#almost. one that truly loathes the mere concept of the other beyond what words could ever begin to describe

[nagitoedit]

ships that i view as being pseudoromantic. there are no actual romantic feelings there but it has the facade of romance. in a toxic way i mean. like two actors who have no feeling or care for each other slow dancing together as if they are lovers

[lotornomiko]

Triumph’s Tribulatons: The Completed Chapter five (Worksafe)

Finally...

For what had felt like an eternity all in its own, the high ranking Lords and Ladies of the Heavens have held session, resulting in tiresome and ultimately fruitless discussions that had ended with leaving both Gods and Goddesses frustrated, and still desperate for a solution. For a saving, that unavoidable problem before them looming ever closer with the group still too stubborn and perhaps too stupid, to embrace the only real answer. It left them shaken to their cores, made wretched and pathetic, and colored ever so frantic, from Freya to Eir, to Thor, and even Tyr, they now all suffered with their first real taste of fear.

That desperation and those panicked feelings, made for a good look on them, the fear there that had been tasted, leaving a certain raven haired trickster holding back a smirk, a near euphoric feeling blooming inside him to see the divine and the world they had so callously ruled over, made so down trodden and pathetic. They were left choking on such feelings, on even humility and its foul tasting bitterness. Such a brutal combination made for a devastating despair, wreaking particular havoc on a certain Goddess, the golden haired Aesir besides herself with a grief she refused to fully acknowledge, but it was shaping her all the same. Her every thought and action, Odin dead, and not even her haughty Vanir blood line could protect her from that truth for much longer.

Already enjoying the sight of Freya’s unraveling, Loki relished the thought of the Goddess on her knees, broken and shamed, groveling in a way that would do nothing save to serve HIS ego. There was a grudge there, an insult that had never been forgiven, Loki holding a particularly vicious dislike of the Goddess, given that for all of her humble beginnings as a Vanir hostage, Freya and her younger sister, Frei, had never even suffered a quarter of what Loki with his mixed blood line had. It didn’t much matter that both had been born of the enemy, for their blood was wholly pure, while Loki had existed as one half Aesir, and one half Vanir. A blight of an existence, one barely tolerated by Odin, and outright shunned by Surt. Loki hated all equally, from the two tribes of Gods, and the world that they had squabbled over, to that of the nine realms with all their many foolish souls who had so blindly put their faith and worship in such tyrants.

It was a hatred not only birthed, but constantly nurtured in resentments, its like strong enough as to be the root cause of Ragnarok one day, but it wasn’t a desire to rule Creation as they had all known it, that motivated Loki now. This world and all who had known it, could literally rot away for all he cared, and indeed it already was part way there, the Heavens and its eternal summer, now knowing the first stages of an early chill. The cold weather wreaked further havoc on the shining realm, the once vibrant scenery withering away almost faster than Yggdrasil itself could. The sight of that great tree bearing what was its final death throes was just another shade of glorious, Loki again fighting back a smile, even as the wind seemed to blow the frost through the very leather of his clothing.

This was nothing compared to Jotunheim and its world of eternal ice, yet the rate of decay would one day soon see Asgard surpass the Vanir’s realm, into something far WORSE. The universe itself in upheaval, the chaos was a vintage so delicious that Loki was almost drunk off of it, toasting Creation and its downfall, while secretly plotting to remake it into something that was all the trickster’s own. How glorious it would be, the loathed now king, ruler over everyone and their all. He just needed a few more pieces of his chessboard to fall into place, the divine treasures needed, as well as Odin’s power. That source of raw energy was that much closer to being in reach, Loki almost absolutely certain that God as they had known him, was now dead.

It left a void existing in the world, the divine throne needing a power strong enough to quell the chaotic energies that had run a muck. That Freya and the others couldn’t see pass Odin as the answer, showed how unfit any of them were to take up Creation’s mantle. A pity for them and a pity for all, existence soon to be molded by a hand that was no less cruel than Odin’s had once been. Loki’s lips nearly curled then, his expression mocking, as he thought on how he would become a bigger and a better tyrant than even God himself had been, with the four treasures to back him, that and Creation’s power flowing through him.

There was but one minor set back. That very power of Creation, its precise location unknown even to the Trickster, leaving Loki as desperate as the others, albeit for a different reason. All wanting that human’s head on a platter, not even the raven haired Loki knew just how to search for him. The one and only gateway to Lezard’s world, has been sealed shut, and it would take more than any single Gods’ power to get there. Though he hated to admit to it, he needed the others’ help, needed their power working together, in order for the desired pathway to be forged. It was an unfortunate fact, that few if any of the current pantheon of Gods could think to see a bigger picture beyond saving their own hides. They were desperate, and dangerous, clinging to both their power and what remained of their eternity. Many a lie would be needed, tricks and manipulation used to weave a deceit that would give enough false hope to those he required aid of.

It would take more time and effort than Loki had truthfully been prepared for, and he could only thank the lucky stars, that only the seven were required. That those seven were not only the most powerful of the Aesir and Vanir combined, but also the most disagreeable in nature, was a bit of a problem, Loki having made little to no headway in this particular scheme. It was no doubt thanks in part to Freya, the golden haired Goddess the one whose voice the others stood a chance of heeding the most. She was powerful, not just in physical and divine strength, but in opinion, and thus far, the most resistant to all of Loki’s lies and truth twisting he had tried. Tried and thus far failed to plant a potent enough seed that could seduce Freya into falling into his trap. She was too guarded for that, too invested in Odin and her flimsy grasp of love, to want to believe that the Lord God Creator could have suffered any truly unfavorable fate. She clung to hope, which was a laughable idea of a Goddess, of any of the divine, the woman actually harboring it, and what was worse, was how she got the others to do the same.

It was insane and it was maddening, the way they all cow towed to the Goddess, to Freya and to the memory of Odin, as though they were all too stupid to grasp the concept of someone else moving to supplant that tyrant, and take over as Creation’s Ruler. Loki angled to do both, to seize Odin’s everything, but to also manipulate the others with none too subtle suggestions that were meant to seduce them into considering a broader view. It had started with a simple truth, that had been carefully worded, as to hide the lie within it, the trickster having pointed out that A Creator WAS needed on the throne. It had been a careful twist, the raven haired halfling, never once insinuating by name that HE meant to be that new God.

He couldn’t wait. For all that power, for the reshaping of this wretched world, and to finally have his revenge in hand. Then they would all see, Loki proven as something more than just mere Trickster and half breed, but the one being in all Creation that was truly the perfect blend, all the good and the bad of both Aesir and Vanir in him, transforming the raven haired youth into the ultimate of Gods. He would put Odin to shame, would see them all humiliated and humbled and DEAD.  

It was a visceral reaction he had to that, to his revenge based desires, a smile toying at the corners of his lips. Loki had almost forgot to be on guard, out in the open as he was, on this island dais that had somehow managed to remain attached to Valhalla’s presence. Anyone could stumble upon and see him, anyone at all, and it was just his luck to feel a familiar warmth that was not wholly unwelcome ripple from behind him.

His eyes closed, his expression leveling out to be something a shade more serious and solemn before turning. The ripple grew in strength, little bursts of light sparking as reality itself seemed to split open. He heard the sound of her ether, the musical chimes that heralded the Goddess arrival. His eyes seemed to water from the effort to make out her figure amid the blurring of colors, Loki first focusing on a pair of long legs, clad in knee high brown boots. A bit of thigh was next seen, before being swallowed up by the short hem line of a very form fitting tunic. Elbow length gloves encased her arms, and the look was complete with a little brown cap that was edged in gold, like the rest of her. But she was no golden Goddess like her sister, Frei instead one to embrace the more earthen variations of her chosen colors.

She put on a brave smile, even as the unnatural wind caught at and lifted her braided hair. That burst of color was a brown that had a bit of dark red woven into it, Frei an auburn haired beauty, who looked ill prepared for the weather at hand. It shouldn’t have bothered her, given her Vanir blood, and yet she shivered all the same, the Goddess hugging arms around her as though that would lend an added warmth.

