#dystopian urban fantasy

[acourtofquestions]

Does anyone else think Sabrina Carpenters style gives Bryce Quinlan vibes?

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

📺 📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺📺

[whereserpentswalk]

Somewhere out there within the dark woods of somewhere or another, in days some time past, there was a town. And that town worshipped one god, and that god was a hole.

Yes, a massive hole, at the center of their town. Deep and dark, perhaps leading all the way down to oblivion. Some people said the god lived at the bottom of the hole, others said that the god was the hole itself, or even the shadows that lay within. They had no temples, no alters, only the hole. And the hole of the hole demanded things of them. It was hungry, strangely hungry. It did not have sacfices, it demanded tribute. Taxes in a way. People would scrounge up what little money they had for the hole, and the hole promised back that it would give them good things in return.

There were those who warned them of the hole. The cryptids of the dark forest, and the occultists and demon hunters, and even the deep ones that lay in the dark ocean and the scaled men of the forgotten ruins. But the townsfolk didn't listen, the hole made them feel good. It felt good to give it money. And even though they never exactly saw how the hole must have been helping them. How could it not be helping them if they had given it so much. And soon the hole banished all supernatural things but itself, and the people said the hole was making them safe.

And soon the hole was bigger. What was once the size of a well had grown to being big enough to consume a house. And soon the town changed, the hole began to be its center, the entire town shifted so that all public life was around the hole. And soon those who didn't like the hole, or who questioned it, where seen as evil or strange people, greedy for not wanting to give the hole their money, they were seen as selfish and entitled, entitled to all the hole's benefits without paying their share. It was a tragedy when someone grew up to move out of the town and not follow the hole.

And soon the hole had more and more demands. And everyone listened as it grew larger and larger. Soon it didn't want money, it wanted things too, televisions, automobiles, books, family relics, grandma's ashes, works of art, perhaps even beloved pets. And it became taboo not just to question it, but to feel sad when you lost something to the hole. You couldn't say you missed it, or replace it too soon, the hole wanted you to not have it, you were so obviously wrong to miss it. You didn't just have to give to the hole, you had to understand that it was improving your life.

There was a movement of young people, who wanted to get rid of the hole. But it was too late by then, they had no other gods, no other spirits or creatures, and the hole was as large as a city block. And either way, the town police belonged to the hole now, and they would kill for it, and they would die for it. Some young rebels moved away. But most found themselves not being able to give up their family, their freinds, and their safety to fight the hole. So for a time they pretended to like it, and when you do something, and say something for long enough it can become your truth, and soon enough those who pretended to live the hole truly did love it.

And soon there was no music or movies that the hole didn't approve of. Everyone followed the hole's rules. And everyone loved the hole so dearly and so brightly. They couldn't imagine a town without a hole. When they thought of other towns they imagined that they must have had holes too, and every idea of a place without it was sad and depressing. And as the hole was then a quarter of the size of the town, it was hungry, and demanded not just things but flesh. And people happily gave, it would be weird to not want to give. They gave eyes, ears, teeth, testicles, tounges, fingers and toes and hands and feet and arms and legs. And they didn't miss their body parts at all. And when one day the hole demanded people jump in, and give their lives to it, they didn't mind or question at all, it didn't feel like death, and nobody missed that they weren't there.

And now, in the dark woods, there is a hole where a town used to be. It has eaten the entire the thing, every last inch and citizen of it. It is not satisfied. But it has grown all that it could. And one must wonder if the hole is lonely now, or if it knows that it has done all it ever hoped to.

[ominous-faechild]

Happy Worldbuilding Wednesday! Where in your setting would you most like to visit, and where would you avoid at all costs?

This is an interesting question! And a really rough one, haha.

For one, it would definitely vary in the time period / exact moment in time regardless of the location, haha. But I'll pick from overall time periods! (And assume I can easily speak the native language.)

For those who don't know the countries in my world, check this out!

MOST ENJOY VISITING:

Haha, sooooo I technically have a tie here??? And both technically wouldn't work for one reason or another. 😂😅

MINOGUA (during RFtA)

Minogua is a country that's drawn a lot of inspiration from Latin America + Hawaii and, uh... well previously had a lot of themes of colonialism. That's why it feels a little rough to want to go there as a kinda tourist, haha.

But! Shortly before the time of RFtA, they evicted the direct authority from the colonizing countries! So by the time the story comes around, they've had a few decades of trying to turn their country into what they want it to be / what it was before they were invaded!

I grew up both in Texas (there's a LOT of Mexican people and influences there!) and Florida (near-tropical and has a lot of Puerto Rican people / influences!). I may not be Latina, but two of my closest friends are (and one is now my gf 😂) and I have a lot of positive experiences relating to the culture. I think that's a huge reason for my fondness for Minogua and Tzakah, haha.

