#contain or even kill gods. and Ichor was one of the first to be caught. and after a few hundred years was the only one to be released.

[spotaus]

Hello Prev! I twas bored and therefore made more doodles, and I saw your tags so once again I will be dropping lore for this goofball in the tags!! (Thank you for wanting to know more, oh my goodness... <3)

Stickynote Ichor doodles because my brain got rolling 😔

[kyogre-blue]

Insanely long, sorry to any fool caught up in it. 

List of Inazuma lore to look into later, since there’s so much new stuff and I can’t keep track. 

Viewpoints: 

Ritou: “Legend has it that hundreds of years ago, Lord Hiiragi Hiroshi of the Kanjou Commission miraculously built a prosperous trade center from a deserted island.” 

(This dude came up elsewhere too.) 

Tenryou, Inazuma City: “Under the eternal and silent gaze of Her Highness the Ogosho Shogun, the people living in the hustle and bustle of the city will finally be free from the worries of obsession, and move to a paradise where they no longer need to chase and compete for their aspirations.” 

(This Ogosho title is interesting. Also, note the “eternity”/euthymia goal that Yoimiya touched upon in her chapter 1.) 

Tatara Islands, Kannazuka: “The magnificent Blast Furnace here is used to produce a steady stream of high-quality Jade Steel for Inazuma. Recently, however, due to the war, the Mikage Furnace that drove the production has been damaged.”

Kujou Encampment: “Legend has it that during a disaster hundreds of years ago, Shigeyori Kujou, a mortal general whom Her Highness valued greatly, built a battlefront fortress in one night and fought valiantly against the forces of darkness.” 

(Another event from the Cataclysm.) 

Nazuchi Beach: “In the ancient language of the Inazuma ancestors, "Nazuchi" means "to be tenderly caressed by the hands of the gods." Ironically, Nazuchi Beach has been ravaged by war since a thousand years ago and has become a place for scavengers and pirates, with few inhabitants.” 

(“Ancient language of Inazuma” huh. This war from thousands of years ago... should bet the Archon Wars, I guess? Or it might be Abyss-related.) 

Yashiori Island, Musoujin Gorge: “According to the legend, the strike that brought and end to the serpent god was slashed right here. In this deep canyon that runs through Yashiori Island, the remnant reverberations of lightning bolts continue to this day, as if the thunder elves are still chattering about the legendary scene that tore through the sky and the earth thousands of years ago.”

(Hang on!! This serpent was killed thousands of years ago?! So then Ba’al wasn’t the one who did it? Or else, is she much older than her reign as Archon?) 

Serpent’s Head: “According to the legend, the giant serpent that once ventured into the deep sea was finally slain on Yashiori Island.”

(Interesting note about the deep sea. When hyping up a kaijuu’s credentials, you’d normally say they came from the deep sea, so this point about the serpent going there should be implying something about the... corruption and old gods lurking there?) 

Most notable part is the serpent killing, island splitting timeline. Is it really like that, or am I misunderstanding? 

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

Artifact sets: 

Shimenawa's Reminiscence

Belonged to a human shrine maiden named Kanade, who trained under the Kitsune Saiguu. 

Confirming that Lady Saiguu was a “mighty kitsune.” At the very least, she was not entirely human, perhaps not human at all. 

She had a tobacco pipe that she sometimes knocked people on the head with. 

“Everything in the world is entangled. Hence, illusory visions were born out of concrete reality. The so-called omamori cannot make one's wishes come true at all, but they can make them eternal through this entanglement." (vis a vis eternity and also her memories leaving such a deep impression on the land that Kazari was born.) 

Regarding people affected by Lady Saiguu’s passing: “The Great Tengu went into self-imposed exile, enraged at her own incompetence as the Lady Saiguu's protector, leaving Teruyo behind. Harunosuke left for another country amid the fury of his mourning, while Nagamasa joined the Shogunate to clear the Mikoshi name. As for the man who taught me archery in the sacred forest and patiently listened to my naÏve promise under the scarlet sakura boughs, he will eventually return to me, even if he were to be blinded by splattered blood, or turned into a fierce beast by that dark defilement...” 

Regarding the time while Kanade was at the shrine: During this time, even someone as inhuman as the mighty Yougou Tengu has gotten a daughter. Even that leatherhead Konbumaru has also become one of the Shogun's own Hatamoto, and shall soon marry the daughter of a high-ranking samurai. "Such a lovely kid. Even the great Yougou Tengu, who used to kill all day for fun, had the mother inside her brought out... just a little."

(Based on a later comment, Konbumaru had some kind romantic thing with Kanade?) 

About memories: "No... it means that the person you're missing will be lucky enough to become a part of your memories forever." That's why you have to be strong and must live on for a long, long time. Even if all the people you cherish are gone, as long as you are still alive, The time you spent with them will never perish...

About losing memories, per Lady Saiguu: "Life is full of uncertainty. Love is fleeting, and even lasting memories may be lost. Losing one's memory is no different from losing one's life. It is like death amidst darkness eternal."

Emblem of Severed Fate

About the last member of the Mikoshi oni clan, who became “Douin” Iwakura Doukei. 

"Mother had bared her fangs against the Shogun, who had been kind to her and who had given her a treasured sword. In the end, the only thing that was sent back to the Mikoshi Clan was the tsuba of that blade which she had loved so dearly.

“She would make such contributions as to make an eternal name for the ever-thinning blood of the war-oni. If she was engulfed by the pitch-black tiger-beast of sin itself, then she would tear it apart from the inside.“

“But it was stained black in the end, together with her fiercely beating heart...“

The eldest son (a mortal with oni-blood) met a Yougou Tengu girl, who gave him a new family name, Iwakura. 

Her name was Teruyo. His name was Doukei. 

"Thinking back, I changed your name in hopes that you might escape from the curse of the oni bloodline. With that war, non-human blood grows thinner and thinner. Ah well. We should not covet the happy endings that humans enjoy, after all. But you're different. You are now 'Iwakura.' You are no longer the 'Mikoshi' who shoulders the burden of oni blood."

“In the distant past, when Seirai Island had yet to be shrouded by storm clouds, memories would rise and fall like breaths. In the end, the elegant container that contained thunderstorms and tremors could not be handed over to the one to whom it was promised.”

(What’s this??) 

Doukei once repaired a “seal cage” (an inro, a kind of rigid pouch that hangs from the belt) for a Hatamoto. 

This Hatamoto was skilled with a sword but also learned archery from a Tengu. He was a gambler and also had a “sweet wife.” He was also a gambler. He had “terrifying nightmares, in which he cut off his own head...” 

