#for sure in retribution and towards the end the white hair she had originally as a special directive regene shows through?

[thedeadthree]

IOVANNA DAYNE, hotd 🔮 | CALLA TARGARYEN, hotd 🌞

OLGA LITVINCHUCK, tlou⚕️| IRYNA PASTERNAK, tlou 💀

MARTA CHAYKOVSKI, fhr 🕸 | UNA ULLER, hotd 🐍

IRINA RURIK, vtm 🥀 | NYNANE SELWYN, vtm 🩸

TAGGED BY the darlings @morvaris, @leviiackrman, @detectivelokis, @corvosattano, @confidentandgood, @shadowglens, @nightbloodraelle to make the dears in this picrew! ty so much! <3

TAGGING: @risingsh0t, @feystepped, @griffin-wood, @kingsroad, @jendoe, @phillipsgraves, @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @denerims, @marivenah, @florbelles, @arklay, @unholymilf, @adelaidedrubman, @aartyom, @roofgeese, @nuclearstorms, @noonfaerie, @shellibisshe, @girlbosselrond, @fragilestorm, @yennas, @leondaltons, @malefiicarum, @anoras, @minaharkers, @loriane-elmuerto, @jacobseed and you!

[waywardsculs-a2]

Love and Wrath ,  Unified

A continuation from @celestialfcllen ‘s drabble, please read that first before this one if you haven't already!

The deal  had been one Lilith,  originally,  knew little of.  She left much to Lucifer when dealing with those from Heaven,  the  anger  she held toward them for casting the pair into the depths of Hell only growing with every day that passed,  but when he’d come to  her  eons later and spoke of revenge for the exterminations?

        Lilith was positively  delighted  .

Oh,  how she had longed for revenge,  worked to strengthen herself,  their people,  their daughter  for the day where they would finally enact a true rebellion against those that shunned them.  The  moment  Adam had aimed for Charlie,  he had sealed the fate of all those that stood beyond Seraphiel’s golden gates.  None who stood in their path would be spared now .

Unlike her husband,  however,  Lilith had to bide her time.  He,  despite the burns of Heaven’s holy magic upon his now cursed form,  was to be the vanguard,  to  destroy  what had once hoped to keep them at bay with the same power that their very God  -  their  creator  -  had gifted unto Lucifer in the time of beginning.  That same power was to be their downfall …  How  poetic ,  she thought to herself,  but now was not the time for idle musings.

The screams of the so - called  holy  were like music to Lilith’s ears in that moment,  the exhilarating rush of wind that whipped long hair behind her as the very streets before her were upheaved.  Slowly,  calmly,  she alone followed along in Lucifer’s wake,  the only being able to share in a  fraction  of his power to defy the most holy grounds and walk upon lands that should have destroyed her.

        This was why she had been gone for seven years .

Those that thought themselves able to flee from Lucifer’s wrath would only find themselves captured by tendrils of pure darkness,  monstrous serpents of black magic and shadow snatching angels from the very sky they’d once called home at the behest of none other than Lilith herself.  But where would the  fun  be if they were gifted a painless parting?  Adam and his exorcists had denied something so basic to the denizens of Hell …  And it was time she made sure  all of Heaven  felt the ramifications for allowing that boorish oaf of a man even a sliver of power.

Pure white tail slowly swayed from side to side behind her,  snake’s head at the end releasing a low,  dangerous  hiss  as two pairs of large bat - like wings sprouted from her back,  a single flap lifting her from broken pavement to dart through the air only for clawed hand to close around the throat of a foolhardy exorcist that had thought they could sneak behind her husband.  The roars of Razzle and Dazzle as they soared through the skies,  screams of the  holy  souls,  crackling of growing fires and crumbling of buildings …  Oh,  what a  sweet  symphony it was to one that had so sorely  craved  this self - delivered retribution.  Surely her husband could feel the way her very soul  sang out  in joy.

Ah,  but she  did  have the little pest to handle,  didn’t she?  Trivial.  Glowing crimson eyes didn’t even bother turning toward the angel that struggled and attempted to claw her way free,  angelic spear long gone.  Instead their wings were  torn  from their back,  discarded like unwanted garbage in a spray of feathers and golden ichor before she was thrown high  -  directly into the waiting mouth of Razzle to devour.  A little snack to keep his energy up,  of course.