Besides that, as I (hopefully) alluded to, Minogua is also a tropical country! It's got a rich, surprisingly friendly culture and I'd absolutely love visiting it on holiday. It just... would feel wrong due to the whole "colonization" history, haha. 😅

To be fair, I don't think a majority of them would mind it. But it's only been a few decades since they got rid of the direct authority of the colonizing country, so other people exploiting their history for their own "entertainment" would definitely not rub some of them the right way!

TZAKAH

The real place I'd most like to go... if I'd even be able to remember the experience!!! 😭😭😭

So, the problem with Tzakah is that they're kinda hidden! They're actually a massive city built into a seaside cliff in Cirrane's rainforest as well as an isolationist "country" (read: city-state) with no connection to the rest of the world!

See, there's two ways to go if you'd like to leave or enter Tzakah: through the forest or by the sea. Only... there's a couple problems with that.

Go by sea, and there's practically endless storms raging off the coast. And not just your average nasty equatorial storms--but hurricane-type stuff! Not close enough to bother Tzakans, and actually not even permanent! But any time anyone goes near that approximate area of the world, knowingly or not, storms begin to barrage them until it destroys their ship or they (wisely) flee the area.

Many around the world refer to that area "the Gods' Land", theorizing that the gods' home is past the storms and the storms themselves are meant to keep out all but those who are worthy.

Making the storms "the Gods' Trials", of course.

Tzakah is lucky to just barely be at the edge of the Gods' Land, managing to avoid the Trials even when they go out to sea for fish. Besides that, they don't travel much further--they learned a long time ago of the dangers associated with it.

On the other side, they have the rainforest. And, somehow, it's worse.

Beyond the usual dangers of wild nature, Cirrane's rainforest is known to be haunted by malicious spirits--theorized to both be faerie in origin and those of deceased victims--that kill all who encroach on their territory.

Those who wander too far into the forest are known to never come back. Most--the Cirranians on the other side of the rainforest--don't know exactly why people who wander into the forest disappear. Again, they just theorize it's spirits--they don't know for sure. All they do is that they should never go past a certain landmark in the forest... lest they never be heard of again.

Those of Tzakah, however, know of the "spirits" by name.

The Melijé.

Merciless hunters they're locked into perpetual war with, and will be forever until the end of time... or until one finishes the other off.

Why?

Well, for the horrible crime of having left the Melijé centuries ago!

OH, YEAH, BUDDY, IT GETS DEEP! I LOVE TZAKAH!

Anyway, yeah! Tzakah is a safe haven hidden in-between the Gods' Trials and the Melijé haunting the forests of {insert forest name here, probably sounding vaguely like "Melijé"}. Uh, I've definitely named the forest, don't worry! I'm just too lazy to look it up! Yeah...

Tzakah was formed by refugees who fled from the Melijé long ago. They're a peaceful people--descended from those who hated the Melijé's violent and hateful ways--and have created a completely pacifistic utopian society for themselves... outside of a select group of warriors who've trained under Torcaiz (their god of Protection) to repel any Melijé attacks. However, they're all warned of the struggles and pain associated with it beforehand, and accept the burden.

The people of Tzakah are isolationists due to the whole "actually kinda separated from the rest of the world" thing, and... another piece of their history that makes them see the rest of the world as a much darker place than their utopia. (Which obviously is fair. I mean, have you seen most of my worldbuilding??? It's bad.)

However... that Very Purposely Ambiguous "Piece Of History™" has also made Tzakans cautious of the very few outsiders that do make it there. (There's a few ways, but it's mostly them rescuing people who got lost in the rainforest before the Melijé kills them... or idiots who try to sail through the Gods' Trials, thinking they're "worthy".)

Instead of welcoming outsiders in with open arms like they'd want to (but they pretty much still do--), they're more cautious of and careful with them. Outsiders tend to get questioned by one of Tzakah's gods--usually Torcaiz alongside one of the others to keep him from deeming them all "unworthy" 🤣--to verify they don't have any ulterior motives.

And then, if and when they leave... they're stripped of their memories of their time there.

Yeah. Another one of the Tzakan gods--Marmorin--is able to completely remove people's memories. Except... he doesn't 99% of the time. Instead, he messes with the memories to "repress" them--leaving the effects of their time in Tzakah, but making it so, at best, they'll remember it as a dream.

Soooooo... if I were to ever visit Tzakah, I'd first have to put my life at risk and then be forced to lose my memory of my time there, anyway!

Haha, definitely not worth it, unfortunately.

In spite of all of that, Tzakah is an awesome place to visit. Like Cirrane (which the Melijé was once associated with) and Minogua, Tzakah has strong Latin American influence! They're in the middle of a rainforest, but obviously completely locked within the "city" itself!

