#ambuscade made sure of it

[altitudeslocalgroup]

(Cutely tells in detail to DOH how to make a nuclear bomb)

[DON: . . . Well, it certainly seems that my overseers managed to locate one of the lizards! I don't. . . think it damaged the overseer at all. That's relieving.]

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation

Cw: Allusion to sexual themes, just general bickering on this one

Words: 1.8k

[A/N: I know this one took forever, sorry about that lmao, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr

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Chapter 5: Rise to the occasion

“Wait,Viktor—” You said, trying to catch up to him since he stormed out of the Hextech lab, “We can’t just walk back in there together as if nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I’m talking about us doing something well-nigh against academy rules; they will ask questions.”

“Oh, eh—you go in first."

The opportunity to counter was stolen from you and substituted by the cold touch of Viktor’s hands upon your back, jostling your body effortlessly through the library door. He came in behind you shortly after, and you thought the interval in between both of you walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.

“The interval in between both of us walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.”

“No one gives a hoot about where we might have gone; stop concerning yourself with their opinion."

It was virtually an ambuscade. When you sat back right where your book had been left and Viktor was on the chair opposite you, a friend and a foe together in liue of curiosity came without a warning and joined you. Asher seemed increasingly more annoyed than Lara, whom you suspected was simply thirsty for some quality gossip.

“So… you snuck out together, where to?” She asked with a shit-eating grin creeping up across her face.

“The dorms.” You astonishingly managed to answer in unison.

“Whose?” Asher shot at you immediately after, not leaving any time for thinking.

“Listen you—” Viktor started, and you were sure his intentions were going to take him somewhere he’d regret, so you interjected.

“We just needed to get some of our work instruments; it's not a big deal,” you said awkwardly.

“I thought your dorm was on the west wing; why did you go together?” Lara questioned you (and correctly, alas).

“You know what they say: ‘you shouldn’t count your birds before you hit them with a stone’.” You said, in the most deadpan way you could find in you.

“She needed help choosing which one of the books would be better for the presentation she is planning, and I needed help carrying some of the heavier volumes. We…killed two birds with one stone.” He said, entirely unconvinced but long resigned.

“Right, and you accepted his help with your work?” Said Asher with a cynical eyebrow raise.

“Well, the arrogance, fear of public speaking, long-term sickly obsession with work, and his careless neglect of social cues make up for an almost tolerable knowledge of many useful subjects.”

Viktor looked at you with knitted brows, his mouth agape, as if he at some point had the intention of saying something but gave up on it as the hint of faint praise in your statement made him befuddled enough to not know what to say.

“Uh, fine, just let us know you’ll be out next time; we have to make the week one report for Heimerdinger, and you two were nowhere to be found for like an hour."

“We could’ve been here earlier, but as you are both aware, she is chronologically challenged.”

"Wha—we were running against the clock because someone had to stop by the restroom on our way back.” You said, the pitch of your voice was getting higher as the irritation grew.

“I wonder why.”

“I know why, and I don’t particularly understand why you are saying it like it was my fault.”

By that point, both Asher and Lara, after sharing a look of reproach with each other, had quietly stood up and gone back to their respective work tables, leaving the two of you to quarrel in private.

“I’m sure in hindsight you can see clearly that dragging me into a small closet was regrettably ill-advised; you have such a talent for slip-ups that one could almost think you do it on purpose.”

“You think I wanted you to rise to the occasion, on purpose?” You said in a slightly mocking tone.

“You are certainly taking the opportunity to rag on me because of it.”

“If I wanted to make fun of you for that, I would've done it on the way here, Viktor, and just so you know, if I wanted to be the cause of your late-afternoon wood, a cleaning closet wouldn’t be my choice of scenery.”

“Stop calling it those names; it’s horrid—in fact, just quit talking about it; it’s giving me a tension headache."

"Oh, I apologize. Am I being too silly about the thing that you just reminded me about? I’ll make sure to talk about you b-o-n-e-r more solemnly in the future."

“I’m sorry if I thought you’d be able to take things seriously; that wasn’t my intention.”

“I am. I can take things so seriously that I will go back to my work over there, where I don’t have to hear you sniffle every two seconds, the heel of your shoe clanking on the floor, and your pen clicking repeatedly.” You said with a sour expression as you removed his journals from your bag and walked over to the other side of the library.

“Choice of scenery; who does she think she is?" Viktor mumbled quietly to himself before noticing the unintentional clicking of his pen and quietly putting it down on the table with an almost imperceptible pout.

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

Both the second and third meetings, as well as the halfway report with Heimerdinger, went sufficiently well, with your own presentation already in the final stages. It had been a particularly lazy morning; your eyes had nearly not opened, pushed closed by the heavy lids of a sleepless night, and the burgeoning symptoms of what you suspected could turn into the flu, when you decided to skip the last meeting and give your speech the finishing touches in the comfort of your own bed.

Since everything had been finished and you figured everyone would assume you were sick or had other commitments, you didn't tell anybody, hoping your absence would be disregarded. You soon learned that was a misjudgment on your part when you heard someone knock on the door to your dorm room well into the afternoon.

 “I can’t believe you got sick too!” Lara said as soon as you cracked the door open.

“Too?”

“Cirian is terribly sick as well; there must be some sort of epidemic!”

“I’m sorry… who?” 

“Cirian, from Biology.” She said, absentmindedly, as she scrambled in the kitchen for something, “Where do you keep your mugs? I’ll brew you some tea.”

"Ah, yes, top left.” So that’s his name. “I’m quite alright, though; I just needed some rest.”

“That’s good to hear because Heimerdinger said you and Viktor would have to fill in for him.”

“You have to be kidding me.” You said throwing your body back on your bed dramatically.

“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” she said as she came back with two mugs and a puzzled expression, to which you responded with one to match. "Well, you’d have an excuse to spend more time with him.”

“And why on Heimerdinger’s fluffy mustache would I want that?”

"Well, you two are dating, no?”

"No, we’re fucking not. Where did you get that idea?”

“You’re pulling my leg now, come on." She said with a small chuckle, and when you did not laugh but looked at her with concern, she continued. “Well… He seemed to be quite into you that day you were at my place, and you were very flirty.”

“I was drunk!” You said trying to defend yourself and trying to ignore what she had said about him being into you; it wasn’t a thought you wanted to consider at that moment.

“Fair, but then, I thought all that banter you two have was just playful bickering.”

“It’s most certainly not; I despise him, and he hates me with a passion.”

“With a passion, alright.” She said with a cheeky smirk that she tried to hide by taking a sip of the tea.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know something that neither of you do, apparently. But I  digress." She said, gulping the last bit of tea and leaving the mug on the sink before turning back to you. “I’d go talk to Heimerdinger before he leaves for the day, if I were you."

She left shortly after, leaving you to ruminate about more than one of the things that were said.  She couldn’t possibly be making any sense, could she? Perhaps you should have asked what she meant by Viktor being ‘into you’ that night, but then again, you had noticed a slight change in his physiognomy.

You weren’t as drunk as you claimed to be, and it was this small change—the blush all over his face when he saw you—that made you look at him through your eyelashes so suggestively. It was the small gasp hitched on his throat that made you swing your hips when you walked slowly to where he stood. It was his white knuckles and his fingers clasped together in a tight fist around his vest that made you lower your voice into a purr when you said his name. You wanted to provoke him; his reaction was so akin to one of fury that you relished the possibility of making him hate you more.

There was no reason to bend over the table to write, not in the way you did, at least. You just wanted to, although you still tried to convince yourself that it had the same motivations as everything else you had done that night.

If you didn't know of further proof that backed up Lara's theory (which she herself was unaware of), it would have been reasonable to conclude that she had made an unfortunate misinterpretation of the situation. You caught yourself grinning at the memory of it—how you had been enjoying the scent of Viktor’s perfume and the feeling of his chest pressing against you—even before you noticed what the proximity of your bodies was doing to him.

Raise to the occasion was such a good one; he really can’t appreciate a good joke.

”B-o-n-e-r” You spelled it out loud to yourself with a hearty chuckle.

And even after you did notice it, a smug little voice in your head was telling you to lean closer, to see how far you could take it before he either said something unspeakably rude to you or took it the opposite way, but you had to be circumspect. You were the picture of practicality, yet he still had the gall to get angry at you. 

My fault…ha. If I had been doing it on purpose, that closet would’ve become too small for what he’d want to do with—

You had to physically shake that thought away and remind yourself that regardless of how fun it was to mess with him, Viktor was still incredibly insufferable to work in the same vicinity as, let alone with, so it’d be better to talk to Heimerdinger and get this whole debacle sorted out.

You did, however, spend the entirety of the way there thinking about the scent of saffron and leather.

[ltwilliammowett]

Combat between men o' war

To get at an enemy ship was a challenge in itself and required more than just shooting at each other. Most of the time, the hunt came first before the actual battle. Here are a few techniques that were used during a battle.

Chasing When threatened with defeat, retreat was always an option. Several factors needed to be considered in pursuit: in an open sea, the captain chasing would be at a disadventage if his was a square rigged ship chasing a fore and aft rigged vessel: when chasing a vessel to windward, it was advisable to tack as soon as the chase was directly on the beam.

Night Suspect, by Montague Dawson (1895-1973) - A Coast Guard vessel chases a smuggler (x)

Pursuing downwind, a captain would generally attempt to intersect the chase rather than follow directly, hoping not to lose his target through poor visibility or in darkness. If the captain in pursuit had a superior- handling vessel, his opponent would almost certainly want to hold a straight course, knowing that he could be out-tacked by the better ship. He could perhaps hope to lose his pursuer in poor visibility, or in darkness.

Raking Raking the enemy meant to fire guns at an enemy vessel's stern, which was the weakest part of the ship.

The Victory raking the Spanish Salvador del Mundo at the Battle of Cape St Vincent, 14 February 1797, by Robert Cleveley 1798 (x) 

The shot could easily penetrate the oak at that point and continue on through the ship, obliterating men and supplies, and potentially damaging and disruoting the target vessel's armament.

Range of Combat Though cannonades were sometimes used at long range, once battle had been joined the combat was usually much closer, around 40 yards (c. 37m).

The furious action between HMS Mars and the French '74 Hercule off Brest on 21st April 1798, by John Christian Schetky (1778-1874) (x)

However, the action between the Mars and Hercules in 1794 for example was so close that the cannon muzzles could not be extended outside the ship, and the guns were fired from inside. A gap sufficient to allow the ship to manoeuvred without colliding with the enemy was generally considered an ideal distance.

Broadside to broadside The classic man o war combat position, vessels usually took up this attitude when one or other had failed to rake its opponent.

The last frigate action of the War of 1812: USS President vs. HMS Endymion 14th January 1815, by Thomas Rickards 1815 (x)

The British tended to aim at the hull, while the French targeted the rigging- with the former having a far greater effect on the stability and condition of the vessel.

Boarding  

Once it was done and the enemy ship was ready to be captured, boarding usually took place.

Capture of HMS Ambuscade by the French corvette Bayonnaise, 14 December 1798, by  Louis-Philippe Crépin, 1801 (x)

This meant that an enemy group boarded the enemy ship, engaged in man-to-man combat (which was not necessary if the opponent had already surrendered) and then made sure that the enemy commander finally surrendered.

Surrender To surrender a vessel was not a crime against Royal Navy articles, but to do so without having offered sufficient or gallant opposition would often be punished severely.

HMS Shannon leading her prize the American Frigate Chesapeake into Halifax Harbour 6th June 1813, by Louis Haghe (1806–1885) (x)

However if the enemy force was to overwhelming, then no more that a token gesture of defence might be offered, such as firing one salvo of cannon, before the surrendering vessel was boarded. To surrender, a vessel would haul down its ensign, and the victorious captain would often take his defeated rivel's sword.

[lordoftermites]

NO GRAVE CAN HOLD MY BODY DOWN

been a while, eh? sooo i've been off-and-on working on this for uhhh... way too long. it was SUPPOSED to be a small drabble prompt, but it turned into, well, this. i probably could've even kept going, but i needed it to be finished. ANYWHO, I always wanted to know what happened with Talathain after the events of Ironside, so I decided to flesh it out myself. I hope you enjoy it (and as always, if you don't, I don't care ┐(ﾟ ～ﾟ )┌).

also i need to apologize: i had meant to start a taglist for you guys and add the people that requested, but i can't find the people that wanted to be notified ;-;. hopefully this still finds its way to whoever wanted to read my shit.

Summary: a Roiben WHUMP prompt involving Talathain's return. Big emotional ouchies. Rating: M for unhinged fae violence, blood, etc.

How long has the battle been raging around him? How many times has he slaked his blade with the blood of the enemy, and how much of his own blood have they taken with them as they fall, one by one, onto the frozen ground at his feet? Roiben is sure the skirmish has lasted longer than a fortnight. His body, stiff and aching and already crusted over in tides of garnet certainly feels as though it hasn't stopped moving for that length of time.

In truth, their engagement with the Seelie Court of Thistles had begun only hours ago, when the latter had attempted to ambush them in the night, midway through their journey back from the Kinnelon ruins in some impolitic coup to claim Roiben's kingdom. Their overconfidence and underestimating of the Court of Termites—and, perhaps more grievously, its lord—would ultimately bring about their undoing.

The shadows are his domain. He rules in the damp dark, thrives in the dreadful twilight; the enemy believed they had the upper hand in the absence of light, and they had fatally miscalculated their opposition. 

They were immediately made aware of this error when they entered the camp to find the company waiting, blades polished and ready, glinting silver in their ink-black eyes. Roiben had stood at the head of the terrible company, while his two best knights flanked him on either side: Dulcamara, who had been sent word of the oncoming ambuscade from a crow enlisted as a spy for the court; Ellebere, who had gathered their army in such short order that Roiben had teased him for being much too earnest to arrange his lord a tryst with Death, and perhaps he had developed his own taste for rule should things go badly. 

Ellebere, in his dour fashion, had over-fretted Roiben’s jest. He swore his oaths remained steadfast until his face very nearly matched the deep red of his hair. Roiben had to halt the entire procession to explain humor was meant to pacify unease, and advised the knight ought to learn some for himself. Ellebere had spent the duration of their journey in embarrassed silence. When the Court of Thistles arrived, however, Roiben caught sight of the feral smile that flickered across the other man’s face.

His court had long hungered for violence. Too long, perhaps, they had been denied and starved. But tonight, they had been prepared a fortuitous banquet, and they were at last permitted to feast. They would ravage and gorge, until naught was left but the indistinct memory of a court too foolhardy to value the gruesome truth from which so many stories are birthed.

With one nod from their king they had descended upon the enemy court. Like rabid animals they swarmed them, steel and teeth and claws. They gnashed, gouged, sliced, and tore their way through the enemy host—their awful, howling laughter carrying over the clash of swords and commingling with the terrified screams of their prey. Some scrambled back in retreat, fell and clambered over one another as they sought haven from the wave of savagery they’d been so ill-prepared for. They were cut down without mercy.

It is here among the fray that Roiben allows himself to be swept up in it. He permits his hands to embrace the familiarity of driving a blade into an advancing foe, submits to the terrible rush of adrenaline in his veins. He channels it into his movements, each swing, slash, and lunge; this dance of death he has studied and memorized, knows more intimately than he would ever dare to admit, step by bloody step.

As often as he rebukes the hellish nature fighting for dominance within him, tonight he concedes to embodying every bit of the dark, bloodthirsty beast all those ballads paint him to be.

Roiben loses count of how many fall on his blade, of how many times he narrowly misses a blow or jab or loosed arrow. Action blurs about him, and he is swept along with it. The dirt and carnage and thick night air cling to his skin and sting his eyes. He takes a moment to wipe the spattered gore from his face, to catch his breath. That would prove his first mistake of the night.

There is a sickening sound of steel penetrating armor and bone. A shocking pain in his back, tearing through him, stealing his breath. His startled cry is lodged in his throat. He looks down, incredulous to find the gleam of a blade protruding from his side, slick with crimson. Someone is speaking against his ear, low and venomous. Roiben thinks the voice is familiar, but the words are distant and distorted and he cannot untangle them. Time itself seems to unravel and stand still. He cannot think, he cannot breathe around the pain. Each attempt to inhale is thwarted, every shallow gasp obstructed by the metal gouging his gut.

A heavy boot presses into his back, leveraging the blade and wrenching it from his insides with excruciating force. And then, Roiben is falling.

The ground is cold and unyielding as he crashes into it, face first. Soil and blood fill his mouth. He sputters and chokes, clutching at the blooming excruciation in his abdomen, and though he has known pain aplenty, this is an altogether incomparable magnitude of sensation. It is an unrelenting deluge of white-hot agony, burning through his body like pitch, thick and scorching, blinding his senses, until he is suffocating with it. And on its heels is something else, entirely foreign and unsettling. Of all the battles he has fought, of all the dangers he has faced and the hairbreadth escapes he has made, he has not known this feeling.

For the first time in his war-wearied existence, Rath Roiben Rye is afraid.

His mortality has never meant much to him. As any warrior, he has known always that his end would not be with a gentle exhale and the closing of aged eyes, but by the brutal edge of a blade. It was never to be kind or warm, but cold steel and isolated darkness—a deserving retribution for the multitude of sins he has committed. 

There had been a time, moons ago, when Roiben had welcomed that inevitability. With little to fight for and less to live for, he had simply endured. He had become reconciled to the possibility, the enticement of death. Back then, he would tempt it nearly every time he left the brugh. Like a hand reaching into the mouth of a beast, daring it to close around him. Every moment in Nicnevin’s servitude he had wished for release, and had it been destined he would have held his arms out and embraced it as he would have a lover.