“With his secret sword technique, Tengu Sweeper, Iwakura Doukei became the Kujou Clan's swordsmanship instructor. He also received the title of "Douin" and founded a successful sword school.” (He is then referred to as “Sir Douin.”)

He was contemporaries with the young Kanjou head, Hiiragi Hiroshi. 

"With your sword, even Ako Domeki of Seirai would be no match..."

(More people for the 500 years ago gang.) 

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

Weapon materials:

Coral Branch 

Watatsumi Island is the furthest from Narukami Island in the Inazuman island chain, and its name means "the god of the oceans" in the island's ancient tongue. Legend has it that when the great serpent first arose within the abyssal nation of ever-night, its fluorescent body was covered in myriad-colored coral.

This coral cannot be found anywhere in Teyvat, but was a gift that the great serpent obtained when it broke into the Dark Sea. 

Fleeing into the Dark Sea, the god that had lost everything met the abandoned people who had nothing within the ocean depths. Thus it elected to remain and become their "Orobashi no Mikoto," their "Watatsumi Omikami."

It is said that the great snake god once broke off all the coral branches on its body to give light to the children who were curled up in the darkness. They also say that it used these coral branches to create a huge ladder to allow those children to once again reach the surface and see the light of day.

And it was also because the serpent god now had people who worshiped it that it stayed in the world it should have long fled, breaking off the coral branches that adorned its body, treading upon land where it should not have, and facing a foe it could never hope to match — till at last, its divine form was sundered along with the mountains, its ichor turned into plasma, and its will and power became a curse that could never be extinguished: Tatarigami.

Lots of interesting points coming together here. The Tatarigami was previously the deity of Watatsumi “Orobashi no Mikoto.” Probably, the old tensions between Narukami and Sangonomiya that Ayaka mentioned are because the Electro Archon (based on Narukami) killed the Tatarigami. 

The Watatsumi gained power from the “Dark Sea” (probably the Abyss, or connected to it), but it willingly gave away that power for the sake of “abandoned people” in the ocean’s depths. This is probably Kokomi’s ancestors. 

Narukami tomoe 

Ba’al insights: 

In the past, the ancients would climb the peak now known as Mt. Yougou and bend wood that had been charred by lightning into a hook to offer as an effigy unto the thundering force that lit up the skies and shook the earth. This shape would eventually become the "Electro Mitsudomoe" symbol, symbolizing the favor, wisdom, and might of Electro, and also the people who represent these values.

In the monster-filled tales of the ancient past, those who were deeply trusted by the Shogun would bear talismans with this hooked design on their person, and just as the word "commission" means to "joyfully serve" in the old tongue, those who received her favor would return it with love and loyalty. Yet, after a certain point in time, nothing would be as it was before.

All demons who wander in the wilderness or live amongst mortals will be attracted by the sight of the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, represented by the Electro Mitsudomoe. Though their lives may be longer than any creature, they will at last come to their end. If those with limited lifespans hanker after eternity, then they can only pray that "Eternity" remembers them. And she did indeed answer their prayers, remembering them all, friend and foe alike, in her heart. No matter whether it was the demon owls who resided amidst the fog and ripped through the skies, the bake-danuki who dared to trespass her imperial gardens, or that female oni, lovely as the moon and mighty in battle, yet who would eventually come to blows with her... Whether it was the tengu who soared on dark wings or the Kitsune Saiguu who once walked by her side, but who eventually disappeared forever... These countless tales have come to rest within her heart, and someday, they will surely shine again in the eternal paradise of her dreams.

The treasure of the lord of thunder is her majesty, and that majesty is embodied in her valor and wrath. Her wrath comes from the love that persists in her heart, and her valor supports that anger. Thus, whomsoever should block the path towards eternity or lay a finger on Inazuma's people shall become her foe. They say that there were four great spirits, three divine foxes, and two great swords — but that the symbol of Her Excellency, the Almighty Narukami Ogosho, could only be a single strike, unsurpassed and brilliant as a meteor.

Oni mask

Holy shit, the rarest mask had like five paragraphs of lore alone. 

There was an oni named Torachiyo, who would eventually betray the Shogun and revolt, becoming shorn of an arm and a horn in the battle before fleeing and slaying itself in a fit of furious madness. He once shattered the Shogun’s naginata with a single bite.

The oni nursemaids tell is differently: "He was once a beloved lieutenant of the Shogun, and he followed her into the dark abyssal realms to repel the defiled ones, winning renown for the oni, whose blood thinned with each passing day.”

“Chiyo, a warrior of the oni tribe with the Electro Mitsudomoe emblem emblazoned on her back, was once swallowed whole by a beast from beyond this world that had a tiger's body and a serpent's tail while holding back the forces of darkness. At last, she tore the creature's innards apart from within, breaking free.”

OG Torachiyo was actually female: “This is the origin of the phrase "Chiyo the Tiger-Bite," and would be changed over many years to "Torachiyo."”

“But within the belly of the beast, she was stained by a deep sin and saw her comrades ripped to shreds by those blood-red teeth. Steeped in darkness as far as the eye could see, she would eventually draw her sword upon the Almighty Narukami Ogosho.” 

So this is Iwakura Doukei’s mother. She lost her sanity due to corruption from the Abyss. 

“Or perhaps she even met the oni-masked, sword-bearing doll near the corpse of the giant serpent, and there ended her life's journey.” (It’s Maguu Kenki! It’s older than 500 years.) 

“Few among those who fought against the abyss in those days were spared pitch-dark dreams. Those who slew monsters and then became them were hardly the minority. The border between worlds grows fragile, and corruption of this kind is perhaps not merely monodirectional.” 

---------

Weapons: 

Mistsplitter Reforged

"Arataki of the Front Gate, Iwakura the Successor, Kitain the Serpent, Takamine the Mistsplitter." 

Takamine was the user of this sword. 

He also learned archery from the Yougou Tengu, and passed that knowledge on to a person he loved. At the end of his life, he assumed the position of one of the Shogun's yoriki and fought against a dark army.

"Asase, our promise... No, say rather our great bet. I will not lose it, not for the world!"

The sword broke into a thousand pieces as he fought this battle. 

The yet unreleased bow Thundering Pulse also belonged to this guy. It confirms that Konbumaru is also his name. He was taken as a servant of the Tengu after a bet and learned archery from them then. 

This means he is the guy Iwakura Doukei mentions in the Emblem artifact set. This would also make him Kanade’s love interest. I suppose Asase would be her family name. 

(Also, Thundering Pulse’s last lines are brutal. Mistsplitter mentions how he clung to the wager to return, clutching at his broken sword’s hilt... “The lone returnee who came stumbling back from the abyss finally met the shrine maiden again, though by now she could no longer be called young. Dull eyes stained with dried blood and tears regained their radiance, but were pierced through by a barbed arrow glowing with power.” Bullshit!!! You can’t do this to me!) 