(There's always at least one Melijé huntress patrolling the woods outside of Tzakah. Their rivalry is bitter, harbored and continued mostly by the Melijé, and one of Torcaiz's jobs as their god of Protection is maintaining a barrier that keeps the Melijé out.)

Again, their culture is very utopian, with most everyone being incredibly supportive of one another and each others' problems. The few who don't feel that way are instead given space and patience to do whatever they wish. Many of which eventually become (or already were) Warriors and develop a solidarity with the others, or leave Tzakah under the watchful eye of another god...

BUT YEAH, I LOVE TZAKAH AND WOULD LOVE TO VISIT IT IF I COULD REMEMBER ANYTHING ABOUT THE VISIT!!!

(To anyone wondering, the Melijé aren't any sort of "native peoples are inherently violent" thing or whatever. They're actually in the minority being that way in my story! Most of the time--like with Minogua--it's the opposite. Native peoples just want to be left alone. The Melijé's history actually separates them from most indigenous groups, tbh. Send an ask if you want to know more about them or Tzakah in general! Though please specify what specifically you want to know more about...)

AVOID AT ALL COSTS!!!

CIRRANE

Aaaand on the other end of the rainforest is CIRRANE! (Somehow there happens to be both a utopia and dystopia separated by nothing but a rainforest, some magical nonsense, and a ravaging cult bent on destruction of all others and growing their own power...)

I've spoken about Cirrane before, but it's definitely scattered across posts, haha. Long story short? Since this post has been LONG--

Cirrane is an incredibly impoverished nation with a massive wage gap and next to no middle class. Their way of "solving" that?

Bread and circuses!

... no, I mean it. Almost literally--

Context! The origin of the term "bread and circuses" to placate the masses is actually from Ancient Rome, where they'd use food ("bread") and entertainment ("circuses", which originally referred to what are now called coliseums)!

So... want to guess what Cirrane does?

Yeah, so, basically people have the option to risk their lives by fighting in arenas / coliseums to raise their status. Likewise, it's incredibly cheap to buy into and watch them! Lowkey, their entire economy is based around the arenas and the whole "political structure" around them.

Even the current monarch has fought in the coliseums before!

(In order to display their sheer magical prowess to the masses and intimidate them into falling in line.)

Similarly, Cirrane is known to be a debt-trap country, which will often try to entice people (but especially outsiders) into gambling... and using that to hook them into the many available vices.

I'm sure you can see why Cirrane is the "AVOID AT ALL COSTS" country.

Oh, and btw? It's VERY relevant in Rising From the Ashes! 🥰

Yeah, so, you'd really think it would've been Glavnran, but no. Somehow, as bad as Glavnran is, Cirrane is worse.

(PS: "Melijé" is pronounced "Mehl-ee-hey")

Worldbuilding tag list: @honeybewrites @the-golden-comet @illarian-rambling @ashirisu @urnumber1star

@the-letterbox-archives @48lexr @aalinaaaaaa @paeliae-occasionally (Ask and ye shall be added)

[technicallyclassyperfection]

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[cabeswaterdrowned]

I feel like I’m in a headspace where I really am in the mood to read urban fantasy more than anything else, part of me wants to start the Lynburn Legacy reread I’ve been wanting to start for a while and apparently unspoken is quite cheap on iBooks so that’s doable but I’m already doing my in depth trc reread buddy read with notes + rereading other things more casually. If I do the TLL reread I’ll definitely liveblog it because I want to propagandize it to my followers who are here for other modern or urban fantasy I talk about lol. Maybe I should read a Sarah Rees Brennan book I haven’t read yet? I also have been wanting to start reading the Vampire Chronicles but I think I should leave that for when I have more concentration to give over to it / my brain is processing new content better. The TVD books are another possibility, if nothing else I think that could be really funny. There are other possible candidates but if someone wants to recommend me a thing now is your chance

[ajarofpickledtears]

is it just me or is the marketing on this kinda... not great?

like, there is no info about the story except that it's a dystopia. goodreads or amazon ratings tell me nothing. yeah, I could click the link in hopes to find out more, but there isn't even an incentive for me to want to find out more.

this was posted on October 28th and has only 4 notes, so... yeah idk.

and while the review thing is valid, I feel it's kind of... out of place or random? the post hasn't made me want to even look up info, let alone even consider buying it, so reviews aren't even on the edges of my mind.

edit: posting like this bc even though I'd like to give the author constructive feedback I don't know if they even want it and can't put my thoughts into words properly rn. don't want to come across as mean or passive-aggressive.

[hellsgate-roadhouse]

UK underground (AI generated art)

Abandoned

1

[anitatapio]

Rainy day, June 9th 2024

I love days like these. Woke up 6 in the morning, listened to a random nostalgic song from the Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland movie soundtrack that reminds me so much of 2010-2011, then at 7am I put on my corset and victorian gown (for some reason my corset decreases my anxiety like a constant hug and boosts my productivity, makes me feel like Violet Baudelaire with her ribbon) and started writing.