“It’s so cold!” She exclaimed, and Loki could only give a small nod back. “How can you stand to be out in this wind!?”

He gave an uncaring shrug of his shoulders, but offered no real explanation. How could he, when it was thoughts of his impending revenge achieved that was warming him from the inside out, Loki burning with that need. With the victory he was ready to seize. Hot with it, Loki could only make a half hearted attempt to pretend to be as cold as the young Goddess, watching out the corner of his eyes, as she seemed to dance in place.

“Frei, if you’re really that cold…” He began but she cut him off.

“I can’t bear it!” She exclaimed. “I have spent weeks scouring via the Water Mirror, and have come up with little to show for it! Nothing of our King, nothing of the one who has taken him, and nothing of Gungnir, or of the other three Divine Treasures!”

“So they still remain missing.” He mused while holding back his grin. For yet another one of his schemes was proving fruitful, the Divine Treasures lost to the Gods who searched so desperately for them. Of course they all suspected that Gungnir was in that new world for by Freya’s own account, she had seen the mage lay hands on it before taking off with Odin. But Levantine and the Sylvain Bow, and even the Dragon Orb, had all been lost, or so they all thought. He muffled his laugh into a sympathetic noise, thinking how two of the unaccounted three were already in his keep. The sword and the bow, and both would be needed to give Loki the added edge to take on that interloping human. Especially if all was as suspected, Loki assuming the man not only had the Divine Lance, but had also laid claim to Odin’s power.

Lezard Valeth would prove a fight, although not one that was wholly impossible given the right tools at hand. A human shouldn’t be cause for concern, but this one was no mere man, but a mage proficient enough in the forbidden magics to have beaten Odin. That earned him a respect, and gave Loki a reason to be wary, and that was before accounting the fact that Gungnir had accepted the Valeth human. Creation itself seemed to have, this Lezard wearing the power like he had been born into it, rather than had stolen it. It was almost admirable, the mage and his desires so powerful as to warp existence itself to suit him. In another life, they might have even been on the same side, if not for the fact Creation’s throne was only big enough for ONE.

Determined that that one would be Loki, the Trickster intended to go into that fight with the odds loaded in HIS favor. The demon sword Levantine, and the Sylvain Bow were just that, nice boosts to his power, but he’d feel even better once the Dragon Orb was found. With three of the four Divine Treasures, not even Gungnir would be able to withstand Loki for long. It would be an easy slaughter then, and with the power and the lance claimed, nothing would be able to stop him then. Not even the combined might of all the remaining Gods and their soldiers.

“Where could they be!?” Frei’s frustration interrupted Loki’s own private musing. “I’ve searched, and I’ve searched...as have so many of our einherjar.”

“Ah but I’ve heard tell not even the einherjar are immune to Midgard’s sickness.”

Frei gasped at that. “You don’t mean…?”

“That I do.” Loki gave a nod of his head. “Without a Valkyrie to guide them, the einherjar that tread on Midgard’s realm make easy prey for that weakness.”

“What are we to do then?” moaned Frei, putting fingers to her temple as though feeling a headache coming on. “How are we to get anything done!?”

Another shrug of his shoulders. “That I suppose depends on your sister.”

“On Freya?” Wide eyed was the look she gave him. “What do you mean? What can she do that she hasn’t already?”

Loki considered his words carefully, as he looked over the Goddess clad in those earthen colors. Frei had always been the closest thing to a friend that the Trickster has had, the young woman the only one among the divine pantheon, who truly took the time to try and do more than just tolerate the raven haired God. Hers was a kind nature, this young Vanir with her wide eyes that were normally filled with such hope and optimism. If there was one soul in all of existence that Loki did not harbor a grudge against, it might just be HER.

That she held some sort of esteem in his eyes, did not mean that the Trickster was any less inclined to use her if a need arose.  With a few twists of the truth, and some subtle manipulations, she could become a powerful tool to wield against her sister.

“She needs to come to terms with the truth that the world itself tries to show her.” He said at last.

“The truth?”

“Odin is DEAD.” Loki said to Frei’s startled gasp. Her eyes had widened in shock, the young Goddess shaking her head no in denial. “That Yggdrasil, nay that the entirety of his Creation rots, is proof solid of THAT.”

Frei had turned from him, turned from Valhalla, as though seeking out the withering corpse of the world tree for herself. The Goddess trembled as she stared at it while Loki all but whispered in her ear. “We need not die with it….with the tree, or with the memory, the hope that your sister clings to.”

He pretended to care, to gentle his words, a hand on her shoulder as though to lend the shaken woman his support. “Your sister LOVES Odin.” The trickster said. “She is in denial, and lets herself be blinded to the fact that we need A Creator on the throne. If not Odin, then the next best thing…”

“And that would be….?”

“Not what, but WHO.” Loki answered. “One of us must claim the power that had existed inside Odin. Thor, Tyr, even your sister, one of them surely has the strength to sustain the world with it.”

“If that were true, wouldn’t they have already…”

“You’d think that, and yet it hasn’t happened. And do you know why, Frei?” She shook her head no. “Freya.” stated Loki. “Hers is a most powerful voice, one the other Gods all listen to. So long as she so stubbornly clings to that foolhardy belief, none will truly argue otherwise. But you could change all that, Frei!”

“Me!?” The Goddess squeaked, turning so fast, her braided hair swung for the effort. “What can I possibly do!?”

“Talk to her! Reason with her!” Loki exclaimed, and it wasn’t all an act, that earnest fire in his eyes. “You are the only one she might listen to when it comes to this! The world itself depends on it, on you, Frei…”

He had taken hold of her hands in a gesture that mimicked one of Frei’s many familiar overtures. She glanced down at their joined hands, chewing on her bottom lip as though considering. “It’s worth a try…” She began hesitantly, giving an uncertain nod of her head.

“More than worth it.” Loki insisted. “If anything of Odin’s world is to survive…”

“Lord Odin’s world may not have always been a kind one, but there is merit in its existence. The people there, our friends and family, our home...they MUST be saved.” Frei’s choice of words almost made Loki sneer, for he had no real family, and could claim only one sort of friend. A friend he was actively lying to while smiling in her face, Frei oblivious to the trickster’s true intentions.

“Yes...they must.” He pretended to agree with her, all the while knowing she was in for a world of hurt when HIS reality slapped Frei in the face. “Odin may be nothing more than a memory now, but his legacy will live on IF we act...if Freya gives the call to save it.”

“She will…” Frei had started to sound more confident now. “I’ll see to it!”

Loki did not have to hide the grin that overtook him, his face alight with a smile that might be considered dazzling even to a Goddess. Another piece was soon to fall into place, Frei the push needed to get Freya to galvanize the Aesir into true action. He felt not a single shred of regret at the using he was doing, Frei too naive and gullible for this world, and much better suited in an entirely new existence. He’d offer her a chance, a place in HIS Creation, and perhaps if she felt something, some small kernel of true affection, the Goddess would have spared HIM the effort of KILLING her.

====

The marble of the floor had sealed itself together seamlessly, not so much as a sliver of a crack to betray the chaos that had gone on just moments ago. That or of the anger that had been felt, the world itself a living extension of what had been in its God’s heart. Such has been Lezard’s displeasure that in that moment, Creation itself had acted, moving to protect him and his interests, spiriting the frightened Goddess away to somewhere else safe. Safe from his rage, and safe from his desires, the man who had once been human,  having pushed too hard, too fast, too soon.

She wasn’t ready. He knew that, every bit from her fight to her flight had in fact acknowledged it, the fear that was in Lenneth’s heart. It had sent her running, the Goddess scared, not so much of what he might do to her physically as much as the emotional havoc he had been intent on wreaking. The truths that had needed to be confronted, and with it would come all of its pain, such sorrow born of those lies that the woman had told herself. She wouldn’t be spared its sting, not even God himself able to shelter Lenneth from the agony of breaking free of such warped delusions. The comfort it had once given her, was now nothing more than a crutch, one that that divine beauty needed to break free of if that heart of hers was going to stand a chance at any true solace.