[365days365movies]

March 12, 2021: Jason and the Argonauts (1963) (Part Two)

Probably shouldn’t have talked so much in the first part...

Well, it’s all good. Epic-length Recap for a movie about an epic tale! Greek mythology, man, what can I say? Other than, of course, let’s keep going! Part One of the Recap is right here!

Recap (2/2)

OK, so where were we? OH RIGHT, Heracles fucked up!

See, Talos is a bronze giant with various origins. In one case, like in the movie, he was built by Hephaestus. He was built with a single vein, which ran from his neck to his ankle, and contained a golden ichor that sustained him like blood. Said vein was protected by a nail in his ankle, and he would bleed out and fall to the ground useless if it were removed.

So, sure, I could talk about the fact that Talos only encountered the Argo on the return journey, after they’d gotten the Fleece already, and that all he did was throw rocks at them as they passed the island of Crete (which he protected), only for...somebody who’s coming in later...to put him to sleep, allowing the group to pass. But, uh...

Yeah, that’s cool as shit. Which the Argo basically FUCKED for now, Jason speaks with the figurehead of Hera, and asks for some advice. She simply says to look to his ankles. I like where this is going. She also tells him that this is Heracles’ fault, which I’m sure pissed her off even more, given their history. That’s confirmed when Jason and the remaining Argonauts make it to shore, and Heracles is still holding the staff, the great idjit. 

Jason quickly formulates a plan, and the Argonauts keep Talos’ attention while he gets close to observe his ankles. He notices a large stopper in the back, and sneaks up behind him to remove it. And once he does, the ichor releases itself. And it looks...awesome? Holy shit, it looks awesome.

And Talos falls to the ground, broken and dead, but at a cost. He falls on top of the frail Hylas, almost certainly killing him. Damn, poor dude. They repair the ship, and also try to find Hylas amongst the rubble and on the beach. An extremely guilty Heracles pledges not to leave the island until he finds Hylas, alive or dead.

The rest of the Argonauts aren’t happy about this, and refuse to sail without the guy who’s inarguably the most powerful amongst them all. Jason decides to burn his last bit of help from Hera, who informs ALL of the Argonauts that Hylas is dead, and that Heracles is not fated to accompany them any further. Which, yeah, is similar to how that plays out in the myths. And so, off they go to find a blinded man named Phineus, on Hera’s command.

Phineus (Patrick Troughton), meanwhile, isn’t having the best time in the world. On the island of Thrace, the seer Phineus is being attacked by the vicious Harpies, pictured here as demonic women with the wings of bats. Phineus, see, was punished by Zeus or revealing the future to mankind, and was both blinded and beset upon by the Harpies for all of his days.

The Argonauts save him from the Harpies’ recent torment, and Phineus agrees to help them IF Jason can permanently free him from the Harpies. Jason agrees, although Zeus is seemingly pissed off by this promise. The deed is accomplished by having Phineus serve as bait to the admittedly badly composited Harpies, and the Argonauts capture them by using nets to trap them.

And no, that’s not how it goes down in the original myth. But, since the Wind Brothers aren’t in here, there’s not an option for an aerial chase between them and the Harpies, which...holy shit, I NEED this to be in a modern movie, can we remake this? Please? PLEASE??

Now that they’ve completed their side of the bargain, Phineus feasts and gives them directions to Colchis: go through the Clashing Rocks, and head from there to Colchis. Without the protection of the gods at this point, Phineus offers them a clay token of some kind, and they part ways. The Argonauts make their way to the Clashing Rocks, which seem totally fine. But Argos is suspecious of this, not trusting Poseidon and other gods of the sea. They observe another ship coming through the Rocks. And it initially seems fine...until...

The rocks tear the other ship apart, and also cause the deaths of one of the Argonauts as well. The other ship sinks, but Jason insists on going through despite this. He says that the gods want their entertainment. Zeus overhears that, and says that he’s going to far with that comment. However, and unhappy Hera agrees with Jason, that the gods themselves are going to fair with this gambit.

In their little game in Olympus, Hera is left with only one movie, which she enacts as Jason throws the clay token into the sea. And from it...

Holy shit, it’s Triton (Bill Gudgeon)! A merman (and eventual father of a Little Mermaid), Triton was the son of Poseidon and the sea goddess Amphitrite. A messenger for his father, Triton is one of the most prominent symbols of the sea gods, which aren’t limited to Poseidon. And while he had absolutely nothing to do with the Clashing Rocks, he did encounter the Argonauts on their journey back. But yeah, not much to his appearance there that warrants mention.

What DOES warrant mention is what happens afterwards. See, the Argonauts row like hell, and they make it through with Triton’s help. But Jason sees a survivor of the other ship’s destruction. That survivor is...Medea (Nancy Kovack).

WHAT

Um...no. Medea, see, is the daughter of the King of Colchis, Aeëtes. She’s the head priestess of Hecate, and a powerful sorceress in her own right. She meets Jason on Colchis, and definitely had no ability to leave the island on her own, or even with other people in general. Once meeting Jason on Colchis, she quickly fell in love with him, and agreed to show him to the Fleece IF he pledged to get her off of the island. He agrees, and the two get married.

But Jason DEFINITELY doesn’t rescue Medea from a shipwreck, that’s for goddamn sure. Still, OK, I’ll deal with it. Jason and Medea introduce themselves, and the group heads towards Colchis. In the process, Jason decides to scout on the island alone, to the anger of Acastus. However, Jason’s now learned exactly who Acastus and his father are, and accuses him of trying to kill him. A fight ensues, and Acastus is thrown overboard. Son of Poseidon Euphemus (Doug Robinson), is sent after him, but the traitorous Acastus kills him, and disappears beneath the ocean waves.

On Colchis soon after, Medea heals Jason’s wounds with the nectar of a native flower, then invites him and the Argonauts to the performance of a ritual to Hecate, goddess of sorcery and magic. Also attending this ritual is Medea’s father, King Aeëtes (Jack Gwillim). There, he waits to meet with Jason, whom he invites to dine with them that evening, along with the Argonauts.

Jason is a bit caught off-guard by this, but they accept. At dinner, Aeëtes reveals that he knows he’s come for the Fleece, to take or steal it from Colchis. He’s been warned of this not by Medea, but of Acastus, who managed to make his way to the island after all. Dick. Jason and the Argonauts are imprisoned by Aeëtes and his men.

That night, Medea goes to pray to Hecate, the goddess of darkness who gave her the gift of foresight. In love with Jason, she decides to betray both Colchis and Hecate’s will in order to save Jason and his Argonauts. And as she goes to free Jason, this is a great time to talk briefly about one of the most complicated characters in Greek mythology: Medea. This is gonna be a little long, so you can skip it if you wanna just get back to the movie.

