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camhallowes · 3 years

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Prologue: Fire From The Sky

The sound was like a buzzing of cicadas during mating season, loud and unfathomably grating to the ear. Even the sea birds, despite the random chance of a filling meal off the insects such a sound heralded, were bothered by the innate synthetic quality and began to fly away. The small cove's tide pools frothed and bubbled violently on the shore of the beach, as the artificial sound of cicadas became louder and louder. There was a brief pause, a stillness that lasted only a few moments, before a resounding >BOOM!< echoed like a blast of sonic rage inside a confined space of peace. The vibration it made was intense enough to shake apart the small fishing huts that dotted the Greek coastline on the edge of the Mediterranean. Sun weathered planks split into shards from the sonic blast, and salt-caked rowboats flipped and broke apart on the sharp rocks of the shoreline. Slowly, fish began to float up to the surface, their bellies ripped open by the shockwave, their eyes gone from the intense pressure they experienced underwater.

One by one, two dozen fish that were unluckily swimming near the coast floated up, all dead with their intestines coiling around them as the waves began their timeless routine and movement. Shortly thereafter, having come back to a dead silent, early sunrise fish feast, the sea birds swooped in and began to dive into the water for a mouthful of meat. Their caws and bickering over the abundance of fish carried in the wind for more than a few miles, to the sleepy fishing village of Actalia. Today was to be the last day of peace for each and every Actalian, who would be as dead as the fish by month's end.

Chapter One: The Sounds From Last Night

Day One.

The old man stumbled as he walked, the arthritis in his bones ailing him as it had done since the first gray hairs began to sprout on his head. Now, there was little chance of finding any lock of hair on his head at all. Theron's beard was long and unkempt, but he managed to keep his tunic and loincloth clean, thanks to all the long hours of walking the shore of the Mediterranean Sea. His shack was on the outskirts of town, the furthest home from the town center of Actalia. "Greetings old man! How does this fair morning treat you?" Theron looked up, his scowl of enduring the arthritic pain disappearing immediately once he saw who spoke to him from afar.

"Demetrios! You are awake much earlier than usual! I don't often see you until much after the sun has risen high above our heads!" quipped Theron, a small pep in his step as he approached his friend. As was the Greek way, once advanced age had set in, the youth of society began to disparage the elderly, leaving them to be cared for by family members. In Theron's case however, he had no family to speak of. Theron was his only true friend.

The younger man made a playful face of being upset by the mocking, but it was all in jest. Theron saw this as an opportunity and continued. "Perhaps that's why you sleep alone most nights, without the company of a mate… you are lazy!" At this latest jab at his masculinity, Demetrios took a slight offense, but his respect for his friend kept his harshest criticism behind a closed mouth. "Theron my friend, if you only knew the pain you inflicted on your wife when she was alive. Your drinking drove her to leave you, old man," he thought to himself. But without an angry word, Demetrios simply laughed it off.

"So true! Many nights spent alone, only to be awoken by this damned sun! Curse you Helios--" Demetrios looked up while clutching his chest in faux furor, but his expression quickly changed once he saw that the sun was covered in a smog-like haze. "Perhaps I shouldn't have said that… Theron, look up at the sky."

The old man braced his lower back with an old gnarled hand as he bent back and his eyes sought the sun in the sky. It was covered in a halo of smoke, or mist. As the two men looked up at the heavens above on the dirt road towards the Actalia, it began to rain smokey ash. At first it was faint, small microdots of residue, much like dust from a long ride on an oxen cart. Then, as they stood in awe, the particles thickened the sky, and soon, it was dense enough to cause shadows on the ground from the sun being obscured. Theron's tunic was now ashen colored, as was Demetrios' garment of course linen.

"Do you think this has anything to do with the sounds from last night?" asked the young man, brushing sediment from his hair.

"I do not know, my friend. Perhaps we have angered the gods…"

The sky wept ash for five days straight.

Chapter Two: I Am Hungry

Day 15.

