#amasali

[ded-lime]

[avicebro]

I want your take on amasali with prompt 8 lol

bonk!

[ziracona]

Pt 2 since the weird way tumblr does text in 'blocks' won't let me upload it as one. [Fate/GO AU – The Kid (pt: 1, … 22,23, 24, 25,26, 27, 28_1, 28_2, 29_1, 29_2, ?)]{Some spoilers for og FGO/Temple of Time, vaguer spoilers for early CITLB}

.

.

“Oh, wow. Salieri! Would you look at that view.”

For a normal human, there probably wouldn’t be a view here by the mountains at all, but as a servant, I can catch a glimmer of blue off to my left. Ah! That must be the coast!

“It’s not the coast,” says Salieri as if he can read my mind. Tiredly, he continues to hike up along the ridge we’re on.

“How can you tell?” I pout, hurrying to catch up with him.

“Because it’s a river,” he replies, which isn’t an answer at all.

I sigh at him. “Well, if it’s a river, it’s a lovely, beautiful, sparkling river!” I say instead, redoubling my efforts.

He grimaces and keeps walking forward.

Tch. He’s like this all the time now!

“Salieeriii,” I whine, hurrying over brush and little rocks to try and walk beside him, “Why won’t you talk to me?”

“Amadeus, please,” he says, exasperated. We don’t generally sweat from exertion like this, but for some reason he’s drenched, poor guy.

I lean in and blink at him with my big eyes. “Yes? Please what?”

He opens his mouth to say something, then sighs wearily and just keeps walking. I hurry to his other side.

“Come on! This is the perfect opportunity! Nobody else is around!” I prod, “We could talk about old times! We can say anything we want!”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it is for me not to kill you?” he asks desperately, still trying not to look at me, “Even with my Master nearby, it takes most of my focus to hold back. Now, we’re alone. Us being alone is not a good thing Amadeus, it is a bad thing.” He stops walking and finally glances at me, looking thoroughly beaten. “Actually, I think it would be best if we split up.”

“Split up?” I ask in dismay, “What—here? –In the middle of the jungle?? In the middle of hostile territory, with a missing Master?”

“We could cover more ground separately,” he counters.

Well this is terrible! I was trying to annoy him into some kind of a response, but I didn’t want him to leave!

“Noooo,” I say, throwing myself at him and clinging to an arm. I feel him stiffen. “Salieri you can’t leave me alone out here! I’m just a little caster! I’ll be torn to bits!”

He grimaces at me again. His bright red eyes are creepy—I wish they were still brown.

Stiffly, like an automaton, he turns his head away and begins to try and pry me off.

“No, Salieri, no!” I plead dramatically, jumping up and wrapping my legs around him, “Didn’t you say you would be so unhappy if somebody else killed me? If you leave me alone I’ll get killed for sure! Don’t abandon me!”

Frantic now, he struggles to get me off, but I’ve got him like a boa constrictor. Finally, he screams in a fit of enraged desperation, and transforms. His spiky red and black armor appears, covering his usual suit, and a mask sets over his head. Only this time, both grow exponentially in size, and I’m flung off as he gets bigger, mask molding into his flesh.

I fall onto my back and gape up at his form as his arms and legs get longer and bigger, and he begins to hover in the air above me, parts of his armor floating about him like pennants. When he opens his mouth, it’s the mask that speaks, with lines of razor sharp, inhuman teeth, as if it’s his head now. He’s a shape and size that could almost be human, but just a little beyond what’s possible, in size. It’s horrifying, and it’s terribly beautiful at the same time.

I’m scared, I think, but I’m also excited by it! And, I guess, I’m a little ashamed. I probably shouldn’t feel that way about something like this…

“GET. AWAY FROM ME!” the thing bellows, echoing out an inhuman roar.

“Wow!” I say from flat on the ground, “Salieri! I didn’t know you could do that. You look so scary; I love it!”

It screams at me, and the sound is enough to hurt. The sound is not beautiful. The sound sucks.

I wince. “Alright, alright! Calm down,” I say, and I pull myself up and brush off my suit. Standing up is actually more terrifying, because I have an exact scale next to it of how much bigger than me he is this way. “Yikes! You really do look scary.”

“I AM SCARY,” he bellows.

“Mmmmm,” I step closer and consider him, “Not really. It’s a terrifying costume, and if we were strangers, I bet it would scare me off! But I know it’s still Salieri under there.”

“I am not Salieri,” he growls, looming above me, “I am the Man in Grey. I am Death! I am not a person, Amadeus. I am YOUR DEATH, personified!”

Hmmmm. “Well, you sure look like Salieri!” I say cheerfully. “Sound like him, too.” I get right up in his—well, his abdomen really, because he’s floating and also a lot bigger now, and I can’t reach his face—but I get right up in his space, and put a finger to my chin. “Hmmmm. No, I’m just not buying it!”

Enraged, the thing screams again, and it sure is a nasty sound—my poor, musical ears, yeesh. I don’t mind it too bad though, but then the thing jumps on me!

Like a lion, he slams down on top of me, massive clawed fingers digging into the ground and pinning my shoulders. My back hits the rocky, slanted ground beneath us, and I end up almost upside-down from the terrain’s slant, staring up at this massive, fanged face that isn’t his head anymore. It’s the living red, black, and grey armor, and his warped mask, living steel. Sharp lines and lines of too many teeth to be possible open wide enough to bite off most of my head, venomous looking saliva dripping down its chin as it roars. It doesn’t have eyes, just the impression of eyes, where the visor on the mask would be back when it was a mask.

“Antonio-“ I say, and then I yelp in pain as he digs his claws into my shoulders, “Ow! That actually hurts!”

“HURTS YOU?” hisses the massive thing above me, “I’LL KILL YOU!”

He lunges at me, teeth snapping shut around my neck, and then just as the skin breaks and I feel little needles of pain sink in, he jerks and freezes up, then slowly, raggedly drags his head back, opening his mouth and letting go of my throat.

I can feel blood, and it did sting when he bit, but I can tell there was no real damage done.

Breathing heavily, he chokes out, “Get up! Get out of here! Go, or I really will kill you!”

…Poor Salieri, I think, watching this horrible thing struggle with itself above me, You look so confused, now.

He drags his claws out of my shoulders and sits up, giving me room to drag myself out from under him. I don’t though. I just push myself up too, bracing my arms behind me, him still straddling my legs.

“No you won’t,” I say.

He breathes horribly, like he barely can at all, and a low growl begins to form.

“Salieri,” I continue, and I put a hand over his shoulder. Using my grip on him to maintain my balance at this angle, I put my other against what serves as a face, “Don’t be so stupid all the time, Hübscher. I know you aren’t the old you, but you’re still—”

He rakes a claw across my chest and slams me back against the ground. OW! This one hurts a lot more! I can feel the blood bubbling up a lot quicker, too.

With his left hand, he grabs my throat and digs his claws into the ground again, this time pinning my neck between what used to be his thumb and his index finger, but are now claws the size of knives. Around us, I hear music start to play, even though no one is playing it—not even him. It just seems to live in the dark grey mist seeping out of him, my requiem. Our requiem, now, I guess.

I should be scared, I suppose. I know I’m supposed to be. But it’s like seeing a man with a scythe in a haunted house. It’s nothing real. The blood, the pain, the fear—they aren’t real to me at all. All I can do is laugh at them. My Salieri, he is such…such a caricature, of the idea of my death. He’s like a bad drawing of a scene. Even if he did kill me, it would look like some ridiculous nightmare whose obvious falseness is clear the moment you wake, and you can’t remember how you ever thought it was anything but a dream at all.

The mask of this beast form that is meant somehow to be Salieri roars at me, and the sound is so shrieking, so awful, so piercing, it tears my eardrums. I can feel blood dripping from them.

“I WILL DESTROY THE MAN BELOVED BY GOD,” shouts the mask above me. He raises his right hand high, and a massive version of his usual sword appears in it. It’s bright black, like the night sky, and shaped like a conductor’s baton, and a cross. Such a beautiful sword. He twists it in his hand so the blade is aimed between my eyes.

“You won’t kill me, Salieri,” I say, watching the bright reds segments amidst the blacks and greys of his mask.

His grip on my throat tightens, and I can feel his massive arm shake.

Around me, the fog seeps in and whispers. I remember this from before—back in the vault—and for the first time, I do feel a pang of fear. Fear, and regret.

