#ah yes the tomb. The stone that will never and has never been rolled away… that one

[feything-n-frothing]

when it’s the scary bone cultist’s turn to say prayers…!

[icaruspendragon]

hiii, this might be weird, but who is Lazarus? I'm not religious, so I've tried searching for who he is, but I can't seem to get a clear answer and was wondering if you could explain him?

ah yes, lazarus of bethany. a man i consider to be equal parts friend and foe.

lazarus lived in bethany with his two sisters, mary and martha. and when we meet him, he’s sick. so much so that his sisters send for jesus of nazareth saying, “lord, your dear friend is very sick.”

jesus of nazareth was in jerusalem when he received the message. and despite being only a few miles from bethany, and despite jesus loving martha and mary and lazarus, he waited. he didn’t go to them straight away. he waited. he waited until lazarus died and then said, “lazarus’ sickness will not end in death. no, it happened for the glory of god so that the son of god will receive glory from this.”  

and when jesus finally made it to bethany he was told lazarus had already died. that he has already been in the grave for four days. and when martha, sister of lazarus got word that jesus was coming, she went to meet him. and mary, sister of lazarus did not. and when martha saw jesus she said to him, “lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

and jesus said to her, “your brother will rise again.”

but then mary arrived and she saw jesus and she fell at his feet and she said, “lord, if only you had been here, my brother would not have died.” and she wept over her brother. because she loved him and he was gone. and jesus should have been there. because if jesus had been there, her brother would not have died.

and jesus saw her weeping. and he saw the other people wailing with her. because lazarus was deeply loved. and now he was gone. and they had sent for jesus. they had prayed for a miracle. and that miracle didn’t come until it was four days too late. and they didn’t know that jesus was going to bring lazarus back. they didn’t know that jesus had waited that long to teach a lesson. to prove a point. they just knew jesus was too late. and now they were forced to grieve.

and then a deep anger welled up in jesus. and he was deeply troubled. and jesus asks, “where have you put him?” and the people say, “lord, come and see.” and he does. and when he sees, jesus weeps. when he sees, we get the shortest verse in the bible. a mere two words to sum up an entire town’s grief. two words to convey the loss of a sibling. two words are offered for the preventable death of a loved man.

jesus is four days too late. and jesus?

jesus wept.

and the people who loved lazarus turned to him and said to jesus, “see how much he loved him!”

jesus loved lazarus. and then he let him die.

and some of the people said about jesus “this man healed a blind man. couldn’t he have kept lazarus from dying?”

and then jesus, who knew all along that he would revive lazarus. jesus, who let all those people mourn. jesus, who let those sisters lose their brother. jesus, who let them weep. jesus, who wept with them. that very same jesus said to those who loved lazarus, who mourned him, jesus of nazareth said to them, “didn’t i tell you that you would see god’s glory if you believe?”

and then the stone of lazarus’ tomb was rolled aside. and then jesus looked up to heaven and said, “father, thank you for hearing me. you always hear me, but i said it out loud for the sake of all these people standing here, so that they will believe you sent me.” and then jesus shouted, “lazarus, come out!” and he did.

lazarus the dead man came out, his hands and feet and face wrapped still in burial cloth. and then jesus of nazareth told them, “unwrap him and let him go!”

and then lazarus of bethany became lazarus of the grave. lazarus of the grave that will never be left behind even though he has risen and relinquished. lazarus of the grave who did not make good his escape unscathed. lazarus of the grave who will now check each darkened doorway as death and his sting is keenly felt.

lazarus was a man. a man whose family loved him. a man whose sisters sent for a miracle. a man whose sisters mourned him in the four days it took for that miracle to show up. a man who was made an example for no reason other than being loved by jesus. a thing that we are all told to be. loved by our savior.

lazarus is a man who makes me wonder three things. firstly, if jesus had been there that my brother may not have died. secondly, if jesus of nazareth too weeps for me. and thirdly, if jesus loves us and we in turn love him too like the scriptures command, why does he use us in the lessons he teaches.

why must we be the men he makes believers of?

so lazarus was just a man whose crime was loving jesus. and martha was just a girl whose crime was loving her brother. and they both suffered a miracle because of it.

[lavendermin]

if all stars fell at once (4) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3.1k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warnings | light smut, eventual smut

Routine.

Defined as habitual tasks you partake in on a regular basis. These monotonous daily routines are what provided a grasp of control amid the uncontrollable and brought you order in a time of uncertainty.

The dawn of a new day started with the bittersweet greeting of the mourning doves’ songs. It gently tugged your consciousness forward, your weary limbs stretching out beneath warm covers. Your eyes would peek open and be greeted by the same dull room, bed tucked in a far corner. The sheets over old furniture still haunted you, the house inherited by past ghosts of memories.

It was a husk you resided in, perhaps a tomb you inherited. And as with every morning, you push the thought away.

A quick wash-up and breakfast helps kickstart your day before you’re off to run any errands listed off in your mind already. Fresh morning dew still glistens on the grass when you leave.

Days where errands would carry you to the harbor would have their own side routine you knew fairly well. Checking Bubu Pharmacy for any medicine pickups for the village elders, a quick chat with Ganyu as you passed her during one of her duties, a passing stop to the markets by the docks for supplies, and the occasional prolonged stay for lunch per the invitation of Zhongli and his courteous acquaintance. Every week, just like clockwork.

The busy day would wind down near the docks, watching the waves as they crashed upon rocks and taking in the scent of the sea spray that swept by you with it’s breeze. If you closed your eyes, the sounds of the sea and bustling voices of the harbor would meld together into one— a comforting cacophony of background noise to keep you grounded before the harbor’s relentless energy swept you away.

The city was a little much for you. It made you miss the tranquility of the small place you resided in tucked far back in the village.

And so everyday your heels pointed back towards home, ending with a meal in between more work you buried yourself in until odd hours of the night.

This was the routine you came to know with seldom any out-of-the-ordinary variation.

And then, curiously, slowly, the yaksha you came to befriend incorporated himself into the routine— first embedded into your routines and soon enough ever-present in your heart. Perhaps you could say that he altered your habits for the better.

Nowadays, leaving the harbor after errands is pleasant. No longer does the road back to Qingce isolate you into your thoughts. The sun that casts mesmerizing hues upon the sky as it sets leaves a pleasant warmth on your face. You look forward to his name on your tongue.

‘Xiao.’

The summon rings out clearly amidst his tumultuous headspace, bringing brief peace with the familiarity of the voice. In an instant he’s at your side, the ominous mist that enveloped him subsiding. There's a wordless question in his eyes as he shyly laces his fingers with yours.

With a light squeeze of his hand, you reply, “Let’s go home.”

There’s a pleasant silence that accompanies these walks, his hand firmly holding yours as if you might slip through his grasp at any given moment. On occasion, he would ask how your day went just to hear your voice. Though he wasn’t fond of the crowded hustle and bustle of the harbor, hearing your little enthusiastic retelling was enough to leave him with vivid imagery. Your voice was his comfort.

Arriving home has also taken on a newfound normalcy. With Xiao around, the once-empty house you inherited no longer feels foreign. Finally, with sure conviction, you can say it feels like your own.

Shelves that were once scarce with items and decor were now neatly arranged with ornaments and small handcrafts that Xiao has given you. The bookshelf that was once littered with dust and cobwebs is now rich with rows of books of all sorts. Even tables and bedside stands that were once empty are now always adorned with flowers that you and Xiao pick while out stargazing. These items are glimpses into the new pastimes you treasure to make time for.

Today was one such day where the breeze was pleasant as the sun tucked away for the night. However instead of being outside, you chose to take up comfort reading indoors. There on a pile of blankets and pillows you sat comfortably, Xiao resting his head on your lap to intently listen to you read aloud.

The adeptus reminded you of a cat that’s getting comfortable with a stranger they keep meeting. The spots he chose to rest on were getting much closer in proximity, but never directly on you. That is, until you boldly asked if he would like to rest on your lap and he settled there gratefully with your permission.

You closed the book, running your hand through his hair to get the yaksha to open one eye. “Are you sure you want to hear me read this poem book again? I’m sure you know it by heart at this point,” you pointed out with a laugh. “Why don’t you choose a book this time?”

There was a moment of contemplation before Xiao relented and went to search through the many book spines readily available. A glistening stone caught his attention again—his hand visibly hesitating for a moment.

You leaned your body over a bit from your comfortable pillow haven, curious as to what book he would select. Part of you expected him to select a random one off the bookcase, and was surprised to have a quaint little red book placed in your hands.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… about this one,” Xiao started, his face neutral but betrayed by the twinge of pink that was hidden by the dimness of the lamplight.

“This is…?”

He shrugged. “The subject of this book— is this something you like?”

Confused, you opened the cover. Inscribed on the inside in unmistakable cursive was a message from a certain librarian— a friend. Your brows creased, mouth pressed in a thin line as your eyes skimmed over the note the particular librarian left. A subtle feeling of dread crept over you.

‘Hey cutie, sent you a few goodies that were offloaded from our catalogue this season. Thought you might enjoy this one to spice things up a bit. I know how curious you were about the forbidden section, so here’s a little glimpse for you.’

Oh no… You quickly skimmed through some pages of the book that felt hot in your grip. Or perhaps it was your entire body flushed with embarrassment at the lewd imagery the story portrayed

“I–I didn’t… I d–didn’t know Lisa sent this along with the other books. This book— I haven’t read before so… um…” You anxiously bit your lip, voice growing quieter the more you went on. “I–It was a gift. I didn’t know.”

Xiao hummed, hand grazing your reddened cheeks curiously as you fanned your face. There was practically steam rolling off you.

“So,” Xiao started cautiously, “The things the book spoke of— it’s not something you like?”

If you were red before, you couldn’t possibly imagine how you looked now.

“N–No! I mean— Yes. I mean—!” You fumbled over your words, flustered over such an erotic novel unknowingly being in your possession.

“So, it makes you… happy?”

“Xiao— Stop, please— I’m going to die of embarrassment,” you squeaked into your hands.

His persistent curiosity would be the death of you at this rate. You buried your face under a pillow, too overwhelmed by the suggestive images still swirling in your head.

A little dumbfounded by your reaction, Xiao could only watch your huddled form hide away as he awkwardly rubbed your back in an attempt at reassurance.

The adeptus finally gained a bit of your attention, quietly inquiring, “Do you not wish to talk about that type of subject?”

The grip on your pillow slowly eased up, partially uncovering your face to meet his gaze. There wasn’t an ounce of discomfort on his face, and it was reassuring save for the fact that you were the one needing to explain.

“It’s not… that I don’t want to. Intimacy like— that—“ You pointed accusingly at the book now in his hands. “Is something, uhm, highly emotional— in a good way! Ah, what am I saying… It’s an act of love and bonding with a significant other, so to speak. Usually. Ah— it’s a little complicated.”

As you fumbled with your train of thought, his hand slowly placed itself over yours, thumb brushing over your knuckles. It drew your little state of panic to a close, feeling him press his lips to your forehead in a moment of soft distraction. It quickly brought a small thankful smile to your lips.

Kisses made you happy. This was a fact Xiao had learned.

“Let’s talk about it another time. Do not stress yourself over it.”

You nod timidly, choosing to hide your face in the crook of his neck. “...Okay.”

Xiao leaves not too long after, disappearing into the shadows to diligently tend to his duties. Sleep finds you quicker when he’s not around, though your mind is still tumultuous.

You had half a mind to go straight to Mondstadt and give Lisa a stern reprimand, not that she would care. If anything, it would fuel her amusement and her teasing would become more unbearable especially when your heart could barely handle Xiao boldly initiating displays of affection. That librarian was more perceptive than her languid facade let on.

For the time being you buried the cursed erotic book within cluttered closet boxes and called it a night.

Out of sight, out of mind.

—

A bead of sweat rolling down his temple caught a glimmer of the pale moon watching over him. Beasts that were affected by his karmic debt laid strewn across the battlefield. It weighed heavy on his mind, a distasteful reminder of increasing demonic activity with the Lantern Rite a few weeks away.

There was a light burning sensation that twinged Xiao’s calves and arms, and he rolled his shoulders to relieve his muscles from the fatigue of ceaseless combat. His tired muscles were just about ready to turn in for the night and make his way to Wangshu Inn.

But he paused. The voice tugged at his mind.

‘Xiao…’

There was no mistaking it. It was your voice.

The ache in his muscles was an issue for later. There was strain in your voice, evident discomfort. The reason was uncertain but as much as Xiao wanted to deny it, he was alarmed ever so slightly.

A blur of black mist was all it took and he was gone under the serene moonlight. When he found you, his guard was high with lingering confusion. An intruder was his first thought.

A quick walk around the house, footsteps lighter than the breeze that accompanied him. Nothing. No other presences detected either.

‘You called me, but why?’ Xiao questioned.

The bed gently dipped with quiet creaks where he sat next to you, brushing his thumb over your cheek. Your peaceful sleep was broken as your brows slightly furrowed, breathing slightly labored with small whimpers you let out.

“...X–Xiao,” you quietly whimpered amidst your sleep.

Ah, you had summoned him in your sleep then. How odd. It was a first, to say the least, but he couldn’t be upset with you.

‘Another nightmare…?’

Just how bad could a nightmare be that you would desperately call his name in your sleep, he wondered? But a promise was a promise. He was determined to rid you of your ailments if it was within his power.

The yaksha took in a deep breath, focusing himself fully before slowly exhaling a puff of dark mist. The aches in his body went ignored.

Dearest dream eater, won’t you save her?

—

The sound of his footsteps pacing a dark corridor— humid, stuffy as he pressed forward following the muffled sound of your voice. It’s something he will never forget though he feels he should.

To feel haunted by a dream’s fragments that refuse to vanish is something he should laugh at. It’s not real.

Then why?

Bits and pieces are burned into his memory. Perhaps in a torturously pleasant way he never really imagined. Blame it on him never finding someone he considered such private feelings with.

Xiao did not stay that night after consuming the dream, nor did he come back to check on you come morning as he usually did. On the tiled roof of Wangshu Inn he lays, brows furrowed and a strange warmth pooling throughout his lower torso.

The memory is unlike others that plague him, though it causes him inner turmoil with the increased bodily frustration.

Those eyes… haunt him. The smugness on the face that stared back at him then was enough to piss him off. The reasons festering in his tightened chest he couldn’t quite explain. The fragments would rewind and play, rewind and play, over and over since that night.

‘So,’ the familiar red stranger began with an amused smirk. ‘Looks like the yaksha really will answer any call of his name.’

They made it a point to maintain eye contact as they pressed their lips to your temple, arms holding your back flush against his chest.

Those piercing jade eyes— a mockingly similar exterior. It was like Xiao stared at a twisted reflection of himself conjured by your dream, the red accents in his hair and clothes a fiery scarlet akin to the bubbling anger he felt upon seeing the illusion lay its hands on you. The fact that they spoke in his same voice was enough to raise a rumbling growl within Xiao’s chest.

Quiet huffs left your parted lips as your chest heaved, a scarlet sash tied over your eyes like a blindfold.

‘Xiao, I–‘ Your body shivered at the feeling of his hands gliding over the inside of your thighs. It made you let out an involuntary whimper, cheeks aflame with arousal.

‘That’s enough,’ Xiao commanded the dream illusion of himself through gritted teeth.

The scarlet-hued Xiao shifted you in his lap, his lips set in a mocking smirk as his hand slipped between your legs to elicit sweet mewls from your parted lips. What Xiao wouldn’t give to conjure his spear then and there to wipe that irksome grin off his own face.

The illusion hummed, making it a point to place a kiss to the swell of your exposed chest. ‘Surely you don’t mean to ignore our person’s feelings? Or our own, for that matter. How crude of you, adeptus, to try and stop something she begged me for— something our body clearly begs for, as well.’

‘Quiet.’

The silence was deafening, though the illusion only seemed to stop momentarily out of amusement in seeing how long the real Xiao could uphold such a serious facade. Internally, he battles with two new emotions he hadn’t experienced before— jealousy and arousal. Somehow, because he could channel a warrior's rage through jealousy, the other warm feeling seemed to be drowned out. For now.

‘Silence me all you’d like. Deny your desires until you grow numb, for all I care. But for your human, these desires are your bond,’ the illusion persuaded, unbothered by the icy daggers Xiao glared through him. ‘Isn’t that right, my love?’

His fingers slowly working at the sweet, throbbing ache between your legs left you unable to form any coherent thoughts. Perhaps it was deliberate so your mind was elsewhere, drowning in a hazy pleasure. The gasps and mewls leaving your shaking body were slowly getting to the adeptus. Ironic, just how similar to that stupid book this was.

Xiao scoffed, and prepared himself to finish what he had sought out to do. ‘I don’t concern myself with desires. I’ve had enough of you.’

As Xiao unraveled and crumbled the dreamscape around him, the illusion remained smiling with sly intention.

‘Dishonesty will get you nowhere, Adeptus Xiao. She will be forced to forget this dream, but these feelings you both harbor cannot be erased so easily.’ The illusion lifted the ribbon from your eyes, leaving Xiao momentarily frozen.

Eyes are the windows to the soul, and what he saw in those misty eyes left his body aflame— confused. His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he swallows thickly.

Once you get a taste, a dormant desire will begin to flourish.

The sly illusion holds their hand out invitingly, jade eyes unreadable as they scrutinize Xiao’s movements. It’s hesitant— the small step forward he takes.

‘What are you waiting for, adeptus?’

—

There’s a harsh gust of wind that blows through, the skies of Liyue harbor a dull grey with the rolling storm. The crashing sounds of waves upon the rocks below the docks resonate with your tempestuous heart. Weary eyes scan the horizon of the uneven sea, looking past the peaks of Guyun Stone Forest in the distance. You cling onto the hope of catching a glimpse of something— something to ease your worrisome heart.

“It’s been a few weeks,” you note quietly, the door of the balcony clicking shut as you walk back into the warm home office.

Yanfei answers without looking up, her hands still furiously scribbling on the parchments that have slowly accumulated into a towering pile. “He’s probably busy. With what exactly, I wouldn’t know— but I’m sure you have a better idea.” She sighs, regretting the coldness of her blunt tone. She adds in a softer tone, finally looking up, “Sorry, I’m not much help if it’s not consultation involving the law.”

The legal adviser can only watch helplessly as your eyes drift back to the window to gaze out beyond the sea’s horizon.

“He’s going to the Lantern Rite festivities with you, right?”

You turn back enough to meet her hopeful gaze with a sad smile. The silence is all the answer she needs.

“Was that a stupid question to ask?”

You shake your head, and turn your face back to the window so she can’t look further into the feelings you try to conceal.

The Lantern Rite was in a few days, and Xiao was nowhere to be seen. Though there've been occasions where you hardly saw him, this… this time was different. It was a feeling you couldn’t shake off and it filled you with uneasiness.

The thought of calling his name and receiving no answer terrified you. Doubt was quick to grip your mind in a vice.

“I think I’m the stupid one.”

[lucientelrunya]

Like a lonely house pt 2

Chaotic me deciced to switch back to present tense (already edited part one) and I'm still quite clueless how to tag. But it gave me so much joy to see people enjoy my little idea.

Please feel free to point out any mistakes you spot, I'm always trying to improve my writing and stop myself from agonizing over every sentence and constantly rewrite everything...

I think Zhang Rishan might be a tad bit dramatic in this part, but I hope you enjoy this anyway :)

The blackness and cotton in his head only slowly recede, permeated by the sound of muffled voices Zhang Rishan knows. The voices carry an urgency, an impalpable sense of importance that drags him back to consciousness with a sudden harshness. Still it takes more effort than it should to blink his eyes open and for a moment he is confused why there is a stone ceiling above him and why little white flakes are clinging to his lashes. He rubs at his eyes, his movement sluggish and his arm feels heavy, a dull ache that causes the memories to come rushing back. The strange tomb, the force controlling him, the ritual, the pool - Ba Ye. It’s not a dream - nightmare? - or at least not all of it and he sits up way too quickly for his body to adjust. Thankfully someone grabs his shoulders - again - to keep him upright.

It takes Zhang Rishan another long moment to blink away the black spots and recognize Luo Que beside him, offering him an already open bottle of water, which is considerate and much appreciated. He really needs to drink something, at least to get the taste of copper and something he can’t even begin to describe out of his mouth. The strange pale liquid has dried all over his skin and clothes like some sort of clay, cracking and peeling off in flakes and powdery dust when he moves. He opts to ignore it for now, content with getting it off his lips and out of his eyes.

Luo Que doesn’t say anything and patiently waits for him to gulp down most of the bottle before he sits back again, letting go of Zhang Rishan’s shoulders and looking at him with a barely there question in his eyes. And, yeah, Zhang Rishan would like to know what’s going on here himself, thank you very much. With his vision mostly free of black spots and blurring edges he dares to look around him, having already spotted Zhang Qiling’s black clad legs next to him from the corner of his eye. He is lying on a sleeping bag right next to him, with Huo Daofu examining him quietly and unhurriedly.

And Zhang Rishan’s brain is still mushy enough to take a long moment to truly comprehend what he is looking at when he finds the source of the voices. Liu Sang and Pangzi arguing is not some rare occurrence (as he has learned in the last two days), although it's not really arguing and more of a friendly stage of bickering, but Liu Sang and Wang Pangzi arguing with Ba Ye is not normal, not in the least. So it really hasn’t been a dream or his imagination.