But then Kaye had found him, and everything Roiben knew or thought he wanted had been turned entirely on its head.

She had stirred within him something latent, something long buried in unfathomable depths, sealed away with all the other parts of himself he had neglected or that could be used against him. It had been as though in an instant, his heart had remembered what it felt like to beat. Roiben found himself wanting to claw his way out of that frozen tomb and into the shell of the man he had been. Wanting to fight again. Wanting to live—and if not for himself, then for Kaye alone.

Every moment since, he has been her barrier, the shield to keep the volatile machinations of his people from reaching her. If he dies tonight, all he has done will unravel. She will be alone, unprotected. If the enemy claims victory here, her blood will spill before the sun rises. Kaye will die, and he will have failed her.

His lungs are scorched and aching, begging for reprieve from the lashing flames each inhale brings. The black leather of his armor glistens in the pearlescence of the moon, wet with his own heartsblood; a river of deep garnet flows from the gaping wound below his ribs and runs over his thigh to pool on the ground at his knees. Creeping shadows blur the edge of his vision. None of this matters: Roiben's resolve is uncompromising. He cannot fall here. He cannot—he will not leave her. 

With gasping effort, Roiben pushes himself to his knees. He buries the point of his blade into the damp earth and clutches the hilt to steady himself. The field before him wavers and slants up to meet him; he sways as he kneels, nearly pitching forward again into the dirt. He grips the handle tighter still and sets his jaw, defiant. He will not cosign Kaye to the cruelty from which he has fought so desperately to spare her.

No grave can hold his body down; he will crawl home to her if he must.

There is movement behind him—the rushing sound of a sword slicing through the air. Then the pause before the strike. With as deep an inhale as he can manage, fingers tightening around the helve of his blade, Roiben hurls himself into a dizzying spin. He throws his weight, every remaining ounce of force into swinging his sword up and out, lurching blindly for the coward that had thought to fell him without facing him. It is not at all a graceful move; his shoulders jar upon impact and it's no small miracle he remains upright and conscious through the but the recognizable sounds of rending leather, yielding of flesh and the splintering of bone tells him he has hit his mark.

As Roiben sways on his knees and wills the world to slowly right itself, the image of his foe before him begins to solidify; a terrible, stricken cry rings in his ears, splitting the air through the violence still roiling around him. He registers only a moment late that the sound has come unbidden from his own mouth.

Standing in the cold gleam of the moon, his golden sword raised for the deathblow and still dripping with Roiben’s blood, is Talathain. The glinting silver of Roiben's blade obtrudes grotesquely from the Seelie knight’s chest, just under his sternum. Roiben does not need to see what he already knows by the lightened weight of his weapon—he has run the other knight clean through.

Pale green eyes are blown wide, locked with Roiben's. Mouth agape, his expression is contorted in a coalescence of incredulity and unhinged fury. How long he must have bided, how careful and dedicated his scheming must have been, to finally cut down the one he believed unworthy of the Seelie crown. To at last avenge his beloved, pitiless queen. How devastating his disappointment must be now, knowing he will not live to see one more deserving take the blood-won throne.

Talathain's gaze drops to the sword impaling his chest as that realization crosses his face, as his own weapon falls from his still-raised hands into the dirt. Roiben withdraws the curved blade, knowing that it would do no good even if he left it there; just as he'd meant to, he has dealt the finishing stroke, and now there is nothing for it. Better Talathain die now, as honorably as any knight should hope to, than to suffer slowly with some illusion of recovery.

Roiben catches Talathain’s arm as he staggers forward, lowering both of them to the ground as gently as he can through the piercing pain of his own wound. The act surprises even himself; all those years ago, Roiben had assumed the role of villain, bearing the weight of his sister’s killing of Silarial, so that she might not be driven to madness by it. Talathain had spat and cursed him rather than Ethine, though she still had not been fully spared from his ire. Roiben had accepted the knight’s scorn, had simply made it an addendum to the overlong chronicle of his transgressions against those he had loved.

Yet, even now, as he lays the man back against the damp earth, that love he had once held comes to the surface in one sorrowful wave.

Talathain’s grasp is desperate, white-knuckled on Roiben’s shoulder. There is something other than rage forming on his face, until it is the only thing left: it is the same sadness aching in Roiben’s chest reflecting through his old companion’s eyes. For a fleeting moment, there on the field of battle, they are brothers again.

The green knight opens his mouth to speak, but only coughs—a wet, gurgling noise, indicative of fluid filling the lungs. Blood spatters Roiben's cheek, and a runnel of ruby flows down the side of Talathain’s mouth to drip onto the dark ground. Roiben reaches up to close his hand around the one still clinging to his shoulder and nods, his jaw set tight enough to hurt. He swallows against the constriction in his throat—he does not trust his voice to speak.

I forgive you, the small squeeze of his hand says instead.

As I hope you will forgive me.

Talathain does not answer.

The grip on Roiben's shoulder goes slack, and there is no more rage, no more hatred or sadness—nothing at all left to gleam in Talathain's eyes. His last breath drifts out of pale parted lips, into the bitter air on a cloud of white vapor. With delicate care, Roiben lowers Talathain's arm, resting it over his chest and crossing it with the other, before closing the man's eyes with a trembling hand.

The moonlight casting across his still face should make him appear peaceful, perhaps as if he is simply asleep. Instead, it only serves as a further, haunting illumination of what has just transpired. It is enough to cause Roiben to shiver and tear his gaze away, but the effect has already been made. He knows, with bitter certitude, that if he does not succumb to his own wounds, this vision will join the multitude of other wraiths that so often saturate his nightmares.

For one, still moment in the midst of the waning onslaught, as profound and painful as the hole in his side, Roiben allows himself to grieve: for the friend he had known, for the knight he had admired—for the brother he had loved and lost. 

As the sky begins to lighten and the first signs of morning crest the ensanguined dale, Roiben sees naught but the wretched darkness closing in about him. Weary with sorrow and loss of blood, he can fight against it no longer. Closing his eyes in exhausted surrender, the Lord of the Court of Termites plunges into the yawning void. 

Through mounting despair his fingers claw through the void. Panic grips his throat in the dark. It coils around him like a serpent constricting its prey and he thrashes violently in its grasp, wild with fear and indignation. Resigned as he has been to the whims of fate in the past, that holds true no longer. He does not want to die. He is not willing to die.

Amidst the struggling, out of the black expanse of his mind there comes a soft rush of air, carrying with it a familiar redolence of blooming honeysuckle and crushed clover. Roiben goes still as it wraps around his senses; it is strange and out of place here, he thinks—too warm and gentle in this lightless wasteland. Yet it is there all the same, tempering his fear, willing him calm. And then, as if heralded by the anomalous breeze, a phantasm begins to take form. 

It is an insubstantial figure, never quite manifesting beyond a silhouetted likeness, but it does not need to: even trapped within a bastille of unreality, Roiben would know her.   

The form wavers as it draws closer, hues of green blending and shifting, from soft moss and bold verdelite to the rich viridity of a forest after rainfall. Warmth emanates from the center of the figure, reaching out to him in the void. Soft light splits the immeasurable tenebrosity until not a single shadow remains untouched, until every inch of cavernous is bathed in the pale glow. Roiben has seen nothing of such transcendent beauty; he is struck by it, wholly overcome with wonderment.

The verdant, smoke-like hand brushes across his cheek, brushes away tears he hadn’t known he shed. A voice calls his name, melodic and warm as the light around him:

“Rath Roiben Rye, I command you to wake up.”  

There is a sharp gasp when Roiben’s eyes open, though he can’t be sure where the sound has come from. As his vision adjusts the apparition fades, and he cannot help lamenting its departure. The warm glow follows after, replaced by the cool, familiar glim indicative of underground illumination: he is back in his chambers, in the Palace of Termites. Somehow, Roiben has made it home. Tangled roots hang in tendrils from the hollow ceiling above. Roiben blinks up at them, willing them into focus with tired effort. Though the blazing pain he felt when Talathain ran him through has been reduced to a mitigated smolder, the rest of his body is stiff with bruising and sorely overtaxed. His fingers cramp at the slightest testing. His lungs tremble with each breath and do not yet feel able to withstand much more than small, calculated inhales. Still, after what had very nearly come to pass, he is grateful for feeling at all.

While he is attempting to solidify his surroundings, the same comforting fragrance that had come to him in the darkness—that soft sweetness of spring in bloom, manifests once more, here in the realm of waking. It is stronger than before, and much closer. Roiben lurches forward suddenly, fully roused from all previous inanition. His heart hammers wildly against his aching chest while renewed pain blossoms just below his ribcage; doubtless the abrupt movement has done no service to his healing, but he is spurred by some apprehensive hope and pays it little mind. 

That hope is rewarded tenfold when he is met with the startled countenance of his consort. His Kaye.

She is there on the edge of their bed, in the same place she had sat the last time Roiben had been wounded. Tidelines of grief and distress streak her face. Her black eyes are swollen, rimmed with mingling red and deep greens, while new tears begin to well and spill down her cheeks. Roiben wonders how long he has been asleep; how long it has been since she slept. He reaches for her with a trembling hand, breath hitching as he cups her face. His thumbs sweep away the forlorn remnants staining her cheeks, exhales in audible relief that she is not the wavering, incorporeal visage from his dark delusion.

"You're real," he whispers. His voice is rough from disuse. Kaye covers his hand with her own. The slightest smile wavers at the corner of her mouth—to comfort him or herself, Roiben isn’t certain. “Yeah, I’m real.” she replies, in that deliberately even voice Roiben has heard so many times before: the one she employs to cloak the storm of emotions just beneath the surface. Only her eyes betray the containment of that tempest. 

Roiben draws their joined hands to his chest. He takes a breath to allow the warmth of her touch to spread through him; to chase away the perpetual, aching chill in his bones only she ever had the power to.

Kaye breaks the momentary silence. “They told me they found you next to Talathain. That he—'' She swallows, as if to brace herself against her own words. “That he brought an army to kill you.” It’s his turn to smile, but it sours at the edges of his mouth as memory returns, unbidden; his boyhood friend, staring with spiritless eyes at a frigid, black sky. “Indeed,” Roiben confirms bitterly, “and he failed.” His gaze drops to their still-joined hands, to the chipped black varnish of Kaye’s fingernails. “Would that his aim had been a hairsbreadth truer—” “Don’t.” Kaye interrupts him with a crushing of her lips against his, and Roiben falls obediently silent. Sore arms wrap around her, holding her slight frame to him with all the diminutive strength he can rally. They are few and far between, the occasions he allows himself to feel such vulnerability, but he allows this singular self-indulgence—if only for a breath.

Kaye draws back momentarily, her forehead resting gingerly against his own. “I don’t ever want to know what it would be like.” she whispers, the gravity in her voice heavy as any stone. This time, Roiben’s smile is unsullied. “As if any grave could keep me from you.”  

[smallerthanzer0]

Nearly two decades ago, the boy who was not yet Caleb Widogast sat down for a lesson.

His professor’s fingers lay steepled on his desk, old bones jagged as a dragon’s maw and holding a similar amount of danger within. “Bren,” he began, a sweet familiarity that, several months into the boy’s tutelage, was already starting to curdle. “What do you know about swimming with sharks?”

The boy’s brow furrowed, betraying a question he knew better than to ask - what was a shark?

--

The boy had learned, and had burned, and was now a man named Caleb Widogast who should still be aware of the securities that one tended to invest in upon venturing into politics. Protection from poison, for one. Allies, whether by choice or persuasion. Methods of ascertaining the whereabouts and plans of other agents without detection.

Trent Ikithon had some skill in such ascertainment - and, more importantly, he received regular reports of comings and goings from the city’s branch of the Cobalt Soul. Within twenty minutes of Caleb Widogast’s arrival in Rexxentrum, he had gathered scrying materials and waited patiently to find what traps his erstwhile pupil intended to trigger. 

Suspicious, considering that said pupil had until recently owned an amulet to prevent such intrusions. Perhaps there was something Bren wanted him to see, and he was happy to oblige. It was easily apparent that the incompetence of his companions far outweighed the delicacy of any ambuscade that Bren cared to lay. 

After watching the absurd pantomime that was the Mighty Nein buying out a joke-seller’s wares, he decided, somewhat less patiently, that eleven years in an asylum was perhaps inconducive to one’s understanding of intrigue.

He let the scrying spell fade long before the transaction completed, the blue tiefling’s squeals of delight echoing tinnily in his ears. 

--

An hour later, the idiot that had taken up residence in the mind of his brightest pupil was waltzing in a beer hall rendered more uninhabitable by the minute as a cloud of wafting stink enveloped the dance floor.

Ikithon recognized this hall. He had, on one particular occasion, swept through its doors to remind his charges that no aspect of their lives was undiscoverable. A good lesson to learn, in games of power. 

He was aware, of course, that Bren was nostalgic. It had been obvious from the single moment he had spent with Eodwulf, a world of foolish emotion compressed into a paltry greeting. Had the boy seen Astrid, surely the sentiment would be even stronger -

He had always taken particular pleasure in letting those he deigned to punish be caught in traps of their own making.

(A scant mile away, outside a dance hall with green smoke drifting out hastily opened windows - the man who is Caleb Widogast lets the boy who was Bren a moment to remember nights spent dancing with old friends, then turns to follow his new family towards a new destiny housed in old halls. He has always possessed a fondness for dancing in circles.)

--

Astrid sat down. Not for a lesson, this time, though with Ikithon everything tended to have one - as if he was the only one who knew how to act for the good of the Empire, sharing the information with only the closest and most trusted of his students. 

Breaking Bren like that, abandoning him to the shell that was Caleb Widogast - Ikithon had made at least one mistake. Was it not every student’s job to improve upon their predecessors?

She drew a small pouch from an inner pocket, holding it out with fingers that remained thin despite years of academy meals.

Ikithon didn’t take it. He stared at her, she at him. She refused to let her hand shake, knew better than to lower it to his desk.

“You are doubtful of some point. Please, ask.”

Dangerous, questions. Bait for sharks. And yet she found her mouth opening, a wound that had yet to stop bleeding making itself known. “Will you be using this on Bren?”

Ikithon’s expression remained unchanged past a shine to suddenly hard eyes. “Is that relevant?”

Astrid was aware of how people described her features - mannish nose, harsh chin. She welcomed the way it was more difficult to spot when she gritted her teeth. “This will be adequate for the… menagerie of company that he keeps. Quick release, fast acting. But it is well known, and we were all trained towards immunity.”

“I see.” Ikithon was not disappointed - he had trained her to know better than to disappoint him, and both of them knew that she would eventually draw out a second, smaller pouch to join the first. “For him?”

“Yes.”

Ikithon took both pouches, slipping them into a drawer. “Thank you, Astrid,” he said, and she hated the way that it made her jaw relax. “Your preparation in such matters is much appreciated, as it always has been.”

She thought of a night two months ago, the look in Bren’s eyes when she had managed to pry him back out. He had wanted to come home. To be good, to serve. 

Her parents had wanted nothing more, and she had killed them to become stronger. They could have served no better purpose - but Bren, her Bren, who had burned so brightly-

“For the good of the Empire, always.”

--

Ikithon’s hands were steepled in front of him as he checked in on Bren one more time. He thought of it as paternal, almost - the prodigal son coming back to the family.

He was not one for open arms and forgiveness, but perhaps there was something left to set alight. He would spark the blaze, and send it where he wished. 

In retrospect, Ikithon knew very little of fatherhood.

Bren was well dressed, his hair brushed back - suitable for an adult, if not the student he had been - and he was leaning to talk to the Expositor -

- was that the ocean?

The background of the scrying spell resolved into the frivolous bent of Nicodranian architecture, and Ikithon’s lip curled despite himself.

He was familiar with teleportation spells, though he rarely traveled far enough to have use of them. Unlike Da’leth or DeRogna, he had better uses of his time than gallivanting to abandoned corners of the earth.

Wasting a high-level spell before their meeting? Bren continued to disappoint. 

He’d been a bright student. The brightest. He should have at least been able to don the facade of a worthy opponent. Surely he could learn again, but Ikithon did not take well to forgetfulness.

Bren had forgotten that, when the silt of political muck was stirred up, there was always something lurking beneath.

Perhaps time for one last lesson, then. 

(Many, many miles away - the Mighty Nein’s pockets are lined with pranks and weapons alike. Most would deem these impractical baggage for a dinner party. 

The Mighty Nein intend to teach them a lesson.)

[screaming-skvll]

The Fall of the House of Spider

I. The Whisky II. The Scream III. The Plan  IV. The Corsair

V. The Ambuscade

A few days later, the Titan and the Hunter perched atop a ridge overlooking a hollow gulch in a desolate asteroid loosely anchored to the Tangled Shore. The eerie purple glow of the Reef’s particulate shroud played off the surfaces of their armor, sketching them in spare lines of dim light against a canvas of dusty, dead rock. The Hunter lay prone, looking through the scope of a long rifle. The opposing curves of a compound combat bow lay beside him. The Titan sat out of sight, back to an outcropping, watching the visual feed from the sniper rifle’s scope.

“This must be the place, huh?” Radiant-6 repeated what Mardin had declared when they arrived. “You sure your Corsair friend got it right?”

“Darthula was very specific,” Mardin answered, the glassy, featureless faceplate of his Awoken-made casque held steady to the rifle’s eyepiece. “She was certain about the place. Unfortunately she couldn’t be precise about the time. But they’ll be here... sooner or later.”