See, here’s the thing about worshipping a chaotic evil Greek goddess: you've gotta be a little chaotic evil yourself. And Medea...oh boy, Medea. In order to escape her dad, Medea distracts him by killing her brother. Yeah. She made amends for that act with the gods, and then helped to heal Atalanta, and defeat Talos. She also helped Jason’s dad, and Jason eventually fell in love with him, with some...help from Hera. That help resulted in Medea helping to kill Pelias, then fleeing to Corinth with Medea, where they married.

But 10 years of being married, Jason decided it would be a good idea to cheat on the terrifying chaotic evil sorceress for a younger woman. Which is when Hera, the GODDESS OF MARRIAGE, finally abandoned Jason. Medea, meanwhile, LOST it. She gave Jason’s new fiancée a poisoned wedding dress. She killed the bride AND her father in one fell shot when she hugged him. In front of him, she KILLED THEIR TWO SONS, then took the FUCK OFF FOREVER, leaving Jason a broken fucking husk, partially because of his own stupidity.

So, you can see why this little union here is a...mixed bag of emotions.

Medea pleads with Jason to flee with his men, without the Fleece in hand. Seeing that she can’t convince him away from it, she forces him to bring her along, and she will help him steal the Fleece from the tree where it rests. Jason and Medea free the Argonauts, and Medea tells the how to escape. They then head out to obtain the Fleece.

However, Aeëtes figures out pretty quick that Medea’s betrayed him and Colchis, and sends his men after them. Acastus, meanwhile, has headed out to get the Fleece for himself. Dick. And unfortunately, he finds it before Jason and Medea get to it.

And yet...when Jason arrives there to get it, the Fleece is still intact. And that’s because Acastus wasn’t able to take it, having been killed by the Fleece’s guardian...the Lernaean Hydra?

Um...wow. That’s a few hundred miles out of its natural distribution. Also, it’s alive? How? Hercules killed the SHIT out of it, a long-ass time ago! And in case you weren’t sure, no, this isn’t in the original myth. However, it’s a dragon guarding the Fleece instead, so...I guess they made a compromise? Shame, too, because the Colchian Dragon has the ability to create soldiers when its teeth are buried in the earth, similar to the Ismenian Dragon that was used by Cadmus.

...Sorry, went a little overboard. Anyway, Jason kills the Hydra (with no help from Medea, by the way), the Argonauts arrive to help him grab the Fleece, and Aeëtes and the Colchians follow after them, pissed off. Aeëtes prays to Hecate to deliver...the Hydra’s teeth. Interesting. If this is going where I think it’s going, then I will be VERY happy.

Aeëtes and his men collect the Hydra’s teeth, and set off after the Argonauts. They catch up, and they shoot Medea with an arrow, KILLING HER? WHAT? But then, Jason uses the Fleece to heal her wounds, and brings her back to life. OK, fine, fine, you can give the Fleece that bullshit superpower if Medea gets to live. Just then, Aeëtes shows up, bearing the Hydra’s teeth. He preys to Hecate once again, and throws the teeth onto the ground. And...

HELL YEAH, IT’S THE SPARTOI, BABY!

These undead soldiers created from the Dragon’s Teeth were originally sown by Cadmus, on command by Athena. He made them defeat each other, and therefore escaped their wrath. The Dragon itself was sacred to Ares, so this whole thing had some other implications.

In the Jason myth, Aeëtes made him sow the teeth in order to win the Fleece, and he did. Jason also defeated them in the same way that Cadmus did: he threw a stone amongst them, confusing them enough that they fought each other to figure out who threw the rock. But in this movie...in the movie, they’re just fighting. And I love it.

Look, I can never claim that Harryhause’s effects aged particularly gracefully, but this shit is still pretty goddamn awesome. Honestly, I’m having a ball watching this climactic fight between the skeletons and Jason’s crew. And this fight has consequences! The Spartoi here actually do kill some of Jason’s men, and end up forcing Jason himself off of a cliff into the water!

He escapes, and makes his way to the ship, just as Hera tells Zeus that the game is now over. He claims that it isn’t at all, and Hera looks on as Jason and Medea reunite on the ship. He gives the a reprieve, and...

WAIT WHAT??? That’s IT? It ended so...abruptly! We don’t even properly get a resolution, or see Jason return to Thessaly, or...THAT’S IT” ARE YOU GODDAMN KIDDING ME? WHAT THE HELL?

...See you in the Review, I guess. Damn.

[somethingjustsouthofbrilliance]

Too Weak to Fly (chapter 5)

Back to chapter 1

Well... that took forever, sorry about that. I hit a really bad writer’s block and it took a while to get past it. (this chapter might feel a bit rusty because of that, but, hopefully, still palatable)

@cosmic-malarky Thank you again for prodding me! 💖

@swanheart69 @boysinperil @agentlokii

___________

Chapter 5

 “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.” William Congreve it was who’d coined the phrase back in 1697, the adage that had since been paraphrased and entrenched firmly in the public conscience.

 Mr. Congreve had never met Aziraphale.

 ***

Two days.

 Two days he sits on that cursed bloodstained mattress, cradling the pale, lifeless vessel that used to contain his best friend, his sole companion for the millennia he spent here on this Earth, his love, his life.  

 Two days he grieves, keening in anguish and despair until his voice gives out and his throat burns, shredded raw from his screams.  And he welcomes that physical pain, insignificant though it is. Clings to it with the fervor of one caught in a tempest of pain emotional that rages within him, clawing at his very essence, leaving wide, bleeding furrows in its wake, reminding him again and again of what he’d lost and how utterly powerless he was to stop that loss from happening.  Anathema, bless her soul, tried to console him, pointing out that Crowley isn’t truly dead.  He knows that.  He knows that, of course, but it doesn’t really matter.  Hell had Crowley back in its clutches now, weakened and defenseless without his powers.  And, best case scenario, they were going to torture him, horribly, sadistically, until they brought about his complete destruction. Worst case – that torment would last forever, no intermissions, no reprieve of death.  Either way they were never going to let him out again.  Aziraphale was never again going to see him.  

Two days he pleads and bargains and begs of the God that wouldn’t listen to turn back the clock, to give him time, to give them time.  Because they had so little time to be truly together, just the two of them, on their own side, free of the restraints of Heaven and Hell that had kept them apart all those years.  Because he was just beginning to learn how to let go of the millennia of indoctrination and fear; how to relax into the reality of their new relationship, how to convey to his beloved demon the true depth of the feelings he has repressed for so long… and how to atone to him for all the years of cruel rejections and faint-hearted lies.  Because they deserved so much more than these ten short years, and it just wasn’t fair!