An illusion then, maybe? A hallucination, like the meteorite inside the tomb and Er Ye getting back his dead wife? Maybe he is still in the pool and all of this is just a hallucination? But back then the whole fake world had frozen once Ba Ye had started to doubt and Zhang Rishan is absolutely doubting the possibility of this being real. It feels too much like Er Ye’s illusion of getting Yatou back and Zhang Rishan has lived long enough to know that there is no way to truly bring a dead person back to life.

No one freezes and no one vanishes, not even when he puts his hand on his arm to push a thumb into the wound beneath the bandages and elicits a spark of pain that is absolutely and undeniably real. It quickly vanishes again, his body cataloguing it under ‘inconvenient but not life threatening’ and opting to ignore it like he had been trained. But it leaves Zhang Rishan fairly confident in his assumption that this is not an illusion.

He must have been staring, lost in his contemplation of what is real and what isn’t, because suddenly Ba Ye is turning towards him, a look of relief flashing over his face. “Lieutenant! You are awake! Please, please tell these people who I am!” He sounds worried but also a little irritated and whiny, and so much like the Ba Ye Zhang Rishan remembers. For a moment he allows himself to just watch Ba Ye come over and squat down in front of him. He had obviously tried to wipe his glasses off on his equally stained scarf resulting in smudged pale lines all over his glasses and his face.

And he has to fight the urge to reach out and touch, to convince himself that Ba Ye is real, because he has been dead and gone for almost 80 years. Even if they never found his body, even if he had been hidden somewhere by Qiu De Kao for whatever reason there is just no way for him to be alive right now, alive and the same, he is no Zhang, he has no qilin blood.

Wu Xie kneeling down beside him, half on Zhang Qiling’s sleeping bag, breaks the moment. “You know him” and although it’s not a question Zhang Rishan nods. He glances at Wu Xie, who looks worried but also curious and intrigued, always drawn to mysteries. Pangzi and Liu Sang come over, too, placing themselves behind Ba Ye like they are prepared to grab and restrain him if he tries anything, but they look at Zhang Rishan. With at least 5 pairs of expectant eyes on him, probably six, he has to squish the feeling of vulnerability and helplessness that wants to crawl out and drape itself all over him. Instead he consciously straightens his back, squares his shoulders and shifts to sit cross-legged.

He has no idea what’s going on here, no idea how to tell Ba Ye where or rather when he is now (because right now he can’t fight the acceptance that this is a living, breathing Ba Ye who just hasn’t aged a day) or what happened in the pool or if everything did really happen like he thinks. If that being had been there, in the pool and had granted him a wish he hadn’t ever put into words, had made a fleeting thought into a new reality. Each of them is looking at him like he has all the answers and he hates that he is sitting here on the floor of a dimly lit cave, on a sleeping bag someone else has rolled out for him, with bandages around his arms and feeling so utterly helpless. He can’t suppress the bitter thought that Fo Ye would have known what to do.

Taking a deep breath he decides to start with what he is sure of, which is the answer to Wu Xie’s “You know him”. “I do know this man, his name is Qi Tiezui, also known as Ba Ye”, and the name and the title should mean something to at least Wu Xie and maybe Huo Daofu, even if they obviously don’t recognize him from old photos. Maybe because they never paid attention to those pictures, which are faded and grainy compared to what even the simplest smartphone camera is able to capture nowadays or maybe because Ba Ye looks like he took a mud bath. Maybe both.

On to the second thing he is quite certain of: “As to what happened, I’m not really sure myself. As soon as I entered the tomb some force took over my body and I suppose Zhang Qiling's as well and we came to this cave to enact some kind of blood sacrifice ritual for whatever deity they are worshipping here.” No need to point out he had been meant to be the sacrifice, that bit is quite obvious, although he is not sure why Zhang Qiling is the one still unconscious then. “There was chanting, but I wasn’t able to understand it”, he adds, which makes Liu Sang nod at him. “Yeah, I heard you through the wall, but wasn’t able to identify the words either.”

Zhang Rishan considers asking why they hadn’t followed them into the cave and tried to stop the whole thing, if only to give him a little more time to try and find words for what happened after that, but he doesn’t have to voice his question. “Yeah, almost broke my damn nose trying to follow you two through that convenient little magic wall that suddenly turned into a real wall after you two went through, and we couldn’t find a mechanism or another entry or hear anything. Imagine our immense joy at hearing this idiot here say there’s ‘eerie chanting’!” Pangzi grumbles and there is no need for him to add that the use of some explosives had been on the table. Or had they used explosives?

“Did you blow a hole into the wall?” Zhang Rishan asks, eyeing a pile of broken stone in the vicinity of the wall, but Pangzi shakes his head. “Nah, I wanted to, but then the ground started to shake and - poof - the entrance was back and actually visible.” It takes Zhang Rishan another moment to realize the rubble is what’s left of the statue he had only glimpsed upon entering the cave. Had the earthquake destroyed it? Had it even been an earthquake?

Wu Xie humms beside him, following his line of sight for a moment before he points to the wall behind the rubble. “There are some murals depicting locals worshipping a deity that I have never seen before. But it seems to be for protection against droughts or bad harvests, your garden-variety-harvest-god to ensure plenty of food and the likes. Nothing that can bring dead people back to life.” Ah, right back to the burning question.

Ba Ye sputters quite helplessly at that. “Dead? What do you mean dead? Do I look dead to you? Lieutenant, what is going on here, who are these people?” Considering that Ba Ye’s face is still mostly covered in white it wouldn’t be that unreasonable to mistake him for a ghost. But beneath that he doesn’t look dead or like a walking corpse, he looks just like Zhang Rishan remembers him, just like the last time he had seen him before he had vanished. And he still has no idea how to tell Ba Ye that everyone he knows is dead. Well, everyone except Zhang Rishan.

“I’m Wu Xie, this is Wang Pangzi, Liu Sang, Luo Que and behind me are Huo Daofu and Zhang Qiling.” Wu Xie blindly pats Zhang Qiling’s lower leg when he says his name, his eyes never leaving Ba Ye’s face, gauging his reaction to two familiar family names. And Ba Ye doesn’t disappoint, confusion clearly written all over his face. He is mouthing ‘Wu’ and ‘Huo’ while his eyes scan Wu Xie’s face before he looks at Zhang Rishan with a mixture of confusion, incomprehension and helplessness.

“He is Wu Laogou’s grandson”, Zhang Rishan says softly, because their relation is the most obvious to emphasize how much time has passed and the most obvious in terms of resemblance, Ba Ye must have seen that. And Zhang Rishan holds his gaze until Ba Ye looks down, takes a deep breath, closes his mouth and lets himself plop back down to sit on the ground, his whole body curling inwards. This would be a lot to take in for everybody and Zhang Rishan would like to give Ba Ye a moment to compose himself without everyone else staring at him. There are things he hasn’t told them yet, but he is still not sure how to put any of that into words.

“Did the murals say anything about something being confined here?” Zhang Rishan asks Wu Xie, who just looks puzzled. “Confined? What do you mean?” And he really has to try and put it into words, there is no way around it, is there? He takes another deep breath through his nose. “For the ceremony I was kneeling in that pool and when the tremors started I fell into whatever liquid is in there, and it was like - like there was something in there with me. Like it was a living thing with a consciousness and whatever we did in that ceremony it set that thing free.” He can already feel some doubtful looks but nobody starts to interrupt him and Wu Xie actually nods thoughtfully like he can imagine that, so he continues: “It was communicating with me, not with words, more like with feelings and impressions,” and he just waits for Huo Daofu to interrupt him, to say something about blood loss and hallucinations, but he doesn’t, he just doesn’t - “It made very clear that it had been imprisoned here for whatever purpose and that it was just so very thankful that I set it free.”

Everyone is quiet, mulling over those words. There are still so many questions, like who or what had controlled them to enact this ceremony? Had it been the imprisoned being? Or something else? But why? And who had sealed the tomb? And why?

“So you set some ancient being free and someone from your past turns up. What if he is no human but that being in the shape of someone it saw while it was inside your mind?” Liu Sang questions, looking at Ba Ye thoughtfully who stops his calculations to stare back incredulously. “What? First I’m dead, now I’m some preternatural being? Let me tell you, I’m just a fortune teller!” He acts and sounds just like Ba Ye, but Liu Sang has a point, that being had looked into his mind, had probably had access to all his thoughts and memories. It makes his head hurt even thinking about it.

Pangzi and Liu Sang start bickering about how to test that theory, to find out if someone is human and it only gets more chaotic when Zhang Qiling wakes up and Wu Xie starts worrying over him, asking him how he feels and if he is alright while Huo Daofu tries to rule out a concussion. Zhang Rishan tries to ignore them for the moment, even though he would like to get Zhang Qiling’s version of the ceremony. He feels torn between the possible explanations for this situation, but why would some ancient being that had been trapped in a cave for centuries if not millenia take human form and stay with them? To play tricks on him? Or maybe-

“Lieutenant, if so much time has passed that the grandson of Wu Laogu is at least as old as I am, how come you haven’t aged a day?” Ba Ye’s question jolts him out of these thoughts. “It’s a Zhang-family-thing”, he answers, because Ba Ye already knows so much about their family that it should be enough. Ba Ye nods, visibly brightening at the answer, as if he had hoped for something along those lines. “So, why don’t we just ask Fo Ye for help to prove I’m just a normal human? I mean, if that being was in your head and knows what you know it doesn’t know everything about me.”

Of course he would think of Fo Ye as the answer to everything and of course Zhang Rishan has to say it now. He shakes his head slightly and forces himself to watch Ba Ye’s face and catalogue his reaction. “No. Fo Ye is not with us anymore.” It’s cruel, so cruel to tell him like this and Zhang Rishan hates it even more than he hates saying the words at all. Ba Ye’s whole face crumples but he visibly tries to hide his distress. “How on earth am I supposed to prove I’m just a normal human, then?” he bristles, obviously trying to distract himself with anger. “Tell me! What should I do!” Those last words are directed towards Pangzi and Liu Sang behind him who actually stop their bickering and have the grace to look embarrassed.

“Why would that being even want to stay here? What could be in it for... it?” Pangzi voices Zhang Rishan’s thoughts from before. “Maybe it needs help to leave the cave?” Wu Xie suggests, joining the conversation again after assuring himself that Zhang Qiling is fine aside from a cut on his forehead. “Or maybe it’s just lonely and looking for some company?” Huo Daofu throws in and Zhang Rishan isn’t sure if it’s meant to be a joke or a real suggestion. But if they are just casually throwing around theories he can add one, too.

“Maybe it’s an illusion.” Even if there is no meteorite around and even if he had set that theory aside before. Ba Ye inhales sharply at that suggestion and slaps Zhang Rishan’s knee a little harder than necessary. “Aiya! An Illusion? Does that feel like an illusion? Is there a meteorite around that you haven’t told me about? Shouldn’t you be able to tell the difference?” Ba Ye slaps him again and Zhang Rishan just lets him, flinching only a little. It makes Luo Que beside him tense noticeably, like he contemplates grabbing Ba Ye’s arm and stopping him from hitting his boss, but in the end he doesn’t move and just watches.

“Should I? I mean you were the one who realized it was an illusion back then, and you guided us out of it.” Ba Ye harrumphs at that, knitting his brows. “It’s not an illusion”, Wu Xie says and the certainty in his voice makes it easy to just accept it. After all Wu Xie had come with him and should be a real person, even if they stepped into some fake world at some point, just like Fo Ye, Ba Ye, Er Ye and Chen Pi had been real people who stepped into the meteorite.

“Thank you!” Ba Ye says, giving Wu Xie a small bow. “And if you let me, I can show you that I am perfectly capable of leaving this place all on my own.” Which leaves them with: a lonely godly being looking for company (or a bored godly being looking for some fun?) or the possibility that it is really Ba Ye.

For a moment everyone is quiet again and Zhang Rishan takes the chance to ask Zhang Qiling how he had experienced being possessed or remote controlled or whatever it had been. His answer is disappointingly simple and his experience almost the same as Zhang Rishan’s, except that he had not been in contact with another consciousness but had been knocked out really hard by something as soon as the cave had started to shake. Which confirms Zhang Rishan’s suspicion that there had been something with him in the pool.

He gets up, startling both Ba Ye and Luo Que with the sudden movement, making them stand up with him as if they are preparing to catch him again. It’s endearing and disconcerting at the same time and he opts to ignore the way it makes him feel for the moment, but tucks the feeling away to pick it apart later.

The pool is surprisingly dry and empty, but covered in the same white flaky residue both Zhang Rishan and Ba Ye are covered in, which is reassuring because it means there had been something before. For a moment Zhang Rishan just stares at the empty pool, trying and failing to find a hole or a crack in the stone through which the liquid could have vanished. Surely it did not just evaporate into thin air? His memory is not clear enough to dispel the thought that maybe the liquid had not vanished but changed its shape and made itself into a human being.

“Huh? Why is it empty?” Pangzi asks which makes Zhang Rishan release a breath he hadn’t even been aware of holding. “It wasn’t empty when you could get in?” he reassures himself, looking at the other man. “Hah! Wish it had been, do you have any idea how hard it was to get you out of that stuff?” Pangzi snorts and points at the smudged edge of the pool, where a very visible track of white covers the ground all the way over to their sleeping bags. It also makes Zhang Rishan notice the white smudges all over Pangzis clothes only to find the man grinning at him when he looks up again. The corners of his mouth twitch involuntarily in quiet amusement and he nods his thanks, which makes Pangzi grin even more.

With the pool providing no answers at all Zhang Rishan walks over to the wall to look at the murals, soon joined by Wu Xie who points to the parts of the murals he had mentioned before. It shows a group of people in clothing Zhang Rishan has never seen building this tomb. Maybe some minority? They have no idea how old this tomb is, after all or how long it had been sealed. In the next part of the mural it almost looks like they are summoning the unknown god and not merely worshipping and some part of Zhang Rishan’s mind resonates with that thought. The ceremony looks just like what the two of them had enacted, one person in the pool and the other at the altar with a dagger. But it almost seems like the sacrifice on the mural dissolves into the pool, a thought he really doesn’t want to dwell on.

After that the mural gets quite confusing, depicting the statue that is broken now and people celebrating rich harvests, without any clear connection. He looks back at the picture of the god, tracing the faded lines with his fingers trying to recall everything the being in the pool had tried to tell him through thoughts and feelings and suddenly he understands. Or at least he thinks he does.

“They didn’t worship the god, they captured it and confined it in here because as long as it was here everything around it would be thriving, rich harvests, no sicknesses, people living long and full lives.” As soon as he says it he knows it’s true and he finds Wu Xie nodding next to him. “So, you set that god free and as a gesture of thanks it returned a dead person from your past?” And Zhang Rishan knows dead people don’t come back to life, but this is a god they are talking about and it had made everything else grow, had kept people healthy and strong. Maybe it could do this too?

“I’m still not dead and I was never dead!” Ba Ye protests from beside him and reminds Zhang Rishan that he still doesn’t know what happened when Ba Ye vanished back then, how or when he died. He looks at him and contemplates asking just that but somehow he is afraid of the answer. “Maybe you died and you just forgot.” Pangzi says, pushing at one of the larger rocks left over from the statue with his foot.

“How would someone forget his own death, this is ridiculous! An hour ago I was just in my room, enjoying a nice cup of tea and suddenly I find myself in this cave, almost drowning in that pool!” Ba Ye gestures wildly and angrily with his arm, almost slapping Zhang Rishan in the face in the process, but Pangzi is unimpressed. “How could you not forget your death? Or the fact that you died. Maybe you just dropped dead drinking your tea, things like that happen. Who knows.”

“He didn’t drop dead, he vanished without a trace, leaving everything behind”, Zhang Rishan interjects. If Ba Ye had just dropped dead there would have been a funeral and it would have been just as sad and hard, but there wouldn’t have been a mystery, no reason to wish to know what happened.

“Well, maybe he did drop dead and that god plucked his body from the past, brought him back to life and put him here”, Wu Xie shrugs, “I mean, my terminal lung cancer got healed by magic golden coffin water in thunder city, so it’s not that far-fetched.”

And - oh, oh - realisation hits him like a punch to the sternum, taking his breath away, almost making him double over and sink to his knees. It had been him. Ba Ye never just vanished, had never been kidnapped by the Japanese or Qiu De Kao. He had never died, he had been snatched away by this being - god - whatever - and placed here and now, with Zhang Rishan, because it had wanted to give him something he had lost. But Ba Ye had never been lost, he had been stolen, stolen because Zhang Rishan is selfish and thoughtless and cruel and - He has done this. He has done this to Ba Ye. And to Fo Ye. And -

He can’t breathe. How can he ever say this? How can he ever tell Ba Ye? He can never be forgiven for this, there is no way, absolutely no way. Look out for Ba Ye, that had been his order, the one most important to Fo Ye and thus the most important to Zhang Rishan. And he had failed, miserably - no, he had done the opposite! And for the first time in quite a while he wishes Fo Ye was the one with a long life and not him. Fo Ye would never have done something so stupid.

Unbidden he remembers the illusion he had fallen victim to below the Chen tree, Fo Ye with his gun pointed at him, disappointed, so disappointed and he wishes it had been real, that he had died that day so he would have never been able to come here today. But Ba Ye had been missing before, he had vanished before Zhang Rishan had ever been to this tomb and shared his memories with a god. There would have been no reason to wish to know what happened that day if nothing had happened. And that really makes his head hurt, how is it even possible? How does this work, today and the past linked like this? Like it had always been meant to be this way?

[patchdotexe]

doip.: session.. 3?? / 8.30.21

oh shit i cant hear the recap music bc of my fucking headset

I FORGOT WE STOLE(?) A BARREL CRAB

LAST TIME ON DRAGONS OF ICESPIRE PEAK: we killed the shapechanger and stole(?) a barrel crab!

michael: i feel like we have to use the barrel crab now, because the announcer guy included it in the recap jorb: the announcer guy. michael: i don't know his name!

notes may be sparse bc im doodling alidaar while listening to the others talk

we have given the funny little animal arson powers

time to go to the dwarven excavation! also i finished doodling so im listening now

"i'm going to roll perception to see if some shit is up-- ahaahaa. aaahahaeehahaahaa . aaa"

michael to the rescue! with a better explanation of what he's trying to look for (if anythings been raided or messed up) and also a better roll in general

are the wyatts still arguing about horses? (no! somehow.)

nyx: are you trying to perceive jorb: are you trying to use your eyes, sir?

dwarven excavation has a big ol temple! which has dwarven statues out front that have "evil grins" or smth. so, uh, this is fine

michael: i dont think i trust those stone piles, they look like theyre drawn on an animation frame.

it has been 4 sessions and nyx's character still doesnt have a name btw

nyx: i am the most stealthy binturong that has ever existed, i am squeaking out loud, i am throwing rocks everywhere nyx being a Funny Little Animal is so good bc even tho his stealth check sucked, the dwarves he's stalking just ignored him bc it's a lil binturong vibing on some rocks

every day im shufflin'

(jorb shuffling tokens around trying to remember which npc is which)

nyx: [coughing] leo: ..is nyx dying? jorb: no - wait no i thought that was part of the ambience but yeah that's nyx dying

dwarves :>

alidaar is fun. snarky bastard. pronouns aren't real

temple has an infestation of goops!

michael: hold on let me cast a spell on myself before i recall high school physics

alidaar: i'm gonna be real i'm just here for violence and p much nothin else, sooooo

alidaar: alriiiight! venture forth, fuckos!

oh hey ali has darkvision. apparently that's a house rule thing bc for some reason dragonborn?? don't have darkvision???? normally??????? ty based jorb

leo, as alidaar: i've just discovered i have darkvision! i've never been in a dark room in my entire life! michael: alidaar scratching the side of his head like "what does this little switch do?" click. "oh my god i have darkvision!"

jorb: you're checking out the ceiling, huh? leo: y.. ye a ...

uh oh, oozes!

leo: i'm.. going to back away. jorb: that's probably a good idea. leo: i'm going to knock on the wall [over by tobias] and go "hey uh, i found a problem. i found TWO problems."

having a group huddle!

WHOOPS I FORGOT TO EQUIP MY RUNES good thing i figured that out right before combat started lmao. alidaar's a rune knight now!

leo: [checking something] jorb: [@ nyx] ..you now have an initiative of 23. leo: w

PEPPER'S HERE

distracted from d&d by cat

LITTLE GUY HAS DEPLOYED AN ORBITAL LASER (moonbeam) lmao the jelly walked right into it bc. int of 2-- WHOA guiding bolt op

one jelly down! -AH BEANS im getting owned

whap

woo, combat done! i was the only one that got hit lmao

nawball is talking abt eating grass.

alidaar found a secret door! while both tobias and nameless failed lmao

man i keep not taking good notes bc its mainly us fighting stuff and then exploring around. which is fun! but not interesting to take notes of asides from funny quips

remember how i said the wyatts werent arguing abt horses? i was wrong

HELP I'M INSIDE A WALL

AH FUCK NOTHER JELLY

I'M GOING TO PARKOUR OVER THE JELLY. LET'S GOOOOOOOOO I'VE GOT A PLUS SIX TO ATHLETICS LETS GOOOOOOOOOOO i lost like half my hp and fell over prone but IT WAS WORTH IT NOT WORTH IT NOT WORTH IT NOT WORTH IT WOW. THIS WAS A BAD IDEA.