It wouldn’t be easy, that fact something Lezard could acknowledge in his more rational moments. His beloved needed a far gentler hand than he had thus far been capable of, that near overpowering lust of his, making him impatient and clumsy whenever she was so near. So consumed with the want of her, his attempt at a controlled veneer had all but shattered when her fear had turned violent, Lenneth’s fist finding its mark against his jaw. It had left him so close to doing something unforgivable, illusions torn and discarded if not for his world acting instead. Protecting him as much as her, Lenneth swallowed up whole into an abyss that had opened up beneath her feet.

Even now she was still there, free falling in an endless darkness, that heart of hers in an absolute turmoil that would only be the start of her unraveling. There was both pain and pleasure in the idea of it, Lenneth this intoxicating brand of everything that Lezard could have ever wanted. Her heart, her soul, that of her mind and her body, her tears, her agony, and that of her happiness, the man wanted it all. He was obsessed with the having of it, of attaining paradise with so perfect a being. It was so close to a reality, that he could almost taste it, his blood stained hands reaching for it, for her, Lezard this newly remade being, the ultimate Lord of it all, Lenneth and the effect she has always had on him, the one thing this God could not control.

Even now he was tempted, sheer folly though it would be to go after her right now. Lenneth was too wild in the moment, too angry and afraid, tormented by a truth he had only merely hinted at, such insinuations holding the strength to make a Goddess reel in an absolute terror. It was a fear not just for herself, for what might be done to her, but that of her world, the paradise that she had created. That perfect utopia that was nothing more than a lie that her wounded soul had retreated into, every insinuation that Lezard could make had the power to tear that universe apart from the root, the very foundations it had been built and brought to life upon.

It was a world of desires, that perfect paradise grounded in a pain so blatant that it had nearly torn the Goddess apart. That heart of hers that had been so ripped to pieces by the sins committed against her, it had left Lenneth reeling in an agony even she herself had not understood, the Goddess so overwhelmed in the moment as to escape into a fantasy. An illusion, the deceits woven there all by her own hand, the ageless woman latching onto a figment, the fragment that had been dangling before her. Seizing upon it, with that earring in her hand, out of all the lives she had slept through, it had been the latest, that of a child, a girl no older than fourteen when she had died, that had helped feed into a delusion. In that moment she had been thinking not as a Goddess, but as a human, a child, torn apart by a loss that had been about more than just one man’s death.

The seal had been broken, a flood gate of emotions overtaking the Goddess. How much agony had it been, to remember them all, every last life that had hosted Lenneth inside them. The highs and the lows, their joys and their pains, hundreds upon hundreds of women, all helping to shape the Valkyrie’s humanity. Her compassionate heart, the depth of her millennia of experience far more than anything those scant fourteen years as Platina could have given. She was just a sliver of what had helped shaped the Goddess, so small and inferior a speck, the child was not who Lenneth was meant to be.

So much more than any one human girl, Lenneth was in fact a being so uniquely her own. A caring Goddess, one whose capacity to feel and sympathize with the mortals a threat that Odin and the other Gods could not abide by. They hadn’t killed her, they had done WORSE, the woman’s free will taken from her, her true sense of being SEALED away.

A safeguard meant to control that which the Gods could not understand, that human compassion that that particular Goddess had been gifted with, the likes of which had been cultivated and learned over the course of a millennia of different hosts. Through them she had loved, and Lenneth had cared, the woman so wholly unique in her ability to FEEL, the Goddess the champion that the mortals had needed. The Gods had feared it, feared Lenneth and the allegiance that such emotions had wrought, Odin needing the Valkyrie to be a good little soldier who fell into line with his own selfish wants. Unable to dominate her as she had truly been, that tyrannous God had tried to eradicate her spirit, that of her true self, through such archaic means, such a brutal manipulation of the self, such that Lenneth had been little more than a doll. A puppet, beautiful and perfect, and so wholly without the feelings that would have interfered with the Heavens’ schemes.

The Gods had seen her as nothing more than a Death Goddess, a chooser of the slain to bolster their own armies with the souls of dead heroes. They had let her pick from the brave as though they were mere flowers, calling into service warriors from all corners of Midgard. Leaving her exposed to the very thing that the Gods themselves had feared, the emotions that were so plentiful in the humans, putting cracks in the shield erected around Lenneth’s heart. Bit by bit, that ancient magic had been worn away, the seal itself eroded with each and every encounter, until it had finally shattered, and with it went Lenneth’s mind, the woman having snapped.

It must have been so, so overwhelming, to have been hit at once with all those feelings, with the many lives she had slept through, their hopes, their desires, all coming to life within Lenneth in startling clarity. Was it any wonder she had lost her true self in the process, spinning from one host to another, again and again, until she had latched onto the most recent, that of the child, those scant years of fourteen the most overwhelming dream of them all given how fresh it had still been.

Even grounded in that child’s psyche, it had proved too much. Lezard himself had born witness to it, to that mental break that the Goddess had had. The tears that had fallen, the screaming that had been done, it hadn’t been just the Goddess, but the child, Platina, made horrified by the one solace of her life, Lucian the only kindness and warmth she had ever known, LOST, killed in turn by his own refusal to let go of his own delusions.

It had all been such a mess, a tragedy the likes of which all else had fallen short. Her puppet strings not just severed, but left tangled across the board, Lenneth had been operating on a grief born madness, forgetting who she really was, to play fantasy for one ignorant human. For some fake facsimile of him, Lucian a shadow, his miraculous return to life nothing more than a figment born of Lenneth’s own desperation and desires. Instead of the warrior she had known, he was something new, a puppet who was nothing more than some idealized version of who she had thought him to be, Lucian just one of the many dolls whose every thought had been painstakingly crafted by Lenneth’s power.

Creation itself had been remade on desire, on such potent delusions and lies, the many souls there not the people they had once been. They were just shadows of those that had died, annihilated in the Ragnarok that Lucian had helped Loki bring about. It hadn’t just ended lives, it had wiped out everything, including that of nearly every living being’s soul from existence, such devastation a permanent end, the cycle of rebirth itself destroyed. Such finality was there to it, that no one, not even God, could fight against, the world and its people entirely eradicated.

It left the world in complete ruins, Lenneth’s land a paradise populated in lies. It was a copy, a mere imitation of what had once been, formulated out of fragmented glimpses, the memories she had gathered, the people there nothing more than a pathetic bunch of puppets. They were just these hollow husks of what she thought them to be, these seemingly ideal versions ultimately falling short, all an attempt that was unfulfilling when it came towards truly easing the pain in the Goddess’ heart. They were all lies that couldn’t make her truly happy, anymore than they could satisfy her needs. Each and every last one of them, Lenneth living in a farce, a waking dream that could crumble apart so easily given the right push. If enough care wasn’t given, the Goddess would crumble again with it, her psyche perhaps lost to yet another kind of fantasy.

Lezard couldn’t lie and claim that he hadn’t considered it. Hadn’t given thought to molding Lenneth into a fantasy that would suit HIM best. But ultimately, he didn’t want the illusion, that of those broken remnants of who the Goddess had once been. He wouldn’t be satisfied with just a sliver, wouldn’t embrace the farce of just one of her sides. He wanted her everything and her all, Lezard made mad with the desire, with that need. It fueled him, his obsession with Lenneth the motivating strength that had led Lezard into doing the impossible again and again. He had died for her, traveled through time for her, even become a God for her, such a warped semblance of love a catalyst that had no limits and no match. Not even Lucian could compete, that young man unable to see past Platina, and past the Valkyrie, to the supreme manifestation of the woman, a Goddess so sublime as to move a heart that had once been so unfeeling.

Her mark left on him, Lenneth had helped shaped Lezard into this mad man, so utterly devoted in the pursuit of her. Worlds had been ruined, people slaughtered, time itself run roughshod all over, yet his hands were no less dirty than any of the other Gods. Than even HERS, Lezard creating his own world, his own perfect paradise to ease the pain that was in HIS heart. That it spilled hurt onto others, was of no concern, Lezard an unfeeling God who had no desire to rule or be worshiped by anyone other than by Lenneth.