Radiant grunted dubiously. Xie trusted Mardin, and the Hunter trusted his Corsair acquaintance, but details about the actual operations of Spider’s wide-ranging business were difficult to come by at all. More often than not, anyone claiming to know where or when Spider’s underlings planned to do anything was looking to scam glimmer from know-nothing amateurs. The information from Darthula the Corsair could turn out to be bogus, no matter how earnestly given in response to Mardin’s hunterly charms, without any failure of trust involved.

“There,” Mardin said, his voice falling low. “Two o’ clock.”

Then again, Darthula the Corsair might’ve come through for them.

Radiant watched the feed from the scope, processed into spectral input xie could more readily parse. The field of view panned right and slightly upward, till the crosshairs framed the unmistakable outline of a skiff as it hove over the lip of the asteroid’s small horizon.

“This them?” xie asked. The skiff bore no house markings, but houseless Eliksni weren’t necessarily Spider’s.

Mardin kept the scope on the skiff as it slid into the gulch, heedless of the two observing Guardians. “We’ll know in a moment.”

The skiff settled into a low hover over the bottom of the gulch, and a moment later the flash of transmat materialization below it silhouetted the ship’s rounded, spiny hull. Almost in the same instant, it pulled up sharply and began accelerating away, then vanished with a shimmer as its stealth came online.

Radiant could make out three dregs and a vandal standing with a modest load of cargo crates. Each container’s sides were marked with a rounded triangle cut by three short, angled bands.

“Those’re our lads,” Mardin confirmed, “with fresh goods from New Monarchy, as promised. Hmph—perhaps we should take them out next.”

“I’ve heard worse ideas. You got ‘em?”

“Yeah, I got ‘em.” Mardin lay down the rifle and rose to a crouch, taking up his bow and toggling a switch on the grip that let its complex sights snap open wide with a click. He selected an extra-long, thin arrow from the quiver on his thigh and held it out delicately toward Radiant-6. “Gimme a little zap, will you?”

The Exo felt inward for the spark of the Traveler’s gift and found it immediately, steady and sure. Xie clenched a fist, summoning up a tiny spurt of arc Light. When xie reached out and opened xir hand, the arc charge eagerly leapt from xir fingers and entwined itself excitedly around the arrow.

“Thank you,” the Hunter said, nocking the sparking arrow and raising the bow as he drew it. The bow’s cams whined grimly as the bowstring ran through them, then fell silent as it grew taut. Mardin went entirely still, except for the slight rustle of his tattered cloak in the Reef wind. The moment sat heavy and quiet.

With a sudden thwack the Hunter loosed the arrow from his Trinity Ghoul. Before the echo could return from the gulch below, the vandal directing the Spider’s cargo team stumbled as their head exploded in an eruption of ionized ether. Hungry bolts of arc Light cracked outward from the bursting point of impact to each of the three dregs, vaporizing them before the vandal’s headless body fell.

[emrysarthurpendragon]

Let’s hang out sometime!

He had no choices. Merlin keeps muttering these words as he walked past the citadel’s doors. The guards standing there, one at each side of said doors, barely send a curious glance at him. It was not usual for the young warlock to go out in the middle of the night. Most of the time, nightfall – or even later – was the moment he left the city to collect plants for Gaius. Some flowers were blooming away from the sun, while the moon was high and full. For that reason, the soldiers just nodded in his direction and reminded him to be careful. Bandits used to roam the woods around the citadel and his royal pratness needed his manservant. Ok. He added the prat part. Still, after tonight, Arthur and Merlin would belong to the past. The young prince, soon-to-be king, needed not him now. He had seen enough lately to know. Arthur was not the once and future king. He hated magic as much as his father does and will do until the day he died. Morgana had every right to lose her mind, growing up in a place where people like her were burned at the stake, even when they used their powers to help and protect their loved ones.

“He will forget me. After all, we were just manservant and prince … not friends.” As if he wanted to befriend an idiot like Arthur. Real friends don’t throw goblets and various pieces of furniture at you. A sad smile graced the brunet’s lips. He remembered a time, in Ealdor, when Will pop out of nowhere with something to eat for them. They would grab hands and run together in the woods, laughing and playing tricks on the local bullies. They were poor, Merlin even more than Will’s family, but so much happier. Back then, no destiny darkened his future and threatened to crush him if he failed.

After some time, the small way through the trees widened and opened in a beautiful clearing. Here and there, white flowers faced the snowy full moon. Like stars fallen from the sky and to the peaceful earth. The soft wind made them dance shyly, nervous to move under a stranger’s gaze. In the middle of the clearing, surrounded by green grass, an oak stood. Oaks were magnificent. Older than most humans, they waited there and only shared their knowledge with a few chosen ones. Long ago, one of them sent a dream to Merlin. One about a world of magic. A world in which he was free to be himself and not some babbling, goofy, stupid manservant. A world with Arthur, the King, by his side and staring at his people with fond eyes. With kids roaring with laughter in the wide streets of Camelot, chasing each other’s and sending sparkles of magic toward their friends. It happened not long after he first step foot in Camelot and, like an idiot, he thought of a glimpse from the future. If it were, he probably messed it up somewhere. Like he did with Morgana, and probably Mordred too. Well, at least, Mordred had not attacked them for now. He was somewhere with his fellow druids, happy and alive. Hanging from a branch, a liana caught his eyes and merlin waved his wrist, calling it to him and making a knot with what could be called a cord in that case. According to the legend, taking someone’s life sends you to a terrible place in the afterlife. Doing so with yourself condemn the person to even worse … reincarnation where they would suffer even more. Funny enough, Merlin though nothing could be worst than what he was enduring right now. The other day, he barely avoids being caught by Leon, using magic to protect them in an ambuscade. The final countdown before his burning had begun and he chooses to die to his own terms. Not with Arthur’s hateful eyes on him, but with his laugh in his ears and his smile behind his closed eyelids.

“I guess it’s time to go…” whispered Merlin, slowly climbing the tree. For one moment, he turned his blue eyes where he heard a rustle in the bushes below. Probably his imagination. Some part of him wishing for a sudden twist in his fate, in the form of a friend coming to stop him. A chuckled escaped his lips at his stupidity. No one was coming. With that in mind, Merlin straightened the knot around his neck and made the last step between his life and death. “Freya, I’m coming,” the young man whispered and then, nothing. Nothing but the blissful darkness.

 * * *

Gwaine had been at the tavern – again – and stumbled out of the place around the witching hour. Maybe earlier. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the familiar figure of his friend, Merlin, walking down the street and outside the city. As a matter of fact, the knight knew Gaius needed not plants. They met earlier that day and his pots were so full he could probably make a good amount of money selling them to the nobles. Why was Merlin heading out then? Not for Arthur. The Prince never asked his manservant to leave town after dusk. Behind his banters and flying items, the young man cared deeply for his servant and would never endanger him like this. Merlin, on another hand, had that habit to endanger himself. The other day, Lancelot stopped him from falling down the staircases. How was he still alive? Gwaine did not know. Especially with all the adventures they shared since the day they met. Bandits. Sorcerers. Magic creatures. He survived them all but almost kill himself in the most random situations one could imagine. Of course, he decided to follow his friend in a matter of second. Anything could happen in the woods, in the middle of the night. What if the brunet was tricked and killed by an enemy of Camelot? None of them would survive this. Well, they will. But they’ll change in the process. Merlin was their glue. The one whom united them in the first place. A little brother. If something were to happen to him, if Arthur found out someone noticed Merlin and decided to ignore him … let’s say there would be consequences. In a lucky day, even the slightly drunk soldier managed to follow Merlin without being noticed. He stumbled a few times. Cursed when his right foot got stuck in a root. Still, he followed his friend and watched carefully, hidden behind a tree, what happened next. Or he listened. A cold feeling grew in Gwaine when the wind carried Merlin’s word.

“He will forget me. After all, we were just manservant and prince … not friends.” He said. Merlin, the cheerful boy, spoke like a man collapsing under too much pressure. Merlin who joked with them earlier that day, about how Arthur would kill him one day, if he keeps using him as a target during practice. Was he hurt at training? Something they said or did? His thought prevented him from following Merlin and when he reconnected with reality, the younger man was gone. Gwaine searched for him. He looked everywhere for hours. Or it felt like it. Then, the clearing appeared and his blood froze in his body. No. This what not happening. Merlin couldn’t be standing in a tree, face turned toward the sky, a ghostly smile gracing his features. He watched in slow motion the manservant’s movements. Even if he ran really fast, his chances at saving Merlin were inexistent. The wind carried the name of a girl named Freya. Did Merlin lose her? Who was she? His friend never mentioned a special someone before. A better half, lover or even good friend. Thinking out loud, Merlin had always been secretive about his life.

“Merlin! No!” screamed Gwaine, running under the tree. The small body fell and remained limp. From his pocket, the knight grabbed a knife and threw it at the vines. Call it luck, the blade snapped the liana right away and Gwaine caught his friend. Merlin weights nothing in his arms. His skin was pale and his chest immobile. As still as a frozen lake in winter. With shake hands, Gwaine undone the handmade rope and checked for a pulse. Sure enough, no bones had been broken when Merlin fell to his death. He probably chocked, gasping for air until his consciousness faded away.

“Please, don’t be dead. Not on me,” begged Gwaine, practising first aids on Merlin. One. Two. Three. Four. He heard a loud crack as a rib broke under the pressure. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, repeating the same gestures, giving his own oxygen and forcing in into Merlin lungs. After what felt like eternity, a loud gasp broke the silence. Merlin’s chest started rising and falling again; slightly, but enough to make him alive. “Hold on, I’ll take you to Gaius.”

The way to Camelot never felt so long before. The guards are the door sent worried looks their ways and Gwaine hurried. His loud steps sound like those of some spirit of the dead. With a loud bang – and a startled Gaius – Gwaine stepped into the physician’s office.

“Sir Gwaine? What’s the…” started the old man, before his gaze fell on his ward. “Merlin. What happened?” asked Gaius, hurrying the knight toward the table, where they lay their friend and/or surrogate son.

“I don’t know…” stuttered Gwaine, nervously scratching his neck with his left hand. “Followed him in the woods and … and he tried to… I lose him for a minute and … was hanging in … in a tree… I don’t understand.”

“Oh, my dear boy,” sighed Gaius, checking his books and potions. The thing was, he felt magic was involved in Merlin’s current situation. Lately, the boy had acted off character. Whenever people were not looking, he noticed how his ward’s happiness melted to a grim look. But magic saved him too. Around the younger man’s neck, he felt the golden stream that saved the warlock. His bones clearly snapped the moment he jumped off that tree and repaired themselves to save him. No matter how hard someone had been trying to kill Merlin, the boy’s magic acted like a shield. Or a curse, if legends were true. Legends about Emrys being the most powerful warlock ever, and also an immortal being.

Hours passed and Gwaine ended up snoring on a chair. That is, until Gaius said he did his best and that now, they just had to wait until Merlin felt strong enough to open his eyes again. The sun rose in the distance and the knight yawned loudly.

“I better go wake the Princess. I’ll tell him Merlin’s sick and banned from duties for the time being. Physician’s orders.”

“Thank you, Gwaine. For helping my boy and keeping the secret.”

“He’s my friend too,” smiled Gwaine as he exited the office. Once alone, his smile faded. Merlin almost took his own life. Merlin thought Arthur could lose him and be okay with it. Every single person in Camelot, from nobles to mere peasants knew how close they were. Even that stupid King Uther and his stupid laws knew. If magic truly was involved in it, Gwaine knew it couldn’t force that kind of feeling in one mind. No. Somewhere, even deep inside his heart, Merlin had believed them enough to do so. Or was it about that Freya girl? What if there was no magic here? What if Gaius told him so, just to ease his aching heart?

Without knocking, Gwaine entered the prince’s bedroom and found him fully awake, his back turned to him and struggling with his shirt.

“Merlin, you’re late!” growled the blond.

“Not Merlin, Princess.”

The man froze and turned over. His messy hair poked out of the shirt, quickly followed by the royal’s head with a confuse look all over his face. The moment their eyes met, Arthur asked in a worried voice:

“Where’s Merlin?”

For a second, Gwaine did not find the words. He closed his eyes and saw Merlin’s limp body hanging before him. He remembered how cold he was, how thin … his fear when he realised what had happened.

“He’s sick. Gaius tied him to his bed,” joked the man, trying his best to hide his worry. Thankfully, Arthur was the oblivious type and accepted his poor excuse. He never found out about the truth. Not when they visited Merlin as a group of worried knights. Not when the manservant awoke. Not even when, after a week and a half, Merlin resume to his duties and acted as if nothing happened. The only change came from Gwaine, who stopped his usual stops at the tavern to keep a vigilant eye on his friend.

[littleredwritingrob]

Ambuscade

noun: an ambush. verb: to attack from a concealed position.

For the New SW Canon Discord prompts: Senator Skywalker Warning: this is evil and gets a bit dark

“No one knows the truth about Senator Skywalker”

It was those eight words, spoken by a young togruta girl in the back of a dimly lit lower level Coruscanti diner that set Duja on her path. As Senator Amidala’s aide and trusted confidant, it was her responsibility to not only protect her mistress from threats but also actively seek out weaknesses in the political landscape. The recent addition to the Galactic Senate, rising political star from Tatooine and new protege of the Chancellor, Senator Anakin Skywalker, appeared to be a man without weakness. So naturally Duja jumped at the chance for any dirt on the freshman politician. 

When he had first sauntered onto Coruscant’s politician scene with his immaculate features and honeyed voice, most had dismissed him, Duja included; an inexperienced speaker from a backwater desert planet. Since, he proved himself to be an recurring obstacle for Padmé and her allies on the senate floor, rallying support for Palpatine from across a bloc of long written off outer rim seats. But the charming senator kepting gaining influence, neither criticism nor scandals sticking to his teflon smile and the HoloNet was lapping it up. Before long, Skywalker was somehow both the champion of the outer rim and darling of the public. 

That made him more than an obstacle, that made him a threat. 

Especially since Duja was sure Palpatine was pulling the strings. She just didn’t know how. So when an anonymous source had offered to meet, Duja jumped on the chance. Her contact was secretive, but that was hardly unusual, offering only those few words of warning and an address to an industrial complex in The Works, not far away. Even with a veil on, the togruta seemed at least vaguely familiar, a staffer in Skywalker’s offer perhaps. She would have to check the office’s records later, for the moment, Duja had a lead. The responsible thing to do would be to investigate in the morning, or at least let Padmé know where she was going, but if this was some kind of trap then Duja needed to keep her senator as insulated from it as possible. Besides the address was only half an hour away by airspeeder.

Coruscant was never dark, not completely. It was impossible, layers upon layers of homes, shops and streets created a neon ambiance that permeated every nook and cranny of the city planet. But among the looming smoke stacks and disused warehouses, it was as dark as any place could be. The moment Duja set foot in the complex, every fibre of her being would tell her to leave, to run. But she didn’t.

Just as he expected.

She was brave, dedicated too. Some part of him admired that, not that it mattered. He watched from the shadows as Duja crept forward slowly, peering into the darkness, only a small light in her outstretched hand illuminating the way.

He could smell the fear.

Yet she crept forward still. Senator Amidala had good taste in aides obviously, most snivelling sycophants that worked for senators in hopes of a taste of power would have turned tail and ran by now. Duja was diligent, verging on fanatical and that’s why she was here. She would have found something eventually, some small thread to tug on until the whole tapestry he had spent the last two years weaving frayed and came apart. She represented a problem, one that would have to be dealt eventually.

Taking once last moment to revel in the fear, he pounced.

“What have you done?” A deep, snarling voice cut through the darkness of her groggy mind. Duja blinked a few times, trying to focus her blurring vision. She could make out a dark figure, back turned towards her, their silhouette illuminated by the faint blue light of a hologram.

“Nothing to worry about.” The figure said, a certain smugness evident in their voice, “Just dealing with a minor inconvenience.”

“Again?” The hologram’s voice snarled with irritance. “Make it quick, we have work to do, my apprentice.”

The figure chuckled and gave a shallow bow to the hologram, “Yes, master.”

The blue light evaporated, leaving only a few dim bulbs to cloak the room in a dark orange hue. Duja groaned slightly as feeling started to return to her limbs, only for her to find them bound. A panic rose in her chest as the figure turned towards her and into the light. In the orange glow Anakin Skywalker’s signature smile suddenly morphed into the menacing grin of a barghest on a hunt. Something about his movement seemed off, his usual carefree posture was suddenly tensed, coiled like a tight spring. But that wasn’t the worst thing.

His eyes.

Yellow eyes, gleaming with malice through the darkness and boring into Duja’s very own. The closer he moved to her, the harder her heart tried to escape her chest. 

“Ahsoka.” He said calmly, eyes still focused on Duja, “We’ll need a vehicle, untraceable”

She tried to close her eyes but they remained transfixed. She tried to scream but the noise died in her throat. She felt like a prisoner in her own mind.

The sound of a lightsaber echoed against the dirty metal walls, not the subtle, familiar sound of a Jedi’s weapon, it was almost closer to a screech of protest. Even as she was bathed in red light, Duja couldn’t break eye contact. With a sick smile, he twirled the blade in his hand, making a final proclamation to her.

“No one knows the truth about Senator Skywalker, and no one ever shall.”

[astroyongie]

Highway To Hell

Note: we finally arrived to the last chapter ❤️ this have been a long ride and I’m so thankful for everyone’s support ✨💓 I hope you guys enjoy the end of this big adventure !