Usually I'm so addicted to checking all the apps (I like tumblr so far since it's text based and not as addicting at least so far when I don't follow too many people except friends). Today it's been raining the whole day (and still is). It just clears something up in me and I haven't felt the need to distract. I wrote 10 pages from scratch which was intimidating as for most of this year I've mostly gone over and edited/rewritten small sections of years old chapters. Then I took a nap (yes my corset is comfortable enough for me to sleep in even if it's not recommended), I read a little before I napped (trying to get into slow living instead of chasing instant dopamine), and now I've gone over writing physical notes into the computer, working on chapters 17 & 18 simultaneously. It's a good day and I feel productive enough to take a break to just relax enjoy the petrichor through my open windows.

Nostalgia is a creature of balance. I try not to live in the past while enjoying reminiscing from time to time... I also try to ground myself and remember that the present is always potential "future nostalgia." Enjoy the little things. As the youtuber Jennifer Myers says, "the little things are not small" and it's so true. It goes for many things in life.

[whereserpentswalk]

Your new job is to sit at a desk, looking at a single camera feed monitoring a small white room, writing down everything that happens in the room, and then reporting it back to your bosses. The first day, two men are brought into the room, possibly unwillingly, and are instructed to fight to the death. Neither of them think to refuse, one of them wins. You realize there's very little you can do. Though you can hear what's going on in that room from your office, it's in the same building as you, the feed is live and it is near you and there's nothing you can do.

You write the report. Your bosses say it's good work but you need more detail, they'll give you further instructions. The next day the same happens, two men are brought in, two men fight, one man lives. You can hear it all going on across the hall. But you know to add more detail, your bosses love it, they love that you gave the amount of information that you did, they say you have a good eye for these things.

Every day at your job is the same. The men are different most times but survivors come back sometimes. Sometimes they have more then two men, sometimes on teams sometimes not. Sometimes they give them weapons, things that you would find in a hardware store. Sometimes there will be special rules. Sometimes it's just two men fighting to the death. Occasionally it won't be equal, but it will always be fair, but sometimes it'll be something like a man with a fireaxe agaisnt a man with a baseball bat, or three elderly men agaisnt one man in his prime. But it's always fair.

You write down the details well. You always typed fast. Everything anyone would need to know. Anything they said. Every move each of them made. How each injury effected them. The way the blood splatters. If when a man wins if it's because someone dies or because someone is too injured to fight, if he tries to kill of an injured man or let him bleed out. If a man uses his left or right hand to hold a knife. How long a man tries to run or dodge before he starts throwing punches. It eventually stops becoming like a real thing that's happening in the same small building you work in, and more like a game, and it's a game you're winning.

Your bosses might not be human. They never show themselves, and say that you'd be horrified by them if you ever saw them. They refer to humans as separate from them, as a type of synapsid, which is technically true but still. They also just don't talk like people. They could be billions of years old, all of this could be so meaningless to them. They could be demons, or aliens, or creatures from another dimension for all you know. Or they could be rich and powerful people doing their best to scare those who work for them, though they'd be putting a lot of effort into not appearing human if that was the case. It almost seems like them being aliens or something is the less conspiracy minded answer. But still, it doesn't matter, you don't have time to question it. This job pays better then anything else, it's getting you through college, it's gotten you a much nicer apartment in a much better neighborhood then you could with any other job. Who cares if they're demons, they're paying you.

There was one day where you saw a wounded man limping out of the room where the fight had happened. It was the first time you saw someone from the fights in the flesh. It was horrifying, you wanted to turn away, not because of his wounds but because you didn't want to be a part of this. You're just someone who watches it, just someone who reports on it, you're not going to actually be involved.

There was also a time someone screamed at the camera for someone to do something while his opponent was stabbing him to death. There was nothing for you to do, but it was strange to write about. You questioned if you should describe him as begging the camera for help, or begging you for help. But it felt weird for the reports to contain the word "me", you don't think your bosses would like that. You just wrote that he was begging for someone to help, it was the easiest way to describe it after all.

There was one fighter who you really enjoyed seeing. He was young, handsome, and very good at fighting. He wore a smirk when others wore frowns, and had these beautiful blue eyes. He knew how to taunt his enemies and get in their heads. And you always rooted for him to win, and he always did. You started thinking about him more and more, reading into the smallest movements, theorizing about why he was so good, about his past, his hopes and dreams. You read his personality into all of his actions, and loved him so much for it. Part of you hoped you'd accidentally meet him on your way out, and that you'd get to know eachother. Once you even touched yourself to the thought of him with you, but the act gave you a weird type of shame. You never knew his name. After one rough fight he was too injured to fight anymore, mostly blinded from slashes to the face it seemed. You were sad about him for a bit, and then moved on.