Such blasphemies should have been sins enough to weigh even God down, yet Lezard was instead made unburdened by it all, free of the demands the throne of Creation should have made of him. He was free, having discarded duty the way he had discarded bodies, nothing but time on his hand, and power, and harboring a patience that was fast running out.

====

There was a noticeable mood about her companions this day, an angry, oppressive energy that didn’t lend well to any attempts at talking, just about everyone in a foul state of mind, grudges harbored, even nurtured. Not even Alicia herself could lay claim to being entirely immune, her own feelings in a churning state of turmoil. That sad sort of furious, such things born of the hurt done her, and done HIM in turn, the princess unable to spare the man that she loved from being dealt such a pain.

Her eyes and her heart sought him out when Alicia thought no one was truly looking, Rufus with his brilliant hue of emerald colored hair, and clothing colored in lesser shades of green, gold, and brown. An intricately carved bow of a fine silver metal was at the ready in his strong and capable hands, with the large quiver of arrows that was strapped to his back, not yet exhausted entirely of its bearings. Those weapons aside, the half elf blended well into the colors of the forest, to the point he could have disappeared entirely and none would have been the wiser, not even much sound to betray him, especially with the archer in so subdued a mood.

Alicia bit back a frown, her sad survey of him such that she would have never missed the lack of mischievous sparkle to his green eyes. Or that of the flat line of disapproval his mouth shaped, Rufus bordering on hostile with every arrow fired off, be it monster or snarling animal that they faced. Gone was his good nature facade, the jokes and light attempts at conversation, the man so focused and serious. She couldn’t help but wonder just what thoughts went on his mind, to the hurt and loss of hope that she herself had dealt him, the guilt that sparked in her making her flinch and reel in place, but even stronger might be the frustration. The sad anger that was born of being put in such an unenviable position. Rufus was part at fault for that, for the effect that the princess’ decisions have had on him, but larger yet was the blame they both put on their companion, on Brahms’ broad shoulders, irrational or not such feelings might be. Alicia wasn’t even sure if such a grudge made sense, despite the fact that the Vampire King had held back the truth, the cure needed outweighed by that of the world fast running out of time. The slight chill in the air itself was proof positive of that, this change in weather wholly unnatural for this region’s time of year.

The increase in monsters that had been roaming the woods was another, that vast multiplication in numbers such that a rip in reality might be connecting Midgard directly to Hel’s Nifleheim, that foul netherworld emptying it’s bowels of every demon, fiend, and devil that it could. It made for pure chaos, the trek through this forest a gauntlet of death that a lesser being would have no real chance of surviving, Alicia could only be glad that the Lord of all of the undead, traveled with them on their side. He certainly made a difference, even in his disguise as a human, swinging that big blade around, cleaving apart many with one blow. Not even suppressing his preternatural strength could belie the magnificence of Brahms muscles, many a creature exploding in a shower of guts and gore and blood that Alicia couldn’t help but find glorious.

Her nostrils flared especially at the scent of that blood, such a gruesome display proving more and more mouthwatering with every day that passed. It left her disturbed but unable to deny that a part of her was giving in more and more to the curse inside her, the ghoul powder that was wreaking havoc on her system, making her more than she had been, more than human, more than girl. Not even the ring on her finger could keep the monster inside her at bay for much longer, every step forward that the princess took, taking her further and further away from the cure and her humanity, and by Alicia’s own choice no less.

Not that there had been much option to do otherwise. Not with the entire world needing saving, Silmeria, Lenneth, even Hrist, all three in danger and needed to offset the slow withering the realms were each doing down the path to ultimate destruction. No future would be found then, no chance at life, no chance of anything, Alicia unable to play at oblivious even to spend the world’s final days left as human and happy with the man that she loved. That Rufus could not seem to understand it, and even less accept it, was a sour point of contention between them and between the elf and the vampire, Alicia not blind to the hostile looks he shot Brahms whenever the archer thought that no one was looking.

Even now he seemed to brim with resentments, and more than once, Alicia had watched Rufus sight down his arrow at the Vampire King’s unguarded back. Once his fingers had even seemed to quiver, as though to let loose the projectile, only to at the last possible second, let the sharp tipped weapon slam into the body of a monster trying to prey on their fourth companion, the warrior berseker, Arngrim. The man had barely grunted his acknowledgment of that help, their muscled friend still angry about the disturbances to his attempts at sleep the night before.

It left Brahms the only one not simmering with resentments, though there was a tension inside him, perhaps born of the enormity of the task set before them. He let it translate to violence, to the way he easily tore apart and slaughtered so many of the foes that dare set upon them. Alicia couldn’t stop herself from admiring such a brutal display, anymore than she could control the wildness inside her that lent such effortless ease to her own bloody attempts at destruction. She wasn’t even trying to hide it, letting the curse in part take her over, hacking at limbs the way the princess wished she could her problems, a scream erupting forth from her that set many a creature fleeing.

“Alicia!” She heard the sharp sound of Rufus’ voice, but such concern came from such a distance as to not immediately touch upon her still human side. The princess was almost too caught up in the battle, to the blood lust that she was feeling, the struggle real as was the hunger, too much of that crimson gore around and on her, the young woman caught between want and disgust, the dual natures of herself warring, and even she wasn’t sure which was about to ultimately win out.

Suddenly there was a hand upon her, but it was not that of the archer who grabbed at her now. It wasn’t his hands, wasn’t Rufus’ strength that shook and supported her, Alicia made to spin around and face the vampire, the Undead Lord himself, as the face that he borrowed commanded nearly all of her attention. There was power in those eyes, a hypnotic order that helped to soothe the worst of the beast inside the princess. With that calming came embarrassment, Alicia’s cheeks coloring a bright pink as she realized both Rufus and Arngrim were staring shocked at her, made appalled by her behavior, by the wild abandonment expressed with such shades of brutality.

Alicia felt that moment of weakness hit her, her eyes welling up with tears born of shame, the young princess trying to stifle the sob of sound that escaped her. Only Brahms hand kept her upright, else the woman would have crumpled to her knees, such despair overtaking her, the humanity that Alicia was losing that much closer to being gone, and she could not focus to mourn it, not with the horrified look she still saw shining in Rufus’ concerned eyes.

Brahms wasn’t saying much of anything, as if even the Undead King could not find the right words. Maybe no one could, in a world made this mad and desperate by decay. The humanity that Alicia was losing, was needed less and less for the trials ahead of them, and the Vampire Lord might even think that it better she hurry the transformation along, but he was also trying to be kind and not outright suggest she abandon all pretense at a fight against what was happening inside her. She had thought herself accepting, ready for such an inevitable fate, but there was that part of her that still clung to her hopes and her humanity, and had been made desperate in response to the look of revulsion that the half elf had worn and failed to stifle. It left Alicia such an odd mix of contradictions, that selfless part of her that was willing to sacrifice so much to save the world pitted against this selfish spark that had been born in the face of the disgust witnessed on Rufus’ face. The princess didn’t want him to loathe and to hate her, couldn’t bear so much as the thought of the monster she would one day become losing the warmth of the archer’s love.

“H...how…” A shaky exhale, the half formed question dying on her lips, Alicia downcast and trodden.

“Control is the key.” Came the answer to the question she hadn’t been able to ask in full. “The fastest way to hasten your downfall is to lose it. The more you give in to the beast inside, the quicker the ghoul powder will take hold and wreak havoc.”

Alicia shook to hear that, but couldn’t bring herself to lift her head, not even to stare up at the vampire. She couldn’t understand why he would tell her this, why Brahms would take any measure to help slow down and delay the transformation her body was attempting. Not when it would benefit him, the world, and Silmeria MORE to have that powerful ally at his side.

“Oh sure…” Came the sound of Rufus’ voice, laced with such open anger. “Now all of a sudden you are full advice and cures, when it is far too late for them!”

Alicia immediately wanted to look his way, but the cowardly part of her balked at the thought of chancing upon the still repulsed look in his green gaze.

“Why didn’t you tell her any of this sooner!?” The half elf continued. “Why NOW, save to satisfy your own sick amusement at watching her suffer!”