No one was saddened by the death of an old man. Certainly not an entire village that was constantly bickering as to who should provide the next offering to the goddess of salvation Soteria, to stave off the pestilence that had cursed the land. No one but Demetrios. He discretely wiped a tear from his eye as he placed the last rock on the cairn built for his friend Theron. "I am glad you are not here to see this, my friend. It will only get worse from here."

Worse was an understatement, as the Actalians had practically driven themselves into a frenzy once the sky turned gray. It had been two weeks since the sun no longer provided warmth, and one week since the sea bled. The shore along the Mediterranean Sea had developed a crimson froth that killed almost every creature it touched, from fish to the birds that grazed for mollusks near the tide pools. The lack of bounty from the sea meant less food for the village, which increased tensions drastically. If Actalians didn't provide for the altar of Soteria, they were ostracized from the groups who shared their food, while those same two-faced thieves stole from the altar in the dead of night to fill their greedy bellies.

The roads had been closed due to raiding from neighboring towns, and the Actalian militia had resorted to killing any stranger on sight. The situation was becoming dire. Soon, the crops would fail, as there was almost no water to spare from the town wells.

"The textile family has died, my friend. Their son, Loukas, is now in my care," said Demetrios, wiping his hands on his tunic. It was dirty and ragged, without a clean spot to be seen. The small boy, aged ten, reached up to grab the man's hand. "I cannot believe I am a father, Theron. Who would have seen this coming."

"Demi, I am hungry, " complained Loukas, pulling at two of Demetrios' fingers. The boy's eyes were glossy, his eyelids reddened and crusty from the constant rubbing and wiping. His nose too, was clogged with snot as he did his best to keep his face free from dust and debris that hadn't stopped falling from the sky.

"I know Loukas. We will find food. Maybe we can eat more bark from the olive trees. That filled us, didn't it, son?" Demetrios did his best to console the young boy, even as the pains from his body made it torturous to bend down. The young man no longer felt young; the struggle to breathe was consuming him with each passing day.

Loukas sniffled and nodded. "Yes, Demi. It made me feel full."

The man looked across the once lush field of turnips and cabbages, now a makeshift graveyard filled edge to edge with cairns of dead Actalians. It would soon become a food storage plot, because within weeks, survivors from the god's wrath of the skyfall would be picking at those same rocks, desperately needing food to eat. In any form they could find.

Chapter Three: That's What Makes Us Human

Day 60.

The pair shuffled their feet, as Loukas helped Demetros walk down the dusty path towards the sea. Bones of cattle dotted the landscape, their bones stark white against the ashen dirt they rested on. There was no food left. Cannibalism was rampant. Loukas was a skeleton walking, while his protector was near death with each passing hour.

"Do you think there will be fish today, Demi?" the young boy asked. Somehow, he already knew the answer, but asking his guardian made him feel better. And yes, it did make Demetrios want to survive one more day, just knowing the young boy needed him.

"I do not know, Loukas. That's why we check every day. We cannot depend on the people to help, and we cannot ask the gods' forgiveness without an offering," he explained, wincing with each footstep. The soles of his feet were infected and filled with pus as his body decayed. "Perhaps if only we were kinder to one another, the gods would not be so angry. But you will see," he smiled weakly at the child next to him. "It will get better. We will rise again. Actalians are known for their strength and perseverance."

It was a lie. Demetrios knew it. The minute the village needed to rally and form a cohesive unity, the worst took place instead. Each and every person turned on the other, and what should have been a last stand turned into a traitorous mutiny on themselves.

"Yes… strength and perseverance, " he repeated softly, trying to convince himself with his own words. "That is our way."

Loukas coughed. It was getting worse, and Demitrious could tell it was no longer mucus he was expelling, but the lining of his lungs. He knew because the same was happening to him, only much less rapidly. Somehow, the sickness in the air affected the youngest and the oldest with much more intensity. The man gently clapped the back of the boy, helping him breathe again. "There, there. Get it all out."

"What does it mean to 'persevere,' Demi?" the boy asked, wiping a bloody mouth on his sleeve.

"Well, it means to…" Demetrios thought for a moment, as the bubbly froth of the sea began to fill his nostrils. The crimson forth spewed forth a smell of sulphur and ammonia, which burned the mucus inside the nose. "...it means to bravely face what is to come, and do our best. Yes, do our best."