Words spill out among the whispers, and I can see the speakers in my mind. I hear my beloved Constanze cry and ask why I left her in crippling debt, to raise our children alone. I hear my father berate me for failing to be appointed once again in Vienna. I hear whispers the Sunday after my mother’s death, saying a doctor would have been called in time had I not spent the family fortune tripping after failed dreams. I see Nannerl, pausing mid-phrase and staring blankly at the piano at her fingertips; I hear voices without sources telling her she can never play past 15, because as a woman, it’s not her place. I see her husband, so old compared to her, snap at her—her step-children disobey, and demand—her own son far away, with father. And I see her holding a letter from me, and smiling at some joke I made about shit. But the smile is the saddest I have ever seen on her face. I am in Paris, at an opera the week of the letter. I am writing. She is alone, by candlelight. I see the four children I had who didn’t live through their second year. A little wood box, a little wood box, a little wood box, a little wood box. I see my mother’s face, and she’s not in it anymore—she’s cold and still. I see Maria kneeling in shackles at a guillotine. I see her head fall. It’s not even a clean bucket that catches her. I see a blossom of matching red open horribly slowly, like the lid to a can, as Salieri slides a blade along his throat.

“Enough!” I shout, squeezing my eyes shut. The whispers continue, but their volume fades back into the smoke around me. “There is no point in showing me this, Salieri! It isn’t scary! It just makes me sad!”

His grip tightens again, and I start struggling to breathe. I have to fight back the urge not to say something extremely flippant to him, and I can almost hear Maria in my head thanking me for pretending to be a decent human this once. It isn’t easy—this is the perfect time! If he only knew what I’m giving up for him…

“I’m still not scared of you! I’m not ever going to be scared of you!” I choke out, “Give it a rest already!”

He crushes my windpipe and I can’t breathe at all, as he lets out another horrible wail.

It’s the most awful sound I’ve ever heard. It’s like the whispers I heard in the fever of my death, if agony replaced terror. I feel pressure build and then stabs of immense pain in my ears, and then all I can hear for a few seconds is a fainting ringing pulse.

Salieri brings up his shaking right hand with the sword, still aimed at my head, and I’m not afraid of him. I am sure he won’t kill me.

But I realize, he isn’t.

“Antonio, how was Franz Xavier?” I ask.

Salieri stops, arm still raised.

I smile at him, and I let my tone slide from its usual mocking lightness, to a more sincere tone. “Was he a good boy? He was only four months old, when I died. Did he look like me?”

“…No,” says Salieri. He sounds muffled and distorted to my damaged ears, but I ignore the aching pain in them and use the entirety of my focus to hear. “I am afraid he looked like Constanza.”

“Why afraid?” I say cheerfully, “We both had good looks, so it’s alright for him either way. Besides, Karl Thomas was my spitting image—if I got both of them, it would have been unfair.”

“…He…was a good student,” says the thing that is Salieri now. His voice is low and strained, but even with my damaged ears, I recognize it as undeniably him. “…You would have been very proud. He grew into a fine young man. And he loved you. They all did.”

“Good,” I say with a smile, shutting my eyes. He eased the pressure on my throat as soon as he began to talk, although I don’t know if he noticed it, and I can breathe just fine now. “I am glad you taught him. I looked up to you, you know?”

Salieri doesn’t say anything.

“Isn’t it so funny?” I continue, opening my eyes again to look up at him with a sad little smile, “When I was alive, and we competed, you won—every single time! You won the job as Princess Elisabeth's teacher at the piano over me, twice. You won the Emperor's opera composition contest. I lost Da Ponte to you. Again and again. You were simply better than me, Antonio-“

“—Stop,” says Salieri, voice rough.

“—But it’s true!” I say, “Yet, when I lost, you chose to premiere my music. Again and again. You became the Kapellmeister, and used your position to revive my opera. I would never have done the same for you.”

“I know,” says Salieri quietly.

“You were the better teacher. Better husband, better father. You were well respected, while I was an insolent scoundrel, hopelessly in debt,” I continue, “Of course I admired you. I copied you, for Papageno’s whistle, and Papageno and Papagena’s duet.”

“I noticed,” says Salieri, almost with the sound of a smile in his voice.

“That was the idea!” I say happily. I try to sit up, forgetting I am trapped beneath his hand, and I ram my windpipe into it.

Noticing, he hesitantly raises his hand, digging his claws out of the earth. I push myself up onto my elbows, and he moves the sword back as I bring myself towards it.

“You remember when I took you to see The Magic Flute?” I ask him.

He nods.

“You were so excited!” I say, “You cheered every piece! Every performance, every song! I’d never seen you watch an opera so engrossed as to not for a second remember there were people in the seats beside you. You cheered so loud, Salieri. One of the masters of the art, the Emperor’s chosen. You were good enough to know the difference between music that is great, and music that is perfect, and you loved my work. I only ever felt so happy when Constanza was in love with a piece.”

“…It cannot have mattered that much,” he says quietly.

“Of course it did,” I argue, “Antonio, you lived for too long without me, Liebling. The way people spoke about you changed how you think about you, but it has also changed how you remember me. I wanted you to love me, because you were great enough for that to be special.”

He stays quiet, but somehow, he looks sad to me now.

“I annoyed you,” I say proudly, “Like I annoyed everyone. And you disapproved of me, and I tired you. I always did. You know, so many people tried to like me, Salieri. So many of the men who wanted my business or my favor—they hated me, but they could convince themselves they liked having me around. You, though? You never did. But you were still a patron to me. You worked with me, you pushed my work, you praised things you liked. You were with me, when I was dying. You were one of the only people at my grave. You taught my son. You’re Salieri. Don’t you get it?”

I grab the tip of his sword and press it at my throat, offering him the death Maria had, the death he tried to give himself, the one I hate so much.

“You won’t do it. It doesn’t matter if you’re the Man in Grey, or my death, or Death itself. It doesn’t matter if you’re not Salieri, because part of you is Salieri. And Salieri loved me,” I continue, and I reach up and touch the thing’s face, “He didn’t like me much, but he didn’t need to. He was one of the only people who ever really loved me. And even when people lied about him, and hounded him, and drove him to death, he still clung to that. The Man in Grey isn’t real. My death is over—it’s no stronger than any other death. Even death itself is just a passionless reality. But Salieri? Salieri was amazing. Salieri was real. I actually cared what Salieri did. So, it doesn’t matter if he’s only a fragment of a fragment of you. Salieri could be 1% of what makes up you, and he’d still be stronger than all the rest. Nothing any part Salieri could ever kill me. And I’m sorry, because it makes you sad, and you’re stuck with a task you can never complete. But you’re not scary, Antonio, and I’m not going to run away.”

The sword crackles and fades into smoke, and he’s left with his arm still raised, unmoving.

“I’m lonely and weak and bored all the time, and I don’t know anybody else around, but I right now I’ve got a summon with one of the special people I actually like, who will baby me and do all the hard work, so of course I’m not going to let you abandon me!” I add, grinning up at him, “Besides, I ruined your afterlife. The least I could do is keep you company in it. Some part of you must want me around. I love you too, don’t you know?”

His arm slowly droops down to his side, and he crouches there limply above me, on his knees. The little bits of cloak around him flutter in a breeze that isn’t real, like so much about how the throne has warped him.

“You foolish man,” he says quietly, his voice almost sounding dead to me, “I will hunt you. I will hurt you. That will never change.”

“So what?” I ask brightly, and I wrap my arms around his neck and smile up at him, “You won’t kill me, and you will protect me from everybody else! I don’t mind getting hurt if it’s only you.”

“Wolfgang,” he pleads, and I shiver with excitement to hear him use my first name. “I don’t want to kill you. I… …I do want to kill you—I MUST—I need-! –I don’t-!” His voice is fragmented, jarring, changing from word to word. “—Please! Please stop; leave me. Even if I don’t want to kill you, I only need to lose focus once to make a mistake.”

Instead of leaving, I lean my head against his chest and shut my eyes with a smile. “So what? You’ll just never make a mistake then! It’s not like me trying to never make a mistake. You’re Salieri! You’re patient and careful! You have focus, and discipline, and all those boring things you need to be respectable and successful in life, that I don’t have at all.”

He makes a pained sound. “I can’t.”

