#eerie grace. she's older than he can even comprehend. she looks like she could be his little sister.

[jinmukangwrites]

The Things Left Behind (3/?)

Ao3: Chapter 1, Chapter Two, This Chapter,

Tumblr: ((chapter 1 and 2 have not been officially posted onto Tumblr))

Work Summary:

"They say fingerprints are made up of an individual's genetic makeup and of the life experiences that individual encounters the more their life progresses."

Bruce looks up from Dick's hand, his fingers rubbing the pads of Dick's fingers and Dick can only stare wide eyed as Bruce let's go of Dick's hand and stands back, arms folded across his chest.

"I suppose, you're living proof of that," Bruce concludes.

Or: It’s not the first time someone in the superhero community has been cloned.

---

When Dick wakes up, he’s almost forgotten that none of this is right. None of it is his. Not his body, not the bed he’s sleeping in, not the name that comes to the forefront of his mind every time he catches himself thinking about it. 

When Dick wakes up, he thinks he's Dick. The real Dick. The one that lives and breathes and has done those two things and so much more for 26 years. 17 more than this Dick has.

Or more. The fake Dick doesn't actually know how long it took for his fake body to be grown. What if he was literally born just a few days ago? A mere set of genetic strings floating inside a glass, person sized tube. 

When Dick wakes up, he's clutching Zitka like he swears he's always done since he's gotten her. Except, when he opens his eyes and pinches her flat ears between his blank fingertips, he sees that she looks too worn to be the Zitka he remembers. The fabric making up her fur too coarse, pills hanging off her that threaten to create holes if pulled too hard. 

Then, he remembers that those memories of Zitka are not his. He remembers the blankets and comforter over his body belong to the guest room. He remembers the borrowed clothes that he doesn't recognize, that look too new to be 17 years old. They're a little big too, like they belong to another boy just a little bigger and a little older. 

Siblings. The real Dick mentioned siblings. Like Bruce was his dad. 

And suddenly, Dick- the clone, wants to cry again. He wants to cry and hold Zitka until she's soaked in his tears. He wants to ugly sob, he wants to punch something, he wants to tear the curtains from the window and kick the legs of the vanity. He wants his hurt to be physical. He wants to be real. 

But he's not real. He's fake, and Bruce only took him home- to the manor because he must feel obligated to. 

So instead of standing up and expressing his fear and sorrow and anger, the clone curls up and sobs harder, trying not to think about the only thing he can think of. 

What will happen to him now?

Tests maybe. First. To see if they can find clues as to who created him. Then they’ll see if he has any triggers that lead to sleeper agent tendencies. After that, they'll determine what kind of threat he is. If he's deemed worthy like this Kon-El person to try and build a life, or if he’s found too dangerous to be allowed to live freely. 

If he is allowed to live and start a new life, he knows Bruce won't want to keep him. He has a Dick Grayson. A Dick Grayson who's all grown up and happy and a big brother and a son. 

Something that the clone just can't see himself to ever be… let alone want.

Because, as much as these feelings are not his, they're also compelling. He doesn't want a dad. He had a dad. He doesn't want brothers. He doesn't want sisters. He just wanted a place to live, a table to eat on, and someone to occasionally tell him they are glad he's around. 

But he doesn't… want a family. 

But those are Dick's feelings. Not his. Yet, somewhere along the way, Dick changed his mind. 

He wonders why. What changed? What made Dick decide to abandon Mary and John Grayson like this?

He can't comprehend it. 

And Bruce won't want to keep him anyway.

A soft knock on his door pulls him from his spiraling thoughts. He quickly wipes under his eyes with the fabric of the pillowcase then slowly sits up so he's sitting against the headboard. The door doesn't open; the clone wonders that maybe if he remains silent the person on the other side will just go away. However, he soon finds his silent hopes all for naught when once again the door is knocked upon; only this time it’s louder. 

The clone doesn't know if he can really deal with anyone at the moment. Maybe Alfred… but Bruce and Dick will just make the tight feeling in his chest tighter. And what if it's one of the siblings? 

He doesn't know how he'll react if the door opens and it's a sibling. 

He bites his lip when the door knocks once again. A voice accompanies this one.

It's Dick. Because of course it is. 

"Hey Dickie?" Dick asks, and the name sends a knife through the clone's ribs. Dick shouldn't say his own name like that. It must taste horrible in his mouth. 

It tastes horrible in the clone's. 

"You up?" Dick's voices again. Older. Firmer. More mature than what the clone could have ever imagined. 

The clone swallows then decides he might as well rip off the band-aid. He gets out of the bedsheets, the borrowed oversized pajamas slipping down his shoulder and down his hips. He scrubs under his eyes one last time before he opens the door a crack. On the other side is the original version of his DNA, standing there, smiling too brightly for how early in the morning it must be. 

"Good morning," Dick greets, his knees bending ever so slightly to look less intimidating. And to think, Dick's always been small for his age, but here he is, bending down to not look over his younger clone. "You up for pancakes?"

Pancakes? Alfred's let sugar into the building? Man, more is different here than he thought. 

"I'm not… really hungry," the clone says, but then Dick's face scrunches up ever so slightly and the clone knows he's trapped. 

"You gotta eat something, squirt," Dick chides, "though I suppose it's still early, and I can tell Alf to hold off another hour, if you want. Maybe we can invite one of the others so you can finally meet-"

"I'll eat now," the clone bursts, then instantly feels bad about it when Dick's face falls ever so slightly. 

The clone shuffles his feet and tries to ignore the heat in spreading up his neck and through the tips of his ears. 

"I… don't want to bother Alfred..."

Even to the clone, the excuse sounds lame. However Dick doesn’t seem to have any intentions of calling him out on his lie. He can’t understand why Dick is letting him act like this. Lie. Be uncooperative. Take guest rooms and stuffed animals and clothes belonging to someone else. He shouldn’t have this understanding look on his face. He should be grabbing the clone by the arm and dragging him off to do what they want him to do—just to quit being so commendable.

Instead, Dick smiles and begins to lead him through the empty manor. The clone tries not to think about who else could live here. Who else has roamed these hallways. Him being here must be throwing off the entire ecosystem of the place… keeping multiple people from coming home just because he's uncomfortable with meeting them.

After breakfast, the clone decides, after breakfast and he'll tell Bruce and Dick that they shouldn’t… that they don’t have to go out of their way anymore to keep their newest little intruder comfortable. Let the others come back to their home. 

It’s not his.

It’s not anything he has the right to have dictatorship over. His discomfort is meaningless. 

The moment the clone steps into the dining room, he immediately wishes to go back to bed. Already, little appetizers are set out—bowls of eggs, plates of sausage and bacon, butter with knives carefully placed besides each little dish—but there's no one else in the room besides the two of them. 

Which means when Dick sits down at his normal spot and the clone purposely sits somewhere else, he's helpless to stay there and watch as Dick stands up with his plate and walks over to sit across from the clone. 

The clone curls his fists under the table and diverts his gaze. 

Awkwardness settles between the two of them like a big ugly beast, and that awkwardness insists on staying there even as Dick reaches over and piles his plate with sausage. The clone bites the inside of his cheek and doesn’t move to do the same. He can tell Dick wants to comment on that, maybe even say something about trying the bacon and how Alfred’s bacon is the only kind that’s worth eating… but when he opens his mouth the door’s into the dining room open once again, and in walks none other than Bruce.

Panic reignites in his chest at the sight of the man before him. He’s like a tower, something eerie that practically has a visible aura of authority and intelligence. He carries himself with purpose despite the clear-as-day bags under his eyes and the deeper frown gracing his lips than normal. He definitely doesn’t look like sleep had visited him last night… he was probable up from sunset to sunrise trying to figure out where the clone came from and what to do with him.

Perhaps the minutes until his fate is to be decided is closer than he thinks.

The clone catches Bruce's eye for a second, a natural urge in him screaming to scramble up and grab onto his arm and demand what is to be done. In his fake memories, he’s so used to the dynamic between the two of them. The trust. 

There’s none of that here. He just manages to keep glued to his seat as Bruce’s eyes widen like he’s forgotten the clone was here.

Bruce slows his walk ever so slightly as his eyes break from the clones and stare off slightly to the left with no purpose. "Good morning… Dick."

And the clone really wants to sink into nothing now, especially as the real Dick smiles and doesn't say anything. Willingly standing back as someone else is being referred to by his own name. 

The clone is curling his fists so tightly in the fabric of his pajamas he can almost feel the indents of his nails through the material. 

"Morning…" the clone says quietly.

Dick smiles brightly and turns towards Bruce. "Hey B!"

"Good morning…" Bruce sits down at the head of the table. "Dick..."

At least Dick's smile strains a little right there. Though, the clone can't tell if it's because of his name being thrown around, or if it's the unsure way Bruce says it. 

Bruce shouldn’t be unsure of who deserves the name Dick. He’d have to have been hit quite a few times in his head since the time of the clone’s memories to have forgotten who his son is—and it’s not the clone.

Either way, the clone sinks back into the chair as Dick and Bruce begin what seems too casual to be a morning conversation… he stays quiet and hopes he remains ignored at least until the end of breakfast. 

However, his attention is grabbed by Bruce clearing his throat. “So,” he says, “Dick… how did you sleep last night?”

The clone takes a second to realize that Bruce could only be talking to him, you know, judging off of how they both turn to look at him. He clears his throat awkwardly and shift’s in his seat. “It was okay…”

Bruce’s eyebrows fall. “What? You’ll have to speak up a little louder.”

The clone didn’t even realize he practically mumbled that. He clears his throat and desperately wishes that Poison Ivy would barge in and control the potted plant in the corner to grab him and drag him away from this entire situation. “I said it-”

The door opens, and in walks none other than Alfred. Tension tightens in his being, but he also can’t help but let out a sigh of relief.