The boy could feel the hesitation in the man's voice, but said nothing, simply listening some more. "Do our best to be what the gods intended us to be. Good to each other. Good to the animals. Good to what we grow and create. We must be good to the idea of good. That's what makes us human. That's what we need to be during moments like this."

The man and boy continued their walk to the shore, chatting about a life that was no longer to be. The gods had turned their back on Actalia. On the planet itself. There was no hope left.

Epilogue: Boom Goes the Cannon

"Absolutely brilliant! Do we have enough data?" asked the Admiral, as he chomped down on a syntho-cigar, half smoked with the ashes dropping down onto the floor. A small cleaning drone, programmed specifically for this purpose, followed the general's footsteps and sucked up the ash from the synthetic tobacco product. There hadn't been any crops grown on Earth for over 10 years, and smoking was a vice of the past. But Admiral McBride, commander of the last remnants of Earth's space-faring vessels, was never one to change the way things were done. The drone dutifully followed the Admiral, its spidery appendages giving it an almost glitchy gait as it kept in step.

"Yes, sir. The test was a complete success. The sub-atomic detonation and subsequent damage vectors were flawless. The orbital wormhole bombardment is now ready for combat deployment," replied the chief science advisor, as he tapped the air in front of him. The special ocular implants he wore allowed him to see an entire holographic AI-driven operating system hovering just above his waist, as he continued his report. "The newest intel suggests that there will be a four hour window for maximum lethality at six major Mercurian installations, one of which is a prime target for destruction."

The Admiral stopped in his tracks and pulled the syntho-cigar from his mouth, bits of wet and sticky tobacco leaves flicking off his lips as he spoke. "The breeding and growth chambers? There's a chance…?" The scientist quickly flicked his fingers, in mid-air, checking the calculations, then waiting for the system to display the percentage number of total eradication.

"At the highest lethality rate of decay, there's an 88% chance that the Mercurians won't be able to restock their gene pools. This could be the end, sir."

Admiral McBride slowly moved his hand towards his face and bit down on the cigar once more, sucking a long, deep drag of the pungent smoke. He held it in his chest for a pause as he thought about the implications of this new development. The science academy of Earth had finally achieved the 20 year long goal: testing species-ending warfare technology by sending the weapons through a wormhole, back in time, to a random point in Earth's history. The ramifications of temporal paradoxes and string theory events be damned, as it was imperative that the necessary tests and research data were conducted. The extinction of the homo sapien was near, as the Mercurian Horde advanced from light year to light year towards Earth. The Horde would bring with it the end of humanity, as each attempt to drive their exploratory forces away had been complete and total failures.

Exhaling, he nodded, tapping the end of the cigar and causing ash to fall again. The drone did its job as Admiral McBride barked out the order, sucking up the ash and waiting patiently for more work to do.

"Fire up the orbital cannons. Every last one of them. Launch all the goddamn nukes we got at those sum'bitches. Humanity won't die on my watch."

The End.

#spilled words #writing tips #writers #own story #creative writing #my writing #creative #writing #original story #short story

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mistressandcoffee · 12 years

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Marking (AmeCan, ACtalia)

Keeping up with the good habits, here comes more drabbles for Panoramicc's awesome Asscreed Hetalia Au, in which Matthew is a Templar and Alfred is an Assassin, and how their relationship grows more and more convoluted and passionate, and darker and desperate. I love AC so I like this Au a lot (I don't think I'll ever stop writing little things about Pan's world XD)

This happens perhaps a year or so after the events of Healing (in which Matthew wounded Alfred and nursed him back to health) and other major events in their life, which are of course spoilers. If you don't care about them and want to read more delicious angst and these two men getting closer to the point of no return you are welcome :3 But a friendly warning: it contains blood, violence and themes that should be treated with discretion.