Still staring at the ground at their feet, Alicia felt the bristle the energy within the vampire did, but Brahms was otherwise without response. Did he have none to give, or did he not feel the need to dignify the archer’s accusations with words?

“What else do you hide from her? What other horrors and secrets do you keep from us!?”

“Now is probably not the time…” Came the words of the warrior, of Arngrim. He was all but ignored, Rufus snarling a loud shout at Brahms, demanding the vampire answer him. His voice almost drowned out the roar, that hiss that was followed by a great, big serpent slithering out from the brush, tongue flicking and venomous fangs flashing, its cold, dead eyes locked on and looking to make a meal out of one or more of them.

“Stay on guard!” Brahms broke his silence to advise them. “That one can down a mastodon dead with a single bite.”

“There’s no end to this nightmare, is there!?” Alicia heard Rufus mutter. He had already had an arrow notched and loaded into place, angling backwards, as he tried to get a clear and perfect shot.

“Not a one!” agreed Arngrim, his broad blade in hand. Brahms was also drawing his, having let go of Alicia, so as to stand ready for the battle that now faced them.

Alicia swayed uncertain on her feet for a split second, before steadying and picking up her own briefly discarded sword. In this moment, there was no choice but to fight, the question of who...of what she would ultimately become, put aside for the moment, as each lost themselves to the lust of battle.

=====

To Be Continued...

What a journey and struggle it was to get this chapter written. I think I first attempted it a year ago, and it was a Rufus POV, but once again the elf was messing me up. I seem to always have him trying to derail me, and not always for the better. Basically not only was he going to have a talk with Brahms that was way too early for the fic, but I realized I was rushing what was happening to Midgard way too fast against the pace of what was happening in other realms, especially Asgard and Lezard’s world. I had originally intended this chapter to open up with a Rufus POV...and got several pages written, but it was wrong for this point and time. Brahms and Rufus do need to have that talk, but I need to set up better why they would have the kind of talk they will end up having...I hope I can somehow salvage some of the initial attempt to use MUCH LATER in the fic.

But yeah, I was stuck for so long on the Midgard crew. Been going through some stuff in real life, especially health wise, and over a month ago, I got real inspired, and wrote the Loki Frei scene….I am trying to make each chapter have three scenes...and when I first tried to write the second scene immediately after the Loki POV...which now that I think about it, also went through at least one trashing….cause the initial attempt got stupid, and had Ull in it too...

Anyway, once the Loki Frei scene was done, I immediately moved on to what was attempted about three times, as a Lenneth scene. Only it was also suffering a pacing problem, meaning she was having thoughts and revelations she shouldn’t have been having this fast this soon...so I had to trash it, and ultimately it worked as doing a Lezard narrative instead. Also before writing the first two halves, I finished watching the scenes of the game’s A ending, including stuff leading up to it, so it strongly influenced me with the trashed Lenneth scenes, and then with some of the Lezard narratives. It had been a few years since I seen those game scenes, so they were very inspiring, and I even wrote down some lines, specifically stuff Platina was saying to Lenneth, that I hope to maybe get to work in somehow. Watching the game canon again after so long, strongly left me with the opinion she suffered a big mental break down when the seal finally broke.

So then for the final scene of the fifth chapter...I was just real stuck. I could not get a Rufus POV written, but then I just felt so stuck on the scene in general. I was desperate, that I would take whoever I could to be the narrating voice for it. I did not want to post five with just two scenes, no matter how frustrated and at times tempted I got...Right now I don’t know if I am gonna waste a chapter on a serpent boss battle scene. Think the next scene with the Midgard crew, will be well after the battle is over. I want to get them out of the forest and to a human settlement, so I can touch more on the Midgard sickness I’ve made mention of, the one that not even the einherjar are proving immune to!

Honestly I don’t even know how I got an attempt at the final scene for this chapter written….I hope it proves interesting at least...Not sure when six will be ready. Kinda been battling OSVP urges, but didn’t want to start down that fic’s path, until I had chapter five of TT completed. I am the type that once I am in the middle of writing a chapter, I HATE leaving said chapter to go work on writing another one. I am rather obsessive compulsive in that…

Later!

---Michelle

[88y53]

REVIEW OF PUNISHER: MAX -- INTENTIONALLY NIHILISTIC

Comic books are a medium just like any other form of storytelling, not just reserved for superheroics. However, it’s safe to say the niche wouldn’t have survived without them.

Garth Ennis seems to be in resentful denial of that fact.

It’s no secret that Ennis holds nothing beyond absolute contempt for superheroes, with only three known exceptions, chief among them being the Punisher. They say that you should write the kind of stories that you want to read, and I think Ennis did just that with this Punisher. I don't think he even really hates superheroes, but more of what superheroes epitomize — wholesome do—gooders possessing incredible powers with integrity and idealism, and he seems to just love it when those kinds of characters either fall into existential despair at how ineffectual they are, or just die. Brutally.

Frank Castle AKA The Punisher - a noted Marvel anti-hero and murdering vigilante who, in the wake of his family’s death, chose to martyr himself and become the sin-eater of society - is here recast as a psychotic Serial-Killer Killer Sociopathic Soldier who is unabashedly addicted to war, fighting criminals that represent the worst dregs that modern society can offer.

Ennis himself once said something to the affect that the difference between the villains and the heroes in his stories is that the "villains aren't lying to themselves," and from the start it's obvious that any time Frank shows any kind of sympathy towards someone, he's just going through the motions to further convince himself that his war is justifiable.

It's not. He's just psychotic (who possibly made a deal with the devil or went completely insane, but that’s something else entirely).

This series wears its juvenile interpretation of “maturity” on its sleeve, with stylistic and gritty writing that masterfully tricks the readers into thinking there is depth where there is none. The caricatures that masquerade as characters range from misogynistic to downright racist, without an ounce of relatability that could make them the slightest bit sympathetic, that are all merely walking targets that only exist for Frank to viciously dispatch in the most ruthlessly efficient way possible. The women, meanwhile, mainly serve as objects to be abused or to be madly in lust with Castle’s raw animalistic masculinity. Sometimes both.

I can only think of one villain that has any kind of realistic motivations behind their actions and it was that IRA dude who’s portrayed as an idiot for sincerely believing in his actions. The rest (when he’s not just shooting random gang members) are all vicious killers who feel their entitled to get what they want and to be as awful as they wish (like Barracuda, who basically exists so Ennis can write the word “nigga” for as long as he finds it amusing). Now, sometimes that can be compelling, but not like this. A good example is the Enron expy; the actual Enron scandal can largely be chalked up to out-of-touch executives who became victims of their own impulsive decision-making and not truly recognizing the consequences of their actions. The Dynaco executives are all coked-out yuppies that are fully aware of the immorality of their actions, but just think they’re untouchable.

What's worse, Ennis chooses to portray Frank's world as the real world, and the safe existence that everybody else leads is just a fantasy that regular people have deluded themselves into leading that is all too easily ripped away at the first trauma.

Ennis is a noted military buff and it shows in his descriptive ways Castle stalks his victims like he is still in the humid wetlands of Vietnam. Now, whether the writer is attempting to glorify or condemn Frank is a matter of debate, but one could argue that Ennis himself doesn’t even know. The Punisher will contemplate on how much he hates himself and the world while massacring human beings with the detachment one would use to kill an irritating mosquito.

It says something when a Terminator can have more believable emotional depth than this Punisher, who possesses a near-permanent Clint Squint scowl, which is about as close as he gets to emoting.

Ennis, to his credit, did feature sympathetic characters and veterans who're on the side of good — and I'm not impressed. They’re shown to have never re-adjusted to civilian life and are just as corrupt and cynical as Frank is, but are just better at hiding it. There's not a single good person in the series that doesn't die horribly due to their own naive stupidity.

I think what cemented my loathing for this comic was the oft lauded Slavers arc for how it portrayed the victims: people who're absolutely fucked. There's no hope for them healing, or becoming activists, or any kind of good coming out of the whole ordeal.