Chapter 32 - Last Chapter

Find all chapters here: HTH

Warning: ( strong language and violence, character death, disturbing scenes, emotional (?) )

Taeyong felt his heart beat against his ribcage. He had never felt nervous like this before. He remembered that their next encounter was supposed to be their last. However he couldn’t let jaemin kill you. Couldn’t. He had thanked Johnny for the info, and drove at all speed to the Han bridge. The bridge was under construction and it was completely deserted so he knew it was a perfect ambuscade, and that Jaemin would try to take you out. The day was grey, and it seemed like it would start raining.

Taeyong could feel the soft breeze against his skin as he left the car. He still had time before their encounter. All he hoped was to take You away from the bridge before Jaemin arrived. He stopped at the entrance of the bridge as he saw you. Your eyes looked at the plan water if the river, your hair dancing with the wind. The long black cloak protected you from the cold and seemed expensive. He didn’t know what had came to him, to feel so soft, to have that feeling of pure relieve the moment you looked his way. Alive. Everything in him felt alive. He expected you to be surprised by his presence, but instead you smiled, almost like you had been waiting for him all your life. The leader lowered his guard, walking toward you and turning off every bit of his intuition

“you aren’t supposed to be here” yoh commented, your eyes definitely showing more emotion than you would have enjoyed to show

“neither should you” he commented making sure his voice was cold and tern so that he wouldn’t give himself away

“wrong. I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be”

“we agreed that we should end things the next time we saw each other. Believe me despite the fact that I want to kill you, I wasn’t planing to do it today”

“then why are you here Taeyong?” You asked almost teasing him and for a second the leader forgot the real reason why he was here. He licked his lips in annoyance

“I’ve received information that Jaemin is coming here to kill you”

“I know” you hummed “how nice of you to worry about me and come here to save me”

“tsk” Taeyong hissed looking away with an angry face but he felt more threatened by the fact that you read through him as if this was all planned while he could never go through your mind “you wish love. I just don’t want you to die by someone else’s hands”

“how romantic” you said leaning against the edge of the bridge and taeyong eyed you before doing the same

“we should leave...” he murmured but you smiled

“you free to go. I don’t run away. If he wants to kill me I’ll give him the change to try.” You explained before looking over at the boy.

You still remembered the first day you had saw him. On the penthouse. His dark piercing eyes, that made your whole being shake and ask yourself if all of this was worth it. He was worth it. Maybe in another world, you would have allowed yourself to fall in love with him. But on this world love couldn’t be trusted. They locked eyes together, and for once You started to regret your plan. And the feel of the tears threatening to come became stronger each passing second. Taeyong saw through you this time, his whole body telling him to leave now, that something wasn’t right. Yet he pushed his instincts aside for the first time on his life. Big mistake

“I love you” you blurted out and Taeyong’s eyes widen at the sudden confession. In another situation he would have brushed it off, made a sarcastic comment. But once again he couldn’t understand why his heart was suddenly so soft, or why his whole soul felt such an incredible peaceful feeling “It wasn’t supposed to happen. Since the beginning my job was to kill you. Was to get into your gang, get your trust, end you. Get your throne” you admitted without lies “yet for some damn reason you corrupted me Lee Taeyong. And I hate you for it. I hate you so much that I cant bring myself to hurt you. So I guess I’m fucked” you said chuckling as the tears finally started to roll down your cheeks. Taeyong then suddenly grabbed your arm pulling you close to him

“I love you” he said back his voice holding weakness “I love you so much that you poisoned my damn mind, driving me crazy to the point were I ruined my own kingdom. I hate you. I hate you so much that all I want to do is rip your face and make sure I cannot recognize you. And yet I can’t bring myself to hurt you” he said, his hand cupping your face as you closed your eyes “but we both know there’s no place for the both of us” he murmured this time sadly, his lips coming in contact with your forehead and you let out a heavy sigh “as long as one of us is alive, there will be people dying, there will be competition. And we were both raised to conquer and rule”

“a king and a queen”

“a king and a queen” the male said with a smile his hands still cupping you as his nose rubbed against yours. You closed your eyes gently. When you opened them, Taeyong still had his closed, enjoying the only happy peaceful moment he had felt in so long. Looking behind his shoulder you saw Jaemin standing there, a few meters away, his gun in hand, pointing to them. You pursed your lips together, a sob leaving you

“Taeyong “ you said trying to exchange your place with his. You were supposed to let him go, to let him die. But you didn’t found the strength to do that to him. However Taeyong held you firmly in place

“It’s okay” the male murmured quietly, his voice sounding so smooth that you wondered if it was the first time he had spoken so gently “it’s okay love. One of us has to go” he murmured. So he knew. He had knew Jaemin was here. And yet he had stayed. You started crying again, but Taeyong hushed you “don’t cry. I don’t want my last memory of you to be you crying” he said before finally opening his eyes to look at you “kiss me. Send me off, let me pay for my sins”

“what about your kingdom ?”

“I don’t care” he whispered before linking their lips together. You kissed him back, the kiss tasting salty from the tears, as he held your tightly against him. He was warm. Your body jolted when your heard the gunshot thought the air. Taeyong stopped kissing for a few seconds, letting the sound dissipate into the air before he went back into kissing you. Now the salty feeling was transmuting into iron from the blood

“ I am so sorry” you whispered against his lips, as the boy smiled thankfully. His hair fell into his eyes, as the life slowly left his body. Taeyong fell against your shoulder, his last breath being a soft “thank you” before his body gave up. You slowly fell down with him, your crying muffled as you held him close. It was done. Lee taeyong was dead. You hadn’t killed him, yet you had given the tools for someone else to get their hands dirty. At the end of the day, you were just like Taeyong. A murdered that only cared for power. Yet your heart was broken. Broken for taking away the devil itself. Jaemin slowly walked toward you both, his gun lowered. He stopped a few meters from you, his eyes glued on Taeyong

“is it true? What you wrote on the paper?”

“it is ” you murmured, tears dried against your cheeks. You couldn’t cry for him. You were a leader, you needed to stay strong despite your body still being attached to taeyong’s dead one, his blood staining your clothes and his warmth slowly fading into you

“than I hope the pain you feel all your life will be worth it” Jaemin said emotionlessly “I loved him”

“we both did”

“no. You didn’t.” Jaemin said before he let the gun fall into the floor “I am taking her then. It was the deal.”

“yes. She will be waiting. And jaemin?” You said looking up at the young boy “thank you”

The young boy didn’t said anything as he simply turned around leaving. You stayed there, kneeled on the ground of the bridge, Taeyong on your arms. Looking down at him, he seemed peaceful. He was still colorful, his lips curved into a faint smile. You smiled down at him, your hand running through his green hair. You had loved him, and you would continue so. Yet there was other things you had to do now. The game was done. Check in mate. The queen won. however as soon as you win in a game you need to move to another board. So goodbye, Lee Taeyong. And thank you.

( 1 year later )

Jisung sighed nervously as the paper on his hands had clear letters. The car felt suffocating, yet he had no courage to leave his seat. He had spent several days on this street, in front of the house. The house he had been supposed to live in, the house that had abandoned him once. The young boy sighed, and he thought of Chenle. Thought of his encouragement, of his smile and about how much friendship there was between them. He had to do this. For him, for himself, for the sake of his life. The past year he had been trying to built himself again. He had felt a terrible pain when he had learnt that Taeyong was dead. Yet he never felt more free. The boy then finally left the car. His shakily body walked toward the house, he had been eyeing for the past week.

Once he stopped in front of the front door, he sighed again. All his body was trembling in anxiety. What if this was a mistake? Yet he knew he had to try. He promised he would try. The boy then finally gathered his courage and he knocked at the door. He instantly regretted it, quickly turning around and getting ready to leave however the door opened, revealing a young woman. Her dark hair falling over her shoulder beautifully

“hello?” She said and jisung froze. He then slowly turned around, meeting her eyes. And the moment he did he couldn’t help the tears running down his cheeks, making the woman shocked expression turn soft

“hey mom” Jisung said his voice broken “I am home” he said and the woman whom seemed completely in chock a few moments ago, mimicked Jisung. She sobbed before quickly tooking a step forward pulling jisung into her arms, a loud crying leaving her lips. Jisung held her tightly as well, crying into her shoulder. She hadn’t abandoned him. They took him from her because she was too young to take care of him. “ I am home mom. I am home” he cried and she held him tightly afraid that her son would disappear if she didn’t. And for once Jisung felt his heart release all the pressure. Chenle was right. Nothing felt better than home.

_______________________________

“see , you put the flowers just like that” Jaemin said with a smile as he held the little girl, Minhee close to him. The young girl lowered herself letting the flowers on top of the grave. After his job had been done, he had went to your warehouse. He had picked up Jeno’s sister, and swore to take care of her, away from all the bullshit. He had also made sure jeno had a proper grave despite his body been turned into ashes. The memory was still precious. For him and for Minhee

“I miss him” the girl said with a soft sniff and he ruffled her hair

“I miss him too” he admitted “but hey.. remember what I told you?”

“that he would want me to smile ?”

“yes” jaemin said and the girl nodded at that holding her tears in with a pout “close your eyes now. Talk to him just like I taught you to do. He will hear you and comfort you” he murmured and she nodded before turning her body completely to the grave. Putting her hands together Minhee closed her eyes, praying to her brother. Jaemin observed her for a few seconds before his eyes went to the grave. He then processed to close his eyes as well. He let the wind whistle against his ears before he thoughts transformed themselves into a prayer

“it’s been one year. She had grown so much jeno. Bet she will have a boyfriend in a few years. Don’t worry I will make sure it’s a good one. Anyway, life have been good. Things have been easier, even if there’s times I wish you were by my side. Sometimes it feels like all time had stopped, and that despite the fact that I’ve grown up, I still cannot find meaning to things, to life. My heart feels empty. And it hurts to still love you and sometimes I find myself missing you, missing your laugh, your scent. And once more I’m talking to myself, since you aren’t here. I know I’ve to let you go. It’s unbearable Jeno. Yet I’ll try, for you, for your sister. But I’ll still keep this monologue hoping for better days. I hope one day the rain falling on my heart will stop. Wait for me. I love you”

Jaemin then slowly opened his eyes, letting out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding.

“Jaemin? Why you crying?” Minhee asked innocently and the boy looked down at her. He smiled, quickly drying his single tear

“Because I am happy.” He confessed “ c’mon.. lets go” he murmured, feeling thankful for the rays of sunshine hitting them. Jaemin then held her hand as they walked away from the grave. His heart was beyond repair he knew that. Yet he would fight, as long as Minhee was alive. She was the last thing he had of Jeno. He could free himself once she left. Until then he would make sure to make him proud.

______________________________________

There was nothing more relaxing than to hear the soft sound of the waves crashing into the rocks in the beach. The salty wind hitting the skin, as the sun helped the tanning. Moon felt peaceful. She was peaceful. She didn’t felt fear anymore. She didn’t felt pain, nor was her heart broken. She missed them. She missed the stupid laugh of her brother, she missed hearing the boys fight against each other. She missed Johnny’s pitiful jokes. Missed Doyoung’s and Taeil’s conversation. She missed Chanyeol stealing apples from the kitchen or the way Yuta tried to follow him everywhere. She missed the smaller boys running around. She missed the girls. Most importantly she missed Jaehyun. His touch, his scent, his laugh, his face. Yet she didn’t felt nostalgic. Because every time she looked down at her daughter she would smile. The baby looked up, smiling brightly and revealing the same dimples that jaehyun had. The same eyes, the same soft cheeks

“she looks like him” baekhyun commented as he sat down on the sand, his body wet from the water. Baekhyun was livid, happy, his remorses long forgotten and buried deep into memories.

“she does” she admitted. Their last night together, jaehyun had been able to get her pregnant. A thing that she had tried to deny, since she had been scared to actually lose another child. However it had been the best thing to happen. This baby fixed all holes on her heart and she couldn’t be more happy to have her, and to keep jaehyun’s legacy through her. “I’ve never thanked you”

“thanked me?” Baekhyun asked as he offered his hand to the baby who was now playing with his fingers

“if it wasn’t for you, I would never had the opportunity to meet the boys. To live this experience. To meet jaehyun. Despite the pain, despite the hardship, I don’t regret it Baekhyun. So thank you” she said honestly and the boy went quiet before nodding “and thank you for offering me a better life today”

“anything for you” he murmured before smiling down at the young baby “ he never left you”

“and he will never” she whispered back before the baby giggled happily. no. Jaehyun lived through her now. And as long as she was here, happiness was possible.

_____________________________________

Seoul had been quiet. Crime had been reduced and people walked around freely without ever thinking that underground business were still running. The new of Taeyong’s death had made people even more scared. If there was someone who had been able to kill taeyong then they must be even more dangerous. You were able to take possession of everything that taeyong had possessed. Of course you had some help. Your gaze was lost on the coffee in front of you. You were quiet, as Johnny whom was across you spoke through the phone. The new had shaken all the gang. Chanyeol, Yuta, Doyoung, Haechan, almost all committed a collective suicide not being able to live with themselves when they knew they didn’t protected their leader. Yet johnny had convinced them to stay, to fight, to keep the job. So Johnny had now power over them. And You had power over johnny. And everything feel into their rightful place

“you spacing out again” johnny said softly as you looked up at him. You had became cold, distant, broken. Yet you couldn’t be more perfect. A mafia leader didn’t needed emotions, and you made sure that Taeyong had took all of the reminding love you possessed the moment he had died. Compassion wasn’t for you anymore

“I was thinking”

“About what?”

“about how I’m going to skin alive the ones who thought they could come against us” you spoke and johnny chuckled. He was happy, happy that he could have at least a part of you, even if deep down he knew you belonged to someone dead.

“you wearing his ring” johnny pointed out as you looked down at your fingers. You had took one of taeyong’s rings, actually his favourite one. The two serpents covering a green opal. A symbol that you would keep his legacy and keep the business he had worked for. also, it showed power. The power you had won.

“I am” you affirmed before slowly standing up “now cmon. We have work to do” you said and johnny stood up following behind. And just like that you engaged yourself into a new board, a new game. You had won this one and you hoped to win the next. However you couldn’t deny that no matter what path you took, this life, would always be a highway to hell. And that at the end, you will meet him again and who knows. Make another check in mate.

[thedyingmoon]

***

"Little Lamb who made thee,

Dost thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead; 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 

Softest clothing wooly bright; 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 

Making all the vales rejoice! 

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee."

She stopped reading the sweet poem and looked down on her lap to find him sleeping.

She sighed. Of course, he fell asleep because he found the story of the lamb boring.

What's so bad about the poem of the little lamb? At least, it sounded better and much calmer than the Book of Urizen,...

"Little lamb,..." she heard his little voice.

Her ears perked up. She looked down once more and found the little boy staring up at her.

"Aren't you a mischievous little boy?" She playfully marvelled.

"May I call you,... Little Lamb?" He asked her, his pair of innocent silver eyes filled with some kind of unknown emotion.

"Yes, you may, dear."

The boy smiled and closed his eyes once more, feeling protected and loved because of her.

"I'll always love and protect you. I promise, Little Lamb."

The girl opened her mouth in surprise. Her heart brimming with bliss, she lovingly stroked his hair.

"And I promise you the same, Vergil." She quietly answered as the boy finally fell asleep.

It was the most beautiful and peaceful day of all. They chose to isolate themselves in that serenely lush garden where no one could bother them.

She looked up at the sky, feeling the soft wind on her flushed face and relishing on the scent of the many fetching flowers, freshly blooming in the early morning.

For her, everything was,... perfect.

For him, it was,... the most precious moment of all,...

***

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

XXIV

***

The Master of the Fleminger House sat in his office, enjoying a glass of red wine in silence.

The Dreadnought has finally took off about half an hour ago, meaning that the promised hour was fast approaching.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Mentioning for his one good servant to enter, he shifted on his chair so that he was facing the window, instead, where he could clearly see the dot in the sky that was Shinano Musashi.

The thin servant gently closed the door and took a step forward.

"Master," he droned. "... it is almost time. Your dreams will finally come true."

Fleminger smiled. He put his empty glass down on the table and motioned for the servant to fill it. "Not only my dreams but, my ancestors', as well." He answered, his voice hoarse and content.

"Ah, you are correct as always, Master." The servant remarked as he took the bottle of liquour from the wine container, opened it, and poured his Master a glass full.

"Ah, Reginald, could you play my favorite song?" The Master calmly requested with a warm smile.

"Of course, Master."

The servant bowed with flourish and went to another table nearby that was situated next to the wall where the portraits of the pale Fleminger ancestors where hung. He took a slightly overused record from its drawer and placed it on the platter of the vintage player. He first made sure that the speed was correct, and then, pressed play, raising the cueing lever and aligning the tone arm with the record.

The old song that the vintage player produced made the Master smile as he theatrically took a deep breath.

With a fine voice and with twirling fingers, he sang,

"On the farm, ev'ry Friday.

On the farm, it's rabbit pie day.

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along,

I get up early and sing this little song.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run!"

***

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun,...

He'll get by without his rabbit pie,...

So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

V saw the traces of blood on the ground, an indication to where his one and only prey went.

He smiled and pointed at that certain direction using his metal cane, making sure that Shadow would go there for the hunt.

He, then, followed suit as calmy as he could, relishing each thrilling moment of this complete and utter madness.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer's gun,...

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run,...

You continued to flee from the man like a hunted animal, hoping and praying for a sign, anything at all, that could save you from all of this.