Marking

"You are possessed Alfred! Stop it. Let go of me!" Matthew screamed Altered greatly by how things had turned out. They had been fighting -having accidentally encountered each other again- on a bridge in Venice when suddenly a part had fallen and the both ended up in the river. It had been an embarrassing affair -his clothes were not optimal for swimming- and he had owed his life to Alfred who, somehow, had managed them both to a shore. It had been by sheer luck that they, half drowned, had found some abandoned shed to pass the night.

Or so he had thought. The recent actions screamed nothing else but suspicion and, as Alfred shoved him to the ground, he realized with apprehension he had swum into a trap. The shed had been too tidy, the wooden floor and walls well oiled and without a sign of decay, the sparse furniture hadn't been covered with cloth, and it smelled too fresh for just being abandoned. He had noticed the existence of an oil lamp too late. He had been too bothered in trying not to watch Alfred' naked body, and fighting the strange feeling of gratitude towards an Assassin to notice Alfred Approaching with a dagger until it was too late.

Thanks to their previous encounters Matthew was certain their strengths were not equal, Alfred probably due to having to climb building to do his foul assassinations was stronger, and Matthew had learned to rely on his speed to defeat him, or fight him to stand still. So he knew the only way to push away the man currently on top of him was to play as dirty as the opportunity presented itself until he could get hold of his sword and fight on even grounds.

"I don't think so Mattie" the Assassin said, voice heavy and cutting, as if he had been drunk on a good wine. Blue eyes flashing dangerously, as the light reflected on the knife "If I am possessed then it would be by desire, and I am not enough of a fool to let you go when you are on my arms again!"

For the first time since he knew Alfred he was afraid, and he was ashamed of such cowardice. It was entirely his fault that he was in a trap, just how did he think stripping before this obsessed man was a good idea? Matthew was well aware of the Assassin's desires (and was well aware of his own, adulterous and sinful longing for the man in front of him)no matter how grateful he had been, or the fact he he now owed his life to the Assassin. He knew better than to strip himself nude.

He was afraid of what the man on top of him would do. He had a good idea of what he wanted, but the knife was out of place, and that unnerved him greatly, adding more and more blood to what could come if he wasn't fast enough to grab the safety of his sword. Was this perhaps some greatly elaborated ruse just to exact revenge for almost killing him earlier? Matthew frowned, even as he kicked the tan man on the gut, turning around and scurrying away to his sword. If that was the reason for such actions Alfred would have done so earlier, not now.

"I had clearly told you that day I wanted nothing of this" he spat, body tensing before kicking the Englishman on the gut, taking the momentum to push the other away and scurry to grab his sword, only to fall down when the blue eyed man tugged heartily on his heel. He only had time to put his hand before him, trying to keep his face from damage as he slammed onto the floor, Alfred making a swift work on immobilizing him, a shirt binding his wrist, a broad hand on his shoulder, and his weight putting him in place.

Matthew had never truly thought how different their bodies were until that night on Alfred's sick bed, and now, with the warm naked body pressed flush against his back, a hand on his scalp pushing him more and more against the cool wooden floor, the treacherous feeling of wanted to be caged came back in full force "Yes I remember our little conversation very well" was the mocking answer followed by lips brushing his neck lightly, he tried to move away from that burning caress, but the body above him wouldn't budge. "I wonder if you remember it too" and without further ado he was turned around, face to face with Alfred. Matthew had no chance of rebutting the question for the knife was placed on his chest as a clear warning: Alfred was now in control and there was nothing he could do.

Matthew shouldn't have found it pleasurable, but he did, and groaning into the hard kiss he hated himself for how twisted he had become. Alfred smiled at the breakthrough and let the knife warm on Matthew's skin a few more moments before ending the kiss, blue eyes joyous and demented with love and possession.

"That's good Mattie, relax" he whispered lovingly, feeling the body tense on the knife's travel. "I will never hurt you. but I need you to relax" and with that he sank lower, kissing his love sleeping member, relishing on the restrained shake before moving to his inner thigh, caressing the skin lightly before kissing it reverently once, twice and then letting the knife touch it. Matthew tensed immediately "No Alfred, stop-"

"It is necessary Mattie, now relax, I don't want to hurt you" he commanded again, confused as to why Matthew still believed he would do something foul. He would never raise a blade to harm Matthew, would never tighten his embrace just so and kill him. Matthew doubted, and it only gave more reasons to Alfred to just get on and over with it.