Everything stills right then and there. The clone can only stare wide eyed as Alfred walks in with a smoothness that only he has and begins to set down trays of steaming hot pancakes. Seeing Alfred aches in a whole new way compared to Bruce and even Dick himself. The clone hasn’t seen hair nor hide of Alfred since he’s arrived, but seeing him now is further proof of the time gap he’s living in. 

He’s so much older. Skinnier. His face is covered in wrinkles he’s not sure he had before. The hair of his mustache is a little bit more gray.

“Good morning sirs,” Alfred says, a twinkle in his eye and a specific look towards each of his two charges. Then, his eyes settle on the clone and the clone almost finds himself bursting into pathetic sobs right there. A spark still sits in Alfreds eyes, and it shines so brightly that the way his mouth seems to fall into a barely concealed form almost goes unnoticed. “And welcome to the manor, young Master Dick.”

Then breakfast starts. The clone ducks his head to avoid Alfred’s sharp eyes and leans back as Dick reaches over the table to plop two fluffy pancakes onto his plate, already mumbling through bites of his own to try the blueberry syrup. 

He tries the blueberry syrup, just to get him off his back.

After that, things shockingly go okay for a little while longer—but the clone can tell the exact moment Bruce decides he wants to say something. He can see it in the way he clears his throat, tugs at one sleeve, sits up more straight, and taps the knife to make sure it's straight besides his empty plate. He can also tell in the way the real Dick tenses, because he's definitely noticed all of those tells as well.

The clone puts down the bite of pancakes he was about to pretend to eat down at the table, sucks in a breath of air, and then looks Bruce straight in the eye. 

This is it. This is when his fate is revealed and everyone can stop forcing themselves to be nice to him. 

"Dick…" Bruce starts, and the clone can't deny that he's the one being spoken to. Not when Bruce is staring him straight in the eye, like he would the real one. Like he probably would any of his other kids. "I… understand that it might be scary right now, but I promise this will all be figured out, and you can soon begin living like a normal child."

The clone blanks. He wasn't… expecting that. He looks over at the real Dick, who's currently wound tight like a cobra. The clone wonders if there's something about how Bruce is acting right now that he hasn't learned to look out for. Something the real Dick can see a mile away. The clone catches sight of Alfred, his lips turned into a frown, eyes narrowed. He can see it too. 

The clone has no idea. 

The idea that there's something he doesn't know about the tells of the family before him shouldn't relieve him as much as it does.

"That's why," Bruce says, bringing the clones attention back to him, "if you would like, I would be honored to-"

"Okay, B," Dick yells loudly, standing up from the table quickly, almost causing the chair behind him to fall backwards. "We need to talk."

Bruce raises an eyebrow, but when Alfred clears his throat, the man huffs and stands up, allowing Dick to grab him by his arm and drag him outside the dining room. 

It falls silent in the dining room, and it takes every ounce of will power the clone has to not say anything as he looks down at his plate and runs his fork through the syrup soaked pancakes. A hand appears in his vision and fills up his glass with chocolate milk. 

"Don't worry, young Master Dick," Alfred says softly. Kindly. And the clone realizes this is the first conversation he's had with the man since... since ending up back here. He blinks and looks up at Alfred, and all he sees is intense sincerity and warmth. Something in his chest loosens ever so slightly. "Master Bruce means well, but some habits cannot change easily. You are very welcome into this home, no matter what you decide when the time comes."

The clone brings his hand up to his cheek and wipes under his eye before anything can form.

"… Thank you Alfred."

"You're very welcome, young sir." Alfred smiles for just a flash, and then he flicks his eyes down to the clone’s still full plate. "Why don't you eat just a single helping to ease an old man's heart? We can figure out everything after."

The clone nods, and he thinks he might almost smile. Thankfully, Alfred turns away and allows the clone to reach forward and take a bite of delicious pancake goodness in silent companionship. 

The clone wonders how long this will last. 

He doesn't dwell on it. 

-o-o-o-o-

"Are… you sure?" Dick asks.

The clone nods and shuffles his feet on the carpet lining the long corridors of the manor. "I can't keep them from their home forever. I might as well just rip off the band-aid and get it over with."

Dick studies him for a second, and the clone can't help but shuffle again. After Dick and Bruce came back from whatever conversation they had, neither of them mentioned anything about what the argument was about. The clone could tell it was an argument because Bruce didn't say a single thing, just nodded at the clone and continued his second helping of pancakes in silence. 

The clone wonders if he gets as red in the face as Dick does when he gets angry. If his hands shake that much. 

Dick's calmed down now though, which is why the clone has cornered him in the hallway on a sorta unneeded tour, but one that was useful all the same. A lot of things have changed. Some wings have been completely rebuilt. Rooms are different… some look lived in. Vases are missing.

Dick kneels down in front of the clone and gives him a once over; a wrinkle placing itself comfortably between his brow. "Look…” he says slowly, “I was told to try to not do this… but I think you might need to hear this anyway."

Weariness fills the clone's veins, but he remains silent and Dick seems to flounder a little bit for words. 

Dick takes a deep breath and then looks the clone straight into his copied eyes. "I understand how you’re feeling. You've never wanted a new family. You’ve never wanted Bruce to be your dad. You're afraid of… what siblings could mean..."

The clone looks away, something icky settling in his stomach. 

Dick doesn't force the clone to look at him, but he keeps talking anyway. 

"I just want you to know that it's okay to feel that way. I felt that way for a long time. If you don't want to meet the others because it makes you uncomfortable, then I won't force you. None of us will force you. We'll give you space until you're ready."

This is awful. The clone feels sick to his stomach. 

It takes him a second to find his words. It takes him a second to put words on the tip of his tongue that aren't you don't know me and stop pretending you care. He swallows down his anger that doesn't belong to him. 

None of these feelings belong to him. The clone never lost his parents, the clone wasn’t ever taken in as Bruce Wayne's ward, he doesn't deserve to feel any of this.

It’s all only inevitability before someone decides it's time to send him away. It's only a matter of time before he's determined too dangerous to keep here. 

So, instead of screaming his voice raw at Dick like he wants to, he takes a deep breath. 

"It's fine," he says, "don't worry about me. Besides, it's not like they're my actual siblings. I'm not Bruce's ward."

Dick's face pinches like that wasn't what he wanted to hear, but the clone turns around and walks away as quickly as he can. He wants to be alone. He wants to climb in a corner somewhere and not exist. 

Instead, he ends up back in the room they're letting him stay in, his eyes immediately latch onto the stuffed elephant placed carefully on his bed. He stomps forward, grabs it by the trunk, then hurtles it out of the room and slams the door shut, breathing hard. 

It takes just a moment for angry tears to burst from his eyes. He locks the door with shaking hands, and he's sure his face is red. Then, he turns and collapses backwards so his back is almost stabbed by the doorknob. His knees give out and he sits there, staring at nothing, wishing he could sink into nothing.

He sits there and begins to pathetically cry once again, but this time he simply doesn’t allow himself to make a sound.

-o-o-o-o-

A knock on the door. About an hour later. 

"Dick?"

The clone doesn't answer. 

"Dick, can we talk?"

Still no answer. 

"… Look, I think what I said was… I think it hurt your feelings more than helped you like I intended... I only want to help you."

Silence. 

"Dick, come on buddy, I'm-"

"Stop calling me that."

"… Wh-"

"Dick. Stop calling me that. I'm not Dick. I'm not you."

A beat of silence. An exhale. The clone curls tighter against the door and wrings his awful blank fingertips into the pants of his borrowed pajamas. 

"What would you like me to call you then?"

The clone opens his mouth. Them closes it. Does he want a name? Does he even deserve one?

"Kiddo, we need to call you something."

"I don't care. Call be anything. Just not…"

A body on the other side of the door shifts, and the clone wonders if Dick is sitting on the floor like he is, back against the door, elephant in his hands, probably checking for destruction. 

"How about this… how about we call you… John. We call you John, and you can tell us when to stop if you ever decide on something else." A beat. Then a quickly rushed afterthought. "Unless you don't want John, it can be anything-"

"John is fine."

The clone says it before he means to. He almost wants to take it back. John is still Dick's name. It's his middle name. It's his dad's name. 

"Okay!" Dick says, and the clone can hear the strained smile in his voice. "John it is, them!"

The clone… John, he supposes… bites his lip. "What about… the others."

"If you want, we'll introduce you to them one at a time. I'm thinking Duke… or Tim first. Duke is really chill, but Tim also has… experience… and he's a sweet kid. They're all sweet kids."

John nods, then remembers the door is still locked and closed behind him. He wipes his cheeks and stands up, undoing the lock at opening the door to find Dick hastily standing up with Zitka in his hands. 

"Is that okay?" Dick asks, his eyes wide and… hopeful. 

Hope. That's what Dick is all about…. Right?

The- John takes a deep breath. "Yeah… yeah I think that's okay."

Dick's face splits into a giant grin, and before t-John can even try to escape, he's engulfed into a giant hug.

His- Dick's mom used to say he gave the best hugs. It seems like it's true. This is the best hug John’s ever had… or that he owns the artificial memory of having. 

Dick splits the hug and holds his hands on John's shoulders, thumbs and fingers finding the little grooves of his collarbone and shoulder blades, unconsciously kneading the muscles there. He still has a goofy grin on his face. John realizes it might be because somehow Zitka has ended up back in his arms. 

Of course Dick would still want him to have it. John can't imagine ever giving Zitka up to someone… but Dick's an adult now, and he's already gone so much out of his way just to make John somewhat comfortable here. 

