as a genocide, we have then primed ourselves with a belief in our agency to prevent it. Note here that it is not actually important whether we “really” have this agency; I am not trying to argue for the existence of free will here. Regardless of whether or not we have free will, it is not hard to believe that one’s belief in whether or not one has agency will affect how one proceeds to act accordingly. And if we really are facing potential genocide, and if we really are concerned with proceeding morally, we will need all the belief in agency we can get.