“Sure you can,” I urge, snuggling against him, “I know it will be agony, but we are heroic spirits! Every summoning, we suffer. That’s all that ghosts are meant to do: suffer, and regret. If we’re cursed to suffer anyway, wouldn’t you rather do it with me?”

Salieri makes no reply.

“It’s better to suffer every day, than to be alone,” I add, and I open my eyes again and tilt my head up to look at him. He’s still this thing of metal and hate, with no face, no eyes. Somehow, it doesn’t really seem like a big deal. It is him, after all. Was there ever really another part I cared about?

After another few moments of silence, I say, “Don’t you want to be with me?”

“…How can you say things like that so carelessly,” he whispers, sounding heartbroken. The massive thing above me lowers its head. It has no face I can see, but I get the feeling he’s shut his eyes.

“I don’t have any mode except for careless,” I answer, surprised, “…That doesn’t mean I’m not sincere.”

It tilts its head up a little. “LOOK AT ME! I am not your Salieri!”

“Then whose are you?” I demand, “I thought I was like the sun to you!”

He opens his mouth and stops. “… …I am not a person.”

“That’s okay,” I reply happily, “I’m a devil.”

“No you’re not,” replies my Antonio’s voice tiredly, “You’re just a man. Who doesn’t know when a word should stay in his head instead of stepping outside of it.”

I grin. “You are a person. Only Salieri scolds me like this.” He starts to answer, and I don’t want to give him a chance to argue, so I cut him off. “—Do you still love me?”

He doesn’t answer. He just hangs his head and slumps there above me.

“You are so easy to tease,” I sigh, “I like that.”

“Please don’t mock me,” he says quietly.

Hm. He said that to me before, in the bar. Come to think of it, we never finished that talk after.

“I am not mocking,” I argue, “Just because I’m funny and irreverent, doesn’t mean I’m mocking. Did you cry when I died?”

“…”

“Did you think about me much? Did you miss me?” I prod.

“Stop asking questions you know the answer to,” he says, pained.

“Well, I missed you,” I say, leaning my chin against his chest and my head back as far as it can go, so I am looking right up at him, “You know, I was so happy to see you again. You’re somebody nice, so I bet you would have felt bad for me if our positions were reversed, but I’m just me, so I thought, ‘Oh wow—I get Salieri all to myself now!’”

“Stop!” he urges, like I will hurt him.

“Then talk to me!” I insist, “Tell me the truth!”

“…It doesn’t matter anymore,” says Salieri, pained, “It never really did.”

“…Now you’re the one being cruel,” I reply quietly.

This seems to surprise him.

“You get to decide how you feel, but I get to decide if I care about it…” I say, sulking.

It’s quiet for a minute. I’m tempted to keep picking at him, but I can tell he’s thinking. I think maybe for once, I should let him. Besides, I’m bleeding all over him and I’m tired and my ears hurt, but even as this cold, hard, metallic avatar of death, he’s warm, and comforting to be around. I’m too comfortable hanging off his neck and watching him, to want to make it stop. I think I could almost fall asleep like this.

“…You never stop loving someone,” he answers finally, his voice very tired and quiet and sad. Very human. Very Salieri.

I laugh, and I feel him stiffen. “Really? Never? …What an answer.”

I fell out of love all the time. My Constanza wasn’t my first love, or my first attempt for a wife. I had fleeting affections with the intensity of the sun. Love is a feeling, after all. Who can feel the same way about anything their entire life?

Salieri lowers his head. “You mock me again.”

“No,” I sigh, “I don’t. I’m laughing at myself, Antonio. That’s what’s different between us.”

I let go of his neck and lower myself back to the ground, then slide my hands behind my head and look up past him, at the sky.

“You are so steady, and kind,” I say, smiling as I watch the faint blue behind clouds above us, “The only thing I ever really loved enough was my music. I just didn’t know how. I don’t think I was born with it in me. I loved my family, but not like you. Not like Constanze loved me. I loved music. You loved the reasons that people love music. She loved that music can sound the way it does. Those all sound the same, but none of it is.”

“…No one is perfect,” says Salieri. His form flickers in the smoke, and the armor shrinks and melts away, leaving the man in the grey suit that I know so well, on his knees above me. “You are too unkind to yourself.”

It’s so funny. I’m not criticizing myself at all; I love myself. I’m a genius—I can’t help if I’m different, and if I wasn’t, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to write the way I did. If I traded my soul to music, then it was a good deal. Yet, he’s so convinced. He looks so sad for me. Him.

“…Why did you love me?” I ask him, looking away from the sky to study his face.

“Amadeus,” says Salieri with a sigh, “Nobody can answer that question.”

“Hm?” I ask, surprised. I push myself up onto an elbow. “Why not?”

“Because, any reason we could give is simply something about you,” says Salieri with great exhaustion, “I could say it is your music, which I did love. Your creativity, your excitement, your range. I could say it is because I watched you grow and change so much. I could say it is because you were a companion. But none of those things are you, not even your music. Your humor, your personality, your interests. And it was not any one, or any combination of those things. I’m sure your wife would have told you the same. It’s just you. But there is no other way to say that.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, sitting up all the way.

Salieri tries to move back to give me space, and realizes for the first time that my legs are between his. He makes a sound of discomfort and hastily shifts to the side to get off me. I snag his shoulder before he can become distracted by this, and ask again, “That doesn’t make sense.”

This works, and he refocuses on being exhausted by my questions instead. “…Well, why did you love Constanza?”

“Because she was beautiful, and intelligent, and she understood music, and sang well,” I reply, making a list in my head, “She was from a family I had interest in, and she was fun, and best of all, she liked me.”

“Is that still your answer? After the end?” he asks. “Why do you love her now?”

I consider. “…Yes. All those things—just more. She put up with my lifestyle, she loved my music, she encouraged me. She had patience, instead of hate, when I frustrated her, or hurt her. She was brave.” It’s…strange. I haven’t thought about her in this kind of…list before. No one has ever asked me to recount my reasons. It’s making me feel…badly. Oh. I think I miss her… “…She was my wife, and she loved me,” I add more quietly, after a moment.

Am I sad?

“—Yes, that,” says Antonio. He gives me a worn smile like he’s proud of me. “’She was your wife, and she loved you.’ What more can you say? You don’t think of her as the pieces of her that were useful enough to care for, and the rest. You think of her as your wife, whom you loved. You aren’t broken, Wolfgang. You’re just thoughtless. Just because you don’t think about how you do things, doesn’t mean you weren’t doing them. You’ve always been this way.”

Ah. Funny. I would argue with anybody else. He scolded me a lot, when we were alive. He also praised me a lot. It never seemed like either one truly changed how he felt about me. He just felt how he felt, and said what he decided to.

“That’s so silly,” I say with a sigh. I glance over at him and grimace. “So, you had no reason. You just did?”

“No, stupido,” replies Salieri, “Is that what you just said about your wife? I loved you because I loved you. I met you, and I got to know you, and I saw who you were. All of it. Whatever our differences, that person mattered to me. Deeply. All of him. I could give you reasons, but none of them would be complete. You were Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, my friend and fellow artist, and I loved you. There is nothing else I can say that would be completely true.”

This is so complicated. But, for the first time, I feel a bit caught off guard. Nobody has ever claimed to love even the parts of me they hate before. …but, I already knew this about Salieri, didn’t I…? I always have. I knew he accepted me. That’s why I like him. So, why have I never thought about what ‘accepting me’ means until now?

Maybe I really am stupid. Maybe it’s just a little beyond my understanding.

Or, maybe for all my selfish love, I want him, even if he’s a warped and distorted version of himself now. Maybe even though I accept it all because I want him for me, it’s still just a little, tiny bit like what he describes.

“I can’t feel about you like you feel about me,” I say slowly, actually thinking through my words for the first time all conversation, “But, I still want you.”

He smiles sadly, as if he knew I would say this, and looks at the ground.

“…To me…” I continue, still thinking it through, “…You are still ‘Salieri.’ Nothing you can say will change my mind.”

He looks back up and meets my gaze, but he lets me talk.

“…But…you aren’t ‘Antonio, my friend and fellow composer, whom I love,’” I tell him, “You are… ‘Antonio Salieri, who loves me.’ I think…that is the thing I liked. I knew you loved my work, and me, and I appreciated that. Even if I was never able to really feel the same way.”

“I know,” says Salieri softly, “I always knew that.”

