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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 8 months ago

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Night at the Opera

A long, code-filled opera is enough to put anyone to sleep.

It's also enough to lower defenses, opening the way for some real conversation...

And unexpected attack.

Part of the Surrogate series. Written with @sepiabandensis

Major character death warning (though I will say this: trust us).

AO3

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Faroe sighed. “I just wish it wasn’t so long. ”

“The very idea of a Crystalsong opera being less than twenty hours would, I fear, offend everyone’s ancestors,” said Hastur mildly, and adjusted her fancy up-do. “After all, I created them. Their entire existence is to weave beauty, music, and tale together for my pleasure… while being my very best spies in the process.”

She wrinkled her adorable, freckled nose. “I guess.”

He understood her annoyance. It wasn’t the kind of code a human brain could comprehend, which was one more thing he had to deal with before his death. “It’s necessary. Their complicated music grants the kind of detailed report I can gather from no other.”

“But it’s so boring. ”

“Shh. Don’t let anyone hear you say that. We have a reputation to maintain.”

She flopped on him with all due drama, and he caught her with a chuckle.

“Why am I going, again?” said Arthur as he arrived, scowling as he walked and John adjusted his robe.

“Because you and John are officially part of my court now,” said Hastur. “You have to be there, at my side.”

He’s hiding something, growled John.

“When isn’t he hiding something?” Arthur muttered. “At least we won’t be alone.”

They wouldn’t. The Dancers had already given Sunny and Parker what the latter was to wear.

They’re not part of your court, John challenged when reminded.

“I hope to change that over time,” said Hastur mildly.

Too mildly.

Nibbles gave him a suspicious look so strong it could curdle milk.

The only one who didn’t seem to doubt his reasoning was Faroe. “Okaaaay,” she said, overly miserably, flopping again.

Hastur carried her. (He hadn’t carried her this much in a few years now, and almost seemed to be making up for lost time.)

Arthur sighed. “They should be here soon.”

They were Parker and Sunny.

Parker had never, in his life, worn anything this fancy, this complicated, this heavy, this awkward, and he absolutely hated it. Which was a shame, because he looked fantastic.

The color was Hastur’s gold, threaded with deep green threads that somehow lent his skin a warm, bronze timbre while still linking him to the King.

Parker wasn’t sure he wanted to be linked to the King. The good news, he told himself, was this color wasn’t only Hastur’s.

Turn for me again, please? Sunny said for the fifth time. Oh, Parker. You look absolutely stunning. If I wasn’t already smitten, I would fall for you on the spot.

See, that helped. That helped a lot. “You like it, huh?” he said, grinning.

I like you in most things, and sometimes nothing at all, said Sunny, a touch too distracted to be subtle or seductive. But I very much like you in gold. And this particular one… I wonder if we have enough time for jewelry. I think some emeralds set in a similar gold, on a short chain for your neck…

That was a whole thing. Parker shook his head a little. “This is my year for a lot of new stuff. You know what? Yeah. I’ll put on whatever you want. Go crazy. I’m all yours.”

Oh! Arthur, he’s…

“What?”

Sunny’s voice nearly boomed. Doesn’t he look incredible?

John was silent for long enough to give the impression of an enormous, petulant breath. Arthur! Let me dress you like that! Arthur!

Arthur cleared his throat. “Sorry, everyone. He’s in a mood today.”

But he looks incredible, John whined.

“You do look great,” said Faroe, smiling shyly. “We almost match!” She spun, flaring her yellow-green gown.

Parker laughed. “Like I’m dolled up for something fancy. I never got to do this before. It’s fun.”

“Come on, John,” Arthur coaxed. “I don’t even know what he’s wearing.”

John huffed. Parker is wearing gold ; unlike your robe, his lacks the Yellow Sign, and features what appear to be dark greens woven throughout. Around his neck is an elaborate neckpiece, twisted into fine scrollwork with deep green emeralds set into it and smaller emeralds dangling from the ends. Around his wrists are golden cuffs with more emeralds; a few thin gold chains wrap around his throat, lying under and entwining with the large necklace.

Arthur blinked. “Like a fancy prisoner?”

I would never make him look like a prisoner, Sunny huffed. You have no taste, Arthur.