It's as if therapy doesn't exist in this world.

And the less said about his double-standards when it comes to male rape victims, the better.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so grating if Ennis wasn’t so fucking pleased with himself for going against conventions and being oh so “realistic.” And hypocritical, too — out of all of the superheroes he hates, Garth Ennis holds particular disdain for Captain America, whom he considers an insult to “real heroes” of WWII. Ignoring that the character was actually created before America entered the war (so was actually a huge anti fascist statement, and was enjoyed by real G.I.s), but generally evolved into an avatar for everything that could be good about the country he represents (something an Irish-born WWII-buff Americophile like Ennis should love). Conversely, the intention for the Punisher was to be a tragic anti-hero, and as an symbol of the failure of the American military and legal system. The Punisher as a concept is an massive anti-war statement, which has been perverted beyond all recognition.

I can understand that storytelling in Europe has different standards and history than what became dominant in the Americas, but I don’t have to like it.

This series clearly isn't for me, and I think it did irreparable harm to the Punisher as a character because he was supposed to be a more tragic, Rambo-esque tortured soul.

Over all, I would recommend this series if only for its attention to realistic action, and more broadly, because it’s almost complete antithesis to the human condition.

[lowat-golden-tower]

“I don’t want to feel anymore.”

Patton blinked at that, looking up from his steaming mug of tea. He was sitting at their kitchen table, a connect-the-dots activity book open before him with the current page only half done. It was a lazy Sunday morning, so he was just in his grey cat onesie instead of his usual conservative attire. Normally, Logan would have been dressed in a similar fashion, but today wasn’t a day for comforts and softness.

No, today Logan was going to have something unimportant and highly detrimental removed. Like his appendix, but in a less physical form. He’d already gotten that removed anyway, back when it nearly burst inside of him at the tender age of thirteen.

Now he was in his early twenties and fully ready to expel the emotional detritus. Yet deleting one’s emotions was not nearly so easy as slicing out a useless organ. After all, feelings were a concept, an idea; psychology was an intangible yet proven science. Logan couldn’t just reach inside his head, or his heart, and pick away the excess. This sort of self-surgery required a different approach, unless he wanted to begin experimenting with mind-numbing drugs. Unfortunately, that would defeat the point, as it would proceed to affect all other aspects of his life.

Logan wanted to stop feeling so he could accelerate his efficiency, not impede it. He’d gone over his weaknesses and flaws for long enough to draw a proper conclusion, and could confidently pin the worst of the blame on those fickle feelings. Good or bad, they always nudged him off the best course; the most heinous of distractions, beyond his control.

But there was another way. Before Logan was forced to resign himself to an imperfect state of being, there was one more option available to him. Unassuming as Patton’s appearance and bubbly personality may have been, Logan knew the truth about the other man. Well, not so much a man...

Who knew being roommates with a demon of all things would ever prove advantageous?

It had come up, when he caught Patton returning late one evening, horns arching up from his chestnut curls and a sleek tail coiling near his legs. His skin from fingers to elbows had darkened to a pitch black color, and said fingers had curved themselves into nasty looking claws. Even his teeth had grown sharper, as he shot Logan a sheepish grin after they both stood staring at each other for a solid two minutes.

Most people would have been scared out of their wits, and rightly so. Humans always feared what they didn’t understand to begin with, and all those dangerous features Patton had mysteriously obtained did nothing to fool his natural fight or flight reflex. It would have been perfectly normal and accepted for Logan to shout, or jump back, or try to run and hide. Yet he didn’t. Logan never had fit the “norms” of just about anything, be it societal aspects or otherwise.

“I can explain,” Patton had hurried out in a hushed, anxious tone, after Logan failed to speak first.

That familiar earnestness shook Logan from his initial stupor and he blinked, response slow and belated. “I would love to hear it.”

That had led to a long night of too much coffee and a lot of extrapolation on something Logan had always believed was mere superstition and myth. It took some serious convincing by Patton and himself to accept he was not hallucinating or simply experiencing a lucid dream. Patton’s horns and tail felt real. He performed feats no human should have been capable of. The coffee pot was drained several times, and by morning Logan was forced to accept his roommate had been an otherworldly being all along.

In the end, it wasn’t too big a pill to swallow. Patton’s personality didn’t change, he still performed all the duties he’d promised to take on as a responsible roommate, and he continued to try and keep Logan out of any demonic matters. He appreciated that.

Some might have seen him as crazy, or reckless. Why, Patton was a demon. A creature born in the bowels of Hell. Who was to say he wouldn’t try slitting Logan’s throat in his sleep, or draining the very soul from his body? Well, Patton hadn’t done anything of the sort before Logan knew he was a demon. Unless it was to conceal his secret, he had no reason to act so violently now. But Patton was trusting, for a demon. Somehow, he knew Logan didn’t plan on telling a soul. Perhaps for the simple fact no one would believe him, and he had zero proof.

Besides, he liked Patton. The man- demon?- was a good roommate, and a kind and generous person. Possibly a much better person than Logan himself. He had not a clue what Patton did on his outings as a demon, but he just couldn’t picture it being all that bad. Maybe he was a misunderstood soul of his kind. Perhaps he was an outlier, or an outcast. He just... didn’t fit the commonly accepted description of pure, evil hell spawn.

Which brought them to this moment. For months now, Logan hadn’t deigned to bring up Patton’s... uniqueness. He had no rhyme or reason to before, but now... now Logan was taking it upon himself to break that unspoken agreement of letting bygones be bygones.

He required Patton’s assistance.

“What... do ya mean, Logan?” There was the softest hint of a Southern twang to Patton’s accent that always seemed to tug gently at Logan’s heartstrings.

Logan sighed and adjusted his glasses a bit; more out of nervous habit than any actual need to do so. “Patton,” he clasped his hands together before him, “I have come to the conclusion my feelings and emotions are merely obstacles; detrimental to my efforts and goals. I wish to be rid of them.” “Oh.” There was a pause while Patton seemed to think this over, licking at his lips. Was that anxiety, flickering across his face? Logan couldn’t really comprehend why it would be there. “That’s... uh. That’s... somethin’, Lolo.” Even his chuckle was anxious, awkward. “Sounds like yer emotionoping pretty hard there. Do you need a hug?”

“On the contrary, Patton. I believe you know precisely why I’m coming to you in particular about this conundrum of mine. And it isn’t for a hug.” Logan stared Patton down and almost felt a twinge of guilt at how his roommate actually shrank away from his cool gaze. His icy blue eyes were rather notorious for freezing straight through to a person’s soul, or so the rumors were around the college campus. Could he help it if he had a stern look about him? He was merely a responsible, mature adult. Besides, as stated prior, Patton was a demon. He hardly had anything to fear from Logan of all people. “Feelings and emotions are hardly something I can just will away. It’s not like burning calories to lose weight or getting a haircut. I require... assistance.” It was here Logan’s voice took on a pleading tone, loathe as he was to admit that to himself. It was undeniably there.

Patton was fidgeting now, his own blue eyes dancing everywhere except Logan’s face. Unlike Logan’s, Patton’s eyes were more of a soft, powdery blue, like a clear summer sky. They were warm and overflowing with affection. Right now, however, they were filled with concern. A frown was tugging at the corner of Patton’s mouth. “...Logan, I don’t...”

“Please.” Oh, it hurt him to beg, but Logan had nowhere else to turn. “You’re the only one who can do something. I know you can. You have powers, abilities... I’m sure you’re capable of feats I could never even imagine. You have to help me. I’ll give you whatever I want. That’s how these deals work, isn’t it?”

“Logan-”

“What do you need? My soul? Surely taking it would solve the problem all on its own-”

“Logan!” The harshness in Patton’s tone silenced Logan’s next words, making his teeth clack together as his mouth firmly closed in shock. Now it was Patton’s turn to stare him down, at last, with an almost protective fire in his eyes. “Yeh can’t jus’ say that!” The emotion in his voice was thickening Patton’s accent. “Yer soul is a part of you, ‘s important, how could yeh jus’ throw it away so easily?”