Your bosses want you to do a major report on the fights. You get to choose the specifics and your thesis, almost like a college paper. It's so cool and exciting to get to have so much creativity in your job. You wonder what they'll do for you next. You still don't know what your bosses are but they've been talking about a promoting. You're so lucky to have gotten this job.

[xarrixii]

F/B Chapter_55 : "Sedative"

CW: blood, physical altercations, guns, cops, weird forced vaguely sexual tension designed to make you uncomfortable

previous chapter | beginning | masterlist

/ / / / / | ---

We’re getting him down a floor with the emergency stairwell and then you all will use the elevator so we don’t alert this new cop, Harlow started, shrouding more of the rooftop penthouse in flame, wrapping a coat around them. I’ll give our EK a reason not to join you downstairs.

A bigger problem, Liam affirmed.

Rowan mentally huffed as he started to lead the way to the emergency stairwell in his destroyed penthouse. So what’s the plan here? Holding a gun to my head?

If you’d be so kind, Galena added.

Minus well sell the act now that we have it. I’ll hold Josey. Shane traded the rifle to his back for the handgun at his waist. Galena, if anyone moves, work with geokinesis.

And how’re the two blonde ones getting out of here? Rowan mustered, palming for the stairwell door’s handle and yanking it open.

Everyone paused.

Liam looked at Harlow. I’m not teleporting in this state, kid.

He stared down at Liam’s leg. He didn’t have forever. Liam would either bleed out by the time there was an opening to leave or hinder everyone else’s ability downstairs—and that was if he didn’t decide to teleport with open wounds and potentially make it worse.

Doc’s used to injured patient transport, Shane grabbed onto Rowan. If we can get to a phone, I know the tower’s number. He’s probably our safest bet.

He’s gonna kill me, Liam said.

Would you rather be killed Doc’s way—Rowan sneered at the barrel leveled to his head, mockingly—or the way of the guys down below?

Harlow smirked to that the same way Liam’s gaze tightened with respect.

Fair, Liam groaned, especially on the landing of the next floor down where Harlow set him down against the wall. Galena, hit them hard. Make your own tunnel if you have to. Shane, don’t get trigger happy—that includes with your kinetic. It’s getting tired and you might need it later. Josey, try to act more afraid than pissed off.

And kid, Liam began when Harlow put a foot back up the stairwell. Stall until Galena and Shane have left. The moment you see another cop up there, I expect that EK unconscious and us to ditch.

Harlow nodded, though Galena stopped him from moving up again. Why not just knock him out ASAP? Why wait?

This isn’t a highly trained militant battle, Liam said.

It’s a turf war with a really clever and really lucky pyrokinetic, Shane finished.

In that moment, Rowan looked deep into Harlow. Harlow stared back and saw a rich man, the kind he knew well. Someone with a deep hunger to control the situation around them as much as they could. In there he saw a friend. The insatiable hunger.

Another moment, and he saw the gray hair and dishevelment of someone who had control and abused it.

He ascended the emergency stairwell back to the penthouse. They’d already spent too much time leaving the EK to ponder and communicate with the force down below. They were probably considering a sweep of the city in case their perpetrators had already teleported themselves to safety.

Harlow’s feet hit the floor panels. His hand itched where it kept his lighter open, thumb rubbing against the metal case. He stalked through his orange sea, circling behind the shouting EK and a wall before swiping away the fire toward the area behind an L-couch.

The lighter snapped shut. Harlow took a deep breath at the sudden absence.

Everything about the plan was suddenly very stupid.

A grumble. Harlow popped the lighter up again and swerved the flame, resulting in a shout instead from both the officer and then himself, ducking to the side of a shock.

Oh hell.

Carpet skidding. Thumping helicopter blades.

Fuck.

The helicopters.

What’s up, kid? Liam asked.

I somehow forgot about the eyes in the sky. Still circling for content. His focus was quickly split between the two, dashing and rolling from the next electrokinetic trail, hand dancing past him. He could probably tank a few hits easily, but it still hurt like hell to. He cringed, lucky he at least had the mask on.

We need to talk.

The statement took Harlow back so far he paused the reach he made toward the officer and hopped backwards. They spun on him, forcing the lighter to pop open in his hand into a wall.

Later. I’m in the middle of my job.

So am I, Liam huffed. I told you to stay put.

That’s not what you want to talk about.

He pulled his hand out of the way of the officer’s static line just before a strike was sent down, offering instead an easily-kickable remnant of the battle that had occurred prior to his involvement.

“Guess we’re doing the hard way…” the officer mumbled amid radio chatter, slipping slightly where they ended up.

Harlow narrowed his eyes.

No. I specifically told you to stay out of it. You were supposed to be the getaway.