 And then he gets angry. 

It is the kind of anger he’s never felt before.  A terrible, blinding fury to match the equally terrible pain that’s ripping him from the inside.   It’s powerful, it’s dangerous, and it’s begging to be let out.

 It doesn’t matter that it’s already too late and Crowley’s gone.  Doesn’t matter that there’s no point in swinging one’s fists (“or brandishing your sword, Angel”, as Crowley himself liked to say) after the fighting’s done.  It doesn’t matter, because all he can think about is that little white-walled cottage in South Downs and an enormous pair of black iridescent wings intertwining intimately with his own and the most beautiful golden eyes gleaming warmly at him in the desire-seeped darkness of their bedroom….  

That was supposed to be his future, their future. Hell had no right to take it from them.  And now? Now they were going to pay for it.

 The punishment lifts, as it was supposed to, two days later, when the first hint of the sunrise brushes the night-blackened skies.  And he feels like crying as the dizzying, heady rush of power comes flooding back into his essence, because it’s two days too late.  He soaks it in nevertheless, welcoming it like an old and dearly missed friend, as it sweeps through him, reclaiming lost ground.  He feels almost complete now, the missing part of him slotting perfectly back into its rightful place, filling in the gaping void left by its absence…. Almost.  

 Almost.  Because there’s a Crowley-shaped hole at the very heart of his being, ripped out with a brutal, damaging force that left behind torn, bleeding edges.  And it burns. It burns despite the soothing presence of his powers. Burns with all the ferocity of Hellfire.  

 He clings to that pain.  Harnesses it. Lets it further fuel the towering blaze of fury that rages within him, roaring for vengeance. And that dark wrath, that terrifying need for retribution that no proper, God-abiding angel would ever even tolerate in their presence – for the first time in his long, long life Aziraphale is neither scared nor repulsed by it.  He welcomes it with open arms.

 He hugs Crowley’s body closer, gentle, deliberately, achingly gentle despite the violent storm within him.  Presses one final, reverent kiss to the ice-cold brow.  Lets himself linger another moment, face buried in the matted flame-red locks, breathing in the fading remnants of his demon’s scent.  He should have been faster that day, should have listened to Crowley.  Should have protected his demon as Crowley had always protected him.  Some Guardian he was…. But then he’d always gone too slow, hadn’t he.  Well, no more.  

 “Forgive me, my love,” he murmurs, voice wrecked with the grit of guilt and tears. “I won’t tarry here much longer.”  

 And he won’t. There’s nothing for him here.  Not anymore. His other half, his only true companion on this Earth was gone, and Aziraphale isn’t planning on spending the rest of eternity here alone. No, his continued existence without Crowley seems to him like a punishment on par with Falling, as blasphemous as that comparison may be.  A memory of him finding Crowley in that bar 10 years ago after his unfortunate discorporation at the hands of Mr. Shadwell floats unbidden across his mind: a row of empty wine bottles, the uncharacteristically disheveled, hunched over figure, the broken, devastated look in the dull red-rimmed eyes – the look of a man with nothing left to lose.  

He understands it now, he thinks.  Because he, too, lost everything that mattered. And now he is going to lose himself, too.  But he will take that loss willingly.  Along with as many of Hell’s denizens as he can.

 He places the body onto the mattress with the same doting, breathless care; runs his fingers down the beloved face, pausing when he reaches his lips, letting his fingertips rest there a moment, trembling lightly against the chapped, ashen skin.

 “Goodbye, dear.”

 He stands then.  Takes a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as he unfurls his wings, feeling his power crackle in the air around him like lightning in the gathering storm.  

He spares a quick thought to Anathema and the others, all still asleep in the wee hours of the morning. He won’t be seeing them again, he realizes with a small twinge of regret, and he sends one final blessing their way – a parting gift on his and Crowley’s behalf for everything they’ve done.  Their lives will run smooth, their course untroubled.

 He extends his right hand, and a familiar sword flames into existence, the handle fitting perfectly into his waiting palm.  He wraps his fingers around it, his expression darkening into grim determination, and winks out, leaving a single white feather to float slowly down to the floor.

 ***

 He kills the first demon the moment he steps off the escalator.  It was some squatty foul-looking thing with a lumpy face and sharp blackened teeth, and it made the mistake of being nearby when Aziraphale in his Avenging Angel mode descended into Hell.  He is now a smoldering puddle of goo on spit and filth covered floor.

Aziraphale steps calmly over the demonic remains, spreads his wings out until they almost touch the grimy walls, his Grace flaring out in a wide, blinding circle around him, and walks on, the Flaming Sword held at the ready.

“What in Heaven izzz going on here?” an angry shout buzzes loud over the cacophony of shrieks and the sizzle of destruction that mark his forward progress, and Aziraphale turns toward it like a hound that’s zeroed in on its game.

 “Lord Beelzebub,” Aziraphale acknowledges, blue eyes flashing with cold, blazing fury as he thinks back to the messily scrawled signature at the bottom of Crowley’s mildew-mottled missive.  “How perfectly fortuitous! I’ve been looking for you.”

 He stalks toward them, noting with grim satisfaction the way the Prince of Hell recoils from his advance, scrambling awkwardly to get out of the way until a wall blocks their path.  They freeze there, squinting against the blinding light of Aziraphale’s Grace, and the angel can’t resist leaning in closer, lifting the Flaming Sword to press its edge against their scrawny pale neck with deadly, unequivocal intent.

 “Whatzzz wrong wizzzz you?” Beelzebub screeches, panic flashing clear in the washed out blue of the demon’s eyes.  “Are you mad?”

 “I assure you, Lord Beelzebub, I am in perfect control of my faculties.” The sword presses harder, a thin trickle of inky black ichor staining the blade where it bites slightly into the demon’s skin.  “Would you like me to demonstrate?”

 A snarl twists the normally impassive features, fear tainting the angrily spat out threat, “You will zzzuffer for thizzz, you fool! You won’t leave here alive!”

 Aziraphale’s answering smile is a cold, empty thing that has the Prince of Hell shrinking further into the wall, unsettled.  “I don’t intend to,” he responds simply, as the pale eyes before him widen in distress. “The one being I cared for in this world is gone, and I mean to follow him.  But I would be loath to leave this world…” He leans in further, the stench of smoking skin tickling his nose as the demon before him hisses in genuine alarm, struggling to maintain their crumbling composure in the face of certain destruction.  Adds in a low, dangerously calm whisper, “without first smiting those who took him from me.”

 “We didn’t take him!” Beelzebub screeches, all pretense of composure gone as Aziraphale swings the sword for the killing blow.

