#and is down cataclysmic about it with no hope of recovery | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

romirola · 2 years ago

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okay OKAY I have a sad request ;u; ❛ if this is the end, i’m really glad i get to be here with you. ❜ <- my initial thoughts were milo and sweetheart during cataclysm, while Milo is in recovery and the others are off to save the world, but an AU with these two would work as well? bless you, romi ;u;

Ooh, this IS a sad request, @ejunkiet! Thank you for the prompt, though! I agree that this quote vibes with cataclysm, but I’ll admit, after the conclusion of that series, it’s not a universe I think I understand enough to write about confidently. So, I hope you don’t mind if I set us in the (sort of/speculative) canon universe. And, maybe infuse a little bit of light into the darkness that is this prompt… Yup. You guessed it. We’ve got a little Quinn-aftermath scene.

Rated: M (kidnapping, discussion of/aftermath of graphic violence, mentions of Quinn); WC:~2.3K; Prompts: Milo/Sweetheart, “If this is the end, I’m really glad I get to be here with you.”

This story will be added to my AO3 collection of oneshots, but the site is currently down, so I am going to post it in full here. I don't want to make you wait.

Read the story below.

Sweetheart stared up at the ceiling, counting a row of tiles and then a column. It was a technique they had learned in a Department training seminar they took years ago that discussed emergency situation operations. According to that serenity daemon instructor, counting the tiles and then multiplying the numbers to figure out the total number was a good way to nudge your brain into reorienting yourself after having experienced physical trauma. A reset. A way to stay calm and composed so that you could hold it together long enough to think rationally enough to survive whatever had fucked you up.

But, it wasn’t working, Sweetheart thought sadly.

They were still fucked and their brain must’ve been more scrambled than they realized. Sweetheart knew they had been locked away in some abandoned building, alone with this old-blood maniac for days, but they could’ve sworn they heard wolf snarls and bones breaking. They could feel air whizzing past their body, gusts of breath and movement stinging their skin, marred with countlessly bites and bruises. They could even feel the steel, ward-infused chains that had cruelly cut them off from their own powers, from a part of themselves they had always relied on, had worked to strengthen, had loved and cherished deeply.

None of that was real, they told themselves. Those were hallucinations created out of their desperate prayers for help, clinging to the impossible hope that somehow, they’d be rescued from this hellhole. How many times since their capture had they escaped into the recesses of their mind, reliving happy memories that centered around their incredible mate, to distract themselves from the sheer agony that threatened to break them?

Another wolf growl cut through Sweetheart’s awareness. It sounded just like Milo, though the sound was low, gravelly, and downright monstrous. More ferocious than they’d ever heard Milo, even when that had let that lone shade nab them during that fateful case all that time ago.

“Sweetheart? Sweetheart!”

Hands grasped their feeble body. The touch was gentle, loving. They had almost forgotten what that felt like after having been subjected to rough feedings and violent beatings, all interspersed with the horrific mockery and threats that were supposed to get them to spill the intel that would endanger everyone in their pack.

They never broke. Not one iota of information spilled past their lips.

Screams? Yes. Curses? Oh, yeah. And, most recently, some tight sobs? Those, too.

But never anything of use.

“Hey, hey, hey, look at me? Can you hear me?” The hands were moving across their body now, careful to avoid most of the cuts and bruises, as they supported their chest and head off of the floor and into something… something new. Warm. Comfortable. Safe.

“M-M-Milo?” Sweetheart mumbled through cracked lips. “Milo?” They strained to tilt their head up, searching for him even when every neuron in their head told them it was impossible. "Are you really here?"

“I’m here, Sweetheart,” Milo assured them. He held them tightly in his strong arms. “I’m right here. I got you.” He sounded exhausted. Even in their weakened state, the stealth heard the faint tinge of worry running through Milo’s voice, even if his words were meant to help relax them. “I got you now. Everything’s gonna be alright.”

Sweetheart melted into Milo’s arms, finally convinced that what they were perceiving was reality. He was here. Milo was here with them.

“Quinn is dead,” Milo told them, barely able to hang onto his human form at the thought of the old-blood vampire having hurt his Sweetheart. Days ago, Quinn had strategically struck, forcing Sweetheart to pursue him alone or risk a bloodbath made up of a few innocent civilians. They had been using all of their resources at D.U.M.P. to find Quinn and call for his arrest, so Quinn felt it was necessary to retaliate with a brutal flair. Sweetheart had fought valiantly, but Quinn had the advantage of surprise and leverage. It wasn’t long before he took them away and taunted the wolfpack with little messages and clues that told them nothing of his whereabouts.

Only of Sweetheart’s pain. And a demand for them to give up Darling in exchange for Sweetheart.

<em>”The stealth for the misfit. Act fast, Alpha. This deal won’t last long. And neither will they." </em>

The voice messages (and Sweetheart's stifled screams in the background) would haunt Milo for years to come, but he couldn’t think about that now. He had more important things to take care of. Sweetheart’s wounds were gnarly and more than a few were visibly infected. They felt hot to the touch, but shivered in his arms. That told Milo they were feverish. No doubt they lost a lot of blood. Quinn’s bite marks left little to the imagination, littering their neck, their wrists, even their hips. The fingers on their left hand were all swollen and twisted out of alignment. Maybe broken. They had a black eye, perhaps a concussion.

Milo felt his blood boil with rage and his heart constrict with fear. He threaded his fingers into Sweetheart’s hair, disturbed to feel the dried blood and knots when he did so. “Easy now. Don’t move. You’re alright.” It pained him to admit it, but he had to wait for someone else to heal them, or else risk accidentally making their myriad of wounds worse. They needed a real healer. He cursed himself, flashing back to all those times he opted to learn only the barest minimum of healing at his mother’s insistence. If Milo had known he’d be in a position like this, he would’ve spent hours, day, years honing the craft so that he could ease his mate’s pain and save their life. It would’ve all been worth it.

“You’re here!” Sweetheart beamed, snapping Milo out of his worries. When their mouth curled into a smile for the first time since their capture, the muscles in their face grew sore. “Hey.” They weakly tapped their wrist against Milo’s chest. "What took you so long? It's not like you to be late.” Sweetheart tried to force a laugh at their attempt at a joke, but all that came out was a thin, strained noise. The eerie noise trailed off into one, lone sob. Then another. Soon, a torrent of tears flooded their eyes, dripping down their face. Sweetheart crumpled into Milo, unable to do anything other than cry and shake. The full weight of their ordeal hit them like a punch to the gut. They had remained strong in the face of evil. But now that they were in the arms of mercy, they wept without care.

Milo kissed their forehead, slowly rocking back and forth as he held Sweetheart through their breakdown. "It's okay," the shifter whispered, as much for his own benefit as for Sweetheart's. "You're safe. I'm here. It's okay. Everything's okay. You're safe. He's gone. And I'm here."

“It… He… I…” Sweetheart gulped air, struggling to stop their cries just long enough to expel the rush of thoughts and feelings that rushed into their head. “Quinn s-s-said you were gonna leave me here,” they explained haphazardly, grabbing a fistful of Milo’s shirt. They didn’t say a word about the blood that stained his shirt. That alone spoke to how shaken they were. “And th-th-then he said you tried to attack, but he killed you before you even had a chance to fight. Th-then he’d laugh, tell m-m-me he was kidding.” They grew more distressed with every word. “I didn’t know what to believe! I didn’t know if you… If you…”

“I’m fine,” Milo soothed, angry but unsurprised to hear that Quinn had tortured his mate mentally as well as physically. “See? I’m fine.” He gingerly took Sweetheart’s hand and moved it over his heart, knowing that they often responded to the beat of his heart when they were tucked in bed together. “Everyone else is fine, too. Don’t worry. David and Sam are just taking care of a few things and they’ll get a healer here soon, okay? Really soon.” Milo swallowed.

The whole pack, along with a handful of Solaires and some of the Keaton pack, had descended on Quinn like they were rabid. David and Darling had led the charge, with everyone else following close behind to join the fight. It was all a blur. One minute, Milo was taking a bite out of Quinn’s calf and the next, he was bounding down a staircase, feeling the pull of his mate’s aura. He’d let out a howl that he found Sweetheart before shifting to approach them. David answered immediately, promising to get there as soon as he could with Sam once they were finished with Quinn and healed up the injuries anyone received during the fight.

“It… was… awful,” Sweetheart whimpered. “Everything hurts… He just kept feeding. Over and over again. I was so s-s-scared.” They began to cough, hard and wet, practically seizing in Milo’s arms. When they lifted their head, Milo felt his stomach flip over itself when he saw streaks of blood dribbling from their lips.

Milo wasn’t a healer by trade, but he had learned enough from his mother to know that meant Sweetheart was bleeding internally.

“I don’t… feel good.” Sweetheart screwed their eyes shut, face pulling taunt. “Can we go home now? Please, Milo?”

Their head lolled across his chest. He quickly realized they were becoming less and less coherent with each passing second. “I’ll take you home, I promise, Sweetheart. I will, just as soon as we get you healed up.”

Sweetheart groaned. A pressure unlike anything they'd ever known exploded in their chest.

Milo felt them rest even more of their weight into his body. “Whoa, Sweetheart!” He shook them lightly, alarmed at how their eyes began to glaze over. “Stay with me!”

Sweetheart’s lips trembled as they tried to keep what little control over their muscles they had. After a pitiful moan, they smiled, but their expression didn’t lessen Milo’s anxiety one bit. They looked dazed, somewhere in between unconsciousness and reality. “If this is the end…” Sweetheart clumsily reached for Milo’s neck. “I’m really glad I get to be here with you.” They summoned every last bit of strength they had to brush their thumb up and down Milo’s neck, just like they always would.

They didn't want to die, but at least they could spend their dying breath holding Milo.

“The end?!” Milo exclaimed. “No, no, no, this isn’t the end! Sweetheart, no! Hang in there, please. Please, we’re gonna get you healed and everything will be fine. Please, please, Sweetheart. I love you so much. Please, just hang on a little longer.”

Sweetheart’s eyelids drooped and they fully folded into Milo. Desperate to do as Milo asked, even if they couldn’t think clearly anymore, Sweetheart tried to stay tethered to reality, even if their body screamed at them to let go and rest.

“Rib punctured a lung… Try to get that taken care of first… Need more… Fever is ragin'”

In the distance, they heard Milo barking orders for Sam to help, for David to come right away, for anyone to help him heal Sweetheart. Before long, they felt the familiar hum of healing magic enter their body. The magic, most definitely vampiric, was thrust into them. It wasn't sloppily done by any means, but the magic certainly lacked the gentle, professional touch that Sam usually used.

“How’s this…? …working? …I think… Still bleeding... I’m running out…”

Another bout of healing magic ripped through their gut, this one even more roughly formed but no less effective. They could’ve sworn that they recognized the aura. Could it be… David?

Maybe if Sweetheart had their wits about them, they would have recognized the gravity of the situation. It would have dawned on them that their pack was racing to heal them all at once to save their life. But, instead of thinking about that, Sweetheart continued to float weightlessly, muscles thick and mouth dry, as they let their drowsy thoughts drift to Milo.

They tried to open their eyes, but all they could see was empty darkness. It was cold.

“No, no, Sweetheart! …not the end… I promised… I promised to take them home… I can… Focus… Please, Sweetheart… love you…”

They could barely untangle fantasy and reality when they felt a third surge of healing magic. This aura felt almost as familiar as their own. Milo, they realized slowly. Milo was healing them, too. His magic weaved its way through their body, laced with a warmth that offset the sharp discomfort that usually accompanied healing magic.

Overwhelmed at the buzz of three separate sources of magic pulsing through their body, Sweetheart finally succumbed to the growing exhaustion.

When Sweetheart returned to consciousness, they found themselves tucked into the bed they shared with Milo. To their left was Aggro purring and kneading a bunched up fuzzy blanket that he was, no doubt, arranging for them. To their right was their mate, dozing softly beside them, his chin against their forehead. Sweetheart stirred a bit, stretching their arms and legs to find they were all still attached and, minus a few dull aches or pins-and-needles twinges, painless. They exhaled deeply, the rush of memories coming back to them in flashes.

“Swee’hear’?” Milo asked through a yawn, willing himself awake to evaluate Sweetheart. "How you feeling?"

“Milo,” they whispered. They had so much more to say, yet they couldn’t figure out how to speak anything else. “I feel... Good. You…”

“Yeah,” Milo interrupted. “I told you, that wasn’t going to be our ending.” He pulled them a bit tighter to him, mindful of their injuries and the residual magic still infused in their fragile body. “You and me? We’re in it for the long haul.” He pressed a tender kiss to their forehead, sensing that Sweetheart was still in need of sleep. “Rest, Sweetheart. I’m right here.”

Content to know they were safe and loved, Sweetheart let Quinn’s memory fade away. They soaked in the healing touch of their mate and feel back to sleep.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redactedverse #redacted fanfiction #redacted milo #milo greer #redacted sweetheart #hurt/comfort #thank you!

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coldgoldlazarus · 3 years ago

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Impromptu Discussion Of RWBY'S Themes

(This was supposed to be way smaller and less rambly, but I kinda went crazy instead so now this is a whole thing.) If you haven't seen Volume 8 yet for some reason, spoilers under the cut:

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While I have lots of issues with Unicorn Of War, I do have to admit one interesting thing he pointed out was how each Volume of RWBY seems to have it's own central theme or thesis.

Volume 1: Innocence

Volume 2: Maturity

Volume 3: Trauma

Volume 4: Recovery

Volume 5: Choice

Volume 6: Responsibility

Furthermore, I don't remember if he explicitly pointed this out himself, but I find it interesting that with the first six, they can be grouped up into three sets of pairs based around contrasting themes. Volume 1's light-heartedness in introducing the cast plays off of Volume 2 drawing clear attention to the team still being kids despite their increasingly perilous lifestyle. Volume 3 puts the characters (and the audience, honestly) through a sudden and intense horrific experience, leading into Volume 4 addressing the aftermath and the need to heal and press on. While Volume 5 has RNJR somewhat limited, the plots with Raven and Blake and Illia (and even Lionheart to a lesser extent) highlight the idea of choice, while Volume 6 answers that with the importance of the responsibility that affects those choices.

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Unicorn Of War didn't really touch on this for the most recent two volumes, but they carry this idea forward in a rather interesting way, with each Volume doubling up on both a theme and it's counterpoint, examining both in equal measure and being more (thematically) self-contained as a result, even as the plot more directly flows from one to the next.

Volume 7: Trust vs. Fear

Volume 8: Agency vs. Circumstances/Consequences

Volume 7 isn't afraid to wear its thesis on its sleeve, to the point that it's literally spelled out by the opening and the finale credits songs, so I don't feel the need to elaborate on that any further, but Volume 8 is a bit more tricky to sort out since there's just so much going on all at once.

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Still, I think that with Penny and Cinder and their decisions and level of autonomy taking center stage, the horrific reveal of the Hound's nature, everyone struggling under the weight of an unprecedented and cataclysmic event, and the "flip-o-lympics" of defections happening left, right, and center, I do think it's safe to say that Volume 8 is primarily about the complicated interplay between personal agency and the limitations imposed by ones' circumstances; where one ends and the other begins.

In a way, it's almost a repeat of the Volume 5/Volume 6 duology, but it takes the idea further and increasingly puts strain on 6's hopeful conclusion that "the effort has to be made regardless of the risk," with RWBY and company forced to confront a worst-case scenario where the consequences of failure extend well past just themselves in a very immediate and painfully visceral way. No plan survives first contact with the enemy, and here it's their very ideology, their very agency and ability to make a meaningful difference, that becomes threatened and worn down.

Enough essays have been written about Penny and her struggling to retain her own agency against her enemy's suppression, her friend's well-intentioned meddling, and her own self-sacrificial habits, that I don't have much to add there. (Maybe once V9 and beyond show us how this plotline is handled going forward, I might get into some thoughts on her identity and the humanization via the staff, but while I'm cautiously optimistic I'd still prefer to hedge my bets for now.)

But similarly, Cinder's storyline shows us her attempts to reclaim her agency after falling so low, even as she remains trapped by the circumstances of her upbringing and Salem's influence that she's still in denial about and how that impacts her decisions. (And again, paralleling and continuing Volume 5's earlier, rougher explorations of choice and morality and the complicated squiggly line between external factors and personal accountability.) Hell, this is even explored a bit in Salem, when Yang calls her out on her bullshit in Witch.

Ultimately RWBY do find a way to circumvent a genocide and focus on the most important things to save, but even then it's imperfect and hasty and they still take losses that can't be undone, (though I swear to god if RT really did kill off FNKI I will be deeply upset and need to have words with them) as well as (hopefully more temporarily) paying in Penny's blood. It's the consequences of their circumstances, the lack of better options and better time to plan, all the variables they weren't even able to take into account. It's still a victory in that the majority of the citizens were saved, but with the loss of a Kingdom, (even though Atlas was deeply corrupt and frankly needed to go, that's one less safe place in the world) the loss of friends, the loss of both of the currently in-play relics, and even (for now) the loss of Team RWBY themselves. It was a combination of luck and cleverness that let them manage as well as they did, but it was still a draw at best.

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But even so, while the doom and gloom and the heart-shattering consequences was the point, there is a point. The misery isn't glorified for shock value like on some shows, (looking at you, Game Of Thrones) it's still a learning experience. Despite all the losses, they still managed to evacuate the citizenry. Even amidst everything going catastrophically wrong and Penny's agency being so smothered that she only got to choose the means of her death and who would recieve her powers as a result, there is still hope, because despite everything RWBY are still out there, and despite holding all the cards at the beginning, Salem's come out of this with just the relics, Cinder, two lieutenants in Vacuo, and not much else.

RWBY have now been through true war, and seen the consequences of their actions (whether good or bad) and the oppressive weight of the circumstances they must navigate within, and they're still out there. And while each Volume has its central focus or theme(s), there is also a lot of overlap and echo. ("It's like a poem, it rhymes.") Volume 3 explores the fragility of trust just as much as Volume 7, and 8 mirrors 2 in confronting RWBY with the darker side of the world around them and their place within a bigger picture. Cinder's story in 8 is a more refined examination of Raven's in 5, and several other characters face the same choice as Illia's. Even Volume 5's Menagerie plot answers ideas set up by Volume 1's finale. Point is, these themes aren't restricted to just one Volume, and I think it's safe to assume Volume 9 will most likely continue (to some degree) Volume 4's ideas on coping with loss and recovering from trauma, and learning from what went wrong without letting it define you. The strangely cheery tone of Friend, and the ending credits scene (starting on Ruby's damaged Crescent Rose but then moving past it to the horizon) are there to say that even after this, there is still a path to keep moving forward.

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In the end, I feel like while RWBY has always been better than many give it credit for, (despite still being undeniably flawed) this choice to double up on the contrasting themes within a single volume starting from 6 onward* has helped make its exploration of those themes more clear, along with the duality allowing for more complex interplay between the opposing ideas, and the return to and expansion of the central focuses of earlier seasons.

*(because while it does pair with Volume 5, "she knew there really was no choice at all"; it also is very obviously focused on the duality of responsibility and action vs. apathy and inaction, making it also somewhat self-contained)

And I for one, cannot wait to see what Volume 9 will bring to the table.

#not a reblog #rwby #rwby spoilers #rwby analysis #rwby volume 8 #I can't wait for v9 #but i will anyway #because I prefer they take their time #and more importantly take care of their team #than rush it to an arbitrary deadline #and make the product and the people making it suffer #so I'm more than cool with the 2022 delay #just wanted to get that out there too #but I am very excited regardless #also nervous #because it's rwby #and pain is sure to be in plentiful supply #but still

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my-writings-and-musings · 4 years ago

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Hey I read your oxygen loss scenarios and I absolutely loved them, even if they made me really sad at first, but I still love them entirely! If you're still doing them, could you do one with Fort Max?

Thanks a bunch! Angst with a happy ending is kind of my favorite thing in the world, so I'm glad others feel the same! It absolutely works well with our big Maxy boy!

Here's the other posts for this prompt!

Part One: Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: You're Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Fort Max

·Somehow, he's fallen for a being so small they fit in his cupped palms, and yet the two of you fit together so well he can't complain. Though he's a tad bit overprotective, you don't mind at all, and understand what drives the behavior even if he doesn't say it. What matters is that he's improving, and adores you so much every little activity is better in his mind when done with you, even just chilling and managing his security reports. That's why you're on his desk at the moment, relaxing on the human sized furniture he occasionally uses as paperweights when you're not around. Every so often you'll look up and find him glancing your way with a loving expression just visible through his attempt to remain neutral, after which point he'll dart his optics back to his work and pretend he's been busy the whole time. You can't help but think you're the reason he can't get much done.

·In addition to his filing reports, he has his monitors open at all times, each of which feeds him the security information for the various sections and systems of the ship. Most of the time there's nothing to report, save for hijinks going wrong or an experiment accidentally knocking things offline, yet he's always quick to respond. The rapid reactions to potential threats has put him on surprisingly good terms with Red Alert. Thus you're none too alarmed when he sees something unusual on one data feed and immediately gets to investigating, his large digits tapping away for answers while he vocalizes his thought process. Curious as always as to what might be the source of the issue, you move in wordlessly and are placed on his shoulder without having to ask. Having you watch him work always makes him feel quite proud after all.

·Initially the issue appears to be a simple bug in the programming of the communication systems, an inconvenient but none too hard to fix dilemma. Seeking out the source however, he finds none of the expected signs of an internal miscalculation, and before you can ask what's wrong he's messaging the bridge with a full alert. You listen as an audibly erratic signal forces him to keep things brief; emergency defense units and protocols need to be scrambled now, the ship is suffering an encrypted hack and a physical assault is undoubtedly inbound. While you feel instinctive fear at every word, somehow being in his presence and seeing him take command lessens that to a remarkable extent, for not much can get through your partner when he's on alert. Unfortunately for him he's anything but unafraid.