“Yes,” I agree, “and you never minded.”

“I told you,” says Salieri evenly, and he smiles at me this time the way he used to. Like…he’s just glad to see me today. “I didn’t love something I could get from you-“

“—But I did!” I interject, “That’s exactly why I loved you.”

“Maybe you liked me, then,” says Salieri gently, “like you said.”

I do not like that. Why don’t I like that? I’m the one who said I don’t know how to really love.

“Why can’t it count that I love that you loved me?!” I ask, a little worried now.

He smiles, and sighs again, and stands up. He brushes off his knees, and then offers me a hand. “It’s alright, Amadeus. You do care for me, or you wouldn’t have tried to help me just now. That’s all I—that’s more than I really wanted. Come on. We need to keep moving.”

I take his hand, and he pulls me up, then takes in my bloodied and disheveled appearance, and looks very sorry.

“Amadeus, I-“

“—It’s fine,” I say, shaking dirt and grass off myself, “See? Nothing serious. Just some scratches.”

Salieri doesn’t look satisfied, but he stops arguing, and turns to keep moving up the rise. At least he’s not trying to get away from me now.

I stay where I am for a few steps, watching his back get further from me.

“Wait,” I call.

He stops, and turns around.

“That’s not all,” I say, working it through, “Salieri…who makes me happy to see, and I love.”

Taken aback, he stays there.

“Salieri…who tries so hard to prop up everyone he teaches, and I admire,” I continue, and I take a step forward, “Salieri whose operas were forgotten because they pointed out corruptions, and I remember.”

I take another step, then another.

“Salieri who…” I stop, and I laugh.

He tilts his head at me.

“I’m sorry—I’ve run out of good words,” I apologize, walking closer anyway, “You know, once I heard Scherzo and Caro Bell'idol Mio played back to back?”

“You hear Scherzo?” he asks, smiling and looking amused rather than mortified like I sort of expected.

“Yes. You should hear them back to back, and then you’d understand what I can’t say. –Oh! Do you want to hear them?” I ask excitedly.

“—Those are both canons,” he says with the disapproval of a teacher, “You can’t sing them by yourself.”

“Then sing with me!” I beg. He raises an eyebrow, looking exasperated and amused. At least he’s calmed down. This is the most he’s looked like Salieri since I saw him again.

Not waiting for an answer, I begin with mine. “Beautiful, beloved idol of mine-“ I sing, summoning music around me with a wave of my hand.

“Beautiful, beloved idol of mine,” he echoes, overlapping with me a step after, humoring me out of habit.

“-Do not forget about me. I always hold the desire, to be close to you,” I sing, and he finishes after me, still looking bemused.

“It’s a lovely canon, Mozart, but it’s meant to be sung by three people,” says Salieri.

“Yes, but we don’t have a third, and I just need to make a point—Again?” I plead.

He sighs and smiles and sings it through once more, actually performing this time. I forgot how nice his voice is. Antonio never sang much—he was a composer, and not a singer of course—I am the same way—but we both can sing; it would be difficult to write the lyrics otherwise, I think. Even his singing voice sounds safe and welcome. It’s like hearing a family member sing.

“Now Scherzo?” I say.

He exhales a laugh, but he obliges again.

“These canons,” I sing.

“These canons,” he echoes, overlapping my words, and continuing just a step behind.

“-are for joking and laughing,” I continue happily, “and the words are intended just for that.”

I grin and sing it through a second time. He’s still smiling too, and he looks more relaxed. I guess he remembers his one fondly. I’m not surprised; Salieri always liked children. I wrote my canons like poems, because it was art. He wrote his canons like rhymes, because they were for students to learn with, and families at home. He remembered stuff like that. I didn’t.

“Ah,” I sigh happily as the music ends, “Listening to them and knowing us, how can it be that you didn’t write Caro Bell'idol Mio, and me Scherzo?”

“It does suit you,” he agrees.

“It suits me to sing,” I agree, “But you wrote it. In the end, no matter how I act, I am Caro Bell’idol Mio, and you are Scherzo. That’s why I love you.”

I am proud of this answer. It makes sense to me. It’s a bit of a relief, too. I think it lets a lot of things make sense, in ways that are not so daunting.

I do not think, from his expression, that it makes sense to Salieri though.

“I like your kind of different. I can see it. I don’t think about it,” I add carelessly, waving a hand, “But I like it.”

He’s like an umbrella; he makes space for other people to be well in. I don’t think he would be at all impressed by this metaphor though, so I don’t stay it out loud. I just hook my arm around his, and tug him after me.

Salieri lets me, still looking confused, but after a moment of thought, he smiles.

“What?” I ask him.

“It’s just nice,” he replies, “I don’t think you’ve ever said something good about one of my works before.”

Oh God, have I not?!? …Hmm. Damn. I might not have, to his face. –This is ridiculous! We knew each other for most of my life! Surely there were times we just don’t remember…

“I don’t really understand what you mean, but, I suppose I don’t need to,” he adds, giving me a hesitant smile.

That’s so much more mature than I would be about this. He never stops amusing me. He’s so easy.

“Anyway, thank you. I’m glad you like Scherzo,” he says.

“You know that wasn’t the point, right?” I ask, eyeing him, “I don’t ‘like Scherzo,’ I like how you wrote it.”

“Yes,” he says with a gentle laugh, “I know.”

Hmmm.

“Well, good,” I say cheerily, and I wrap my arm around his more tightly and lean my head on his shoulder, “Because that’s the only way I can say it.”

Antonio is quiet for a moment, then pats the back of my hand as we walk.

He looks happy.

Salieri is Salieri, I think, He looks happy when he holds my hand, and he loves me.

--------------------------------

This new human is fun.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye as we sit and wait, watching the ugly man-made structure below us. Why did humans in the future have to stop caring if buildings were the ugliest things you’d ever seen? What happened to making architecture have some small, remote tinge of appeal? Gross.

It’s also boring. But, whatever. I can be patient. At least my bodyguard is amusing.

He’s doing what I told him to, watching the base with the singular focus of a guard dog. Alter isn’t like a dog at all in any other way though—he’s like a cat. A stray cat. Stray dogs are different—they hold back and act hostile when threatened, but once they lower their guard, they shift modes from vicious to friendly. Cats are different. When they lower their guard, they aren’t friendly—they’re just a little less ready to bite you and run. This man is on edge and prickly, never relaxing completely, never even turning his back to me without being aware of it.

It's very interesting to watch. I have to wonder.

When I first met him, I told him he looked like he’d been trying to beat back armies of utukku alone for ages—like the husk of a great warrior, still somehow up. That’s still true, but, there’s more to it.

His body has been deeply tanned, like he walked the desert for years, and there are cracks along him that glow gold. Why?

“…Did the Counter-Force summon you?” he asks out of nowhere without even looking at me.

“Huh?” I ask, taken aback, “No.”

It’s his turn to look surprised, and he glances away from his watch duty for a millisecond to look at me.

“No, I summoned myself,” I add.

We’re in a little cave, the size of a bedroom. I carved it out of stone with a few well-placed bolts, and set up a blind here; it’s really close to one of the big facilities these humans are running in the jungle, and it’s close enough to see them well, without chancing being seen. Their bounded field cloaking the facility is powerful, but I’ve got my own spells of true sight carved into the opening to the cave. So long as you’re inside, the circular opening functions like one big magnifying glass—and best of all, since mine is not a bounded field, it’s hard to sense unless you get up close.

“…How?” he asks, like he’s indulging me by believing enough to ask.

I huff. “’How’? Really? I’m a Goddess.”

He looks me up and down. “Not from here you aren’t.”

I roll my eyes. “No, but I still have a vested interest in this. Besides, it doesn’t matter if I’m from here. Any Goddess can who’s strong enough can find a way to manifest.”

“Oh, that’s a vessel,” he says as if it’s just clicked. I guess he hasn’t had a lot of experience with gods, because of course it is.

“If you were in front of my true form, you’d be speechless from my beauty, and paralyzed by my power,” I grin. I sit up and fluff the thick hair of the body I’m using. “She’s not so bad herself, of course—obviously I wouldn’t use a body that was, but trust me when I say an avatar scales back every aspect of a god.”

He doesn’t say anything, so I guess that answered his question.