 “What?” The sword stops a mere inch away from the demon’s neck, the flames roaring in cheated hunger.

 “We were never suppozzzzed to,” the demon hurries on, voice strained with the urgency of panic.  “It wazzzz Gabriel’zzzzz idea – to punish you two zzzze same way you tried to trick uzzzz.”

 Aziraphale blinks, his mind stuttering numbly on the Prince’s words as a new kind of horror blooms in his chest.  “You mean, I would have been dragged down here, and Crowley…”

 “To Heaven, yezzz!” Beelzebub buzzes impatiently, trying to twist away from the flames that lick at their skin.

 Aziraphale’s hands tremble ever so lightly and he clenches them tighter around the handle of his sword. “I don’t believe you.”

 “I can prove it!” An expression of contented sadistic glee flashes briefly in the faded blues.  “Zzzey sent uzzz tapezzzz.”

________________________________

A/N: Ruh-roh

[ernmark]

Eldritch Abomination AU Part 3

Before I start: this fic took me for freakin’ ever. I tend to write fics in such a way that the first things I post technically work on their own so I can post them and maybe come back later if I feel so inclined, but this one just wouldn’t make sense if I did it that way. Between that, trying to work out dialogue with an anxiety-ridden Peter, trying not to make it too close to the actual episode, and a med change on my end, this took way longer than usual to put together.

Thank you for being patient with me.

Part 1 | Part 2

As I’ve said, here there be gore.

Mag’s feet slosh through the ankle-deep liquid that covers the floor of the next chamber.

The room is irregular in its shape, every inch of it covered in that same fleshy substance, all of it illuminated with a sticky red light that seems to pulse from a round… thing… in the room’s center. The way the light flashes and flickers, it seems almost like an enormous beating heart.

“There it is, Pete,” Mag says, stepping aside to give Nureyev a better view. “The reactor that powers all of New Kinshasa.”

Nureyev steps closer, his face bathed in the crimson glow.

“They were all brought here,” Mag continues. “Your father. Your friends. A hundred thousand lives, dragged to this very spot and sacrificed in the name of a hungry god. The people in charge of this city trapped it here a long time ago, to give them power over all of Brahma. But we can take it away from them.” 

Nureyev swallows. He remembers all too clearly the faces of friends who were dragged into the floating city and never seen again, the stories of a father who died trying to bring this reign of terror to an end. He’s waited all his life to do this.

Mag steps closer behind him. “It can all end right here, Pete. Right now. All it takes is cut, and it’ll all be over.” His grip tightens on the knife in his hand and he brings it to Nureyev’s throat. The motion is deft and silent, entirely outside of Nureyev’s peripheral vision. Nureyev doesn’t stand a chance.

Before he can slide the blade across Nureyev’s jugular, a spasm sweeps over his features. The hungry grin falls away, and so does the knife, landing with a splash at Nureyev’s feet.

Nureyev turns, stumbling against the beating heart of New Kinshasa as he stares in horror at his mentor. Mag is shuddering violently, his hands opening and closing too rapidly as they grasp at the knives hidden along his belt. The skin around his tattoos blisters around the ink, carrying with it the smell of burning flesh.

“Peter,” Mag chokes. “Peter, get– get out– it’s got me– it’s going to–” His hand closes on the knife, and he draws it in a wide slash. He has reach and raw power behind the attack, but Nureyev has speed.

It’s a short fight: after all, Mag’s the one who taught Nureyev how to use a knife.

Juno wishes he could look away, but he can’t.

He watches Mag go still, Nureyev’s knife in his chest. He watches those big, owlish eyes wide with terror and grief as he stumbles back. He watches him sink into the pool of what must be blood, and then keep sinking deeper than he rightfully should.

He holds up a shaking hand, beseeching. Begging. “Please…” He shudders, his expression wavering between that too-wide grin and a look of grief as that thing tries to take hold of him. “Pete, please…”

He isn’t begging for his life.

Nureyev knows that. And so he takes the knife that’s still embedded in his mentor’s chest.

Mag reaches out and touches Nureyev’s cheek. Tenderly. Lovingly. Gratefully.

And Nureyev carves through his throat,

Mag lets out a bubbling, wheezing breath as he slides down the wall, and the ankle-deep pool swallows him whole.

Nureyev steps away from him, his grip tightening on the knife, and turns to the heart of New Kinshasa and its murderous Angel.

It took everything from him. Everything.

And so he throws himself at the beating heart, hacking and slashing and stabbing, his breath caught in gasps and screams, his glasses askew and smudged with splattered blood and running tears. He only comes to his senses when he hears the clatter of footsteps and the voices of guards– and of Madam Rossignol herself– raised in alarm, and he flees. Their voices carry as he runs:

“Oh my god– somebody’s let it out–” And then their words give way to screams.

Nureyev can feel its consciousness unfurling as it feasts on its first new offerings. He can feel its satisfaction as it devours the insignificant mortals who thought they could contain its greatness, that they could appease it with paltry offerings and sacrifices.

And then it turns its attention to the boy who released it from its prison, and it laughs.

Nureyev screams– and twenty years later, so does Juno, trying to rip himself away from the million eyes of the Angel. He feels Nureyev’s arms around him, his hands on his skin, hears the distant echo of his voice, but Juno’s trapped in the past. He ducks into another memory, hours later, in the spaceport as Nureyev leaves Brahma for good. The blood and ichor are washed away, his clothes are starched and clean, and he wears an easy smile to draw off suspicion. For a few moments at a time, he can even make his hands stop shaking.

It’s all he can do not to break into a run in the crowded spaceport. Because it’s there. He can feel its eyes on him, watching him like a predator in the high grass, and if he makes one wrong move, it’s going to spring. He needs to pretend not to notice, inch away as casually as he can manage, and maybe he’ll be able to put enough distance between them to escape.

It’s a thin hope.

He’s only on the planet Lacaille for a few weeks before he starts noticing the creaking walls and flickering lights. He tells himself he’s paranoid, that he’s seeing things that aren’t there– right until the moment his tattoos burn and the walls start to bleed, and the Angel is on him again.

He leaves the Iota Normae system and makes his way to Akna. Weeks later, the Angel is on his heels.

He crosses the galaxy and takes shelter in the Perseus arm, but he might as well have gone across the street for all the good it does him. A few weeks later it finds him again, always right on his heels, always laughing.

It’s toying with him. He catches on to that pretty quick. Now that its captors are gone, the full weight of its attention is on the boy who set it free. When he dives into a war zone looking for a weapon that could kill it, he finds himself pinned down in the midst of a firefight– and then all he hears is screaming as soldiers on both sides are torn to shreds. 