After this you will have no doubts about us. Alfred this you won't be able to deny us anymore. You will have no other option but accept you love me as well.

The first cut was the powerful whip of desire. The cutting attraction that trapped them. The sizzle of the friction between two worlds that haunted him ever since they saw each other that night on the tangy bar of Venice. The one that fueled their encounters, the one that had robbed them of all sanity that afternoon in an alley, only to remember the sin they had committed over and over again until want overrode all morals and left them wanting and hating themselves for such want.

The second cut was the mark of anguish and desperation, the certain sword that butchered his heart and soul upon finding out and regaining the memories of that night on his sick bed. Of remembering the feeling of Matthew's naked body between his arms, between his legs, pliant and desirous, just to lose him to a noblewoman. A noblewoman who, he hated to admit, was everything he was not, and would never be: had an amiable air, and an irreproachable conduct and reputation, a true lady. He could grudgingly see that, hadn't their destinies found each other, she would have been the perfect one for Matthew. It only hurt more to remember their heated encounter on the church, moments away from Matthew's marriage. Of the perverse and dangerous kiss on that church. Of the black promise sealed with a stolen kiss that he was now carrying out.

The third cut was for Matthew, because now he couldn't be in denial anymore. No armor to protect him, no upbringing that could hide and make pretense of not feeling them, of not caring who Alfred kissed, of not minding sleeping with his wife, of marrying her instead of running away with Alfred. He wouldn't be able to deny their attraction, to deny their relationship, to deny him - not after this, with the mark on such an intimate place. Matthew's widening eyes -even while clouded with pain and indignation, and still dry but with growing panic- gave Alfred all what he needed to know.

"Are you realizing now Matthew? I never sought to kill you" the Assassin whispered wickedly, feeling oddly powerful and glad, as the blood flowed freely from the cuts and stained the skin red, the mark almost complete. "I just want you to understand that you are mine. Not hers." touching his now bloodied knife against the sensitive skin , feeling the slight twitch and the muscles tensing in dreaded anticipation "Have you impregnated her already babe? I had told you, you'd better breed with her, have you seed on someone else before I robbed you of all desire."

Before the Templar could trash wildly in an attempt to break free -or to get himself killed Alfred didn't know - not that he cared, he immobilized the trashing quickly, using his strength to push the limbs to the ground, using a leg to pin a naked thigh to the ground, and using his weight as a leverage to hold the Frenchman still, and with a primal and savage smile he did the fourth and final cut.

"This one is for us Mattie" he said admiring his bleeding work He could have done a short two-cut Assassin's mark, but Alfred didn't feel that generous, his pain too raw, his heart and feelings too tumultuous and intense to be just represented in two clean cuts. Their relationship was much more than just an Assassin and a Templar, it couldn't deserve any less "for you and me" It was the mark of their love, how forbidden, heretic and daring it was like the Assassin's mark branding a Templar on his groin.

the silence that followed was stagnant, until Matthew seemed to regain his strength, violet eyes flashing in defiance and snarled "I'm going to destroy you" before pushing Alfred down, anger and shame fueling his strength. Taking the knife that now rested on the floor and aiming for a clean cut at his enemy's throat.

"No, you aren't going to do that. You are going to rest now-" he began dodging the strike easily, taking the wrist, not paying attention to the indignant "Don't touch me!", and continued "-and let me take care of the mark" at those words the Templar stopped, violet eyes widening in understanding, and Alfred felt smug.

So his Mattie was finally knowing what life with their mark would mean? If it hadn't been for the knife reflecting the light of the lamp he wouldn't have seen the knife moving until it was too late. As it was though, he acted on basic instinct preventing Matthew from stabbing himself on the stomach. His hold grew tighter until he Matthew dropped the knife but even then he continued in order to subdue the sudden suicidal trashing.