With a growl of her own rumbling from deep within her chest,  guttural,  bestial  in nature,  Lilith’s usual elegance was cast aside in favour of a vicious,  bloodthirsty  killing machine,  darting through the air at breakneck speeds to handle any stragglers that managed to somehow avoid Lucifer’s wrath. 

Every so often a dark tendril would swat away an angel,  a weapon,  whatever  might have attempted to so much as harm a single hair upon Lucifer’s head.  He  hardly needed her protection,  but every movement,  every step the pair took almost made it seem like they were amidst their own deadly dance,  dipping and weaving in perfect harmony with one another to create a maelstrom of pure carnage.

        They were the epitome of fear,  of destruction,  of Hellish rebuke.

Amidst her revelry in the sight of so many bodies still among once holy streets,  however,  it seemed Lilith had become almost complacent.  Just as another life was stamped out by her hand did an ear - piercing scream come from directly behind the Hellish Queen,  yet not even a drop of blood found her body,  only the sound of crushing bone and tearing flesh to tell her that Lucifer had seen to her safety.

Lips lifted into a positively  enamored  smile,  ichor - drenched claws reaching forth to brush along his jaw with only the utmost reverence as,  in the very heart of their upheaval,  lips met his.  She could  taste  the mixture of blood,  of brimstone,  mixed with the promise that they would both return to their daughter safely once revenge had been exacted,  and all of it only  empowered  her further.

From that moment on what had felt like a game to her became nothing more than mere child's play.  The pair needed no words,  no signals,  only instinct .  All of Hell would see as their King and Queen rained down punishment  -  returned in kind that which had been  forced  onto the Sinners and came so dangerously close to venturing beyond.  Eons of rage that had been left to  boil  within Lilith in particular was finally allowed to overflow,  to  drown  those that thought their hypocrisy so righteous,  and by the end?

Hell’s Queen was  elated  .  The Cherubim,  the Seraphim,  the Primordials,  none that could have perhaps hoped to cease the slaughter had shown their faces,  their God still missing from His throne …  It was utterly  perfect  .

And so as she finally landed upon razed once holy ground once more Lilith all but draped herself about Lucifer’s shoulders,  caring little of the golden viscera that surrounded them,  the blood of the angels that soiled their clothing.  Instead she gave him that love - laden smile once more,  thoroughly satisfied with their vengeance  -  for the moment  .  

     “ Shall we return to our home ,  my King ?  I believe now they understand … Their exorcisms have only just begun ~ ”

[chatadile2]

Hi! Would you be willing to share anything more about your sidestep? 👀 no pressure, of course, but I’d love to hear more about them!

Hihi, yee don't mind don't mind, thank you for the ask and the interest in her!

One thing before I do tho, that this might change later on mattering from how the next 2 books will be when they come out (not like I'm gonna really remember my choices, so probably will replay and deviate from how I did originally in most things), but overall it shouldn't really, just wanna let my Sidestep actually have a happy life after what happened and be able to heal <:D

Also this is going to be long from what I have written so far, way more than I expected, but hope it's alr :D

(It probably has spoilers in there, but tried to not say too much to make sure anyone reading won't be getting the full picture, till they get there. Also edited it, so it has a cut, cause realised that it might take up more space in searches than I want it to)

-Her name is Tiaxy Draconic (based on my sona since I like to have her in any kind of interactive book story to see what can happen with her and to enjoy the story a bit more personally), a gal with white skin, longer braided blond hair and green eyes, who is a seasoned tech-savy tactician, that becomes very conflicted by the events retribution towards her own self, her villain persona, puppet, life and emotions overall making things more complicated than ever,

-Big sweet toothed telepath, favourite sweet specifically is cheescake!