"I'll talk to Tim then," Dick says, "I think he's the best choice."

"Okay," John replied, nodding slowly. "Is he the owner of these pajamas?"

Dick's face ripples in amusement. He smiles slightly, though this time it's more to himself. "No… Damian gave us permission for you to use his clothes. He's a little older than you. 13 years old…" Dick's eyes go far away, and then he blinks and shakes his head. "He might be someone you'll meet later, he's just as sweet as all the others, but can be a little… prickly."

John nods. As long as the sibling these clothes belong to knows that he's using them, then that's okay. He wonders.… Who Damian really is to Dick. He doesn't understand that far away look that passed by, but he can tell it must be something special. 

"You okay?"

John blinks, exiting his thoughts. He looks at Dick… then at the animal in his hands. He has the intense desire to hold it close to his chest and hug the life out of it in apology for throwing it earlier. 

Instead, he tries to force something that feels like a smile but might look more like a grimace. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" Dick asks, and John simply shrugs. For throwing a scene? For existing? For everything?

He’s not sure. Dick opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but then some sort of chime breaks through the silence and Dick pulls out a phone that’s definitely more advanced than what John thought a phone could even be. Dick looks at his phone for a second, and then gives a slight smile towards John.

“Speak of the devil, it’s Tim,” Dick says, his eyes soften from the name alone. “He’s wondering if you would want to meet him… apparently Kon’s free tomorrow and he thinks you two should meet while you’re at it. That is- just if you’re comfortable-?”

Kon? As in… Kon-El? Something so afraid and so hopeful twists in his chest, but he’s nodding before he can think too much about it. Dick smiles and begins to talk about how much fun tomorrow will be and John can do nothing but continue to nod along, trying to ignore how that twisting becomes a knot of anxiety.

He has a feeling that things are about to get a little bit better… or So. Much. Worse. 

Just… rip off the bandaid… right? 

[woo-svt]

Figure It Out - [ONE]

You really don’t understand how you’re supposed to find your soulmate.    

Soulmate!AU

*:･ﾟ Jaebum x Reader 

! : angst, smut, fluff, the whole lot - but nothing in this chapter

*:･ﾟ GIF!

☞  2.536 wc

☞ [TWO] [THREE] [FOUR] [FIVE]

You never quite understood the soulmate process.

Though the system for finding one’s soulmate had been around for most of the world’s modern history, the steps it took to find one’s soulmate were not as simple as they probably could be.   

Other than the stories your parents had told you as a child, the first time soulmates were brought to your full attention was during a mandatory course in your high school. Seeing as it was around the age at which people would begin to be called in to find their soulmate, the schools took it upon themselves to teach the students all they needed to know about their true love. 

Well, supposedly. 

The class was rather boring, a couple of hours listening to the plump older women explain the process that most everyone had waited their whole lives for. Sitting in the second row, sandwiched between your two closest friends, you diligently took notes. You felt as if the whole fate of your future love life depended on the moment and you desperately listened to everything the teacher had to offer. To your right, your friend Do Min chuckled at how serious you were taking the course.          

She was a small girl with a loud personality, having already claimed to found her soulmate despite having yet to go through the actual process herself. She met Jinyoung very soon after first starting high school, and the pair shocked everyone by claiming they were dating. Most everyone refrained from ever dating anyone before finding their soulmate, it was sort of taboo- committing to someone who you weren’t sure would be yours forever. People instead tended to...experiment, per say, with others until their time for commitment came. Though Jinyoung and Do Min paid no mind to the others who frowned upon them, they were not worried at all, they were already quite positive they were soulmates. You would never tell the girl, but you were just as positive they weren’t meant to be, you simply could not understand how the couple so opposite of each other could be together for the rest of their lives.

“You don’t have stress so much you know.” She talked quietly beside you. You rolled your eyes at her, “I’m not stressed, I just simply want to remember everything so I know how to find my soulmate.” You talked just as quietly to reply to her. She merely scoffed at you, “Nothing they teach you will help you find them, you just know.” You shook your head at the girl, you hated that answer. All your life whenever your curiosity got the best of you, you would return to your parents, asking just how they knew they were soulmates. And every single time, they replied with the same answer, “You just know, sweetie.”    

And every time you asked Do Min and Jinyoung how they knew they were each others, you got the same response, “You just know!”          

You absolutely despised that answer and ended up giving up ever asking them again. Just to know you’re supposed to be with someone forever when you meet them and beyond what you could comprehend, so you were hoping that that class could further explain how you were supposed to know. What exactly were you supposed to know?      

To your left, Mark chimed in on the conversation, “Sorry some of us aren’t as lucky as you and sweet Jinyoung, Do Min. Us average people still have to learn about the soulmate process.” His facetiousness shone through his fake pout directed towards the girl to which she replied with an unimpressed glare. Like you, Mark was very eerie about the claims that Do Min and Jinyoung made, but unlike you, he was not afraid to voice his opinion. He often openly mocked the love-birds, claiming since he was close with both of them, it wasn’t a problem.

The three of you turned your attention back to the board when the lecturer politely, yet clearly annoyed, asked you to cease your conversations. You bring yourself back to look at your notes, getting ready to write again because now was the time she was finally getting into how the actual process would work.  

It was simple, she stated, there comes a time in everyone’s life where they get a letter calling them in. As if they’ve been drafted. This letter comes sooner for some than others, it all depended- on what? She didn’t say. Once, whenever in your life that may be, you receive a letter, you go to the facility on the date that is written. When you arrive, you are put in a room with a group of other people, the group can range from 4 to 10 people- again, all depending. Within that room, they give you all a couple of hours to get acquainted, getting to know each other. And at that point, you figure out who your soulmate is. Justing by talking to a group of people for a couple of hours you’re expected to figure out who you’re meant to spend eternity with. That’s it. That’s the process. 

You looked down at your notes in frustration, there is no way this could be the soulmate process. Staring coldly at your writing, you became more frustrated as the teacher finished the lecture, “That’s all there is to it really,” her voice was very cheery now, “You just go in and talk. And you once you talk to the one, you just know!”                

A defeated breath leaves your body as the rest of your peers start to leave the room around you. Unreal, you thought. Those three words came back once again to haunt you and at this point, you’ve given up hope. “Yah, stop frowning so hard. You’ll have permanent wrinkles on your forehead.” Do Min gently flicked your head in order to get your attention. Gathering your stuff, you follow her out of the classroom and down the hall. Mark stood silently walking next to you, but once you both reached the staircase he gently placed his arm around you, pulling you into his body. Looking down at you, he gave you a closed lip yet sincere smile, “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.” And you believed him. 

-

Turns out, both you and Mark were wrong. 

It was only a few months after graduating that Jinyoung and Do Min got called into the soulmate process together. They really were soulmates, proving all those wrong who ever doubted them. Though it was what they always claimed, that still didn’t lessen the shock you still felt at the news. Do Min was keen on rubbing it in your face, but even more so, Mark’s.      

“I told you both for nearly four years now, but no,” she dragged on “You never believed me. And ha! Look at us now, suckers.” She confidently stared at the pair of you across the table, taking long sips of her milkshake. “She’s just really excited right now, ignore her.” Jinyoung chuckled from beside her, rubbing her back gently as if it would stop her from her verbal rampage. The four of you were sat at a small diner not far from the university you all attended, enjoying the late night milkshakes to celebrate (or have Do Min brag about) the fact that the couple was indeed meant to be after all.         

Though the couple left not long after, Jinyoung had an early lecture to attend and Do Min was seemingly tired of pointing out how wrong you were. Mark and you stayed for a while longer, you were taking your time spooning your now melted milkshake into your mouth. Though you knew it was silly, you couldn’t help to feel a slight ping of jealousy deep in your gut. 

“Who would’ve thought, huh?” He gave out a breathless laugh, swirling his straw around his empty glass. You merely nodded, a tight-lipped smile gracing your mouth. An awkward beat passes and you speak again, “Is it weird that I feel this way? Sort of, jealous?” You glance at him but he doesn’t look at you, another beat passes. “No.,” he says finally. You wait a little longer and he continues, “I mean I feel it too, I guess.” He leans back in his seat, crossing his arms but his gaze stays fixated on the booth where the couple had previously been seated. “I mean, of course, I’m happy for them, I love them.” He pauses a bit as if he is unsure how to word his thoughts, “But it must be nice, right? To be in their position?” You continued to take in the side of his face, unsure of what he was trying to get across to you, “To already get called in to find their soulmate?” You guessed at what he meant. 

He shook his head, disagreeing with you, “No, to have your soulmate be someone you’re already familiar with. They didn’t have to meet a stranger, they’ve been with each other this whole time. That must be nice.” he explained himself. Your gaze stayed fixed on the side of his face as he remained unmoved. You let yourself wonder for a moment what it would be like to be called into the same room as Mark, to find out you had been soulmates all along. You decided the thought wasn’t so bad. Maybe you both had actually been soulmates all this time. That would be nice, you concluded, then you didn’t have to wonder about the feeling finding your soulmate was supposed to feel like.               

You decided to quietly voice your thoughts, “That’s would be nice. If everyone was already friends with their soulmate.” 

He finally turned to look you in the eyes, his smile small and eyes sad, “Yeah.” he nodded and continued, “Maybe that is the case.”

-

You spend the next couple of years silently hoping that when the time comes, it’ll end up being Mark who was your soulmate. 

You find comfort in believing that your best friend was who you were meant to be with. It would be easier that way, there would be no mystery about who you would end up with, and you definitely wouldn’t have to worry when your time came to figure it out yourself.                  