Logan couldn’t help but bristle. “Why do you care?” he sniffed. “Isn’t taking souls your thing? I thought that’s what demons were after, besides tricking man into sin. I’m practically handing you mine on a silver platter, why would you...”

“‘s not always like that!” Patton snapped, actually snapped at Logan, and well that was a new experience. He huffed, sitting back some in his chair, clearly attempting to rein in his temper. He was practically pouting. “Sometimes... sometimes we don’t want a soul. ‘r a certain soul. Sometimes... we don’t wanna hurt anyone at all.” Now his voice was quiet, hinted with despondence, and he wasn’t looking at Logan anymore. As if he felt ashamed. “...I don’t want yer soul, Logan.”

Logan stared, perplexed and dumbfounded, utterly at a loss. Of all the scenarios his request could have led to, this wasn’t one he’d anticipated. What demon didn’t want a mortal soul? Was that concept truly a work of fiction and pop culture? He’d never been religious himself, but there must have been some grain of truth to those sermons. Why else would they exist? He stammered, for once, flummoxed and metaphorically grasping at straws. “But... but I don’t understand. If you don’t want my soul, what else do I have to give you? I... have nothing, besides my intellect, or my wit, or...” He smoothed down his tie, taking on the anxiety he’d witnessed in Patton earlier. His stomach twisted. He couldn’t offer those things, they were precisely the reason he was making this deal to begin with.

Patton shook his head. “Yer more’an all’a that, Lolo.” There was a subtle quirk to his lips now, as he looked back to Logan. That fondness had returned to his eyes. “Yeah, yer smart. An’ clever- cleverer than I’ll ever be. But... yer also kind,” his tone softened, “an’ carin’. Thoughtful. Yeh try ta help others, even if yeh probably won’t get anythin’ from’em back. Yeh work so hard at everythin’ yeh do, yer self-disciplin’s amazin’, an’ yeh make the very best quiche I’ve ever tasted.” Patton chuckled. “Heck, I didn’t even know what a quiche was until you. ‘s a real chew.”

“A chew?”

“Bless you.” Patton grinned cheekily and Logan’s mouth pinched into a disapproving frown.

“But... none of those things are particularly useful, or... or valuable.” Logan remained crestfallen. “Surely you want none of those....”

“Yer right. I don’t.” Patton shook his head again and stood. Honestly, he looked far too ridiculous for their current conversation in that cat onesie of his. “I don’t wanna take anythin’ from yeh, Lolo. I really don’t.”

“But then... you can’t just give me what I want for nothing. That... that’s not how a trade works. That’s not how you work... is it?”

Patton sighed. “No, yer right. I can’t jus’... do somethin’ fer ya, fulfill a desire, without gettin’ somethin’ back.”

Logan ducked his head. “Then... I truly am at a loss. I have nothing to give, even if you could remove my emotions for me.” His thoughts swirled as if caught up in a mental storm. It ripped and tore its way across his mind, calling him the fool and mocking him for thinking it would be so easy. That he would have anything of true value to offer the demon. What was left for him now? The drugs he’d been avoiding, the ones which would prove to be a double-edged sword for certain-

“Logan.”

The sound of Patton saying his name brought Logan’s gaze back up. His roommate had drawn closer, concern shining brightly in blue eyes. A hand reached out to touch his cheek and sent a jolt of warmth through him, making his hair stand on end and shooting a tingle all the way down to his toes. He suppressed a shiver as Patton’s thumb brushed along the swell of his cheek.

“Logan. I...” Patton bit his lip and looked away, as if uncertain about his next words. “...I don’t want to take yer emotions from you.” His accent had simmered back down now. “But... if ‘s really what you want, I... can make you an offer.”

Logan perked up at this. He thought Patton had claimed wanting nothing from him, but perhaps the demon had changed his mind. He reached up to grasp the hand on his cheek and gave it a squeeze, subtly urging Patton to continue. “Anything, Patton. I will provide you with anything I am able, if it means I’ll be rid of these awful emotions. Please.”

Patton bit the inside of his cheek and then sighed, finally caving in. “...here’s the deal. I won’t take your emotions away right now.” When Logan attempted to immediately protest, Patton shushed him with a finger to his lips. “But- but! I will take them away, if... if I can’t convince you that they’re good, an’ important, an’ make you change your mind. I will. That’s what you can give me in exchange, Logan. A chance. An’ if I succeed... you drop this whole idea. Forever. Deal?”

Logan sputtered softly as Patton pulled his finger away. He wasn’t sure what scrambled his composure more; that gesture, or the offer itself. Patton wanted to... show him emotions were important? That he needed, could even want, his feelings? He didn’t really need to ask why- Patton was a giant bleeding heart. He always tried to help everyone (which was why it came as such a shock the man was actually a demon). He also wore his heart upon his sleeve; he was a very emotional man- er, demon. It was completely understandable that he’d find issue with Logan’s stance on the matter and try to “fix” it. Still, he’d thought the offer of his soul or, or anything he held of value, would outweigh those notions. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Ya don’t gotta say yes, Lolo.” A smile quirked at Patton’s lips. “But... if yeh don’t, I won’t take yer emotions away. I won’t. No hard... feelin’s.” He winked.

Logan wanted to let loose a particularly frustrated, disgruntled noise, but he managed to regain his scattered composure. He huffed, smoothing down his shirt and fiddling with his glasses again, but it was all procrastination. He was staving off the inevitable. Because of course he was going to say yes. This was his only chance to achieve his goal, and if he had to jump through a few hoops, so be it. Well... in all actuality, it would be Patton jumping through the hoops. He sighed. “...one chance to change my mind. One.” He paused, thinking it over a moment. “...what length of time constitutes as ‘one’?”

Patton was beaming at him, and in the onesie it was utterly adorable. Ugh. Thoughts like that were precisely the reason he needed to be rid of his emotions. They clouded his judgment on top of everything else. “How about... one year?”

“A year-”

“One year! Ta convince you that you need yer emotions, that they’re good fer you, that they’re an important part of yer life. And in one year’s time, if yeh still feel tha same, I’ll... I’ll take’em away. No strings attached. Promise.” Patton met Logan’s eyes, on purpose, and any shreds of doubt Logan had about trusting a demon were disintegrated.

It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose, after all. He was offering up nothing but a delay to obtain his desire, whereas Patton would be working a full year to try and achieve his own goal. It didn’t make much sense to Logan, but as the saying went, one really shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Right? What other opportunities did he have? It was this, or nothing. He had no choice but to accept. “...very well. I’ll take your deal. Please do not be upset when, in a year, we come back to this very point and all of your efforts proved to be for naught.” He extended his hand, posture the picture of business.

Patton was still beaming, though, unperturbed and confident. He eagerly shook Logan’s hand with a bit of an excited giggle. “Oh, the next twelve months are gonna be so much fun!”

[spirify]

365 Degrees― CH. 1

“completing the circle” written by. Rielin

bgm  red velvet - russian roulette piano cover by DooPiano

The crescent moon is high up in nightly sky, sheer clouds gently flowing back and forth and covering up the moonlight every couple seconds. Underneath the moon- it's an apartment standing tall and proud, holding onto countless residents with variety, all living their own life. Zooming into one of the window that reflects multiple fluorescent light, a disco ball is spinning from the ceiling. As we go closer and closer toward the window, our ears start to vibrate and the sound of a loud music becomes clearer and clearer. All of these aspects pumps the adrenaline of the students who are washing away their exhaustion from studying day and night and the money spent on countless number of coffees they ordered for the extra caffeine. We enter the window and make our way through the sober students exchanging their conversation, the half-drunk students who actually wants to get fully drunk and is having a shotgun competition in the corner of the living room, the fully-drunk students who are either puking out the toilet, or is just lying down on random places within the house. Ah, then there is the house owner and the host of this party: Elsword.