·When the line inevitably goes dead, he actually struggles to recall the next phase of his crisis response plans, as having you right beside him makes doing anything but protecting his delicate partner seem insignificant. Only by reminding himself that protecting you requires him to protect the ship is he able to get moving. Double checking your position on his shoulder, he clarifies that you'll be going to the nearest secure zone before he heads off to check various rendezvous points, as the crew is trained for this and the silent alarm has already been triggered. As you settle in on the broad expanse beside his helm, he just manages to grab the last of his spare weapons before a cataclysmic tremor rocks the ship. An audible rumbling through the ship blocks out all sound as you briefly tumble through the air.

·Catching you in a mad dash, he bombards you with questions as to possible injuries before you can clarify that you're fine. Tragically the relief on his face isn't something you get to enjoy for long. A second metallic rumble through the Lost Light turns his expression to a scowl. The enemy must have snagged them with a kind of anchor, he surmises, which no doubt means they'll be boarding in very short order. He needs to get you out of here now. Knowing that high stress situations can exhaust him in ways he's still not used to, you hold one of his digits tightly from your place on his palm. You're ready, you assure him, and you know he's going to be just fine. It works in the smallest way. The two of you draw strength from shared reassuring smiles before he leaves the safety of his office to start moving.

·As usual, he's not really afraid for his own sake as he moves through the hallways, due in no small part to his massive size and strength. For you though, he has to at least admit to himself that he's terrified. Hearing and feeling the tremor as intensely as he did means it must have come from somewhere uncomfortably close by, and that means the likelihood of encountering a threat in the next few minutes was remarkably high. The intensity of Cybertronian combat made such an occurrence not unlikely to be fatal for squishy little you. Yet as he recalls the closest potential drop off spot he can secure you at, he can't help but think on his role as a protector of this ship and how his responsibilities seem divided at the moment. While he has to keep you from harm, the same is true of the crew, and he can hardly ensure your safety if the ship is compromised...

·The decision to take the route he settles on is one not made easily, but it still feels proper. By going a less direct way he can check on multiple key locations only a little out of the way, helping to ensure that protocol is being followed and that the enemy isn't overwhelming their defenses. He can get you somewhere safe, while protecting you and the rest of the crew at once. It doesn't feel ideal, but he has to do his job, right? You can't be safe without the ship, unlike a Cybertronian who can at least endure the vacuum of space and even has a fair chance of surviving a planets fiery atmosphere... Primus, he can't handle thinking about those things. Focusing on getting you to safety along with everyone else is what he has to think of instead, especially with the sensation of your tiny body so warm and delicate in his palm, which he tries to also draw comfort from.

·As you trust him above all else, you don't ask any questions as he moves through the ship, sneaking as much as a bot of his size can in the open hallways. You're hardly scared for your own sake with Fort Max holding you close to his spark. In fact, the world beyond doesn't seem scary at all from this perspective. Being such a massive bot equals out to a rather strong spark, and as close to it as you are, you can feel it humming even now. It's kind of like a miniature sun with how warm and alive it makes you feel. Silly as it sounds, you do believe it feels stronger than when you first met him, as if the healing he's done since has made his very spirit grow brighter. For the sake of that hard earned recovery you hope everything goes smoothly today. It's enough to make you hold on to him a little tighter, just to convey your support.

·Eons of training prevent him from being taken by surprise, but he feels far from prepared as he detects enemy movement down a hallway. The aliens are large, numerous, and well armed. Regardless of their intent to take prisoners, he knows he can't let them go, as the mere possibility of them hurting even a single being on this ship is too much for him to take. Knowing they have to be taken care of is unfortunate with you in his care, as he doesn't want you to see him in combat. But... he trusts himself enough not to take it too far, a realization that makes it easier for him to whisper a warning and secure you in a tiny maintenance hatch, from which you will be safe and hopefully won't observe much. As soon as you promise to stay put he takes off to end the threat as quickly as he can.

·From your spot the chaos of battle is mostly the noises that reach your ears, but through them you're still able to recognize Fort Max as the imminent victor, if only because the fight is so one sided he hardly has to make a sound. It still makes you curl up in the little shelter and hope for it to be over as soon as possible. Yet the darkness of the maintenance shaft makes worrying a tad bit difficult... in fact, it makes you oddly tired. Exhaustion you didn't even notice is suddenly weighing you down, making the battle seem so far away and insignificant, all despite how clearly you realize now isn't the time to sleep. Perhaps the rush of all this has simply worn you down?

·Max finishes off the batch of enemies quickly and without a trace of the usual thrill of battle. He doesn't want to enjoy combat the way he once did, or feel the way he used to when he was at his worst and tearing foes apart actually felt good... As soon as the last enemy is down he returns to you, actually thinking he made the right call for once in checking key locations like this, for now this batch won't be able to hurt anyone. Though his usual luck shows through when he returns and finds you extremely groggy, to the point that even as a bot without medical experience he knows something is wrong, and he scoops you up immediately to start looking for injuries. You react amicably to his concern and assure him you're fine, but your breathless tone gives away that something is obviously affecting your respiration. In a series of horrifying realizations he connects the dots.

·The ship being hacked must have affected everything, including the life support systems you need for the air to be breathable, which he should have considered as a possibility from the very beginning. Without a moment to spare, he tucks you close to his chest and charges towards the medical bay. It's painfully obvious to him now that he made the wrong decision. He should have prioritized you over everything, should have anticipated there being additional threats, should have done a million other things... Hearing your weak reassurance only makes it hurt more. Unable to comprehend what's going on and not getting anything from him but whispered apologies, you just try to stay awake to support him as he runs through the ship at full speed. The only thing that stops him is an ambush from a full legion of enemies, though thankfully he still has enough of a grip to shelter you when the energy weapons start firing. Your tiny form is shielded by the impenetrable armor of his curled body as he briefly retreats to secure you once again, but this time his charge into combat is anything but controlled.

·From a little cubby you watch him unleash total vengeance on a horde of unprepared combatants, his incredible strength reducing enemy weapons and bodies to shreds without a trace of hesitation. Yet as you slip from consciousness there's no fear in your heart. Only sadness, for his sake and your own, as his resurfaced trauma tears into him yet again. It's worse than that though, he blames himself almost more than the enemies he tears apart, because protecting you was supposed to be his job. He'd told himself you needed the ship secure to be safe, but had he even considered the air you needed to breathe? It should have been obvious. Fighting somehow dulls the pain, as if the little rush of every kill helps his processor subdue the ache, and as the enemy needs to die regardless for their crimes against you he doesn't hesitate to go all in. The heated blur of battle overtakes him so completely he almost doesn't realize when he's joined by backup Autobots on his security team until there's not an enemy left to kill.

·Your last conscious perception is his face as strong hands lift you gently, followed by muffled instructions to get you to the medical bay. Some part of you knows he won't rest until every threat on the ship is dealt with, and you're correct. As you're whisked away to the medical bay, he takes no prisoners as he initiates his defense, rallying the gathering bots to annihilate those who would have turned them into a quick profit. But with every blow, he can only think of you. As he's cheered on by his fellows, he can only think of you. At the final declaration of victory and the rebooting of the systems, he can only think of you... Not even knowing the medics saved you and that you'll fully recover assuages his guilt. If anything, as he washes the blood off his servos and forgoes the festivities to sit by your bedside, he's certain he's never felt more like a monster...

·When you wake up there's a lovely warmth all around you, coupled with a gentle hum through the air that you know has been there in the past. Open eyes let you see a familiar wall of a chest, and through the oxygen mask you happily whisper Fort Max's name, making the hulking bot twitch in surprise as he looks down to you. It's with a smile you realize he was dozing with you shielded beneath his tented form. Remembering the haze of chaos and danger, you reach out to him as he offers a gentle hand to adjust the blankets laid loosely over your small body, but despite the fact that you're both okay you only see sadness in his optics. At your first prompt he lightly deflects with a sad smile. At your second his face falls and the whole ordeal comes tumbling out of him, with particular emphasis on how he failed to protect you when it truly mattered, something that impacts him so greatly he sheds a few tears as he lays his head in his hand.

·Heart breaking at the sight, you quickly point out the multiple times he charged into battle for you, though he counters by recalling how savagely he killed his enemies in front of you. It was the kind of brutality he'd thought himself beyond, but if he isn't, how can he be safe for you? It takes all the strength you have to sit up and firmly request his attention. At what point, you ask, were any of his actions not in some way motivated by the greater good? Even if he didn't know everything that was going to happen, did he once abandon you? Of course not, because he's a good bot, and you know he is. Before he can bring up one more point about his perceived failure you remind him that he's come impossibly far, enough that no setback today could undo his progress, and that you're so proud of him. As the weakness forces you to lie back and he leans in with concern, you smile and point out that everything he's done has been to the benefit of others, whether it be you or the crew. For once he can't argue. Curling protectively around you once more, he decides to let himself be happy that you're safe, shaken but reassured by your faith in him. More than anything, it gives him faith in himself.

#transformers #maccadam #idw #lost light #ll #tf #mtmte #more than meets the eye #fort max x reader #fortress maximus #fortress maximus x reader #fort max #human reader #self insert #my writing #my asks #anon #prompts

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theteej · 4 years ago

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on white performative anxiety on election night

Ok, here we go. I had decided that I would not watch the election results unfold last night because quite frankly--it was clear that it would be a close race, and just like with sports games it takes a particular type of narcissistic imagining to think that constant watching will change the impact of an event simply because you watch it. Also, this isn't a sports game--it's people's lives. So I ordered a pizza and worked through three unread X-Men collections (decent, by the way--especially the new take on Marauders).

By 8pm I was getting frequent texts, and despite putting my phone in another room, i heard the buzzing enough to get me off the couch. I logged onto social media to see a flood of white Democrats having a complete meltdown as if the election had been called. And that same existential dread/despair cataclysmically reverberating across social media in New Zealand, South Africa, and Australia. I was so confused. What the actual fuck were people upset about? He hadn't conceded. Most states hadn't been called. The responses felt so much like being in high school or college where I'd studied for exams and felt reasonably prepared but then got overwhelmed in the psychic energy of performed anxiety/fear/studying that everyone did around finals. Hell, in pre-covid times I had to limit my time on campus as a professor in the last week because the palpable miasma of fear/anxiety/performative freaking out was too much for me, even though I WAS JUST GRADING THE FINALS. Honestly, I was baffled. Why were people like this? They knew that Wisconsin and Michigan and Pennsylvania were not going to count their early voting polls first, and the in person would screw Republican. WHY WERE THEY FREAKING OUT?

And then it slowly dawned on me. They really had believed their own lies. They thought there was going to be a magical, massive blue wave of repudiation of President Trump, after the xenophobia, the racism, the wanton cruelty, the vicious fascism. They needed to believe that this moment would redeem them, this electoral moment would fix them. And they were mourning, almost disproportionately, this sense of utter collapse. They were treating the reality of the closeness of the election as somehow equivalent to the idea of a Trump re-election victory. What the actual hell.

I started to see a lot of "I can't believe it's even this close" statuses. I put down my pizza in annoyance and kept reading. There were so many variations on the time-honoured "this is not who we are" canard so many people tell themselves about America. People were mourning, in real time, the lie they'd told themselves. There was a fundamental believe that Trumpism, the vile populism and toxic mix of racism and other oppressive elements, was an "aberration" that could be corrected. There was a willing disbelief that this was not part of the very core of this country, that 'America' as a concept is a bad place--one made entirely possible through enslavement and genocide and one that was absolutely fixable through a simple electoral action. And it's wild, because that's never been the case. Not now, not ever. I remember in 2008, being overwhelmed by white people wanting to celebrate Obama with me, but I was also keenly aware of racism and the fact that my own state had just voted to take away same-sex marriage. Dr. Jim Barrett, a professor in my graduate program at Illinois, stopped me, a new, black graduate student who he didn't know, and said, "isn't the election great?" and i said, "I'm from California, and I'm more worried also about how easily people can dismiss queer rights." He paused for a second, and then said, "but we did it this time with Obama!" Here was a full-grown man with a PhD in American history casually telling a black graduate student (WHOSE NAME HE DID NOT EVEN KNOW) how great it was to be able to absolve oneself of responsibility via an electoral process, and to imagine an America without self-criticism, just redemption.

And that's what was at the heart of this baffling pre-capitulation, one that exceeded even the easy stereotype of the always-losing Democrats. BIDEN HADN'T EVEN LOST. He had (and as of now still) leads in electoral votes! But everyone was moaning, gnashing teeth, and grieving. But what they were really grieving was their own innocence. Their naïve assumption that they could be the heroes in a story, in a history of violence that was expressly built for them, even if they wanted to deny it. Trumpism sells a fantasy of white revanchism, of recovery, and even those whites who imagine otherwise can't exorcise it via a ballot because the entire system of it is at its core, still violent and racist. Y'all seriously wanted a parade, a movement repudiating this. What America do you live in? Did we not go through the same black summer? Of course we didn't. You saw this summer as a moment of profound alliance building and a recapturing of a mythical value of inclusion. We saw it with surprise--oh white people either just realized that black lives are cheap, or they were sufficiently bothered/bored enough to perform about it.

So much of this is a navel-gazing performance of anxiety. 2016 was traumatizing for people who didn't want to think Trumpism was America, but it IS. And it's done in your name.

This morning, I saw even more of this. A friend and colleague wrote a lengthy status about her anxiety about it all and hope that 'good' would prevail, and bemoaned the lack of a real wave of change. A friend, family member, or colleague of theirs immediately commented with pro-Trump sloganeering. And she did nothing. She kept commenting. This broke me for a second. How could she not see what a joke all of this was? What she was? Here she was bemoaning a lack of some sort of prelapsarian goodness, trying to make some sort of "we'll get through this message," and she couldn't even see what she was doing. There was no acknowledgment, no censuring, no pushback, no RESPONSE to the Trump sloganeering, because she could not fathom the idea that this was connected to HER. The disappointment she felt, that so many people expressed on social media? It was performative, it was a mourning one's inability to distance oneself from genocidal, suicidal logics of all of this populist turpitude. She couldn't even denounce the very Trumpism on her own fucking wall, in response to her comment. Of course there was no blue wave, of course there was no rebuking. Why should there be? There are no consequences. Just white folk hoping civility will save them, with the same baffling surety as King Canute commanding the waves to cease lapping at the feet of his throne. The whole event felt like a farce--people attempting to distance themselves from a violence done in their name by refusing to even pushback against he very violence that endangers millions of people, incarcerates children, kills with impunity.

I feel, once again, like I'm the one person who felt confident for an exam during finals week. Everyone's freaking the fuck out, performing, demonstrating a goodness, trying to foolishly imagine the country as good. I think back to March, when black voters in South Carolina made very clear what was going to happen. White people were not coming to save them. Electoral legerdemain was not going to happen, there was no last minute deus ex machina. There was the brutal calculus that many people don't see the fascism as bad, and remain so insulated that they don't care if the brute returns, so much as the lesser peoples are put in their place. Those black voters saw that their best chance was the utter uninspiring, safe, and milquetoast flavour of whiteness, Joe Biden. And they were right. We can push that one, perhaps. Make changes. But this was always going to be a bitter slog, and at most, a close thing. America is a bad place. We cannot redeem it through performance, through simply voting. We don't exorcise our structural violence with selfies and dashes of ink on sealed papers.

Now that we know this, we can actually push back against the attempted voter fraud that IS happening right now, and then hope that this mediocre blue man wins. And then maybe y'all can join us in doing the hard, daily work that also involves critically acknowledging our own complicity, investment, and inclusion in a violent, illegitimate space. We have to live in these contradictions, to push and transform it, and remember that there are no cheat codes here. Just grinding work, and no cookies or congratulation.

Be fucking better, y'all.

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miguel-manbemel · 4 years ago

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Aspects & Fanfics Ep. 56: Return to the Cave of Doom - Part 4: Facing the Paladin

At long last, this is the conclusion of the finale of this season of the main storyline in this blog. With this one, it's been 56 episodes between both seasons and I want to thank everyone who took a moment to read any of the episodes.

I'm making it sound like this is a definite ending to the story. It is not, although I'm gonna take a break from it, because in the past few episodes, I felt a little loss of motivation, and like I was running out of ideas for the story. It's better to stop and think about what I want to do with the story rather than continuing without a clear perspective of where I want to go with it.

This doesn't mean I'm leaving this account. Not at all, I'll still be posting stuff like short stories, my usual musical tales, the newfound photo-comics which have been very liked by so many people... So, I'll still be here for a long time. And enough talking. It's time to leave you with the ending of the season, and I hope it fits your expectations. Until next time.

SYNOPSIS: The gang have finally arrived to the castle. There, they'll have to face the Paladin before his possession of Dillon becomes irreversible. Will the attack they learned in the Core be enough to defeat him? And will Patton resist the devastating secondary effects of such strong attack?

WARNINGS: Romantic prinxiety, logicality, dukeceit and karrot kings. Mentions to stabbing.

EPISODE INDEX

[the gang stare at the castle from a distance]

PATTON: Do you really think that it works for anything staying here watching from afar, kiddo? They probably know that we’re here already.

THOMAS: Most probably, but still we need to examine the situation, at least in the outside of the castle. There doesn’t seem to be a high number of ghouls guarding the doors. Could it be that we’ve set free most of them already?

HEIGHT: No, Thomas. We’ve set many free, but there are still hundreds of ghouls under Paranoia’s spell.

ROMAN: We truly could use the help of those we set free. If we’re gonna have to face an army, we’re gonna need reinforcements.

VERTIGO: I’m sure they’ll be ready when the battle starts. You don’t know the power of recovery of ghouls. And besides, apart from the one who attacked me, most of them really were unharmed. I’m sure they’re already on their way here.

JANUS: In the meantime, we’ll have to play the sneaky card and try to slip into the castle unnoticed, if possible.

LOGAN: If only we knew the castle’s configuration… There has to be a backdoor somewhere, even if only to secure the Paladin an easy retreat if things turn out against him.

HEIGHT: We’d wish to help you, but we have no idea. This building was made by Paranoia, it is a foreign construction for us.

REMUS: If they already know we’re here, I say we should attack upfront with everything we’ve got. Let’s surprise them in their own league.

THOMAS: The point is that at least some of us make it into the castle alive, Remus.

LOGAN: No, wait… Remus may be up to something…

THOMAS: He is?

REMUS: I am? I am!

LOGAN: I don’t mean a suicidal attack like the one you proposed, Remus, but perhaps, some of us could serve as a decoys and lure some of the guards away from their posts, and in the meantime the rest of us could sneak into the castle.

VIRGIL: But what about the decoys? Are they going to sacrifice themselves just like that?

REMUS: I offer myself as tribute.

JANUS: What? Remus! That’s suicidal!

REMUS: We have no choice, Janus. Someone has to do it, and the one who can make such an idiotic attack believable is the only one idiotic enough to try it, me. You know that I’m right.

HEIGHT: I’m going with you.

REMUS: What?

HEIGHT: Someone among the ghouls has to do it, and I’m not having Vertigo risking his life again. It’s my turn now.

VERTIGO: But Height…

HEIGHT: Don’t worry, I won’t let them get me, and if we have the chance, I’ll rejoin you later.

VERTIGO: You better will.

[Vertigo kisses Height]

REMUS: What about me, Jan? Don’t I get a kiss too?

JANUS: No, you don’t, I’m mad at you.

REMUS: [wiggling his eyebrows] You mean mad for me, right?

JANUS: No, I don’t! You’re always putting yourself in stupid dangers like this and I can’t stand it! Don’t you see that I worry about you and that, even if you don’t have common sense, I do for both of us and I don’t want anything bad happening to you?

REMUS: So… you are mad for me, admit it.

JANUS: [exasperated] Ugh… You’re such an idiot… Why did I have to fall for an idiot like you, I’ll never understand.

[Janus kisses Remus]

JANUS: You’ll better come back in one piece.

REMUS: I will. I promise. Okay, let’s go, ghoul.

HEIGHT: I’ve got a name, Dark Side.

REMUS: I know, ghoul.

HEIGHT: Urgh…

[Height and Remus start advancing to the castle]

ROMAN: [sighs] If the guards don’t kill them, they’re gonna kill each other before the end of the day… I don’t know if it’s a good idea to send the two of them together for this.

THOMAS: Well, good or bad idea, there’s no turning back. The guards have already seen them. Oh, wow, Remus almost crushed that guard’s head with his Morningstar. His head is gonna be in pain for more than a week.

ROMAN: Look, more guards are getting out of the castle. And they’ve started running through that path…

VIRGIL: …but that path leads to the rock-slide. They’re gonna get trapped if they go that way!

VERTIGO: They still have a long way before they reach the rock slide, so we’d better move to free the ghouls before they reach that dead end.

ROMAN: Yes, and also, Dillon’s time won’t last much longer either. Follow me, guys.

[the gang walks as sneakily as they can, but they find no obstacles and reach the front door with no one greeting them]

JANUS: Wait a minute…

ROMAN: What? We can’t stop in the middle of the doorway, Janus, we’re an easy prey here.

JANUS: This is just too easy. I think this is a trap.

THOMAS: Do you think so?

JANUS: The Paladin controls all the ghouls. He probably knows everything that has happened in the defile and is playing cat-and-mouse with us. And I’m afraid we’re the mice.

THOMAS: Well, mice or not, we need to get into the castle. The Paladin thinks he’s got us, but we’ve got some hidden aces, as you know. Besides, we have to get into the castle anyway, with or without trap, Dillon’s life depends on it.

JANUS: [sighs] You’re right. But we must stay alert.

THOMAS: As usual, then.

[the gang enters the castle. They find no one inside and the throne room door is open]

PALADIN: [voice from the throne room, yelling] Come in, already, we don’t have all day! I know you’re there and you know that I know you’re there, so why prolonging the inevitable? Come here and face your destiny.

[the gang enters the throne room. The Paladin is there, inside Dillon’s body. He’s now wearing a dark royal outfit with a black crown. His eyes are two crimson flames and he shows an unsettling grin. Around him, there are dozens of ghouls ready to attack. Paranoia is sitting on a throne next to him. He shows the same evil grin]

VIRGIL: My God, look at his eyes… What have you down to my son, you bastard!?

PALADIN: Is that the way of greeting your son after so many weeks, dad?

VIRGIL: I’m not your dad and you’re not my son. But you’re usurping his body. Leave my child alone!