Therefore, all your time pining over the boy with the made-up attraction you felt for him would explain the sick feeling in your stomach when he calls you, Jinyoung and Do Min to the usual diner to introduce you to his newfound soulmate. Though you were greatly disappointed, you knew deep down that you both weren’t meant for each other. So for the sake of your friend, you showed up to the restaurant and ordered your milkshake, acting attentive and excited to meet the girl he was actually made for.    

Her name was Ji Hyun. A soft-spoken girl with big innocent eyes. Though you were once again taken over with jealousy, you had no doubt that the girl was made for Mark. 

This time around, it was both pairs of couples that left after their milkshakes were gone, having last minute assignments or work early in the morning. You still stayed behind, but this time you had no one else there with you. Quietly stirring the melted ice cream, you think of your two friends. Then your mind wanders to their soulmates.       

You have a weird feeling in your chest that you can’t quite place. You finally decide the feeling is loneliness. It’s silly of you to feel this way, you think. You know for a fact your friends would never abandon you, but somehow not having a soulmate now seems like the loneliest feeling in the world.

-

You sat in the lobby, waiting to be called into your soulmate room, and you are most definitely going to throw up the Mexican food you had for lunch. 

It was about a year after you graduated college. You kept yourself busy with finishing school and somehow managing to find a well-enough paying job to support you once you graduated. About a week ago you received your soulmate letter in the mail, telling you a time and place to report in order for you to find your true love.      

It was a subject you had been putting off for a couple of years since Mark met Ji Hyun. You hadn’t let yourself think much or worry about the whole process, there was no use. So when you got your letter, you immediately invited Do Min and Mark over to your small apartment to express your worries.                            

Of course, Do Min, couldn’t contain her squealing and excited jumping, “This is it! This is it!” she exclaimed, “I’m so excited for you.” She was genuinely happy but her enthusiasm was doing little to reduce your anxiety. Mark seemed to sense your uneasiness, he pulled you into his side ruffling your hair in an attempt to calm you down, “Yah, I can’t wait to see who has to spend the rest of their life stuck with you. Poor thing.” He jokes with you and you roll your eyes as Do Min lets out a loud laugh. Looking down at you, he smiles and gives you a reassuring nod, “It’ll be okay.”

You try to remember Mark’s words now, but they seem like a huge lie as you sit there having to wipe the sweat off of your palms every couple of minutes. Your heartbeat pounds throughout your whole body and you’re left with a ringing in your ears once a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile calls your name and asks you to follow her. Robotically, you follow her keeping your eyes trained on your feet even as she opens the door to a medium sized room and motions for you to sit on a rather comfy couch. You could sense the other people in the room but your eyes remained unmoving, absolutely terrified of what you could find before you. 

Even with your eyes cast downward, you could sense three more people entering the room before the same women as before announces that your time was now beginning. Squeezing your eyes tightly shut, you begin to focus on your breathing hoping it would calm you down.               

“Are you sick?” Your eyes snap open and the surprise the voice next to you gave you restarted the racing of your heart. You slowly glance to left, taking in the dark haired boy who was placed next to you, seemingly who had been watching you quietly panicking. “Um,” you started unsure, unable to control the redness that spread its way to your cheeks. “I think I ate something bad for lunch.” You concluded with a lie, seeing as you were the only one in the room who was so uneasy, everyone else had already got up and began to socialize. A smirk graced the boy's plump lips as if he saw through your lies, “That’s too bad.” He chuckles at you. 

The two of you remain silent as away from the rest of the group and he keeps his gaze on your face, eventually giving you a small smile, he reaches out his hand in order to grasp yours. “I’m BamBam.”. 

©

☞ [feedback is appreciated] 

[civilizedcompany]

Civilized Secrets Chp. 6

A New Divide

“But-I-Are you sure they'll even believe you?”  asked a concerned Theodore as he kept the pace with a bloodied Seondeok.  Her finery was torn, covered in muck, and smelt of salt water; her skin littered with cuts and bruises.  “Everything thing that Saladin found regarding Sejong's project was vague at best.  Even if they did believe you, there's nothing stopping the others from trying to finish us off anyways.”

“I'd like to think my injuries would be enough proof.  If not, Gitarja's absence is powerful enough,” Seondeok replied bitterly as she wrapped a bandage around her forearm.

“You think this has a chance of working?  That they'll hear you out about Sejong?”

“We're not trying to convince the bloodthirsty, we're trying to convince the undecided but reasonable.”

“From our camp, or their's?”

“Both.”

“They'll want surrender and Catherine's head on a pike.”

“A surrender? When one of theirs is the guilty one?  No.  Having Catherine end up on Boudica's wall?  It matters not to me anymore.”

“What?!”

“How else do you think Napoleon found us, Roosevelt? A lucky guess?”  asked the Korean Queen angrily.  “Sejong would never allow Napoleon to willingly stay near his palace, alliance or not.  They knew we were coming.  There were only a few people who knew we had left besides you and Poundmaker.  Saladin and Robert have no motive. Catherine does.  Napoleon's navy has blockaded her ports, and...” she drifted off, her voice wavering and her mind contemplating.  A small bout of silence passes between them.

“Seondeok?”

She finally works up the nerve to continue, “And while I can't blame her for not wanting her people to starve, I'm also not going to forget that she stabbed us in the back. This goes beyond espionage and 'knowing too much', she betrayed the people who wanted to help her.   Come to terms with her death now, Theodore.  Her blood will paint the heavens, just as our blood has soaked the earth.”

Seondeok turned away from the President, leaving him to his own thoughts, be they grief or despair.  It was times like this she wished that she wasn't plagued by the truth of her visions.  But a harsh truth, in this case, would be better than a comforting lie.

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

The meeting hall, a place full of spirited debate amongst leaders fighting for the benefit of their people, where plans and courses of action were voted upon, where the future looked vast and open, looked more like a tattered ruin of its former glory.    Though the emergency session was a few minutes out from starting, the leaders chose to congregate inside the hall, half out of safety and half out of wanting to see who remained alive.  For now, at least.  No one sat in their assigned areas (what was the point anymore?), but none dared touch the holes left behind by the fallen.  Chairs and tables were empty, save a single, unlit candle that graced the surface, a small memorial to those immortality came to an end.  An eerie cloud of anxiety lingered in the room, as if the end times had arrived and the survivors banded together for one last time before dying quietly in the night.  And though there was much to be chattering about, the hall was silent, save a few private conversations.

“Still no word?”  the pregnant Scythian asked.  Tomyris placed a hand on Hojo's shoulder and squeezed it gently.  The weight of the war had taken its toll on the fully armored Shikken, a once youthful looking man who now looked a decade older.  His eyes were darkened by the lack of sleep, his back sore and stiff from wearing his armor constantly, and his face and hands covered in deep cuts and scars. Rather than answer, he place an arm around her and hugged her tightly, though not breaking is endless stare out into the nothing. Sometimes it was hard to comprehend the level of devastation in the other theaters of war.  She hugged him and kissed his cheek, unsure of what to do next.

Elsewhere in the hall were Trajan and Gorgo, swapping reports of the front line.  Poundmaker had his guitar out and strummed softly, not paying attention to the small group, including Victoria and Alexander, that he had amassed.  Theodore helped an injured Seondeok sit down, the pain finally kicking in.  She locked eyes with Catherine, who was half surprised at her survival.  Jadwiga tearfully laid down a small rosary on Philip's desk, and Genghis quietly placed a candle on Chandragupta's table as he walked through the door.  Twelve, possibly thirteen, of them, gone.  As the back door reserved for governors opened, only Helena emerged, donned in a visible bulletproof vest and covered in blood.  What should have been a horrific sight was only met with a few glances. Just seven more names to add to the growing list.  She looked around at the sorry sight before her, knowing that this was the best that they were going to have.

“I think it's safe to say that no one else is coming,” Helena bluntly stated as she laid down her pistol.  She pulled a roll of bandages and a switchblade out of her pocket and began treating her wounds.  “Who's starting?  We don't have time for the ceremonial bullshit this go around.”

Poundmaker stopped playing and stood up, “I will.”

“Proceed,” she replied with a mouthful switchblade handle in her mouth.  The once poised advisor was now almost unrecognizable to the chieftain.  Her arm was red and sticky with blood; her hands covered in dirt, grime, and gauze.  Poundmaker motioned to Seondeok, who struggled to rise even with Teddy's help.  But just as Seondeok was about to impart her recently acquired knowledge, the troubled Shikken was about to receive some of his own.  A dim glow caught his eye, and though he knew not was sent to him, Tokimune couldn't help but fear the worse.  The words of the Seondeok became formless white noise. Nothing matter to him at this point.

A confirmation of the inevitable, and yet there was a piece of him that had held onto hope.  He felt it die as he read the message over and over.  We found them...I'm so sorry...We found them...I'm so...

He wanted to scream, to flip a table, to ram his blade through the heart of Oda, to recreate every lash and puncture upon his foes that was done to his family.  He wanted to lay waste to every enemy in his path, to burn it all (whatever it was, he did not know) to the ground, to take every last bit of rage and pour it into one final blaze of glory (whatever that was, he did not know either).  Tomyris, out of concern (possibly out of fear), returned her hand to his and squeezed tightly.  The warmth of her touch jolted him back to reality and his eyes met hers, explaining everything without saying a word.  

He sighed quietly as he accepted the hard truth:  his people needed a man will an iron will, not a reckless young lord guided by vengeance.  Oda, for now, was safe.

He placed his phone aside, hoping he did the right thing for his people and returned his attention to the meeting at hand.  Tomyris gave his hand one last squeeze, leaving him to wonder how he got so lucky.

“Look, all I'm saying is that this can be resolved peacefully.”

“So what are you proposing, Poundmaker?”  the Roman asked.  “And how do you think you can convince them all?”