“Why?” he asks. Huh, guess it didn’t after all. He already knows what they’re doing to spirits the Counter-Force sends in, like himself, and the other projects we had time to talk about on the way here, so I guess he must mean ‘why do you, Ishtar, specificialy care’ and not ‘why would someone be fighting them’.

“I told you, I have a vested interest,” I say with a smirk. I float over from the back of the cave, and settle next to him on the floor. “If it’ll satisfy you, think of it this way; I’m a Goddess of Life. If everyone dies, that’s pretty bad for me.”

“…I didn’t think they were trying to kill everyone,” he says, narrowing his eyes and focusing on the far guard towers.

“I’m sure they aren’t,” I agree, “But humans don’t have to aim for being jackasses and ruining the world, in order to do it.”

Bored again, I lay down on my back in a pillow of my massive hair, and look up at him. He glances at me this time, full head turn, and I feel very smug. He’s way too focused on his job.

I mean, yes, it’s his job I gave him, but he should still be more focused on me.

“Anyway, how are you healing?” I ask, “You look better.”

“I am better,” he agrees, turning back to his task.

“Good.” I wave my hand, and a pitcher of water appears, a bowl of fruit and a plate of meat beside it. “Here,” I say, snagging an apple from the bowl and carelessly tossing it up and down to have something to do, “Eat up.”

He glances at the food out of the corner of his eye, then back at the compound. “I’m good.”

That’s so annoying. “Do it anyway,” I say with a tone, “You need the energy boost.”

Alter sighs, and picks up some meat and bites into it. Even though he does what I say, it’s no fun to boss him around. He’s so exhausted and burned out, it’s like he doesn’t even think about it.

“Well?” I ask, rolling onto my stomach and propping my chin in my hands, “How is it? Good?”

“…I can’t taste anything,” he says with a shrug.

You can’t taste anything??

“Uhm. Why?” I say.

He gestures to himself at large, never breaking focus on scanning the station. “Most of me is gone by now. That includes my sense of taste.”

…that’s terrible.

This is less fun now. It’s starting to be kind of upsetting.

“So, no taste at all?” I ask, pulling my self up to a sitting position and crossing my legs, “What about wine? Can you get drunk?”

“I don’t know,” he says like the question is almost interesting, but only almost, “I can’t remember trying.”

“What, did you lose your sense of memory too?” I ask. He gives me a look that clearly says ‘Yes, actually’. I gape at him, aghast. “Are you serious? –W—Okay then, what do you have left?!”

“Sense of direction, sense of danger,” says coolly after thinking about it for a moment, “sense of pain-“

“—So you can still feel touch then!” I say excitedly.

“…I can feel pain,” he says tiredly, “Not all touch. As a general rule, if it was supposed to be a positive thing, I probably can’t feel it anymore.”

I stare, and then ponder this in focused horror for a few seconds.

“Alter, I think that’s the most terrible thing I’ve ever heard,” I say, looking over at him again, “Who cursed you?”

“No one. This is just what happened to me eventually,” he replies without emotion.

Man. I wish he would tell me more, now. He’s not very open.

“—I see him,” says Alter.

I perk up, and follow his direction. It only takes a moment to pick out the figure we’ve been looking for.

“That’s the Archer I was telling you about alright,” I agree, “But who the hell is he holding? Is that a little girl?”

Hm, it is. She’s covered in blood, and it looks like he’s taking her to the medbay, but she’s not wearing a uniform, and I’ve never seen her before. It’s not like they get new recruits here, either.

“…Prisoner form another faction?” suggests Alter, following the same path of logic.

“Probably,” I agree, “…Great!”

I sigh happily and float back against the stone floor again.

“This is perfect for us! If they’ve got a prisoner, they’ll probably be distracted tomorrow, questioning her. Even if they don’t, they’ll divert people to guard her, and it’ll be the thing on everyone’s mind,” I continue.

I was a little concerned about their Archer—he’s really the only thing that could cause a problem for me. But, if he’s caught up with a prisoner, then we might not even have to find a way to kill him! Ah, if we can get away with just sneaking around, that makes this so much better!

“Okay, enough for the night,” I say, waving a hand at him lazily, “Take a break. Do whatever you want until dawn; just don’t leave the cave.”

“…Shouldn’t we move when it’s dark. Now is our best opening,” says Alter.

“You’d think so,” I agree. I open my eyes and frown at the top of my little cave hideaway. “They’ve got an edge at night, though.” I flop onto my side and watch him. “I’m a goddess of stars. And Venus, which is hidden by the sun during the day, but I have many sources of power, so I’ll be fine. Their edge at night is so ridiculous, I’ll take my chances with the day.”

“Their edge being?” asks Alter.

I grin at him and wave a finger. “No-no. Not so fast. You won’t tell me anything about you, while I’ve told you my name and my domain. I’ll explain, but only if you tell me about yourself.”

He sighs. “Fine. I don’t need to know anyway.”

I can’t believe that didn’t work. I mean-?! What kind of man doesn’t want to know the tricks his enemy will be using! Is he a warrior or not??!?

Huffing, I get up and walk to the back of the cave. I wave my hand and create a pile of cushions and blankets to rest on, and go angrily go curl up there.

That bastard. He’s watching me, and he looks amused!!

Wait—he smiled. That’s the first time, he-

Hmmm.

“Fine, suit yourself!” I snap, playing it up to see how he reacts. I wave my hand, and another set of cushions and blankets appear by him. “Sleep or die of boredom—do whatever you want.”

“Shouldn’t someone keep watch?” he asks dryly, “I thought you wanted a bodyguard.”

“I have all kinds of trippable alarms around this place,” I say, offended, “If anyone gets close, I’ll know. It’s shielded too, so it’ll block a few attacks on its own. I know how to set up a proper blind, okay?”

Who does he think he is? I’m not an idiot; I’m a Goddess. I don’t need to be questioned every six minutes.

Despite my generous offer, Alter stays at the mouth to the cave, watching the compound.I roll my eyes. Fine! Guess I’m not sleeping either.

It’s annoying, and so is he, but I have to say, as far as job-specific performance, I don’t have complaints. He really knows how to lock in and focus, and I’m not worried about him turning on me. Heroic Spirits are all some kind of professional, but I get the idea this is the specific type of professional he was. Hmmm.

“How come you lasted so much longer than the others?” I ask, curling around a pillow casually as I watch him, “I mean, I know you’re an Archer. But, so were some of the other presences I sensed.”

He shrugs without looking at me. “Unlucky, I guess.”

UN-lucky?! Rude. Everyone else died before I could save them.

“…What did the Counter- Force summon all of you specifically for?” I ask.

Alter makes a noncommittal gesture with an arm.  “Don’t know.”

“Come on, it didn’t summon you without instructions,” I say, “It’s not that inept.”

“Maybe others got instructions. I just assumed I’d be fixing a problem like always,” he replies.

I wonder if that’s the truth. He’s so evasive, and so closed off, it’s hard to tell when he’s lying, and when he’s just curt. Wait. ‘Always’?

“Always?” I echo, “What do you mean, ‘always’?”

“I’m not a hero,” he replies, glancing over his shoulder at me and speaking with a ‘didn’t you know?’ kind of tone, “I’m a Counter-Force Agent.”

A what now?

“A what now?” I prompt, sitting up, “Is that like…” I think a second. I mean, I know what the Counter Force is. So…? “…Like an attendant to Alaya?”

He starts to say no, then reconsiders, and shrugs. “In a way.”

“Wow. She treats her attendants like shit,” I comment. Since he’s not using them, I hop off my little nest and move over to his pile of blankets and pillows, and flop down luxuriously next to him. “So…You stay at Alaya’s instead of the Throne of Heroes, and she sends you out to fight whenever she’s threatened?”

“Sort of,” he says, watching something in one of the buildings in the middle of the compound now. I follow his gaze, and my vision is every bit as Archer-Good as his—way better, I’d warrant, but I don’t see anything interesting. “Counter Guardians are sent to deal with any threat that would destroy mankind. Mostly, that means we kill people whose actions would kill too many other people.”

“Like a guard,” I say.

He grimaces.

Okay, no. I try to picture this for a moment. I guess if they’re sent out to stop people before the damage is done, then they’re more like assassins?

“You don’t like this job?” I observe, watching his expression carefully.

Alter shrugs. “It’s fine. I don’t really think about it. I do what I do. Besides, I don’t have a lot of capacity to feel left. I guess so long as the job gets done, that’s what matters.”