PALADIN: Blah, blah, blah… this is getting monotonous, isn’t it? You are outnumbered. You know you can’t do anything against me, and… [the door behind them slams as it closes] … you can’t escape from this room and no one can get in. You just walked into the lion’s dent, and the funniest thing is you already knew. You’re in my hands now.

THOMAS: Think twice, Paladin. You’re gonna regret letting us into this room so easily. We’re coming for you, in case you didn’t notice, and we’re gonna put an end to your reign of terror in this cave once and for all.

PALADIN: Ooh, I’m shaking… You and what army?

ROMAN: This army!

[Roman points at the closed door. Nothing happens. Crickets are heard in the silence]

VIRGIL: [whispering, anxiously] What are you doing, Roman?

ROMAN: Dang it, it always works on the movies. And I hoped our friends would be here by this time…

PALADIN: [beat, then clears his throat] Well… this is fun… but, like I said, it’s time for you to face destiny. [to the ghouls] Capture Thomas and Patton alive and unharmed, we don’t want cataclysms in my domains, do we? As about the others… kill them.

THOMAS: Not so fast. Nico, are you ready?

NICO: Ready if you are.

[Thomas and Nico hold hands and a bright aura surrounds them]

PALADIN: [smirks] Are you sure you guys want to do that? One more blow like the one in the defile could be Patton’s last, and if he dies, as Patton is a former Master, without him all of the Mind Palace would collapse and Thomas would die. Are you willing to take that risk?

[Thomas doubts and the aura disappears]

PALADIN: Didn’t think so… Get them, my pets.

PATTON: Kiddos, don’t worry about me! Do whatever you must!

THOMAS: But the Paladin, even if a son of a b… is right. We can’t take the risk. If we destroy you, we would all die.

NICO: Dios, no…

PATTON: Gosh… I’m so sorry I’m so weak and useless, kiddos. But still, you must try. I don’t think I would die, I feel strong enough to cope at least with one more attack.

THOMAS: Still, it scares me that…

PATTON: [determined] Please, kiddos, trust me. I can cope. For all of you, I will cope!

THOMAS: Okay… As you wish, Patton, I’ll trust you. Let’s do it, Nico.

NICO: Okay… Like I said, I’ll go to the end of the world with you. Let’s hope it’s not the end of this world…

[Thomas and Nico hold hands again and the aura reappears]

PALADIN: No! Have you lost your common sense!? If you destroy Patton, you’ll destroy all of us! Stop it!

PARANOIA: [running towards the Paladin] My lord, be careful!

[the aura gets brighter and brighter, until it explodes in a wave at light speed. All the ghouls surrounding the gang groan and fall down unconscious. Paranoia puts himself in front of the Paladin, acting as a shield and gets all the strength of the attack]

PARANOIA: For my lord and owner, always! Gaaaah!!!

[Paranoia explodes in a cloud of smoke. When the smoke disperses, there’s no sign of him. There’s a few seconds of silence. The ghouls in the castle start waking up]

GHOUL #1: What’s happened…

GHOUL #2: I remember everything… but it’s the first time I can move my arms on my own free will in months…

GHOUL #3: I’m free…

VIRGIL: Your reign of terror is over, Paladin. You have lost your army and the control of this Cave.

[the front doors open. The ghouls from the defile come in]

VIRGIL: All the Ghouls from this Cave are out of your control now, and they’re demanding justice. If you don’t surrender now and free my son, you’ll only be making things worse for you.

PALADIN: Do you really think this is all over? Look at Patton.

[everyone looks at Patton. His body is shaking and he’s showing signs of being under indescribable pain]

VIRGIL: [scared] Dad? Are you okay!?

[Patton doesn’t say a word. Suddenly his face relaxes and he collapses on the floor]

VIRGIL: [running towards Patton] Dad!

LOGAN: [also running to him] Patton!

[the Paladin tries to walk to the back door, but he’s quickly surrounded by ghouls. Virgil kneels down and puts Patton’s head on his legs. Logan puts his hand on Patton’s chest. An indigo aura surrounds both Patton and Logan]

VIRGIL: How is Patton, Logan?

[the indigo aura disappears]

LOGAN: He’s just passed out. He honored his promise of coping with Thomas’ attack and not dying… but he just couldn’t resist the pain. It made him faint. In a few minutes, he’ll wake up.

VIRGIL: Thank goodness…

LOGAN: But in the meantime…

THOMAS: [his voice sounds like an automaton] What? Why are you all so concerned? He’ll wake up when he has to. Now we gotta kill that Paladin.

NICO: Thomas?

THOMAS: Would you mind letting go of my hand? It’s sweaty and it’s disgusting.

NICO: What…?

LOGAN: Just as I feared. Patton is Thomas’ feelings and morality. With him out, Thomas simply lacks the capacity to feel love and compassion, not to mention to distinguish between right and wrong.

NICO: That means…?

LOGAN: That means that, in this state, Thomas has stopped loving you, Nico. I’m sorry. That also means that your attack against the Paladin is disabled for the time being. But don’t worry, as soon as Patton wakes up…

PALADIN: I won’t give you the time! Everyone freeze! If anyone moves, I’ll kill this son of a b…!

[the Paladin has grabbed one of the ghouls and is threatening him with a dagger]

VIRGIL: Don’t make things worse for you, Paladin! Leave that ghoul alone!

PALADIN: Do you think I’m stupid? I know how your plan goes next and what awaits me if I let you get me. And I swear I’ll kill him and anyone that threatens me. And remember I’m still inside Dillon’s body. If you hurt me, it’s him you’re hurting! Who knows? Maybe if you force me, I’ll stab myself just to see you in despair over losing your precious son!

ROMAN: You bastard! You f***ng, f****ng bastard!

PALADIN: Thank you, Roman, your compliments flatter me. Now let me go, or first the ghoul and then your son will perish!

NICO: Thomas, you gotta do something!

THOMAS: Let them kill each other, for all I care…

NICO: Thomas, I know this is not you. This is just that your love engine has stalled, that’s all. But I know, inside yourself, you still love us. You still love me. Please, remember your love for us, Thomas. Please!

[Thomas looks at Nico with disdain. Nico, not knowing what do to, hugs Thomas and then kisses him. At first, Thomas timidly tries to push Nico back, but Nico has Thomas well hugged and doesn’t move an inch. After a couple of seconds, he stops struggling. And a couple more seconds later, Thomashugs Nico and kisses him back, passionately. There’s a flash around him, a flash that also happens around Patton, who wakes up]

PATTON: Ooof… What happened?

VIRGIL: Dad, are you okay?

PATTON: I think so…

[Thomas and Nico stop kissing. Thomas smiles at Nico]

THOMAS: Thank you for helping me start my love engine again, Nico. I’m sorry for what I said.

NICO: [smiling happy] It’s okay, Thomas. I’m so happy to see you back.

THOMAS: Patton, are you okay?

PATTON: Yes, kiddo. Everything hurts, though, but I think I can stand up. But I don’t think I could stand one more blow, guys, I’m very sorry.

THOMAS: Don’t worry, I don’t think it will be necessary to use that attack again.

PATTON: What? And why is that?

THOMAS: You see, when Nico kissed me and ignited my feelings back, when I felt that flash… for a moment it was like I was one with you, Patton. In that state, suddenly I heard two voices in my head.

NICO: Two voices?

THOMAS: It was the Light Master… and the Dark Master, loud and clear as we heard them in the Core. They told me that, for the sake of not losing the Mind Palace to the Paladin, they had agreed to a temporal truce. They’re both gonna work as a team to help me defeat the Paladin, although I’m gonna need your help Patton.

PATTON: My help?

THOMAS: Stand behind me and put your hand on my back, and lend me any strength you have left.

PATTON: Like when we did the rainbow attack?

THOMAS: Sort of, but I just need you to balance and manifest the Light and Dark energies in me. Like when you touched me and made the Light Master speak through me, remember?

PATTON: Yes. Okay, kiddo, I’ll do my best.

[Patton, with the help of Logan, gets in place and puts his hand on Thomas’ shoulder]

PALADIN: Hey, I told you not to move! Do you really think I’m gonna let you…

THOMAS: [demonic voice, his eyes spark in green] Shut up!

[suddenly it’s as if an invisible fist punches the Paladin right on the face]

PALADIN: Aw! What the… Ow!

[the invisible fist punches the Paladin again, stunning him. He drops the dagger and the ghoul frees himself]

THOMAS: [now with a warm voice, his eyes spark in blue]Everyone make way. This won’t hurt any ghouls, but just in case.

[the ghouls open a free way between Thomas and the Paladin. The Paladin is still stunned. He shakes his head, regaining full consciousness and realizes what is going on]

PALADIN: Thomas! Don’t! You will regret it if you do this! You can’t get rid of me and you know it!

[Thomas points at the Paladin with his finger, like the Dark Master used to do, but this time his finger shines in gray instead of black]

THOMAS: Maybe you’ll always be a part of me until I die, Paladin. But at least you’ll never be a problem for my fam while the Core remains standing. Goodbye, Paladin.

PALADIN: [horrified] The Core? No! NO!

[Thomas shoots a gray beam through his finger. It hits the Paladin in the chest]

PALADIN: AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!

[The Paladin opens his mouth wide. A crimson smoke starts coming out of it. As more smoke comes out, forming a cloud, the eyes in the body he was possessing, previously in bright flames, slowly fade away, until they’re normal brown. At that moment, the smoke stops surging and Dillon collapses on the ground. The crimson cloud turns then into a whirlwind, moving in all directions, knocking down any ghouls it bumps into. It starts moving in Roman’s direction]

VIRGIL: Watch out, Roman! I think that now that he’s lost his host, the Paladin wants to return into your body!

THOMAS: [with blue eyes and a warm but concerned voice]The first attack took a lot of energy from us, we need to recharge before attacking again!

ROMAN: [scared] Oh, no! Guys, don’t let him take me!

VIRGIL: Don’t you dare touch my husband, you b*tch!

[the whirlwind knocks Virgil down. Roman, scared, walks backwards until he bumps on the back wall]

ROMAN: [scared, on the verge of crying] I don’t want to feel that sickness again…

VIRGIL: [on the floor, scared] Roman!

[Suddenly, a red whip hits the whirlwind. A high pitch sound that looks like wind whistling through a window, and at the same time as a high pitch scream of pain, comes from the whirlwind, which turns back into a cloud. Everyone looks in the direction where the whip came from. Dillon has stood up and his looking at the cloud with a face of anger]

DILLON: You didn’t even let me say hello to my parents before you took control of me, you b*st*rd! Stay away from my father, you son of a b*tch!

THOMAS: Thank you, Dillon. Now we’re ready.

[Thomas points with his finger at the ground under the cloud. A new beam surges from his finger, but this time it hits the ground. When it’s gone, there’s what looks like a round crystal ball with a little hole on top]

THOMAS: As you yourself said, Paladin, it’s time for you to face your destiny!

[A gray light comes out of the crystal ball, touching the crimson cloud. The same high pitch whistling sound is heard while the cloud is absorbed into the crystal ball, which turns all crimson. When the light disappears, the hole disappears with it, making a solid, hermetically closed crystal ball, and all the sounds get silent]

THOMAS: Done… the crystal ball will hold him long enough to send him to the Core forever. He was right, though. Sending him into the Core will mean that my disorder will always be a part of me, but that was a given anyway, and as long as I keep my treatment, I’ll be fine.

ROMAN: Dillon? You… rescued me. [emotional] I came here to rescue you and in the end it was you who rescued me…

DILLON: It’s nice to meet you at last… father. And dad, are you okay?

[Virgil stands up, then looks at Dillon and his eyes fill with black tears]

VIRGIL: For the first time in months… I’m better than ever, and happier than I’ll ever be…

DILLON: [also emotional] Dad, father! I longed for this moment for so long!

[Dillon runs to them both, and the three join in a hug. As they do, Dillon’s body shines in brown. After a spark, his whole outfit has changed. He’s now wearing a brown tunic, resembling a monk, and there’s a wooden staff on the floor next to him. The whip he used as a weapon is tied to his waist as a belt. It is colored in red. He’s also wearing a purple medallion]

JANUS: What happened?

LOGAN: It seems that now that the Paladin is no longer inside him, Dillon is showing his true colors… literally. He’s the brown Side.

JANUS: But brown is not a color derivative from red and purple.

LOGAN: And he sports the red and purple in the whip and the medallion.

DILLON: Don’t overthink it, guys, it’s just that I dig the brown, and I don’t wanna have anything to do with crimson color ever again.

LOGAN: Oh, okay…

ROMAN: Tell me one thing, Dillon. Those nights when I would go to the door of the Cave until I fell asleep… I had memories of a very sweet lullaby coming from the other side of the door… Even though I always had the suspicion it was you, I thought I was dreaming until the Core told us. It was really you, right?

DILLON: When Thomas fell asleep at night… it was the only moments I was free from his influence, because the Paladin fell asleep too. I, like dad, can stay awake if I want to. The first night, I left the castle and went to the door. It was locked, of course, so I couldn’t get to the Mind Palace. And besides, everyone would be sleeping so it was useless and dangerous to try and unlock it, if it was possible. But I peeped through the hole, looking at the room at the other side. That was my distraction many nights, until one night I saw you there, next to the door, desperately fighting slumber. How I longed to make my presence known, but before I could say anything, you fell asleep completely. So, I decided to sing you lullabies every night. It was the only way I thought I could communicate to you that I was there, that I was still fighting, and that I loved you. I’m happy to know that you heard me, even if you thought it was a dream.

[Roman, all emotional, hugs Dillon and kisses him on the forehead]

ROMAN: I love you too, my son… and I swear that nothing will get between us ever again.

[Remus and Height enter the room, followed by the ghouls that had chased them]

REMUS: I’m back, did you miss me?

JANUS: It is you who’s missed all the fun here, look.

REMUS: Oh, dang-it… Is that… my nephew?

DILLON: It is, uncle. Nice to meet you too, and all of you too, fam.

REMUS: [emotional] Well…

HEIGHT: Aren’t you forgetting something, Dark Side?

REMUS: Oh, oh, yes, I did. You see, guys, we were running up the path… until we got lost in the caves.

VIRGIL: Oh, dang, I forgot, the illusions. You risked your lives going there on your own.

REMUS: The ghouls kept chasing us, while we kept running. When we realized we were lost, I said that we should face them upfront.

HEIGHT: As usual in him. Is he always that reckless in battle?

JANUS: Of course he isn’t.

HEIGHT: You’re lying, right?

JANUS: No, I’m saying the truth: Usually he’s even worse.

HEIGHT: Oh…

REMUS: As I was saying, we kept running, until… who do you think we bumped into in the middle of the caves? Ta-dah!

[some ghouls spread out and reveal Chris behind them]

VIRGIL: Chris! What are you doing here?

CHRIS: How could you, guys? How could you leave to face the Paladin without me? I wanted to participate in Dillon’s rescue as much as anyone!

VIRGIL: You were in Sandersia. How did you find out?

CHRIS: We still have the crystal ball that Roman gave to Roland to check where he was. I wanted to see how you guys were doing, and I saw all of you in the cave, right in the defile. Even though Roland tried to stop me, I got to the carriage and headed to the Cave as fast as my legs would let me. Then I got lost in the caves…

VIRGIL: Wait, wait, how did you open the door? I got the key chain.

CHRIS: I got the backup key chain. The copy that the Paladin made was still in your room. Knowing you, I knew I would find it under your pillow in your bed, and bingo, there it was.

VIRGIL: My gosh, it was such an act of recklessness, Chris, you knew there were illusions in the cave and you shouldn’t have…

CHRIS: And you shouldn’t have gone to the Cave without me! I could have been of help when everyone was shooting at you in the defile! You know I’m the best archer in the team!

ROMAN: We couldn’t wait anymore, Chris. Dillon’s time was almost over, and you were too far away in Sandersia. I hope you understand.

CHRIS: Okay, what’s done, is done, and I understand. Just warn a dude next time, okay?

DILLON: I appreciate the sentiment anyway, brother.

CHRIS: Dillon… You look… different. Brown really suits you, although you look just like you’ve escaped from the abbey in The Name of the Rose.

DILLON: I dunno, I like it. And I promise I won’t make you read a poisoned book or anything…

CHRIS: [chuckles] Oh, just shut up and hug me, brother!

[the two brothers hug tightly]

ROMAN: You left your story unfinished, Remus. What happened after you bumped into Chris?

REMUS: Bah, the rest is kinda boring. Suddenly the ghouls chasing us stopped and went back to their senses, and they helped us walk through the cave and back to the castle.

ROMAN: I see. That was probably when Paranoia blew away. What I don’t understand is why he was the only ghoul destroyed by the light wave, while all other ghouls just came back to their senses.

VIRGIL: Well, he wasn’t an ordinary ghoul. He was created by the Paladin, so he was pure evil. There was nothing to be saved from him, that’s why he hit the dust.

ROMAN: Ah, gotcha.

REMUS: Jeez, I missed all the fun. I wish I could have seen that son of a b… blow away.

JANUS: You’ll never change, Remus…

HEIGHT: I cannot thank you guys enough for what you’ve done for us. You’ve freed my people.

THOMAS: Glad that we could help.

VIRGIL: I’m sorry I let this place go to waste. As your king, I had a responsibility with you and I didn’t deliver, so I apologize.

HEIGHT: It’s forgotten, your majesty.

VIRGIL: I have to return now to the Mind Palace. I’m still a Side, and Thomas and the others need me. However, I won’t leave you all alone, not completely.

HEIGHT: Then how…?

VIRGIL: I’m leaving here a couple of regent governors who will be my eyes and ears about everything happening here. I’m gonna trust them with the administration of the Cave and I’m sure they’ll do everything in their hand so that something like this never happens again.

[Virgil invokes a couple of purple crystal balls]

VIRGIL: Height, Vertigo, are you willing to take this task in your hands? I couldn’t think of anyone better than you for it and I trust you with all my heart. What do you say?

HEIGHT: Oh, wow… this was unexpected, your majesty. What do you think, Vertigo?

VERTIGO: If it’s your desire, your majesty, I accept.

VIRGIL: Not because it’s my desire, I want you to make the choice on your own free will. Forget that I’m a king or anything and think of me as an emo friend. What do you say?

VERTIGO: I’m in.

HEIGHT: Me too. Thank you, your majesty, for the trust you put in us.

VIRGIL: Please, don’t call me your majesty. It’s much too formal and we’re friends. Just call me Virgil, or even better, just call me Virge.

HEIGHT: Okay… Virge.

THOMAS: Well, I think we should be going now. It’s gonna be a long way to return to Virgil’s room. Then we’ll go to the Mind Palace Center and throw this ball of sss… smoke where it belongs.

VIRGIL: You can use the crystal balls to contact me, should some emergency happen.

HEIGHT: Got it. I’d wish Rejection was here to see this moment of joy… I’ll miss him so much.

REMUS: Speaking about Rejection… I wanted to apologize over how I treated you earlier. I had no right to be so threatening when you were just moaning over your loss.

HEIGHT: It’s okay. We were all nervous and distressed over what had just happened. I apologize too, I was too harsh over you when in reality what happened would have happened anyway as it was luck what decided our destinies.

REMUS: I’m glad we could talk this out, even briefly, before we left. I would have hated to leave on bad terms with you, ghoul.

HEIGHT: [chortles] Yes, but all’s well that ends well, Dark Side.

CHRIS: What are they talking about?

ROMAN: We’ll tell you on the way. Okay, goodbye everyone. I wish you many years of peace in this cave.

VIRGIL: Until we meet again, everyone. Goodbye!

[The gang heads towards the galleries. They keep talking about all kinds of things while they take the way back to the Mind Palace]

[end card]

[days have passed. Nico is having lunch with Thomas in the living room]

NICO: Why do you keep saying you can’t cook, Thomas? I think you’re an excellent chef, if you ask for my opinion.

THOMAS: Thanks, Nico, it’s just that when I know you're coming over for lunch, I take the effort to do it the best that I can.

NICO: Well, it shows, certainly.

THOMAS: You flatter me.

NICO: Thomas…

THOMAS: Yes?

NICO: I’ve been thinking of something lately. An idea that hasn’t left my mind in the last few days.

THOMAS: What is it?

NICO: Remember what I told you when we got out of the Core? That since we got out, I felt like I was a part of you and you were a part of me too, and we were like one, destined to be together for all of our lives?

THOMAS: Yes, I do.

NICO: I still feel like that. To the point that every moment I spend away from you… it’s like a part of me is missing, you know? Wow, that sounds really clingy, I’m sorry…

THOMAS: Don’t apologize, I feel the same too. And it’s weird, because you’re not my first boyfriend. Like I told you, I had a very bad breakup a couple years ago with someone I really felt close to… but even so, that story pales in comparison with ours. I never ever felt this way for anyone. I never felt what I feel for you before in my life. It’s like I never really loved until I started loving you back at the mall.

NICO: Which leads to my question.

[Nico approaches Thomas and holds both of his hands]

NICO: I understand that this is sudden and I’ll understand if you don’t feel ready… But I think… that we are ready to live together in the same house, as an official couple.

THOMAS: You make it sound like a marriage proposal, Nico.

NICO: It’s too soon for that, but if it wasn’t that soon, it is exactly what it would be… Look, I even got the ring and everything.

[Nico pulls out a box from a pocket, opens it and shows a shining diamond ring]

THOMAS: Oh… my goodness…

NICO: So, what do you say? Do you accept me as your partner in life?

THOMAS: Only if you accept me too… Because, you see… [Thomas picks up another box from his pocket and opens it, with another diamond ring inside] You’re not the only one who was planning on proposing today, you know?

[Nico looks at Thomas with a face of surprise. Then they both start laughing lively and put each ring on each other’s finger]

NICO: We’re truly one mind split into two bodies, aren’t we?

THOMAS: Yep, we’re meant for each other and I can’t wait to start our life together.

[Nico and Thomas kiss. In Roman’s corner, Roman and Virgil watch the scene, Roman is crying like a baby and Virgil’s eyeshadow shines in glittery purple]

ROMAN: Aren’t they cute, Virge?

VIRGIL: Yes they are. And I have no doubt they’ll live happily ever after. And I’ll deny having said that sappy phrase, okay?

ROMAN: Okay, my love. Let’s go back home, okay?