But, alas. You knew it was futile.

Still, you ran aimlessly, unaware that the more you did, the more evidence you leave behind with the little drops of your own blood from the wound that Shadow inflicted a while ago.

And then, just like a lanslide on a quiet and empty place, the pulsating wall on your right burst open, splattering demonic blood and unidentified guts all over your body.

After that, Shadow, on the form of a fearsome female knight, emerged from that hole in pursuit of you.

You looked at her in horror and turned away just in time as she morphed one of her arms to a dark lance that was readily pointed at your back. The familiar charged at you, her lance almost piercing your small body. You merely dodged it as you bent, drawing your rapier in response to the attack. You waved your weapon and sent a blade of light flying towards Shadow, which she deflected using her other hand that just morphed into a shield. The deflected blade of light bounced off her and landed on the ceiling, making huge throbbing veins drop from it along with a waterfall of thick crimson liquid.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

Don't give the farmer his fun, fun, fun,...

He'll get by without his rabbit pie,...

So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,...

You used this waterfall of blood as an opportunity to get away with as much speed as you can.

And through all that ruckus, you tried to call the entity's name,...

It would not obey you.

But, why?

Then, you heard another explosion as Shadow struggled to get through the Dreadnought's gunk. You did not waste any more time looking at her when she started morphing, and instead turned around towards a dark section of the demonic mechanism.

You felt your way into the darkness, leaving you with no choice but to stumble to a huge, spherical structure that seemed to glow with weak crimson light. You hid behind it, feeling its smooth and fleshy sensation against your palm.

Moments later, the noises subsided. You could no longer hear Shadow and her heavy, splashing footsteps against the pools of blood on the floor.

You waited, holding your breath and wishing for this whole nightmare to end.

And then, as if by some unuttered kind of curse, you heard his voice.

"Hmm,..." the poet hummed with that seductive voice of his. "I could smell,... something familiar here,..." he playfully mused.

Your breath hitched.

"I know you're there, I could smell you." He called, making you tremble in fear and your hair stand on end.

And at that precise moment when you felt your heartbeat triple in suspense, the structure where you were hiding glowed and flickered like a lamp.

V noticed this exact phenomenon and knew exactly where you were.

"Now, there's no use hiding now, is there,... Little Lamb?"

At the mere mention of those words, the structure flickered in erratic sequences, providing some kind of light to the dark and suffocating room.

You noticed this sudden change, as well. You were honestly aware that the poet never referred to you as Little Lamb, and yet,...

... it felt awfully familiar, like you've heard it before in a seemingly far away land,...

And at the simple thought of it, the strange structure glowed and pulsated in time with the beating of your heart.

Little Lamb? V thought. Where did I hear those words again?

"Now, Little Lamb, I would greatly appreciate it if you come out now, lest I turn into a Big Bad Wolf and hunt you down, myself."

V waited for a response from you but, all he could see was the demonic structure glowing and pulsating multiple times, like a beating heart.

And she honestly thought she could conceal her demonic nature? V thought as he sighed at the situation. He was fast approaching his own death, and he could not do anything to the heart unless he end you first,...

He must do it quick before he could completely crumble to nothingness.

"You leave me with no choice so, be it."

Your eyes widened at those words and you had to cover your mouth to prevent yourself from screaming when you heard a snap, followed by a huge explosion that practically made a hole in the ceiling and making everything around you bright.

You felt massive tremors on the ground and, seconds later, you felt the golem fire its laser at the structure, almost obliterating you to smithereens had you not ducked in time.

The onslaught went on for a painful minute until it finally subsided, leaving new holes in the room.

Strangely enough, despite the golem's powerful attack, the structure you were hiding from remained unscathed and sturdy as if it was made from the strongest, otherworldly materials.

You thought you were finally safe until you felt the horrifying tremors once more, making you shut your eyes and cover your ears in defense as Nightmare fired its laser at you for another round.

The attack went on for another five minutes, making you cower helplessly behind the one and only thing in the evil Dreadnought that actually made you safe.

And during this ambuscade, you couldn't help but think how foolish you were for ever declaring that you're ready to die. You felt stupid for believing that you finally accepted your fate of inevitable demise, and you felt useless and coward for not fulfilling the wish that was set for you by the entity as a mission for ten whole years.

I can't,... you fearfully thought. I can't do it!

As Nightmare went on with its aggression for five more minutes, the faces of all the people you met flashed before you.

Of friends, of allies, of helpers,...

... of Trish and Lady,...

... of Nero,...

... of Patty,...

... of Griffon,...

... of Nico,...

... of Dante,...

... of the one you loved the most,...

"I can't!" You cried as you braced yourself for another onset.

"You were asking how to thank me for earlier. May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?"

"Please,..."

"Hmm,...those scars,... symbolize the true enjoyment and will that you felt doing that special something you adore. Those feet, my Lady,... I would kiss,... over,... and over again,... if I could,... "

"P - please,..."

"What matters is that you still have precious people around you, my Lady. You must focus on not losing them, as well."

"Enough,..."

"I long to see such things as those you have probably seen. I want to experience everything and I wish to see them with my own eyes. See for myself what these poems of mine describe. But, the idea of doing those things alone,... do not please me, at all."

"But, with a companion?"

"Would I be selfish if I ask you to accompany me, little wanderer?"

"V, I,..."

The onslaught abruptly halted as you heard the man gasp for air like he was having an asthma attack of some sort. The tremors stopped as you heard a thud on the ground behind your hiding place.

As if by some deep - rooted instinct, you felt the entity take over your senses, pushing you into a deep trance and unconsciousness,...

V was losing all of his remaining demonic power. As soon as Nightmare evaporated, he fell on the ground, feeling an intense difficulty in breathing.

He must kill you now and obtain your power! Or else,...

"Mas,... ter,..."

The man couldn't believe his eyes, for you finally came out of your hiding place of your own accord, ready to die.

He struggled to stand up and limped his way towards you. Making sure that you would not escape, he summoned Shadow for the last time with the last shred of his power and commanded it to morph into a set of spikes that pierced your legs and arms.

The sweet scent of your blood that fell from your wounds to the ground almost drove him to insanity but, still, he denied the temptation.

He leaned on his cane for support and held up a hand: a gestured he did once in Delphi to summon the Yamato. And with that command, the remaining parts of Shadow that were not connected to you changed once more into dark vines that grew equally dark roses. He waited for the right moment, and when it finally came in the form of the biggest flower, he let go of the metal cane and pulled out the protruding sword from the dark bud. He unsheathed it and pointed it at you.

You felt yourself drifting, the darkness engulfing you like an unwanted embrace. But, then, you were pulled out of it as you were filled once more with light. And when you opened your eyes, you saw V pointing a sword at you.

His skin cracked beyond recognition, his eyes red to the point of bleeding, you knew he was reaching his limit.

And, still, he smiled triumphantly,...

With Shadow's spikes sticking to your limbs to prevent escape, you were at the poet's mercy.

The man sighed as he pointed the sword against your mid section.

"I know you could never resist me, my love." V whispered hoarsely, his grin as evil as ever. "Any last words, Little Lamb?"

The tears just fell and your heart ached awfully.

The entity, who, apparently, was loyal only to its real "Master", has brought you involuntarily to the death's door. You knew there was no turning back.

You bowed down low, letting your tears fall on the ground. Controlling your sobs, you looked up and glanced into his empty bloodshot eyes one last heart - wrenching time, and let out the words you so wanted to tell him for the last ten years,...

The massive heart of the Dreadnought pulsated weakly in response to your dying heart. With a soft voice, you whispered your feelings, pouring out all of the emotions and frustrations that piled up over the years of being controlled by the entity.

"I love you, V."

For a moment, the man let the sword down, seemingly conflicted with something. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he started chortling, a bit soft, at first. Then it gradually became louder as he slicked his dark locks and threw his head back.

Your heart felt like it just shattered into a million pieces at the same time that the massive heart of the Dreadnought lost its radiance.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pain.

With a deep sigh, V raised the Yamato above his head, gripping its hilt with his weak, trembling hands and pointing it to your stomach.

His thirst taking hold of his entire being and engulfing what little humanity he had left, he declared with every inch of the true Devil within him,

"I choose,... POWER!"

With one swift movement, he drove the sword to your body, ignoring your last words,...

... letting go of his former self,...

***

~ A special dedication to @beyond-the-mirror . 🖤

~ @heaven-on-a-landslide , @krazy06 , @yepps , @micaelagua , @gxthghoulfriend , @ehrzeth , @ceruleanworld , @simmy-ships , @boundbysoul , @lessy86 , and @diabeticsugarush . 🖤

***

"I choose,... POWER!"

V rammed the Yamato to the girl's body, making sure that the long blade would come through her fragile form.

Her blood spouted out from her mouth and wounds, splattering on the ground, and her head hung low - a clear indication that her life was soon ending.

At that moment, her body radiated with the same blinding light that once reduced Shadow to a small form but, this time, it transformed into a pair of wings behind her back. The wings, then, scattered like petals, transfiguring into two female forms. The two figures disintegrated into little orbs and swiftly made their way to V's body.

He instantly felt hot all over as soon as the two entities entered his body. He felt great power surging all throughout his dying form, giving him unparalleled strength and vitality.

Giving him power unlike any other he has received before,...

A meteor - like crimson light suddenly crashed through the ceiling and landed on the ground before him. Its light subsided, revealing the form of of his twin brother.

As soon as Dante realized that his brother was standing before him, alive and unharmed, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes seethed with rage.

"Ya got some pretty big cojones for comin' back." Dante gritted through his teeth, drawing a strange sword and charging towards his twin brother. "You just don't know when to give up!"

He was about to beat the crap out of him until he saw the familiar body on the ground,...

The Devil Hunter stopped in his tracks, unable to believe his own eyes as they roamed on the forgotten form that was swinming with its own blood. He kneeled in front of her and gently took her in his arms.

"(Y/N)? No, no, no, no, no!" Dante whispered, his voice broken and his eyes stinging. "Stay with me, please. Stay with me,..."

He felt for her pulse and found out that she was actually barely alive despite the grave wound she just received. He felt some little power left within her that was still trying to help her heal but, it felt like the rest of them somehow got taken away from her. By force.

That's when Dante saw a familiar metal cane on the ground, and a demonic feline at his brother's side,...

"So, this is your plan all along, huh, V?!" Dante raged as he looked at his brother in total wrath. "And to think I mourned for your death and wept for Nero's ignorance for killing his own father,...

"And now, this,..." the man gritted as he carefully laid the girl on the ground, standing up and striding towards his twin, his form slowly getting engulfed by that same red light. "Not only did you take the woman I love away, you tried to murder her, too! THE WOMAN WHO CHOSE YOU!"

Dante changed into a terrifying form of evil that made Shadow cower in fear behind V.

It was bigger and even more threatening - looking, unlike his first Devil Trigger form.

However, this didn't faze the man who just gained true power,...

"LET'S END THIS," Dante howled, summoning the strange sword once more and flying towards his own family. "... VERGIL!"

Vergil simply raised the Yamato, and his body was suddenly engulfed with the familiar light that Dante once saw in the girl.

Instead of turning into a Devil, himself, Vergil turned into a seven - foot tall being of light that disintegrated everything within its immediate vicinity.

"Andromeda." Vergil pronounced the name of the entity of light - The Protector of The Present - as he pointed the Yamato at Dante. The Protector amplified his strength and with incredible speed, he charged towards the Devil, mortally wounding him with just one slash.

Dante fell on the ground without so much as a fight, turning back into his human form. He coughed up blood and realized, in utter shock, that the wound he received from the full force of Andromeda was not healing. Not at all.

"The Goddesses have acknowledged their true Master." Vergil uttered as soon as he turned back to his mortal form. "And it has never been you, or Sparda, or even that disposable and pathetic vessel you spoke of as your love. Their one and only Master - is me."

"You've really,... gone too far this time!" Dante said as he struggled with his wound.

"Worry not. The pain shall soon pass. You will rest in peace." The elder brother calmly spoke as his eyes suddenly widened. He held up one arm and stopped another Devil as it stealthily charged towards him.

The blue - winged Devil with long white hair struggled as he tried to escape Vergil's grasp, choking and turning back to his human form,...

"Nero,..." Vergil acknowledged the boy as he watched him suffer. "Even with your awakened state, you are still useless. What a waste of great power."

"HE'S YOUR SON!" Dante yelled as he fell once more to the ground.

Nero stopped struggling as he looked at the cold, white - haired man who was choking him to death.

All of a sudden, he remembered the mysterious words she told him,...

"Can you say, that's imposible?"

"T - that's i - imp - possible!" Nero breathed, unable to believe the plain and painful truth.

And it seemed nothing to Vergil, who gained absolute power and lost his entire humanity in the process.

"My son,... means nothing to me!" He exclaimed as he brought down the boy to the ground with the full intention of breaking him like glass.

Then, he heard it. He heard her whispering to him,...

"Master,..."

"Cassandra?" Vergil muttered.

"It has begun,..."

"What will - ?"

Cassandra took hold of Vergil's mind, showing him visions of the future,...

... of the true enemy rising up in vengeance, of the total annihilation of humanity,...

... of the world's end,...

As soon as Cassandra left his mind, Vergil saw, in utter denial and horror, how the massive heart of the Dreadnought exploded, splattering thick red liquid everywhere and gushing out the same substance on the floor like a waterfall.

And inside Shinano Musashi's heart was the form of a naked girl who looked so much like that disposable vessel the Sisters of Fate chose for him.

The girl opened her eyes, revealing her pitch - black pupils like they were void of life. Her sight adjusted, and when she glanced down to the ground, ignoring Vergil and Shadow, she saw Dante, Nero, and,...

"S - sister?" The girl uttered, her voice sounding off and broken, like her throat was mutilated. "S - sist - ter,..."

Sister? Vergil thought as the girl made her way to (Y/N). Is she (Y/N)'s - ?!

"She was the most beautiful girl in the world, and everybody adored her. She,... died,... to save me, V."

She's dead! How could she - ?!

The girl looked down at her sister's dying form, and when she finally realized what truly happened, her form suddenly changed, with dark scales growing on her pale and perfect skin and three pairs of equally dark wings sprouting out of her back.

The girl - a demonic figure now - howled in agony as a pair of long, twisted horns protruded out of her head. She screamed like this for nearly a minute, and when her transformation into a full Demon was finally complete, she flew up to the sky with unbelievable speed.

Vergil, Dante, and Nero helplessly watched as the sky turned dark.

Moments later, multiple crimson lasers rained down from the clouds, landing on the ground and annihilating everything within its reach.

Killing innocents in the process,...

This,... is not,... written! Vergil exclaimed in his mind as he called back Shadow and morphed again into the light being, leaving Dante and Nero and escaping just in time when the Dreadnought started crumbling and descending from the sky.

I must go to Fleminger! He thought hysterically as the massive genocide ensued. He knows what to do!

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

~ 13 ~

***

[etlunainmorte]

❤ I See My Future Before Me ❤

***

“Little Lamb who made thee,

Dost thou know who made thee,

Gave thee life and bid thee feed

By the stream and o'er the mead; 

Gave thee clothing of delight, 

Softest clothing wooly bright; 

Gave thee such a tender voice, 

Making all the vales rejoice! 

Little Lamb who made thee 

Dost thou know who made thee.”

She stopped reading the sweet poem and looked down on her lap to find him sleeping.

She sighed. Of course, he fell asleep because he found the story of the lamb boring.

What’s so bad about the poem of the little lamb? At least, it sounded better and much calmer than the Book of Urizen,…

“Little lamb,…” she heard his little voice.

Her ears perked up. She looked down once more and found the little boy staring up at her.

“Aren’t you a mischievous little boy?” She playfully marveled.

“May I call you,… Little Lamb?” He asked her, his pair of innocent silver eyes filled with some kind of unknown emotion.

“Yes, you may, dear.”

The boy smiled and closed his eyes once more, feeling protected and loved because of her.

“I’ll always love and protect you. I promise, Little Lamb.”

The girl opened her mouth in surprise. Her heart brimming with bliss, she lovingly stroked his hair.

“And I promise you the same, Vergil.” She quietly answered as the boy finally fell asleep.

It was the most beautiful and peaceful day of all. They chose to isolate themselves in that serenely lush garden where no one could bother them.

She looked up at the sky, feeling the soft wind on her flushed face and relishing on the scent of the many fetching flowers, freshly blooming in the early morning.

For her, everything was,… perfect.

For him, it was,… the most precious moment of all,…

***

XXIV

***

The Master of the Fleminger House sat in his office, enjoying a glass of red wine in silence.

The Dreadnought has finally took off about half an hour ago, meaning that the promised hour was fast approaching.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Mentioning for his one good servant to enter, he shifted on his chair so that he was facing the window, instead, where he could clearly see the dot in the sky that was Shinano Musashi.

The thin servant gently closed the door and took a step forward.

“Master,” he droned. “… it is almost time. Your dreams will finally come true.”

Fleminger smiled. He put his empty glass down on the table and motioned for the servant to fill it. “Not only my dreams but, my ancestors’, as well.” He answered, his voice hoarse and content.

“Ah, you are correct as always, Master.” The servant remarked as he took the bottle of liquor from the wine container, opened it, and poured his Master a glass full.

“Ah, Reginald, could you play my favorite song?” The Master calmly requested with a warm smile.

“Of course, Master.”

The servant bowed with flourish and went to another table nearby that was situated next to the wall where the portraits of the pale Fleminger ancestors where hung. He took a slightly overused record from its drawer and placed it on the platter of the vintage player. He first made sure that the speed was correct, and then, pressed play, raising the cueing lever and aligning the tone arm with the record.