He’s not sure if it sees him as some kind of high priest or favorite prey, but the message is clear: nobody but the Angel gets to have him.

And so he keeps running. He collects sacred symbols on his skin– the marks can’t save him forever, but they manage to hide him from the Angel’s eyes for a few days, and then a few months. They give him a little more sense of self when its presence bears down on him, threatening to crush the soul out of him. And always, always, they offer a warning. 

And then one day, he arrives in the Solar system. And not long after, on Mars.

“You can eat in the car. I’m in kind of a rush. Some mummy wants me dead or something.”

“It doesn’t sound like that scares you much.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t.”

Juno feels like he should pull away from these memories. What came before this was a warning. This, though? This is different. It’s too warm, too intimate, seeing himself through Nureyev’s eyes. The Juno Steel in those memories is unafraid of the eldritch monsters that lurk in the world, but he’s not an idiot about dealing with them. Nureyev feels braver beside him– and smarter– and safer, even in those moments when he’s looking up at a mass of spinning blades.

And for the first time in twenty years, he feels what’s always been there: the ache of loneliness, every time he thinks of leaving Juno behind. And for the first time in his life, he makes an offer that feels a little bit more like a plea.

And Juno – Juno sees himself from a different angle now, reflected in the shallow pool of surface thoughts. His eyes are wide and staring at nothing, the right one entirely obscured by the blood pouring down his face. There’s blood everywhere– it’s all over him– not just the runoff from his eye, but scrawled into symbols across his skin by Nureyev’s careful hands. He doesn’t know where all the blood came from– if it’s from his eye, or from the body of the masked assistant lying prone beside him, or if it came dripping from the walls.

“Juno, please, you have to wake up,” Nureyev begs him. “We’re out of time.”

Juno tries to speak, but he can only groan.

A thought crosses Nureyev’s mind: he can leave Juno here. If he makes a break for it now, he can make it to the teleporters before the Angel manifests. 

Just as quickly the thought is tossed aside, and he curls around Juno, shielding him from sight as a new wave of guards comes running, their weapons drawn. Miasma arrives moments later, walking with the unrushed purpose of a tenured academic.

“It’s alright, love,” Nureyev whispers. “Take as much time as you need.” 

Either both of them make it out or neither of them do.

“I’ve had enough of this,” Miasma growls, and she raises her voice in command. “Assistants, kill the–” And then her eyes fall on the walls. “Delay that order. Thief.” She turns her attention to the two of them without shifting her gaze. “How long has that been going on? How did you activate it?”

Nureyev looks from the walls to her. “What?”

She strides forward. “I know every inch of this tomb. I know every one of its secrets. If there were any traps in this room, I would have found it. I want to know what you did to activate it.”

“Guess you learn something new every day,” Juno groans. The one-liner isn’t worth the energy it takes to deliver it, but it gets a nice scowl from Miasma. 

“Assistant–”

And the lights die. The only illumination comes from the heiroglyphics embedded in the walls, their eerie glow stained an awful red. The power outage is accompanied by a long groan, but it doesn’t sound like settling pipes anymore. Juno suddenly doesn’t remember how he ever thought that it did. 

“I told you to fix that generator,” Miasma says, and two assistants take off. Their footsteps haven’t fully faded before they’re replaced by the sounds of laser fire, the crack of damaged stone, and then… nothing. Silence, followed by another groan. 

At Miasma’s signal, the last two assistants take off. They don’t last much longer. 

Miasma narrows her eyes and strides after them, though what she’s planning to do without a gun is anyone’s guess. Juno doesn’t really care right then. He’s more concerned with the cell door she left open behind her.

“This is our chance,” Nureyev whispers. “Please, Juno, you have to get up.” 

Juno feels like he took a swan dive into oncoming traffic, and like half the freeway is still rattling around inside his skull, but at least he’s had a chance to catch his breath. He lurches and sways, but he manages to get to his feet, even if Nureyev is the only one keeping him from crashing down again. 

But maybe even Peter Nureyev isn’t enough to keep him upright. Because while Nureyev’s dragging him away, Juno has the stupid idea to look down that hall. 

He can’t describe what he’s seeing– not because there aren’t words for it, but because he can’t comprehend it. Trying to focus on it is like trying to gain traction on an oil slick: his eyes go one way and his mind goes another, and his brain is left feeling like it got turned inside out. It’s the size of a car– no, a rabbit– no, an apartment building, so huge that it bleeds through the walls and ceiling, so massive it isn’t even standing on this floor. 

Beside it, even Miasma seems impossibly warped, too tall and with too many limbs, her face distended into impossible proportions. It almost looks like she’s wrestling the Angel, but there’s no way she can win. It’s too big. It’s too much. It’s made of fire– no, bones and fur and a dozen heads– no, black ichor and eyes– no, a tower of wings and congealed blood– no, wheels within wheels within wheels within wheels–

A door shuts behind him, blocking his view, but it doesn’t purge the afterimage  burned into his retinas. 

“Just a little further,” Nureyev whispers into his ear. “We’re almost there.” 

Juno’s fading fast. By the time Nureyev lets go of him, he can’t do anything more than collapse onto the platform of a teleporter, his head lolling to one side, his eyes fixed on the door. It’s reinforced steel and concrete. It won’t stop the Angel for more than a few seconds.

The teleporter boots up with a sound like a tornado, and Nureyev rushes to his side. It roars as it twists the very fabric of time and space to take them across Mars, but one sound rises above the chaos of sundered physics: Miasma’s dying scream.

Juno wakes up feeling like he got in a bar fight with a freight train, and maybe that’s what happened. The entire right side of his face is painfully swollen and tender, his skull feels like it’s gonna split in two, he’s starving and dehydrated, and he smells like he hasn’t bathed in a month. 

Maybe he’s just been on the mother of all benders. Maybe that’s why he woke up in his apartment, tucked into his bed and staring at that familiar spot where the plaster’s starting to flake off of the ceiling. Maybe everything that happened– the train and Miasma and the tomb and the Angel– maybe that was all just a tequila dream.

The thought hurts almost as much as his splitting headache. Because if all of that was a dream, then Nureyev was, too.

And then the bathroom door opens with a billow of steam, and there he is. 

“Juno.” He says his name like a sigh. “You’re awake. I was starting to worry.”

His hair is damp, and beads of condensation gather on his skin, making his clothes cling tight against his body. Not his clothes, Juno realizes– he recognizes that turtleneck, and the skirt that he hasn’t been able to squeeze into in years, but somehow they both look amazing on Nureyev.

He catches Juno’s stare. “I hope you don’t mind my borrowing your clothes. I’m afraid my things were unsalvageable.” 