SOMEHOW THIS LET ME ESCAPE BC THE JELLY SUCKS THATM UCH

jorb: ..okay, because its a 1, im gonna say youre prone again leo: GODAMNIT

jorb: do you want to spend half of your movement to get up? you don't have anywhere to go-- leo: LET ME UP. I WANT TO STAND UP jorb: okay! whatre you gonna do now- leo: VIOLENCE. I WANT TO KILL [rolls to attack]

jorb: how do you wanna do this? leo: i am going to fucking splatter this jelly like jam on toast.

I KEEP GETTING STUCK IN THE WALL

little guy is putting on a cool necklace they found in a strange tomb! This Is Fine

rubbing my face on a pillar to investigate it leo: [rolls a 5] i go up to the pillar, and i put my face against it, and i just.. stand there leaning on it with my face smooshed on it

leo: i'm gonna keep rubbing my face on it [rolls a 10] jorb: your face hurts a little bit.

npc: hey, uh, whatre you doing over there? alidaar: my best.

tobias: alidaar, did you find anything? alidaar: i found a pillar.

leo: okay, naptime. i fall asleep where im standing - im leaning on the pillar, face smushed against it, and i fall asleep standing there

oh shit, orcs these are the like. generic angy orcs. which is a shame but eh at least i ooc get to feel less guilt about ic alidaar going off the shits in 0.5 seconds surprise round! tobias bisected the first orc and alidaar's breath weapon nearly knocked out the other two. in the surprise round. man i love alidaar's breath weapon WOW. LITTLE GUY JUST DID A CRITICAL HIT. I FEEL BAD FOR THESE GUYS

leo: i feel kinda bad for these orcs! michael: they probably eat babies its fine

michael: i'm going to go full todoroki on this ass [...] yes i had to google to make sure i was getting the name right

all the orcs are just. Obliterated. OH MY GOD THEY DIDNT GET A TURN. THEY DIDNT GET A SINGLE HIT IN WE JUST ANNIHILATED ALL OF THEM michael: ..are we the baddies?

potg: michael sniping an orc in half

[bailey-reaper]

The Lord of the Manor (4)

Summary: Barok refuses to let anything get in his way this time: today he will go to visit his brother and pay his respects...

Content Warnings: suicide references (specifically suicidal thoughts), angst + me taking artistic liberties re: the van Zieks family

Other parts:  (1)  |  (2)  |  (3)  |

At some point he'd fallen asleep in Klint's room, though he couldn't remember the precise moment. He was propped up against the footboard with his legs tucked up close to his stomach. The first thing he noticed when he moved was a stiffness in his shoulders and neck. Hardly the most sensible way of sleeping...

Suddenly a loud rumble of thunder echoed overhead, causing the windows of the ancestral home to rattle. Clearly a storm had rolled in overnight.

After stretching until his bones cracked pleasingly, Barok drew back the curtains that covered the large bow windows of the master bedroom and looked out at the landscape. Rain pelted the earth in torrential sheets and lightning lanced across the sky as if momentarily tearing it. This was a most severe storm.

If he were the superstitious or god-fearing sort, then he might have considered that some form of divine force was trying to keep him away from his brother’s grave. Thankfully he was not so limited in his thoughts. Instead, Barok was incredibly stubborn and he had resolved to visit Klint’s grave that day – so that was what he would do.

Of course, taking Black Gale out in such hideous conditions was out of the question. He’d have to go for a ride on a more pleasant summer’s day, perhaps to the orchard or along the coast...

For now, he went to his room to dress in simple clothes and sturdy knee-high leather boots. The path to Klint’s grave would be muddy, so practical footwear was essential. He knew full well his clothes would become drenched quickly, so he donned a shirt and jacket of reasonable hardy material and breeches of similar quality. Once he was dressed, he made his way downstairs to the Grand Vestibule.

“M-My lord!” Harvey hurried over looking deeply concerned, “Surely you do not intend to go out in middle of this storm?”

“I’m going to visit Klint,” Barok replied as he took his cloak from the row of hangers by the door.

“Begging your pardon, my lord, but, surely it could wait until tomorrow? I’ve heard tell that this storm is merely passing on its way to Spain...”

“I appreciate your concern, Harvey, but you need not worry about me. I have to do this... I postponed my visit yesterday on account of factors outside of my control, I’ll be damned if I do that a second time...” an odious noble was one thing, a torrential storm was another. He had no qualms about leaving himself at the mercy of the elements.

“... If you’re sure, my lord...” the old butler had handled enough van Zieks’ lords during his tenure as a servant of the house to know that they were all of a similar stubbornness and driven by their sense of principles. If the young Lord had decided he must visit Klint’s grave then that is what he would do by hell or high water, “... Just do be careful out there and take shelter if the storm worsens....”

“Yes, I will promise you that much,” Barok said as he donned his cloak and opened the door. A sharp gust of wind violently tousled his hair as it howled through the air like a frenzied ghost. He lowered his head and stepped out into the squall, pulling the door shut despite the insistent push of the wind against him. Rain pelted down, taking but a few moments to soak his hair until it was clinging to his face. He ignored the hostile elements and pressed on in the direction of Klint’s grave.

By horse the journey was some 10 minutes away, on foot it was closer to 20 and his progress was slowed by the wind in his face and the unsteady earth beneath his feet. Despite that, he was able to navigate the familiar banks and pathways of the forest that had been a favoured haunt of his since he was a boy. Even with the gloom of the storm clouds over head, he knew the way like the back of his hand.

“Blast! Of all the times for a storm to hit!” he could hear Klint’s voice as his mind reflected on a time they’d been hunting and a similarly fierce squall had rolled in, “Come little wolf, we’ll need to find shelter!”

He nodded and followed behind as Klint led the way to a large bank that over hung like a roof, they crouched down and looked out from their semi-sheltered vantage point at the chaos, “It doesn’t look as though it’ll pass any time soon,” Barok observed.

“Mmmm, I think you’re right, so we might as well amuse ourselves in the meantime.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well, I heard that someone came home late last night in quite an intoxicated state,” Klint was grinning impishly, “Care to tell me about your debauched night of revelry?”

“. . . .” Barok coughed, “I discovered that I’m not much for mixing drinks...”

“Ah... and what did my little brother mix?”

“.... Well, I might have tried to see what all the fuss with beer is about, before switching back to wine,” Barok massaged his temples as he recalled just how rotten he’d felt first thing that morning, “...I’m firmly of the view that beers, ales and stouts are not for me.”

“That was a fatal error of judgement on your part, have you never heard ‘grape or grain, but never the twain‘?”

“Apparently I missed that particular sermon on the subject of drinking...” Barok replied dryly, which only seemed to amuse Klint further as he laughed harder, “I doubt I’ll forget it in a hurry, however...”

“Sometimes the best lessons are the practical ones, Barok.”

“... Yes, perhaps they are...”

A bright flash of lightning and sharp crack of thunder roused him from his daydreams and reminded him that his focus ought to be on the journey ahead rather than a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t far to the family burial grounds; a small mercy at least. He covered the rest of the distance briskly, passing through the cast iron gates and along the path of cobblestones and dirt to the mausoleum where his brother slept. He opened the door and stepped inside, dripping water all over the stone floor as he went; his first act was to light the candles that were dotted around the room, which he did by taking the box of matches that were stored in an alcove by the door and striking one.

Soft candlelight twinkled around him, casting shadows across the walls that danced and swayed deliriously; their movements slowed once he closed the door to the tomb over enough to block out the wind.

Finally he was here, with Klint once more.

“... I’m sorry for my tardiness brother,” he said softly as he knelt down before the stone where his brother’s name was engraved, “... I found myself in the talons of Lady Darlington yesterday, and you nowhere in sight to distract her...” he snorted to himself at the thought, “I dare say you’d have found my performance quite amusing.”

His gaze lifted to the ceiling of the crypt, “... No doubt you’d scold me for coming here in such a bedraggled state, well, not so much that as willingly walking out into a storm. You’ll have to forgive me for that...”

For a while, he knelt in silence; his voice stilled in his throat as he wondered what had compelled him to come out in such hostile conditions. Eventually he found his voice, “I... no doubt I sound quite mad to you, but, I wonder if you’re still here with me... You know, there are rumours abound in the Capital that your ghost follows me wherever I go and exacts revenge upon those who escape my prosecuting them through some dint in the law.“

“It’s nonsense, isn’t it?” he looked down at the gravestone once more, as if holding out for some sort of sign, “... It has to be, surely, because I’d like to think if you truly were still here then you might show me by some means other than violence... And yet, I’m desperate enough that I’ll take it. I just can’t bear the thought that you’re gone.”

Klint had always been a symbol of what was right and just in his mind, so it did not sit well with him to picture his brother as a vengeful apparition whose sole purpose was to dispatch of the criminals who managed to worm their way out of the noose. Yet, when he first heard those wild tales whispered on the lips of the common folk and the nobility alike, how he wanted to believe it. No matter how much it cut against the grain of what his brother had embodied for him; it was better than accepting that he was dead.

Anything was better than that, surely.

“... Of course, the world goes on and the sun and the moon wheel through the sky as they always have, and those who once held you in such high regard slowly begin to forget you... but for me it’s as if time stopped five years ago. I... still cannot come to terms with the thought that you’re no longer here. So, if you are the Reaper, I hope you will stay by my side until my time comes...”

He’d contemplated joining his brother. Sometimes it felt like the only logical thing to do. The world seemed so cold and devoid of vibrancy without Klint in it. Like someone had stolen the sun. Of course, he couldn’t go through with it – at first he had to bring his brother’s killer to justice, it had consumed his every waking moment. He’d read the case file until he could recite it with his eyes closed; until he dreamt of the autopsy report.

Then, once he’d gotten some semblance of justice for Klint, his thoughts had started to wander to the notion that his purpose was now fulfilled and there was nothing left to keep him here; but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. It wasn’t what Klint would have wanted. If there were an afterlife, what kind of expression would his older brother wear when he arrived there prematurely? He could practically hear the disappointed words whenever he thought about it.

“Oh little wolf.... how could you?”

And it was that which stayed his hand.

Instead, he’d thrown himself into being a prosecutor; to following in Klint’s footsteps and maintaining his legacy. His brother had believed so deeply in justice and integrity, and he would honour that memory by doing his damnedest to hold the corrupt and evil to account for their crimes. It was all he could do.

And yet, he’d even failed at that. He ran away from the Old Bailey, too overwhelmed by the Reaper mythos and the gravity it put upon his shoulders...

“I hope you will forgive me, brother,” Barok murmured, voice strained as he tried to swallow back the desperate sadness in his core, “I’ve been a poor substitute for you... I was unable to save you from the Professor... and now I’m not even capable of continuing your legacy as a Prosecutor... Truth be told, I don’t know what to do with myself. I’m at such a loss.”

“I’m so tired, Klint...”

[echoes-of-the-clockwork]

Book One: Gold (Prompto x Reader) Chapter VI

The next morning, (Y/n) wandered into the convenience store. She offered to do some shopping for the boys and stock up on supplies for their dangerous trip ahead. She looked around at the items on display, wondering what all she should buy with the gil Ignis gave her. While staring at a few potions on the shelves, memories from the past filled her mind. She remembered the time when they were only 12 and Prompto was living with his adoptive parents. They didn't know about her due to the blonde keeping her hidden in the gemstone whenever they were around.

When his parents went to work one day, they left a sick Prompto behind. She took it upon herself to take care of him while they were gone. She was forced to head to a nearby store for some medicine and was gone for almost an hour due to not being familiar with human remedies. By the time she got back, he was crying. Tears were streaming down his face as he wailed at the top of his lungs. A sniffle came from him every now and then. She learned he was crying because he couldn't find her and thought she'd left him for good. The spirit reassured him before showing him what she bought at the store to help with his cold.

Suddenly, (Y/n) was torn from her thoughts when Ardyn strolled over. She tried to ignore him, but it was futile when he blocked her from grabbing some potions. She kept calm and did her best to be nice. "May I squeeze by and get some potions?"

"Why, of course." He stepped aside. "My apologies, (Y/n)."

She grabbed a few potions and elixirs, ignoring the man when she noticed he was staring at her. She headed to the counter and paid for the items, but she was once again stopped by Ardyn when he blocked the entrance of the store. She looked up at his face, seeing his somewhat unsettling smile. "What?"

"I must say, young Prompto truly is fortunate to have you by his side," he said.

Her eyes narrowed. She wasn't sure what made him say such a thing. "And what brought this up?"

"A mere observation on my part, is all." He sighed dramatically. "Oh, if only Callyx was as dedicated."

"Maybe it's not him, but you. Now if you'll excuse me..." She pushes past him to exit the convenience store and returns to the caravan. She handed the curatives to Ignis, who thanked her.

Once they were all ready to ship out, they left the caravan. Noctis begrudgingly spoke with Ardyn inside the store to tell the man they were ready to leave. Callyx told (Y/n) she no longer had to ride with them before entering the red car alongside his auburn-haired man. The girl didn't complain and sat in between Gladio and Ignis in the backseat of the Regalia. Noctis started the engine once everyone was inside the car.

Like the day before, Noctis followed a safe distance behind Ardyn's car. After leaving Cauthess Coernix Station, Gladio glanced at their destination that loomed in the distance. "Whoever thought of tapping into the Meteor's power was a genius."

Prompto glanced at the Disc. "Can you even go near that thing?"

"They harvest fragments found nearby-pieces that broke off when the Meteor fell. Almost fell, I should say, for the Archaean caught it," Ignis explained.

"And he's still there, holding the thing up," Gladio added.

"Guess he never misses leg day," Noctis commented.

"Or any day for that matter," Prompto said.

"His unceasing toil and the Meteor's might form the tenets of worship for the locals of Duscae," the advisor stated.

"Makes you wonder what it's like down there at his feet," the shield voiced his thoughts out loud.

"Speaking of gods, that Callyx guy seems to know a lot about an Astral that's supposedly forgotten," Noctis said.

"It's possible Callyx has access to ancient texts that mention Brahma. He did tell me a little more about the seventh Astral," (Y/n) chimed in. "The creator god's consciousness resides within the Celestial Crescent."

"You mean that cluster of stars you told me about?" Prompto asked.

She nodded. "Yeah. Callyx even asked me if I was hearing voices coming from it."

"Are you?" Gladio inquired.

"Well..." She clasped her hands together in her lap. "I'm...not sure. I think I hear a voice, but I can't say for certain."

"Eh, don't worry about it, (Y/n)," Prompto said. "Let's tackle one all-mighty being before worrying about another."

"Couldn't agree more," Noctis stated.

Ignis, after a couple minutes of silence, spoke up and discussed another topic. "So you know, it's hot where we're going. Will the camera fare all right?"

Prompto lifted up his camera, examining the device. "As long as I avoid open flames, it should be okay. I think."

"We don't have a spare if it breaks," Gladio said.

"Leave it in the car?" Noctis suggested.

"Oh no, I'm taking it. Not every day you get up close and personal with the Archaean. I'd kick myself if I missed the photo op," Prompto replied.

"Spoken like a true photographer," the brute remarked.

"As they say, "Better to try and fail than never to try at all"."

Noctis grinned. "Look at you."

"Well, they say that, not me," the blonde said.

"Well, you just do what you gotta."

"But in all seriousness, try not to break it. It was expensive," (Y/n) chimed in.

"I'd never break it! It's very precious to me, especially since you're the one who bought it for me," Prompto stated.

"You bought it? With what money?" Gladio questioned, glancing at the girl sitting beside him.

"I used to work in a small boutique in Insomnia. It was run by a spirit like myself. I worked hard for every yen I spent on that camera." The guardian leaned back in her seat. "She was the first spirit I met. Callyx is the second."

"Wow. Are spirits really that rare?" Noctis asked.

"Yeah. It'll take some serious dedication on the empire's part if they want to wipe out all the spirits on Eos."

The group, once again, fell silent. Noctis kept his attention on road to ensure he wasn't too far or too close to Ardyn's car. Prompto glanced into the backseat at (Y/n) before looking towards Ignis. "Hey, Iggy. Can your glasses take the heat?"

At the mention of his glasses, the strategist adjusted them. "Well, I don't see why they shouldn't."

"Even if they couldn't, he'd still be all right," Noctis commented.

Gladio nodded in agreement. "Yeah, Iggy's eyes ain't that bad."

Prompto was flabbergasted at the news. "Oh, really?"

"My vision is passable without corrective lenses," Ignis explained.

"Then why not take 'em off sometimes?"

"Well..."

Noctis snorted with laughter. "You don't get it, huh?"

"Ignis likes his world to be crystal clear," the shield said.

"Indeed. I've never been one for ambiguity," the advisor claimed.

"Ah. I think I'm getting the picture now." Prompto sat back down, turning to face the front.

"What if they were to break? Do you have a spare pair?" (Y/n) questioned out of curiosity.

"I'm afraid not," the bespectacled man answered.

Drawing closer to the Disc of Cauthess, Prompto has one more question to ask the strategist. "Hey Ignis, how's it feel being away from the wheel?"

"Positively frightening," Ignis responded honestly.

Noctis glanced at him in the rear view mirror, eyes narrowed. "What're you sayin'?"

"That I'm no stranger to His Highness' driving habits."

"'Preciate the confidence."

"Wait," (Y/n) sat up slightly. "Is he really that bad of a driver?"

"Morosely, yes," Ignis replied.

"I mean, he can't be that bad...can he?"

"Trust us, short stuff, he's the worst driver you could ever meet," Gladio said.

"I'm not that bad!" Noctis shouted.

"But you admit you're bad," Prompto cackled.

The prince rolled his eyes. "Ugh..."

After another minute or two, they arrived at the Cauthess barricade. It was sealed tight with imperial troopers watching the perimeter. What shocked the group the most was the lack of hostility from the enemy soldiers.

"We're here," Ardyn chirped.

"Better not be a setup," Noctis commented.

The auburn-haired man glanced over at him. "Have I given you reason to doubt me?"

"You don't exactly inspire confidence," Prompto answered.

Gladio was in agreement with the blonde. "Yeah, not very straightforward."

"Neither of you are," (Y/n) mumbled, eyeing both men in the car beside the Regalia.

Ardyn looked away from the group and shouts over the wall. "Hello! It's me! Be so kind as to open up!"

At his lighthearted command, the gates open. Prompto gasped in shock at how easy it was for the man to gain access to the Disc. "Wow, that worked?"

"I may not look like much, but I do have some influence. Aren't you glad we came together? Your audience with divinity lies ahead."

"You're leaving?"

"I drop you at the Archaean's open door, and with that, bid you farewell."

As Noctis drives the Regalia through the open gates, (Y/n) spared one last glance toward the red car. Her golden eyes locked with Callyx's emerald ones for a split second before they were too far apart to see each other. Even with his stoic expression, she could sense something much more sinister under the surface.

"I've met some weirdos..." Gladio mumbled.

"I hope we never meet those two again," Ignis remarked.

"Whoa! Little harsh there, don't you think?" Prompto asked.

"There's something off about those two..." (Y/n) muttered.

"Glad we agree," Noctis said.

The prince continued to drive the car down the dirt path until they came to what appeared to be a dead end. The five hop out of the Regalia and located a narrow pathway to the side. They follow the path and eventually stumble upon a stone sarcophagus. Prompto recognizes the design and asked, "Is that what I think it is?"

"Didn't expect to find a royal tomb here," Ignis expresses his own bewilderment.

Gladio elbowed the prince. "Would be a shame not to grab that power, eh, Highness?"

"Let's grab it and go," Noctis blandly stated.

As the raven-haired boy walks up to the sarcophagus near the ledge, (Y/n) heard a voice again from above. It was the same one she heard yesterday. Looking up at the sky, her golden-slitted eyes focused on the Celestial Crescent. She felt as if someone had put her under a trance. Unconsciously, she walked forward a few steps and came to a halt when the disembodied voice addressed her.

You...the...

"Are you...Brahma?" The girl whispered.

Vessel...mine...

(Y/n) was still in a dream-like trance when the ground begins to shake dramatically. She managed to keep her balance while all the boys weren't so lucky. Prompto and Ignis fall down while Gladio and Noct just barely manage to keep themselves upright. "Here we go again," Prompto said, bracing himself.

"This one's huge!" Gladio bellowed over the loud rumbling.

That's when Ignis notices the ground beginning to crack underneath Gladio, Noctis, and (Y/n). "Get away! Quickly!"

The spirit's gaze was still locked on the sky. She failed to notice the danger and hear the painful cries of the prince as he was overcome by another headache. She reached out a hand towards the sky just as the ground beneath her feet crumbled. She gasped when feeling a plummeting sensation in her gut, snapping out of the trance as she began to fall. The sound of Prompto shouting her name echoed in her ears.

(Y/n) feared for her life, but her fall was short-lived. A hand wrapped around her wrist and ceased her quick descent. "I've gotcha!" Her savior shouted. Looking up, she saw it was Prompto who grabbed her.

"Prompto..." The guardian whispered.

"Just hold on!" He shouted. Using his strength, he struggled slightly to pull her up. When he managed to pull her up onto solid ground, he sighed in relief. "Whew... That was close." He wiped the few sweat droplets off his forehead before gazing towards the girl. "Are you okay, (Y/n)?"