The old song that the vintage player produced made the Master smile as he theatrically took a deep breath.

With a fine voice and with twirling fingers, he sang,

“On the farm, ev'ry Friday.

On the farm, it’s rabbit pie day.

So ev'ry Friday that ever comes along,

I get up early and sing this little song.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run.

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer’s gun.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run!”

***

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

Don’t give the farmer his fun, fun, fun,…

He’ll get by without his rabbit pie,…

So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

V saw the traces of blood on the ground, an indication to where his one and only prey went.

He smiled and pointed at that certain direction using his metal cane, making sure that Shadow would go there for the hunt.

He, then, followed suit as calmly as he could, relishing each thrilling moment of this complete and utter madness.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

Bang, bang, bang, bang goes the farmer’s gun,…

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run, run,…

You continued to flee from the man like a hunted animal, hoping and praying for a sign, anything at all, that could save you from all of this.

But, alas. You knew it was futile.

Still, you ran aimlessly, unaware that the more you did, the more evidence you leave behind with the little drops of your own blood from the wound that Shadow inflicted a while ago.

And then, just like a landslide on a quiet and empty place, the pulsating wall on your right burst open, splattering demonic blood and unidentified guts all over your body.

After that, Shadow, on the form of a fearsome female knight, emerged from that hole in pursuit of you.

You looked at her in horror and turned away just in time as she morphed one of her arms to a dark lance that was readily pointed at your back. The familiar charged at you, her lance almost piercing your small body. You merely dodged it as you bent, drawing your rapier in response to the attack. You waved your weapon and sent a blade of light flying towards Shadow, which she deflected using her other hand that just morphed into a shield. The deflected blade of light bounced off her and landed on the ceiling, making huge throbbing veins drop from it along with a waterfall of thick crimson liquid.

Run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

Don’t give the farmer his fun, fun, fun,…

He’ll get by without his rabbit pie,…

So run rabbit, run rabbit, run, run, run,…

You used this waterfall of blood as an opportunity to get away with as much speed as you can.

And through all that ruckus, you tried to call the entity’s name,…

It would not obey you.

But, why?

Then, you heard another explosion as Shadow struggled to get through the Dreadnought’s gunk. You did not waste any more time looking at her when she started morphing, and instead turned around towards a dark section of the demonic mechanism.

You felt your way into the darkness, leaving you with no choice but to stumble to a huge, spherical structure that seemed to glow with weak crimson light. You hid behind it, feeling its smooth and fleshy sensation against your palm.

Moments later, the noises subsided. You could no longer hear Shadow and her heavy, splashing footsteps against the pools of blood on the floor.

You waited, holding your breath and wishing for this whole nightmare to end.

And then, as if by some unuttered kind of curse, you heard his voice.

“Hmm,…” the poet hummed with that seductive voice of his. “I could smell,… something familiar here,…” he playfully mused.

Your breath hitched.

“I know you’re there, I could smell you.” He called, making you tremble in fear and your hair stand on end.

And at that precise moment when you felt your heartbeat triple in suspense, the structure where you were hiding glowed and flickered like a lamp.

V noticed this exact phenomenon and knew exactly where you were.

“Now, there’s no use hiding now, is there,… Little Lamb?”

At the mere mention of those words, the structure flickered in erratic sequences, providing some kind of light to the dark and suffocating room.

You noticed this sudden change, as well. You were honestly aware that the poet never referred to you as Little Lamb, and yet,…

… it felt awfully familiar, like you’ve heard it before in a seemingly far away land,…

And at the simple thought of it, the strange structure glowed and pulsated in time with the beating of your heart.

Little Lamb? V thought. Where did I hear those words again?

“Now, Little Lamb, I would greatly appreciate it if you come out now, lest I turn into a Big Bad Wolf and hunt you down, myself.”

V waited for a response from you but, all he could see was the demonic structure glowing and pulsating multiple times, like a beating heart.

And she honestly thought she could conceal her demonic nature? V thought as he sighed at the situation. He was fast approaching his own death, and he could not do anything to the heart unless he end you first,…

He must do it quick before he could completely crumble to nothingness.

“You leave me with no choice so, be it.”

Your eyes widened at those words and you had to cover your mouth to prevent yourself from screaming when you heard a snap, followed by a huge explosion that practically made a hole in the ceiling and making everything around you bright.

You felt massive tremors on the ground and, seconds later, you felt the golem fire its laser at the structure, almost obliterating you to smithereens had you not ducked in time.

The onslaught went on for a painful minute until it finally subsided, leaving new holes in the room.

Strangely enough, despite the golem’s powerful attack, the structure you were hiding from remained unscathed and sturdy as if it was made from the strongest, otherworldly materials.

You thought you were finally safe until you felt the horrifying tremors once more, making you shut your eyes and cover your ears in defense as Nightmare fired its laser at you for another round.

The attack went on for another five minutes, making you cower helplessly behind the one and only thing in the evil Dreadnought that actually made you safe.

And during this ambuscade, you couldn’t help but think how foolish you were for ever declaring that you’re ready to die. You felt stupid for believing that you finally accepted your fate of inevitable demise, and you felt useless and coward for not fulfilling the wish that was set for you by the entity as a mission for ten whole years.

I can’t,… you fearfully thought. I can’t do it!

As Nightmare went on with its aggression for five more minutes, the faces of all the people you met flashed before you.

Of friends, of allies, of helpers,…

… of Trish and Lady,…

… of Nero,…

… of Patty,…

… of Griffon,…

… of Nico,…

… of Dante,…

… of the one you loved the most,…

“I can’t!” You cried as you braced yourself for another onset.

“You were asking how to thank me for earlier. May I have the honor of this dance, my lady?”

“Please,…”

“Hmm,…those scars,… symbolize the true enjoyment and will that you felt doing that special something you adore. Those feet, my Lady,… I would kiss,… over,… and over again,… if I could,… ”

“P - please,…”

“What matters is that you still have precious people around you, my Lady. You must focus on not losing them, as well.”

“Enough,…”

“I long to see such things as those you have probably seen. I want to experience everything and I wish to see them with my own eyes. See for myself what these poems of mine describe. But, the idea of doing those things alone,… do not please me, at all.”

“But, with a companion?”

“Would I be selfish if I ask you to accompany me, little wanderer?”

“V, I,…”

The onslaught abruptly halted as you heard the man gasp for air like he was having an asthma attack of some sort. The tremors stopped as you heard a thud on the ground behind your hiding place.

As if by some deep - rooted instinct, you felt the entity take over your senses, pushing you into a deep trance and unconsciousness,…

V was losing all of his remaining demonic power. As soon as Nightmare evaporated, he fell on the ground, feeling an intense difficulty in breathing.

He must kill you now and obtain your power! Or else,…

“Mas,… ter,…”

The man couldn’t believe his eyes, for you finally came out of your hiding place of your own accord, ready to die.

He struggled to stand up and limped his way towards you. Making sure that you would not escape, he summoned Shadow for the last time with the last shred of his power and commanded it to morph into a set of spikes that pierced your legs and arms.

The sweet scent of your blood that fell from your wounds to the ground almost drove him to insanity but, still, he denied the temptation.

He leaned on his cane for support and held up a hand: a gestured he did once in Delphi to summon the Yamato. And with that command, the remaining parts of Shadow that were not connected to you changed once more into dark vines that grew equally dark roses. He waited for the right moment, and when it finally came in the form of the biggest flower, he let go of the metal cane and pulled out the protruding sword from the dark bud. He unsheathed it and pointed it at you.

You felt yourself drifting, the darkness engulfing you like an unwanted embrace. But, then, you were pulled out of it as you were filled once more with light. And when you opened your eyes, you saw V pointing a sword at you.

His skin cracked beyond recognition, his eyes red to the point of bleeding, you knew he was reaching his limit.

And, still, he smiled triumphantly,…

With Shadow’s spikes sticking to your limbs to prevent escape, you were at the poet’s mercy.

The man sighed as he pointed the sword against your mid section.

“I know you could never resist me, my love.” V whispered hoarsely, his grin as evil as ever. “Any last words, Little Lamb?”

The tears just fell and your heart ached awfully.

The entity, who, apparently, was loyal only to its real “Master”, has brought you involuntarily to the death’s door. You knew there was no turning back.

You bowed down low, letting your tears fall on the ground. Controlling your sobs, you looked up and glanced into his empty bloodshot eyes one last heart - wrenching time, and let out the words you so wanted to tell him for the last ten years,…

The massive heart of the Dreadnought pulsated weakly in response to your dying heart. With a soft voice, you whispered your feelings, pouring out all of the emotions and frustrations that piled up over the years of being controlled by the entity.

“I love you, V.”

For a moment, the man let the sword down, seemingly conflicted with something. He pinched the bridge of his nose as he started chortling, a bit soft, at first. Then it gradually became louder as he slicked his dark locks and threw his head back.

Your heart felt like it just shattered into a million pieces at the same time that the massive heart of the Dreadnought lost its radiance.

You bit your lip, trying to hold back the pain.

With a deep sigh, V raised the Yamato above his head, gripping its hilt with his weak, trembling hands and pointing it to your stomach.

His thirst taking hold of his entire being and engulfing what little humanity he had left, he declared with every inch of the true Devil within him,

“I choose,… POWER!”

With one swift movement, he drove the sword to your body, ignoring your last words,…

… letting go of his former self,…

***

“I choose,… POWER!”

V rammed the Yamato to the girl’s body, making sure that the long blade would come through her fragile form.

Her blood spouted out from her mouth and wounds, splattering on the ground, and her head hung low - a clear indication that her life was soon ending.

At that moment, her body radiated with the same blinding light that once reduced Shadow to a small form but, this time, it transformed into a pair of wings behind her back. The wings, then, scattered like petals, transfiguring into two female forms. The two figures disintegrated into little orbs and swiftly made their way to V’s body.

He instantly felt hot all over as soon as the two entities entered his body. He felt great power surging all throughout his dying form, giving him unparalleled strength and vitality.

Giving him power unlike any other he has received before,…

A meteor - like crimson light suddenly crashed through the ceiling and landed on the ground before him. Its light subsided, revealing the form of his twin brother.

As soon as Dante realized that his brother was standing before him, alive and unharmed, his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes seethed with rage.

“Ya got some pretty big cojones for comin’ back.” Dante gritted through his teeth, drawing a strange sword and charging towards his twin brother. “You just don’t know when to give up!”

He was about to beat the crap out of him until he saw the familiar body on the ground,…

The Devil Hunter stopped in his tracks, unable to believe his own eyes as they roamed on the forgotten form that was swimming with its own blood. He kneeled in front of her and gently took her in his arms.

“(Y/N)? No, no, no, no, no!” Dante whispered, his voice broken and his eyes stinging. “Stay with me, please. Stay with me,…”

He felt for her pulse and found out that she was actually barely alive despite the grave wound she just received. He felt some little power left within her that was still trying to help her heal but, it felt like the rest of them somehow got taken away from her. By force.

That’s when Dante saw a familiar metal cane on the ground, and a demonic feline at his brother’s side,…

“So, this is your plan all along, huh, V?!” Dante raged as he looked at his brother in total wrath. “And to think I mourned for your death and wept for Nero’s ignorance for killing his own father,…

"And now, this,…” the man gritted as he carefully laid the girl on the ground, standing up and striding towards his twin, his form slowly getting engulfed by that same red light. “Not only did you take the woman I love away, you tried to murder her, too! THE WOMAN WHO CHOSE YOU!”

Dante changed into a terrifying form of evil that made Shadow cower in fear behind V.

It was bigger and even more threatening - looking, unlike his first Devil Trigger form.

However, this didn’t faze the man who just gained true power,…

“LET’S END THIS,” Dante howled, summoning the strange sword once more and flying towards his own family. “… VERGIL!”

Vergil simply raised the Yamato, and his body was suddenly engulfed with the familiar light that Dante once saw in the girl.

Instead of turning into a Devil, himself, Vergil turned into a seven - foot tall being of light that disintegrated everything within its immediate vicinity.

“Andromeda.” Vergil pronounced the name of the entity of light - The Protector of The Present - as he pointed the Yamato at Dante. The Protector amplified his strength and with incredible speed, he charged towards the Devil, mortally wounding him with just one slash.

Dante fell on the ground without so much as a fight, turning back into his human form. He coughed up blood and realized, in utter shock, that the wound he received from the full force of Andromeda was not healing. Not at all.

“The Goddesses have acknowledged their true Master.” Vergil uttered as soon as he turned back to his mortal form. “And it has never been you, or Sparda, or even that disposable and pathetic vessel you spoke of as your love. Their one and only Master - is me.”

“You’ve really,… gone too far this time!” Dante said as he struggled with his wound.

“Worry not. The pain shall soon pass. You will rest in peace.” The elder brother calmly spoke as his eyes suddenly widened. He held up one arm and stopped another Devil as it stealthily charged towards him.

The blue - winged Devil with long white hair struggled as he tried to escape Vergil’s grasp, choking and turning back to his human form,…

“Nero,…” Vergil acknowledged the boy as he watched him suffer. “Even with your awakened state, you are still useless. What a waste of great power.”

“HE’S YOUR SON!” Dante yelled as he fell once more to the ground.

Nero stopped struggling as he looked at the cold, white - haired man who was choking him to death.

All of a sudden, he remembered the mysterious words she told him,…

“Can you say, that’s impossible?”

“T - that’s i - imp - possible!” Nero breathed, unable to believe the plain and painful truth.

And it seemed nothing to Vergil, who gained absolute power and lost his entire humanity in the process.

“My son,… means nothing to me!” He exclaimed as he brought down the boy to the ground with the full intention of breaking him like glass.

Then, he heard it. He heard her whispering to him,…

“Master,…”

“Cassandra?” Vergil muttered.

“It has begun,…”

“What will - ?”

Cassandra took hold of Vergil’s mind, showing him visions of the future,…

… of the true enemy rising up in vengeance, of the total annihilation of humanity,…

… of the world’s end,…

As soon as Cassandra left his mind, Vergil saw, in utter denial and horror, how the massive heart of the Dreadnought exploded, splattering thick red liquid everywhere and gushing out the same substance on the floor like a waterfall.

And inside Shinano Musashi’s heart was the form of a naked girl who looked so much like that disposable vessel the Sisters of Fate chose for him.

The girl opened her eyes, revealing her pitch - black pupils like they were void of life. Her sight adjusted, and when she glanced down to the ground, ignoring Vergil and Shadow, she saw Dante, Nero, and,…

“S - sister?” The girl uttered, her voice sounding off and broken, like her throat was mutilated. “S - sist - ter,…”

Sister? Vergil thought as the girl made her way to (Y/N). Is she (Y/N)’s - ?!

“She was the most beautiful girl in the world, and everybody adored her. She,… died,… to save me, V.”

She’s dead! How could she - ?!

The girl looked down at her sister’s dying form, and when she finally realized what truly happened, her form suddenly changed, with dark scales growing on her pale and perfect skin and three pairs of equally dark wings sprouting out of her back.

The girl - a demonic figure now - howled in agony as a pair of long, twisted horns protruded out of her head. She screamed like this for nearly a minute, and when her transformation into a full Demon was finally complete, she flew up to the sky with unbelievable speed.

Vergil, Dante, and Nero helplessly watched as the sky turned dark.

Moments later, multiple crimson lasers rained down from the clouds, landing on the ground and annihilating everything within its reach.

Killing innocents in the process,…

This,… is not,… written! Vergil exclaimed in his mind as he called back Shadow and morphed again into the light being, leaving Dante and Nero and escaping just in time when the Dreadnought started crumbling and descending from the sky.

I must go to Fleminger! He thought hysterically as the massive genocide ensued. He knows what to do!

***

❤❤❤

***

[limentum]

I have a single arriving 9/28 off of my upcoming album, finally alongside an official release date of 12/17. This new song means an incredible amount to me, marking a level of experience that I couldn't dream of reaching even a year ago. Obviously, when some of you get to hear this track, it may not sound that way to you. But I believe this marks a new step in my creative decision making for the future. Even outside of my song-writing, I can tell this project as a whole is having an effect on my other creative endeavours.

Some already might know that this album is being written alongside a narrative works that I've been writing since early January 2021. This technically means that the album of Vestige is something of a Soundtrack album. Typically what one infers from that genre is something rather impersonal, written simply to add another level of emotion to a narrative work. And, while that does remain true in this scenario, Vestige also has a wildly personal feel to its creative approach. Each track has been written in-between the massive gaps in my time spent writing, due to a sort of writer's block. It almost seemed cyclical - that as I moved on from certain plot points and character developments, so too did I move on to other songs and stylistic choices. This idea has already made itself fairly apparent, between the two already-released singles of The Rockies' Lost Lemon Mine, taking a fairly IDM/Electronic approach to feelings of being lost and hopeless. Or the follow-up single of Ambuscade, switching things around to an Eighties Disco/Retro approach to ideas such as escapism, and pushing away the things we care about.

This new single, Athaza, however, switches things up entirely. This track embodies a culmination of styles I'd dare not approach not even a year ago, due to limits of my available recording methods, or a fear of improper execution due to a lack of experience and knowledge. But I feel I've grown quite a lot since then, in a way I can't exactly understand at this point in time. I know this sounds a lot like me hyping up this track in a way that will surely leave you feeling a little disappointed come release day, but I am just super excited for this album, and for the future of the Limentum project in its entirety.