VIRGIL: Yes…

[Roman and Virgil look at the camera]

ROMAN: Until next time, take it easy, guys, gals and non binary pals.

VIRGIL: Peace out!

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morwensteelsheen · 4 years ago

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I just have to tell you how much I ADORE “Finger Back.” I keep retreading it! I’ll be starting my masters in the autumn and reading this AU put a huge smile on my face and a warmth in my heart. (If only lecturers looked like Faramir or Aragorn, though. *sighs*) I do have a question that I’m not sure you addressed already: I read your endnotes that say you’re protective of Denethor, and I’m curious as to what your reasons are. Could you flesh that out for us? Cheers!

Thank you so much!!! I’m so glad to hear you dig it — and good luck with your masters!!

So, yeah, The Denethor Problem. My answer to this is gonna go under a cut because this is gonna be such a long answer lol.

Some of it is in response to how he’s portrayed in the films, which is I think wholly unfair, but a lot of it is because I think I recognise the real life cultural/social archetype (I think) Denethor fits, very much unintentionally on behalf of JRRT. For context, I’m a historian of modern British history by training, and gendered/political history specifically, so I spend a lot of time dealing with the social implications of WWI/II, if not the actual wars themselves.

Denethor to me fits the mould of a very specific member of the Lost Generation (yes, I realise this is a largely-American generational identifier, but I think the cultural stereotypes fit well enough for the WWI generation in Britain), which is the sort of man who was, in effect, completely and utterly destroyed by the meat grinder that was WWI. Whatever he may have been had the war not existed doesn’t really matter, because the war was ultimately the end of life for him. A lot of British men of that generation faced what was essentially a systematic unmanning (not in the gendered sense, as in, total depersonalisation/dehumanisation), and were never given the care or community necessary to recover from it. They then went on to live through WW2, the slow and miserable recovery from that, and the repeated crises of the 1970s, which is typically when they died — see JRRT himself.

These were men for whom the abject violence of war never really went away. Lots of them had severe PTSD, though it was never diagnosed and certainly wasn’t treated adequately, and almost all of them had some form of war-based trauma. They were men who were so scarred by the violence of WWI that things like love and joy and other positive human emotions ultimately ended up requiring too much energy and too much heartache to express, and so they retreated in on themselves. It’s not to say those emotions weren’t there for them, but what they experienced during the war was so traumatising it became hard to ever fully become “human” again. They were weapons of war discarded at the armistice.

So, socially, I see a lot of Denethor in that, this man who has, effectively become the war.

But also I think when you read the text there’s a lot to actually recommend Denethor. For starters (and I do intend on elaborating on this more later), we tend to only see Denethor when he’s in direct conflict with Gandalf, and Gandalf is obviously given the privilege of controlling the narrative. It’s this huge elephant in the room with most of the Gondorrim: we never really get more than fleeting glimpses at how unbelievably shitty and miserable life has been for them at the frontline of this war to end all wars.

Actually I think I’ll run with this Gandalf comparison for a second.

Gandalf is portrayed as this political and military mastermind, who rides from kingdom to kingdom fixing the problems of the free men of ME. We rarely ever see the aftermath of Gandalf’s time in these kingdoms, which means we never actually see what sort of political effort has to go into enacting Gandalf’s provisos, or covering up for the strange politicking that goes on. What this really comes down to is: Gandalf is a consultant, not a ruler, and in his status as consultant enjoys this moral distance from the practicalities of keeping a country/state afloat.

Denethor, however, does not. Unlike Gandalf, he doesn’t get to go gallivanting about Middle Earth searching for Elendil’s heir or Isildur’s bane or whatever, because he’s got a kingdom to run. If there’s a plague in Lossarnach, it’s ultimately Denethor who has to take responsibility for that (even if there are multiple layers of vassals below him, the buck ultimately stops with him). When there’s an entire looming cataclysm at Gondor’s (and, in effect, Middle Earth’s) eastern border, Denethor’s the guy who has to coordinate that response. And in that it’s not just Gondor he’s responsible for. If Gondor falls, everywhere else will fall too, but as far as we’re told, Gondor’s running this defence almost entirely by themselves.

And, importantly, Denethor’s a mortal. He’s a Man. I know that mostly is associated with death in LOTR, and, in the movies, the folly of Men’s pride, but what it really means, I think, is the tangibility of life. Life and time means something to Men, they have to feel and live in each second in a way the others don’t. They are tethered to the world in beautiful but also terrible ways.

The big gripe about Denethor is that he sends his son to hold Osgiliath. Okay, fine, but think about that this way, Denethor sends his son to Osgiliath. For us, the readers, and for Gandalf, the consultant, that could be anyone. But for Denethor, that is his son, flesh and blood, someone he loves dearly, one of the last living connections he has to his dead wife. The war is real and intimate for Denethor in a way it isn’t for other (yes, including Aragorn), and he bears this unbelievably difficult burden of being the ruler of a kingdom without having any of the real political legitimacy to be that leader.

Which is to say: Denethor is the Ruling Steward, but he is no king. That’s a hugely important distinction, I think, and limits a lot of what I think Denethor has the right to do. He’s essentially managing the decline of a kingdom because he doesn’t have the right to play offence for it. Everything about his life and title is about making him subservient to something else — in his case, something that literally doesn’t exist (as far as he knows). Imagine how soul destroying that is. You have to bear all the horrible psychological and emotional burdens of ruling a kingdom with none of the benefits of getting to shape it in your own image. Horrible.

We tend to give Théoden a pass for his weakness and (to be frank, even though I do love him) shittiness because he’s brought back to his senses. Denethor has suffered essentially the same problem as Théoden, except worse because he’s getting it direct from Sauron, and he never gets the chance for healing. And why doesn’t he get the chance for healing? Because he’s literally holding back the apocalypse. By the time anybody thinks to come help Denethor out, the world is already ending, and — so far as we’re told — nobody’s actually bothered to help Gondor out until the very end.

A lot of this is, tbh, wrapped up in how angry I get about how Gondor is treated by literally every other kingdom in ME, but I think Denethor-as-Gondor is a salient and important point so I’ll keep it in.

Oh also, sorry for jumpiness (my ADHD meds are wearing off) but my other gripe with the Osgiliath thing is — okay so Denethor sent his son. But he had to send someone, didn’t he? If they hadn’t held back the army at Osgiliath Minas Tirith would’ve been overrun before anybody had the chance to get there to save them. So they have to do it, somebody has to go, so who does he send? Not his son because we, the readers, have a total crush on sadboi Fara? Okay fine, so then he sends someone else’s son. But that’s still someone else’s son! We just hate Denethor because he has to make the decisions none of us would ever want to make lol

Anyways. Yes. That’s why I’m super defensive of him, I just don’t think he gets a fair shake all things considered and wish he would. He’s not a villain, he’s a man at the edge of the world, and I think we all oughta have a little empathy for that.

Like, I do think he makes the wrong call on a lot of things, and, to put it lightly, I think trying to kill your own son is Not Great, but I think as a character Denethor deserves a more nuanced interpretation than what he gets. I actually spent today writing like a three thousand word Denethor POV on the idea of hope and his kiddos which I might post at some point. But yeah. Yeah. God, sorry, that was such an info dump lol

#asks

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whitetigerdemoness · 5 years ago

Text

Hi guys! This has a title now (“Holloa”) instead of just being “Evillustrator vs Lila”. It is also up on A03 because people kept asking to be added to a tag list and I am horrible at remembering to do that. Don’t forget about the Masterpost if you would rather stick to tumblr! I keep it up to date.

I really don't like the first part of this chapter, but I needed to get Adrien back in the action SOMEHOW.

An honor duel is only valid if both parties have honor. Otherwise, it is just an excuse to beat someone's ass.

Masterpost of all Chapters

The first thing Adrien noticed when he woke up was how hard the action was. Regaining consciousness was like trying to swim upwards with weights on his legs. Forcing his eyes open the boy lay in his bed, wondering how he had gotten there. The last thing he remembered was coming home, father being furious, and being dismissed to dinner.

“Plagg?” He called, slowly levering himself up. Weak light was filtering in through his large windows. If the sun was just setting, he couldn’t have been asleep for more than a few hours. Which was good since he needed to meet Ladybug, Marinette, and search for Volpina. Then he saw the time on his alarm clock: 6:14 AM.

“Plagg?!” He called again, anxiety creeping down his spine. Something wasn’t right. Even dead exhausted he never slept through his alarm, which he would have set for certain last night. Except he didn’t even remember getting to bed so maybe he didn’t. Running his thumb over his ring in a nervous gesture, Adrien froze. Where was his ring?

Adrien frantically tore the covers off his bed, shaking them out with more energy than he had, before doing the same to the sheets. Nothing. Where else could the ring possibly be? He was dressed in the same outfit as yesterday (another seriously red flag, a model did NOT sleep in his clothes) so the laundry was out. Maybe he had dropped it in the dining room? Adrien hurried to his door, flinging it open only to run head first into his bodyguard.

“Oh, yaaaay! You’re awake!” Huh? Adrien thought, staring dumbfounded at the fondly nicknamed ‘Gorilla’. The man stared back silently.

“We’ve been sooooo worried ever since Panther and Hawkmoth left! They said you would wake up HOURS ago! Why did you have to sleep so long, I really wanted to finally meet you!” A deep blue kwami zipped around him excitedly.

“You’re a kwami!” Adrien said, shocked. How had his bodyguard gotten a miracu-wait. Back up. Had the kwami said Hawkmoth had been there?

“Yes! I’m Dusu! Very nice to finally meet you! Mayura and Paon talked about you a lot but would neeeever let me meet you! So mean!” He sobbed. Adrien’s bodyguard, whose actual name was Samson, patted the little creature gently on the head.

“You’re Mayura’s Kwami? You said HAWKMOTH was here? Who is Paon? What is going on?!” Adrien questioned in rapid succession. What in the world WAS going on? Hawkmoth having his miraculous explained where it had gone, but how had Samson gotten the peacock? How had Hawkmoth and Mayura gotten into his house? Was his father ok? Samson didn’t look concerned, but if he was working for Hawkmoth…

“I was! Samson is my holder now because Mayura is using the cat miraculous.” Samson grunted, not looking too thrilled at the prospect. “Keep Adrien safe! Hawkmoth said before they left, and that’s what we’re going to do!” Both kwami and holder nodded. The contrast between them was like night and day. Dusu was so energetic where Samson was solemn.

“Dusu, please. How did Hawkmoth get in here?” Adrien tried to get the hyper kwami to focus.

“He lives here, silly!” Dusu laughed, flying around his head. “Oh, I’m so happy to meet Paon’s chick! She would never let me play with you!” Hawkmoth lived here? In Adrien’s house? Old suspicions crept up like slime sliding down his spine. No. He had proven his father was not Hawkmoth. He couldn’t be, he had been akumatized! Hawkmoth couldn’t akumatize himself...could he? Why not, whispered a treacherous part of his brain, Chatnoir could cataclysm himself if he wasn’t careful. Miraculous holders were not immune to their own powers. His father was Hawkmoth. Adrien couldn’t breathe.

“Ohh! Are you ok? You sound wheezy. Did you forget how to breathe? Here I’ll help! And breathe in! And breathe out! And breathe in-!” Dusu cheered as Samson steadied Adrien. The blond boy barely noticed. Everything felt numb. The super villain who had been terrorizing Paris was his father. Yesterday when Hawkmoth had been talking about his mother he had thought the man had just been saying things to get to him. The Agrestes were celebrities in the fashion world. His mother’s disappearance had not gone unnoticed. Anyone who followed fashion news would know of it, but Hawkmoth had said they could bring her back like he had known where she was. He had said ‘a life for a life’. Adrien really did not like the implications of that.

“Dusu,” Adrien panted, trying to get his breathing under control. Was this what a panic attack felt like? It was awful. “My mother. Do you know anything about my mother? Do you know what happened to her?”

“Of course I know her, she was Paon! I miss her a lot, we helped a lot of people, even you!” Dusu zipped back and forth. “Paon didn’t want to be public like you and Ladybug, but she sent amoks to protect people, or cheer them up. There was even a time we traveled to the aftermath of an earthquake and sent amoks to rescue people! It was so much fun, much more than how Mayura used me.” Dusu sighed, deflating. “My miraculous is broken though, it hurts my wielder over time. She was going to give me up, but then you got really sick. The doctors said something was wrong with your heart, you were gonna die! So she stayed up for two days straight and concentrated reeeeeealllly hard and made her strongest amok ever! It’s still here.” Dusu said, patting Adrien on the chest. Adrien remembered being really sick right before his mother had disappeared. He had had to stay in the hospital for a short time, before making a miraculous recovery. His father told him he had had a bad case of the flu. There was something wrong with his heart? There was an amok inside him, keeping him alive? This was all too much to process.

“But what happened to my mother?” Adrien deliberately took another breath, trying to regain some calm. Samson was helpfully rubbing his back.

“Ooh, well, the effort of making your amok was too much strain. She’s in a coma, trying to heal. Hawkmoth wants to used the Ladybug and Cat miraculous to heal her. He’s so devoted to her.” Dusu began to cry again.

“A coma? So she’s not dead?” Adrien questioned, feeling a small sliver of hope. “If we use the miraculous, she’ll wake up? No one has to die?” Dusu shrugged.

“Using the Ladybug and Cat to make a wish always has a price. You never really know what it’s going to be before you have to pay it, but it has to be something equal. What that means varies from wish to wish. I know Hawkmoth told you you could use some random person as a sacrifice, but you can’t guarantee that. The entity chooses, not you.” Dusu said, serious for the first time since Adrien had met him. “Norro and I have tried to persuade Hawkmoth to look to other means to heal her, she’s not dead so there ARE other possibilities, but with the miraculous right here...he won't listen.” The kwami looked troubled.

Adrien mulled that over. He meant what he said yesterday, he missed his mother and would gladly make a sacrifice to have her back, but he knew she would never accept trading her life for someone else's. From what Dusu had said, the life being traded may be his father’s. His father may be willing to pay that price, but Adrien knew his mother was not and despite how distant he had been since his mother’s disappearance, Adrien didn’t want to lose his father too. If Hawkmoth’s wish failed, he could lose both of them. He was selfish. He couldn’t bear that. He needed his miraculous back.

“Dusu, do you know where Hawkmoth is keeping my miraculous?” The kwami huffed and wagged a finger.

“Mayura has it, she’s Panther now, and you are not getting it back! It’s too dangerous for little chicks outside right now!” Samson nodded in agreement. “There are akuma everywhere by now!”

“Then that’s all the reason for me to get my miraculous back! Ladybug needs Chatnoir!” Not more than you need her, the stressed part of his brain whispered. He tried to ignore it. “If I need a miraculous to get my miraculous, give me the peacock!” Dusu puffed up, fanning his feathers in preparation to argue, but Samson stopped him. The large man and kwami stared at each other for a long time, having some sort of silent conversation. Finally, Dusu deflated, the loser of the argument.

“Ok. I guess one transformation wont hurt you too bad. If you really need to do this Adrien, Plumage will help you until you get your ring back.” Dusu sighed. “Paon would never forgive me if I let her chick get hurt.”

“Plumage?” Adrien questioned.

“Dusu, spread my feathers.” Holy crap Samson could talk.

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“Penknight! On your left!” Queenbee watched the akuma slice the insect kind of akuma out of the air as Rena Rouge dived to save the newly cured victim. She would NEVER admit it out loud, but his ability to destroy akuma was very useful since Ladybug was still out looking for allies. The fox holder was currently the only one to have shown up. The time limit Ladybug had set was nearly over. It looked like they may not be getting any more help.

Help they sorely needed. For every person they cured, another three akuma took their place. Dozens of akuma Queenbee had never even seen before rushed them, all various combinations of eerie red. The newscast this morning had been truly devastating. Honestly, what were those idiot reporters thinking! Showing something like THAT to a city where anyone who got mildly upset could become a super villain? It was like they were TRYING to help Hawkmoth. Utterly ridiculous.

“Queenbee, look out!” She felt her breath whoosh out as something grabbed her around the middle and yanked her back just moments before a line of spikes would have hit her. Retriever pounced on the porcupine\octopus creature that had attacked her while Queenbee slapped Stardust’s crook away.

“Keep your glitter to yourself, sparkles. I shine brightly enough on my own without getting your tacky dust on me.” She hmphed. Stardust rolled his eyes before using his crook to hook an akuma out of the air as they tried to divebomb the two. A quick snap of her top sent a butterfly fluttering out of a pair of aviator goggles. Penknight cackled with manic glee as he sliced the butterfly in two, before hopping backwards to avoid a flailing tentacle from the porcupine squid thing. The akuma was clearly getting some sort of malicious enjoyment from destroying the other akumas. Queenbee understood, sort of. There was nothing more satisfying than proving yourself better than your competition, but she also thought the akuma was only having fun because he got to swing his sword around and show off for Stardust. Men.

“Ugh. I cannot believe you are attracted to that. Honey, you can do so much better.” She meant it. Seeing someone as pretty as Marc pining for someone as nerdy as Nathaniel was a travesty. Pretty people just did not settle for less than the best. That’s what her mother had always said. It didn’t matter how nice a boy’s shoulders looked if his clothes came out of a second hand bin, and don’t even get her started on Kurtzberg’s hair. Had the boy ever heard of conditioner before? The spikey mess of his akuma form was almost an upgrade.

“Says the girl who keeps eyeing his backside.” Rena Rouge snickered, helping Viperion wrestle a compact Picasso horror to the ground.

“Hmph! I am obviously just noting all the flaws in that garish coat. How could anyone look away from such an insult to fashion? Not that I would expect someone who thinks frosted tips is still a trendy hairstyle to understand.” If Ladybug could return already so they could get around to hunting down Scarlet Hawkmoth that would be great. The team was trading banter to try and keep their spirits up, one of them getting akumatized would be game over, but the battle was taking its toll. There just seemed to be no end to the waves of vermilion drenched akuma.

“It’s ok Queenbee, Penknight does have a very eye catching...coat.” Stardust had the nerve to laugh at her. She dismissed him with a flick of her hand and used her top to try and help Retriever get the akuma she had been fighting to hold still long enough to find its akumatized object. This would be SO much easier if any of them could use their powers, but with the time limit they were all reduced to brawling like common street thugs. This was utterly beneath Queenbee.

“So the race traitor continues to terrorize innocent akuma. Fear not, my flock! Your Shepard will protect you!” Ugh, speaking of things that were beneath her. The akuma horde backed away as Shepard leapt down from a nearby building. Curiously, there was no red on him at all. Even more curious the previously chaotic akuma seemed to be obeying him, neatly stepping out of the way when ordered. Interesting.

“I challenge you to one on one combat!” Shepard declared, dramatically pointing his weapon at Penknight. “When I win, you WILL turn the human you have been consorting with over to me!” The red akumas circled the heroes, silent, creating a battle ring of sorts while also trapping them inside. Penknight didn’t seem concerned.

“You’re that asshole from the hospital arn’t you?” Penknight asked, looking disgusted.

“My adversary recognizes me! Now face me you-what are you doing?” Penknight had turned his sword back into a drawing tablet and was cracking his knuckles.

“I’m going to enjoy this.” Penknight chuckled darkly, before leaping at the wolf headed akuma and ripping the staff out of his hands before the other could even react. The next few minutes consisted mainly of Shepard screaming while Penknight beat him with his own weapon. None of the scarlet akuma moved to interfere, watching silently.

“This is wrong, we should stop him.” Stardust ventured nervously. Viperion stopped him with a hand on his shoulder when he tried to step forward to interfere.

“Let Penknight have his fun, we need the break. Akuma are pretty hardy. Shepard isn’t being hurt nearly as bad as it sounds.” Viperion said, rubbing at his own shoulders. The snake hero had been transformed longer than any of them and welcomed the respite.

“Besides, you didn’t hear what that douche was saying at the hospital. He’s getting what he deserves.” Rena Rouge muttered darkly. Viperion gave her an appraising look at that, looking like a lightbulb had gone off but didn’t comment.

“Um, guys?” Retriever asked hesitantly, pointing to a nearby rooftop where Penknight had dragged the other akuma. Penknight hoisted Shepard over his head like Quasimodo and Esmeralda declaring sanctuary, but the look on his face suggested more malicious intentions.

“Ok now we stop him.” Viperion said running for the building.

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

Ladybug snatched another akuma out of the air with her yoyo. Carapace helped the now cured victim to their feet as the purified butterfly fluttered away. Other than Rena Rouge, he had been the only other hero she had been able to find. The two of them had been trying to make their way to the larger battle raging in the distance for sometime now, but kept getting side tracked by stray akuma also heading for the battle. There was no doubt the bulk of them were fighting the larger group of heroes, but there were enough stragglers to present a problem.

“Ladybug!” What now, she sighed internally as someone other than Carapace called out to her. When she turned to address the speaker, she would have been shocked if she still had her emotions. Riding on the shoulders of a large blue akuma was Adrien. She should feel relieved to see him, elated even, but with Reverser’s power still in place she felt nothing. Logically she knew this should distress her but the lack of feeling was freeing in its own way. She hadn’t been this free of stress since she became Ladybug.

“Drop him!” Carapace ordered, squaring off against the blue akuma.

“Whoa, It’s ok Carapace! He’s a friend. This is Plumage, he’s not an akuma. He’s using the Peacock miraculous.” Adrien explained, sliding to the ground. Ladybug appraised the new arrival again. The hulking man wore a deep blue suit that nearly blended into his blue skin. Cascading over a blue headband and almost to the ground were hundreds of peacock feathers instead of hair. A gigantic version of Mayura’s fan was strapped to his back, almost as large as he was. His appearance was very simple and no nonsense.

“It is good to see you are alright, Adrien. I was worried.” She had been. Before. “Why have you come out here? The streets are dangerous.” Adrien paused at her flat tone, eyeing the various kwami floating around her.

“Ladybug, are you...all right? You sound strange.” He asked.

“She was affected by an akuma power that sealed her emotions.” Longg answered for her. “Considering the circumstances of the past few hours, Ladybug decided to leave the alteration in place for the time being to prevent from being akumatized.” The dragon kwami looked like he disapproved of the choice.