"I'm fine thanks to you," she smiled.

Just then, the Meteor begins to rise before them, revealing Titan. The Astral who has been holding the chunk of space debris on his back for many years makes his presence known. Prompto and (Y/n) stared in awe and fear at the sight of the mighty god. They both flinched when the Archaean's booming voice resounded out.

"So this is Titan..." The guardian mumbled.

Prompto, remembering Noctis and Gladio had also fell, peers over the ledge to check on them. He shouts when seeing they were both on a lower ledge. "Noct! You okay?!"

Ignis stood by the blonde and was relieved to see the prince and his shield were in one piece. "Thank heavens you're safe. Is there a way back up?"

"No, but there's a path. Gonna see where it leads," Noctis replied.

"You three try to get down," Gladio said.

The strategist nodded. "Very well. We'll look for a way. Be careful, now."

"You, too," the prince retorted.

"What? We're going where?!" Prompto shrieked.

"No time to dawdle," Ignis spoke up. "We must make haste."

(Y/n) wandered a little ways from the crumbling ledge and spotted a narrow, rocky path nearby. She noticed it went out of the way, but it was the only route leading down. "What about this path?"

"It's our only option," the advisor said.

"Then down we go!" Prompto cheered.

The trio wandered down the path, watching where they stepped. It was narrow and littered with jagged stones. Prompto slipped a few times due to being distracted by the rumbling caused by the Archaean. Luckily, (Y/n) caught him every time he stumbled. She sighed when he nervously laughed and thanked her every time.

They continued to listen to the Astral slam his mighty stone fist into the cliffside. They weren't able to see what damage the Titan was causing, but they were able to deduce who he was trying to reach-Noctis.

Ignis, Prompto, and (Y/n) soon arrived at a dead end. They looked around for another path, but they couldn't find one. When they walked over to a cliff, they saw a path below. Carefully, they slid down the small rocky slope and land on the path. As their feet landed on the ground, they spotted the Archaean's fist strike across the way. Ignis ushered them to move quickly.

All of a sudden, (Y/n) heard a faint humming. She looked around before glancing upward. Flying overhead were imperial drop ships. Seeing the empire had arrived, Ignis pulled out his phone and tried to get ahold of Noctis. When he managed to get ahold of the prince, he was relieved. "You're safe. Good. Listen, imperial troopers are near."

Morosely, that was all the advisor got to safe before the signal was lost and the call dropped. "Bloody hell," he hissed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.

Prompto was about to ask Ignis about the call, but his attention was drawn to their left when he saw movement in his peripheral vision. "(Y/n), Iggy, we've got trouble!"

The advisor and spirit looked in the direction the blonde was. Their eyes widen when seeing Titan's open-palmed hand heading straight for them. The girl was the first to react. She shoved Ignis and Prompto to the ground just as the Astral tried to grab them.

When the Archaean's hand wrapped around (Y/n), she cried out in pain at how tight the god was gripping her. She could barely breath and only managed to gasp as Titan retracted his hand.

Prompto heard her painful wail and scurried to his feet. "(Y/n), no!" He summoned his pistol and aimed, but he was afraid of hurting her if he pulled the trigger and missed. He watched helplessly as she was dragged away by the god.

The guardian squirmed in Titan's grip. She lifted her head just as she realized she was at eye level with the Astral. She winced the moment the Archaean's booming voice echoed out. She couldn't understand what he was saying and could only stare into his eyes. Feeling the god's grip lighten, she gasped when she could breathe again.

Suddenly, her attention was drawn away from Titan when she heard the voice in the sky speak to her.

Chosen...one...

My...vessel...

(Y/n) blinked in surprise. "Brahma, are you the one talking to me?"

Yes...

You...are...my vessel...

She shook her head. "Please, don't choose me. I-I wouldn't even know what to do as the conduit! There's no way I could become your vessel!"

You are...worthy...

Child...of Pneuma...

Heed...my call...and do...my bidding...

Fear not...

I...shall...guide you...

(Y/n) gasped in pain, shouting at the top of her lungs when she felt an intense heat radiate in her chest. She clawed at her chest, the gemstone on her arm pulsating with a brilliant golden light. Blood trickled from her eyes and nose. She released one final bloodcurdling scream before falling unconscious. Her body went limp in the Archaean's hand.

Before the Astral could place the girl down, Noctis appeared out of thin air. He warped and struck the god's hand, forcing him to drop the guardian. The prince caught her and grabbed his sword. He warped them down to the ground near Titan's feet where Gladio, Ignis, and Prompto were waiting.

Once landing safely with (Y/n), that's when Noctis saw her bleeding eyes and nose. Prompto rushes over while Gladio and Ignis provide protection from the Astral. The blonde carefully took the girl's body out of the prince's arms and pulled her into his. His heart was racing with worry after seeing the blood and seeing she was unconscious. He quickly picked her up and carried her away from Titan as Noctis parries the god's fist. He gently placed her down on the ground, glancing between her and the others. Seeing they needed his help, he reluctantly left her side to rejoin the fight.

As the royal retinue continued to fight against the Archaean, more imperial drop ships arrived. The group was ready to deal with the empire, but they were relieved when Titan swatted away some of the ships before they could attack. With the imperials now disposed of, they continued to deal damage to the god.

Eventually, Noctis built up enough energy to activate the armiger. He dealt blow after blow before performing a joint attack with his companions. They dealt heavy damage, causing the Astral to lose his balance and fall to a single knee. After attacking, Ignis then hurls a Blizzard spell at the god's arm. "The game's up!"

Gladio and Prompto follow the advisor's lead and hurl yet more Blizzard spells at Titan's arm. "You're out!" The blonde shouted. The Archaean's left arm freezes from the elbow down.

"It's over!" Noctis swings his sword down into the arm, shattering it all the way up to the elbow. Titan then collapses. The prince turns around to face his friends. "Hey, we all still here?"

"Yep, still here," Gladio replied.

"If a little battered," Ignis added. "How is (Y/n)?"

Prompto gasped, eyes widening as he ran over to the girl. Noctis, Gladio, and Ignis stood behind the marksman as he tended to her. He fell to his knees beside her and used a potion. He wasn't sure if it would help, but he knew it wouldn't hurt to use one. Prompto cups her cheeks in his palms and wipes the blood off of them. He stared at her with a saddened expression. "(Y/n)...?"

He received no response.

Ignis checked on her and was able to tell she was physically fine on the outside. His only concerns were her bleeding nose and eyes, which could be a result of internal injuries. He assisted Prompto by helping him put the girl on his back. When seeing she was safely onto the sharpshooter's back, he stepped away.

Just then, the tremors resume. The ground shook violently. The group's gazes fell back on to Titan. "What-what is it now?" Noctis asked.

Ignis' eyes narrowed, watching the Astral closely. "What is he doing?"

"He's winding up!" Prompto shouted. His grip on (Y/n)'s thighs tighten and he took a few steps back, readying himself to run.

"For the big one!" Gladio bellowed.

Titan roars, his booming cry echoing all around the royal retinue. Gold lights begin to emanate from his body, some of which coalesce around Noctis, showing him the god's memory of Luna standing before the god. Once Luna fades, he watched another memory of the god fighting a cosmic being. Titan, although bigger than the cosmic being, fell to his knees after being defeated.

When the god's memory fades, Noctis blinks in surprise. "That was...Luna. You spoke with her. That's why... But what was with that other memory?"

Titan and the Meteor suddenly discorporate in a powerful flash that sends all the imperial ships in the vicinity crashing to the ground. Lava spews from the earth as the Disc of Cauthess crumbles around the boys.

"Doesn't get much worse than this," Gladio commented. The four find themselves trapped.

Suddenly, an imperial drop ship descends to their location. Ignis grew tense as the airship closed in on them. "The empire! Now?"

The drop ship's door lowers, revealing Ardyn and Callyx. The auburn-haired man smiled at them. "Fancy meeting you here!"

Noctis and the others stare at the two men in stunned silence. Callyx crosses his arms with a sigh. "Maybe they didn't hear you."

Ardyn continues. "It occurs to me I never formally introduced myself. Izunia. Ardyn Izunia."

Ignis was shocked at the revelation. "Imperial Chancellor Izunia?"

"At your service. And more importantly, to your aid."

None of the boys move, instead offering only uncertain stares. Prompto glared up at the two, remembering what the empire's plans were. He couldn't believe Callyx was working for the empire knowing they were hunting down and killing spirits.

"I guarantee your safe passage. Though you're always welcome to take your chances down there," Ardyn spoke up. He glanced around at the faces of the royal retinue after receiving no response. "Buried among the rubble, is it?"

Ignis looked away from the chancellor and guardian, eyeing the prince. "Dying here is not an option. We have no choice, Noct."

Noctis met his advisor's gaze. "I know."

Reluctantly, the boys board the airship. As the hatch closes behind them, Prompto placed (Y/n) down. He then sat down and pulled her body into his arms. He rested his head on top of hers, ignoring Ardyn as he tried to speak to the others. He closed his eyes, holding her tightly against him.

It wasn't long before Prompto's eyes flew open at the sound of approaching footsteps. Looking up, he saw Callyx and glared at him. He watched the emerald-eyed guardian kneel in front of him. The moment he tried to touch (Y/n), Prompto summoned his pistol and aimed it at the man's head. "Don't touch her."

Callyx retracted his hand before raising it as a sign of peace. "I only wanted to check on her. What happened?"

Prompto lowered his pistol slightly, but kept it aimed at the spirit. "I-I don't know..." He looked down at the girl slumped against his chest. "Why're you working with the empire? Aren't you the one that said they were killing spirits?"

"I made a deal with them a short while ago. They allowed me to keep my life in exchange for loyalty. I'm using my position to warn any guardians I come across. (Y/n) is the first guardian I've met outside the empire."

"Won't they kill you once they learn you're protecting other guardians?"

"Most likely, but I'm willing to risk my life to protect my people."

Even at Callyx's declaration, Prompto didn't trust him. He dispelled his pistol and chose to remain silent. The spirit walked away after taking the hint and rejoined Ardyn and the others.

Now alone, Prompto buried his face into (Y/n)'s (h/c) hair and whispered, "Please wake up soon..."

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[skadventuretime]

Shadow Crowns

Welcome to Chibi!Reverb 2020! This is my piece with the incredibly skilled @drowsystar, who not only came up with this bomb-ass idea but drew incredible things for it, too. I only wish I could have written you the proper 70k fic this idea deserves.

Rating: T

Warnings: Cursing

Read: AO3

Art: Link

“Another glorious day for his majesty the shut in.” Star yanks the curtains just a bit so that a sliver of late afternoon sunlight shines directly onto Kid’s closed eyes.

The bedroom is cavernous. Stone walls and floors hold a damp chill in the air that no number of thick carpets or tapestries can really dispel, and wrought iron bookshelves line all of the room’s circular walls. They’re filled to the brim with well-cared for leather tomes of all shapes and sizes, but mostly their slightly acidic scent makes Star want to sneeze.

“Ah yes, my faithful knight, ever at my beck and call,” comes the prince’s muffled voice.

The curtains snap close and return the room to its former pitch darkness. Star feels the slippery tendrils of the prince’s shadow magic slide over his wrists, his back, his throat, a not-so-subtle reminder that his life could just as easily be snuffed out.

It was kind of hot, not gonna lie. Too bad business and pleasure don’t mix. 

“I will remind you not to disturb my slumber again,” the prince says. Star assumes he rolls over because that’s the sort of arch thing he’d say as a way to end the conversation, but he hears the muted sounds of feet hitting carpet instead. There are still no candles lit nor magelight summoned, but that’s because the crown prince is a master of shadow magic and likes to flaunt his perfect dark vision whenever he gets the chance.

“You shouldn’t be slumbering so late in the day anyway, your elevatedness.” Star inches back towards the curtains because if the prince thinks he gives up that easily, he’s got another thing coming. The sliver of daylight at the edge of the thick fabric cuts off abruptly, like the shadows were thick and solid. Whatever; his princeliness is probably just standing there to be stubborn. A little light will clear things up—

Sunlight stabs him in the eyes as the blinds fly back open. “How unusually perceptive of you,” says the prince, now across the room on an overstuffed low couch, a book cocked at an obnoxiously relaxed angle in one hand. He’s fully dressed and there’s not a trace of his night clothes; maybe that’s what all the dark was for. “What brings you here at this unusual hour? Isn’t it time for you to pester the palace guard about sparring matches again?”

Star waves his hand. “I got bored when nobody could disarm me. Hey, let’s go to the market today — there are supposed to be fireworks in the plaza after sunset.”

The prince looks up from his book with an eyebrow already bent at precisely ‘are you an idiot’ degrees. “The main plaza? In the center of the city?”

“Yup.”

“The one with traders from all over the world?”

“That’s the one.” 

“With huge crowds and unlimited rooftops for an assassin to spy from?”

“For the crown prince, you sure are pretty stupid about your own kingdom, huh?”

The book closes with a crisp smack. “For a bodyguard, you sure are an idiot. Do you really think you could keep me safe from the literal hundreds of possible angles a potential assailant could reach us from? I know father hired you on your merits as a swordsman, but he clearly didn’t give your head close enough scrutiny.”

“Come onnnn, it’ll be fine. You haven’t left this room since I was assigned to you three months ago. You need a little sun, get some fresh air.”

The prince exhales and recrosses his legs, a tell Star has learned means his patience is running thin, but in all honesty he doesn’t seem to have much to start with. “Ah yes, the shadow mage needs sunlight. Truly your minutes of education trump the years I’ve spent honing my craft.” To punctuate his words, the room fluctuates between grey scale and daylight, but each flash of the former has contorted figures that get closer in Star’s peripheral vision. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re a prodigy or whatever,” Star says, blinking away the grotesque afterimages. “But seriously, you really stay in here all day?”

“It’s for my safety,” the prince replies, his voice heavy with something Star can’t quite place. “I’ve told you this before. It’s why you’re here.”

Star walks over to the window and looks down at the city below. Neat stone buildings unfold like nesting dolls from the castle’s fortified walls, on lower ground than the castle proper. Another wall encircles the central part of the city on even lower ground, and in the distance straw covered roofs make up the final, outer ring. It’s on that level that the festival is taking place this evening, far from the imposing iron and tomb-like stone of the castle. 

It’s also where, if everything goes to plan, the prince will die. 

“Exactly, it’s why I’m here. You’ve been safe so far, no one’s tried to kill you at all since I’ve been around!” 

“I never leave this wing of the castle.”

“Which is why you need this. Come on, they’re going to have all kinds of great food and entertainment and—“ Star lowers his voice, “I heard that the work of that brainiac scholar you’re always crying about will be sold there.” 

The prince stands up abruptly. “Eibon’s work will be there?”

“Yeah, that guy. Heard it from some of the organizers themselves at the pub last night.”

He hadn’t, really. Star just knows that the prince will do anything to get his hands on work by the contemporary scholar Eibon, something to do with shadow and light magic protection. It’s all above his attention span and pay grade. 

Pain seizes his chest and a snarled HURRY UP BRAT rings in his ears for a split second. Though he knows it’s invisible, Star can feel the rune etched into his soul. The only reason he’s free at all, alive even, is because his loving father saw fit to give him one last chance to redeem himself in his family’s eyes. But like any dog, Star has to be kept on a leash, and over the last few weeks these intermittent pain reminders have gotten more common. Papa dear must be getting impatient despite the regular correspondence. 

Star tunes back into the prince giving him a critical look. “Sorry, indigestion. You know me and those firecracker skewers.”

The prince curls his lip. “Naturally. All right, if there’s a chance to procure more of Eibon’s writings, then there’s nothing else to be said. Meet me here in one hour with everything you need to be stealthy but effective in a fight. I’ll weave a shadow disguise of course, but the ones I’m worried about will be able to see through it. Am I clear?”

“As a mountain spring,” Star says. He leaves before the prince can add any other fussy demands to the list and walks along the stark stone hallway towards his chambers on the other side of the prince’s. 

Well, he finally did it. It’s taken months to get to this point, but tonight’s his first real shot at completing the mission and being freed from his father’s grip. It took him weeks of painstaking deception to lie his way into the right circles to get a pulse of the city’s underground, but it was worth it to become part of the whisper network of assassins. There will be a group of shadow mage trained assassins at and around the market tonight, and he already has an ironclad alibi lined up. 

It should be a happy occasion, but instead he feels antsy, like he didn’t do enough pushups before his morning run. Whatever, it’s probably excitement, even though excitement doesn’t usually leave him with a sense of dread. 

Star splashes some water on his face from the shallow bowl next to the bath for just that use, and spends the next hour sharpening and cleaning his sword. And daggers. And throwing stars. Sharp edges are a man’s best friend, after all. 

The sun is just dipping below the horizon when the two of them set out. Because the prince is technically not allowed to leave the castle, Star has to play lookout while the prince weaves a very complicated piece of shadow magic that allows them to pass the various entry guards without detection. 

The magic feels cool and slippery on him, like he’s veiled in silk. It’s strangely intimate, too, with echoes of the prince’s soul woven through. Magic is like a sixth sense, an extra way of knowing, and Star quite frankly doesn’t want to know anything else about the man whose assassination he’s recently planned. That his magic tastes like packed snow, for example, or makes Star’s own shadow magic crackle at his fingertips eager to be unleashed.

“Stop thinking so much, it’s unbecoming,” the prince whispers from a pace behind Star. Star makes a rude gesture over his shoulder and walks a little faster; whatever else this magic does, it’s a little too close for comfort.

They have passed the most heavily staffed guard towers and just slipped past the mid-tier gate into the lower circle. The crowds are heavier here and the buildings more tightly packed, leaving plenty of narrow alleys for them to slip into should they decide they’re ready to become visible again.

“Hey, do you know where you’re going?” whispers the prince. 

Something in his tone makes Star turn around. The prince’s eyes are wide and glittering with the reflected light from the many torches lining the street. He’s looking with such rapt attention that it’s almost like-- 

“Wait, you’ve been here before, right? Like before there was a bounty on your head?”

The prince blinks and it’s like a door closes. “No, of course not. I wasn’t allowed out of the castle proper. I was just making sure you knew because you have the attention span of a small rodent and I didn’t want us straying far from the event. Remember, we’re going in, getting some scrolls, and coming out.” 

“Yes, your supreme nitpickyness.” 

Star leads them down an alley a few blocks further in so the prince can undo his magic. They’re both dressed modestly in simple cotton cloaks so they don’t attract attention, and the prince has modified his features enough to look like a bad caricature of himself. Anyone without the ability to detect shadow magic will be none the wiser. 

Most of the crowd is gathered near a huge bonfire a few streets down at one of the openings to the market square, where scores of merchants and stalls are lined up. Star can hear faint music of at least three different varieties playing, and the smell of frying fat and savory spices hangs heavy in the air. A quick scan of the buildings around the square doesn’t reveal much, but his night vision is already ruined by the bonfire and a trained assassin wouldn’t be so easy to spot, anyway.

Not that it matters, he reminds himself. The whole point is for the prince to bite it.

“So where is the scholar with Eibon’s writings?” The prince has his cowl up despite the illusions he wove and looks distinctly out of place.

“Beats me, these sorts of things are never very organized. We’ll just have to find it!” 

The prince wrinkles his nose. “Fine. But let’s be efficient. We should start from the west and comb east, with the bonfire being the center point.”

“Ugh, do you ever relax? This is a festival, lighten up, go with the flow, have some fried food.”

“I have never once in my life ‘gone with the flow.’”

“And it shows.” 

The prince throws his hands up. “Fine. We’ll do it your way. Lead on, I cannot wait to see what unnecessary trials we must endure and how much ground we recross with your barbaric method.” 

Star grins. “Now we’re talkin’!” 

He leads the prince past the bonfire and into the market proper. The music is louder here, and the merchants manning the closest stalls begin to call out to them about the superiority of their wares. 

“Now we begin looking for your fancy ink on paper.”

Star knows the exact writings aren’t here, of course, but it’s strangely fun to lead the prince around like this. He’s like a baby goat, all leg and headbutts, but also kinda cute.

“Come with me this way,” the prince says imperiously. A booth with a giant mallet and a man asking to see who is strong enough to ring the bell has caught Star’s eye though, so he says, “One sec, let me just do this real quick.” He tosses a coin to the man, rolls his shoulders, and grabs the mallet.

The bell makes a satisfying ding when the slider hits it. “That’s right, I’m amazing. Hey pri--er, hey Kid, did you see that?” Star looks around for the person he’s ostensibly body-guarding to no avail. “Hey, where are you?”

He heads back down the closest stall walkway and scans the crowd -- nothing again. He does the same for the other two closest walkways and feels something like panic burning in his chest. Did the assassins get him already? Is his job over? Why does he hate the thought of that?

“There you are, you oaf,” calls a familiar voice from behind him. Relief floods his system; the prince is safe.

“Where did you go?” Star says, rounding on him. “You’re supposed to stay by me for protection, remember?”

“You’re not doing a very good job if you can’t even keep track of your charge,” the prince replies archly. “Here.” He extends a skewer of steaming, dripping meat that smells faintly of chilies.

“Uh.” Star accepts it and looks from it to the prince and back again. “You went and got…?”

“Firecracker skewers. Didn’t you say you like them? Unlike you, I remember what people tell me.”