[themanofonebook]

I find that this is often missed when people talk about Javert: he is naive, and he is withdrawn. Yes, he is quite forward when it comes to his upholding of the law; he is confident in his abilities… when it comes to his duty as an officer. Aside from that, Javert acknowledges the fact that he is apart from society, and it shows. Javert sees the world in a different way than the average person; he does not seem to comprehend societal norms, or even basic human quirks — for example, he has no idea why Fantine would not be overjoyed to learn the truth of who Madeleine really is, because truth is his language; he lives for stripping away false covers, he breathes sincerity. Hugo may describe him as a spy, but examine the way that he does so:

Javert’s whole person was expressive of the man who spies and who withdraws himself from observation. The mystical school of Joseph de Maistre, which at that epoch seasoned with lofty cosmogony those things which were called the ultra newspapers, would not have failed to declare that Javert was a symbol. His brow was not visible; it disappeared beneath his hat: his eyes were not visible, since they were lost under his eyebrows: his chin was not visible, for it was plunged in his cravat: his hands were not visible; they were drawn up in his sleeves: and his cane was not visible; he carried it under his coat. But when the occasion presented itself, there was suddenly seen to emerge from all this shadow, as from an ambuscade, a narrow and angular forehead, a baleful glance, a threatening chin, enormous hands, and a monstrous cudgel.

What the passage is saying, in short, is that Javert is very private until the law is involved, at which point he becomes passionate and bold. I direct all to one of the descriptions of Jehan Prouvaire, which I believe to be fitting:

Jean Prouvaire was timid only in repose. Once excited, he burst forth, a sort of mirth accentuated his enthusiasm, and he was at once both laughing and lyric.

Javert is not “laughing and lyric”, no — well, maybe laughing, but in a more severe manner. But look above, and take away the symbolism that Hugo is trying to get across; read it on a realistic level. When Javert is walking, he has his hat pulled down low, his chin tucked into his cravat (which would require some bowing of the head), his sleeves pulled over his hands, and even his accessory is carried under his coat. Javert is quiet; Javert does not want to be seen. Here:

Javert up to that moment had remained erect, motionless, with his eyes fixed on the ground, cast athwart this scene like some displaced statue, which is waiting to be put away somewhere.

Beforehand, Javert was very, very vocal, but once Madeleine stepped inside and made a basic explanation of misdeeds and punishment into a conversation, once Fantine actually, physically touched Javert, and in a familiar way, the inspector immediately dropped back into himself. Even beforehand, instead of speaking to Fantine while she was shaking in the corner of the station house, he was content to quietly work in the corner. To converse never even crosses his mind. “He wrote in silence.”

I could write a great deal concerning his behavior when apologizing to Madeleine, especially the fiddling with the wood powder which is meant to dry ink. He has his eyes cast down, his shoulders slumped, and his hands down by his sides… when he isn’t taking pinches of the powder and shifting it around, which is decidedly odd. It describes the action as “mechanical”, which indicates habit — Javert isn’t really concentrating on what he is doing, or he would probably not do it; he is shown to be practical, Spartan; fiddling with bits of powder doesn’t suit him, therefore we are left to deduce that the action is a nervous one, and that he has done it before.

When he is explaining the situation with Champmathieu, he goes on for at least a full page, but when he is not, his speech rarely exceeds a single line.

Now, he goes through a huge transition and is a different man in Paris… or is he? Marius comes to speak with him, and, again, he is short; businesslike, yes, but he could be asking Marius a million questions, and he chooses to listen and deduce what he can by himself, instead, in complete silence. When he is tied in the Corinthe and notices Valjean staring:

While they were binding Javert, a man standing on the threshold was surveying him with singular attention. The shadow cast by this man made Javert turn his head. He raised his eyes, and recognized Jean Valjean. He did not even start, but dropped his lids proudly and confined himself to the remark: “It is perfectly simple.”

Again, take it in the literal sense: upon seeing Jean Valjean, the man whom Javert has lost sleep over, his first response is to… drop his eyelids, cast his gaze down; he goes so far as to mutter to himself, but he does not engage Valjean, even though it is clear that Javert hardly cares for the rebels around them; he is brash when communicating with them, so why not call out to Valjean, even if the call was a taunting one? He is fine with prattling on about Valjean using a knife, but out of his element, he says nothing. Absolutely nothing.

It’s not that Javert’s shyness is meant to be charming; at least, I don’t think so. In a man of fifty-two, it’s a bit off-putting, a tad creepy. It shows the extent of Javert’s opinion of himself, how far he is willing to go to accent that distance between himself and “normal people”; not for any purposes of his own, but almost to make them comfortable. He’s quiet, he’s withdrawn, he’s fidgety and doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Oh, as an inspector, sure, he’s loud and he’s proud and he’s overconfident; but as a man (and even I don’t have a tendency to read Javert as a man so much as a symbol, at least, not until his death), taken out of the context of the law, he’s reserved, not quite timid, but nearly sheepish.

Amendment to the Above; Re: Javert as Ignorant Rather than Naïve

I continue to use the word “naïve” to describe Javert, but that’s far too pretty. What I’m looking for is “ignorant”. Javert is incredibly ignorant about so many things; it’s sad, and it’s shameful, and it tells you a lot about the time period that he lived it. From what we know, Javert had a limited education — he reads to remain literate, a trait that would not be seen in an active student, or a formerly active student. He writes often, yes, and he writes carefully, because he never once crosses a word out. He’s taking his time with his reports so as not to make a mistake. A confident graduate probably wouldn’t do this. You can call it Javert being “anal”, and yes, admittedly, he’s something of a perfectionist (which is outright odd because he can be so ridiculously lazy), but it’s not just that.

Javert knows the law. He concentrates on legality. That is his area of expertise, and his knowledge is fearsome, yes, but both in that he could very well destroy anybody who contested his understanding of the civil code, and that he is aware of little else.

I feel like when I read Javert as “shy”, it gives the impression that he’s a withdrawn blushing delicate flower, when really, he’s an awkward recluse who has warped his mind into thinking that, because of his birth, he will never be able to connect with people of regular or even peasant status, therefore he puts next to no effort in creating any relationships other than those of a strictly professional level. This is behavior in a fifty-two year old man. It is not charming. It is frightening, because this is the person we see in the story who wields the most power on a physical level (see Myriel/Valjean for spiritual, Enjolras for political, Marius/Cosette for emotional, etc.).

[vyrerus]

Last night was one of those nights where I just felt really proud of my video game skills. First I did early afternoon raid as Ninja for my friends mostly EU static, and did O1 to O4 as NIN. Lotted 99 on the mount, not that it mattered, everyone else already has one! Then small FFXI break between raids, still can’t get my hands on a Scroll of Temper. I am literally considering server hopping because I just can’t get my hands on one easly. Rah! Not that there’s anyone I know on Sylph anymore. I went there in early 2016 to chill with a friend and get though Adoulin/Rhapsodies, but they helped me with one mission in Reisenjima and then fucked off to do Ambuscade and Escha and shit. Now they play XIV...

Anyway back to what made me feel pride. Main raid came up. We’re missing our Astrologian because of holidays. I’m one of the tanks in that group(I fill the DRK or WAR slot), so I can’t sub in to heal, lest we get a dumb PUG tank. We got a PUG SCH and rocked 1 to 3. 4... well... our DPS have a problem with coming with their game faces on, and we only just got our WHM into beating it two weeks ago, and they’re still really shaky with some of the mechanics, and raid lead is trying to take the training wheels off and not do calls for her. We could have beat it, but the SCH we got forced a DC instead of just leaving. So we’re gonna try again Monday, since Thursday is Thanksgiving for most of us. This isn’t really what made me feel prideful, though I always feel good in that group, because they’ve all been my friends for like almost a decade via FFXI and FFXI forums. At about minute 6 of us waiting on the Scholar to come back(he never did), I get a PSN message from my buddy Okitraz Msmitty.

Oki is or was a phenomenal bard back in a static on Sargatanas that I used to raid with during Final Coil of Bahamut. That group had all the right moves, except the WHM, but the entirely wrong attitude. Some of its members were friends with and sort of understudying Xenosys Vex’s static at the time. Their WHM at the time, Omnomnom Noms would occasionally come fill in for ours when she couldn’t make it. We loved having Noms with us, because he was/is an exceptionally good healer(he’s retired from XIV now). We also had Xeno come with us a time or two. Unfortunately not at the same time as Omnomnom Noms. Which Xeno refused to change his playstyle to accomodate us, so him coming along didn’t really help us out much, but I digress. Point is, Oki is an old buddy, and one of the reasons I maintain a character on Sargatanas. Literally the only person I keep up with from that static at all, though we don’t talk as much as we used to.

Anyway, he was asking me to come help them with raid. Now I’d just run like 5 hours of Savage mode raiding, so I was kinda beat. I was like, “Sure, but I’ve gotta finish Excal raid, take a shower, and walk my puppy.” So I did all that, and he’d gotten his group to wait for me. Then they were like, “Oh well, we did 1 while we were waiting.” and I was like, “Oh well, I’m gonna hop away then. I need that book for my final ring to i340 this char’s SAM.” apparently healers are in short supply, so they do a page run for me, which we wind up 7 manning, because a PUG RDM they got left as the countdown finished for pulling Alte Roite. At first I fucked up, cause I hadn’t put on my serious healer pants sense Susanoo. In fact, my SCH was still only i320 with garbage melds, but I got the job done. Then we moved on to 2. 2 went fine, though the DPS killed themselves by not doing mechanics at 1%. No biggie, me the AST, and the tanks finished it off. Healer feet dropped, so I took them. We do O3s next. I’ve never healed O3s all of the way, not too mention, my gear is way behind relative to the rest of the group. Now, I don’t think I did any amazing parse shit. Like I’ve never been an FFlogs champ, but we got O3s down in 2 tries, and we only failed the first time because we had double ranged, and the LB3er for the Ninja/Colossus phase misstimed the LB3, and didn’t kill the Ninjas. Healer pants drop, and I win the twine too, so I move two more pieces of my healer gear up to i340 lol.

So these guys, they think I’m like some dynamite healer, when I’m really just shaking off rust and flying by the seat of my pants. They trust me to heal O4s. One of the tanks sends me a cool 1 million gil to remeld my leftside to direct hit for more damage. I’m psyching myself up to heal O4s for the first time. Suddenly, their WHM appears. At first they’re like, “Ok, we’ll have to kick Sinistral(me).” but then they’re like, “No wait, that Ninja is a PUG. Sinistral you have i340 SAM right? Come on that!” So I dodged a bullet, and got to have a ton of fun destroying O4s on SAM for a change! Also though, I got myself killed on the very last delta attack because I was slow stepping out of the Blizzard III stacks. Not to worry, I still came in second on the parse somehow, at least if I heard them right. Also we did it with 3 melee, so it was extra fun! Also when I died the Monk goes, “Uh oh, we might not make the check now.” and I was like, “Ruh roh...” But we did!

[johnjhalseth]

nother Civil War obelisk erected by Confederate Veterans in 1910. This one is Summit Point West Virginia.

http://jeffersoncountyhlc.org/index.php/about-us-3/heritage-tourism/military-options-in-jefferson-county-virginia-now-west-virginia-1861-1865/

MARKER NUMBER THIRTEEN An Account by Col. Harry Gilmor of His Fight with Somers Near Summit Point. About the close of September, 1863, 1 took 50 men from my camp at Mt. Jackson with the intention of crossing the Potomac to capture a lot of government horses and mules which my scouts had reported to be grazing in the neigh- borhood of Hagerstown. Their picket lines extended to and beyond Charles Town, where a regiment of infantry and two companies of cavalry were stationed. Captain Somers commanded the cavalry, and Col. Benjamin Simp- son the 9th Maryland. I crossed the line without being detected, but when I reached the river I found it past ford- ing, and had to return. I camped in the woods on William Washington's place, and, being determined not to go back without some game, sent scouts to watch the road leading out of Charles Town. I had not slept more than two hours when I learned that 27> cavalry had gone up the road leading to Smithtield. The men were soon mounted, and, striking out across the country, we got into the road in the rear of this squad, and followed on their trail to Smithfield. Soon after reaching the turnpike we met a man whom I knew to be a Unionist, but, expecting to capture the party ahead of mo before they could reach Charles Town in my rear, I let him pass. What a change it would have made in subsequent events had I taken him along with us! We continued at a trot until we gained. the hill immediately above Smithfield, when I closed up the column, drawing sabres, charged into the town, expecting to find the enemy there; but to my chagrin, learned that they had passed through without halting, tak- ing the road to Summit Point, and were now a considerable distance ahead. I followed on at a good swinging trot, with four or five well mounted men in advance, until we got nearly to Summit Point, when my scouts returned, saying the enemy had passed through that place also a short time previous, and were now on the road back to Charles Town. My horses were by this time much jaded, and some hardly able to keep up; still, determined not to abandon the enterprise, I struck across the fields, hoping to cut them off before they could reach Charles Town. In this I did not succeed; but three of my men ran into their rear guard just as they were entering the place. One of them, Charles Forman, was captured. I dismounted half my men, put them in position, and tried to draw out the enemy, but they had their own plan in view, and refused to follow. This made me rather suspicious, so putting twelve men un- der Captain Blackford as a rear guard, I started for Sum- mit Point and camp. I had reached the "White House, owned by Mr. Mor- row, two miles from Summit Point, had halted to let the men dismount and get water from the large spring about fifty yards off, and was the only mounted man left in the road. I had ridden up to the yard fence, and was talking to the ladies, when I heard a voice exclaim, "Here they are boys by God, we've got them now: 1 " At the same instant a bullet whistled through a lilac bush between the ladies and myself. I wheeled around and saw the head of a cavalry column on the rocky hill above, and between me and Sum- mit Point. Here was a perilous position. Seeing only the first section of fours, I knew not how many were behind them. I could not retreat, and therefore determined to make the best light possible under the circumstances. I ordered ten of my men who had carbines to get behind the ruins of an old stone stable, and fight them to the last. Seeing my horses without their riders, the others thought we were apprized of their coming, and had prepared an ambuscade; and though Captain Somers, whom I recognized, begged, implored, and cursed them, they would not charge, but stood still on the hill, popping away at us with theircarbines. One of my men Ford, from Baltimore came up with a rifle and putting his hand on my thigh, asked what he should do. I told him to get behind the stone wall, and take a r^ood aim every time he fired, ''all right, Major." Just as he spoke the word a ball pierced his head, killing him instantly. At that moment Captain Somers. who I must say was a brave man, spurred his horse down the hill, and engaged me with his pistol, firing wildly, for I saw he was much ex- cited. I reserved my fire till he came within twenty paces, steadied my horse with the bit, took a long sure aim, and Somers fell from his horse. The ball entered the side of his nose, and came out back of his head. By this time nine of my men had mounted, and, as the sharpooters had been doing good work. I thought I could risk a charge, but it was unnecessary to give the order, for I heard Read or Bosley say, ''come, boys it's a shame to leave the major there by himself;" and by the time I had returned the pistol and drawn my sabre, the boys were at my side, so on w^ went. Wh^n \\v gained the hill top, I saw, to my amazement, that there were about sixty before me, but, as there was a good post and rail fence on either side, they could show no more front than my ten men. To whip the foremost was to whip all. As I passed by the stone stable I ordered the rest to mount and follow. Captain Somers was lying across the road. I "as obliged to jump my horse over his dead body; four others lying near were either dead or wounded. Settling myself in the saddle, I dashed in among the blue jackets, cutting and thrusting right and left, and parry- ing a blow when necessary. They were from Michigan and Maryland, and for a while fought well. Observing an officer fighting like a Turk and cheering his men on, I made for him. He was a man of my own size, "ore a very heavy beard, and looked, I thought very savage as he. yelled out, 'Vome on you damned rebel, I'll soon fix your flint." This promised good sport. I closed with him, making a power- ful front cut, which he parried, and at the same instant made a right cut at my neck. By bringing my sabre do"n in time, my side caught the blow. Now I had the advan- tage. Quick as a flash I cut him across the cheek, inflict- ing a large gash, and he fell to the ground. I gave him in charge of one of my men, and then followed after my first ten, who had pushed the column back two hundred yarcis while the lieutenant and I were busy with our affair. The latter soon after escaped by jumping a stone wall and run- ning into a thick woods. We soon got them on the run, nor did w e give them time to stop and reform until they had passed through and beyond Summit Point. We had taken eighteen prisoners, and were unable to pursue them farther until my men had come up, for the federals had formed and turned upon the two or three men who were still in pursuit, but by the time they had pushed these back again to Summit Point I had dismounted ten or fifteen men, who easily checked them. We charged again, took five more prisoners, and the rest made their escape. After collecting my prisoners and men, I left by a private route for the Upper Valley, with twenty three pris- oners and twenty nine horses, leaving four of their dead and three wounded on the field. My loss was one man kill- ed, three wounded, and one taken prisoner. I reached camp safely with every thing I had captured. It seems the Unionist went immediately to Charles Town and gave information of what he had seen, and Som- ers followed me all the way round. A sad affair it turned out for him, but "such are the fortunes of war". Captain Somers was highly esteemed by his commanding officers, as shown by a long article, highly complimentaoy to him, that appeared a few days after. The same paper also al- leged that I had murdered him! Indeed! Then not a few were murdered on both sides.