I guess humans need their ways to protect themselves, especially now that the Age of Gods has ended, and beings like me aren’t around as much anymore, to watch over them. Still.

“That doesn’t sound very efficient,” I decide, and I roll onto my back again and stretch, “I mean. Your system for keeping humans alive is to just smite every time a situation gets tense? Don’t get me wrong—I love a good fight. But…Every time? I’m a goddess of War, and I’d get tired of that. It’s Enlil behavior. Foolish. When you break things, you don’t have them anymore. Isn’t your Alaya supposed to be a God of Mankind? Gods of Life are supposed to preserve it.”

Mmm, thinking about Enlil makes me mad. Look, I love to smite, when somebody has it coming, but if I didn’t do other stuff too, I’d just be a God of Vengeance.

“Why do you care?” he asks.

!

“How DARE you?” I spit, getting right in his face, “I am a Goddess of Life! Fertility, birth, creating! Why do I care!? Do you know who I am?!”

He leans back a little as I keep pressing into his personal space in a rage.

“I am the Goddess of LOVE! Love, and WAR, and Justice!” I snap.

“Alright-“ he starts.

“Wisdom, heroism, power!” I continue. He keeps leaning away, and I keep moving forward because I want to shout in his stupid face! “Wickedness, righteousness, plundering cities, lamentation, rejoicing, deceit, truthfulness, rebel lands, kindness, activity, being sedentary!”

With nowhere left to lean, he tries to move away, but I’m faster, and he ends up flat on his back with me on my hands and knees on top of him, shouting into his miserable face lividly!

“Carpentry, coppersmithing, scribes, smiths, leather-working, fullers, builders, reed-working, attractiveness, purification, shepherds, RESPECT!” I spit at him, “Awe, reverent silence, kindling fires, extinguishing fires, the family group, descendants, triumph, strife, counselling, constancy, going to the underworld, returning from the underworld, swords and clubs, cults, black garments, colorful garments, power, treachery, straightforwardness, lovemaking, kissing, speech, lions, travel-!”

“-good lord,” whispers Alter, gaping at me.

“Prostitution, musical instruments, the art of song, the venerability of old age!” I shout, “Kingship, comforting, judging, decision making, planning, safe places, perceptiveness, attention, heart-soothing, consternation! Truth, victory, law, and the HEAVENS!”

He flinches, closing an eye to keep spit out of it, then looks up at me and says, “…isn’t that kind of a lot?”

I smack him so hard he goes flying and becomes an imprint in the cave wall.

Or, I’m going to, but something in me decides I’d rather brag over him instead.

“Hmph,” I say, turning up my nose, “For a weak God, maybe. I earned mine, and I take care of all of them.”

“…but some of them contradict each other,” he says in the voice of a man saying things he knows might get him smacked so hard he becomes an indentation in the wall, who just can’t help saying it anyway.

“So?” I snap, “So do humans. I’ve seen the same people forgive the unforgivable, and hold grudges their whole lives. Gods can do the same. We contain multitudes. I can embody as many ideas as I want.”

“…well it sure explains some of it,” he mutters from beneath me.

Oh, he is getting on my last nerve.

“Some of what?” I hiss.

“You’re very volatile,” he replies.

“And you’re very stupid,” I snap, “You know I could disintegrate you, right? I’m your master, and I’m twice as strong as you are!”

“Only twice?” he asks.

I do smack him this time, though not into the wall. I know that’s what he was trying to get me to do, but I’m still not going to let him get away with it.

Okay you want to play games? I think.

“You know,” I say, and I change my demeanor. My anger and pride become a cold, controlled malice in my voice, a danger hiding just under the water, and I lean very close to his face, my dark brown hair falling around us and blocking out the little remaining light outside. “You’re Alaya’s bitch. A ‘Counter Guardian’. That makes us natural enemies. Have you realized that yet?”

Alter doesn’t respond.

“Gaia and Alaya split eons ago. The will of the planet, and the will of men. Gods are tied to the will of the planet. We are on Gaia’s side, in conflicts, and you are on Alaya’s. That potentially makes you a threat,” I whisper.

I wonder what he’ll do. Argue, reason? Probably, he’ll either try to piss me off more, or just stay quiet. Those are both really stupid, but he seems to not have the best head on his shoulders. Or maybe he just wants to die?

I realize after a second, that could actually be true.

In the darkness, his golden cracks faintly glow to my eyes, and there’s nothing in his grey irises but exhaustion and very old despair. Like he doesn’t even have the energy for pain.

“Are you going to kill me, then?” he asks simply.

I wonder, if I said yes, would he summon a blade and try to stab me? Or would he just hold still, like it’s an execution?

“Why don’t you react,” I say in the same calm, unattached tone he’s using, “To anything? Is there anything you care about? Or want? That you fear, or dread? Is there even anything you think, or believe?”

Alter doesn’t reply. He just looks at me, passionless.

“Archer,” I say, “You promised.”

Huh?

He does react this time. His brow furrows, and his eyes have life in them for a second. He looks about as surprised as I feel.

What the hell was that?

I look internally, and I’m suddenly feeling all these…emotions, out of nowhere. Attachment, affection, pity, --love? –irritation, pain, sadness? –Confusion, but that one’s mine.

Oh, wait.

It’s got to be my vessel. Oooohkay..? Weird, she’s never done this before. She must feel really strongly about this guy. Why?

Curious, I reach out internally, trying to find some part of her consciousness I can focus on. We don’t have any real communication—she accepted being my host, and I took the body. I mean, I didn’t kill her, so of course she was in there somewhere, but I thought she was perfectly in sync with me.

I can’t hear her, but, I have feelings now that aren’t mine—well, it’s our body, so I guess what’s hers is mine, and they are, so more like, ‘I have feelings that don’t originate with me.’ She feels really sad—I feel really sad, I guess—we feel really sad, about him. Because…? I mean, his work is sad, but…

I try harder.

“Why did you say that?” asks Alter, who I forgot about until just now.

“Shush,” I say, turning my head to the side and shutting my eyes to listen, “I’m doing something important.”

He starts to say something anyway, so I cover his mouth with my hand.

We’re sad… …Okay. We’re ‘mourning’ sad—so-? We knew him? Knew him or someone like him? What else. …We feel…nostalgia, okay. Regret. Pain, affection, happiness, sadness, distress. Whoa, we feel a lot about this. I think…we’re mad at him. We’re also mad at us. Oh, whoa, we are way more mad at Alaya than either of us—good for us. We are concerned. We want…to play with him? No, okay. …to shake him and yell at him, alright. Reasonable. …To take him home and—oh. Hah! No wonder this body was so compatible with me. Mmmm… What else do we want? To ‘fix’ him? Hm. Yeah, that would be fun, but it’s pretty hard to rip someone out of Alaya’s cold, dead hands… I guess that still counts as going against her, though. Besides, she really doesn’t take care of her humans. She doesn’t even give them a good time before she kills them. She just uses them up like she’s sucking the blood out of a sacrifice, and drops the carcass.

“Okay,” I say, releasing his mouth and turning my attention back to him.

He grimaces at me, but he actually looks on edge for the first time now: confused, on edge, and irritated, but also curious.

“Do you recognize my vessel?” I ask.

“…? No,” he says.

I smack him.

“Ow!” He actually looks peeved this time.

“THAT’S for forgetting her,” I huff. We feel very satisfied by this. “You do know, and memory loss is no excuse.”

Maybe it should be. …Nah, I don’t care if it should be. Too insulting.

“We met before?” he asks.

“No, you and my body met before,” I reply, “Remember, Goddess—vessel—divine power makes manifesting a whole thing?”

He looks like he’s sort of sweating now.

Good.

“You promised her something. When you remember what it was, tell me, and apologize,” I order.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says with some genuine stress in his voice.

“Well, good luck,” I say carelessly, “Because you better figure it out.”

Off balance now, he just sort of lays there looking cornered. I study him for a moment.

“…Being a Counter Guardian really did a number on you, huh?” I ask more softly.

“What?” he says, I guess confused by the shift in tone or something. He seems to have some trouble keeping up with me.

“Okay, let’s see,” I say, ignoring him. He can’t taste food. Can’t feel pleasure. Can’t remember.

I get an idea that I like, and focus on him again.