“I was wondering about that...but never mind! Adrien, dude! Ladybug is right, it is way too dangerous out here for you to be out and about. Go home man.” Carapace said. Adrien shook his head.

“I can help. This is all my fault, I want to- I need to help fix it.” The determination in his eyes briefly sparked something in Ladybug before Reverser’s alteration suppressed it. She wondered what it was.

“How could this all be your fault?” Carapace asked, puzzled.

“Well…” Adrien glanced at Ladybug, seemingly asking her permission.

“It doesn’t matter who knows now that Hawkmoth does. Adrien was Chatnoir. Hawkmoth took his ring.” She said, turning away from them to stare searchingly in the direction the larger battle had been raging. Everything had gone quiet. That could not be a good sign.

“Dude.” Said Carapace, stunned.

“He did take my ring, but in doing so he showed his hand. I know who he is Ladybug.” She turned to face him, many different emotions being negated as fast as they could rise. Did they have a face for their nemesis after all this time? This was the best news she had heard in a long time. The various kwami chattered excitedly around her. Ladybug inclined her head, silently asking Adrien to continue. He took a deep breath as if gathering strength.

“Hawkmoth is Gabriel Agreste. My Father.”

#miraculous ladybug #nathaniel kurtzberg #Ladybug #Viperion #Chloe bourgeois #marc anciel #adrien agreste #Holloa #queen bee

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jeromevalseka · 6 years ago

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so i was going through my drafts (always a wild time) & i found the beginnings of a valeyne soulmate au & it's not terrible (always rare when going through my drafts) & since ive been in such an awful valeyne mood i thought i'd share it because tbh i don't know if i'll continue it but i do enjoy it & hope you will to!

cut the safety line

It's supposed to be condescending. Mocking. An imitation of comfort, an inversion of their relationship. Jerome pats him on the cheek, the pads of his fingers warm, and it shouldn't mean anything.

Instead, it means everything.

Bruce fractures the moment Jerome touches him, splits himself into two states of being: who he was before and who he is now. All of his pieces that felt jagged and out of place slot together. There's something weightless about this. Something intangible. Indescribable beyond his general refocusing that this is what it means to be whole. It's beautiful. It's frightening.

Jerome is looking at him with wide-eyes, wild-eyes, something fragile and shattered peeking through in his stare. His hand is still on Bruce's face. It's warm and calloused and Bruce has to restrain himself from leaning into it. There's a shift between them. Broken tension reformed into something new. They just look at each other. Everything is so much more vibrant now. Jerome's hair is red and his eyes are blue, and before these were just facts, but now, now that everything feels so much clearer, they're revelations. His skin is a mess, scarred and scabbed, blurring the line between man and monster, but all Bruce wants to do is press his fingers along his cheeks, follow the raised skin until he knows every indent on Jerome's face.

An eternity passed in three seconds.

Then, his hand is sliding down Bruce's face until it settled in the space between his shoulder and his neck, Jerome maneuvers them around, pushing himself between Bruce and the crowd of hostages, obscuring him from view entirely. Somewhere in that sea of people Jim Gordon cursed loudly. On the stage, neither of them cared.

"Well," Jerome said, his voice only meant for Bruce's ears. "This is certainly a… surprise. Who would of thought? A stick-in-the-mud like you, my soulmate." He laughed, his mouth stretching widely, pulling itself taunt, blister red, but there was no humor in it. It was cold. "What a joke."

Bruce felt something twist low in his gut. He wanted to move closer to Jerome, press himself against every tangible inch of him until he was absorbed completely, patching his way through all of his brittle and rotted parts. He wanted to move farther away. The haze that had fallen over him was lifting. Reality crashed back down. Harshly.

What did it mean for him that his soulmate was someone like Jerome Valeska?

Bitterness rose up in his mouth like he'd swallowed turmeric powder. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know what to do. Jerome's hand was still on him, distracting and grounding and Bruce thinks he might like the feeling. He didn't know what to do with that realization either.

He wet his lips. "What are you going to do?"

It's a valid question.

They can't ignore this — their bond. They're bound together now. Two halves of the same soul. Contact wasn't exactly necessary, of course, but being away from your soulmate caused discomfort, even pain, especially if the bond was new. Bruce didn't care about that as much as he did the fact that his other half was apparently a murderous psychopath who constantly terrorized the city and seemed to have a personal vendetta against him.

Something had to be wrong.

He knew it wasn't.

Absently, Jerome stroked his thumb against one of the tendons in his neck and Bruce unfurled, boneless for just a moment. It was a nice feeling. Jerome froze, his expression stuck between awed and suspicious, leaving an uncomfortably vast margin for interpretation.

"Don't you worry a hair on your pretty, little head," Jerome said, finally. His voice was rougher than usual.

Then, in a move that left Bruce off-balance, feeling like he'd been flung into the depths of Gotham River, he removed his hand entirely, twisting the pair of them around again so it was Bruce whose back was now facing the crowd of spectators. With his customary showman's flair, Jerome skipped backwards, pulling a knife out of nowhere and, in a blur of motion that Bruce had trouble following, threw it towards his brother who'd been watching silently from his seat on stage. Jeremiah let out a painful, choking sound, but Bruce only had eyes for his soulmate, who was quickly making his way towards the back of the stage.

Before he escaped completely, as slippery as water, a new franticness edging his movements, he looked back at Bruce, splintering, and called out, "Au revoir!"

With one last flash of his coattails, he was gone, leaving his hostages, his followers, and the members of the GCPD slowly pushing their way through the murmuring crowd, confused.

Bruce closed his eyes.

. . . . . . . . . .

There was a shock blanket around his shoulders. Was he in shock? Maybe. Probably.

The crowd had dispersed, a few stragglers pushing up against the police barricade, curious, too curious, about the spectacle they'd been forced to witness. They didn't even bother to whisper. Their voices carried, lamenting and syrup-thick as they chattered amongst themselves about the poor, unfortunate Wayne boy. He never catches a break does he?

He wished he could lament himself, but reporters were buzzing around like thirsty leeches and sitting in the back of an ambulance was no place to break down. Later, when he was back in the manor and after Alfred went to bed, he'd wrap himself up in one of his mom's old quilts and choke down some of his dad's old scotch and he'd force down the scream he could feel building in his stomach. He'd force it down until his hands shook and his vision blurred and everything in his head restored itself to sense. He'd sit until daylight started to peak behind the curtains. He'd sit until he knew for sure that he'd patched up all the cracks that formed.

The certainty in it soothed him. Not by much, but enough to keep him balanced on the knife-sharp edge of falling victim to a panic attack.

It helped when he didn't think.

So he didn't.

He just sat, wrapped up in the shock blanket. He looked like a victim in a way he hadn't managed to since his parent's death. A proper one with trauma stringing its way through his veins. There was something new in his veins, but he didn't think it was trauma. Or maybe it was. He was tired. All stooped shoulders and heavy eyes. Pathetic. He hoped the paparazzi appreciated it.

The silence he'd built around himself was broken by Jim. He looked just as bad as Bruce did. It wasn't comforting. He sat down beside him, their shoulders knocking together, and Jim allowed the quiet to build up again, let the tension rise as he considered whatever it was he wanted to say.

"I think it's safe to say that this didn't go according to plan." Jim offered, apologetic.

Bruce thought that might have been an understatement. His eye twitched. Wildly, he thought about telling Jim. His fears were lodged high up in his throat, and his fingers curled into the shock blanket, and he felt his heartbeat pick up in anticipation. Jim would understand. He'd always helped him before, and, logically, Bruce knew that he'd continue to help him, even with something as complicated as his soulmate.

I met my soulmate. He's a monster. Am I a monster?

That felt childish. He couldn't force the words out.

Instead, he asked, "How's Jeremiah?"

It's what he was supposed to ask, after all. He's Bruce Wayne and he's supposed to care about everyone, all the time, because if he doesn't then—

Then what?

He wasn't sure.

Something cataclysmic settled itself on the edge of his tongue. He felt raw. Exposed. There was something painful and bruised carving a space for itself at the top of his throat. He might have been shaking.

Jim answered his question, unaware of emotions coiling through him. "The knife went through his shoulder, but missed the artery. The paramedics sounded pretty confident that he'd make a full recovery."

"That's," Bruce searched for a word, "Good. Could you let him know that I'd be happy to take care of any medical costs? Or, actually, I'll visit him myself. He shouldn't be alone right now, what with—"

He faltered, the words dying on his lips.

What with Bruce's soulmate on the loose.

He couldn't breathe.

He remembered how it felt when Jerome touched him. It was better than any high he'd ever had. Complete euphoria. A merging of selves. They were soulmates. For whatever reason the cosmos decided that of all the people in the world, Jerome Valeska was his divinely ordained other half. A murderer. A monster. And Bruce probably would have done just about anything to touch him again. Logically, he knew that was because of how new the bond was — a sort of failsafe to ensure you were around your soulmate to make sure the bond could really build itself up — but still. This whole situation was reaching an unparalleled level of bullshit that he hadn't been ready for.

Jim grabbed his shoulder. Concern was rolling off of him in waves. His stomach twisted. "Bruce what's wrong?"

He was shaking. He couldn't get the words out. He couldn't explain. He couldn't couldn't couldn't couldn't—

"I met my soulmate." Bruce said, crumbling in on himself.

"Your—" Jim started, confused, before understanding crashed over him. "Oh, kid."

#valeyne #p: bruce x jerome #softvaleska #mari im tagging u bc ur the only valeyne mutual i know & also bc i love u sorry to b annoying #just reading this snippet brought back a bunch of my feelings for the universe #there's gobblepot soulmate angst & a gratuitous amount of jonathan crane involvement #makes me want to write more of it #also pls ignore my tense changes im too tired to fix it shsnsnsnsns

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southernwolf16 · 6 years ago

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Downtime Chapter 1

AO3

Determined | Promise | A Show of Power

My entry to the Noblesse Fix It Event

Prompts 2-Quiet, 5-Regret, 16-Family, 17- Warmth, 21-Promise, 30-Concerned

This story is inspired by what I think is an unsatisfying ending to the Werewolf Island Arc, among other things. And also by reading/ seeing one too many of @o-c-o-c-o‘s works. I didn’t even know the phrase “data dump” until I read it from you.

To @thedreaminus, @silverwolf8940, @pandora-twists, @madameazzure and everyone else who might be interested, here is my contribution to the fandom.

WARNING: VERY LONG STORY. I had to break it into chapters or else the whole thing will probably be around 20K words. This one is 10.5K words

SUMMARY: M-21.exe has stopped working. Or alternately, the Werewolf Island aftercare story nobody asked for.

The mist that shrouded the Werewolf Island dissipated into crystal shards, falling around them like blood-colored snow.

Is it over? M-21 raised his head to the sky. What little remained of his strength gradually returned, and it was barely enough to keep him upright. M-21 did his best not to sway where he stood.

Not now, please.

“The same thing’s happening around the island,” Tao said after listening to the report from Kentas’ group.

“Does this mean Maduke lost?” Regis asked.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Takeo turned to Lunark. “We better head back now.”

“Go. And thank you for your help.” Lunark glanced at M-21, silently hoping that he would survive this ordeal intact.

M-21 pushed himself onward with the rest of RK, continuing to ignore the dull ache in his chest that began to bother him following the fight with the werewolf warriors. He almost lost his footing once or twice, except no one saw it since he was lagging behind the group. By the time they reached the battlefield, M-21’s vision was already swimming and the dull ache had intensified enough to steal his breath. He was cold and not because he was shirtless the whole time.

M-21 knew there was something seriously wrong with him. Although it would have to wait, not when there were enemies who could still be lurking about. M-21 concentrated on the scene before him instead. There was no trace of Maduke. Muzaka and that female werewolf named Garda were nowhere in sight as well. However, the Lord, Raizel and Frankenstein did not display any hostility in their stances.

It was over. They had won. Yet the victory was hollow, what with Raizel using his already scant life force and the werewolf race possibly suffering cataclysmic loss of lives.

The Lord was speaking to Raizel but for the life of him, M-21 could not understand a word of it. Nothing made sense anymore. Everything hurt, his eyesight darkening at the edges as his heart clenched in his chest. M-21 refused to yield to the pain and exhaustion racking his body.

After the brief exchange with Raizel and Frankenstein, the Lord flew to the sky and departed with the other Clan Leaders.

It was really over. M-21 drew an agonizing breath as he tried to survey everyone with his failing sight.

Everyone’s safe now. We can go…

Frankenstein approached Raizel. “Master, it’s time to head—”

…home. M-21 succumbed to unconsciousness, falling backward as he did so. He was only saved from crashing down by Takeo catching him by the shoulders.

Takeo nearly recoiled at how icy M-21 was to the touch. “M-21!”

Tao rushed to help Takeo lower M-21 to the ground. Takeo stripped off his coat and covered M-21 with it in the hopes that it could somehow warm him up. M-21 only shivered in response.

“M-21…” Tao removed M-21’s mask and tapped his cheek a few times. “He’s unresponsive.”

Frankenstein hurried towards M-21, berating himself for not sparing a few minutes to examine him beforehand. M-21’s very rapid pulse, cold and clammy skin and irregular breathing were not reassuring in the slightest. Frankenstein lifted M-21 and had to swallow his anger when he realized that M-21 weighed less than he should. “Tell me you came here with transportation—”

“We brought one of the choppers.” Takeo proceeded to lead everyone in the direction where said vehicle was located.

Tao did not move. “Boss, please let me stay so I can find data—”

Frankenstein cut him off. “Take someone with you—”

“I’ll go with him,” Rael volunteered.

Tao was already on his communication device. He made contact at last as the rest of their party was leaving the area. “Kentas, it’s Tao. We need help…”

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

Frankenstein had a lot to be grateful for.

Someone had the foresight to bring blankets. They used one as a mat so M-21 was not lying directly on the chopper floor, while the other they draped on him to help raise his temperature.

A few weeks ago, M-21 suggested that there should be medic bags in the choppers. He also said that the non-medical members of the household should train in performing emergency medical procedures, not just basic first aid.

Frankenstein was pleased that they were able to implement at least one of M-21’s ideas. But the irony of it, Frankenstein thought as he took the medic bag from its compartment, was that M-21 will be the first person on which the medic bag’s contents will be used.

There were many trivial and profound details in the grand scheme of things for which Frankenstein should be thankful. Though right now he would greatly appreciate it if they could get back to the house faster than what was possible.

Frankenstein prepared the necessary equipment and donned medical goggles and gloves. He clamped a pulse oximeter on M-21’s right index finger to get a reading of his pulse rate. M-21 was having difficulty breathing despite a clear airway that Frankenstein was compelled to use the Bag Valve Mask on him.

More than thirty minutes passed as Frankenstein continued to provide ventilation for M-21. His blood oxygen level was now almost within the normal range. Just a little more and—

M-21 suddenly made a gurgling sound and started gagging. Frankenstein stopped using the Bag Valve Mask, removed the airway adjunct from M-21’s mouth and turned his head to the side, where he vomited a stream of bile mixed with bright red blood.

“What’s our ETA?” Frankenstein maneuvered M-21 into the recovery position then grabbed Takeo’s coat to catch the vomit. He glanced at the pulse oximeter and bit back a curse. M-21’s pulse was dropping fast.

“We’ll be in Korean airspace twenty minutes tops,” Takeo replied. “We’re already going as fast as we could—”

“Land us on a building closest to the house when we get to the city,” Frankenstein ordered. Whatever that bitch Ignes did to M-21 was wreaking havoc on his system. They were running out of time. Frankenstein further instructed Takeo to go ahead of them later to power up the lab equipment. He looked to Raizel. “Master—”

“M-21 is our priority now.” Raizel was aware that he would only delay Frankenstein if he were to go with him in his exhausted state. “I will follow you later.”

“The rest of you should stay with Master,” Frankenstein said to Regis, Karias and Seira.

“I’ll be your lookout,” Karias offered.

“We’re now in Korea,” Takeo relayed. “We’ll reach the city in fifteen minutes.”

Frankenstein checked M-21’s breathing. He was no longer throwing up bile, although a thick stream of blood steadily flowed from his mouth. Fifteen minutes seemed like eons.

“ETA five minutes,” Takeo called out as he calculated the trajectory to the building nearest to the house. The chopper did a slight turn and dropped to a lower altitude.

“We’re landing now,” Takeo announced after so many minutes. The chopper touched down on one of the skyscrapers that dotted the city.

“You have five minutes.” Frankenstein threw a quick look at Takeo and resumed preparing M-21 for the move.

Frankenstein cleaned up M-21 as best as he could and swaddled him in a blanket. M-21’s shuddering worsened as they alighted from the chopper and were met with the chilly night air. Seira came forward to pull at a section of the blanket and placed it over M-21’s head as a makeshift hood.

It was time to go. Frankenstein and Karias leaped from the building as the others anxiously watched.

Frankenstein flew at a relentless pace, pushing himself to his limit despite his own injuries. They were only a few blocks from the house when M-21 stiffened, gasped and gurgled. Blood gushed from M-21’s mouth and nose, soaking the blanket so much that the stain spread beyond his chest and showed no signs of stopping.

Dread crept in yet Frankenstein was calm as he whispered, “M-21, we’re almost at the house. You’re going to be alright. We’re going to fix this, I promise.”

So don’t you dare die on us now.

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

M-21 roused to the sound of splashing water, the chirping of birds and the rustling of leaves as a soft breeze blew through them.

Something was coaxing M-21 to wakefulness, but he was very, very tired. Going to sleep was a wonderful idea, except everything seemed to conspire against him because the sounds were somehow louder. Or maybe his hearing got better. Either way, falling asleep was regrettably out of the equation.

M-21 cracked his eyes open, expecting to be assaulted by a light that was too bright. To his surprise, no such thing happened. The light had a warm, comforting quality to it. M-21 took stock of his surroundings.

He was sitting against a tall tree, the expanse of its branches serving as a natural canopy. M-21’s legs stretched out, his feet just a few meters away from the rocky edge of—there was no scent of brine in the air—a lake, then. Grass covered the ground surrounding the tree and M-21 wanted to pull each blade off just so he could savor its freshly cut fragrance. Farther ahead, the land to either side of him was green and bore touches of different colors from what he guessed as flowers. Maybe he could take a stroll once he was not feeling so faint.

Done with checking the environ, M-21 gave himself a once-over. Strangely, he was wearing his clothes from when he was still with the Union sans the trench coat. Did his old attire have that much sentimental value to him that—

A series of caws broke through the bird songs. All of a sudden, a crow landed on M-21’s left foot, skittered across his leg and paused on his knee. M-21 idly held his left hand to it and let the crow perch there.

“Hello,” M-21 greeted. The crow answered with a caw. Why was there a crow here? The crow continued its walk until it got to M-21’s shoulder, and once there started tugging at his hair.

“Hey, what are you doing?” M-21 shook his arm in an attempt to dislodge the crow, but the corvid merely flapped its wings to balance itself. Was it trying to groom him? The crow stopped messing with his hair, though. M-21 drew his left leg up bit by bit and the crow flew back to its previous position on his knee. M-21 reached out to touch its head.

“Are you here all by yourself?” M-21 was quite sure that crows traveled in groups so maybe this one got lost. The crow ceased with lightly pecking at M-21’s fingers to throw him a beady gaze and another caw.

“I’m not really sure what this place is, but it looks peaceful, right?” And now he was having a one-sided conversation with a bird. M-21 had done crazier things so this was nothing. “And I don’t mind the company.” His arm dropped to the grass as a dull pain in his chest made itself known. “I just…need to rest a bit.” M-21 leaned his head back on the tree’s trunk and closed his eyes. He could probably try sleeping again—

“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

M-21’s eyes shot open and he jerked forward, sending the crow flying. That voice, he would recognize it anywhere! M-21 twisted to the side, almost going on his hands and knees to search for its source.

And found Him standing just several paces away. M-21 sank back on his legs, gaping as He strode towards him.

“I finally found you,” M-24 said once he arrived in front of M-21.

M-21 felt his eyes prickle at the corners. “You’re not really here and this is a trick.” He wanted to believe his words yet his heart refused. “I miss you so much that they’re making me see you like this. You’re not real.”

M-24 hunkered to M-21’s level and stared with that familiar expression of kindness reserved only for him. It spoke of shared suffering and an oath made so long ago to have each other’s back come hell or high water.

And the dam broke. The tears came unbidden and relentless, cascading down M-21’s cheeks to his chin and dripping to the ground.

“It’s…really you…” M-21 could barely see M-24 through his tears.

“Shhh, don’t cry.” M-24 wiped away M-21’s tears. The action only made M-21 sob harder.

“Someone from the Union pretended to be you. I really thought you came back.” M-21 no longer gave a damn if he sounded like a child telling on someone. There was no helping that he was this pathetic.

“I’m here.” M-24 continued to dry M-21’s tears. “So no more crying, it’s not good for you to be crying now.”

M-21’s hand drifted to his chest, right where his heart was. A sharp pain made his breath hitch.

“M-21, you have to stop crying. It’s hurting you.” M-24 tried again.

“It hurts so much...” M-21 groaned.

“I know. That’s why you have to calm down. You can do it.” By now, M-24 was sitting on the ground and pulling M-21 into a one-armed hug. “Come on, breathe.”

M-21 drew deep, shaky breaths as he scrubbed off his tears with the sides of his hands. He eventually composed himself, salvaging what little was left of his dignity after his pitiful display. The pain in his chest eased down.

“We miss you a lot, though not so much we’d want to see you this soon,” M-24 said as he gave M-21’s shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“Can’t I just stay here?” M-21 burrowed into M-24’s side. “I’m tired.”

“You’re not even supposed to be here,” M-24 answered. “So you really have to go.”

The confused look that crossed M-21’s face prompted M-24 to hold him by the shoulders and solemnly say, “Remember the promise that we made. And more importantly, remember there are people waiting for you.”

People waiting for him? Who…

Black strands. Blond waves. Locks of magenta. Tresses of silver. Red. Blue. Gray. Ice blue. The image of a group of persons flickered in M-21’s mind, their names eluding him though not their significance. Family his heart echoed, there was a family waiting for him.

He was not alone.

That solitary crow, watching M-21 and M-24 from the ground, let out an impatient caw.

“M-21?” M-24 tentatively queried.