“I can’t fucking see him,” said Arthur dryly.

You didn’t have taste when you could see, either, Sunny quipped, because you somehow said no to this.

Arthur laughed. “All right, fair,” he said, slightly red as Faroe leaned into him.

“Good one,” Parker approved.

A sweep of Dancers flitted in, their pointed limbs clicking gracefully on the floor. Behind them floated the King in Yellow. Servitors followed—empty suits of armor, large furry beasts bearing palanquins, ghostly birds sparking with silent, para-dimensional lightning.

Faroe’s curls tried to escape her up-do, frizzing.

“My own,” said Hastur. “My daughter. My honored family. It is time.” He took Faroe and rose, carrying her to the palanquin of the tallest beast.

Forward, said John.

“What did he call us?” Parker murmured quietly. “What did he say?”

“I didn’t catch it,” said Arthur, climbing up with John’s help. Parker frowned but followed, thoughtful, and together, they were off to the opera.

The Crystalsong were not incredible mobile beings; they moved slowly, their many legs tinkling as they crept around the stage, voices like chimes as they chanted, back and forth. Their music, however, was divine. The opera was incredible, the music gorgeous, the plot complex and layered and overarching—and it had also been going on for over fifteen hours.

Hastur did his best to keep his little group awake and functioning. They had a special, private box, where no one would enter. He’d provided board games and card games; books; food and drink; a small water closet for their needs; and several padded settees for them to use as needed.

Faroe fell asleep on him toward hour sixteen. Well. It was after her bedtime.

Still. He thought back to catching her out late with Dis. He’d never pursued that; she wasn’t still doing that, was she?

Arthur was no better, and conked out half an hour later.

Hastur sighed. At least Parker and Sunny seemed to be still enjoying themselves. “Ahem,” Hastur said.

“Mm?” Said Parker, eyes locked on the stage far below.

“They have written a part for me.”

Parker blinked up at him. “Uh. Good for you?”

Hastur rumbled. “I will have to leave shortly. You will all be safe here.”

Parker didn’t seem to understand the danger. Or, perhaps, was not easily scared. “All right. Do we gotta be awake?”

“No.”

“Cool.” Parker took a handful of honey-glazed nuts and leaned back in his chair.

Hastur studied him. Cradled his daughter. Studied Arthur. They were all so tired. He didn’t want them to be tired. It wasn’t fair they’d be tired when he was working so hard for them.

Well. Maybe he’d have time to deal with it later.

Sure.

An hour later, Parker finally fell asleep, too, sacked out on the deep red settee. Hastur added an extra, gentle spell to keep his family asleep, took some time to arrange them all together because it was funny (and also very cute), then headed down toward backstage.

Arthur lay curled against Parker's side, head on his shoulder, snoring softly; Faroe was tucked into his side in turn, curled up and completely out of it. Parker's chin rested on his chest as he slept, the backdrop of the impressive (if low and chantlike) choral work helping to keep them all lulled.

John and Sunny were, of course, not asleep, and John watched the performance in the mirror above them, which had been angled to catch the stage. Arthur will let me do that someday, said John out of nowhere. Dress him up, I mean. Make him shiny.

He’s a stubborn one, but I’m sure you can warm him up to the idea, Sunny said gently. I like the gold he’s wearing there. I know it was Hastur’s choice, but it looks nice with you as well.

John sounded proud. It’s not just his color. Your Parker cleaned up well, too. Not that he doesn’t pull off the vagabond look.

Sunny huffed. He looks good in most things. I’m mostly just glad he lets me pick things out for him. Being able to do the jewelry was a pleasant surprise. He laughed, low and gentle. …Hastur will be gone for at least an hour or two, I imagine. I wonder if we’ll see him down there? He paused. If you’ll see him, I guess. I don’t have control over the eyes at all.

John considered that. I feel like there’s… a way around that, but I don’t know what it is. He sounded sad.

It’s probably just something else locked up in that mind of yours. You’ll recover it in time, I’m sure of it, Sunny rumbled, low, without the presence that Hastur’s had, but hopefully reassuring anyway. I… I had a question about something in that vein, if you’d be willing to talk to me about it.

John turned his attention from the opera. What?