“As much as I hate to say this, Catherine has a point...” Poundmaker conceded, leaving Catherine, and a few of the others, in shock.  “But only to an extent.”  Ah, there we go.

“Speak plainly, friend.  My men can only take so much more before they break.”

“Catherine's plan to divide them isn't necessarily wrong or far-fetched.  First, we call for a cease-fire, then call for Sejong to be held accountable for his role in all of this—remember, if it weren't for the AI, no one would ever know about all of Catherine's data—and then, since we can't expect something for nothing with them, we offer our terms... an offer they'd be foolish to refuse,” Poundmaker finished uneasily, causing Helena to perk up.  When has he ever been this uneasy coming up with a plan?

“And what exactly are 'our terms', dear chieftain?”  Catherine prodded, half afraid of the answer she would get.

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

“That's insane!”  declared Attila angrily, “We don't need to compromise anything to them.  They're on the run, this is our chance--”

“I will NOT send any more of my people to feed YOUR bloodlust, Attila, especially when we have a chance to end this peacefully,” Pochello seethed at the warlord.  “Too many have died in this fight—Sejong has agreed to abdicating completely and ceding all control to Seondeok!  He's accepted his role in this--!”

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

“And what of me?  What of my people?  Is Napoleon really a better option than me?  Could you honestly trust a man like that?” asked Catherine as she berated at the chieftain.  Gorgo rolled her eyes.

“At least he's a terrible snoop and a horrible liar.  It would be a welcomed change to dealing with someone that's predictable,” remarked the Spartan Queen.  Catherine slightly glared at her before continuing.

“This is all Sejong's fault.  I fail to see how these 'terms' favor are fair in the slightest--”

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

“The terms are fair, Maria, because both had a hand in all of this!”  Washington shouted back at the monarch.  “Is your country's soil not soaked with enough blood?”

“They'll never accept it!  They'll want revenge against us.  Catherine will want her throne back and she'll get the support by any means necessary.  We have to finish her and the lot of them off now, while we still have the chance!”  concluded Napoleon.

“Why not have both of their heads and then call it even?  Hard to complain or fight to reclaim your throne when you're dead,” remarked Dido causally.

“I agree.  What is one more, or even two more bodies to add to the pyre?” questioned Harald.  “I mean, we do want the terms to be fair after all...”

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

“Alexander! You cannot mean such a thing!” Saladin exclaimed, taken aback by the harshness of his words.  Even for him, he couldn't believe it.  “Abdication is enough, spilling the blood of kings--”

“--Is more than justified in this matter,” finished Barbossa.  “They attacked us first! They demanded Catherine first! Well, they can have her then, but we will collect the blood price that Sejong is responsible for, and he is responsible for it.”  The two kings glared at one another, refusing to back down, just as they always did.

“You're all missing the big picture—That AI is still on the loose!  We don't know where it is, or even how to shut it down.  And what if it's watching us right now?  Waiting to see what we'll do? Planning what it will do next in response?  We don't know its full capabilities--” President Roosevelt tried to explain before being unceremoniously interrupted.

“Then the AI will die with him.  It matters not to the Zulu if our enemy is man or machine,”  Shaka replied.  “Better yet, he thinks it a son, no?  He shall watch as his 'son' dies.  Sejong seems willing to die enough; I can't think of a more fitting end.”

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

“Have you gone mad?  Nevermind, Nebuchadnezzar, what am I saying?”  Theodora mused.  “Of course you've gone mad—you've been insane for as long as anyone can remember!”

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

“Is it mad to speak the truth?”

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

“What truth?  I only hear delusion!”

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

The shouting continued to rage on, with the voices blending into a cacophonous mess.  Both sides were on the verge of total anarchy, as leaders ganged up on each other, sizing themselves up, coming just short of physical blows.  Yet, for all of the chaos, there was a still peace that existed, even if it was miles away from them.  Not a soul stirred near the console, as its engine hummed in isolation. The solution was simple, yet Misu could not bring himself to do it. As to why that was, the answer eluded him.  These “leaders” gave him plenty of reason to unleash a wrath comparable to the finger of God.  But, he reasoned, maybe I should give them five more minutes. Maybe that will--

Hold on.

What is this?

As if on cue, Hojo Tokimune and Oda arose from their seats and brought the shouting to a screeching halt. Both devoid of expression, as if they knew they were entering a fight they would not be able to walk away from alive and accepting of the consequences.  Another unforeseen variable in a grand experiment.

“Even after everything we've been through, our people slaughtered, our homes destroyed, our cities razed...Our answer is arguing?” the Shikken asked, his voice carrying a quiet intensity that caught his fellow leaders off guard.  Misu's attention darted to Oda.

“Did not the heavens ordain us to lead our people to greatness? To guide them through times of darkness?  To be the hand that wields the blade to preserve their honor? Our ancestors' honor?”  Oda questioned.  The leaders around him fell silent, diverting their gaze to the ground in shame.

“Yet with all that we know, all that we've seen, we resort to degrading ourselves to being the most wretched animals,” Hojo scolded, though he would be foolish if he didn't think it included him as well.  His brow that had furrowed in contempt relaxed.  Humans are so strange.

“How can our people expect to survive and return to prosperity when we have become savage beasts, lashing out as if caught in a thicket?”  the elder warlord dared to ask.  Misu had to agree with his description of Oda's colleagues.

“We cannot lose sight of who we are, what we are meant to be--”

“We must lead through clarity and resolve--”

“And not be led astray by vengeance,” they concluded together, each bearing a solemn poise that the others lacked.  Misu watched the two groups with an engrossment he could scarce describe, awaiting to see what path they would choose next.  He focused on Catherine, the one who had yet to lose much of anything.  Strangely enough, he was hoping that she would pull through.  The French Queen sighed, standing up and steeling herself for whatever she was about to do.  

“I...I have been...selfish, though that word is too kind for what I have brought upon those who I have called friend,” she said, turning her gaze toward a red-eyed Jadwiga.  “There is nothing that I could do that could ever fully make up for the pain I have caused...”

She paused, the others awaiting to hear what she would say next.

“But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try.  I shall abdicate my throne to whomever is chosen to succeed me.  And if they are not satisfied with that alone--” Sejong caught Misu's eye.

“Then let them take whatever life I may have left,” he finished, resigned to his fate.  In his own eyes, Sejong was more a criminal than a ruler.  Both rooms fell silent, not sure where to go from...whatever this was.  Misu's mind, comprised of elaborate programming, was racing.  Maybe the experiment wasn't a complete waste.  Maybe there was a way to salvage what was left.  Maybe...

The lights shut down, snapping them all to attention.  While some leaders were obviously shaken, a few of them readied themselves for a fight.  Helena reloaded and cocked her pistol, not even blinking or showing hesitation.  C’mon, you sonofabitch.  Make my day.

“I must say, this...experiment has taken an interesting turn.  I’m rather glad I didn’t cut it short.”

Sejong’s blood ran cold.  His creation...son...it was nothing but a personal science project, and they were all his lab rats.  Was this Misu’s way of getting back at him?  Or was this what Sejong had taught him to be acceptable?  Neither answer was comforting.  

“It took you all long enough to figure things out.  But the data I’ve collected...means nothing.  Not without the new final stage.”

Final stage? What the hell?

“I will not unleash your own nuclear warheads against you, that I promise.  But neither will I slink away, quietly into the night.  Dearest father, you want me gone?  The rest of you, you wish to escape?  Work together.  Find me.  End it.  Once and for all.”

The screen went blank and the lights came back on.  Let the games begin. 

[yi-dashi-a]

//Woa! Only a day between my rambling drabbles? This is the fastest turnaround in the Yi parent’s drabble series yet pfft (if only because it has already been written for weeks now)

  If you ever wanted to know how an art of ageless, respected, skilled enough for one non master and his non master students to wipe out a fair chunk of Noxians got nuked off the face of Runeterra in one fell swoop, then this is the initial incident for the decline of Wuju. I mean, you could technically go back as far as Wuju Master Alpha Strikes to Birds, but yeah.

  You might as well call this series, ‘Yi’s Dad has a Bad Time’ at this point

As much as she had once romanticised the idea of racing through Shon-Xan’s untameable wilds on a horse, she felt as if she’d never get upon horseback again after their journey. Chao drove the beast hard, so hard that she had complained at first for the sake of its hooves and her rear. He said nothing to such accusations however, so intently focused on getting home he was. Getting to his home. Never did she think she’d ever see the mystical origin of an iconic martial art.

You need to be prepared for anything… The man offered within during their travels, I don’t expect this to go well, but… It’s going to save me either way. Hopefully it will be done quickly, and you may venture home before you’re missed too much.

To that she didn’t respond, though he didn’t seem to take silence as well as she.

I’m sorry… You mean so much to me, Huan. This means so much to me. I don’t think I can ever repay this debt. Especially not after how I handled this...

Just be calm… She thought more to herself, but he took it in his own heart with deep, focused breaths.

The days of rough travel went by, though the nights were better spent in each other’s company. Not as they had in the evening when this whole situation erupted. Instead, she took in all in with a smile and with carefully chosen topics. They talked, almost for long enough for the sun to set and rise. They talked about things not just dire or saddening. For the first time since he’d first materialised in her room claiming to be a ghost, she felt as if they were having proper conversations.

Not that it was the best circumstances, but she’d take the little comforts where she’d find them. This was all stupidly ridiculous on her part anyway, but who was to say love was ever smart?

Eventually mountain paths gave way to rolling hills, and atop a certain one the pair could stare out to the back face of a grand training hall. Her scholarly eyes immediately dated the place to long before her own school, which was a fantastical notion in of itself. Every tale he’d told of the place had been true. At the very least it lent credence to all his wild stories. With her arms wrapped around him however, she felt the Wuju Master’s form tense, and he slowed the horse down to barely a trot.