Another arc of fire. Tumbling behind an interior wall, breathing.

Liam, Harlow struggled to output the right words coherently, J.E. Rowan is one of the richest men in the world. Streets are blocked for miles. Our van wouldn’t have done us shit. Not in this crowded mess of a city, not in the next.

Still.

Harlow scooped up the largest shard of glass he could find, careful to clear his palm from its edges and dragging fire along to melt it smoother.

I get it. You’re worried about me.

Liam made some strangled noise that screwed with one of Harlow’s motions again, forcing him back from his own efforts to push advantage. He cut through one of the officer’s traces, watching it fly static and random through the air around him, hair on end.

It’s not that. It’s like… Liam winced. Like you’re walking into a bar and they already know your order.

Liam.

Shut up and listen. Liam, somehow, finds a way to mentally grit his teeth. You’ve been on front-page news. You can’t keep appearing. Pulling off stunts. It’s dangerous for Cinder.

Then let me get this helicopter out of the air before they get more to work with.

I mean it.

I know. It was risky enough pulling a cop-in-training into the mess, but Amaterasu still chose to. Amaterasu would’ve chosen this, too, had she been given the chance. Maybe it would’ve never come this far at all.

Would he even be doing this right now, or would Raiden be doing it instead?

Hey, kid...

His hand stopped, inches from the electrokinetic, pulling back. It clenched as the officer pivoted and locked eyes with him again, wide-eyed at what he saw as another close call. With the way he disappeared for several seconds before once again spurting by, Harlow knew he needed to get out faster than he would’ve liked.

He threw up a wall of fire, gauging. How much would it take a helicopter to go down, or to call it quits?

This all felt wrong.

The fire snapped, and the officer halted in preparation for it to appear in front of him again. Instead, it shot up toward the camera, and the yelp was loud enough to be heard over the blades as the newscaster scrambled back. Harlow tightened the fire around the lens.

Electrokinesis shot at him and tackled him down, ripping a violent jerk that ended up smacking the officer upside the head and off.

Harlow rolled to the side and whined, shielding himself in a full shroud of fire. It hurt. Christ, did it hurt. Amplified the shreds of pain that adrenaline had forced him to forget.

You jumped onto a roof by explosion you fucking idiot, Harlow thought, one breath after another.

The officer hadn’t tried him again. He blinked, staring through the veil of flame thick enough to be white. They were staring.

Harlow looked up and found the newscaster retreating with the rest of the helicopter. Must not have brought a backup lens. Or didn’t want to chance more equipment.

He looked back at the cop.

Oh, Harlow realized. The elevator doors popped open to two more officers. Galena and Shane must have gotten away safe. Liam?

No answer.

Then he bolted at the EK officer, hand swathed in fire, bathing their bloodstream unconscious. Jumped behind the nearest cover, hearing bullets spray into the wall and click out. Harlow picked himself up and sprinted to the fire escape, grabbing the previously discarded duffel bag on the way, snapping the lighter shut, and focusing on not tripping.

“Liam!” he said, shaking the body leaning limply against the wall. “Shit.”

He heard the emergency door crank open above him and slung Liam over his shoulder, heaving and cracking the lighter open again to melt the heavy melt shut behind him. He heard the officers swear before sprinting as fast as he could with a man strung over him to the elevator and calling it.

Then decided against it. It would be obvious he went in there.

Fuck.

Rat in a trap.

He’s going to die if you don’t get him out.

What would Raiden do right now? Hide. Wait for backup. Supply aid.

Harlow darted into a random hotel room by melting through its deadbolt, positioning the door to a shut position before laying Liam down on the bed and splitting open the duffel bag. He set his lighter inside and grappled with the bandages to undress and redress the hole through Liam’s leg. Then he made sure his gun was full on ammo.

The door slammed open and Harlow swung his handgun in its direction. “Police! Put your hands in the air!”

His mask itched again, suddenly.

“You’re out of fire,” they started, then gestured at Liam. “Make it easy for yourself and for them. They need medical attention.”

His hand itched on the trigger. He’d probably get shot reaching for his lighter in the bag, so whatever this gun could produce would just have to make do. Harlow slowly aimed to their shoulder and fired, blasting enough heat to knock them out on contact with a spray of crimson along the wall.

“I’m sorry,” Harlow winced. Then he grabbed his bandages back and wrapped their shoulder, picking up all of his stuff again and moving.

“Come out with your hands up, we have the place surrounded!”

Miscellaneous gunfire. Harlow cursed and ducked behind the nearest wall, stretching out his arm with the lighter and flicking fire blindly down the hallway to shouting.

Hiding was not going to work.

Then, water.

Harlow struggled back a yelp, shutting the lighter before the hydrokinetic officer found that too. He pulled himself and Liam’s mess of skin and bone down the hallway and once again barged into a hotel room. He set Liam down and barricaded like all hell, melting furniture to the walls and the door with one panicky breath after another.