Oh. Oh no. The baby goat brought him meat on a stick. This wasn’t in the assassination manual. “Yeah, I uh, I do. Very tasty.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the prince replies and holds up a skewer of his own. 

“Wait, that might be a bit--”

The prince removes the top chunk of meat with a neat bite. He chews for a moment, swallows, and then starts coughing. “Pain--water--why do you like this?”

Star dashes over to the nearest food stall and gets a huge pocket of fried dough. “Here, take a bite of this, it might help.”

The prince pulls Star’s hand closer and takes a bite without grabbing the dough for himself. “Why would you subject yourself to this?” he gasps after a few more bites of fried dough. “I mean, I suppose the after burn is somewhat pleasant, and the flavor is acceptable once you can taste again, but really, there are more elegant ways to season meat.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s not up to your impeccable palette. Come on, we got scrolls to find.”

Star leads them around the western half of the market, laughing at the prince’s obvious fascination with it all. They try a few more food items and look at a few more booths before the hairs on the back of Star’s neck begin to stand up. He might not have done the kinds of hardcore training he was subjected to growing up recently, but his instincts are still on par. They’re definitely being tracked; looks like the fun is over.

“Hey, let’s look at the east side of the market,” Star says, his chest getting tighter. The east side has a few more quiet alleys the prince could be grabbed in. Better to get this over with quickly.

“Okay,” the prince says, and that simple word almost stops Star dead in his tracks. They’re having a civil conversation! The prince listened to him! The doubt in his gut twists his insides up.

They lightly browse a few stalls on the other side while Star becomes more and more conflicted. The more he thinks about it, the more he doesn’t want to kill the prince after all, consequences be damned. But what about his father? What about this thrice-damned soul window his father inflicted on him? If he can’t deal with that, he won’t be able to hide his treachery for very long anyway.

Any further deliberation is cut off by a cry of, “Scrolls! Scrolls! Get your scrolls here!”

The prince perks up and heads over immediately, making Star have to almost jog to keep up. The merchant is at the edge of the square, half wreathed in shadow, and -- oh shit, they’re walking right into an ambush aren’t they.

“You said you had some scrolls?” the prince says.

The merchant gives him an oily smile and says, “Yes, right this way, sir.” He gestures to a chest at the opening of an alley.

“I don’t think we should--” A hand comes around Star’s mouth and cuts him off. He reflexively bites down and slams his elbow back, freeing himself while his would-be captor grunts in pain. “Kid, look out!”

The prince jerks around just in time to see another man emerging from the alley behind him. With a flick of his wrist, he binds the man in coils of shadow and tries to jump away from the merchant, who has now revealed a wicked dagger.

“Don’t worry, this will all be over soon,” he croons before lunging at the prince.

Another coil of shadow stops the attack and it looks like the prince is in the process of doing something more complicated when his entire body goes rigid and the merchant snaps free.

“Another shadow mage,” gasps the prince. Star knows he could leave right now, escape himself and leave the prince to be murdered, but his heart isn’t in it anymore. It was the damn meat, he tells himself.

“I’m on it,” Star says, reaching in and down into his own shadow magic. Dark flames wreathe his blade from hilt to tip, blowing in a wind not from this plane. He focuses and sees the thin threads holding the prince in place. But before he can act on it, a third mage appears and begins preparing something nasty.

“Do something,” wheezes the prince, and if that isn’t a challenge, Star doesn’t know what is. He dives into a roll to dodge a thrown dagger and cut the first thread imprisoning the prince. This puts him in range to kick the merchant in the chest and send him flying.

“Chill out princess, I got this,” Star says with the cockiest grin he can muster. He dials up the intensity of his shadow flames and sends them in an arc to push back the two mages in the alley, and on the end of that stroke cuts the remaining threads binding the prince. “You good now, or do you still need me to do literally everything for you?”

There’s that glare that can boil ice. “I’ll take it from here, thank you.” The prince’s eyes seem to get blacker and the alleyway flickers in and out of grey scale. 

“No way, you’re not getting all the glory for this one.” Star leaps back in to punch one of the mages across the chin before the prince’s terror magic makes the others run screaming away from them.

“Well, that could have gone better,” the prince says. He sounds shaken, even though he doesn’t look like he has any big injuries.

“Yeah, I think it’s time we got back to the castle. Had enough fun for a week or so.”

“Remind me never to listen to your idea of fun ever again.”

“You say that now, your royal meat-on-a-stick-ness.”

The prince rolls his eyes and begins to reweave the invisibility illusion. “Shut up and lead us home.” 

“See now you’re talking sense, because I won’t lead us into an obvious trap.”

As they bicker on the way back to the castle, mostly in whispers and unconscious shadow magic pulses, Star’s worries about what will happen to him fade. He’s never been one for thinking too far into the future; for now, he’s got a grumpy prince and a belly full of meat, and there will be plenty of time for the rest. Later. Much, much later.

[sweetlangdon]

Steal Into My Melancholy Heart (Michael Langdon x Reader Beauty and the Beast AU)

Notes: Here it is (finally), the start of the AHS: Apocalypse Beauty and the Beast AU. There’s going to be a lot of changes to canon. Some characters have been left out, others have a different backstory and purpose to suit this AU ‘verse. Hopefully everything makes sense as the story goes on! The title comes from the song “Evermore” in the 2017 version of Beauty and the Beast, because I can’t help myself.

Word Count: 3.7k+

Warnings: Some violence, mentions of gore and blood. 

 {Prologue}

A thin veil of moonlight fell across the obsidian spiral, a monolith shrouded in a layer of dense fog. It parted around Cordelia Goode’s shoes, chilly and damp, clouding an otherwise clear night. The Hawthorne School looked abandoned. That was for a purpose, for protection, but a feeling clawed its way deep into her gut that suggested maybe they were already too late.

That the warlocks had suffered the same fate as her girls.

She could still hear their screams, their agony echoing in her ears. The shadow of their blood still clung to her hands. Even in the dark, she saw the trails it had leached under her nails and how it sat in the creases between her knuckles. The house had reeked of it, the blood and carnage heavy in the air, bright red pooling on the immaculate floors. She’d sat there for the longest time, minutes turning to an hour she didn’t have, hollow with grief. That house was now their tomb. Cordelia had left their bodies where they’d fallen, cold and still and pale. Fingers and lips turning blue. The halls of her school silenced.

Four had survived. It was enough, for now, to hold together Cordelia’s shattered heart.

Madison, Mallory, Coco, and Emily trailed in her wake, footsteps whispering across the dry, desert earth. She could hear their quiet weeping, their sniffling and heartache so palpable it settled on her chest like stones. They hadn’t spoken on the plane ride here, too stricken with heartache and shock and anger that words didn’t seem enough. The march up to the doors of Hawthorne felt like a funeral procession. Somber. Bleak. Their black clothes, still holding the scent of their fallen sisters’ blood, a sign of mourning rather than tradition.

Cordelia steeled herself, wiping the last of her tears from the corner of her swollen eye with the edge of her thumb, as she came to a halt at the doors. Where they were still coming from, she didn’t know. How could she have any left to cry? What would she do if they found the warlocks slaughtered inside their school?

The quiet unnerved her. The hum of crickets, the distant sway of leaves in a nocturnal wind. The strange, dark cylinder towering over them stood resolute and still as a grave. If it had become one, then she couldn’t see a way out of this. She couldn’t see a light beyond the hurt and despair. Not right now. Not when they’d already lost so much.

Every muscle in Cordelia’s body tensed when the door slid open. The surviving witches, gathered at her sides, looked up once warm, flickering light spilled over the threshold and broke the chill of the night. Golden candle light illuminated the tears that glistened on their faces.

John Henry Moore leaned against the doorway, a pale wisp of smoke coiling up from the cigarette between his fingers. Cordelia’s knees almost buckled from relief.

“Oh, thank god,” she exhaled. “Are you all right? The students—are they all okay?”

One of John Henry’s dark eyebrows rose. “Yeah,” he drawled. “Why?”

“Michael Langdon isn’t here, is he?” Her tone had turned dangerous, the hate dripping from her curt question.

“Haven’t seen him since he fucked off into the woods, Cordelia.” He pushed off the wall and moved to let her and the girls through, then took a drag from his cigarette. He sounded annoyed. “What is it? Kind of late to be making unannounced house calls. It’s past curfew.”

“We’re not here for your witty comebacks, asshole,” Madison countered.

Before John Henry could take offense, Cordelia started down the hall toward the elevator, the girls following close behind, a cacophony of heels ricocheting across marble and stone.

“We don’t have a lot of time.”

“You want to explain what’s going on?”

They took the elevator down beneath the earth. John Henry leaned against the wall, taking long drags from his cigarette and eyeing the group of young witches congregated tightly opposite him. Madison was silently furious, arms crossed over her chest, her sharp glare fixed on the closed doors. Mallory sniffled, drabbing at her eyes with the edge of a long, black sleeve. Emily found solace in Coco, her head pressed to Coco’s shoulder. Cordelia looked beside herself, her gaze distant, restless as they waited for the elevator doors to hiss open.

“You were right.” Cordelia’s voice broke, frayed with the tears that still trickled down her cheeks. “About everything. You were right.”

“Now what’s all this?” Behold Chablis joined them as they filed into the cavernous heart of The Hawthorne School, a labyrinth of candle lit staircases and hallways. His question, rising sharply at the end, filled up the quiet. The students were locked away in their dormitories for the night. Safe and oblivious to the danger heading their way, for now.

“Miss Goode was just about to tell me.”

“Langdon,” her voice cut deeply into the name as her eyes fluttered closed to stave off more tears, “Michael Langdon…murdered my girls. We were lucky to escape when we did. And if we don’t act now, then this school—you and your students are next. I don’t know how much time we have.”

“Jesus.” John Henry muttered. He turned away, scratching at an eyebrow with the edge of his thumbnail.

Behold’s dark eyes widened. “I’ll evacuate the school.”

“No,” Cordelia said. “We might need them.”

“For what?” Behold asked. “I’m not leaving our boys to be some Antichrist’s cannon fodder, Miss Supreme. Not after he slaughtered your girls.”

“Coming here wasn’t about just warning you. We need a curse,” she explained. Madison and Mallory exchanged looks of surprise before they caught her eye. She’d kept her plans to herself, an impulsive decision on the flight to California. “And if memory serves, the reigning expert on curses is you.” She turned to John Henry.

At her pointed look, he scoffed. “We need a firing squad, not a curse.”

“Shockingly, I agree,” Coco said softly.

“You never said shit about that,” Madison said. “I mean, what the fuck, Cordelia?”

“We have to fight him,” Emily agreed. “I don’t care what it takes.”

Mallory’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of curse?”

John Henry held up a hand. “Forget it.”

“He has too much power now,” Cordelia reasoned. “We can’t kill him…we can’t even stop him if we tried. I felt that power when he broke past the defenses at Robichaux—Langdon’s the Devil’s son, and that makes him invincible. Our only choice is to play the long game. Survive the impossible, together, and create something that tears him down, bit by bit. Make him his own demise.”

“So your solution is,” Behold drawled, “to…sit back and watch the world go up in flames? Let him win?”

“He’ll think he’s won,” Cordelia said, a determined grin curving one side of her mouth despite the tears that welled in her eyes. “And then he’ll get what he deserves for all the chaos he’s wrought, slowly, until his death sets things right again. A hard reset. Everything back to the way it was.”

She’d had a lot of time to think on the plane.

John Henry laughed, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “That’s a tall order.”

“Yeah, no shit.” Madison rolled her eyes.

“Wait,” Coco interrupted. “Can we…really do that?”

“No,” Behold answered at the same time John Henry deadpanned a halfhearted, “Definitely not.”

“Yes,” Cordelia insisted, her voice shaking. Her gaze flittered to Mallory, who hadn’t spoken a word of dissent or skepticism. “There’s enough power in this room—in this school. If we combine that magic, I know we can. I have to believe it, otherwise what else do we have left?”

“Curses are stubborn. Delicate,” John Henry said. “They have to be precise, not to mention the amount of magic they require. You can’t engineer a curse in a single night, Cordelia, it can’t be done. Not for what you’re asking.”

“We have to find a way.”

“It’s just not possible,” seemed to be John Henry’s final answer. Resolved to defeat.

“I’m sorry,” Behold offered. “Wish we could—”

“I think we should do it,” Mallory said. “I know…I know Cordelia’s right. We have enough magic right here in this room. We have to try.”

“What the hell, right?” Madison flicked her long hair behind her shoulder. “Mallory’s magic could power the whole curse by itself. I’ve seen it.”

The witches murmured their agreement.

“It’s not the magic I’m worried about,” John Henry replied. “Curses are unwieldy. I’ve never designed one this complex.”

“Well,” Coco said brightly. “First time for everything.”

***

They settled into the central hub of The Hawthorne School, their work lit by roaring fires and sconces on the walls. John Henry gave each of them a task based on their skill level, some facet of the curse that was theirs to render with their magic. By that time, he and Behold determined that they’d only need a few of the students lend their talents, and the rest would be sent in groups to scatter themselves in different directions across the state. To escape and survive the impossible, as Cordelia said.

Three Hawthorne students had joined the witches and John Henry, chosen by Behold’s own meticulous eye. He knew those boys well enough, saw their magic at work in his classes. They’d proven to be the most proficient with the incantations and sigils needed to design their curse.

Timothy, Andre, and Gallant circled around John Henry like a trio of baby ducklings, a force of habit that couldn’t be broken even under the unusual circumstances. The boys cast wary glances at the witches in their midst, unused to working alongside them. They were half-dressed in their Hawthorne uniforms, not quite so polished, the dress codes forgotten. Sleep still clouded their vision as they struggled with whatever archaic texts John Henry shoved at them.

The room was a mess—papers littered with John Henry’s inelegant scrawl, more discarded on the floor than kept for revision; old books heavy with a musty scent in careless piles for reference. Most were in Latin, others almost unreadable even to Cordelia’s rather astute magical knowledge.

She hoped these archaic words and symbols would be enough. There had been more than one argument ricocheting off the vaulted ceilings in the long hours they’d spent working on this. Cordelia knew what it would take, how she wanted the curse to evolve as time wore on, but translating that to magic had John Henry at his wit’s end.

There were variables to consider. And layers upon layers of incantations, each with a specific purpose. Not to mention, they had to put the entire world back together—and billions of lives—once the curse had slowly withered Langdon away. One wrong link in that chain and everything else would crumble. So, of course, there had been shouting matches and a litany of swearing and one instance of John Henry walking the fuck out of the room for another cigarette as tensions ran high.

“We need a failsafe,” John Henry decided.

Cordelia reached over the table of papers and books to reach her wine glass. “Like what?”

John Henry sighed, ink-stained fingers splayed on the tabletop. He slumped forward a little and stifled a yawn. “You said it yourself. Kid’s got the protection of fucking Satan. If this isn’t enough to wear that down and kill him over time, we’re gonna need backup. Another way to take the shot. So to speak.”

“Well, he’s still half-human.”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Behold mused. He refilled Cordelia’s wine glass with a languid sweep of his fingers.

“I’m talking about emotionally,” she explained. “He’s…sensitive. You saw his reaction when we retaliated. The way he cried over that woman. I don’t have much hope for whatever humanity is left in him, but if we can use it to bring him down, that might be our only shot. If the evil in him doesn’t break him, then maybe his heart will.”

“You think the Antichrist is capable of love?” Behold raised an eyebrow.

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “That human heart of his—Michael’s heart—might.”

John Henry heaved another long-suffering sigh. “That’s a gamble.”  

Cordelia took a sip of wine, her gaze downcast to the scattering of notes. “It’s all we have.”

They chose the main foyer to lay their trap.

Right below where the two central staircases converged, there was ample floor space. Langdon would have to set foot there when he arrived at Hawthorne, and by the time he recognized the power that surrounded him, it would be too late. For that to work, they needed the curse to soak into every single fiber of the room, to make the space itself alive with the full force of their magic.

And piece by piece, it did.

Sigils were burned into the floor, where they disappeared out of sight. That was Mallory’s doing, her strong, unwavering magic building the foundations of the curse. She had the most work of all, though she didn’t complain about it. Not once. Not even when she and Cordelia and Behold had to figure out the complex magic involved in restoring the entire Earth. The hard reset Cordelia insisted on seemed to be beyond anyone’s capabilities. But she was the exception.

More sigils were inlaid in the walls. John Henry oversaw the precise order and placement of each one from the notes that no one could read because he’d written them. The incantations were the most important—and required every single witch and warlock to chant the ancient words as one. That was the trickiest part. John Henry, Behold, and Cordelia went over the exact pronunciation beforehand until their students were tired of it; archaic Latin wasn’t everyone’s best subject at either school of magic, and one wrong syllable would topple all their hard work.

Designing a curse was fucking exhausting.

Emily slumped onto the staircase. Through a yawn, she asked, “So, what happens now?”

“This is going to get ugly,” John Henry said, running a palm across his face. “He’s coming here for revenge. He’ll want blood.”

“Which means you all need to get yourselves out of here,” Behold agreed.

“The three of us will stay behind,” Cordelia said. She studied the weary faces in front of her, so young, trying to hide their fear. “We’ll get out once we know Langdon’s activated the curse. But if this works—”

“And it should,” John Henry grumbled.

“We’ll have to stick close,” Cordelia told them. “We have to see this through to the end.”

***

A midday sun blazed scorching hot across the dry desert earth. Michael Langdon inhaled the scent of dust and heat, pausing to consider the gruesome scene in front of him. Three large birds, their pitch black feathers fluttering, beady eyes reflecting the bright sky, poked at an animal carcass. He couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe a rabbit or a squirrel; tufts of brown fur were lost in the gore, dark scarlet staining the cracked earth. Two of the birds fought over the animal’s innards, pulling at them with their sharp beaks. Michael turned away, slightly unsettled, the edge of his cape rustling in the wind. He had no reason to fear the blackbirds—they were harbingers of his father’s presence, they kept a watchful eye from above.

And they wouldn’t be the only ones to spill blood today.

Michael drew in another deep breath, his fingers curling into light fists at his sides. He wasn’t so blinded by his own rage and vengeance that he couldn’t sense the magic inside Hawthorne. It was almost oppressive. It had never been that way before, not when he was a student. Maybe then he hadn’t been so sensitive to it. The power inside him was far stronger than it had been when he turned the library into a furious snowstorm. But now Hawthorne’s magic felt different to him, seeping out of the strange building to coil at his shoes like a fine mist.

It was strong. Defensive, he thought, if he had to give it a particular quality. But it wouldn’t give him any trouble. No witch or warlock had the power to rival Satan’s own son.

Hawthorne was quiet. Michael noticed an unusual tension in the air, a breath away from snapping. He could still remember the meticulous class schedules and customs, how the halls were always buzzing with noise and footsteps and voices chanting. Lessons took up every odd corner and room. The only time he’d ever seen it this quiet had been long after curfew, when he’d slip away to visit Ms. Mead, memorize the layout of the school, or try and contact his father.

It was just after twelve thirty in the afternoon. And yet, the halls were abandoned.

No, Michael thought, a snarl on his lips. Evacuated.

Someone told them he was coming.

“Cordelia,” Michael growled.

“Hello, Michael.” The voice was a gruff, familiar one that hadn’t so much said his name as it had spat it back at his feet.

Michael found John Henry Moore sitting in the middle of one of the main staircases. A single, flickering flame from a lighter—which he appeared to have some trouble igniting—illuminated the purple shadows beneath his eyes and his jaw shadowed by stubble. His gaze was dark, sharp as a razor.

“I thought you would have been smart enough to leave,” Michael said. His voice carried, bouncing off the cavernous walls as he approached. “After all, you were the one to see past the bullshit. You had me all figured out.”

John Henry’s gaze didn’t break from him, not when he took a long drag from his cigarette. Michael tilted his head a little, a provocation for whatever sarcastic comment John Henry had to offer him. The school’s magic still pressed in on him at all sides, in relentless waves, though there was no one else in sight. He listened, fingers flexing at nothing, stirring up the air. Testing it.

With a rough flick of his wrist, Michael sent John Henry flying backward up the staircase. His lighter clattered onto the steps at the same time his body landed with a crack, his neck twisted at a sickening, abnormal angle. A thin ribbon of blood trickled from the corner of his mouth onto the floorboards. His open, sightless eyes reminded Michael of the blackbirds feasting on their gory prey.

Michael lifted his chin in approval. But when he stepped forward to admire his grim handiwork, the magic in the room seemed to shift. Michael staggered back from the intensity of it, the crushing weight he felt from all sides. It immobilized him, kept him rooted to the spot where he stood. His hands curled into fists so tight that his nails bit into the skin of his palms. He tried to push against it, break it down like he’d torn through the defenses at the witches’ school. A hoarse, mournful, frustrated cry ripped free from his throat as the magic overpowered him and forced his knees to collapse.

And when he looked up, beneath the curls that had fallen into his eyes, he saw how the room itself had changed. He watched the markings surface on the walls. Symbols that meant nothing to him, scored into the stone and wood and tile as if they’d been etched there by fire. He lifted his palm when they appeared under him like they’d scorch his flesh. The complicated patterns arranged one by one, circle by circle. There was no one else in the room with him, not that he could see, but the air echoed with voices. They chanted as one, their ghostly chorus filling up the silence. Words he’d never heard before.