“Be ready for anything…” He repeated as he had one hundred times, “We’re finally here.”

“I’m ready, Chao.”

“I… wish I was.”

As they travelled down the barely trodden path to his home, she watched as wary souls stopped in their strides when they passed. The travellers and village folk said nothing, merely staring upon the pair in such a way that she almost wanted to bury her face into Chao’s back. But if she’d decided anything, it was that she’d need to assert herself in this world no matter how eerie the atmosphere became.

The road followed the side of the storied temple and its courtyard walls, adding to the already mounting tension on the air. It appeared as a stark, unchanging monolith the closer they drew to the place. It watched them both, fully aware of its complicity in the terrors that had brought her here. Yet before they could completely round the bend for the village to open up before them...

A sharp whine, and a flash, and then instantly a man materialised up the road. She didn’t even have time to comprehend the nature of his magic, so her eyes pulled apart his physicality. He was short, yet he was by no means unimposing. Even at distance she felt as if she could feel his overbearing nature. His beard was long, as was to be expected, and his hair framed his face despite being loosely tied.

“Wuchao.” He bellowed.

“Master…” The man on horseback whispered, losing another few inches of himself within her hold.

“You dare to trounce back here on your horse?” The older, yet seemingly still so young Wuju practitioner started in paced steps towards them. If there was anything she could do, she didn’t know it as he continued to shout, “What reason do I have to let you enter this place?”

“This place is my right.” Chao yelled back, finding his voice from somewhere, “You cannot bar me from leaving just as much as you cannot bar me from entering. I shall come and go as I please.”

“You have no rights!” The head of school spat back, “Your defiance just makes me despise that I let you leave at all.”

“Chao…” She managed to mumble, her concern bubbling forth, “Is it going to be alright? Will you need help?”

“Just trust me. I want to handle something myself, for once.” He responded as he led the horse to stand perpendicular to the approaching man. The silvery flash of a ringed dao caught her eye as she finally faced the man in some measure, and she’d like to think that her judgemental stare upon him was what stopped him in his strides.

“Who… is this?” Chao’s father seemed to crumple in his posture a time, having to squint so he could consider Huan in her entirety, “Answer me.”

“She…” He swallowed, a weakness that focused the other’s attention again as he tossed his massive expanse of ponytail over his shoulder, “… is my wife-to-be. I am to marry this woman. I have stolen her away to be my wife. All who hear me will know this to be true. I have chosen my wife! By rite, she is mine.” And even if he asserted himself boldly, he still pulled his voice back to mumble at her within, Sorry.

I understand, Chao…

Then there was nothing. No spluttering or bluster from the father, and nothing but defiance from the son. As she observed the man below them consider Chao’s words with the growing presence of fury about his from, she almost felt as if tinnitus began to ring in her ears. The sound grew however, cementing itself in her consciousness and affirming her of one thing.

Mana was growing on the air. She knew not it’s form, but she wouldn’t have to guess long.

Once again she observed the feat of magic so completely beyond anything she’d seen in her academic career. Even if you blinked you wouldn’t miss it, for it was defined by blinding yellow light and a sound that reeked of some sort of spell. Once again, she couldn’t digest the ability before the horse they had rode for so long made a pained whinny. Chao could do nothing to reign it in as it kicked up once, and then so quickly began to fall out from under them.

“Hold me!” Chao called out, but she was more than ahead of him. Clutching to him without even room for him to breathe, she didn’t even feel it when Chao repeated the same feats as his father to escape the falling animal. It was as if she was without thought, form, or feelings for just a moment, and then next she became aware of herself she was leaning on the man as he braced himself by his falling mount. Panicked, she drew her tense gaze upon their animal. The poor thing lay struggling, its throat sliced perfectly longways to let it bleed upon the dirt.

“Wuchao!” The animal murderer roared again, and Huan yelped when Chao elbowed her away to whip a pristinely shined gemstone jian from his boots. The clash of the two-handed greatsword and the more reasonably sized blade seemed to spark between the weapons and ignite a fire in both of them. And they’d do it over and over, clashing and clashing, faster than she could even see from the dusty ground.

Chao had so often downplayed his swordsmanship, but at first he held his own as squarely as she could comprehend. Every movement was fluid and graceful, even if he danced deathly with his own father. His weapon, however, seemed inadequate against the heft of ringed sword, and his balance was challenged with every parry and strike. He was losing posture and determination so quickly. Even she could see this. It was but seconds of a conflict, yet he already looked to be tiring.

“Chao!” She called out as a first instinct, yet her guttural scream might have been his undoing. Only so slightly, so slight that she almost didn’t notice, did he turn his head her way. The more experienced Bladesman took the inch and made it a mile. Her perception, her world of the last couple of days, crumbled into dust before her. Chao’s father ripped his blade diagonally upwards, and then the same motion mirrored itself as if his blade bent time in order to strike twice. In a flash of blue he near bisected his son up his front crossways. It would have sliced him into pieces if a second too late reaction hadn’t taken him backwards just enough.

And he looked at her. He was still in the process of looking to her when the blade tore through him. He was still looking to her when another one of those spells hit her ears, and a disgusting gagging left his throat. A throat near split in twain within a blink, the spray of red marred only by jade fire Chao somehow managed to conjure to the wound. He was bleeding more blood than she even thought he had in him, and it was all before they could lock eyes proper.

Yet still he locked eyes with her, his gaze pleading for something beyond anyone’s comprehension.

Without any trepidation, or consideration, she scrambled to her darling as he fell into a pile of pelts, squirming only to lay hands about his throat. She bundled him up into her knees, even if his bloody spurting and wild eyes seemed to communicate the pain that came with that. Though she wasn’t even of a mind to understand it, some strange green mana tried to knit his throat back up again before he lost himself to the injury. She still held his head to his shoulders as if he might lose it if she were to let go, regardless of his feats.

But before she could even think to do anything comforting, to talk to him or caress his bloodied face, something cold and sharp demanded her chin rise.

“Who are you?” The attacker snarled, “How dare you dishonour my name as you have, just in your very existence?”

She was numb. Fear, anger, confusion. Her arms felt like rubber around Chao’s shivering body, almost as if they too elastic to keep a hold of him. Her neck, however, wasn’t quite as flexible, and she definitely felt the bloodied blade nick her skin.

“I’m…” She began, but the pressure of the sword’s tip stopped her dead.

“It doesn’t matter.” For the first time, the father spoke in a voice not a scream. Standing there in his gold trimmed robes, with his bushy brow almost obscuring his eyes in shadows, he spoke in the most bassy, smooth condescension she had ever heard. He sounded like Chao. Sickeningly like him, “I am going to kill you, and I’ll feel no sympathy for your loss, woman. Whatever you’ve done to lead my student astray cannot be tolerated. I’ve lost a generation of time to this failure you coddle. May you marry each other in a bloody heap.”

It stirred up something within her, to hear such a threat with that voice. Though she’d like to say it robbed fear from her, she wouldn’t admit to being as strong of will as that. She wasn’t useless however. She hadn’t come here to die. She’d come to save a man from such a bastard. She couldn’t be killed so easily.

She was a mage. She’d trained years for this.

Before he could even attempt to plunge the blade into her throat, the rumble of mana began to course through her body. It flashed in her eyes like amber fireworks, ridding the deep brown from her irises. Though his reactions had been so keen against another swordsman, her attacker flinched as her long hair raced about her face in her fiery anguish. He wouldn’t get another chance to say anything. From nowhere seemingly his skin and clothes crumpled under invisible ropes, her telekinesis blinking in her vision like glistening twine in the sunlight. His arms, hands, legs, and chest. All of it felt the pressure of her mentalist’s might. She may not have been gifted with spoken telepathy, but her mind was stronger than any she’d ever challenged.

“My name is Shouhou Huan.” Her voice reverberated as if they were in some sort of hall, and her magic wrapped around him with enough force for something, somewhere, to crack in the man. Once again she heard the background noise of magic try to manifest in the Wuju Practitioner, but crippling pressure to his throat seemed to stop any incantation before it could fire, “And you are just as much of a monster as I was lead to believe. Striking down your own son, just because he won’t marry your chosen bride? How dare you?!”

She lifted his feet from the ground without even having to stand herself, just enough to hang him from a mana constructed noose. Within her magical binds he spluttered and fought for any freedom, but she didn’t relent. She wasn’t to be discarded. She could deal with this. Even if her reactions were woefully late, she thought for a moment when she heard Chao gurgle, she’d make up for it somehow, “What’s to say I don’t kill you instead, you bastard?” Tighter still, as tight as her skills would let her, and not even his cricking and cracking would have her relent, “Don’t try and take someone so important from me. In his flaws and all I love him! I’ll not stand for it. Not after I’ve come this far. Don’t even test me so! I’ll kill you.”

Tears erupted as she felt the weight of the man grow limp in her mind’s might, yet she was content to keep crushing him again and again. Her amber eyes burned through him as his gaze became distant, and her hair squirmed about her like deep brown tentacles all the more.

H… Huan. But a quiet voice broke her concentration, allowing the unconscious tyrant perhaps a moment to take a breath. She turned her head, and she couldn’t contain her wincing upon seeing how deeply Chao’s robes had been stained by his injuries. The sack of broken meat she’d been playing with crumpled to the floor then, without so much as a peep from it.

“Chao! I’m—“

--Don’t… kill him…

Her eyes were snuffed out like a candle, returning to their regular brown hue, and she crumpled upon the struggling Wuju Master. She clawed at his face with her free hand, yet his weight and his injuries ensured she would meet her forehead with his, and not his to hers.