He tuned out the words and demands of the police, intent on the sound of shredding, of kinetics trying to break it all down.

“Could really use that evac, Doc...” he mumbled to himself at a loss.

There was nothing here.

Nowhere to go except for outside—but he couldn’t risk jumping out with Liam. Not without the ability to know if something went wrong.

I don’t care how bad this looks, okay? Raiden’s words came back to him.

“Okay,” Harlow said out loud.

We’re going to get out of this.

“Last time, I came out pretty mangled. We met your aunt, remember? That was weird. Whenever she threatened anyone, the floor started melting. That freaked me out, a little. She called my dad an asshole. You asked me if he always had a stick that far up his ass.” Harlow paused, some crack of a laughing cry escaping him. “There’s still so much you don’t know, Rai.”

The floor started melting.

Could he...?

The lighter clicked in his hand while the other opened the bathroom door. He settled the fire on the floor there and built it up, then took just a little and began to carve through the window along the outer wall slowly, steadily, until he could settle each pane in a pile beside him.

His makeshift thermite had done the job behind him by the time he was done and he shoved two of the pillows on the bed inside of the duffel bag to then drop inside the hole.

Next was Liam, who he dragged over to the hole and slowly lowered as far as he could before letting go. Luckily his head hit straight on the pillows. Harlow then shut the door and brought himself down carefully, cursing softly and landing first on the sink counter before climbing down to the floor.

Harlow pulled Liam off the duffel bag, took out the pillows, and slung it around himself once more so he could then haul Liam up again.

Then he started moving. First through the empty hotel room that looked abandoned in a scramble and then through the empty hallway to the fire escape. Each step down felt like an assault flooding through him until he heard muffled talking behind the door on one landing.

“Stay vigilant, we’ve got an armed pyrokinetic on our hands. Appears class-D, but apparently they were able to melt through one of the floors. Could be anywhere, continue to sweep the building.”

Some shred of radio chatter.

“Get Michaels and Packard out of here and to the paramedics, we don’t know what our guy did yet and we shouldn’t assume.”

How many people were at the bottom?

Fuck—how was Wayne supposed to find him?

Harlow set down Liam, cracked his lighter, fueled, and sprung open the door. His fist, half-open, struck the officer off-guard and instantly, allowing Harlow to catch him and set him against the wall. Harlow lifted the radio off and took a few deep breaths.

His head hurt and he gave himself time to lean against the wall and breathe, slowly in and out.

He lolled his head at the unconscious officer and sighed out a quiet “sorry.”

When he picked up and moved into some random room some number of floors down, he began to feel the soreness spread in each muscle as though each got its own center of pain. Harlow laid Liam out on the bed in the room and took to the nearest chair to groan.

If they could’ve been good, if that portrayal of their team had been an option, he would not be trapped here with Liam.

Harlow huffed out a laugh.

This was entirely avoidable. But it happened, and now he had to deal with the consequences.

He cleared his throat and looked at Liam. His chest was still rising and falling, which was all things considered a good sign. He changed Liam’s soaked bandage again and knocked on the incoming migraine.

Was moving again an option?

Stabs of numb pain floated through his fingers and he clenched his hand, awkwardly.

Hopefully the few doors he’d opened along the way were enough to stall for time. Enough time. They’d surround him next time they came. Every room, sides, below, above, maybe outside too. At least Raiden would have known the police codes—more than Harlow remembered anyway.

Click. “Uh, we’ve got another person in here. Just had a table thrown from halfway down the hall.”

Harlow grabbed the radio and leaned forward despite protests from his back.

“What was that?”

“Possibility of a hostile TK. Status on our PY?”

“Nothing.”

Harlow’s hand itched. That wasn’t enough.

“SWAT TE line just went down,” an angrier voice said suddenly. “What floors haven’t been checked yet?”

Harlow trained his handgun at the door of the room, narrowing his eyes to a point and focusing his snapped lighter to the bullet in the chamber. Maybe a minute passed before an officer cracked the door open and paused.

“Raise that gun, your hands, or any kind of kinetic, and this bullet’s in your shoulder like the last guy,” Harlow offered, low and spent. “Drop the gun. Kick it over.”

They obliged. He willed himself to stay in focus, getting up from the chair and putting a foot on top of the gun, trained on target.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Harlow inched closer, motioning for the officer to kneel while firing up a wall of fire to block sight of anything useful, who did. “I’m a merc, you get that? Boss took a bad job. I’m stuck with the consequences. But I will do what I have to do. Badge and ID.”

The radio crackled. Harlow heard a few footsteps from above pound out toward the stairwell.

Harlow took the officer’s hand and knocked them out, in the same motion taking the credentials and guiding them slowly to the ground. A-class aerokinetic. Not exactly the most useful against pyrokinetics anyway.