[housebeleren]

War of the Spark Limited - Power Commons

Hoo boy, it’s time for another set already. War of the Spark is exciting for so many reasons, not the least of which is that it is a whole new limited environment. And it looks to be a pretty fun one, if I do say so myself. Planeswalkers at Uncommon add a whole new dimension and calculus to gameplay decisions. The power level of cards at Common has been stepped up a notch in a number of cases. And the flavor is off the charts. I think this is going to be a blast, if I do say so myself.

With that said, let’s start taking a look at the cards that you’ll want to keep your eyes open for during Prerelease weekend. There’s a lot to go through. Also, for the first time, I’ll add a preliminary rating to each of the cards.

White

It always starts with removal, doesn’t it? Gideon’s Reproach has always been good, and I suspect it will be here too. (I suppose they can’t use Gideon’s Reproach anymore, huh? It’ll have to be Divine Arrows from now on. *Sad Face*) But yes, 4 damage is a good amount for this effect that will take out a lot of threats, and 2 mana is nice and flexible. You probably don’t want tons of these, but every deck will want one. 3.0/5

Tappers are hit or miss, but I suspect this one will be a hit. One mana to cast and one mana to activate are the right stats for this, and the condition of 2 or greater is hardly a restriction at all, in most sets any way. The only problem is it can’t tap Army tokens, but I still think this guy will see plenty of play in the format. 3.0/5

It feels so heartless to put the horse on the same list as the card that kills it, but what can I say, they’re both great Commons. This is a new take on Pegasus Courser, and I’m here for it. The extra point of power makes it more of a threat in and of itself, and will be great for when you need to lay some threat on opposing Planeswalkers. In fact, I predict this card will be an all-star at taking down annoying ‘Walkers. The loss of a point of toughness is relevant, as it means it dies to removal more easily. This means there are two cards at Common (Sorin’s Thirst and Chandra’s Pyrohelix) that can take this guy out that couldn’t do the same with Pegasus Courser, so do keep that in mind. However, don’t take that to mean you shouldn’t play this card. You should. 3.0/5

Sure, it’s expensive, but I’ll pay 5 mana to remove any creature in limited, and I won’t complain. The format looks like it won’t be especially aggressive, so you shouldn’t be super behind when casting this. Tacking Proliferate on it is pure upside if you have creatures with counters or any Planeswalkers, and I expect this to be a high pick for decks running either. Or just, y’know... any deck. 3.5/5

Overall, White strikes me as actually being a really good defensive control color. Sure, it has some great options for Flying creatures and combat tricks to pressure the opponent, but it also has really strong removal and a lot of good defensive cards to sit behind while you proliferate your army or grind value out of your Planeswalkers.

Blue

Now, I totally am prepared to be wrong about this, but hear me out. First off, it’s a Wind Drake with an upside, so the floor is pretty high to begin with, since that’s almost always a playable card. The ETB is also a good one, since it spreads 3/3 worth of stats across 2 bodies, either by making a 1/1 token or pumping up the Army you already have. This is also a way to get some +1/+1 counters on the battlefield at a relatively early spot on your curve, which is important, since Blue is the only color to overlap on both Amass & Proliferate. You want to get that army going early so you can start pummeling with it quickly. 3.0/5

Even though this is a lower cost than the aven, you’re going to use it in the game later. In fact, this is a great trick to follow up the Aven. Bounce whatever they land, then swing with your now-larger army & the bird, with 2 mana open to do something else. One other reason I think this card is good is that it isn’t restricted to your opponent’s cards. In other words, you can target your own Planeswalker with this card to reset it.

I hope I made that point clear. I don’t think that mode is going to come up every game, for sure, but with Uncommon Planeswalkers who can only go down in loyalty, this is a cute way to return it to your hand to get extra value out of it. If you have The Wanderer or Kaya or something, that’s seriously worth considering. 3.0/5

I love a good looter. Sure, costing 2 isn’t the best ever, but it’s a decent early play, and it will help you get rid of excess lands and turn them into playable cards in the late game. It’s an unassuming little card, but it’s a good blocker early and relevant late? I’m sold. 2.5/5

Blue never gets much in the way of true removal, so this works for me. I love that it hits any creature and nerfs not only their stats, but also removes their abilities, which can be relevant. Do note that this does nothing against opposing Army tokens except make them bigger, so don’t try using it against them.

Huh, I wonder if there’s ever going to be a use case to cast this on your own Army as a permanent +1/+1 buff? It could happen... 3.0/5

Blue, normally relegated to only being control, actually seems pretty balanced to me this time. The fact that it is the only color to get both Amass and Proliferate cards means that it’s well-suited to flex in multiple direction, and gives it a lot of potential to snowball out of control if they can’t remove your Army token. There’s some decent tempo & removal at Common, and some very serviceable Flying creatures to get damage in while you build up a giant Army monster on the ground. Seems good to me.

Black

How good this is depends entirely on one thing, and that’s if you have a Planeswalker in your Graveyard. If you do, this is a solid 2 for 1 and a ticket straight to Value-town. Again, given that the Uncommon Planeswalkers (which will be the ones you have most often) all have only minus abilities, finding ways to get multiple uses out of them is excellent. And this seems like basically the best way to do it in Black. 

Also, this is some premium flavor text right here. 2.5/5

Black doesn’t have any Common creatures that I’d call true standouts, but this one is the closest. 3/2 for four mana is intensive, but it is going to trade with something pretty often, and once it does, it leaves you with a 2/2 for your trouble. That’s some pretty solid value and I’d basically always run this. 3.0/5

Woooo baby! Remember when we used to pay 5 mana for -4/-4? Damn! To be clear, a large portion of the time this is going to be Murder, except easier to cast, with an exile clause, and at Common. Like, what?!?! 

That’s spicy. Don’t expect to see these late. 3.5/5

Aside from giving me all the feels, this is going to be your bread & butter kill spell for the format, and it’s a good one. It’s essentially a split card Bone Splinters & Death’s Caress, that also can hit Planeswalkers, and that flexibility is great. I expect to be harvesting a lot of sparks in this format. 3.5/5

When I look at Black, one word comes to mind: Value. The best cards in Black all net you really solid value by offering flexibility or helping you maximize your resources. Black seems like it will be a really solid partner to any other color in the format.

Red

It’s not crazy good, but I think it will be a useful tool. 2 damage is enough to threaten most Planeswalkers whose owners let them get too low, and this can help pick off little creatures. It’s not flashy, but it’s super flexible, and I suspect it’s something most Red decks will want one of. 2.5/5

Jaya’s signature spell is less flexible, but more powerful, so having access to both at Common is nice. This will cleanly take out most creatures into the mid-game, and tacking on the Scry 1 is a nice touch to help smooth out draws. I definitely expect to be running these. 3.0/5

I had to include the Kronch! First of all, whoever came up with that name deserves a million high-fives, because it is simply perfect. On top of that, it’s a pretty sweet card. 4/3 is huge for a 3 drop, so it will serve as a potent blocker even if you don’t have a 2 drop to swing with. If you do, this threatens a real beating, and that’s space I like Red to live in. 2.5/5

This pick is a little more optimistic, but it really doesn’t take much for it to be netting you value. Honestly, even one trigger gets this to playable territory, and two+ and you’re really in business. Don’t run it in a deck that’s 23 creatures, but assuming you have at least 5 ways to trigger this, I think it’s going to be solid. I’m going to give this one a cautious vote of approval. 2.5/5

Red is where it likes to be, low on the curve and full of fire. There is a pile of burn at Common, which gives us a lot of flexibility to work with in deciding what we need in our deck to deal with the threats at hand. And the creatures seem to have pretty solid stats, though none of them are blowing me away. There’s enough payoffs between Red & Blue to make it seem like the spellslinger deck could come together, so I’ll be excited to see if it does.

Green

I remember Ambuscade being good, and this seems like it’s basically that, so I’m here for it. Sure, it’s worse if you only have one creature out, but all the rest of the time it’s better, so I’ll take it. It’s a good removal spell for Green, and I’ll take a couple of them. 3.0/5

This seems really good. I’d play a 4/4 for four mana pretty much any day, and tacking on Proliferate just seems solid. I worry that people will fall into the trap of holding on to this instead of playing it on turn 4, hoping to maximize value out of it. If the format is reaaaaaaaaly grindy, I could see that being the correct move, but usually I would say play this on curve whenever you can. The Proliferate will be useful if you draw into it later in the game. 3.0/5

We haven’t had good old fashioned Giant Growth for a long time, and I’m really excited to see it make a return with good boy Mowu. It’s just a huge amount of stats for 1 mana, and you’d better be prepared for this to ruin your day if you see that one forest untapped mid-combat. 2.5/5

Thornhide Wolves are usually playable, and this is better. 4/5 seems like a really good size in this set to stymie all sorts of attackers, and threatens major damage if allowed to attack. (Toss a Giant Growth on this thing for maximum results!) If you draw it in the late game, it can help push through a board stall, assuming you have some big enough creatures out to be relevant. Either way, I like it, but won’t take more than one, maybe two. 2.5/5

Green has the biggest threats of the bunch, as per usual, but this time they really do seem to tower over most of the other colors’ threats by a considerable amount. I suppose that’s because Blue, Black, and Red all have Amass, so they can grow taller than Green, given time. That implies to me that Green will want to be one of the more aggressive colors in the set, to take your enemy down before they can Amass a large Army.

Colorless

This set is pretty heavily multicolor, and splashing will likely be pretty common, though I don’t expect lots of people to run full three-color decks. If you want ramp and a splash, Mana Geode is probably your best bet. It makes all colors and has Scry 1 just to one-up Manalith. 2.5/5

Guild Globe is decent if you only have a single card you need to splash for, since it’s not repeatable. It has little cost to adding to your deck, since it replaces itself, but that doesn’t mean you can run a ton of these for no reason. The other reason I’d consider a card like this are for some of the “noncreature spell” payoffs in Blue/Red, since it triggers those and cantrips. 2.0/5

Prismite costs you mana for the ability to filter, but it has the added benefit of being a completely reasonable 2-drop creature to get some early swings in. I could definitely see running this in a 3+ color deck that wants early drops. However, if such a deck is viable is completely up to how the format shapes up. 2.0/5

If it were White or Blue, it would need to be 3 mana for me to get excited about these stats. But for completely colorless, this is totally reasonable. I’ll say it again: fliers are good against Planeswalkers, and I can absolutely picture running this in a deck that is short on evasion in its natural colors. The ETB effect is pretty much decorative. 2.5/5

For the cards that didn’t make the list above, here are my preliminary ratings (All ratings based out of 5):

Battlefield Promotion - Solid combat trick. 2.5

Bulwark Giant - Expensive for ok stats, but playable. 2.0

Charmed Stray - Trust me, I would kill for an all Charmed Stray deck to be viable, but I’m not expecting it to be. If you get like 5 of these, go for it. 1.5

Defiant Strike - This was better in KTK, when White had Prowess. Here, it’s a subpar combat trick, and it’s in the wrong color for cheap spells that cantrip. 1.5

Enforcer Griffin - Perfectly serviceable. 2.5

Gideon’s Sacrifice - All the feels, but the use case is narrow. 1.5

Ironclad Krovod - White feels super defensive in this set. ‘Saright. 2.0

Loxodon Sergeant - Decent if you can curve into it. 2.5

Makeshift Battalion - I like the literal throwback to the Battalion keyword from Gatecrash. Totally playable. 2.5

Martyr for the Cause - Value entirely based on how many proliferate targets you have. Probably ranges from a 1.5 to a 2.5 based on the deck, so I’ll split the difference. 2.0

Pouncing Lynx - Fresh-Faced Recruit seems way worse in this format than it was in Guilds, but still playable. 2.0

Rising Populace - Eh, I think this will get there about half the time. 2.0

Teyo’s Lightshield - White is SO DEFENSIVE this time. I’ll be optimistic and give this a try, because the counter can be relevant. 2.0

Topple the Statue - Despite the cantrip, I think this is still sideboard. 1.0

War Screecher - Good blocker early, mana sink later? Okay, I’ll try it. 2.0

Ashiok’s Skulker - Seems playable, and a decent way to spend excess mana later in the game. 2.0

Contentious Plan - I see why it’s contentious. You have to be super heavy on proliferate to make this happen. 1.0

Crush Dissent - 4 mana makes this a tough sell for me. 1.5

Kiora’s Dambreaker - Totally reasonable top end with upside. 2.5

Naga Eternal - Strictly filler. 1.5

No Escape - I like this a touch better than Crush Dissent, since creatures & ‘Walkers are what you want to counter mostly anyway. 2.0

Relentless Advance - The rate isn’t great, but I can see it happening if you need filler. 1.5

Sky Theater Strix - Bird is a little flimsy for my preference. 1.5

Spellkeeper Weird - I like this guy, and actually think he’s pretty good. Could bump him up later if he ends up overperforming. 2.5

Stealth Mission - I usually don’t have room for these effects, but the counters are nice. 2.0

Tamiyo’s Epiphany - Decent in control. Bad otherwise. 2.0

Teferi’s Time Twist - Mediocre trick. 1.5

Thunder Drake - I doubt the ability will activate often, but fortunately he’s almost on curve anyway, so I’ll play him. 2.5

Totally Lost - Always just a touch more expensive than I’d like. 2.0

Wall of Runes - Great flavor text, mediocre play otherwise. 1.5

Banehound - If you can pile some counters on him, it can be a beating. On its own, too flimsy to be excited about. 1.5

Charity Extractor - French-vanilla blocker is vanilla. 1.5

Davriel’s Shadowfugue - Not sure the 2 life is worth an extra mana over Mind Rot - 1.5

Duskmantle Operative - Bear with an upside? 2.0

Kaya’s Ghostform - Ok way to protect a bomb or reuse an ETB. 1.5

Lazotep Behemoth - HERE for the zombie-potamus, stats are fine. 2.0

Lazotep Reaver - Decent stats for a 2 drop. 2.0

Shriekdiver - Could be a good way to hit a PW out of nowhere. 2.0

Sorin’s Thirst - Good card, double-Black can be tricky. 2.5

Spark Reaper - The activation cost is just a little too expensive for me to be really excited about this, but the stats are decent anyway. 2.5

Tithebearer Giant - This actually seems pretty playable to me. It has a presence and replaces itself right away. 2.5

Toll of the Invasion - I generally advise against playing these in limited. 1.5

Unlikely Aid - ‘Saright. 1.5

Vampire Opportunist - If the format ends up being suuuuuper grindy, I could see this, but I highly doubt this will be your go-to way to close out games. I’d rather have Child of Night most of the time. 1.5

Vraska’s Finisher - Stats are decent on its own, the ability won’t come up too often, but may enable early creatures to trade up, at least until people begin anticipating this line of play. 2.5 now, 2.0 once people wise up.

Ahn-Crop Invader - With enough fodder, this is pretty threatening. I’ll give it a try. 2.0

Blindblast - Fun way to push damage through or pick off an X/1. 2.0

Burning Prohpet - I like this and would usually run it. 2.0

Chainwhip Cyclops - Seems solid. 2.5

Demolish - NOPE. There are very few targets worth hitting in this set. 0.5

Goblin Assailant - Vanilla goblin is still vanilla. 1.5

Goblin Assault Team - I like that this is in the set to threaten Planeswalkers for people who don’t leave defenses up. 2.0

Grim Initiate - Maybe? But mostly I see constructed here. 1.5

Heartfire - Red gets a Bone Splinters, which is fine. 2.0

Honor the God-Pharaoh - I think most Red decks will be fine with one of these. 2.0

Invading Manticore - I like this very much actually. 6/7 worth of stats is totally decent. 2.5

Nahiri’s Stoneblades - Seems playable, but not amazing. 1.5

Samut’s Sprint - Ditto. 1.5

Sarkhan’s Catharsis - I really wish this hit creatures, but taking out Planeswalkers makes this better than Lava Axe. 2.0

Turret Ogre - There’s enough flying in this set, and they’re mostly small, so this seems playable. The other text is just decorative. 2.0

Arboreal Grazer - Eh? I don’t think this will be a format where getting ahead on curve is massively important. 1.5

Arlinn’s Wolf - The definition of playable. 2.0

Centaur Nurturer - I like the stats, I like the ability, but there’s not tons to ramp into in this set. Does help a splash though, and a good blocker. 2.5

Courage in Crisis - I wish this cost 1G instead. 1.5

Forced Landing - Classic Sideboard. 1.0

Kraul Stinger - ‘Walker protection. Interesting how few Deathtouch creatures there are after two sets that were full of them. 2.0

Kronch Wrangler - I really want to love this card, but I think most decks will only have 1-2 ways to trigger him, since most big creatures will use Amass or Proliferate to get that way. 2.0

New Horizons - Cute way to get a counter on a creature, plus fixing. 2.0

Pollenbright Druid - Strict upgrade to Satyr Grovedancer, and I’m here for it. A bear when you need it, a slight pump when you need it, and a massive pump when you have the setup. Flexible druid is flexible. 2.5

Primordial Wurm - Always playable. 2.0

Return to Nature - Sideboard bullet. I like the added mode. 1.0

Snarespinner - Totally decent blocker that holds off most fliers well. 2.0

Steady Aim - This trick has always played well. 2.0

Vivien’s Grizzly - I like this a lot. Fine body early, great mana sink late. 2.5

Wardscale Crocodile - In a set with virtually no playable auras, this goes down in value for me. Still threatens a lot of damage. 2.0

Iron Bully - There are better ways to get counters going in this set, but the menace can be relevant. I’ll give it a shot. 2.0

Gateway Plaza - Lack of Gate synergies makes this worse than before, but still useful for fixing when you need it. 1.5

Whew. That’s it for now. I’ll be back with the Uncommons & Rares soon!