M-21 sighed. “You’re meant to take me back, aren’t you?” He uncurled from M-24’s side and moved to stand up on wobbly legs. M-24 rose along with him and kept an arm slung across his shoulders to help steady him.

“Lead the way then,” M-21 said.

M-24 nodded and they walked in the direction where he came from. The grass was longer and interspersed with flowers of all imaginable colors. M-21 could have stopped and perused each one, except M-24 swiftly ushered him along a concealed path. Overhead, the crow glided in circles and repeatedly cawed as if telling them to make haste.

“We’re almost there,” M-24 uttered. Whether this was addressed to him or the crow, M-21 was unsure.

The pair had been trekking for some time and arrived at higher ground at that point. The horizon was lined in white and as they closed the distance, M-21 and M-24 came upon a white stone wall. Right in front of them was an intricately carved wooden door.

M-24 released M-21. “This is as far as I go. You’ll be able to get back once you pass through this door.” However, M-21 remained motionless.

“M-21, please, you can’t stay here much longer.”

M-21 turned to look at M-24, uncertainty in his eyes. “Hyung…” On any other day, he would have been self-conscious for letting the word slip.

M-24 relented, pulled M-21 into another embrace and declared, “We’ll see each other again someday.” He lightly pushed M-21 towards the door. “Now you have to get back home.”

M-21 touched the door and it creaked open. When it was wide enough to let him pass, he spared one last look at M-24.

“Go on. We’ll all be here when you come back.” M-24 smiled.

M-21 returned the smile. “Yeah. I’ll see you later.” The door immediately shut once he went through it.

M-24 glared at the crow as it settled on his shoulder. “Just because you helped out back there doesn’t mean you lot can go near him,” he warned. “He’s not ready to deal with you.”

The crow just tilted its head to one side and cawed.

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M-21 found himself in a forest. Close to barren trees swayed in the wintry breeze and sent leaves raining down. The full moon was low and enormous, the only source of illumination in the suffocating darkness.

“You made it.” A female voice came from behind him. M-21 spun to find a young woman and a teenaged girl standing there. Their similar features led him to conclude that they were related to each other. Both had red brown hair—the young woman’s hair was loose and flowing while the girl had hers in a long braid—and brown eyes. They emitted a glow that rendered them distinct in the bleak surrounding.

The pair took quick strides towards M-21. “Come, we must hurry.” The young woman grasped M-21 by his right hand and marched onward. His eyes grew wide at the move yet he allowed himself to be led farther into the forest since he sensed no ill intent from her or the girl.

The young woman looked back at M-21. “You will leave this place unharmed I promise you.” Her determined gaze convinced M-21 that she would fight tooth and nail to guarantee that.

“If you hear some strange sounds don’t pay attention.” The girl advised as she walked beside M-21. She held a three-pronged wooden spear at a ready.

M-21 noticed that the only sounds in the forest were their footfalls and voices.

A shrill scream pierced the air. A cacophony of wails, shrieks and moans followed, causing M-21 to tremble in spite of himself.

The young woman squeezed his hand. “Hush, it will be alright. We will not let them hurt you.” M-21 focused on the warmth of her hand to shut out the voices.

The young woman decided to pick up their pace that M-21 was almost breathless with the exertion. The forest disappeared and they arrived at a low cliff with a raging river below it.

“You have to jump into the water,” the young woman explained as she and the girl steered M-21 to the cliff’s edge. “It will keep you safe and return you home—”

“Wait!” M-21 held his ground. “Please tell me…have we met before?” His instinct was screaming that he ought to recognize who they were.

The young woman wore a bittersweet smile. “No. It would have been a very happy day if we did.”

M-21’s mind was racing. Why did he feel so safe with them if they never met previously? Why did the thought of leaving them make his heart heavy?

Then it dawned upon him. M-21’s stare went from the girl to the young woman, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “You’re—” he somehow choked out.

The young woman took M-21’s face in her hands and wiped the corners of his eyes as the first of his tears began to fall. “Remember what your friend said? It’s not good for you to be crying now.”

M-21 fought hard to keep himself from further weeping. “I-I don’t understand. Why are you here?” The words kept tumbling out. “What does it mean that you’re here—”

The young woman pulled M-21 to plant a kiss on his forehead and stare into his eyes. “Our time has long passed. But not yours.” She carried on in a firm yet affectionate tone, “I know it’s been hard, but you have to stay strong. And never forget there are people who care for you very much.”

M-21 was wrapped in her arms. He held her tight, not wanting to let go.

“We have to say goodbye for now, my love,” the young woman said a few moments later. M-21 forced himself to withdraw from the hug.

The girl stepped forward and embraced M-21 as well. “Take care of yourself out there, you hear?”

M-21 nodded, not going to the trouble of saying anything lest he end up sobbing. Instead, he did his best to commit their faces into memory. M-21 resolved not to throw away everybody’s efforts to get him there and set his attention on the river. He breathed in and jumped down. The river’s churning waters swallowed him as soon as he hit it.

They were right. M-21 was calm as the current swept him away. It feels safe down here.

Then he was gone.

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The sharp, monotonous beep of the vital signs monitor gave way to intermittent ones that were far too slow for Frankenstein’s liking. It only highlighted that M-21 was in a very precarious condition.

Frankenstein wasted no time and placed M-21 in one of the tanks with Karias and Takeo’s assistance. A comprehensive scan revealed a myriad of issues requiring immediate attention, foremost of these was the rapid cell degeneration ravaging M-21’s organs and causing them to fail. Frankenstein administered the highest possible dose of medicine within the safety limits to arrest the degeneration. He was now working against the clock to formulate a cocktail of drugs to address M-21’s other injuries and ailments.

Somewhere behind Frankenstein, Takeo was saying that he needed to go fetch Tao and Rael from the Werewolf Island.

Karias approached Frankenstein. “Is there anything else we can help you with?”

“None for now,” Frankenstein replied without taking his eyes off his task of retrieving his research data. At that point, he remembered. “Master must be here already.”

Takeo and Karias glanced at the observation window on the other side of the lab to find Raizel, Seira and Regis watching them. Judging from their expressions, they were unfortunate witnesses to most if not all of the horrific scenario that transpired moments ago.

“We’ll see to his needs,” Karias reassured Frankenstein. Takeo and Karias left the lab just as Raizel exited the observation room with Regis and Seira, and they all caught up with each other at the hallway.

Seira and Regis were unable to disguise their horror. Takeo tracked their gaze to his blood-smeared shirt. “It’s not mine, it’s M-21’s,” he said as he pulled at the sticky clothing. “I better change out of this or I might scare Tao.”

Raizel continued towards the elevator and everyone dutifully followed him. He had utmost confidence in Frankenstein’s abilities to take care of M-21. For his part, Raizel decided that he would not add to Frankenstein’s concerns and fix his disheveled appearance as a start.

It was close to an hour later when Raizel entered the main lab all by himself. There was no evidence of the previous event there. In fact, the lab was far too clean and currently had an overpowering chemical scent.

Frankenstein was standing in a seemingly relaxed manner in front of the tank that held M-21, thoughts unreadable. Raizel took a position to his right and observed M-21 as well. What he saw caused him worry and he let Frankenstein feel it through their Link.

After a while, Frankenstein murmured, “Sometimes I regret not forcing them to leave.”

“You forget that they are not the sort to listen,” Raizel answered, equally quiet. “They want to stay despite the danger.”

“Maybe I should have threatened them with Dark Spear.” Frankenstein clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles were turning white. “Then none of this would have happened.”

There would have been no kidnapping, no rescue mission sidelined because of the mad ambitions of a Werewolf Lord, and no necessity for his Master to use his powers and deplete his life force as a result.

“What’s done is done.” Raizel’s words sounded harsh even to him, but it would do no good for Frankenstein to fall into a pit of self-loathing and guilt. “Do not blame yourself for things you have no control over. Moreover, do not lose sight of what is important now.”

Frankenstein violently sighed then collected himself. He faced Raizel and gave a slight bow. “Forgive me for speaking and behaving out of turn, Master.”

Raizel extended his hand and patted Frankenstein on the shoulder in understanding.

“Please go rest, Master. I will handle things here,” Frankenstein suggested.

Raizel would have declined except Frankenstein’s anxious expression changed his mind. “I do not need to leave to get rest,” was what he said as a compromise.

“As you wish.” Frankenstein obtained a chair for Raizel and together they began the vigil over M-21. The beeps from the equipment monitoring M-21 were the only sounds to counter the hush that descended in the lab.

Time went by. The silence was broken as the door slid open and let in Tao, Seira, Takeo and Regis. They made their way across the lab to where M-21 was.

Tao was as stunned as the rest of RK at seeing M-21 inside a tank. Because none of them ever had to be in one despite sustaining grave injuries in their past battles. M-21 was too pale, too still as he floated in a healing liquid. Tao belatedly noticed a hint of the metallic scent of blood notwithstanding the liberal use of cleaning chemicals.

“So it’s this bad.” Tao was unable to stop from cataloging M-21’s injuries now that they were away from the battlefield—a laceration close to his hairline, the large bruises already turning blue, the collection of abrasions. M-21 probably fractured some bones too. There was a high likelihood of other internal damage as well due to the experiments on him.

Tao hated that he was the bearer of bad news. However, everyone needed to know what happened. “M-21 here purposely provoked Ignes and made her so angry she increased the intensity of her experiments.”

“Let me guess, is it because he won’t take whatever’s being done to him sitting down?” Takeo did not expect any less from M-21. None of them did.

“Precisely.” Tao laid his hand on the glass of M-21’s tank and tried not to be hysterical at the situation. “Is our M-21 becoming predictable or what?” Seira reached out and held Tao’s shoulder.

“Ah, there’s one more thing,” Tao continued as he kept his gaze on M-21. “Kentas said M-21 was unconscious for about three days.”

Frankenstein internally cursed. The experiments must have been very intensive for M-21 to be in that state for that long. He hoped Ignes was suffering twice as much inside Dark Spear.

Tao was about to lose it but finished his report nonetheless. “And Ignes injected him with some drugs before that. Kentas thought he won’t wake up again.”

At this point, Frankenstein pinched the bridge of his nose, whether in frustration or something else, no one could tell.

“What exactly is wrong with M-21?” Regis hazarded the question. Everyone looked to Frankenstein for an explanation.

“His cells are degenerating,” was Frankenstein’s first statement as he commenced discussing M-21’s present state of being. By the end of his account, everyone except Raizel became more visibly upset.

“I’ll…go work on the data dump from the Werewolf Island,” Tao announced before heading for the door.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t do anything rash,” Takeo murmured then followed Tao. He found him crouched near the wall across the elevator, a dazed expression on his face.

Takeo let his steps fall louder to alert Tao to his presence and sat on the floor beside him. “I’m not going to ask if you’re alright because that’s a very stupid question,” he said a few beats later.

“Sorry, I almost lost it back there,” Tao apologized. He was a professional damn it, why couldn’t he behave like one now of all times?

“Because this isn’t just some job for the Union involving someone we don’t know or care about,” Takeo shot back.

Crap, and I actually said that aloud. Tao was distracted from internalizing his embarrassment when Takeo nudged him at his side.

“That data you found won’t sort itself out,” Takeo emphasized. “So get ahold of yourself, M-21 needs us at our best right now.” He stood up and held out a hand to Tao.

Tao stared up at Takeo. “Boss said those things and you’re still pretty calm—”

“Truth is, I’m absolutely terrified.” Takeo grabbed Tao’s hand and pulled him up. “I’ll deal with myself once things settle down.”

At Takeo’s encouraging look, Tao straightened, did a heavy exhale and slapped his cheeks rather hard with both hands. “Focus, gotta focus.” He turned to Takeo. “I’m okay now so you can go back—”

Takeo threw an arm over Tao’s shoulder and steered him to the elevator. “Nah, I’ll go with you. I’m not an IT genius, but I can be a fresh pair of eyes so we don’t miss anything.” He said as an afterthought, “Or I can at least make you coffee—”

Tao blanched. “Ah, no offense, but I’ll pass and have tea in that case. Or make my own coffee.”

Takeo side-eyed him. “You make it sound like my coffee is awful.”

“No, it’s not. I just don’t want to stay awake for forty-eight hours straight, thank you very much.”

The hours passed. Karias and Rael returned from patrolling around the city and were brought up to speed regarding M-21’s situation. Tao and Takeo came down to the lab with data roughly ten hours after M-21 was placed in the tank.

M-21’s cell degeneration completely ended at thirteen hours. Nonetheless, he was not yet out of the woods. Frankenstein adjusted medications, increasing or decreasing one and removing another. M-21 remained inactive, so much that it was hard to tell he was breathing were it not for the equipment monitoring his vitals.

To everyone’s relief, M-21’s regeneration finally kicked in when he was about to hit the eighteen-hour mark.

Thereafter, Raizel and RK persuaded Frankenstein to take a breather. The constant barrage of mournful stares from Raizel and Seira, queries on his wellbeing from Regis and Takeo and blatant appeals to his conscience on how M-21 would feel if he were to collapse courtesy of Tao, made Frankenstein yield. However, he issued strict orders to immediately call his attention should there be any change in M-21’s condition. To appease him, Tao made sure that his tablet had access to M-21’s real-time data so he would not miss anything.

It was already the twenty-first hour by then.

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M-21 continued to sleep, unmoving and silent.

The household adapted its routine accordingly. Seira and Regis went to class at Ye Ran while Karias and Rael kept watch over the school. Tao and Takeo took turns staying at the house in the daytime to provide standby assistance to Frankenstein. Raizel opted to recuperate at home and was usually in the lab for most of the day as well.

Karias and Rael conscripted themselves to making rounds in the city during the evening, and whoever was on standby duty in the day would briefly join them. RK assumed the vigil over M-21, dividing themselves into pairs consisting of Tao and Regis and another of Seira and Takeo.

One night, Seira approached Frankenstein to request lessons on how to cook food for convalescing people. Frankenstein gladly indulged her, passing on his recipes and the others that he learned over the years in his travels.

Different people chanced upon Regis on several occasions as he left M-21’s room bearing cleaning implements. He went from making sure that the room was clean for when M-21 came back, to making sure that it was clean for when M-21 woke up. No one begrudged his steadfastness.

M-21 grew less ashen and the external evidences of his ordeal had all but disappeared.

The household spoke to M-21 about things. On how their day went, on the latest events, even their concerns about schoolwork and some personal endeavor.

And about that one unanswered question: When will you wake up?

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Takeo just came back from evening patrol when he received a message to report to the lab.

“You wanted to see me, Boss?” he asked.

Frankenstein raised his eyes from the data he was studying on his tablet and looked at Takeo and Tao. The pair straightaway sensed that something was about to happen.

“M-21’s already waking up?” Tao’s voice was hopeful.

“No, he’s not. But staying longer in the tank won’t make him heal any faster.” Frankenstein put the tablet aside. “And I don’t want him to come round to a lab situation, so we’ll be taking him out of there now.”

Seira came across Takeo as he got what appeared to be half dozen bath towels from the linen cupboard at the ground floor. Tao showed up not even a minute later with some clothes and explained things to her.

Takeo and Tao arrived at the lab whilst Frankenstein was wheeling a gurney to the tank’s right side. They deposited the towels and clothes on the gurney and waited for further orders.

“Tao, you’re in charge of opening the tank. Takeo and I will handle M-21.” Frankenstein grabbed one of the towels, draped it on his shoulder then stood in front of the tank. The whole procedure would have been easier if M-21 was conscious, though given his experience and his current circumstance, it was better this way.

Tao tapped a series of keys on the tank’s touchscreen console to open the vents on the tank’s floor and let some of the liquid drain out. He paused the process when the fluid was lower than M-21’s shoulder level. There was a hissing sound and the glass tube slid down to the same level as well.

Frankenstein stepped forward, reached inside the tank and held M-21 by the shoulders. “I have him secure.”

“Roger that, fully opening the tank now.” Tao tapped more keys and programmed the tank to completely drain itself and for its glass tube to fully slide down.

Frankenstein caught the brunt of M-21’s deadweight as he lurched forward, no longer buoyed by anything. Takeo drew closer and removed M-21’s oxygen mask and the electrodes attached to his chest and temples, allowing Frankenstein to lift him out of the tank.

The timer on the tank struck ninety-six hours.

M-21 dripped so much water on the floor that a puddle formed on the spot where Frankenstein set him down. He began to tremble slightly due to the temperature shift. Takeo and Tao made swift yet careful work drying M-21 off, divesting him of his sodden pants and dressing him in dark blue pajamas. Frankenstein toweled M-21’s hair while ensuring that he stayed upright. The entire activity did not last more than ten minutes. Frankenstein issued instructions on how to properly execute the three-person lift so that M-21 was safely laid on the gurney. He likewise led in maneuvering the gurney out of the lab.

The remaining members of the household gathered in the living room and waited for news. Almost an hour had already gone by since they learned that Frankenstein and the others were extracting M-21.

Someone’s message alert chimed. Raizel took out his phone and rose from the sofa after reading something on it. “Frankenstein says we can see M-21 now.”

The elevator ride to the lab area was brief. Raizel sauntered past the main lab and observation room, heading in the direction of a room at the end of the hall. Oddly, the room was not fitted with an automatic door. Raizel turned the door handle, revealing that the space had been refurbished as a hospital room complete with amenities befitting that of a private suite.

M-21 was on a hospital bed, finally fully dressed and with a blanket draped up to his chest. He wore an oxygen mask connected to a ventilator and was being administered fluids and medication via intravenous cannula on the back of his left hand. Five wires attached to one of the equipment that flanked his bed continued their way inside his pajama top from his right collar. Completing the setup was the pulse oximeter on his left index finger.

Overall, M-21’s appearance reinforced the notion that he was frailer than before. Frankenstein was quick in reassuring everyone that M-21 was recovering, albeit much slower than his usual pace. He likewise stressed that there was no more added benefit for M-21 in staying in the tank, that waking up in there would be more detrimental.

“He’ll need more time to recover,” Frankenstein explained. “Also, his brain activity indicates he’ll regain consciousness in two or three days’ time.”

As the household found seats on the chairs and sofas, Tao moved to the left side of M-21’s bed and in a mildly reproachful tone said, “You’re taking this sleeping business too seriously, M-21. Do you need a kiss to wake you up just like in the fairy tales?”

Tao’s second statement intrigued the Nobles, except for Karias, that a rather amusing yet low-key discussion on the relationship between fairy tales and kisses ensued. Frankenstein had to intervene when Seira began to exhibit a keen interest on carrying out Tao’s idea, if only to save himself from having another patient in the person of Rael succumbing to nervous breakdown. Fortunately, he was able to defuse the impending crisis with help from Karias.

Frankenstein eventually declared that visiting hours were over. Regis and Tao stayed behind for their vigil duty as everyone else retired for the night. Raizel and Frankenstein were yet to leave.

“Do wake up soon, M-21, or Seira might really try to kiss you.” Frankenstein did a final check on M-21 to make certain everything was in order.

Tao stood to the side looking sheepish for almost causing a misunderstanding, so he was surprised when Raizel came over and gave him pats on the shoulder.

Raizel focused on M-21, drawing his right hand out to brush up the hair that had fallen back on M-21’s face. “We will be waiting for you as always.” He did this for a few moments and exited the room afterwards.

“Tao?” Frankenstein called out.

Tao snapped to attention and handed Frankenstein’s tablet back to him. “I’ve already synchronized that with the equipment data. We’ll call if anything changes so you got nothing to worry about, Boss.” Frankenstein was scrutinizing him rather hard that Tao raised his right hand and blurted out, “And I swear, no more strange ideas.”

Frankenstein accepted the aforementioned tablet. “I’ll hold you to that.” He cast M-21 a last once-over before heading out as well.

“Um, sorry about that, M,” Tao said as he occupied one of the chairs closest to M-21’s bed. Then he proceeded to tell M-21 random stories. Regis also got roped into sharing some details of the project he and Seira were working on.

They could only hope that M-21 was able to hear them.

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M-21’s respiration considerably improved as the hours slipped by, prompting Frankenstein to start weaning him off the ventilator. Fourteen hours since being hooked up to the said machine, Frankenstein at last removed M-21’s oxygen mask, allowing him to breathe unassisted.

Tao shared the news with the other RK members, Rael and Karias when they had a video call during morning break at Ye Ran. To say that it improved their mood would not be an exaggeration.

That evening, M-21’s visitors also noticed that he was less pallid compared to yesterday. It was yet another milestone proving that he was slowly but surely on the mend. And it was on this encouraging note that everyone bade M-21 good night.

Frankenstein had been asleep for about an hour when his tablet began beeping almost at the same time his phone started ringing. The clock on his bedside table read 2:25 a.m. He grabbed both gadgets, putting Takeo on speakerphone as he checked what caused the alert on the tablet to go off.

“Boss, something’s wrong with M-21—” Takeo reported as the call connected.

“I’ll be down in ten.” Frankenstein was already changing out of his sleepwear. Not even ten minutes later and he was walking into M-21’s room.

“We didn’t notice anything until the monitor started beeping,” Takeo explained.

Frankenstein studied the data on a nearby screen and found something suspect on one of M-21’s ECG parameter readings. He promptly unbuttoned M-21’s shirt to remove the electrodes attached across his torso. “We need to get him to the lab now.”

Frankenstein performed several scans and by the time it was over, M-21 was running a low-grade fever. The remorseful vibe from Seira and Takeo did not escape his attention as they made their back to M-21’s room.

“Just to be clear, I’m not blaming anyone for this. And neither will M-21.” Frankenstein eyed the pair after placing a damp towel on M-21’s forehead.

Seira could only sigh. “He will most likely blame himself.” While Takeo and Frankenstein did not say anything, their expressions told they agreed with her assessment.

“We’ll take care of things here,” Takeo said. Frankenstein dispensed last minute instructions on how to tend to M-21 before hurrying back to the lab.

Morning came soon enough. Takeo glanced at the clock while Seira was busy swapping M-21’s towel with one that she just wet and saw that it was nearing 6:00 a.m. So far, M-21’s temperature remained unchanged.

“You should get ready for school, Seira,” Takeo suggested. The door opened and everybody else came in for their morning visit, only to be stopped in their tracks by the scene in front of them.