It’s about… Well. It’s about you and Arthur, Sunny said quietly, and it might deal with things you can’t quite remember. But what’s important is what you know, Rex. Does that make sense?

The string section began a dramatic, tense pizzicato, plucked and rhythmic.

Okay, said John. I’m listening.

Sunny took a trembling breath. They’re all really asleep, right?

Oh, yeah, said John. Hastur made sure they’d stay asleep. They’d go wandering or picking fights or something otherwise, and we both know it.

…I hadn’t considered that, Sunny said, low. That’s why this is… I’m stalling. Alright. He took another breath. I… I assume you remember, or you were told, how I was first introduced to Arthur.

The barest pause. They both knew this was mine-filled territory. Yes.

When… When I was with Arthur, he was in a bad state. He spoke briefly about the ways the two of you had suffered, of your determination to not be separated from him, Sunny said softly. Timidly. You were tortured.

John was quiet. Yes.

I’m sorry, Sunny said quickly—too quickly. I shouldn’t have brought this up. We don’t have to talk about this.

No, said John, remembering the meaning of Rex. It’s fine. Say what you need to say.

I… If you’re… sure, Sunny said, halting, that insubstantial breath still much too quick. The important thing was that you were determined to stay with him, no matter the cost. And I… I wondered if that… If that was still the case.

The singers hit a high, strident note like hammers on bells.

Yes! John shouted over them. More than ever!

Sunny let out a soft laugh. I thought so, he said, gentle. Would you stay, even if you could be separated? To have your own body?

John went silent for a moment. The music settled in, strings wordlessly singing. Would getting a body mean losing him? he said, quietly enough to almost be inaudible.

That’s not what I mean, Sunny said. Or… Not exactly. I don’t know. But you’re sure that staying with him is right?

Yes. I don’t think I can ever leave his body, anyway, but I don’t care anymore. Body or not, this man is mine.

You’re very strong. You might be able to, Sunny said quietly.

I don’t care. It’s not the part that matters. The moment I woke…. John paused. The moment I woke, with nothing else I understood, I knew he was mine. Familiar even when nothing else was. That’s the point.

Down below, Hastur’s voice suddenly plummeted, deep and bass and wondrous, underpinning the entire chorus. Gasps briefly shimmered over the audience.

How did you know that was the right decision? said Sunny.

John’s hand twitched. I don’t understand the question. How would I not know?

You… Sunny sighed, and a muscle in Parker’s jaw twitched. Before, you had… Other options, but you stuck through it with him regardless. You suffered to keep him safe, even at your own expense. How did you know that all of that would be worth it? How did you know you were making the right decision?

John took this seriously. The chorus rose and quieted again, oohing as Hastur’s solo climbed (the god had quite the range). How do you know what tastes good?

I don’t follow.

You just taste it, right? You don’t have to look at the stars or count tea leaves. You know what’s good because you taste it. Right?

Sunny huffed. Sure. I taste it, and if I like it, it tastes good.

Do you like him? Does he feel good?

The music dipped low. A whisper of percussion and low strings.

Yes, Sunny said quietly. He feels… He feels like the sun emerging from the clouds on a cold day. Like hot tea after you’ve wept. He feels safe.

John’s diaphanous form shifted. So it is right.

But it’s not that simple, said Sunny. I am not… I am supposed to go back. I was always supposed to go back. It’s all I was ever supposed to do, my only purpose. I spent almost nine years in misery because I was separate, and returning was right, but now… Now I’m confused. And I’m scared, because if I… If I stay, he’ll… He took a breath. I can’t keep him safe.

John’s hand relaxed. What does missing a train have to do with invalidating whether you like something?

Sunny fell silent.

Rex, John thought, refusing to let this go. And if you stay, he’ll what?

He’ll die.

He’d do that anyway.

Faroe turned and snuggled her dad, face on Arthur’s chest.

John went quiet as if not to wake them.

The R’lyehian came easily. [I don’t want him to die,] Sunny whispered. [I… I’m scared. If I stay, we may not be safe. We might have to run, or fight. And I can’t… I will never be able to hold him. I couldn’t even protect myself from Larson, how can I help protect him?]

John was quiet for a moment. [I understand. So many times, I… had to watch him be hurt. And I have a hand and a foot.] He considered. [Humans get hurt when they’re together, too. It’s just… being mortal. Nobody can protect somebody from everything.]