A junior in a public university that represents the entire state and only the intelligent students are accepted. However he's a complete failure. He absolutely disgusts the concept of studying for an exam and completely agrees on the concept of 'winging it out'. But how did he actually get into this university? Apparently, his father is a psychology professor within the university he attends, therefore Elsword is basically forced to be put into another four years of education and is strained to the major of psychology, all props to his father. Furthermore, because he also dislikes the aspect of not being allowed to party within a dorm and being ruled around by the RA. Therefore, he decided to live off-campus, in an apartment that is literally a mile away from the campus.

As anyone can see, he loves to party. He is an extrovert, he loves being surrounded by people and meeting new people. He is always looking forward to another adventure within this city and loathes being stuck inside of a mere couple hundred square feet area. He also loves seeking attention, he isn't afraid of the crowd and the crowd loves him. Therefore…

He invites numerous people and throws a party in his apartment house.

Every. Single. Friday and Saturday.

Tracking a shot out of this loud and noisy room filled with sweaty and drunk people, we slowly move to next door. It's somewhat quiet compared to the room next door, however due to the obnoxious music coming from the other side of the wall, even this room is vibrating along the beat of the loud bass. However, this place gives off somewhat of a cozy and comfortable feeling, the only source of lighting being a lamp and a light stand near a paper-filled desk. And next to that desk, is the other protagonist: Eve.

She is wearing a circle framed glasses and her short, silver hair is tied off as a low ponytail, all while wearing a chunky cardigan that matches the mood of her cozy room. Overall, she seems to be in a comfortable setting while she is focused working on a writing her story in her word document.

Except that is- her face is scrunched up and her eyes are closed, covering up the once-determined golden eyes that was ignited with concentration. As anyone that lives near the well-known party house, she is annoyed. However, she is way beyond being just annoyed; her mind is filled with nothing but going inside of that obnoxious house and burning the entire place down with oil and fire. Yet she can't. She can't even knock on the front door and tell them to quiet down.

A senior in a public university that represents the entire state and only the intelligent students are accepted. As expected, she is attending that university, majoring in English with full ride of scholarship due to her unique smartness with a fluent writing ability. Therefore, she was able to contact a company which publishes various books and creates new authors, and she is now working on her first story. On the negative side however, the deadline is fastly approaching and she is constantly being tailed down by time to the point where she can barely exit her home and her next door neighbor is definitely not helping her. She decided to live off-campus but reside in a radius near her school since she despises the concept of being put in a compact room with a stranger. Not only that, she loves being in her own personal space without being disturbed and the existence of another human being near her bubble is truly bothersome for the female.

As anyone can see, she is extremely shy. She's an introvert. She loves being inside a cozy room all by herself, surrounded by her favorite items such as a chunky cardigan, a cup of warm coffee, all while doing her favorite hobby: writing a story. She loathes being surrounded by multiple strangers, therefore she have never attended a party, a rave, or anything that involves loud noise filled with a large crowd. That's why she absolutely adores her little apartment, which she have decorated with various types of plants and decorations. Yet the only thing she can't handle is the intolerable noise coming from the other side of the wall, the wall that connects Elsword and Eve.

Especially during

Every. Single. Friday and Saturday. 

The time continues to tick and as every minute passes by, it seems like the noise have dropped down a bit, and so have Eve's dark circles. She glances down at her taskbar within her computer screen and the digital clock displays 2:32 AM.

"Oh my,"

She lets out a sigh as she rubs her exhausted eyes with a grunt. She let out a refreshing stretch and clicks on the 'save' on her word document and closed her laptop. Even though she is extremely tired due to restless work with her story, she quickly washes herself in the bathroom, then walk over to her comfy bed filled with various plushies. She turns on her dim, christmas lights which she have decorated with polaroid pictures taken with her friends from the time when she studied abroad. Then she reaches forward to grab her eye mask that is decorated with kitty ears and there she goes, deep into her sleep which she desperately needed.

"...,"

It's daybreak, the sun is slowly peeking its way through the earth, creating a mixture of variety within the palette, the sky being the canvas. Some are still asleep, some are wide awake. Nevertheless, this room is dark. Completely dark. Perhaps if someone stayed in this room for a period of time and their eyes adjust in the darkness, maybe they'll be able to outline the shape of the bed. Talking about the bed, there seems to be someone laying on top of it, his position being somewhat unproportional; his arm are hanging loosely in the air while the other one is wrapping the upper parts of his head. His hair is brushed the wrong way and his blanket isn't even on top of him.

Then out of a sudden, his eyes jolt open and the crimson color is revealed.

"Fuck,"

Is the first word that comes out of the male, who slowly raises himself up as he let his fingers run through his bangs. He let out a stretched as he yawn, his current being somewhat resembling a lazy lion in the wild meadow. Without even checking the time by unlocking his phone, he stands up, almost tripping over an empty beer bottle but manages to maintain his balance. He walks outside of his room and turns on the switch of the living room, the harsh fluorescent light flickers twice then illuminates the entire room, a messy room to be exact. There's all kinds of alcohol bottles and trash bags lying around lazily on the floor, even random items such as a basketball. Elsword lets out a stressed sigh as he gazes around his place. At least everyone left with their belongings. With another sigh, he picks up one of the plastic trash bags and decides to throw all of the trashes in that bag. He wishes he could have a maid sometime; he loves to gather up people in his house, but after they leave, it's as if a category 5 hurricane swept by. After minutes of sweeping the floor and picking up the trash, he ties a knot on the trash bag that are filled with various garbage. He gathers up all of the full trash bags and slips into his Nike slippers, still half awake and half asleep. Because of his excess drinking from last night, he still feels the terrible headache lingering within his head; all of these conditions created an exhausted, extremely annoyed condition for Elsword.

He turns of the doorknob that automatically unlocked and walks outside of his house, frowning with annoyance.

"Ah… Ah!"

What the?

Elsword glances toward the sound of a female with shocked voice, only to find a rather petite female standing near a door that's directly next to his own door. He assumed she was his neighbor, but he wondered why does she seem so unfamiliar?

Ah, they've never met.

And that was the first time, when Eve met her next door neighbor she deeply hates.

She've never physically seen him, but she always heard his husky voice through the thin wall separating their rooms. Yet it sounds like he's barely home, always coming back to his place late at night as he talks through his phone as if he was on a call with someone, and that noise was enough to wake the sensitive Eve up during her sleep. Not to mention the fact that he throws a party every week.

Therefore, as she continued to live within this apartment, residing next to this obnoxious male, a deep hatred started to be planted within Eve and grow at a fast rate toward the male. However, because of her shy personality, it's extremely difficult for her to walk next door and knock angrily, telling him to quiet down. Nevertheless, the people she surrounded herself are quiet people like her with similar hobbies, yet this male in front of her that reeks of alcohol is completely different from her, a total contrast, an 180 degrees.

"I- I…,"

Eve feels like she should say something, as she is awkwardly standing there as if she has something in her mind and the male looks as if he was waiting for her words. Nevertheless, no words slips out of her lips and she feels the heat rising to her cheeks with embarrassment. Why is she always like this to new people?!

However, Elsword on the other hand is feeling completely different. The headache from binge drinking last night still lingered, moreover he's still only half awake. He feels drowsy, tired, and annoyed and he has no idea what this lady in front of him is trying to do… yet somehow he feels like she's sick and she's trying to ask for help? Maybe she doesn't speak English…?

Eve can't visually see her physically appearance as of right now but Elsword can. Her face is completely red like a tomato and she's staring at him with hint of anger and fear within her golden eyes, with her hands filled with trash bags as well.

Without another word-

Elsword reaches forward, placing the palm of his hand gently on top of her forehead.

Fever?

note:

y'all i'm on a role with stories these days lol

i decided to write a new story because of sudden inspiration of writing Els x Eve! /i felt like i needed a variety since i only write Els x Ais lol this story will be very very different from my other stories! it's written in present tense (may have couple past tense mistakes), and it's modern. although i write many modern setting stories, they normally had nostalgic/emotional feel to it, but i wanted to make this more comedy kind of k-drama like? lol

also there is a reason why this story is called 365 Degrees, not 360 or 180, etc. lol

i hope you guys are welcoming my new challenge and will enjoy this :D thanks for reading as always! c:

Rielin’s Fanfiction.net