Takeo explained what transpired in the early hours of the morning, ending it with, “Boss came by a while back, says he’s almost close to confirming his diagnosis.” That had been nearly two hours ago.

A gloomy quiet settled among them. Until Raizel spoke, “School.”

That spurred everyone to action. Seira went with Regis, Karias and Rael to prepare for the day. Raizel sat on a chair, making sure that he was not getting in anyone’s way and stared at M-21.

“You better go,” Takeo said after seeing that Tao was yet to leave.

“Not gonna happen,” Tao responded, his eyes narrowing as he inspected Takeo. “You didn’t even take a nap the whole time you’re here?” Takeo’s guilty expression confirmed his accusation.

“I’m relieving you, so get some breakfast then sleep.” Tao all but ordered as he grabbed hold of the basin Takeo was about to carry in the room’s kitchenette area.

Takeo did not bother putting up a fight. “Alright, I’ll be back in an hour—”

“Three hours,” Tao imposed.

“Right, three hours,” Takeo agreed.

He must be tired if he was this compliant, Tao noted. Takeo explained Frankenstein’s instructions regarding M-21 before he reluctantly left.

Frankenstein turned up several minutes later with two IV bags of medications and piggybacked these to M-21’s primary IV line.

However, things took a turn for the worse. By mid-afternoon M-21’s temperature shot past thirty-nine degrees Celsius, forcing Frankenstein to adjust the dose of one medication a tad higher than the safety limit. Despite this, M-21’s fever raged on and went beyond forty degrees Celsius as early evening arrived. He began to take rapid, shallow breaths and was now shivering even with his burning temperature.

“We can’t replace his blanket with a thicker one, it’ll only make his fever worse,” was Takeo’s response when Regis raised the suggestion.

Seira stared at M-21 after putting a basin of water on the table beside Tao, her brows creased with concern. “The cold is hurting him.”

Regis could barely suppress his frustration. “Is there anything else we can do?”

Tao sighed. “This is the only way we can help.” He changed the towel M-21 had on his forehead then commenced patting his arms with another towel in an effort to lower his fever.

Once Tao finished his work, Takeo came over and pulled M-21’s blanket until it was at his chest. “This is how we can help, so we just have to keep at it.” His voice took on a dejected tone.

Raizel watched the scene unfold with sorrow-filled eyes. The children were capable in their own ways and posed a threat to enemies, yet could not ease M-21’s suffering for all their abilities. And it pained Raizel that he was unable to offer the right words to dispel the overwhelming sense of powerlessness gnawing at them.

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Frankenstein was at his wits’ end. He had been reviewing his data and those that Tao gathered from the Werewolf Island along with M-21’s scans and test results. Everything pointed to one conclusion—continuing with M-21’s current treatment would be fatal—because the infection plaguing him was proving to be resistant to the drugs specifically formulated to cure it.

There was another option, one Frankenstein did not want to implement unless the situation became so dire there was no other way out of it. He marched into the lab’s drug storeroom, opened a refrigerated storage and pulled out a twelve-inch glass cylinder filled with a light blue liquid.

Frankenstein moved to the adjacent room and deposited the cylinder on a table, the action making the slightly viscous liquid shake within its confines. He glared at the item as if it was the source of all things vexing. This particular drug had shown tremendous potential in treating various maladies yet was unstable and still in its clinical trial stage.

Frankenstein scoffed at his foolishness. That M-21 would die due to a medical complication was by far the greatest threat now. And he would grasp any opportunity, no matter how small it was, just so M-21 would have a fighting chance at survival.

No one dies on my watch. Not this time.

With renewed determination, Frankenstein assembled the rest of his required ingredients and materials to begin working on M-21’s new medication.

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Regis was equal parts uneasy and relieved. M-21’s temperature stayed the same despite their efforts to bring his fever down to a more manageable level. Still, it was better than the alternative. Regis handed the towel he folded to Seira, then glanced at the entrance in the hopes that Frankenstein would finally return with something to end this.

The sound of the door unlocking caught everyone’s attention. Frankenstein strode into the room, examined M-21 and replaced his two most recent medications with the single IV bag he brought.

“The medication will start working in an hour,” Frankenstein announced once he was done.

A tense silence reigned, until Raizel declared that they should have dinner since it was getting late. He also mildly chastised Frankenstein and Tao for missing lunch, stressing that M-21 would not appreciate it.

“He’ll probably say something along the lines of ‘Don’t neglect yourself on my account’,” Takeo added as he fixed M-21’s towel before it slipped off his forehead.

Frankenstein and Raizel decided to stay behind and sent the rest of RK to have dinner first. Thereafter, Tao and Takeo came down and took charge of M-21 so they could have dinner as well.

Raizel and Frankenstein waited for the elevator to return from the lab floor. The elevator door slid open to reveal Tao scowling at something on his pocket computer.

Tao looked up when he noticed the elevator door moved and came upon Raizel and Frankenstein standing outside. “Boss, one of our sensors just detected someone entering the city.”

“Have you identified who it is?” Frankenstein asked. Could it be…

“Hold on, I’m trying to get a video feed. The intruder came from the southwest.” Tao tapped and swiped at his screen until he got the information he needed. “I got a lock on the intruder and…oh.”

Raizel’s worry vanished at Tao’s surprised expression. “Not an enemy then?”

“Considering recent events, I don’t think so.” Tao showed the live feed from one of the cameras he installed in the city’s ruined sector.

Frankenstein’s phone chose to ring at that moment, the number flashing on the screen familiar despite him not registering it in his contacts list all this time.

“You should answer that, Frankenstein. He seems concerned you are not picking up,” Raizel observed. True enough, the person on the video feed was frowning. Tao excused himself to give Raizel and Frankenstein some privacy.

Frankenstein swiped on his phone screen and answered the incoming call.

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Muzaka landed on top of the building Frankenstein directed him to go and waited. It had been two nights since he received a call from Frankenstein regarding a request. Muzaka would have obliged him back then, except Garda’s vital signs became so erratic that he was unable to leave Crombel’s lab.

A presence materialized a few meters from where Muzaka stood. He recognized the Noble as the leader of the Kertia Clan.

“Frankenstein sent me to escort you,” Rael said without preamble.

Muzaka nodded and followed Rael’s lead. They traversed several buildings before landing in a deserted alley. Muzaka noted that the buildings were not as high as the ones in their previous location.

“This way, please.” Rael stepped out of the alley and made a right turn. The late-night traffic was thinning and the establishments they passed were either closed or already closing. A few more minutes of walking and they reached a residential area. Rael stopped in front of the gate of a white two-storey house and unlocked it to let them inside the property.

“Frankenstein is waiting,” Rael stated once he disengaged the front door.

“I’ll show myself in.” Muzaka knocked then turned the door handle. Rael vanished from sight as soon as Muzaka entered the house.

The first thing Muzaka became aware of was the somber stillness that seemed to permeate the air. Second was the rack to the right side of the doorway filled with footwear. There was a handwritten note reminding people to change into slippers. Muzaka did just that before venturing further into the house. He found Frankenstein standing in the living room.

“Sorry I’m late,” Muzaka announced his presence.

“My apologies for not bringing you here myself,” Frankenstein replied as he met Muzaka. “There’s a pressing matter that I’m currently attending to.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come since you’re busy,” Muzaka answered. He could not avoid taking notice of Frankenstein’s worn out appearance, subtle it may be.

“Actually, now’s the right time for you to be here.” Frankenstein strode farther into the house with Muzaka in tow. They came to the end of a hallway, where Frankenstein pressed a hidden panel on the wall that uncovered an elevator. He gestured for Muzaka to enter then followed inside.

“I’ll only take an hour of your time seeing as we both have other important things to take care of,” Frankenstein guaranteed.

The elevator came to a stop at the lab floor and they headed to the main lab. Tao did a good job of finding data in the Werewolf Island, except it turned out that the werewolves experimented on their civilian population. There was also data on Kentas, though it was insufficient for Frankenstein to conduct an in-depth study on werewolf warriors.

Then there was Muzaka. Definitely not a run-of-the-mill werewolf and arguably the strongest Werewolf Lord. Frankenstein was quite apprehensive and prepared several arguments to persuade him, so he was rather astonished that Muzaka readily consented when he broached his request.

Muzaka let his eyes roam around Frankenstein’s lab and saw the stark contrast between its technology and that of Crombel’s. Even a non-scientist like him could tell that Frankenstein’s was more superior.

He was curious about something else so he turned to Frankenstein. “So how’s that kid you rescued doing?”

It was a well-meaning question, but it made something inside Frankenstein snap.

Let them taste our wrath.

The chant of thousands of souls reverberated in Frankenstein’s head as tendrils of his power shot out, purple black in all its malevolent glory.

Make them suffer.

“Frankenstein, quit it already!” Muzaka did not expect his inquiry to touch a nerve and cause such violent reaction.

Make them bleed.

Enough Frankenstein, M-21 is terrified!

Raizel’s words cut through the din and brought Frankenstein back to his senses. The dark aura that threatened to devour everything disappeared.

Takeo burst through the door not a minute after. “Boss, M-21—”

Frankenstein’s feet moved by themselves and he dashed out of the lab. In his haste, Takeo left the door to M-21’s room gaping and Frankenstein could hear faint noises from inside as they drew closer. Frankenstein stepped through the threshold and beheld the result of his indiscretion.

M-21 somehow mustered strength so he was now lying on his left side, gasping and whimpering softly.

What have I done?

Raizel cautiously held M-21’s shoulder. “Calm down, M-21.” The whimpers did not stop and even got worse. Raizel pulled back and met Frankenstein’s guilt-ridden eyes.

Frankenstein could barely stand the sorrow on his Master’s face so he withdrew to check the monitors then hovered by M-21’s bed, uncertain on how to go about their predicament. Maybe he should sedate M-21…

Takeo took the spot Raizel vacated and touched M-21 on the arm. “M-21, please, no one’s going to hurt you here.”

“There must be something we can do.” Seira had been reflexively clutching the towels that fell when M-21 abruptly shifted.

“Maybe something werewolf-related?” Tao was grasping at straws.

“We don’t know anything like that,” Regis countered rather testily.

A muffled sob from M-21.

Everybody set their attention on Frankenstein, silently imploring him to please do something, anything, to put an end to this harrowing situation.

“If you want to try something werewolf-related, you can start with calming yourselves down,” Muzaka said from the open door. Although surprised at his presence, nobody objected as he let himself inside the room.

Muzaka was unsure whether his idea would work, though there was nothing to lose if they had a go at it. He continued in an even tone, “Sick werewolf children are very sensitive to the emotions of people around them, so caregivers have to make sure they’re calm at all times.”

It required some effort for the panic-laden atmosphere to gradually ease as everybody contained their agitation. However, with the damage already done, M-21’s whimpers were persistent.

“I want to try something. I promise it’s nothing harmful,” Muzaka told Raizel and Frankenstein. Both nodded their assent and stood to the side to give Muzaka room. The others did the same.

Muzaka made his way to the left side of M-21’s bed and sat on the chair Takeo previously occupied. His eyes went to the bed’s plastic side rail.

“Can this be removed?” Muzaka asked. Takeo came forward and collapsed the aforementioned side rail, allowing Muzaka to place his right hand palm-down on the mattress, almost close to M-21’s head and hands.

Muzaka commenced slowly patting M-21 on the upper arm and in soft voice said, “Hey there, it’s alright, you’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you here.” M-21 was tense at the onset but relaxed under his touch.

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” Muzaka glanced at the household as he continued to do a few more slow pats before moving to gently stroking M-21’s arm. “They’re very sorry for scaring you and they won’t do it again.”

M-21 was whimpering less now.

The poor kid’s very sick. Muzaka was sorry for M-21 and had to bury it deep to avoid further distressing him. Instead, he carried on with his ministrations, telling M-21 several times more that there was nothing to be afraid of, that he was safe.

M-21’s whimpers grew even lesser.

“That’s it, you’re doing well.” Muzaka reached forward and started to run his hand down M-21’s back. “You’re doing very well.”

The act made M-21 pause mid-whimper then he resumed at a lower volume.

Muzaka remembered a melody sung by countless werewolf parents over the centuries. It was the one that lulled Ashleen to peaceful slumber when she was just a tiny infant.

Muzaka drew a deep breath and began to hum. It was shaky at first as he thought of the tone for each line. By the time he was at the second verse, Muzaka grew more confident, his humming steady.

M-21 ceased his whimpering altogether.

If one were to ask Muzaka what was going through his mind at the time, the most accurate response would be he was not thinking at all. Everything came to him as a reflex. And caressing the back of a hurt child to soothe him whilst humming a lullaby was not wrong in the slightest. Muzaka did not stop either action even after M-21 had already gone silent for some time now.

Moreover, he did not balk when M-21’s fumbling right hand reached for his right hand, missed and succeeded at last in catching his index and middle fingers in a feeble grip.

Muzaka repeated the lullaby a second, even a third time. He was in the midst of the fourth cycle when he determined that M-21 was no longer in a panicked state. Muzaka finished the lullaby, rubbed M-21’s back a final time before freeing his fingers from M-21’s hold.

Thankfully, M-21 made no protest of any sort.

“Frankenstein,” Muzaka’s call broke the spell that the others fell under, “you better check him.” Muzaka left his seat and found his way beside Raizel as Frankenstein approached.

Frankenstein repositioned M-21 on his back and checked if the cannula or any of the electrodes were dislodged, and was relieved to find that everything was still in place. M-21’s skin was still too hot to the touch and his breathing still rapid and shallow. Frankenstein raised the blanket to M-21’s chest. The medication should be taking effect now so his fever would go down soon.

“Leave him to us, Frankenstein,” Raizel said. “You and Muzaka have something to do.”

“And the sooner we get it done, the sooner you can get back here,” Muzaka added.

Frankenstein nodded. “Then I’ll leave him to you.” The rest of RK moved in and took over M-21’s care as he and Muzaka hurried to the lab.

More than half an hour of scanning, several vacutainer tubes of blood, a session of tissue sample extraction, a buccal swab and a quick trim of a clump of Muzaka’s hair later, Frankenstein was finally finished. He handed Muzaka a bottle of orange juice, which Muzaka stared at with suspicion.

“You think I have time to make things explode in your face?” Frankenstein almost huffed.

“Not really, more like I’m wondering about the sugar content of this drink,” Muzaka replied from his seat as he unscrewed the bottle and sniffed the juice.

“It’s sugar-free, says right there on the bottle,” Frankenstein pointed out. He let Muzaka finish the drink prior to speaking again, “I apologize. I did say I’ll only take an hour of your time—”

“It’s fine, there were extenuating circumstances anyway.” Muzaka allayed Frankenstein’s concern. They were quiet as Frankenstein stored the samples he collected for study later.

“I never got his name.” Muzaka was referring to M-21.

“We don’t know it.” At Muzaka’s raised eyebrows Frankenstein pressed on, “The people at the Union call him M-21 and he’s the survivor of a group of experiments named M-Series. M-21 doesn’t have any memories of his past and believes they’d been experimented on for years before the M-Series was declared a failure.” He may be imagining it, but Muzaka seemed to have turned a shade paler after his revelation.

“How old do you think he is?” Muzaka could not help inquiring.

“We’re not really sure. Master and I think he’s twenty-six years old at the most. M-21 assumes he’s around twenty-eight years old.” Frankenstein gestured for Muzaka to hand him the juice bottle for disposal.

Muzaka had a suspicion that neither party was right about M-21’s age if he were to judge by the scent he encountered a while ago. It reminded him of joyful shrieks, happy giggles and sleepy afternoon cuddles.

It confounded Muzaka that a modified human would bear the scent of a werewolf child of all things.

Frankenstein mulled on Muzaka’s question and recalled those very rare, unguarded and short-lived instances where M-21 appeared and behaved much younger than his supposed age, and how his defenses would go up and he would revert to his somber, world-weary self. M-21 gave him and Master the impression of a child doing his best to fit into an adult’s shoes. And M-21 was successful for the most part, which was very remarkable.

Frankenstein changed the topic. “I’m surprised you agreed to this.”

“I said I owe you, remember? This is part of paying my debt to you and Raizel for helping my people.” Muzaka scratched his cheek. “Although I’m not sure if you’ll get something useful out of this when my body is such a mess.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Frankenstein responded as the door opened and Raizel entered the lab.

“Is there something wrong, Master?” Frankenstein asked.

Raizel shook his head. “Takeo says M-21’s fever is going down.”

Frankenstein grabbed his tablet and confirmed that M-21’s fever had indeed gone slightly lower.

“I guess I should be on my way.” Muzaka stood up and did a few stretches.

“Are you sure? You can rest for a few more minutes,” Frankenstein said.

“I’m fine, I‘ve endured far worse,” Muzaka replied as he fixed his hair.

Raizel accompanied Muzaka on his way up to the house and joined him as he left their property. They were now strolling on an empty, tree-lined street.

“You’re worried.” Muzaka expertly deciphered Raizel’s blank expression.

Raizel sighed in response. “Frankenstein is doing everything he can but M-21 is still unwell.”

“He’s been sick since when?”

“M-21 collapsed before we left the island. He has been improving until he got ill again today.”

That long? No wonder they all look so upset.

“Things happen even if you’ve been very careful,” Muzaka observed. The minute crease of Raizel’s brow showed he erred on that statement. What was with tonight that he kept saying the wrong words?

“So how did you meet him?” Muzaka steered the conversation to a safer subject.

“M-21 was entrusted to us.” Raizel did not elaborate further.

“Must be a long story. Maybe you can tell me next time we see each other.” Muzaka clapped Raizel on the shoulder. It was probably not even a year since he joined Raizel and Frankenstein’s household, yet M-21 appeared to have a profound effect on them.

“And don’t be too anxious about M-21. With Frankenstein in charge I’m sure he’ll get better in no time.” Muzaka walked a few steps ahead of Raizel and turned to face him.

“I’ll see you around.” With that, Muzaka leapt to the sky. The cool night air contrasted with the warmth that still clung to the fingers M-21 held.

Muzaka gazed at his right hand and mentally shook himself to get rid of the strange yet familiar sentiment beginning to take root in his heart. Not only was it presumptuous, it was distracting as well. And if the situation was indeed as dire as he believed then he had no time to spare on distractions.

#Noblesse #NoblesseFixIt #The Lost Cub Series #finally posting this after 100 years #I must confess that I had serious doubts that I will be able to write this #that's why I wrote Determined first #will now be finishing Chapter 2

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soworthloving · 7 years ago

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A LETTER FROM ERYN

Before I begin... This is my story, and I entrust you with it like you have with me. For you skimmers out there, rest easy: I’m not going anywhere. I'm okay. So Worth Loving is not going anywhere. SWL is okay! Today is actually her birthday! We made it another year fam. Cheers to perseverance and impacting lives!

I remember sitting in a Kroger parking lot at 7:15am on January 2nd, feeling confused. I had no make up on, a beanie on my head, and 3-day old hair as I listened to music and wept. I didn't know exactly what I was crying about because there were so many layers upon layers of emotions. Everything was gray. I rationalized in my head that... this happened because this happened; and then this happened because this happened; and then this happened. Nothing could stop my mind from racing. The only thing I could do was think. Then over-think, and then spiral.

I want to share something not many people know, unless you are in my inner circle. And if you do know, it might be because you are an observer from afar or caught wind of he said/she said.

This year, I hid from you because I truthfully thought I wasn't deserving of a community of people that believed in me. I was struggling to understand what my truth was.

Did you know that diamonds are found in the dark, created under pressure, and cut by another diamond? I didn’t; and if I’m being honest, I have felt that same cataclysmic pressure, too. I found myself in the dark, encountering an unbelievable amount of pressure, experiencing relationships that refined me and made me better. If I could share every detail of the last year of my life, every nook and crack in my heart, I don’t know if you would be "Team Eryn" anymore. Or maybe you would, because maybe you would find that I am just like you.

I never want to sit on a pedestal and claim that I know everything about business and self-worth. I don’t. I've only hoped and prayed that my voice be used for good. Hoping that I could share my perspective, create a space for you to share yours, express what I’m learning, and celebrate vulnerability and connection. I’m here to inspire empathy in safe places.

So, I'll quit with the hesitation and dive in.

Over the past year, I have been desperate for empathy. For myself and others. I’ve carried my own mistakes and the weight of those around me. I’ve seen the worst in friendships and the beauty in nitty gritty, raw, authentic relationships. I’ve blamed and shamed myself and others. I saw parts of myself I couldn't believe were inside of me. What I've learned is the moment you start to believe you are immune to something is the moment you become the most susceptible to it.

Sharing this part of me is terrifying. That's why I have even more admiration for you as I read your stories. I believe in the power of storytelling. I believe in the power of transparency and the healing that comes with it. I believe our stories have the power to transform others, and if my pain and failure can help one person, I've done my job. Today is So Worth Lovings birthday and in the last 6 years of So Worth Loving, I’ve seen suicide prevented, self-harm addressed, rehabilitation being remitted, and recovery from divorce. I’ve seen people get out of bed for the first time because they decided depression would not hold them down any longer.

Brene Brown says, "We are vessels for stories.”

I’ve carried your stories with me. When my eyes encountered your stories of pain, I wept with you. When my ears heard your stories of victory, I celebrated with you. But when my world was completely flipped upside down, I struggled to be present in my own story. Because of that, I began to fracture and break.

I want to be careful with this, because my story is woven with another's. I respect their story. I don’t know how to navigate this well, but I’m going to do the best I can to be as vulnerable with you as you have been with me, while also honoring another.

This year, I experienced heartbreak on a level I didn’t think was imaginable. I knew real heartbreak existed, but I didn’t know what it was like to physically feel a gaping hole in my heart. I didn’t know what it felt like for my spirit to shake and break.

The light I prayed for since I was in 7th grade, I watched slowly become dark. I’ve had people in my life who have gone through it, but I never experienced it like this. I guess I was naive. People have a tendency to do strange things in times of grief, and we all handle it differently. I experienced the 5 stages of grief. It was as though I was on a hamster wheel of grief and couldn't get off.