“Your God treats you poorly. I’m going to make you so envious of my sukkals that you wish you never had to work for her again,” I boast proudly. Leaning down, I prop myself up with a forearm, and put my other hand against his cheek. He stiffens and tries to pull away, I guess forgetting that he’s already on the floor. “Calm down,” I purr, lowering my body onto his and pressing against him, “This won’t hurt.”

I kiss him. Lips pressed to his, mouth open, I speak into his throat and order, “Ṣāḫam. Edram. Hussam.” I hear him try to say something, and move his head, but he stops as the magic takes effect.

Kissing him with more passion, I continue the spell. My magic seeps from my lips into his, and from my words, along his throat, and deep inside him.

I hear him whimper.

It’s very satisfying. I haven’t gotten him to lose anything since I picked him up, but finally, he’s down.

It also makes me want to take care of him though. I stroke his short white hair, and the edge of his jaw and brow, and I press harder against him. He chokes out a gasp, and tries to move again, in a panic. This time I let him.

Frantic, he drags himself out from under me, and summons his little sword-guns. Eyes wide and wild, he slams his back against the edge of the cave, and raises them at me, breaths heaving.

“What did you do to me?!” he shouts.

He actually…sounds scared? What in the world is going on?

“Easy,” I say, waving off the concern, “I told you I wouldn’t hurt you. All I did was use a little magic to enhance your senses of taste, touch, and memory. I fixed you.”

“Undo it!” he shouts, aiming the second gun at me. Is he shaking?

“Well, it’ll wear off on its own,” I say, confused, “I basically cast a blessing. It’s not like I altered your saint graph. But, no,” I add, glancing at the plate of food I made for him earlier, “I won’t take it back. You can enjoy some food now. Have a little fun with it.”

He shoots! The little bastard shoots right past my head!

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” I explode. I think he got some of my hair! What the hell!? And after I was so nice all on my own for no reason?!

He flinches, but keeps the guns up. “Take it back!”

“—Are you out of your mind?!” I shout, moving towards him and waving my arms, “I’m the one keeping you alive! Did you really just--?!”

He shoots me.

I can’t believe it.

I hear the gun go off, and feel pain, and then I’m looking down at a bright red blossom of blood seeping out of my beautiful new avatar’s body. He shot me in the CHEST, the little bastard! A little to the center, and he’d have shot me in the spirit core! OH MY SELF. I didn’t even have a weapon out!

Enraged, I summon my massive bow, determined to vaporize him with the power of a star, and feel something tugging on my heart. ‘Fear’?

When I look, Alter’s pupils are the size of pinpricks. Shouldn’t they be big, if he’s focusing on me, to fight?

Wait, yeah—what the hell is wrong with him? He wasn’t even scared when I showed up and found him dying. Now he’s acting like I’m his worst nightmare. Did they put some weird spell in him before I picked him up, and I somehow set it off?

Instead of blowing him to bits, I lower my arms and let my bow vanish, although, I remain alert enough to dodge if the little fucker shoots at me again…

“It was only a little spell,” I say, totally lost at this response, “What is going on with you? I can’t believe you just shot me.”

The pinpricks become a slightly larger pupil size. I think he at least heard that, and he doesn’t answer, but he doesn’t shoot again. His hands are still up, and his grip on his guns so hard I can see the bones of his knuckles press against his skin.

“Seriously,” I say, “What the hell, Alter?”

“Why did you do that?” he demands, voice raspy and tense.

“? Why?” I echo, “Uhm, because your senses don’t work-“

“—Like that!” he interjects angrily.

??? Like what?

“Wait, you mean the kiss?” I ask, thoroughly taken aback. I make a big, shrugging gesture. “Uhm, I’m a sex goddess? I told you that. This is just how that kind of magic works.”

He looks so horrified and hostile about this.

“What?” I say with a laugh, “Did you get cursed by a different sex god the last time you were kissed?”

The guy blanches.

No way. Seriously?!

I sigh and roll my eyes, relaxing a little. “Yeesh. Okay, honey—chill. I won’t kiss you again. I honestly just thought it would be fun—I mean, you don’t have a sense of touch that works, usually, and I’m really good at it. Just trying to be nice.”

I float up and way back over to the corner of the room I set up for myself. He watches me, pivoting with the guns still up to track my movements.

“Seriously? Put those down,” I say, gesturing to my bleeding chest, “I’m being really nice right now, and letting it go, because you’re kind of cute, but if you shoot me again, I’m not gonna be so nice.”

He blinks at my chest like he’s only just noticed he did that. His pupils expand to a more normal size and he blinks again, and then looks at his hands and the guns in them, and slowly lowers them, looking…guilty? No…

I decide to just let him be for a moment, and summon a gem, place it against my chest, and suck the energy out through my skin to heal myself. When I’m done, and I look back over, my little bodyguard is watching me, looking grim and calm again, but also a little beaten, and ashamed of himself.

“Hey. You back?” I ask him.

“…I’m sorry,” he says.

“Good. Accepted,” I reply, “But seriously, what gives?”

“…You enhanced my memory,” he says, his gaze dead and far away again, “I remembered things I had only half remembered before, very vividly. They happened to be similar. Only…”

“Whoever she was killed you?” I ask, kind of curious now.

“…I wish,” he says quietly, “But no. She changed me.”

Ah. …You know, I get that. My body is feeling a lot of things, and it’s actually kind of hard this time to tell which started with me this time, because I agree with most of it. I mean…even as myself…

I consider, then I start to hop up to go back over to him, reconsider, and try waving him over to me instead.

It’s super clear he doesn’t want to come, but he moves closer anyway, stopping at the edge of my little makeshift nest of a bed.

“Well, I’m sorry,” I say honestly, “I understand. That’s why I wanted you to go to sleep.”

He looks at me, finally, to give me a quizzical expression.

“Because if you don’t first, I can’t,” I reply, and I lay on my stomach and prop my chin in my hand, “Just because I’m a God, just because you’re a Guardian, doesn’t stop things from happening to us. I travelled, once. Far and wide, and when I got exhausted, I laid down for a nap under a tree. I woke to find a mortal had found me in that one moment of vulnerability, and had his way with me.”

Even millenniums later, I don’t like to remember this story.

The Alter looks genuinely shocked, disgusted, and hateful to hear that. I guess he’s one of the good ones.

“I’ll never sleep anywhere near a stranger again,” I say simply, shifting the topic as quick as I can, “So, what else would make you shoot me, if I did it—so we can get this out of the way?”

“…It wasn’t your- …” He reconsiders, and then sighs. “Don’t try to control me or change me, especially that way.”

But that way’s so fuuuuun, I think piteously in my head, And you’re pretty and that’s the only way I’ve been able to mess with you…

But, I guess. Fair is fair.

I sigh. “Okay. Fine. On the condition you do try some food and wine now, before that blessing wears off.”

He looks a little surprised by this, but he gives a nod. I think he’s mostly relaxed by now. I guess admitting to being fellow victim made me less intimidating. Great, now I have to think of a completely new way to intimidate him, but one not quite as effective as that…

For the moment, I settle for living in it, and I wave my hand. A variety of breads and butter cakes with honey, meats, fruits, and nuts appear in bowls around us, with them, goblets and pitchers of water and wine.

“I’ve never seen a heroic spirit waste their mana on something like this,” he comments, taking the decadence in.

“Well, what do you expect?” I say, and I snap my fingers and summon a brazier for warmth, and more cushions, plus a stone seat, if he’d prefer it, “I’m a goddess. I’m used to a certain lifestyle. Just think of it as a bonus: stick with me, and you get the best.”

He smiles a little.

Hey, I did it, I think proudly, Finally got him to smile on purpose.

Alter picks up a piece of dried meat, considers it, and then takes a bite. He looks startled, then intent, and he takes another, smaller bite. His smile becomes more genuine, less guarded.

“That…actually worked,” he says.

I huff. “Of course it did. I’m a Goddess of Pleasure. You think I can’t cast a blessing to let people experience some? Your attitude needs some real work.”

He doesn’t reply. He just takes another slow bite, savoring it and thinking. “…I didn’t remember what taste was like,” he says, almost to himself. After a second he turns to me. “Thank you.”

I feel my face heat up, and turn my head away. “F-Finally, some manners.”

Alter smiles again.