Words, he realized, that were meant to harm him.

“You’re not used to weakness, are you?” another voice asked.

“Cordelia,” Michael spat.

The ground trembled under the influence of magic. Some of the fires in the sconces on the walls flickered out. Michael let out a sob when the suffocating weight of the magic surrounding him turned into a sudden flash of pain. He fought again, pushing a hand toward Cordelia, fingers rigid with agony and a surge of pure hatred. Cordelia didn’t even flinch.

“You’re just a sad, scared little boy,” she told him. “And if you want to embrace that evil, then fine. You do that. You can tear apart the world until there’s nothing left. But now…it will cost you, Michael.”

“It already has,” Michael sobbed through gritted teeth.

“No.” Cordelia shook her head. “Not like this. If you want to become a monster, then who are we to deny you that? Your actions will have consequences, now; ones you won’t have any control over. The further you descend into darkness, you’ll have to live with what your choices have done to you. Every time you look at your reflection—when you see all that beauty withering away, you’ll think of the lives you’ve stolen and all the times you could’ve stopped. But no amount of regret will help you. It’s too late, Michael.”

A pain Michael couldn’t find the words for took hold of him, forcing another strangled cry from his lips. He was sprawled on the floor, muscles tense, tears streaming down the swell of his cheekbones. He felt the magic seeping into him, latching onto his bones, branding itself onto his very soul.

“Enjoy your apocalypse.”

The air went still and silent. Michael sensed the remnants of the magic as it receded and let go of him. There was nothing left except the sound of his ragged breathing. When he pushed himself off the floor onto his elbows, ignoring the deep, lingering ache in his body, Cordelia had disappeared. Her escape, and the warlocks’ covert plan to destroy him, renewed the flicker of rage in his heart.

Michael staggered back into the daylight with a curse sitting in his veins like poison.

***

Tagging my usual list + people I think might enjoy this fic (I hope you don’t mind)! And as always, if you want to be tagged, just let me know!

@lastregasolitaria​ @mylippo​ @zeciex​ @lvngdvns​ @langdonsdemon​ @wvntersldr​ @sojournmichael​ @gabnelson98​ @antichristlangdxn​ @keavysmithxoxo​  @batgirlbride​  @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998​ @gentianea​ @cryptid-coalition​  @kinlovecody​ @yuriohoe04​ @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean​ @jcshadowkiss-blog​ @frozenhuntress67​ @sebastianshoe​ @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435​ @holylangdon​  @angsty-otters-blog​ @denaexr @mr-langdonn​ @micheallangdons​ @lostin-fern​ @crazedcatcuddler​ @michaelsapostle​ @wroteclassicaly​ @monsucre @ritualmichael​  @queencocoakimmie​ @bluelancesredswords​ @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr @prettykitten123 @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26​ @readsalot73​ @americanhorrorstudies​  @tiny-ruby-seeds @confettucini​ @xavierplympton​ @kaetastic​ @blakewaterxx​ @duncvns​ @codyssfern​ @avesatanormalpeoplescareme​ @langdonsoceaneyes​

[sockablock]

Once upon a time, @inkedinserendipity tagged me in a post by @superssonica asking what would happen if Caleb got a bit too used to the Polymorph spell. 

Seren, you monster, this one goes out to you: 

- - -

Beau disappears into the clouds below the branches, trailed—then outpaced—by a second crack of thunder.

After a moment, the massive boughs sway. A few leaves tremble, then fall still.

Caduceus takes a seat in the newly-sprung grass. Yasha joins, sheepish at his side.

“My wings were not made for flying,” she mumbles. “I think I will just stay on the ground.”

Nott tugs on Caleb’s sleeve. “I kind of want to go,” she says. “Do you have a way to get us up?”

He follows her gaze. He considers the tree. He mulls over a mental list of spells, then rummages around in his pouch for silken string.

The tiny cocoon gleams silver in the light.

He gives Nott a smile.

“Ja, sure. Hop on.”

—

Caleb is flying. 

He’s never flown before, only seen and heard through Frumpkin’s eyes, back on the safety and security of the ground. But for a person, for a human, for the child of a farmer and a soldier, long ago, he’d like to think that he’s not doing a bad job.

The skies seem to tug at something deep within his soul, something feral and instinctive, something finally freed, something soaring, something lifting, something wild—alive.

In this euphoria, he tucks his wings close, driven on by a craving he’d never felt before. 

He spins into a barrel-roll, diving through the clouds, Nott on his back, screaming—maybe it’s a cheer—all he really knows is the rush of the wind, the thrill of the ether, the endless expanse.

It is beautiful, so high in the clouds.

His mind lets go. There’s no need for control.

It is empty. It is peaceful. 

Serene.

—

Later on, he turns back into the same bird to ferry Beauregard up to the nest. He lingers in the form a bit longer than needed.

It’s to save spell slots. You never know.

—

They arrive in Bazzoxan well after dusk and fall into the first and only bunks they can find. Jester and Caduceus look well enough tapped, and Fjord still occasionally plucks gravel from his chest. Yasha and Beau are as unfazed as ever, but this is as much of a habit as an act. Nott is fretting somewhere in the background, still searching desperately for her flask.

As far as evenings go, this one is fairly standard. It has been nearly a year since the Mighty Nein assembled, and all of these bustling midnight sounds are just a part of the familiar nightly song.

But when the lamplight fades, Caleb cannot sleep. He lies there, unmoving, eyes open in the dark.

He cannot stop thinking about what he’d done that morning. He cannot forget the way that it had felt.

Of course, he cannot forget anything. He’s never been able to, never known how.

But for that a minute, for that hour, for that daydream in the breeze, it had been so wonderfully easy.

—

He changes a few more times during the trip. Once towards the tomb, once within, once to dive past narrow, winding stairs. He mostly sticks to eagles—he knows them, they’re safe, and a part of him fears the uncertainty of other shapes.

He remembers the story that Jester had told about becoming a moth. She hadn’t been able to control her mind. She hadn’t been able to focus her thoughts. He remembers being a giant ape, and knowing nothing but the adrenaline and the bloody haze.

To a wizard, to a scholar, to a son of the fields who’d crawled his way up through sheer brains alone, this is something that rips at his core. It is horrifying. He must avoid it at all costs.

Still, though, he wonders, at dusk, by the campfire, as he stares alone into the flames:

What would it feel like? How far could he go?

His fingers brush a tiny cocoon. It glimmers faint and gold in the light.

—

They go home. To a home, anyways. They report to the Queen and her stance does not change, but Caleb’s convinced that there’s a new nod of care, maybe fondness, for their motley crew. They have continued to serve the Dynasty well. They have continued to help the Krynn win the war.

And gods, if the reports can be believed, the Krynn are winning this war. 

She allows him to see the Vollstrecker. 

Caleb’s soul is still rattled when finally, he leaves.

—

He goes to bed alone that night, alone in his room on the first floor of their house. 

His mind is a well of isolation and regret, of a churning desire for a wish he’ll never have, of plans and ruminations, more distant by the hour, of dreams, calculations, memories long and past, all flooding, all filling, overflowing, overmuch, much, much too much—

He drags his fingers down the sides of his head, sweat dripping from the tangle of his hair.

He needs air. Breathe. He needs air.

Below the silence of the ever-present moon, his footsteps creak against a polished floor. His palm brushes the smooth wooden banister, and then he reaches the stairs to the roof.

He opens the door.

He inhales, below the tree.

The little globes of daylight are dormant at this hour, still and cold beneath the stars.

Caleb looks up into the branches across the sky. Their tree is not nearly as large, as enormous, but still, it is familiar all the same. It makes him think...it makes him remember...

"But not a bird if it’s night,” he murmurs. “Something else, something...”

Ah, yes.

He reaches into his little leather pouch. He pulls out another silk cocoon.

He’ll have to pick up more, soon. But that is a problem for another time.

Polymorph trips off the curve of his tongue like a dream he’s dreamt a thousand times before.

And then he is nothing but a tiny, squeaking bat, a single lone heartbeat aflutter in the night.

—

The spell lasts an hour. 

—

If you cast it once.

—

That next morning, Caduceus makes breakfast. Caleb trudges down the stairs.

“Hey, what’s up with you?” Beau asks, as he pulls up a chair and collapses against the table. “Did you sleep bad? You look like shit.”

“Thank you, Beauregard,” he mutters, and pulls a mug of...of something, to his face. “Your razor-like honesty is always appreciated.”

“Alright, fuck me for asking,” she scowls, and turns around to harass Fjord instead. 

Nott, seated across the table, is feeding something to Yeza. It is amazing, the change he brings to her.

Caleb’s gaze drifts away. He focuses on a faint spiral in the wood, a little point of difference in a world of smooth grain.

After a while, he is aware of someone calling his name. He jerks up, just in time to see a fried egg slide onto his plate.

“Didn’t sleep well?” Caduceus asks kindly. “You, ah, I hope you don’t mind my saying, but you seem a bit tired, today.”

Caleb gives him a weak smile. “Ja, I stayed up last night. Working on...working on magic,” he adds.

Technically, it is not a lie.

However, Caduceus is hard to talk around. His eyes give a flicker, and though he doesn’t argue, it certainly doesn’t seem like he is fully convinced.

Still, he gives a nod. He moves on to feed the others.

Caleb feels guilty, and he isn’t sure why.

Then again, he muses, stabbing at his plate, there’s a lot for him to be guilty for.

He sinks just a bit lower in his chair.

— 

They decide, unanimously, that despite the uncertainty, they desperately need a break before heading to the north. Another week wouldn’t be too bad, adds Jester, so one more week of downtime is had. Almost immediately afterwards, Beau grabs Fjord to train in the cellar, saying something about—I can’t let Dairon down. Nott and Yeza disappear to the lab, to steal every moment they can before they part ways. Jester and Caduceus opt for some therapeutic shopping, leaving Caleb by himself, alone with his own devices.

Three months ago, that wouldn’t have been so bad.

He drifts around for a bit, idly doing tasks, re-sorting the library and polishing the windows, making his bed and then stopping to make the others’. He even takes a whole hour to scrub their tub, draining out the water and rolling up his sleeves, getting down on both knees and working the basin with a towel.

It is noon by the time he is finished. There are still seven more hours until sundown. 

There are still one hundred and fifty-one until their week-long vacation ends.

Caleb sits down at the edge of the pool. His fingers run aimless across the soapy rag as he tries desperately to think of more to do.

He even briefly debates seeing Essek. 

After a little while, he stands up. 

It is pointless. Nothing is as good.

—

“—and we’ve got a deal on clay, too. Great for Earthquakes, Feeble Mind, Shaping Stone, if that’s something you’re interested in. Only 10 silver for a—no?”

“No, no,” Caleb says quickly, carefully pouring the silk threads into his pouch. “Thank you, but I am well-stocked in that...regard. Er...thank you, madam.”

“Well, if you change your mind,” says the goblin, waving her hand and watching him go. “Come back soon, you know where to find me!”

Caleb does. 

And he is sure that he will.

—

He deliberates only a few minutes more as he stands atop the stone wall along their tower. It is dark in Rhosana, that is the problem, otherwise a bird would be the obvious choice. Then he thinks harder, and laughs at his own foolishness, and smashes the silver cocoon in his hands.

His wings spread wide, don’t make a sound.

His eyes, large, yellow, seeing all, drink in the energy and movement of a city that he—for now—does not entirely understand.

—

He comes home that night feeling mildly rumpled, somewhat wind-swept, all his spells spent. Still he agrees, as he collapses at the dinner table, that was a long afternoon well-spent. Caduceus is cooking again, of course he is, though Nott is assisting and Jester offers advice. 

The food is amazing, once it is complete. Though he eats much, much much more than he usually would, a fact that a number of his friends pick up on.

“Did you and Essek bone or something?” Beau asks. “Dude, chill out, there’s plenty more where that came from.”

Jester snickers as Fjord thumps him on the back, giving him a sympathetic hand.

“I did not,” Caleb says, affronted, and coughs one more time just for good measure. “I can assure you, we did nothing of the sort.”

“So what did you do?” Caduceus asks. His eyes, usually so dazed and relaxed, have focused onto Caleb with an uncomfortable accuracy. Damn the priest, Caleb thinks. What is this? A confession?

“We just reviewed dunamantic basics,” he murmurs, well aware of how it sounds to Jester. “I do not have any spell slots left, but I can certainly show you at a later time.”

“Firing blanks now?” Beau asks with false sympathy. “He must have really worked you hard.”

Caleb groans, and deliberately turns so that he cannot see her. Even Nott is grinning at him widely, seemingly pleased at the idea of...well, of whatever they think that he is doing. 

He wonders, idly, as the conversation shifts to other inane topics, if this is because she is gently, in her own way, trying to let him go. 

After all, she has Yeza now. She has a son she needs to go home to. She has a mission she needs to accomplish.

Caleb is supposed to have one too. But at some point during the months that have passed, he is trying less and less to think about it.

He has a feeling he knows why, but that does not make it any better.

—

That evening, his mind churns again. But he is exhausted, and depleted of his spells. He has to force himself to rest, even a short nap will do. He lies there in bed, undreaming, for hours, until he is finally dormant long enough to tap into his old training and conjure up a burst of magic.

It is just enough for one final spell. Time to make it count.

He closes his eyes.

He curls up against the mattress, and imagines what it would like to be Frumpkin.

—

There is no sunlight in this city, which means no morning gleam through the windows, but the distant hum of activity in the house, the far-off clamor of voices and life, signals to Caleb that the day has now begun.

And Frumpkin is there. Asleep against the covers, but stirs when Caleb starts to shift.

Very quickly, he is up and locking eyes with his wizard, draping across his lap and purring up a storm.

The sleep-muddled curve of Caleb’s mouth forms a smile. He runs his fingers across Frumpkin’s scalp, gently strokes his thumb against his cat’s fur.

“Dir auch einen guten morgen,” he murmurs. “I thought you were out enjoying yourself in the city.”

Frumpkin mrows in response and rolls over onto his back.

There is a moment, and then suddenly, Caleb frowns.

“Was? What are you talking about? Do not be silly, everything is fine.”

He absently scritches the fur on Frumpkin’s chest. But now his rhythm is a little unsteady.

“I am not sure what you mean,” he adds, after another pause for silence. 

Frumpkin purrs. He opens one eye and peers at Caleb.

“I am not,” Caleb says. 

Frumpkin turns over. Caleb scowls.

“I do not see why this is any of your business. And even if I was doing for that reason, it is not a harmful habit. I am just taking advantage of the skills I have learned. There is nothing wrong with that.”

Frumpkin stares until Caleb can no longer stand it. Brow furrowed, he plucks his cat from his lap and drops him onto the bed.

He says:

“I need some time alone. Do not bother me.”

—

Frumpkin is a familiar, bound by an eldritch pact. He cannot allow his master to come to harm, and he cannot disobey Caleb’s commands.

He cannot disobey Caleb’s commands. He cannot allow his master to come to harm.

Frumpkin is a familiar, and they had made a pact.

Then again, Frumpkin is also fey. 

And fey do not take “no” for an answer.

—

“Gods above,” Beau grumbles, leaping to the side, “hey, jeez, calm down, already. What’s gotten into you?”

Frumpkin sits back on his haunches and yowls purposely at her knees. His tail lashes through the air impatiently.

Beau scratches the top of her head.

“Are you trying to tell me something? What’s wrong?”

She can swear that the feline is rolling his eyes. She crouches down and frowns at him.

“Is...oh, shit, is it Caleb? Where is he? Is he alright?”

—

The spell that Jester and Caduceus had woven into the ribbons of daylight on their tree illuminates the top of the tower for a few hours every day. 

It is the closest thing that Rhosana has to sun, to a good and honest warmth. Caleb had decided, just minutes ago, to utilize this to its fullest potential.

He is content, here. He is basking, and at peace.

And then, just at the edge of his hearing, there is a faint disturbance.

“—what, that? Are you sure?”

The voice is familiar. Right now, Caleb can’t seem to remember whose it is, but he is vaguely irritated. It had been so quiet before, it had been so calm—

“You have to be really sure. I’m not gonna kill a random lizard.”

His little reptilian heartbeat leaps. He can sense a shadow looming over him now, all his instincts scream to run—

“Alright, alright, calm down, I’m doin’ it—”

—his muscles bunch, he gets ready to jump—

And a hand descends from the heavens above, the edge colliding with Caleb’s spine, there’s one second of awful, horrible pain, of a bright-yellow smudge staining the rocks, and then he is growing, aching, stretching, tumbling onto two legs, not four, glaring up in a light too bright and snarling at the unmoving face of Beau.

Now the physical is secondary. His mind is back, and it is angry.

“Arschgesicht! I had forty-two minutes on that spell!”

Beau doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even respond. Instead, in true Cobalt Soul fashion, she stares him down with such a gaze that for but a second, Caleb almost feels sheepish.

Then the furry bubbles right back to the surface.

“Why did you do that?” he demands. “Beauregard, why would you interrupt me?”

“Uh, what exactly did I interrupt?” Her eyebrows are raised, her chin turned up. “Caleb, what the fuck were you doing?”

“I was—I—magic!” he shouts. He gestures wildly to the smooth stones. “I was just practicing my spells! You know you are not supposed to interfere!”

He feels something dull at the back of his skull. It is like a pressure, though rapidly fading, and as he whirls around towards the source, he just sees the tip of a ginger tail vanishing down the tower stairs.

He almost shouts. He does not, but almost. He begins to storm off towards the door, his foot falls once, hard, into the grass, but then comes a grip like iron against his wrist.

Beauregard always says that her hands are her weapons. Even Caleb, in this state, remembers this well.

“Good gods,” she says, eyebrows rising further. “Dude, seriously, what’s up with you? Why’re you pissed? You can cast it again, can’t you?”

“Yes, Beauregard,” he manages, “yes, of course, of course I can. But that is not the point, here. The point is that Frumpkin disobeyed what I said, and, and coerced you to come here. I know you are innocent here, but he—”

“Wow.”

Caleb pauses.

“‘Wow’ what?”

Beau lets go of his wrist. She takes a step back, crosses her arms, looks him over with the sudden terrible stare of understanding. “Damn, dude, I came up here because I thought you were in trouble. That something was attacking you, or something’. But I guess trouble comes in different forms, huh?”

Caleb frowns. “What do you mean?”

She points at the rocks, where he had been resting. “Sometimes it’s a lizard. I’m guessing sometimes it’s a bird? A giant one, with eagle-wings?”

His eyes narrow. “I do not know what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, well, I barely do either, but Frumpkin seems to think there’s something wrong. With you, I mean. And I guess with your spells.”

“There is nothing wrong with me. And there is no reason for you to think that.”

She leans in.

“You and your cat are telepathically linked.”

“And? What of it?”

“If there was something goin’ on in your head, don’t you think he would have noticed?”

“He is overreacting,” Caleb huffs, “there is nothing—”

“Come on, man, this is Frumpkin. He cares about you, he’s just worried. And honestly, based on the way you’re acting, I’m starting to worry too.”

Caleb stops.

He goes still.

His gaze falls to the ground.

“Ja, well,” he murmurs. “Perhaps you should not bother.”

To his amazement, Beau rolls her eyes.

“Aw, come on,” she says, stepping forward. “Don’t play that face with me, alright?” She prods him in the chest. “Alright, spill. What’s up? Are you still pissed about that Scourger that got caught?”

Caleb sighs. “No, no, that is not it. It is…” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “It is just...other things. You know.”

“I don’t.”

He inhales. Then he sags, finally defeated.

“Ja. Ja, I suppose that is true.”

He watches her cross her arms.

“I won’t know unless you tell me,” she says. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

He feels the last of the rage drain away. His stares intently at the dirt.

“It is...I believe it is everything. Everything that has been happening. Everything that has happened.”

He falls quiet.

“I think it may be too much.”

Beau gives him a very level stare.

Eventually, she gestures to the stones. Warm under the glow of light made by a friend.

“Alright,” she says. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

They both sit. It is quiet, for a moment. And then, Caleb sighs one last time, and speaks:

“We are in a very strange place. And we are trying to...we are trying to do some very big things. Things that...as every day goes by, seem more and more impossible to accomplish.”

Beau leans against the bark of the tree.

“Yeah, I…feel you there.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“What did your mentor say, by the way? How much does she know about...about the things we have done?”

Beau meets his gaze, eyes blank and cool.

“Oh, no. We’re doing your problems now. We can talk about all that later.”

Despite everything, this makes Caleb laugh. It’s nothing more than a faint chuckle, but Beau smiles back, gives him a nod.

“C’mon,” she says. “Go on. Keep going.”

Caleb tilts his head up to the boughs of the gnarled tree.

“I am...well, I am not sure. Not really. I do not think I have been, for a long time. And…seeing that V—that Scourger, it made me realize that…that for all of my memory, all my knowledge, for all the things I had swimming in my head, I realize now that I did not really have to think. I just...really, I just had to believe. I had to obey what my Lehrer—teacher, said. Really, I was not expected to think. And everything, for all its complications, everything was so, so simple.”

He glances down at the ground. Tufts of grass lay silent below his feet.

“Today, my friend, today they are not. We are...we are trying to do very big things. And we are trying to help many people. And I think that is good. Really, I do. And I think it has given me...in some ways, a...a goal. Something that seems a bit more feasible, anyway.”

“More realistic then bending reality.”