[But forsaking true godhood, a return to my fuller self… If I returned I could protect him, even though he would hate me.] Sunny let out a shuddering breath. [...I know my limitations, Rex. It’s been ten years, and I… I am still like this. The only way I have grown in power was through Larson’s rituals, and those came at a cost I am no longer willing to pay. I… I may never be more than… This.]

[Okay. Does he care?]

Sunny let out a long-suffering sigh that told John exactly what the answer was.

John exhaled, too, thinking. This would be easier, he was sure, if he had his memories. How would Arthur answer this? That helped, actually. Trying to think how Arthur would answer this. [Things don’t always go as planned. Right?]

[Story of my life, but yes. You’re correct.]

[So. When things don’t, what do you two decide to do?]

[We survive. We prioritize our safety, getting out, getting help, and we move forward,] Sunny said, his voice taking on a deeply serious tone. [And… And when we’re out, we talk about it. Sometimes Parker… Has to wait, for a bit, but we talk. He’s very easy to talk to. Very good at helping me untangle my thoughts.]

[Good. Everybody should have someone like that.] John briefly wondered if that was a thing he could enforce later, somehow, when he ruled. [So it’s okay to have good things even though plans don’t always work out.]

[I don’t think I’m making sense,] Sunny sighed.

[He’s mortal. You’re afraid he’ll be hurt, and you’re not a strong enough god to save him. So you’re wondering if it’s right for you to even be in his life the way you are. Right?]

[I—yes. Yes, that’s exactly it.] John got the distinct impression of Sunny blinking at him with… awe? Adoration? Gratitude, certainly. [I feel like a burden, and I… I don’t want to be. He’s told me otherwise, yes, but I just… I’m so aware of everything I can’t do, especially when it’s at odds with what I want to do.]

[So…] It hit John suddenly. Sunny was rex, too, whether or not he realized it, and that changed this whole situation. [What does he need? ]

[I don’t know.]

[That’s your problem, right there.] John was sure, even if he didn’t fully understand Sunny’s hesitation. [If you don’t know what he needs, you can’t ever fulfill it. Find that out first. Then we can work toward getting him whatever that is.]

[He says that all he needs is me,] Sunny said, quietly. [But that can’t be right.]

[Why?] John sounded genuinely curious.

Onstage, the music changed again. Hastur’s voice was hidden in the chorus again, but he floated across the stage, outstretched, stunning.

No one in the booth noticed.

[Because…] Sunny said, slowly, testing. [Because I am… me.]

[You know Arthur. A little. Right?]

[I’m getting to know him better. He’s… different, than when I first met him. Good different.]

[This “different�� part was always there, along with the mess he was when I came back. Sunny, he… I don’t remember all the details, but I know he was so fucked when I came back that he thought it was over and he’d lost completely. He’s got levels. Everybody does. Good and bad. Even your guy does. You know?]

[Yes. Things are rarely as simple as ‘good’ or ‘bad’. We know this.]

[So… why don’t you have the freedom to have levels, too?]

Sunny stayed silent. The music swelled, Hastur’s voice bringing it up like he cradled it all in his hand.

The sound nearly buried Sunny’s voice, so small. [Because I think I may be mostly bad, and… I don’t want to be.]

John pondered this one. [Bad according to what? We are what we are. We are gods. Both of us. Small pieces, yes, but that’s what we are. If the people we own are happy and healthy, then how can we be bad?]

[I’m not growing, Rex. I don’t know that I can change.]

[Sure you are. You’re learning. You’re not the same as you were with Larson. I know. Arthur told me how you vowed to destroy him. You’re not the same person. So, you grew.]

Below, the movement climaxed. Applause rose. Hastur bowed, and began the next movement.

[So… You don’t think I should rejoin him, then.]

John’s golden mist shuddered, all around Arthur’s sleeping form. [No. I don’t. That asshole’s fine. You’ve got people who love you. Why the fuck would you just leave them behind?]

[Because if I did, no one could hurt me ever again.]

That one took a moment to process.

Sunny let out a shaky breath. [I know. It’s selfish, and awful.]