“I’m sorry.” She cried, “Please be okay, Chao.”

He’s..?

“I don’t… I-I don’t…”

Blindfold him… Was Chao’s last instruction before his eyes began to roll, Just… Bind his eyes...

“Chao! Chao, don’t you dare.” But he was gone, despite her protests, “Chao please!” His breaths still bubbled red out his nose, but she could do nothing to rouse another peep from him, “Please… Someone help!”

It was amazing how quickly empowerment could fall into uselessness. In a frantic haze she managed to rip her eyes away from the dying man, and to her surprise she found a small gathering people. They were village folk with fear in their eyes, but that didn’t stop her from shrieking at them, “Please! For every Star in the Stars’ Damned Sky, please help me!”

Most did nothing to help. Most just backed off at her hysterics. At their defiance, all she mustered was a wail of sheer panic, clutching for every last inch of the man at her lap and caring not if she shared in his blood. Yet so blinded by the tears in her eyes, she did not see the steps of one man. She did not notice at first when he considered the barely moving body of the master of a mighty school, and she only caught his actions when he fastened a dirtied cloth to the limp head of the man. He curtly spoke before she could even cry gibberish at him, and she felt she’d never forget his bold booming,

“Pick Wuchao up if you can. Now. Just try and follow me. You may just be the best thing to happen to Wuju in over two centuries…”

While she was in no state to understand the gravity of his pronouncement, she headed his advice. Strength beyond her form heaved the man into her arms, and she stumbled her way towards the Wuju School.

[unholyhelbiglinked]

Grave Digger | Part Two

My boots crunched over the dead grass, frost beginning to coat the blades and freeze them over. The yard was silent, no cars having gone by. The wind blew, rustling the leaves that were already halfway through decay.

Boston Ivy wicked its way into every groove that it could fit, the dark green slowly decaying to a sickening red as it continued to spread. The leaves barely left any cement showing against the mausoleum, the material that was crumbled under the pressure of weathering.

"You know, for a groundskeeper, you don't take very good care of this place," Grace stated simply, not facing me. She had stood, walking away from me quickly in the dark corners of the yard. I followed mindlessly, not having anything else better to do.

I was wide awake, reeling from this girl and the taser that I had just fired off. It was gone now, and I had asked too many questions, according to Grace. She waved me along, dodging every marker as if she had plotted out this place a million times. Maybe she had.

"I'm not the groundskeeper."

"My bad, undertaker."

"I just dig."

She stopped suddenly, the fabric of her dark sweat-shirt soft against my chest as I ran into her. A rough ache moved through my shoulder as I let out a breath- her eyes flicking towards me as she clenched her jaw.

"That's an odd title to keep."

"You're not so normal yourself." I pointed out, rubbing my shoulder. "You're in a graveyard in the middle of the night with a pistol."

Grace cocked an eyebrow, a sly smile on her pink lips. She looked dark in the pale light of the moon. Her features shaded and blonde hair glowing harshly. Dirt continued to smear her jaw, her stance strong and alluring.

"And all you have is a shovel."

She had a point. One that kept me quiet. I didn't even have it with me now, it was locked in that damn shed. This woman could have pulled her gun at any moment, but she didn't. Not even when I sent electricity through her veins.

Grace started walking again, leaving me to stare at her for a few seconds before I followed too. She was walking towards the far end of the yard, where the older graves were. No one went over here anymore; the groundskeeper only stopping once or twice a month to trim the grass.

This end gave me an odd vibe, not something I can say I get often. I spent most of my nights here and the prospect of ghosts never got to me until we found ourselves amongst taller and thinner markers.

Most were unmarked, deaths from a war, or people they could never identify. Some were weathered bad enough to have the carvings washed away- forgotten and stained. A lot were smaller than most, jagged and sticking out of dead grass.

"Have you ever heard of Mercy Brown?" Grace asked me, pulling a flashlight from her back pocket.

"No, I don't think so?"

"The original vampire." Grace lifted her chin slightly, looking at me to gage my expression. I didn't have much of one. She didn't shock me at this point, her other hand still holding a loaded gun. One that she had fired off into a grave just minutes prior.

"I thought that was Dracula?" My eyebrow cocked.

She chuckled, a sweet sound. "Where do you think he got the idea, Mamrie?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I had never thought about it. I didn't' need to. None of this had anything to do with my day to day life. The only thing I had ever dealt with when it came to blood sucking demons was when my niece dragged me to the premier of twilight. Somehow I didn't think this was the same thing.

"Mercy Brown was a part of a huge family that all tragically died of consumption."

"Consumption?"

"You know, scarlet fever." Grace rolled her eyes. "coughing up blood, loss of appetite, pale skin; the whole nine yards. Come on, keep up."

"Right, sorry." I raised my hands in defeat as she stared at me dumbly "Why is this important? Did her whole family end up here?"

"Most of them." Grace said, biting her lip. "Mercy's mom and sister died before her. But by the time Mercy died, it was mid-winter. So, they buried her over there."

The girl lifted her chin towards the mausoleum. It loomed, locked and taken over by nature. She was right, no one cared about it anymore. Not enough to keep up with its appearance. Grace messed with the metal on the edge of the flashlight.

"Mercy's brother started to get sick, so it lead everyone to believe that someone in the Brown family was a vampire." She let out a sigh "They dug up Mary's mom and sister, but they were fine. Skeletons at this point considering they were buried during spring."

"Mercy wouldn't be," I wondered out loud, earning a nod from Grace. "It's like a freezer in there this time of year."

"Exactly, but that didn't stop them from cutting out her heart and burning it to ash. Ash that they made her brother drink." She swallowed roughly, clicking on the flashlight. I could barely make out the words that the haze of light created. A 'B' standing out against the rest of the limestone and cement.

"This is her?" I ignored the sour taste in my mouth, the thought of drinking ash had made my stomach churn, all of this seeming more like legend instead of truth. The old story that parents told their kids to keep them away from the cemetery.

"This is her brother, he died two months later." Grace shined the yellow orb of light over to the headstone further back than the rest. This one was different, overgrown like the stone building to our side, but somehow still standing. Something that looked like a wrought metal cage was fastened over the grave where a coffin would rest. "That is her."

"What the hell is that?" I asked, voice higher than it should be.

Grace simply shrugged, "They weren't convinced enough. They still thought an innocent little girl was causing all the illness in town. They couldn't stop that, but they did everything to stop Mercy from raising from her grave again."

I was silent for what seemed like a long time. It probably was, my stance frozen and eyes locked against the headstone that belonged to a little girl wracked with consumption. A girl that was privy to legend and false truths.

"Humans are so afraid of things that they can't see." Grace let out a sigh, breath clouding in front of her. "Almost like it was too hard to believe in the misfortune of one family ravaged by an illness. It's strange, don't you think?"

"Maybe they were all sick." I whispered, staring down at the grass that collected at the edge of the headstone, the blades greener than the rest of the grounds. "Illness makes people do crazy things."

She nodded, letting out a sigh as she dropped her hand to her side. The light caught our boots, both covered in thick mud and stray grass. I chose to focus on that instead of the cold feeling that crept across my spine and down my arms. I had forgotten about the piston she held, or the fact that she had been digging up graves in the middle of the night for a few moments.

"You never answered my question," I sniffed, staring up at her. My nose was numb and raw from the cold biting constantly and unquestionably at it. "Why are you in my graveyard?"

Grace scoffed, shaking her head as her deep coffee gaze moved up to mine. "Mamrie, it's not yours. It's the towns. It always has been."

"Fair enough," I said quietly, the silence of the night beginning to get to me. Crickets didn't even chirp, the whole area quiet and eerie. I was with a complete stranger, one that had an affinity for the past. "That doesn't answer my question, though. Why were you digging up that grave?"

"Because it's impolite to make mother wait." The blonde spoke in a condescending tone. Her words a bit darker than the rest of her personality had been for the night. She showed an air of calm, a cooling one that made her seem trusting- despite all of the red flags of her presence.

"I'm sorry, what?" I raised both of my eyebrows, fear suddenly finding a way to warm my veins and color my cheeks.

Grace wasn't staring at me now, her eyes trained on something in the distance as she dropped her gaze to the floor- almost like all of this was too hard for even her to comprehend. I glanced back; mouth like sandpaper and stomach like ice.

The scent of dirt and decay was thick in my lungs, making me want to gag; to vomit. But I couldn't. Not here, not in the middle of this graveyard with a perfect stranger and something that I couldn't comprehend.

"I told you not to ask any questions, Mamrie," Grace spoke, almost with sadness in her voice. "I quite like you. Your sense of humor is a nice break from what this place usually carries."

I stared motionless at her for a few moments. She was flawless. Everything about her drawing me in and pushing me away at the same time. The type of person who could get what they want by playing an innocent game with deadly consequences.

"You're her." I choked out, ignoring the footfalls behind me. Nothing I could do would stop this- any of this. I was cornered, two to one. "You're Mercy's sister. The one that died before her... how..."

She licked her lips, wetting them in a way. They were chapped and dried out, her head cocking to the side as she let out a long sigh; Again creating a string of condensation that poked out against the night sky.

Grace stepped closer, a copper-like scent filling my lungs. Almost like musk, but more feminine. Dirt, maybe. Something that made my throat tighten and stomach clench among the rest of the pain that I was feeling.

"Mamrie, the thing about humans that I never understood was their willingness to forget." She said, breath hot against my neck as my own shook. "They remember the mystery of allurement and the offer of immortality, but never those who suffer through it."

Her fingers were cold against the edge of my face, gentle as she brushed hair away from my red rimmed eyes. I was frozen in fear, in curiosity and pure lust. I knew nothing of this girl, but somehow knew enough to tell that she was truthful.