He gives a faint smile.

“Ja, you could put it that way. But, ah...but as you can likely see, that goal has gotten slightly more...complicated. And trying to stay on the right path...even finding that path itself, is not a straightforward process. It requires thought. It requires so much thought. And now, after everything, after all we have seen and tried to do, I believe...I am sure...that I am just tired of thinking.”

Beau nods sagely as his voice trails away.

“Okay,” she shrugs. “Then you should just stop.”

Caleb blinks.

“Jus—what?”

Beau sighs. “I…I dunno, man. I think, honestly, I think that’s all you need. To stop thinking about all that shit. Not—” she adds hastily, “—not in the way that you’re doing with the lizards. Not like that. But just...I dunno. When you’re being you.”

“But when I am me, I cannot do that,” Caleb says. “I have a perfect memory, Beauregard. There is nothing I can forget.”

“Oh, wow, look at you. Wow. I’m so impressed.”

“Beauregard—”

She grins and raises her hands. “Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t resist. But, uh...yeah. I guess that makes sense. That...that sounds pretty rough, dude. If I had a record of my greatest failures playing all the time in my head, I think I’d go pretty crazy too.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

“Now I am confused,” he says. “Is this conversation supposed to help me?”

Beau throws her arms into the air.

“Hell, I dunno,” she says. “I’m not the feelings expert, or whatever. I’ve just seen people do this kind of shit before. You’re supposed to talk things out, right? That’s supposed to...I dunno, fix things, or something?”

“Is it?” Caleb asks, incredulous. “Who told you that?”

She scratches the back of her neck. “Uh...I dunno. Probably Caduceus.”

“That seems like something that he would say.”

They fall silent for a few moments after that, drinking in the sunlight and the distant city sounds.

Then Beau says:

“I wasn’t lying, though. I don’t really know what it’s like to feel like you. I can’t imagine having a brain like yours. But...but I do kind of know what you’re going through.” He glances over, and she nods. “Yeah. I do. I think...I think it’s a pretty common thing. Maybe not in such perfect detail, but...it can be hard to stop thinking about all the times you’ve fucked up. And it can be even harder when you know that, uh...when it feels like the fate of a hundred thousand souls rests on every stupid decision that you make.”

“We have made many stupid decisions, eh?”

“God, you’re telling me?” Beau groans. The back of her head rests against the tree. “I’m amazed Dairon didn’t kill me. And honestly, I’m amazed all of us are still alive. But...I mean...I guess that’s just it, right? We’re still alive. We’re still here. And, most important, we’re still truckin’.”

She tilts one eye towards Caleb.

“We’re still here, and we’re still trying to figure it out. As shitty as it is, sometimes. As much as...as much as it hurts. And as tired as we get. We haven’t given up, and we’re still alive. Seriously, think about it in math. The odds are definitely that we should’ve died by now.”

He can’t help but snort. “Ja, absolut.”

“But we aren’t,” Beau shrugs. “And as shitty as that is, as much as it hurts, as fuckin’ terrible as it can sometimes be...that means we still have a chance. To do...whatever it is that we’re supposed to do. Or not supposed to do. And I always get pissed when people tell that I’m lucky for it, or whatever, but...I dunno. Maybe we are. And maybe it’s rotten luck for the world that it’s us, but...here we are. All of us, here we are. And...and we’ve got each other. And I won’t pretend to know what I’m doing, and I definitely don’t know...not really, how to help, but, uh. I’m here for you. Okay? Whatever...whatever you need. As long as it’s not bullshit—" she raises an eyebrow, Caleb chuckles. 

“—but yeah. Seriously. I’m here. And I’ll always listen, whenever I can.”

She leans back against the bark. She closes her eyes and gives a nod.

“I mean that,” she says. “I really do.”

Caleb feels the sunlight glow against his skin, feels the warmth of its whisper brushing across his face. And there’s another light too, maybe brighter, maybe warmer, coming from either side of his form—it’s the gentle sigh of a shoulder pressed against his own, and the curling, purring softness, of a cat beneath his hands.

He glances down at Frumpkin. Then he turns to look at Beau.

Here we are. All of us, here we are.

Very, very slowly, he closes his eyes.

And it isn’t the cure. Not by a long shot.

But certainly, it’s a start.

[doodleimprovement]

One Good Try [Coco]

This was just posted yesterday to Ao3, enjoy

Miguel is loosing sleep and gaining anxiety in the wake of his day in the land of the dead, with one question always at the edge of his thoughts:

"What if he didn't make it?"

He had to find out. He had to try

Rating: Gen \ Warnings: None \ Word Count: 2934 (Christ almighty) // Ao3 Link

Miguel had to try something

Two months of sleepless nights. Christmas had come and gone, and New Years Eve was well under way.

And the poor 12 year old was very much not enjoying himself a solid 40 percent of the time. His mind was mostly focused on one, nagging thought

Did he make it in time?

Was his Papa Héctor alive?

Did Mamá Coco - who passed just last month - get to see her Papa?

It ate away at the poor boy in tiny ways. In how peckish he’d been with food. In how he stared for hours at the re-taped photo of the Héctor with Imelda and Coco. How his dreams filled with images of his great-great grandfather fading away like sand into the darkness below the marigold bridge. In his tears that fell on the guitar, almost too afraid to strum it again since he last played for his Mamá Coco on her deathbed.

Two months had been too long. Too much. He had to find out. But how could he?

Its not Día de los Muertos. He can’t get cursed… can he?

He sat in the library at his school one day in late January, mulling over a book titled “The Dead and You: How to Contact Your Ancestors” by Esperanza Migas. He scanned and scanned until he reached a page with the ominous title: “THE DOS AND DON’TS OF THE DEAD”. Seemed as good a place as any to start reading

As he perused the page, one “don't” popped out at him: “DON’T: Deface your families tombs in any way. Might result in a curse”

… Well there was an idea, wasn’t it?

--

One small pint of water-soluble paint and a hasty plan later and here he was, in the Santa Cecilia Graveyard at one in the morning in the middle of February. His flashlight was laid on the cold earth facing the stone, and he worked on opening the paint.

The boy hadn’t slept more than an hour or so at a time in the past 4 days, and he muttered about how it was a miracle he wasn’t seeing double yet. Once opened, he took a deep breath, holding the can over her tombstone

"Lo siento, Mamá Imelda” He muttered, before pouring the thick, purple paint all along the top.

He waited a few moments, letting out a huff in frustration and going to grab the flashlight… and his hand went right through it. He jumped, realizing that it had worked, and immediately started looking around for the marigold bridge, spotting blotches of orange just out of his sight.

He ran, stumbling slightly over his own legs before getting to the bridge, which while not as bright as before, seemed pretty lovely nonetheless. Standing at the beginning of the bridge was a uniformed skeleton, who, upon spotting Miguel, stared blankly at him before speaking

“... Aren’t you the living boy from-”

Miguel just nodded, holding his own arm awkwardly

“...” The guard sighed deeply “Follow me, por favor”

---

Imelda had come to hate the ringing of her telephone. She had never liked the telephone, even when she was alive, and that obnoxious ringing was the reason why. Was it helpful? Yes. Did it make her like the device? No.

She grumbled out of bed and picked it up “Rivera Zápatos”

“Ah, is this Miss Imelda Rivera?” a light, female voice asked

“This is she. Why are you calling me at this hour?” She responded, not even a slight bit of amusement in her tone.

“Ah, well, you see Miss Rivera-” the lady on the other end of the line stumbled slightly, before another voice was heard in the background - a voice that caused Imelda’s eyes to widen in surprise.

“C-can I talk to her?”

There was a shuffling sound, and then a breath

“... Hola Mamá Imelda…” The young boys voice sounded thick with tears and hoarse from sobs, which only made her even more concerned.

“... We’ll be right there”

“W-wait, Mamá I-” She hung up

“Héctor!” She shouted to her bed, where a lump of blankets rolled about slightly “Get up, we have to go to the agency”

“Mmh… Why..?” Héctor sat up, rubbing at his eye sockets

“Jus’ get dressed” She huffed, grabbing her boots from their place bedside. She’d explain on the way.

There was no way she was going to keep Miguel waiting any longer than necessary, not with the way he sounded over the phone.

It left her chilled in a way only a mother can describe

-----

The sheer awkwardness radiating off of the assistant at the Department of Family Reunions left Miguel feeling so much worse now that he’d actually cried a little in front of her. She kept offering tissues, asking him how he was, and telling him that Imelda would be there soon.

And while it would be nice to see her, she wasn’t who he was here to see.

The crying had just come from him explaining why he was here. He’d barely gotten to talking about Héctor when he choked on his words in fear.

He was very close to straight up leaving the office before there was a sudden slamming of a door, followed by a slightly muffled but still recognized voice.

Miguel scrambled to his feet from his chair and watched as the door opened, and Imelda walked in, looking over Miguel briefly

He was dressed in a red sweater - seemed to be his favorite color- and jeans with his Rivera boots. The boy had bags under his eyes that rivaled herself during the early days of Cocos upbringing. The redness in said eyes matched his overall flushed complexion, exhausted and miserable looking.

“Miguel…” Her expression couldn’t help but soften at his appearance. You can’t stay mad at a boy who looks that miserable, even if he did pour paint all over your grave. He must have been looking to get cursed, looking for a reason to come back here, but why-

“Imelda? Imelda is it really him?” Héctor came in a few moments after her, coming from behind and looking past her, freezing up the same as her at his great-great-grandson’s miserable appearance.

Miguel's eyes went wide as saucers when Héctor entered, letting out a strangled gasp.

He looked… better. His clothing was no longer ragged, and he even had shoes. Shoes! His bones looked lighter, whiter, and even his hair didn’t look so dusty. He looked so much better than when Miguel had last seen him.

“P-papa Héctor!!” He shouted, rushing forward and clutching his arms around Héctors ribs, choking out sobs of relief. “Y-you’re okay! You didn't fade away!!” He managed in between strained crying and whimpers.

Héctor didn’t need too long to piece together that he was the reason his grandson was like this, and reacted by hugging the small boy close to his chest

“Heh, yeah, I am” He answered softly. “Still kicking in these old bones” He chuckled

Miguel took a moment to enjoy the hug before continuing.

“... I … I was worried…” he looked at the wall, almost embarrassed now “That I hadn’t made it.. That… you’d…”

“Ay, ay Miguel” Héctor turned Miguel’s head to look up at him with a gentle hand “I'm here, it’s okay”

The boy sniffled “Y-yeah…”

Imelda stepped over, a hand on Miguel's back in as comforting a manner she could “Miguel, are you telling me that you spilled paint on my tombstone-”

“He did what???” Hector looked aghast, right at Miguel “Miguel-”

“It’ll wash away with water!!” Miguel quickly assured, still sniffling a bit “and-and its supposed to rain tonight…”

Imelda sighed deeply, her fingers pinching the bridge of her long-gone nose. “Well… I supposed I cannot stay mad at such ingenuity, canI? It is a RIvera trait” She smiled slight, then turned to the Assistant “You! How long does Miguel have before the curse takes its hold?”

‘Oh! Oh uh-” The skeletal woman flipped through an old file as quickly as she could, before pointing down to a page “It says here that when in the case of defamation of a grave, you have to send him back and he has to clean the grave or he’ll be returned here before sunset the next day”

“Hm….” Imelda pondered “Miguel?”

“Hm?” the boy looked over at her directly, still clinging to Héctor like his life depended on it

“ I am sending you home”

“Ma-”

“But” She interrupted, “After we take you to the Hacienda for a quick visit”

The way Miguel’s face lit up was more than worth that brief blip of his defiance.

After assuring the assistant that they’d get Miguel home in a couple of hours, they promptly left. Imelda’s hand on Miguel’s shoulder, and Héctor holding his hand. Miguel was absolutely beaming, the tears quickly drying as he started telling them about how his baby sister was the best, and how Rosa was teaching herself to play violin, and how they had taken down the statue of De La Cruz in Mariachi Plaza since he’d exposed him as a fraud using Coco’s saved letters and poems. It was a lot for the dead Riveras to take in, but as Miguel recounted how the police had tried to take the guitar back, or how De La Cruz fans had called his assumptions absolute garbage (Miguel mentioned that they’d used harsher language and called him some pretty nasty names) Héctor couldn’t help the swell of absolute pride in his chest cavity

Nor the guilt weighing down on his shoulders.

Just seeing how relieved happy Miguel was just at the sight of him had numerous, worrying questions nag away at his brain

How long had Miguel been trying to cross over?

How many sleepless nights had Miguel spent thinking that he’d failed?

He’d admit that he’d had his own nightmares concerning Miguel. Nightmares where he didn’t make it home that night, where Ernesto's murder attempt had worked, where Miguel went home and was punished and barred from playing music ever again, somehow all because of him. When Coco had crossed over - that sad but joyous day - many of his fears had been alleviated

But Coco had never mentioned anything like this.

When they got to the Rivera Hacienda, most of the family was up, including Coco, who took one look at Miguel and wasted no time in gathering him into a bone crushing hug which he returned eagerly.

The rest of the family said their hellos and gave their hugs (Tia Rostia’s hug seemed especially snug) and She offered to name buñelos for him before he went home - as a treat. To which Miguel excitedly nodded his head. Some family members (like Victoria and Julio) went back to bed, while Oscar and Felipe caught Miguel in a talk about their various shoe ideas and tweaks. Héctor took the minutes where the boy wasn’t clinging to him to lean against the wall near the kitchen, watching him with the paternal affection he’d always had for the boy, even before knowing they were related.

“He’s such a brash niño” Imelda commented, approaching him “Doing this just to see if you were still around”

“After all that happened, I can’t really blame him, Diosa” He reached for her hand and she let him take it, squeezing it with reassurance “He looks so tired…”

“After Rosita finishes the buñelos I am sending him straight home. Talk to him now, Héctor” She asserted gently - squeezing his hand- before going to talk to Rosita.

Héctor briefly shook off his nerves before approaching the group

“Ay, Oscar, Felipe, lemme talk to Miguel, just a moment?”

“Oh, si, si, we- “

“Have to go to bed anyhow! Remember Miguel-”

“To deliver that design idea to Elena for us”

“You go it” He gave them a slightly unsure thumbs up as they left. He looked up at Héctor

“Ah.. whats up, Papa Héctor?” Miguel grinned uneasily

Héctor sat himself down where Oscar and Felipe had been, looking right at Miguel. He didn’t have a very easy expression “Miguel, did you really do all that just to see me?”

“Uh well, yeah…” The boy looked away “I just.. Had to know, y’know? It was killin’ me” he shrugged, an almost-smile hitting his face. Héctor was confused for a moment before letting out a huff

“Thats not funny, M’ijo” he said, though his own slight smile betrayed him, earning a small grin - dimple and all- from his beloved grandson

“Yes it is, you’re smiling” Miguel mused almost haughtily

Héctor couldn’t help but chuckle “Enough enough. Miguel, I need to know that you won’t try to do this again” Miguel's expression after that didn’t surprise him “I mean it, M’ijo! You can’t come back here. Who knows what might happen to you if every time you miss me, or Coco, or anyone you just deface a tombstone, or steal something. It's not safe!”

“B-but-”

“No, no buts” He affirmed, and Miguel’s shoulders slumped “I don’t want to see you here again until you are old, grey, and skeletal yourself, comprende?”

Miguel sighed deeply, looking away from him and crossing his arms. He was so much like Coco - when she was a baby, anyway.

“... Fine, but.. I still wanna find a way to talk to you. Somehow, maybe?”

Just as Héctor was about to gently let him down from that pie in the sky idea, Dante exploded into the kitchen and tackled Miguel right off of the chair he was seated in

And Héctor got an idea.

After buñelos and more chatter, Miguel looked about ready to pass out where he stood, and Imelda grabbed a marigold petal. Miguel hugged those that were still awake, lingering on Coco and outright refusing to let go of Héctor for about 2 minutes before lastly hugging Imelda

“I’m sorry Mama Imelda” He muttered

“Ay, M’ijo es okay” She assured him, gathering him in a hug “Now, let's get you home for a full night's rest, si?”

He nodded

“Miguel, I give you my blessing” The petal glowed “To go home, to clean my tomb” she raised it to him “and to rest well, M’ijo”

He smiled brightly at her, and reached forward, touching the petal and getting swept away in a cascade of sunset orange.

Imedla sighed in relief after he left, rubbing at her eyes “Ay, that boy is going to be the final death of me”

Hector reached for her upper arm gently “Lets go to bed, Diosa. We’ve had an eventful morning, and the shop can afford to open late today” He assured and she simply nodded.

Eventful morning indeed.

----

Miguel arrived in the land of the living in the rain, looking at the tombstone and noting that the paint had already come off from the drenching it was receiving.

He grabbed his still on flashlight, and used it to navigate his way home and sneak in the hacienda.

He tiptoed passed bedrooms and went right into the bathroom, where he started running the shower and bathed- washing out the coldness of the rain and also making up an excuse as to why he was showering at this hour if anyone came by. No one did, and he finished the shower, dried himself off, and went to his room where he shoved his wet clothes deep into his hamper, putting on the pajamas he’d left in his bed.

He looked at the date and time on his calendar and clock, realizing that it was saturday and that school wouldn’t be a concern today. He smiled briefly, feeling more ready for sleep than he had in months, and shut his eyes, dreams of guitars and colors and skeletons already beginning before he even began to softly snore

---

The next few days, there was a notable change in Miguel. He was sleeping better, playing the guitar again, and seemed more like himself than he’d been in months. Elena wasn’t completely sure what caused the change in her grandson, but seeing him looking so much happier, it didn’t really matter.

While getting dinner ready, that damned Xolo dog burst in, barking and yipping and jumping around the hacienda, playing - though not roughly- with the twins and then making his way into the kitchen, where he sat at the entrance as if waiting permission. She turned to shoo him off, when she noticed a piece of rolled up paper tied to his neck. She approached him and he didn’t move as she removed it, and rolled it open. It was addressed to Miguel

Miguel,

I really hope you got this! It's a complete shot in the dark whether or not this can cross over into the land of the living, but if it did i think we’ve fixed the “communication issue”. Excellent!

Let me know how you are doing as soon as you get this, okay? I wish you nothing but the best, Mi Hijo.

Much love, Your Papa Héctor

Elena nearly choked on a breath, staring incredulously at the letter, before letting out a deep sigh, rolling it up, and re-attaching it to Dante.

“Miguel is in Mariachi Plaza, you dumb dog! Now shoo!” she waved her hand, and Dante took off like a bullet- or perhaps a rubber band? That dog’s movements defied logic.

Elena shook her head, chuckling “So he really was telling the truth… I’ll have to have a chat with that little niñito when he gets home” and returned to her carne asada, the smell wafting through the room and into the courtyard. She huffed in accomplishment, glancing out into the courtyard.

Yes, all was very well in the Rivera Hacienda

[mangled-dreams]

Promising Sun - Part 6: Tomb Raiding

Promising Sun Part 6 - Tomb Raiding.

I'm sorry I've been so slow about this chapter. I've been dealing with a lot of writer's block, but I've finally finished and hopefully you enjoy.

So thank you for waiting with me.

It takes a few days and no small amount of swearing, but you'd finally left the weird between worlds and find your feet on solid ground. Just as promised by Jack you drop from the sky. Your shrieks catch the attention of visitor to the great Aztec pyramids. 

Damien catches you easily using Mark's body but that is beside the point. Once your feet are on the ground you smack Mark/Damien's shoulder, swatting him away from you. Your head spins and colors and darkness take over your once colorful world. It's taking more time than you had expected to readjust to your special sight. 

Pressing hand against your throbbing temple you shake your head slightly, blinking a few times to refocus yourself. The world is just as you left it. Auras fill your vision giving you a feeling of normalcy. You really have to focus to bring everything into perspective. It's almost like you have to relearn all your disciplines. 

"Hey, Y/n, you feelin' alright?" Sean/Jack asks steadying you with his hand. You nod your head not risking the vomit rising in your throat. You'd forgotten how dizzying and nauseated your aura vision made you. 

"You look a little green." Mark/Damien adds with a worried note. You hold your hand up and take a few calming breaths to settle your stomach.

"I'm fine...ah. It's been a long time since my vision gave me that much issue." you say softly. When you feel you can stand up you straighten your spine and take a look around you. The auras aren't dancing around anymore and have physical forms like you're used to.

"So, we're in Mexico, huh?" You ask wishing you could actually see Mexico, and for a moment you had before being shoved through the gaping hole in the ground of the in between world. 

"Yep!" Jack says cheerfully. You wonder if that's because of Sean of it he's just glad to be in a physical body again. You decide not to ask. 

"If my memory serves there is an entrance alone the back wall of the alter. We should be able to enter through there." Damien says. His voice is very different from what you've come accustomed do in the between world. 

"How long were we in that place?" You ask looking to Damien. You can see the softer tones again, the more vivid reds and magenta hues. You do enjoy the colors of Damien and Mark's mixed together. It’s soothing and not so overwhelming. 

"I would have to say it's been two days since entering that space." Damien tells you looking to his wrist watch.

"Two days? My family must be going nuts wondering where I am!" You shout as the real world issues suddenly crush you. Your normally little ball of anxiety has just doubled in side and quadrupled in weight. Gripping your chest your mind races with thoughts of what your parents must be going through. You just disappeared without a trace! 