If John had the right to choose, so did Sunny. Hm. More applause. The opera had finally turned the corner, reaching toward a happier ending than expected. [I guess it comes down to what matters more. Are you happy when you’re with him?]

[I am.] There was something distinctly teary about his voice. [I’d never been happy before I met him.]

[Is he worth the risk?] It wasn’t a challenging question. John was genuinely asking, and it showed.

[I’d risk much more if it meant he would be safe.]

[He wouldn’t be without you. You leaving him doesn't guarantee him suddenly being safe. Just alone. If you fucking died in a fire, Larson would still go after him. He wants him, or something. It’s weird. It wouldn’t stop just because you’re gone. So what would be the point of leaving him, then?]

The orchestra suddenly went heavy brass, dramatic.

[You’ve noticed it too, huh?] Sunny’s voice was quiet. Fearful.

[Yeah. I don’t think that guy knows what the fuck’s going on. Arthur told me some people can be in denial.] And John laughed. [And he’s in denial about being in denial! Humans. I fucking swear.]

[Parker believes he has it handled. He’s keeping an eye on it, though… I don’t think he understands how badly Larson is fixated on him. He… He doesn’t know him like I do.]

[So he needs you.]

[I’d argue that without me, he wouldn’t have that problem in the first place, but…]

[If you go away, will Larson?]

Sunny sighed heavily. [No. He will not.]

[Then he needs you. And because you’re not a mortal human, even if you are weakened, you can help him better than anyone else. You understand the situation. You understand the threat. You also understand his strengths and weaknesses, and Larson’s. He needs you. ]

Below, the opera seemed to finally be coming to an end. Applause rose like a flood, enveloping.

[I don’t know how to feel about that,] Sunny said softly.

[Do you have to know?] John raised his voice a little to get over the volume of praise. [You think I understand how to feel about all this? What matters is what I have, and what I chose. I learned that from Arthur. He’s right.]

[I… I haven’t had very many choices, Rex. Maybe that’s why this is so hard for me.] Sunny let out a laugh. [I… I’m lucky to have you to ask, then. Thank you.]

John couldn’t, technically, preen. He found a way. [We… we are… we’re on this path together. Both of us. Forgotten Ones who… aren’t forgotten, anymore. Not with the people we found. So. This is a choice. Maybe a really important one. He needs you, so don’t leave him. Besides, if you do, Arthur might do something stupid, too. He gets… ideas.]

Sunny really laughed, then, bassy and profound. [That… that he does.] He went quiet. [I wish I could hug you. The instincts to use our tentacles are still there, and I just… Thank you.]

The golden mist that was John undulated, but did not leave Arthur’s immediate vicinity. [Maybe someday. I don’t particularly want our humans touching in our place.]

The spell keeping said humans asleep must have been lifted. Faroe raised her head, blinking blearily. Her updo had stayed relatively unscathed, though her gown was completely wrinkled. She kissed Arthur’s cheek and clambered off the sofa.

Arthur grunted.

Parker snored a little.

Arthur seemed to realize they were laid out like parts of a sandwich and stiffened. “Uh.”

Sorry, Arthur, Sunny said, a bit sheepishly. The King needed to perform, and tucked us all together. Did you rest well?

Arthur sat up. Patted over Parker as though trying to figure out what was going on. “Yeah, actually.”

“Uh?” said Parker, blinking blearily at him. “You. What?”

“I think Hastur piled us up like firewood,” said Arthur dryly.

Parker’s look was amazing. “Why?” he said.

“I have no fucking idea.” Arthur stretched.

“We were warm and cuddly,” said Faroe with youthful wisdom.

Hastur reappeared, having no need to bother with petty things like doors. “Well,” he said. “Did we all survive?”

Faroe yawned, and—evidently sleepy enough not to care how old and mature she was—raised her arms.

He picked her up immediately.

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “I’m sorry we slept. Fuck.”

“Nnh,” said Parker. “I think I like operas. Bet the couches aren’t normally this comfy, though.”

Arthur laughed.

Sunny rumbled. The three of you seemed peaceful. We decided not to wake you.

“Well done, all,” said Hastur, and—for reasons unexplained—picked up everyone else.

“Hey!” said Parker, pushing pointlessly.

“Hush,” said Hastur. “Our enemies are about. We will return home at once.”