“Keep them.” Juno’s voice is hoarse and raw. How long has it been since he’s had something to drink? How long has it been since he’s had a shower? But before he can put words to the thoughts, Nureyev is bending over his bedside, pressing a glass of water into his hand.

He marvels at it for half a second. Water, just like that. No shouting for the guards, no rationing their supply, no endless internal debate about whether he’s thirsty enough to justify letting Miasma know he’s awake. He brings it to his parched lips and drinks greedily, relishing the way it spills over his mouth and drips down his chin.

“Careful, Juno.” Nureyev’s fingertips linger over Juno’s knuckles. “No need to choke. There’s plenty more if you want it.” His eyes flicker over Juno with a strange intensity, like he’s committing him to memory, and Juno suddenly feels self-conscious.

“You done with the shower?” he asks.

It’s a simple question. It shouldn’t make Nureyev look so sad. “Yes, Juno. I won’t be much longer. I only need to make myself a new passport, and then you’ll be rid of me for good.” 

Wait. No. That’s not what he meant. “You don’t have to–” The protest dies before Juno can put it into words. Yes, he does. Nureyev only barely escaped the Angel in the tomb; it won’t be long before it follows him here, and he needs to be offworld when it does. 

He can’t stay. No matter what Juno wants, he can’t stay. But he already said that, didn’t he?

“‘Always running, never looking back,’“ Juno repeats quietly. “You know, I assumed you were talking about running from the law.”

“That too.”

“You wanted to take me with you on this…” He doesn’t even have a word for it.

Nureyev smiles, soft and sad. “I’m a thief, Juno. I am prone to my moments of selfishness.”

And it is selfish. No matter where he goes, the Angel will always be right on his heels. One day it’s going to be faster than he is, and it’s going to kill him, along with anyone who’s unlucky enough to be nearby when that happens. Asking anyone else to come along is just one step shy of a death threat.

That always was the surest way to get Juno Steel to do anything.

“So when do we leave?”

If he’s just there to keep Peter company, then at least that’s hard to fuck up. For all his flaws, he can at least be there for him.

And so what if that thing kills them? He never actually thought he’d make it to fifty, anyway. Might as well spend the last stretch on an adventure.

And it’s worth it for that look of awe and gratitude and relief on Peter’s face. And you know, Juno wouldn’t mind making him look like that a bit more often.

[musekicker]

ink connection au drabble, basically how it all started.

He was tied up, hands behind his back and in a kneeling position. The fact he was kneeling in the middle of a circle with satanic symbols was even more troubling than the fact he was tied up in the first place.

Two other people in a similar setup had already been killed. Screaming and begging until the ritual blade was stabbed into their hearts by dark hooded people. Henry logically assumed he was next.

Animation school had not prepared him for this whatsoever.

Joey Drew himself was holding the ritual knife, approaching Henry. The blade seemed to almost glimmer in the bon fire light.

“Oh god, oh god. Joey please stop this! We’re friends right?” Henry begged, hoping for some sort of mercy.

Joey looked into Henry’s eyes. There was nothing. No hesitation, no sign of remorse. That scared Henry more than everything else he had seen tonight.

“Exactly the reason you get the honor of being the sacrifice to bring Bendy to this plane of existence.” Joey and these people were crazy. And he was going to die because of it. Henry struggled with his bonds as Joey lifted the knife up.

“No do-”

The knife sank into Henry’s chest and Henry heard himself scream. He could taste blood in his mouth and in moments his vision started to fade, blackening to pin points.

And then, then something clearly went wrong.

Not that this whole entire thing wasn’t just so many layers of wrong. But something seemed to be upsetting the cultists. Joey himself was shouting at the cultist that had just stabbed him. And suddenly the pain in Henry’s chest was easing to a dull buzz.

He would have loved to question what was happening now. Joey certainly looked like he had questions too.

“Why are you not dead?” Joey asked in pure bafflement.

There was no time to answer or ask anymore questions. The ground was suddenly shaking. And a squelching noise was in Henry’s ear.

Henry turned his his head a moment, his vision beginning to return to normal. He could see cracks in the earth, and a black ink liquid oozing from the cracks. One such crack was dreadfully close to his face.

More terrifying still a more firm tendril reached out from that liquid, questing around in Henry’s direction.

Henry was far too weak and out of it to even try to scramble away from the tendrils cold touched as it touched his cheek. The tendril did not stay long on his cheek, but started to travel down, leaving a trail of black ichor.

If he wasn’t so out of it Henry would had felt sick.

It mercifully stopped at where his heart was. His heart seemed to have an echo to it’s beats at that moment. Like there was another heart inside. Which Henry would had thought utterly ridiculous up until now.

The touch also made him aware of the fact that there was now open, bleeding stab wound in his chest. It was as if it just healed with only the hint of a black line of scarring to ever suggest something happened there.

The thing touched the scar once more before there was further shaking and a loud shout of anger. A name being shouted as a large mass of the liquid bubbled up and formed a mouth.

“DREWWWW! You have some explaining to do.” the bulky mass snarled.

All the cult members looked at Joey and a couple shuffled just a bit further away from the man. The mass was taking on more a defined form. There were a couple of patches of white starting to form. Henry thought there might had been eyes formed too but more ichor kept oozing down the front of it face.

And with all that, Henry recognize a shape of what this thing was trying to become. It had to be Bendy. And even with the lack of a full face he looked mad.

“What is the problem, Bendy?” Joey asked, wincing a bit but standing his ground. “If it’s because this sacrifice is somehow still alive it would be easy to try again and finish the job.”

“Fuck you too Joey.” Henry managed to mumble, the world coming back to him ever more in sharp focus.

“No, you idiot! You linked us!” the still forming shape snarled in Joey’s direction.

“I… what?” Joey asked.

“A part of me is in him. If something happens to him I will not be able to stay on this plane. You made a walking weakness for me!” Bendy snapped.

Well, that explained the wound healing. But made so many more questions Henry did not want the answers to. And he just knew where this was leading to.

“This is something that can be handled. We’ll just keep Henry safely contained and-”

For people who were talking about him a lot they sure weren’t paying him any attention now. A good thing for Henry.

His bonds were broken. Somehow during the confusion of it all he was freed. And Henry then knew the only thing he could do.

He stood up and ran. Ran and didn’t look back.

Even when he heard shouting. Or hearing the sounds of pursuit making it into the trees that surrounded the clearing the ritual had happened in.

If he escaped capture, he would not be able to go home. Not when Joey and the cult knew where he lived. He would have to drop his life here and just go.

That option was a better one than being kept a prisoner for the rest of his life with some weird connection to the monster the cult worshipped.

No, he would not let himself be caught up in that. No matter how far or how long he would have to run.