"Oh no, Mattie you won't! Stop it-" he had to immobilize the other against a wall of the shed, wrist on a unmovable hold over his shaking head, a hand under the nobleman's chin, his body pressed flush against Matthew, else Matthew would try to hurt himself. For the life of himself Alfred couldn't fathom such a reaction, or the cause of it. Was this so dismal to Matthew that he had tried- 'No Alfred, don't even finish that sentence. Matthew is just confused, afraid' "Mattie. Look at me! this is us, is it such an horrible fate?"

The Templar fought the hand on his chin, and even then, when they were face to face his eyes strayed away from him. Alfred had no doubt of the answer, and found his resolve faltering. But then he remembered their history, he remembered that room in one of the Assassin's hideouts in Venice, of his promise on the church, and found strength to rationalize with the borderline hysterical man. "It is not Mattie, You know it, I know it. Believe in me"

That seemed to elicit some reaction, Matthew's face had wiped around, curly bond hair whipping his face the same way his pained voice did."How?! You marked me! You did this to me!"

"I believed in you, even after you almost killed me"

"Those are two entirely different-"

"No they are't. Even if I was delirious, part of me knew I could still trust you to sleep in my arms. I knew you wouldn't kill or try to hurt me" Alfred confessed, voice earnest, foreheads touching, and for the first time, those violet eyes didn't stray away from him.

"It hurts now, but it will be beautiful Mattie"

"Turn around" Matthew said quietly, violet eyes dark.

Alfred snorted "I don't think I will, give my back to-"

"Turn around Alfred." Matthew hadn't raised his voice, but the authority carried on those words was unquestionable. For some bizarre moment Alfred felt as if he was in front of his father and not Matthew, it made him wince. No wonder Matthew had led many Templar missions, he was shaping up to be a great leader, he would probably have his own division soon if-

If it wasn't for his mark. Alfred paused at that detail, and nodded before giving his back to Matthew. The noble probably needed some time to himself. He had their weapons, so it wasn't as if Matthew could attempt against his life again.

He trusted Matthew to not run away - and well, even if he tried to escape he would probably lose consciousness soon due to the undressed mark. He had never expected to hear sobs which is why, when he heard the soft and contained sound he thought of a small animal. But once the sounds kept repeating themselves there was no doubt, and Alfred couldn't help his heart from breaking, each sob piercing it, each unseen tear chastising his soul, his feelings until he couldn't stand it anymore, and with three long strides he took the Templar's mar, turned he around, and hugged him.

He couldn't say he was sorry. He didn't regret marking Matthew, never would, in his mind and in his heart he knew it was due time drastic actions such as these happened, and he has warned Matthew that day on the church. No, his heart was breaking because he knew the true reason of those tears, it was those repressed feelings, the dam had broken, and there was no way to put it back. Not with the assassin's mark on his skin.

"You-" Matthew began, and to his credit, his voice didn't sound broken, just perhaps a bit on the low, even if his tears wet Alfred's shoulder, and his body trembled "this, it has ruined me" at the silent confession the assassin could do nothing else but Kiss the crown of Matthew's head, inhaling the fresh scent, the tears and the blood: the scent of their love. He sighed, trying to not let his own tears fall.

"Not only you, love." he said against his head, hold growing tighter, a hand rubbing his back in calming strokes. 'You aren't the only one ruined by this.' he thought resignedly 'I had to burn my bed because your scent haunted me, I could never lay on my alcove because the memories are still fresh on my mind. I cannot lay with women because my arms only want you in them. Have you know how much I cried when you denied me? How many Templar men I killed when I heard the news you were going to marry?! Such a wrong and forbidden feeling ties us both, don't ever think you are the only one suffering Matthew.' "It will get better." he continued confidence on each word, and finally, Matthew gave up and hugged him back fiercely.

He could feel their bodies touching, he could feel them answering to each inquisitive touch, even as he dressed the mark. But this was not how he had imagined taking Matthew, so he didn't do much else but hug the Frenchman and kiss him to sleep.

/do you know how horrible it feels writing all of the above while listening to this? A lot. Talk about inappropriate music.

#APH:America #APH:Canada #Mistress fics #actalia #Pan said they would have a happy ending #so I am writing all the tragedy and Angst I can #:)#let's see how Pan can manage that XD

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