“You sounded great, dad,” Faroe mumbled, half-asleep.

“As if you even heard it,” he said warmly, fondly, brushing her cheek, and opened a portal. “We have all done well. I have gathered the information I need, and decoded it.”

“Good for you,” said Arthur with that particular grouchiness that came when he was oversleepy.

“Home,” said Hastur, clearly relieved nothing bad had happened, and stepped through the portal to the protections of Carcosa.

Those protections on Carcosa—and the palace in particular—were good. Really good. Ghoaca was just about done trying to get through them.

“Your Highness,” said one of his guys.

Ghoaca snarled at him to make him shut up.

It was a stupid assignment anyway. Find a way into his court and use this knife may seem specific, but it most definitely was not. Hastur had locked this place down, and while Ghoaca had seen the target from some distance, he had yet to actually get into the court proper.

He was only a second son. Unimportant; he couldn’t get an invitation to actual court, just the hallways to watch the people who mattered march in and out again.

Fuck. There had to be a way. This would, he was sure, catapult him beyond his older brother for favor; why else would he have been given such an important assignment? It wasn’t like his father would just throw him away—

“You look frustrated, friend,” said a cheerful voice, and Ghoaca turned to find a man facing them, a man his people hadn’t warned him about. Just a human man, smiling, eyes shadowed, fiddling with a small, pink tube.

Was this guy going to sound the alarm? Ghoaca bore his teeth, lashing his crocodile tail. “What’s it to you, meatling?”

The man held up both hands, still smiling. “Hey, now, not your enemy! Seems to me you want a way inside. Am I reading that wrong? Am I mistaken? Is your actual goal something other than the one you’re telling yourself with increasing desperation?”

Ghoaca stared at him.

“Right, that went over your head. So! You want in, right? I happen to hate the guy who owns this place, so tell you what. I’ll let you in! For free!” And somehow, impossibly, that smile grew. He tossed the pink tube up and caught it again. Whatever it was, to Ghoaca’s sensitive snout, it smelled like human hair. Was that some kind of accoutrement?

“How dare you speak so casually to—” said Ghoaca.

“Yes, yes, Prince Ghoaca of Thesia, Duke of the Limestone Gorge, blah blah I don’t care. You want in or not, sweetums?”

He could always kill this guy on his way in. “You have such a way?”

“Yep! Not just wagging my jaw! Oh, and in the unlikely circumstance that you’re caught alive, you can tell them… the hammer fell. Now they don’t have to worry about it anymore! Isn’t that grand?”

Ghoaca stared at him. “What?”

The man sighed. “I swear. Arthur spoils me for dealing with other people.” And he just… tore the air. Ripped it, opened it like a thin sheet.

Hastur’s throne room, currently empty, lay beyond, wreathed in shadow and glinting with hints of gold.

Ghoaca sometimes felt like he didn't quite understand what was happening around him (and was sure no one else did, either and just lied about it). Well, he understood this. “Hastur’s throne room?”

“Have fun!” said the human, and stepped aside.

Ghoaca was not inclined to look a gift horse in the mouth. “You’re lucky I’ve chosen to spare you,” he said, and gestured to his soldiers. Together, they stepped through.

Laughter followed him, damn near hysterical, but before he could turn around and hurt the guy for daring to do that at him, the portal closed again.

He had just enough time to hide his soldiers in shadow as another portal spat out the god and his… “family.”

Ghoaca was fast, and strong, and had always been silent. He knew he had moments before the god noticed him, and that only the distraction of these other people had kept them all from detection. He gripped his blade. There was no more time to waste.

His father would be so proud.

Hastur stepped into the throne room, relieved, and put his people down. They’d made it, and everyone was all right.

Faroe yawned. “Did you learn important things?”

“Yes,” Hastur said. “We still need to find a way for you to gather their information as well.” A twenty-hour constant code-breaking marathon wasn’t really possible for her, no matter how brilliant she was. Human minds didn’t work like that.

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, because in her understanding, they had time, they had all the time, they had so much time that there seemed to be no end.

They had five years, and if he didn’t figure out how to help her decode his most valuable spy network’s reports, she’d be ruling Carcosa half-blind. “Of course, my darling. We should all get ready for bed.”

“Already fucking slept,” muttered Parker.