He breathed a sigh of relief and held a gun to the officer’s head, dragging them back further into the room and blinking a few times by the time the rest of their brigade arrived. Harlow was drained, and they could all probably see it.

“Let’s think about this,” one said after a few moments.

He bowed his head, slightly, in affirmation. His lighter flame winked, and he held it gentle, broken, divided, each finger on the gun moving and static in slights.

“This can be easy.”

“No,” Harlow said quietly. “No it can’t.”

You have never made it easy.

None of you.

Only one.

“Apologies for the intrusion, friends,” Wayne’s voice popped in behind him, with shifting and movement and some version of a swear word. “But I’ll wrap this up quick for you.”

Let the officer go when you answer, Wayne told Harlow only.

“Have a great rest of your lives, men. Hard to find decent mercenary-types these days. I’ll be taking these two back to deal with Rowan. Won’t I?” Wayne cupped Harlow’s face, delicately, in act. He could feel the weight of Liam and the duffel bag looming behind him.

Harlow glared forward, and he shoved the officer’s limp body forward with a soft right.

The first reaction he had was to throw his head to the side and rip off the mask in preparation for the throw-up that came immediately after. His handgun and lighter clattered to the floor along with it.

“If that had been Amaterasu’s decision,” Wayne snapped, “she would’ve had you all bite the bullet and book it together.”

Shane huffed audibly. Harlow threw up again, a hand going to his back.

“Just because Liam’s unconscious doesn’t mean you can shit on his decision making,” Galena said. “She left him in charge, and we needed a teleporter as an emergency evacuation protocol, as per any mission involving Storm. No one else was available.”

“He should’ve gotten Ainsley.” Harlow struggled the hand away from him.

“Ainsley would’ve pissed Josey off.”

“I’m right here,” Rowan called. “Frankly all of you have pissed me off. I’d like some semblance of an explanation as to why I was kidnapped and dragged to some hole after a battle at my back door.”

Shane sighed. “ ‘Cause you’re a fucked up man, Josey, we’ve been over this.”

“That doesn’t explain fuck-all!” Rowan cried out. “Get me out of here.”

“A little someone wanted to make an example out of you, Joselyn,��� Wayne said, suddenly very calm amidst some slight clinking. “If Amaterasu doesn’t hit any bells for you, does Nacht?”

Quiet. Harlow finally allowed himself to look up, taking a water as he stood. Rowan seemed to be doing everything in his power not to portray himself like a spoiled child. Galena had one hand on her hip, resting above a firearm, Shane was resting against a stack of matte black gun crates, and Liam was laid out on a table with Wayne hovering over him, focusing on Liam’s leg.

Rowan sputtered. “What makes you think I would know the names of everyone who thinks I’ve wronged them?”

“How about Mariah Wolford?”

J.E. Rowan’s mouth froze, half-open into another rant, before clamping shut.

“This group of kidnappers just saved you from the deadly wrath of one of her children, Joselyn. You’d do better to thank them than beg to go offer yourself to what you created.” Wayne laughed, briskly. “We’re lucky he didn’t show up himself. It would’ve been in character.”

That was right, wasn’t it?

Nacht could have left this to someone else. Typically that’s how things played out in an organization of the size he had—but from what little Harlow knew and had experienced, he liked to do things himself. Or, at least, someone he kept close to his chest.

He personally spent two hours making sure I was alone. His son went after me on a seemingly planned whim. Nacht had people make a show of it, both times. Rowan’s apparently directly related to him somehow, yet he wasn’t here?

“You’re thinking too far into it, Urban,” Wayne said. “He probably didn’t think anyone would be able to rat this plan to Cinder for temporary immunity. Probably thought Joselyn someone not even worth his time until he could send a message out of it.”

“Just what kind of message,” Rowan began with a terrified skepticism, “was ‘he’ trying to send?”

next chapter | masterlist

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you all have no idea the harlow lore i've been cooking

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I'm honestly not sure why Kishimoto Masashi hasn't done any other stories that isn't Naruto (well, there's Samurai 8, but that ended up cancelled, and Boruto is...well. It's Boruto But Let's Disassemble Boruto's Dad's Canon Until Not Even The Atoms Are Left).

Compared to the high fantasy ninja-cum-borderline-modern-day-cyberpunk aesthetic, Mario was such a breath of fresh air. Maybe not as lived in as Naruto (because it's a forty-four page one-shot, and you can't really afford to waste time on making New York feel "lived in" in that many pages), but it's so grounded in reality that the environment and the foundations of the story are already set in place. It doesn't have to worry about playing with the Magic System or keeping its chronology from getting tangled up in retcons and deus ex machina. It's short, it's simple, and gets right to the point while leaving many of its other elements inferred and in the background.