For me: I was in denial. I was confused. I was angry Because of this, I began to isolate myself. I no longer saw myself as worthy of anything good. I self-pitied. I got physically sick. I was faithless. I was exhausted. I was gossiped about. I was betrayed. I was lied to. I lied. I was depressed I carried guilt. I felt shame. I became numb.

I was shutting down. I was blocking out any noise that contributed to the sounds in my head and the false whispers in my ears. When you are in a season of uncertainty, it’s easy to acquire everyone else's beliefs as your own.

When I made the decision to end a marriage after 9 years, it became apparent who was no longer in my corner. I couldn’t take on their beliefs and let their judgments define me.

As you walk through life, you will encounter phases that require different levels of courage. But how do you take those first steps of courage without a "How To" manual? Christine Caine says “The first step of courage is cut away things that hold us back or hold us down.” So that’s what I began to do...

I began to cut away the fear and allow myself to feel every single emotion. I began to cut away the feeling of shame and stop saying what I was feeling was “bad” or “wrong.” I began to let myself feel, so that I could begin to heal. I sought help and guidance from others who understood the level of pain I was experiencing. I learned that I didn’t need to be told that I was going to be okay, I needed to be told how I felt was okay. Through this past season, I discovered the depth of my well. I discovered the depth of my faith.

I’m coming out of it ready to be an anchor for you like never before. Now I know I can sit with heartbreak and grief on a multitude of levels. While the circumstances will certainly be different, I know the emotion connected to it, and I will feel with you.

I will not ask if you found resolve yet. I will not rush you towards a solution. I will sit with you while you figure it out, and I will hold you up when you feel like falling down.

While the last season of my life has broken me down in so many ways, in my personal and in my business life, I’m so thankful to have found some of the most incredible humans who weren’t scared to walk alongside me. They challenged me, questioned my decisions, and loved on me so tenderly and patiently. I got to witness people who didn’t see me as my circumstance, but saw me as Eryn. The Eryn who failed them, yet they loved me anyway. Those same people didn’t give up on me, even when they felt uncomfortable to lean in, consistent in their word to stand by me. They let me talk too much, sometimes in circles about the same thing. They showed up on my door when I would ignore their texts or calls, never taking offense or believing it was a reflection of who they were, but simply a reflection of where my heart was. Hidden. They showed up because they knew sometimes getting out of bed and believing in yourself when your life has been hit by a tidal wave is so hard. They knew that one more expectation wasn't something this heart could handle.

These people are like you. Willing to catch the broken hearted and say "this is just temporary. This is not a punishment, it's development."

Now... I am thankful. I am renewed. I am inspired. I am taking ownership. I am moving forward I am ready. I am forgiving. I am forgiven I am faithful. I am alive. I am grateful. I am healing. I am so worth loving.

In this uncomfortable season, I learned an even deeper understanding of the phrase "so worth loving.”

So Worth Loving started with you. It began with your belief in the importance of talking about our struggles so we may help someone else feel less alone in theirs.

We were fortunate to grow quickly, but as my personal circumstances began to crumble, so did I. I found myself taking on more than I could handle. I found myself creating and building on the back end of logistics when I deeply desired to be on the front end talking, creating, laughing, crying, connecting, and loving with you.

When I started So Worth Loving, it wasn’t to be a t-shirt company. It was to simply use apparel as an entry point to talk about self-worth. Because the conversation was our primary focus, we moved all of our inventory out of our office and into a 3rd party fulfillment facility a few months ago. This decision took me out of logistics and put me back in a space to dream a little bigger and get a little closer to all of you. It opened up our capacity to expand and set out to do what is closest to us - start conversations through apparel, where self-worth and self-care can be the emphasis. It will give us the space to create resources for you to be able to find the proper help and support that you need when looking for the right books, therapists, & safe communities near you.

Again, I reminded myself: “The first step of courage is to cut away the things that are holding us back or holding us down.” -Christine Caine

After many phone calls, conversations, and emails, I decided to move out of our office space and SWL will no longer be behind walls, but outside the walls of a physical building like we once were. We are coming back to our roots and will continue to be online so we may focus on the areas that matter most. For those of you who don't live in Atlanta, none of this will look any different than what you're already used to — we'll still see you online!

We will be going on tour this spring and partnering with Airstream for 6 weeks. While our fulfillment is in Ballground Georgia, I've settled on 16 acres in North Georgia where I will spend my time writing, creating, and listening to you. We are in the filing process of the So Worth Loving Foundation where we will be able to partner with college campus counselors and be their support in the mental health community. We are realigning. Recalibrating. Pivoting back to the basics. This season will be where we can get back to what we feel called to do, and that’s to be closer to you.

Our heels are digging in deeper than ever before. We need you like never before. This next season will be a wild ride, and with every transition there is an opportunity to fail. But with failure comes the opportunity to learn more of who we are.

I hope to be the Eryn who will make you proud, and I hope you will continue to love her and our team as well as you always have.

Will you join me in this next season of So Worth Loving?

#so worth loing #separation #self empowerment #Empowering #heartbreak #depression #anxiety #isolation

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friendshipcampaign · 6 years ago

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Session Recap 5/20/18

As the party traveled through the tunnels, Kriv seemed to be making an okay recovery -- still incredibly weakened by the Morkoth’s attacks, but no longer suffering the effects of the cold quite so much. Erwyn, however, was a different story. The elf was still suffering the effects of hypothermia, shivering violently and only sluggishly responsive. Kriv had to wrap an arm around him tightly just to keep him from pitching forwards as they rode on top of Volfred.

This was clear to everyone, prompting Amaranth to ask Erwyn how he was doing. He gave a very weak response, so she directed her inquiry to Kriv, sho suggested maybe stopping for a bit to see if Amaranth (who, as a tiefling and someone who had not been in the water, had a much higher body temperature) would be able to warm the elf up a little.

Amaranth switched places with Kriv, hopping up on top of Volfred, and gently asked Erwyn if he would be alright with removing his cloak (which was still soaking wet). After a very long pause, he reluctantly agreed, and she took off her own coat to wrap him up in as they traveled. She also pulled out the hat that Aidther had given her to place on his head, and Kriv handed over the winter blanket to wrap around both of them. With Erwyn hopefully able to start warming up, the party started moving once again.

Voski asked Kriv how he and Erwyn had navigated through the underwater tunnels, hoping perhaps it would lend a clue about how to get close to the heart. He explained that they’d really just stumbled through it and gotten sort of lucky. Ditto suggested that to get to the heart they might want to try focusing on it while tunneling. But the time being, they just continued going forward.

Out of the corner of her eye, Voski spotted the shadowy figure of something roundish, with two visible appendages, keeping pace with the party. She tapped Amaranth on the shoulder, to warn her subtly, but the rogue’s reaction was less than subtle. As soon as the rogue responded this way, Voski got a message in her head in the unmistakable voice of the Ring of Mindshielding, asking “Would you like to receive a message from,” followed by a series of odd clicking noises.

Voski accepted the message, and in her head started to hear more clicking noises. Slowly, they morphed into Common, and she heard them say “Hello, have I gotten this right?” She replied that she could understand the creature, who then asked “Who art thou, and thy companions?”

When Voski explained that they had been sent by Auntie Eyren, the creature telepathically replied “She keeps this place. The false god was not overthrown.” Cautiously, Voski told the creature -- which had revealed itself a little more, showing the two visible appendages to be little antennae -- that she’d been under the impression that the Caftner were all dead. Sadly, the creature explained they were fairly certain that they actually were dead themself, and Voski’s comment made them want to know the fate of the island and their people.

The bard then told the creature, who introduced themself as Zikt, they should talk to Ditto. They messaged here, and got excited for a bit when she mentioned seeing other Caftner -- only to deflate when it was explained that they were in what appeared to be a graveyard. Zikt inquired about the Morkoth, then, and Ditto replied she was “pretty sure it was killed at least once.”

She turned to Kriv and Erwyn to ask them exactly what had happened with the Morkoth, and Kriv gave an explanation of what it had done to them and how they fought and, at the very least, exploded it. Erwyn added that he was fairly certain the awful creature was still around.

Ditto then told Zikt they should speak to Kriv (noting that Erwyn was also an option, but still looked far too exhausted), since he had actually fought the thing. Zikt told him that they were “grateful for [his] valiance” -- to which Krive said “I guess you could call it that.” They discussed the fact that the Morkoth might have to be fought again, and Kriv pointed out that if that happened, it would probably go for him and Erwyn first. Zikt was not comforted.

Zikt told the party about a dark power that had awakened all of them, including the Morkoth, likely, and explained they could still feel its force and might be able to lead the party to it. Voski started making bug noises to get their attention (they has still been talking to Kriv, he was just relaying the information), and asked her what kind of creature was behind this force, and Zikt told her that it might not even be one -- it just felt like a strong energy.

Meanwhile, Ditto started writing in the Tome of Mynskay about undead and what could cause them. It replied that this didn’t look like the work of a necromancer, since no one was controlling them all, but that they could also sometimes appear in areas that had seen horrific battles or cataclysms, or also places where there was a breach leading to the Negative Energy Plane.

She shared this information with everyone else and Erwyn admitted that, largely due to the events they’d been seeing on the Material Plane, he’d actually had some suspicions about the latter idea. Ditto asked him if it could at least be a small breach, but he said he didn’t think so.

Voski asked Zikt if they knew how the Morkoth had died, and they explained that they as a former rebellion leader, had been killed by it before it was destroyed. They did know, however, that the Caftner had used their mental abilities to overwhelm its capability to shape the plane.

The party began to follow Zikt, who intended to lead them to the mysterious dark power. Though they occasionally suggested making their own tunnels, the ones they began passing through seemed like they were older, and more sophisticated, and perhaps hadn’t shifted along with the rest of the island in quite a long time. There was now water around their feet, that deepened as they traveled. Ditto hopped in Voski’s backpack. Deciding that stealth might be their friend now, Voski used the glamour on her armor to shift it from forest-like greens to dark black, with a bit of grey, making it somewhat mimic the kind they had seen on the wraiths in the Material Plane.

Eventually they reached a point where Zikt informed Ditto that the dark force was in the chamber just ahead. They offered to scout a bit for the party, saying “the false god’s lair is just beyond” -- a room where an island rose up from shallow water in the very center, where the dark force seemed to be located.

Some of the party made moves that seemed to imply they were ready to head into the chamber, until Erwyn broke down completely, tearfully saying that he couldn’t risk facing the Morkoth again that same day. Voski pointed out that getting in there quickly, while it was maybe still recovering from what he and Kriv had done to it, might be the best way to keep it from coming back, but Erwyn continued to cry and sadly stated that “Nothing’s ever that simple.”

The others discussed their options and decided to head backwards a little to carve out a chamber where Voski could make them all a shelter by casting Leomund’s Tiny Hut. They retreated, using the morphic property of the plane to create a zig-zag tunnel that would hopefully deter intruders, making a room at the very end. Voski seemed excited about giving it nice, high ceilings, but when Amaranth asked if she would make a chandelier to go along with them, the bard shut the idea down. The room ultimately ended up having an odd mis-match of tastefully patterned walls (Voski’s work) and excited, erratic swirls (from Ditto helping).

Zikt offered to guard the entrance while they rested, and headed towards the entrance of their tunnel. The party started to settle down, Kriv helping Erwyn off of Volfred and Ditto casting Major Image to give them, for a little while, a warm but smokeless fire. Since the flames didn’t have any more heat to them that the nice warmth radiating from it, she kept sticking her hand in it.

Kriv took off his still-wet hoodie to dry and leaned against Volfred, causing Amaranth to physically drag Erwyn over to join them. She made sure the blanket, and her arms, were draped across Kriv, herself, and Erwyn, then offered both boys some rum from her flask, saying it would really warm them up. They declined, and when Kriv told her that alcohol doesn’t actually warm you at all, she brushed it off.

Once everyone was secured in a small enough radius, Voski put up the Hut, giving them all a little light for the first time since they’d rested previously. Voski took the opportunity to add some tasteful navy and silver highlights to her armor, while Kriv finally took off the blindfold he’d been using to see, wringing it out and hoping to let it dry.

With everyone settled in, Voski started strumming her lute, to sooth everyone as they rested. Kriv fell asleep fairly quickly, still weak and tired from the Morkoth encounter. Erwyn, though just as drained, seemed to be having trouble trying to trance though. Every time it seemed like he might be drifting off, he would begin crying again, huddling further and further into Amaranth’s side. None of the others slept, since it was really only hours after they’d awoken.

The Hut disappeared after eight hours, signaling that it was probably time to move on again. Kriv cast Aid on Amaranth, Ditto, and Erwyn again in preparation for their expedition. Both the boys, when asked how they were doing, seemed unenthusiastic. Kriv shrugged, putting his hoodie and blindfold back on. Erwyn was silent. Amaranth encouraged them by saying “We’ve faced hard things together, and we’ll face this together too” -- prompting Erwyn to quietly say that he was actually worried about them being together. When Ditto asked why, he explained how the Morkoth had tried to manipulate him and Kriv against each other. He was afraid of something similar happening again.

Ditto wrote in the Tome again before they set off, asking it if the disturbance in the demiplane was a breach to the Negative Energy Plane, what would be the way to close it. The book told her that was more planar knowledge than necromancy, and that was out of its wheelhouse. She then asked Erwyn what he knew about this sort of thing, remembering he was the party member with the greatest knowledge of portals. He admitted to not knowing much about how to close them, only that if allowed to grow, minor breaches could turn into full-fledged portals. They couldn’t know how large this particular one was. He also listed off some ways people might attempt to shut such a thing, but with no guarantee they might be successful -- consolidating things that might worsen it, or banding a group of powerful magic users together to seal it off after a while.

What he didn’t mention to the others was that these were all things he knew had been tried in Lyrium.

Kriv suggested that once they were closer to the room with the portal, Erwyn might want to try using his portal-sensing ability to try to figure out how large a breach -- or portal -- they might be dealing with. He agreed. Ditto then asked if he thought he might be able to close it using the morphic properties of the demiplane, but Erwyn replied (again speaking of his knowledge of Lyrium) that they only time he knew of it being accomplished, it had been with the power of some powerful mages -- and that he might actually have know who some of those people were, and they were incredibly powerful.

They headed back towards the chamber with the powerful force in it, Erwyn lagging behind a little with exhaustion, but once they reached the entry and Kriv shrugged at him, the elf attempted to reach out and examine the presence in the next room.

It was a sensation more like what he’d felt in the glowing farm fields outside Dayshowe, and clearly not a fully-fledged portal, but it was still stronger than the sensation at the halflings’ farm, and much less stable. And instead of that warm presence, this one was disturbing and empty, filling him with nothingness and the sensation of the blackest black imaginable. He staggered backwards, distressed by the feeling, and was only prevented from falling to the floor by Kriv, who caught him in his arms.

After this ominous display, Voski tried contacting Auntie Eyren again to ask what exactly they should try. The reply was incredibly distorted, barely even audible, but the had told her that there would be a vein of pearly rock in the center, and if it was broken they would need to collect the pieces. No more useful information was gleaned.

Water spread across the floor of the chamber they entered but massive pillars shaped after tentacles rose from its surface to the vaulted ceiling. This was clearly also the Morkoth’s lair. Kriv suggested that to get across the water, they could shape a bridge with their minds, carrying them from the entrance to the center on stone from the floor. He asked Zikt to go off by themself for a little bit so that he could look over the area with his Divine Sense (since the ghostly Caftner would register as undead). Kriv discovered that the whole area registered as incredibly unholy, with undead somewhere below and in front of them. He turned to the others and announced “This place is desecrated as shit!”

Ditto nervously cast Mage Armor on herself as Voski began to create an elegantly arched bridge in front of them, guardrails included. The wizard and paladin began to assist her, and soon they were all traveling along it. Erwyn suggested that to keep anything dangerous from following them, they could also remove the back as they went, making it more of a moving platform than a bridge as they walked along it. He also telepathically contacted Zikt, telling them they could return.

They were just able to spot the island in the middle when everything around them went black, in a way that darkvision couldn’t pierce. Only Kriv, with his blinsense scarf, was able to see anything at all. Amaranth blindly searched for someone, accidentally putting her hand over Ditto’s face until the gnome instead moved it to the top of her head. Kriv activated his Divine Sense again and sensed the same undead below them -- and the Morkoth above, smirking at him.

He warned the others and Amaranth instantly drew her weapons. Voski tried to bring supports down from the ceiling to connect with the bridge and stabilize them, but felt a suppression of her control as they slammed back up into the ceiling. Shortly after that, Amaranth and Ditto were knocked prone as the bridge began to fall apart, guardrails completely gone. Voski tried to cast her Dancing Lights into the darkness, but it was too strong and they disappeared.

Ditto sent a Message to Kriv, saying she couldn’t see where to aim, but if Kriv would point her hand in the direction of the Morkoth, she could fire at it. As soon as she said “This is gonna make it real mad,” he protested “I don’t want to start a fight yet” and succeeded in getting her to hold off. Amaranth started searching for Erwyn, resting a hand on his shoulder when she found him.

Voski was still struggling to move and repair their bridge and Ditto joined her in working on it. They felt significant resistance, and their progress became twisting and slower, but they pushed forward. Kriv noted the Morkoth floating lower, to around their level, and tried to use his Divine Sense once more -- revealing that the undead below them were only about 5 feet away, following, but waiting. He hesitated, then cast Turn the Unholy at all of them. There were shrieking noises and splashes in that brief moment of like, causing even the Morkoth to spin away -- and unfortunately scaring off Zikt, too.

Amaranth felt Erwyn disappear from her grip as the remaining undead all ganged up on him, a hand closing around his ankle and yanking him into the water. When she shouted his name, Voski stopped moving forward and Kriv dashed to the back of the platform. Both he and Amaranth failed to grab their friend, and she dove in after him, prompting Kriv to yell “You can’t fucking see, you shit!”

Ditto asked Kriv to toss her too, and he begrudgingly obliged. But once she was in the water, she realized that she was out of the reach of the magical darkness -- she could see! She started moving towards Erwyn and Amaranth.

Amaranth attempted to hit the skeleton dragging Erwyn under and shattered it with her swords -- though its hand remained around his ankle. Somewhat panicked, he clung to Amaranth’s shoulder.

Now alone with Kriv, Voski started to move the platform downwards and towards the water. This also brought them out of the magical darkness, which meant everyone was once again able to see. It also meant that she spotted Amaranth, who she waved to and inspired by saying “Thought you died,” but sounded legitimately pleased to see. Kriv tossed a rope down and cast Shield of Faith on Erwyn, sending a feeling running through him not unlike whenever the paladin pressed his scale relic into the elf’s hands.

Amaranth and Erwyn felt more things trying to grab them from below, prompting the rogue to try to drag him over to the rope now dangling up off the side. They reached it, and she tried to help him up, but Erwyn was still too weak and exhausted to climb it and simply hung onto the bottom. Voski tried pulling him up, but with no success, and even Kriv was only able to get him about halfway. While waiting, Amaranth felt another skeleton trying to drag her down and promptly kicked it off, only to dive under the water immediately and shatter it with her blades.

Erwyn was struggling to hold on and nearly fell back into the water, getting rope burn on his fingers as he clambered to cling to it. Seeing this, Voski shaped the wall a bit to give it some hand or footholds, and Erwyn was able to rest a boot on one of them, taking some of the stress off his arms. Before too long, Kriv was able to get him back on the platform. Amaranth also made use of the footholds, shooting up the wall and back on top. Seeing her friends were safe, Ditto flew back up to join them.

Still collapsed on the ground when another skeleton that had gotten on top of the platform began to head towards him, Erwyn pulled himself up just enough to fire two arrows at it, destroying it instantly. The others all teamed up to push the bridge as close to the island as they could before Kriv’s turning of the undead ran out, but while Erwyn at least pulled himself upright, he quietly did not assist -- he hadn’t tried any terrain-shaping yet, on account of feeling like he probably wouldn’t be able to. Curved walls around the island became visible, as well as glimmering inside and a rough rock formation with a pearly vein inside of it.

When they reached it, Kriv used his Divine Sense again, only for the desecration to be almost overpowering, the source of it located directly below them. Ditto rushed over to examine the vein of pearl while Amaranth spent a side-eyed glance on the treasure around them. Erwyn, once over with Ditto, was able to confirm that the pearly vein was not the source of the nothingness he’d felt earlier. It had to be something else. Kriv and Ditto tried shaping the ground near the vein, punching a hole through the rock on the sides and causing a horrible wail as a specter appeared from underneath it, flying straight at Ditto. She was instantly, horrifically dazed as it drained a massive amount of her life energy, leaving her feeling incredibly weak. Amaranth and Erwyn were able to destroy it (though the latter first called out to ask if it was some kind of guardian, only to hear a horrific screech in reply), but the damage had already been done.

Voski peered down into the hole, noting that there was water only about five feet below that seemed to fill a large chamber. Kriv was able to make it grow a bit more, so that there was enough room for someone to head in.

Ditto was swaying and had to sit down, offering only a weak response when Amaranth asked if she was okay. The tiefling gestured to Kriv, indicating he should help their friend, then charged into the open hole.

In the water below, Amaranth felt a coldness that extended far beyond actual chill. Looking up, she could see she was on the underside of the vein of pearl, and could now see a large crack in it, which was shifting and almost hard to look at and had a point of blackness at its apex. As soon as she laid eyes on it, it drained some of ther life from her, causing her to shout out “Uh, yeah guys, I think I found it. It bit me!”

Erwyn followed her down only to experience the exact same sensations. He was able to tell that the broken part of the pearly vein was trying to form its own demiplane, with microportals similar to the ones they’d seen in Soreth swirling in and out of existence. The breach was the only one large enough to now have a permanent effect.

Above, Voski glanced around for something to cover one of her hands, finding a decorative gauntlet with opals set into the knuckles. She looked at Kriv, resigned, then jumped down into the hole as well. He followed her.

Soon after, there was a crackle from below, and a swirling pattern appeared. Kriv and Erwyn recognized it immediately, looking on with horror. Quickly, everyone in the water but Kriv was hypnotized, starting to swim downwards. They at least had the mind left to put in their water-breathing lozenges, but they had tentacles wrapped around them in no time. Their owner looked up at Kriv.

“Hello again,” the Morkoth said. “I don’t suppose you’ve reconsidered.”

#session recap

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