“It was not true rest,” said Hastur. “You will find yourselves in need of actual sleep.”

Arthur yawned. “Fine.”

You were gathering information? Demanded John. Why didn’t we know?

“All in good time,” said Hastur.

John’s hand flipped him off.

Hastur chuckled, low. “Yes, yes.” He folded Faroe’s tiny hand in his enormous one.

Arthur yawned, stretching. “What’s the schedule tomorrow?”

“Court will be late,” said Hastur, turning, facing Faroe, who beamed up at him. “I’m sure Nibbles missed you dreadfully.”

“Maybe she tore up more art,” said Faroe slyly.

“Naughty creature,” purred Hastur, rumbling. “I highly suspect she will—”

Three beats, so fast.

One: a dozen warriors suddenly leaped from the darkness around the edges of the room, wielding weapons and spells.

Two: Hastur—all the way at the other end of the throne room, for all it mattered—popped Faroe into a protective bubble, then turned and flew into the thick of them, roaring, smashing them like bowling pins made of underbaked cake. Their magic splashed against him uselessly—strong, deadly, but nothing to a god.

Three: Summoned by tripped alarms, Dis appeared in an explosion of purple sparks. With a barbaric yell, she charged the cluster. Golden warriors ran in her wake, attacking the intruders.

Arthur gasped, evidently tried to run in the opposite direction John did, and fell. He scrambled away on the floor, gasping.

Arthur had no way of knowing he’d gone the way he’d been herded.

And there, away from the soldiers, too far from the god, too far from help, he did not see the tall, reptilian figure lunging at him from behind a pillar, bringing down a black, flamberge dagger as if to remove Arthur’s head.

Parker and Sunny were quicker.

Ephaiaglor! Sunny bellowed, casting for speed, and Parker slammed into the attacker, tackling a being with nearly a foot and a half of height on him, with a tail wider than Parker’s whole body, and teeth Parker barely prevented from snapping right on his face.

“Parker!” Arthur shouted, hearing the impact.

Parker was human, but he was not alone. For one moment, they wrestled, feet sliding, fighting for the dagger. Ch'nglui'ahog! Sunny cast, and the lizard-man’s limbs simply broke.

Ghoaca howled. The dagger fell from his ruined claws, and nicked Parker on the way down.

It was nothing. A scratch. Less than a shaving mistake, nothing that should be serious, nothing should be fatal, or cause him to fall, but it did, and Parker just dropped, limp, eyes suddenly flat and and empty and—

Parker! John cried.

Arthur heard the body fall and go limp. He reached, grabbed.

Parker did not respond. He was utterly limp, no longer breathing.

“Parker?” Arthur said, voice higher and more broken on every succeeding try. “Parker! Parker!”

Three beats, so fast.

One: Dis was there, suddenly there, leaping over Parker’s body to grab nothing in the air with purple sparks and streams of power sizzling all around her, and she came down like a meteor, cracking the floor of the throne room, and slammed both fists onto Parker’s limp body as if to shock him back to life.

Two: Parker gasped, an ugly, pained sound. Alive.

Three: You! John snarled, bellowed, roared at the lizard-man who moaned on the ground with arms and legs broken, and then…

John wasn’t sure what he did. Something. Something, like extending Arthur’s arm (except it wasn’t Arthur’s arm because Arthur’s arm could not do this) and—

“Fuck,” Parker said, shaky, unable to sit up, but he could see just fine. See the golden cloud crushing the lizard-guy, squishing the assassin so his eyes bulged out, so blood popped and squirted from every pore.

“Take them to the prison pits!” Hastur commanded, and his soldiers dragged the whimpering survivors away.

It had taken seconds and left them all shaken to the core.

A moment of panting, of gasping, as everyone tried to parse where they were, what had happened. Faroe banged her fists on the inside of her bubble, unheard, but clearly demanding freedom.

And now, at last, Sunny made one small, tiny, terrible sound: I’m sorry.

“Sunny?” Parker whispered. “Sunny! Sunny!”

There was no reply.

----------

Notes:

Thanks to @flamiart for hersacrificial asshole character, the erstwhile prince of Thesia!

#malevolent #major character death #malevolent fic #malevolent au #surrogate series #surrogate fic #surrogate malevolent

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