"Y/n! Y/n! Everything is okay." Damien tells you, forcing you to crouch down and shoves your head towards your knees. "We've taken care of this. Jack and I, we thought of it. Your parents believe you've taken a quick weekend run about with Mark and Sean and a few friends to the beach. We've ensured that they believed it while you were sleeping that first night in the between world." Damien says coaxing you into a cool down.

 When you've finally able to breath without feeling like your chest is going to explode you look at Damien and ask, “They believed you?”

“Yes, even in Mark and Sean’s bodies we still retain quite a bit of our abilities. It allows us to go about our search relatively unnoticed by all.” Damien explains watching carefully. He feels confident you won’t have another mini panic attack.

“And it doesn’t hurt them when you use your magic on them?” You ask feeling much calmer. Confirms it does not harm anyone and you allow the pair to walk you up the thousands of stairs made up of the pyramid. You can't see it any more but you assume they chose the largest one to scale by the auras floating in mid air above you.

After the six hundred and twenty fourth steps you collapse to your knees with exhaustion. Over your head Jack and Damien exchange looks of sympathy and decide to sit down on either side of you.

"Here's water." Jack tells you holding out a bottle to you. You grab his wrist, letting your hand touch the water bottle before taking it from him. Checking the cap you pop it off and take a night long drag of water. 

"Thanks, Jack." You whisper leaning back against the stone step behind you and close your eyes. It feels amazing in Mexico, a little humid, but otherwise like paradise. “How much further up?” You ask wishing you could see the blue of the sky above you but only see darkness.

“A bit.” Damien tells you, obviously lying for your benefit.

You groan. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to help, I want to go back home and live the rest of my life trying to forget all this craziness”

Jack chuckles on your left and Damien chuckles on your right. “You know that ain’t happenin’.” Anti tells you. You can distinctly hear humor in his tone. You smile at this.

“Come on, a few more hundred steps and we’ll break for some lunch.” Damien offers peaking your interest with food. You hadn’t even thought about packing or asking about food since it was virtually provided at will to you in the between world.

"You mean like real food?" You ask happily.

"What other kind o' food you thinkin' about?" Jack asks. You shrug in response. You guess to him the between world food is just normal to him as well. 

With a heavy sigh you close your eyes and stand up. Ever ounce of your body is telling you not to, to simply roll over and call it good, but you've committed yourself to this fate. Damien and Jack keep you between their sides, helping you to continue forward. You're counting the steps out of habit.

“When we find your bodies what will happen then? Is there some kind of ritual? A spell you have to do?” You ask feeling a little less winded but still tired.

Damien shrugs. “We’re not sure. This is the first we’ve ever done this. I am hopeful it is as straight forward as just repossessing my own body.”

You nod, your head dropping down and for a moment before lifting it again you see something catch your eye. Stopping dead you twist, your feet remaining planted, but your torso twists as you see a faint glow of green and red below your feet. You pull your head up again, look at Damien and jack then back down.

Using your internal map you take a few steps down and crouch down. You lay your hand on the hot stone and stare intently at the colors. You know without a doubt you had not seen these colors before trekking up the pyramid. Pressing your hands along the stone work you feel for something out of the ordinary—not that you would know what’s not ordinary about a damn pyramid.

“Rose?” Damien calls earning a swat of your hand.

Looking around again you catch a small wisp of aura tail. It’s faint and even in the blinding darkness you’re having trouble catching it with your eyes. Putting all your attention, your focus, your effort into following this wisp of green and red aura you follow it up to Damien and Jack and back down again to the faint auras below you.

Going to your hands and knees you feel your way along the stone, pausing briefly to avoid injury on your task to find a way down to—what you assume is Jack and Damien’s bodies.

Behind you Damien and Jack stick close to you. They’re sure you’re locked on to something important, especially when you keep looking down in the same direction the further along the pyramid wall you go. The pair talk to each other, wondering what it is that has you tuning them out so intently.

“Do you think she’ll find the way in?” Jack asks taking his eyes off you for just a few moments to glance at Damien.

“I don’t know, Jack. Wait, Rose! Y/n, that’s the edge.” Damien responds jumping forward his arm wrapping around your waist.

You squeak, startled by the sudden halt but don’t react much past that small noise. Your eyes trained on a dim aura that matches your color just out of your reach. “Down.” You tell Damien pointing to the dimly lit aura. Damien nods and carries you down the side of the pyramid to the level you need and sets you on your feet.

You’ve never seen the symbol floating in the darkness. It doesn’t match any written language you’ve seen and yet, somehow it reminds you of Egypt and the pyramids there. You quickly attribute it to the fact you are on a pyramid currently.

The color turns vivid, bright, and nearly blinding as you step closer to it. You hesitate to reach out, not sure if you should or not. You feel Damien and Jack standing behind you, waiting for you to make your move.

Taking a steady breath you reach out to the symbol finding there is a heat to it, not an uncomfortable heat but still heat. Your fingers brush the cold stone as the symbol it’s self seems to heat your palm as you press your whole hand against it. Sound in the world around you goes mute. All you hear is a quiet shift of stone as the symbol disappears from your sight.

A blast of dust and chill hits your face first. You quickly shield your face with your hands, crying out when small bits of stone pelts you from the force of whatever magic kept the door closed. Jack grabs your arm, pulling you into the shelter of his chest as the wind picked up, more stones being flung from the inside of the massive structure. You don’t understand how it is happening.

“Damien!” Jack shouts earning a nod from Damien. You don’t see as much as feel Damien’s ability in the physical world. Calming pressure combats the paranormal wind until it finally calms down.

“What was that?” you ask not caring how messy your hair is now thanks to the wind.

“A safe guard. When this place was sealed up this trap was placed to detour anyone from entering. Jack, stay here with Y/n, I’m going to go in and dispel what I can.” Damien says entering the pyramid. He doesn’t want to say it, but he’s never seen this entrance. It worries him that you were able to find this without their help.

While you wait for Damien to return Jack retains his touch on you, keeping you between himself and the wall of the pyramid. A few minutes after Damien disappeared into the inky blackness before you and Jack, you both hear people screaming about a large cat.

Looking up at Jack you ask him, “Is that another safe guard?”

Jack looks beyond you and tells you to stay against the wall before walking away from you. You want to reach out and pull him back but instead tell him to be careful.

Jack peers down at the people screaming and running away from a fast moving large cat not indigenous to the area. With a sigh Jack whistles loudly, getting the large cat’s attention. “Up here ya flea bag.” He calls as the cat spots him and quickly climbs the stairs. “She’s over here.” He tells the cat leading it over to your hiding spot.

Looking at Jack you notice the large animal shaped aura and knit your brows together as realization dawns over you. “Cat!” You say rushing forward to the much larger looking animal companion. Your fingers glide into the creature’s thick fur and you hug the large animal. “Oh, Cat, how did you get here?” You ask burying your face in the familiar smelling fur. ‘Wait, why are you so big? You were pretty large for a domestic looking cat, but now you’re huge!” You say looking at the beautiful aura of your feline companion. Cat meows at you as if answering you and it’s louder than you remember. It sort of frightens you.

“Jack, how did Cat get so big?” You ask looking to Jack’s green swirling aura. You watch his shoulders shrug slightly.

“Damien told ya about Cryverns didn’t he? They’re mythical creatures able to do a lot without real explanation.” Jack responds.

“It’s all clear in here.” Damien announces stepping out of the black of the doorway. Seeing the Cryvern he pauses. "I was wondering when you'd show up."

You look back at Damien in question. "You knew Cat would show up?" You ask walking over to Damien with Cat guiding you. You conclude that Cat is better than any walking cane you've ever had. He guides you so perfectly over the unstable ground.

"Did you find a clear route down?" Jack asks glancing at Cat with a tint of jealousy. Damien mirrors him to a less degree.

"No, there are many different areas to branch off from." Damien says taking the lead. You follow with Anti just behind you and Cat brushing against your side. You follow Damien's aura as Cat keeps you from fumbling into crumbled structures and large boulders on the ground.

"Steady." Jack says calmly when you trip over a small rock embedded into the floor. You nod, thank him quietly, and continue on a little slower.

"Y/n, do you see anything anymore?" Damien asks pausing in the center of a large chamber with many different directions. From his experience, Damien know many of them could lead to deadly outcomes and he already knows you're able to sense something.

You look around, your whole being focusing again on the thin wisps of aura linking Damien and Jack to their true bodies. Giving Cat a soft push you walk as far left as Cat will allow before making a wide half circle loop. You frown.

"Jack's aura is coming from over here and Damien's aura is coming out of a space close to Damien." You say not sure how this is possible since you can clearly see both their bodies withing feet of each other. Looking at the pair respectively you ask, "Which way are we going to go?"

Follow Jack's Aura.                                      Follow Damien's Aura.

[the-short-stouts-tavern]

Dweit & Pals - The Tomb of the ‘Uber Riches Part V

Previous

And finally we made it. Uldum from years in the past. A Titan spectacle beyond...whatever. It’s just a big dumb desert just like the last big dumb desert, only more desert-y and with cat people who hate you. It only has one thing going for it; a bunch of giant obelisks that power a giant triangle in the center that can wipe out the entire planet. And cat people who hate you.

Screw this, I ain’t flowerin’ up this. You’re literally here, you know what it is.

As it turns out, tumbling out of a time portal isn’t going to create an elegant fall. As Dweit was flung into the past, he began to roll painfully down a hill of blistering sand and coarse stone. “Ow. Ow. Ow. OW. OWOW.”

Tendorel soon popped out after, rolling down before leaping up and sliding down with grace.

Ace, meanwhile, floated down the hill with a levitate spell. She smiled and brought the same spell down onto Dweit.

Dweit muffled something in the sand that sounded like ‘Thank you’. After a moment he brought his face out and spat out some excess sand. Slowly he began to float in the air before stopping three feet off the ground.

“So, we’re in the past.” Tendorel stepped forward, taking a look around. “It still looks like the same Uldum to me.”

Ace walked forward. “Tales say that Uldum used to be a jungle, but we were sent into a point in time between when it was a jungle and when the Cataclysm came.”

“I wonder what caused it.” Tendorel frowned. “Is it...”

“Yeah, my money’s on the Forge of Origination.” Dweit pointed out to the horizon. They were far southwest, but the giant structure was still clearly visible to them. The Halls of Origination, which housed the forge that would have been used to reoriginate the entire world. “If it can turn an entire jungle into a desert overnight....hoo boy, what it could do with the world. Ah, but we don’t have to worry about that, do we? We actually deactivated that ourselves, for a tidy profit from that explorer guy. Brand Brozo. No one would be able to use it.”

“Except for this part of the timeline.” Ace frowned. “Still, I doubt we’d have to worry about that from Holly.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t put it past her to use a world-destroying device to kill me.”

“Overkill’s what I’m good at, Dweeb!”

Dweit, Ace, and Tendorel turned around, instinctively bringing out their weapons. There at the top of the dune they tumbled down was the small goblin warrior, posing confidently as she stared down at the trio. “Hehehe.”

“Holly Nimrod...” Dweit pointed his hammer up at the goblin. “Where is my mother?!”

“Ohh, she’s fiiiiine, Dweity.” Holly smirked, resting her hand on her hip. “I wouldn’t kill an innocent goblin without a lil’ reason fer it, hon.”

“You literally decapitated a petty thief.” Tendorel spat out.

“Oh, eyerolllll...” Holly initiated that eyeroll, then smiled. “Dweeb, how long have these guys been your putzes without knowin’ the way goblins work, eh? If they jump at an opportunity an’ fail, it’s their own damn fault!”

“She may have had a family! A mother!” Ace gripped her staff as she pointed it at her. This aggressive attitude made the goblin laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river. Look, if it makes ya feel better, she tried stealin’ somethin’ very important to me. I warned her straight-up, but she wouldn’t listen.”

“And the desecration?” Ace stepped forward. “Using her blood for a damned taunt?!”

“Calm down, Goggles.” Holly smirked. “Are you tellin’ me that Dweit never thought about somethin’ like that?”

“Of course he wouldn’t!” Tendorel shouted, then turned to Dweit. “Right?”

“...........eh.” Dweit shrugged.

“EH?!” Both elves looked at Dweit incredulously.

“Hey, hey, calm down!” Dweit stepped back, holding his hands up to both of his companions. “I never act on it. It’s just, sometimes you gotta act out theatrics in the business, sheesh.”

“You goblins are scary.” Tendorel frowned. He then looked up at Holly, his tone lowered to a whisper. “Yet I don’t think I’ve ever met one as scary as her. What do we do?”

“Holly is what I would call a screaming harlot of unhindered rage and spite.” Dweit gripped his hammers tight.

“..........”

Ace sighed, looking at the two. “I think a more proper term is ‘berserker’.”

“Ah. That makes more sense. We can deal with those.” Tendorel smiled.

“Did I forget to mention that her axe was gifted to her by Saurfang himself after almost beatin’ him in armed combat?”

“......wait, wh-”

The sound of Tendorel’s questioned tone was harshly interrupted by a raging scream from the top of the hill. Holly gripped her axe behind her and leaped forward, her entire being seemingly erupting in a heat much too intense for the desert. In a swift motion, she swung the axe full-force towards the group, connecting with Tendorel’s shield. This was momentary, however, as the axe’s motion continued its force which caused Tendorel’s body to be knocked back a few feet to the right, only missing a collision with Ace by a few inches.

Holly landed on the ground and sniffed, her eyes seemingly glowing with vigor. She gripped the axe tight and swung towards Ace, hoping to connect with her head.

With a quick motion, Ace’s magic grabbed Tendorel before he fell and propelled him forward in front of her. With a resolved stance, Tendorel brought his shield up against the strike and held fast.

“Cuuuuuute!” Holly replied with a grin. “That was creative!”

“Thanks, we also do requests.” Tendorel smirked.

“Ooooo.” Holly watched the elf with interest in her eyes. “Then maybe you could dance with me for a while.”

“Sorry, I only got one dance move.” Tendorel brought his leg up. “The Stomp!” At a peak of rage, Tendorel brought his foot down on the ground, causing Holly to lose her footing for just a moment.

This was just enough time for Dweit to leap forward and, with his hands gripped to one hammer, brought it smashing into Holly’s chest. Holly spat out an expletive as she tumbled down the sands before stopping herself with one foot. “Grrrrrragh...” She brought her axe up onto her shoulders, looking wildly up at the three punks that are trying to deny her of what is rightfully hers.

“Give it up, Holly.” Dweit smirked. “You can’t do this alone.”

Holly spat out, grinning. “Wow, you really are impatient. We haven’t even started yet.”

“I know how this works.” Dweit brought his finger to his head, smiling. “You build up your impotent rage, strike out, then inevitably tire yourself out. You don’t think things through, unlike me.”

“Heh...oh, yeah?” Holly smirked.

“Yeah!” Dweit brought his finger to his nose, scratching it with a slight guffaw.

“Heh.....hehe....where’s Denny, by the way?”

“Yeah, where is-!” Dweit stopped scratching his nose, his eyes widening slightly. “......where....”

“Heh...he’s off findin’ the treasure for me, Dweeb. Your mommy told us allllll about it.”

“.........I GOTTA GO!” Dweit was immediately replaced with his ghostly wolf form as he began to run desperately to the west.”

“W-Wait, Dweit, you idiot!” Ace tried to grip him back to her, but he was already too far away. “Dammit...we need to go after him, Tender!” Ace began to run.

“B-but...what about...”

Before he can continue, Holly jumped forward, bringing the axe down on Tendorel’s shield once more. Tendorel gripped the shield and gritted his teeth. By the Sunwell, he hasn’t felt this much power against him since....since Saurfang.

“You’re...pretty strong.” Tendorel moved his shield forward, smiling. “I see someone’s been taking lessons from someone.”

“Hah! I know what you’re thinkin’, Cutie,” Holly winked at him, before she began wailing on his shield with her axe. “But ol’ Saurfang...only helped me find this axe. He didn’t do a thing to train me.”

“Self-taught....respectable...” Tendorel was struggling to keep his balance as he kept his shield up against the barrage of axe strikes. “But as long...as I can distract you...they’ll find Den’ and make short...work of him.”

“Heh...hehe...” Holly gave him a smile. It wasn’t a nasty grin, but an unsettling smile. Something you don’t want to see after a spout of powerful rage like before.

Tendorel’s eyes widened. “Right......not good.” Tendorel brought his legs out and tripped the goblin down to the ground, bringing another shockwave of power to keep her stumbled as he began to run after his friends. “GUYS, THIS IS A BAD IDEA!”

Holly spat out a little bit of blood onto the desert sands as she giggled. “Hehehehe...”

Dweit knew this area like the back of his hand. The heat of the sands below did nothing to hinder his quickened movement as a wolf, focusing entirely on getting to the treasure before the demon hunter did.

He jumped up into the air and transformed back into a goblin, landing squarely in the ground. He began to dig desperately. “Come on, come on.”

“Dweit, stop!” Ace ran behind him finally, panting. “You can’t...this is...a bad...idea.”

“Shut up and help me dig, Ace. I only buried it a few feet down.”

“But....but Dweit-”

“Ah! I’m faster than I thought!” Dweit grinned, moving his hands down into the hole he created. He then began to drag out a decent-sized chest. “Hehe...”

“......that’s...a rather large chest.” Ace frowned. “But this isn’t good, Dweit, he-”

“Heheh...I’m so glad you’re okay...” Dweit moved his arms around the treasure chest, kissing it once on the lockpiece. “I missed you so much. Oh, yes, I did.”

“......”

“I won’t let anyone hurt you....promise...”

“Do you need to get a room?”

Ace and Dweit’s eyes both shot over to the direction of a nearby pillar, where the demon hunter Denarye leaned on. He was looking at the two, an uncharacteristic smirk on his face.

“This was a lot easier than she said it would be.”

“...ah...dammit.” Dweit frowned. “Ace! Why didn’t you t-”

Ace walked over and smacked him angrily on the head. “You idiot, it was obvious from a mile away what they were going to do.”

“Guys!” Tendorel finally ran up to the group, gasping for breath. “You...don’t want to get the chest...they.......they....oh.” He looked over and saw the chest resting on the ground, then looked to the right and saw Denarye, who gave him a polite wave. “.....oh.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Dweit moved his hands to the handles and lifted the treasure chest up. “The two of you, distract the blind idiot! If I know anythin’ about Holly’s energy, then I know she’s probably spent at this point. Probably.” He began walking away. “Jes’....just distract him an-”

A giggle erupted from the gust of sand blowing through the desert. Then, an all-too-familiar roar of wind cut through the sandy dune in front of Dweit, blowing so hard that it brought his hat blowing up into the wind. “Ack!” Dweit looked up. “Dammit, get my hat, too!”

“You’re piling on a lot more on us than we need to have!” Ace shouted out at her leader as Tendorel stepped in front of her, who kept his eye on the demon hunter slowly walking towards them, glaives held fast and ready.

“It’s what you guys do! You’re my pile-drivers! Now drive to pile!” He debated whether he should let go of the treasure to get his hat. It would only take a moment.

But that moment passed.

Holly took the chance to climb up a nearby pillar, gripping her axe as she leaped high in the air. With a show of uncharacteristic grace, she spun a whirlwind in the air once before she finally landed her mark. With a grand smash, she brought the axe through the cloth hat, cleaving it in twain. In that instant, the cloth of the circular brim, the festive gold trim embroidered along the brim, and the padded interior which was added for maximum comfort...all of it was torn into a million threaded pieces. With a mighty gust from its aftershock, the wind brought the pieces up high into the air and scattered them through the various directions of this scorched land.

With a spin, Holly landed on the ground, smirking all the while. “Theatrical, boys and girl.”

..............

Ace’s eyes widened. Tendorel’s mouth was held agape. They both looked like they saw into the void.

For just a moment, the only thing that could be heard was the remnants of that gust of wind blowing out into the airstreams above, and a few ‘caws’ from vultures nearby.

Dweit let go of the chest, causing it to sink slightly into the sand. His hands limply landed onto his sides. The warmth of the lands felt new and fresh upon his balding head. His eyes were dilated before focusing. His mouth was open before closing. His hands formed into fists.

“Rrrrrrrr.....”

Ace and Tendorel stepped back instinctively, wincing. Denarye kept his eye on the goblin in front of him, unwavering.

And Holly...she stood there, smiling all the while.

The earth began to shake. The sands began to shift. Dweit looked over to the warrior, his expression echoing the same expression that Holly had before.

Crazed, utter rage.

He took his weapons out and they both erupted in a blaze of smoldering magma. The sands around him began to take shape of a sandstone elemental, being held together by blasts of wind keeping its shape.

“HOLLY...........”

“DWEIT!” Holly smirked wildly, her hands gripping on the axe. “Come on, honey...bald is IN right now!” She glared at the goblin she once called ‘hubby’, her axe glowing bright and orange. “Don’t be losing your HAIR with every little stressful thing in ya’ life!!” She kept her crazy smile on.

"I’LL F@%#ING KILL YOU.” With a roar, Dweit began to run forward, bringing out two giant spirit wolf companions. Slowly after him was his stone elemental.

“NOT IF I F@#%ING KILL YOU FIRST!” Holly laughed maniacally as she brought her axe behind her, running forward, with every step her rage beginning to reach its peak.

What will happen when these two forces of nature collide? Find out next time.

TO BE CONCLUDED