"Fear is a powerful thing," Grace whispered, "It often blinds people into thinking that trust is the only answer."

[burstbombbitch]

don't chase the rabbit >:0

      Don’t chase the rabbit. || ⚜       please do n’t send more right now lmfao

      ❝Step aside.❞

He laughed at his own joke; she couldn’t, could she? Not with her hands around his, desperately prying at the grip he had on her face.

Blinded by the palm pressed against her visage, and ensnared by the digits that dug deeply into her head, Bon’s teeth—ineffectively snapping at what flesh she could try to get at—do nothing more than become a gritted scowl.

Through his fingers, she could see her team being wiped. She could hear her heart plummeting into the depths of her being. This wasn’t anything new, but like this brutish Inkling, it still held her with a cold, harsh grip. The taut grasp on his hand weakens as resolve bleeds out her veins. The shine of the rainmaker advancing garnered a breathy sigh of despair, and the fight in her finally fails, her hands falling to her side.

❝Fuck you,❞ she wheezed. Who knew that those were the magic words for her descent? Contact was relatively rough, and no amount of clenched teeth could withhold the shrill screech of a damaged nose. With his hand now on the back of her head, pressing her face into the edge of Mahi-Mahi’s land, the little pinkling got a bountiful view of her leakage. Oh, oh, that was a lot of ink… Desperate peripherals acknowledged the nasty smile that spread this squid’s lips from ear to ear. Her team wasn’t coming. No one was; they had to defend the pedestal. If one could call their pitiful, three-person beat-down a defense.

      ❝Something tells me you’re too young for that kinda language, brat.❞

      ❝’m here, aren’t I? Old ‘nough. S-So… Play fair!❞

      ❝You just proved my point.❞

He didn’t do her the justice of raising her head from the ground. She’d have to do that for herself while he pulled her tentacles closer to the water-logged edge.

      ❝Let me clean up your act.❞

She held her breath. Rightfully so. Tightly closed eyes still felt the pressure of sifting waters knocking along her cranium. The ink of her running nose faded into obscurity with the liquid’s cleansing properties. Rolling bubbles danced atop the broken surface tension, exacerbated by her inability to retain air. Only when the oxygen pockets would halt did he relent, yanking her out of the wet clutches of her demise. Instinctively, her mouth flies open, gasps sufficing in her desperate gathering of air. Upon seeing her go for gulps, the inkling plummets her back into the shimmering water. ❝Now, now,❞ he laughed. ❝I didn’t say you could do that! What if you were to be nasty to me again? That’d hurt my feelings.❞

His habit of pulling her out right when her struggle relented was tiresome. She would’ve preferred a graceful splat. The next two dips were given significantly less fight, and his boredom was evident when he yanks her out for the second-to-last time.

      ❝You’re pretty quiet now, squiddo.❞

Tired eyes, lacking their usual light, merely gaze through him. The most she can garner is hocking up a glob of her ink, only to spit it directly into his eye. Her quivering, shivering chest and frame couldn’t handle any more liquid. Just splat her already. And judging by the way a new fire illuminated the horizon of his face, it was coming soon.

Whatever he was saying… whatever unremitting castigation she was to endure, she couldn’t comprehend. The only thing blurrier than her eyesight was her ears. Everything sounded… unusually waterlogged. She could hear the liquid still sloshing about, drowning her every thought. Even when he shook her, demanding her attention, she couldn’t relinquish such a waning currency. Wary eyes drifted to a complete close, flickering open every now and then, before clarity rashly smacked her into consciousness for a second longer.

      ❝Guess we’re done here. Don’t let me catch you sneaking in here again, squib.❞

Weightlessly, her body was launched into the shimmering teal liquid of the resort. She hardly put up a fight. Her soul left her easily as the referee ended the match with the fish on the pedestal.

      How many years had it been since that fateful day? It felt all so recent, albeit her brain was the culprit for that. That memory, those feelings, her hatred… it flooded her like the water she had been tossed into.

Amidst the idle conversation of competitors, her brows lower in their eerie tranquility. Out went the lights that defined her pupils. Slowly, her own misery lacerates a small opening betwixt her lips. Nia’s jubilant chuckles preceded a few pats along her shoulder. Speech bounced off her ears, the reminiscent liquid choking their only entry points.

      ❝Oh, you’ve played with Bonbon before?❞

      ❝Holy—yeah, ha ha. I did. She might not remember me; she looked like she just managed her human form then. Woo. She actually S+ now?❞

      ❝Yeah, dude. C'mon! She’s older than that, y'know! Isn’t that right, Bonnie?❞

Laughter was hard to parse, even when the chill of her friend’s chortles usually calmed her. All she could hear was his, and time had hardly molded his pitch into anything more than a turbulent storm. Her smile was motionless. Nia’s face folded tightly in her doubt. Narrowed eyes questioned Bonbon’s stability, but the signal for their dispersal resounded abruptly. Time for them to get ready.

Roll-out was normal. Rush to the center of Kelp Dome, as always. Jump on the Zone. Bonbon and Nia assisted one another, while the fellow twin squad went their separate ways. Once enough lines were made for Nia’s advance, Bon took her leave… into the enemy base. Squints of skepticism tightened the Carbon’s face. Her feelings of dismay didn’t leave her, but she would have to trust that Bon knew what she was doing. It would be strange to fight without her assistance, but… she would make due. Away she went.

The looming threat of a Charger slinking into enemy territory was disregarded with ease. The enemy team’s rationale was sound—if they didn’t see the E-Liter on its perch, it was safe to say they were down. Why would they ever attempt to flank in such a risky map, where the only good perch they could take was always in enemy sight? Accounting for the more unusual cases was more effort than need be.

It was dreadfully unfortunate that, for once, such caution would have been appreciated.

Patience was a virtue she was always proud to harbor, for it always came to fruition no matter the circumstance. Squid after squid, respawn after respawn, her team did efficiently without her. She was not splatting anyone—something that she’d surely have to apologize for in the long run—but Nia was always good with locking people out once she was set up. She knew her darling well.

Self-restraint rewarded itself with a glimpse of her target. As he was falling from the ledge of spawn, she stepped forward. For a moment, he merely batted an eye, mistaking her in his haste for their own charger, but the contact of a gas tank along his cranium was enough to garner second thoughts.

The splash of his collapse into his own ink went unheard, overlapped by the disheveling sound of blunt force trauma. He could feel his skull shivering from the blow. A struggling arm shakily bolstered his weight, legs sprawled out before him as a bowed head underwent fervid rubs.

      ❝H-Hey, man, what’re you—hold up. You’re not—❞

From this angle, her shadow engulfed his slumped person, extended only by the weapon being incorrectly held up high by the barrel.

      ❝I do remember you. Oh, my love, how could I ever forget.❞

Wide eyes took in a gaze that easily beat his through sheer loathing alone. Quickly, he curls into himself, protecting his head from more hits. Thankful was he, if only because her target was more general—she whacked away at the center of his being, further disheveling a queasy stomach. Oh, how melodious his cries were! T’was like the gentle brush of practiced fingers down the keys of a piano. Perhaps, if she could ponder a song, she could align his torment into a harmony. She loved a good hymn, after all.

So then why? Why was her baton stopped prematurely? She was not done conducting, even if the squid she drummed upon had long become quiet and unresponsive.

Her body, rigid and tense, retains its inflexibility as her head nigh creaks to gaze at the interloper.

—Nia.

     ❝Bonbon, what… what are you doing? I’ve been—❞

Narrowed eyes interrogate the flickering stars they gazed into. Black fought against white, aptly appearing like… static. Even the radio silence she received was reminiscent of a screen devoid of broadcast. Furrowed brows lightened up in their shock, similar to her grip on the tank of the E-Liter. In that moment, the beast turned back, preparing another swing on their foe. Nia proved, as always, to be faster to the draw with her Carbon.

Up rose the enemy squid’s soul. He’d be back. Refreshed from his agony, albeit the memory that it accompanied was not one to be displaced. A sigh of relief contrasted deeply with Bon’s guttural growl. Nia would get to her feet, turning to placate her friend, only to gasp as a swing is hastily dodged. Clarification that they were on the same team did nothing—the sniper seemed dead set on taking another blow out on someone else.

Her Carbon becomes, for the first time, a defensive tool. A few swings aimed for her head are deflected by the roller, until the last attempt ends in the charger finally being launched from Bon’s hands. That alone doesn’t seem to hinder the onslaught, for the monster leaps at her with both hands outstretched.

All Nia does is raise her arms defensively, her face scrunching up in anticipation, but no contact is made. Slowly, eyes that clenched in preparation open, watching as two referees pinned the rabid Inkling down by her arms. Nia’s breathing is deep, her chest heaving to its maximum incline compared to Bon’s faster inhalations, accompanied by loud wheezes and hisses. The only thing to describe the display… was animalistic. It was unrefined, a word she’d never think would go in conjunction with the prissy princess. And yet, there she was, baring fangs whilst struggling in their grip with all of her might. A third referee intervenes upon request when it comes to light that even her petite form required another hold on her feet.

Amidst her gurgled screams were choked laughs and sobs. Their pitch was eerily high, unlike her natural titters, and frequently interrupted by more hasty huffs. Streaks of black melted down her ‘mask’, trailing her round cheeks and soiling the static-heavy lights of her bio-luminescence. The ink that coated her gear was not from the way they bodily brought her to the ground, but the actions that she had partook in moments before her demise. Nia’s eyes fell to a close, turning her head away as they escorted the child off the field. Her lip undergoes a light gnawing treatment as the other contestants make their way over to where the incident took place.

Their inquiries go unanswered. It was impossible to convey what she herself hardly understood.