It makes me feel good. I think…I think it makes us feel good, actually. I feel like my body is thanking me too. I didn’t even realize she was individually aware enough to care in a separate way. It’s nice though—it’s like having two voices going ‘great job Ishtar, you're the best!' instead of just my one, whenever I pull something off.

I pour myself some water, and eat a butter cake while I watch him.

It’s like watching a kid try things for the first time, except super depressing. He keeps taking tiny bites out of different things, and then thinking hard for a long time—I guess trying to commit it to memory. After about an hour, he starts to actually eat the food, and he even tries a little bit of the wine.

I am extremely proud of myself. Suck it, Alaya. I’m waaaaay better to work for than you, bitch. Look at him: you burned out a perfectly good human. And here I am, giving him a nice reward for a day of work. I bet I could get triple the energy output you do. What do you think will happen to your humans if you never give them enrichment? Don’t you know they wither and die?

“Honestly,” I mutter under my breath, “Does she even like humans at all?”

“Hm?” says Alter, glancing my way. Instead of using the cushions or the chair, he propped one cushion against the base of the chair, and has been leaning against that while he eats.

“Oh, nothing,” I say, waving it away, “Anyway, can I ask something? Who was she, the other sex god? I like to keep a tab of the gods I have beefs with, for when I run into them.”

He exhales something like a snort, amused. “It’s not your grudge, is it?”

“I’m a God of Justice,” I say carelessly, “All grudges are my business. And anyway, you’re my employee now, so your beefs are my beefs. When I have the time, I mean.”

He takes another slow drink and nods, a faint smile still on his lips. “…Well, she wasn’t a god. Her name was Kiara. Sessyoin Kiara.”

‘Sessyoin Kiara,’ I think, and I summon my God Beef Tablet, remember what he just said, summon my Spirit Beef Tablet instead, then add her name to it.

“Shit, you were serious?”

I glance over at Alter and see him gaping at the list.

“Yes. I get a lot of satisfaction when I get to cross one off,” I reply, “Go on. Who was she?” I have to make sure this is actually the right list…I have one for normal humans too.

“Uh—she was a priestess. Sort of. She masqueraded as a holy woman, and on the outside of her organization, you’d never know how rotten she was. It was a cult, that dragged a lot of good people down and into the center of it. Nobody really understood what she was doing until they were in so deep, it was too late to get out. Or to survive at all,” he replies.

“Is that what happened to you?” I ask.

“No,” he says, “I was sent to kill her.”

“Did you?” I ask.

He nods. “…But I had to go through a lot of innocent people to get there.”

“…Was it worth it?” I ask, letting my list disappear.

“No,” he says, without needing to think about it, “If I’d finished the job sooner, it would have been. But it was all so late by the time I got it done…”

“…Yeah,” I say tiredly. I reach over and pat his arm, and he doesn’t flinch or startle, just sort of ignores it. At least that means he’s back to normal.

“What about yours?” he asks after a moment, glancing over at me.

“Was it worth it?!” I ask, taken aback.

“No,” he says like I’m stupid, “What was his name.”

“Why. He’s dead,” I say, hackles raised.

“Because I figure if you’re my employer, your beefs are my beefs too. If I ever end up in the underworld, I can take the opportunity to see what happens if you kill someone already there,” he replies.

Oh.

I brighten. “Well, in that case, his name was Shukaletuda. –You know that once I caught him, he tried to make excuses for doing it?”

“I hope you didn’t let him go quick,” says Alter, with a twisted smile that I really like.

“Oh, please, I’m a goddess of Justice, not Mercy,” I say proudly.

“What, that wasn’t one of your 800 domains?” he asks in mock surprise.

I shove him, and he spills his wine on his plate of food. “You’re just jealous you don’t have any.”

He flings bits of wine off his fingers and all over the place, including onto my clothes, but since he doesn’t seem to have noticed or done it on purpose, I don’t break his fingers over it. I just watch him sadly move his soggy plate of bread and meat, and get a new one.

“Seriously though,” he asks, relaxing against his backrest again, “How did you get so many?”

“It’s a good story, but it’s kind of long, and if you interrupt more than four times, I’m going to put you through a wall,” I warn.

“How long is it that you’re giving me four free interruptions out the gate?” he asks in aghast wonder.

I stick my tongue out at him. He smiles and takes a swig.

“Okay, shut up and listen,” I say.

He nods, and takes another bite.

“So, originally, when the gods were handed out Mes, I only had a few domains—fertility, love, war--oh!" I say, “I almost forgot!”

“M?” he asks through the bread.

“—I’m tired of calling you Alter,” I inform him, “I’m gonna call you Sukkalmutu.”

“Great,” he says sarcastically through a mouthful of bread, “Should I ask?”

“It means like, ‘Vizier-warrior’. My Ninshubur, my bodyguard at home, she’s called ‘Sukkalanna’ sometimes,” I explain, “Which is ‘Vizier of the house of heaven,’ or ‘Heavenly Vizier.’ I like to keep my attendants’ naming traditions the same.”

This is a huge honor for him. The little twerp better get it. Even being mentioned in the same breath as Ninshubur is a gift.

“Oh,” he says, sounding surprised. While I’m not sure he gets just how beneficent I’m being, he is at least smart enough to know it’s a compliment, “…Alright.”

“Good,” I say, satisfied with that, “So, the domains-“

He relaxes and contemplatively begins to skin an apple as I launch back into my story.

“Now, when the heavens were new, the Gods who existed were gifted domains,” I begin, “But once we all had our domains assigned, there were a whole bunch left as yet unused, and my father Enki, he hung onto all those mes that nobody had been assigned yet, because he was the king of Heaven. And there were a lot left over. Like, a lot. And it was just this huge waste. Plus, I’m extremely talented and smart, and I was mostly just like a fertility-harvest Goddess back then, and that was a huge waste of potential, and my time. So, I got to thinking; there had to be a way to get him to give me more…”

[dum-spiro-spero99]

Mozalieri ai generated song on their imaginary psychosexual rivalry wasn't on my 2024 bingo card, but well

[takitori67]

A bunch of Amasali

Maybe i will dig out some old arts. Maybe not

[cannedvampirejuice]

tbh i don't even want to think abt the Kali situation it's dumb as fuck. It really sucks that this is starshadowmagicians servant debut.

[sealer-of-wenkamui]

I keep forgetting there IS a nasuverse kink meme, perhaps I should request Douman/Danzou dubcon/noncon, cause I’d really like more, right now its just me scribbling what I can... my two problems are 1- I’ve only seen them in Shimousa so far, and know only vaguely of Heian-kyo, so I risk spoilers and 2- It’s polite to do a fill too yeah? And the one thing that interests me enough to draw seems to be a fic request and I don’t write....

[ded-lime]

(ust)

[nullians]

We won, AmaSali nation!!!

[avicebro]

pulled from the shadows

mozart/salieri

gen ; vague references to previous events/lb1

small snippets of salieri and mozart's relationship within chaldea

fanfic commission for @sabusthings ! thank you again for commissioning me!

[link to the fic]

[sabusthings]

8 AMASALI PLS

[miquellah]

hi i can't post emojis right now. heart letter

QUAAAARKK MY GREATEST AND BIGGEST-BRAINED PATRON!! and. my friend :) our amasali threads have gone craaaaazy and for sure we'll do that again too. i love our FSN reading times, it's been high time i actually got into that source material, and you go above and beyond in reading it out loud to me.... story time yayyy :))

[remiliacute]

MY FGO SHIP

hetero

AchPeth&TriMelt&CuMe&RomaDavin &HolmDavin&KinShu&TsuIba&HaruKage &SanLavi&OzyNito&GudaMush&ShiSaku &ShinSaku&EmiSaku&KariSaku&ObrCas &MuraCas &PaciGare&DantNightin&Edrak

yuri

RaiShu&RiderSaku&RinSaku&SaberSaku &MordFran&ArJal&SkaMe&AbbyLavi&NobuOki&kirakama&SaberIri

yaoi

jnkr&askr&kotogil&ozygil&Cugil&GawainGuda &MerRoma&RoBil&AmaSali&TezDaybi&EmiShi&BerserKari

[takitori67]

Forgetting that I did make digital drawings, and these are all from last years.

[eclipsedshadowk]

Hey. I've been into slashers recently and I think amasali slasher au where saliere is a slasher and amadeus the final girl but through the entire movie it feels like they are the role of the other

Also hey in alive. Just dead inside

👀