-Her villain name is Tiamat, based on the goddess and looks somewhat like what they designed for her in the game Smite (Overall my sona herself is connected in a way to the goddess in her own lore outside of the books, so seemed most fitting to make it her villain self's armor), but made to fit the story a bit better, other than with the armor having an expressive face on the helmet, which can show her emotions well enough when she wants it to that can be controlled with cams inside the head aimed at her face and with through the ui. The armor itself wouldn't be exactly like the book describes, being apart, but together, like the power armor in fallout (much more to my liking for what I'm imagining an armor of hers is). It's in the terrifying category with speed, jet boost and telepathy enhancing, helping to keep the "no hit record" alive and well enough that she only got hit majorly once, she isn't planning to get hit majorly anymore even if the armor can take it,

-Main motivation as a villain is justice and truth on the other side and she is an anarchist in the 1st playthrough, mattering from which I like, might switch to another (not really into the politics, but doesn't mean I didn't like punting a guy in one of the later missions tho),

-Her base is an abandoned office building (or whatever it was, can't remember the exact name atm), she refurbished it enough to live there, making sure her armor is close enough by for easy access, old apartment wasn't bad though, she lived well enough, manipulating rich peeps to give her their money, funding her life easily, puppet stayed above the apartment after she moved though,

-As a villain, she isn't trying to kill anyone, atleast any civilians (anyone else will get punted if they are in the way), knows they aren't the problem and tries to show the truth to them and to overall everyone, trying to plant doupt where it needs to be present, even if it's naive at that time, her goals are overall heroic rather than villanious,

-She might pretend a lot, masking as she had always done in fear of being seen and recognised, she is trying/starting to be more positive and genuine towards the end, not by much, but it's way bigger difference then in rebirth with her being very antisocial, it might bite her later though, like before, but hopefully can get out of trouble in the next books,

-Says she doesn't want to keep her friends, yet does, doesn't wanna interact with them, yet does and runs into them by accident a lot, doesn't want to love anyone, yet again does and says things she says she didn't actually want and why did she even do so, for example, she agreed to get together with Herald when she didn't exactly plan to, surpising even her own self and ofc making Herald very happy (he is too much of a positive influence on her, both physical and mental, and she couldn't say no, even tho she thinks she wanted to, she didn't, she can't deny it >:]),

-She overall knows something is wrong with her, broken (literally, yknow yknow when), and instead of keeping the destructive habits, tries to get herself together proper and tries to heal, as well as her own self allows and is able of course, and even tries to accept herself somewhat even if it's very hard, she agreed to see the therapist too by Ortega's wishes and recommendation in rebirth and didn't push them away too much in retri, didn't reveal too much either, but wasn't overall hostile, so didn't really regret it that much compared to when she agreed to it and said it helped some,

-Nightmares are still plenty regardless of change (which I hope will change later and she actually can get sleep, cause my god she needs it, every sidestep needs to have a good night sleep),

-As mentioned, she is starting to accept herself, so she is starting to use her puppet a bit less after 2 years and deciding to start going by herself more to wherever she needs to be or mainly in armor rather most of the time though,

-Speaking of the puppet, his name is Jake a white skinned, green eyed, black and green wild haired guy, who got together with Ortega in rebirth and are eternally flirting in retri, which is still the case by the end,

-Puppet met Ortega while boxing, getting some emotions out, they train whenever they can,

-As herself, she became Herald's coach, which was the extent she wanted the connection be, but things took a turn for possibly better than expected,

-Became even more friendly friends by retri with Steel, Ortega, Herald (ofc, who wouldn't) and Mortum through her puppet (broke my heart through the first playthrough tho of retri when Tia gave him the gun as herself and decided it's as good as of a time to tell him something very important [I never regretted anything more in my life, physical and mental damage irl that I didn't think was possible ;-;], hoping tho that it won't bite me later and actually be agood thing),

-Since she unintentionally (def intentionally, even if she doesn't realise) got closer with most of the rangers (other than Argent, they are netrual since rebirth), they all noticed something up with her and always ask "are you okay?", which she at the 4th time was like "why is everyone keep asking me this???", which was honestly pretty funny, getting asked so many times if she is, ofc she isn't, but she won't gonna say it just yet (she did admit it a bit though, with Ortega in rebirth, he did recommend the therapist for a reason),

-Spoon is still the best thing that happened interms of animal interactions, she enjoyed her time with Steel there a ton,

-Would absolutelly be a cat person, if she didn't know better, wouldn't mind a dog either (she needs a therapy dog by the end, I swear, hoping and praying here [even if that doesn't happen, rat king might be better for that purpose for Sidestep specifically]),

-Other than the rangers and a select few, she isn't fond of people regardless of how much change she goes through, that won't change, antisocial all the wayyy babbbyyyy other than friends ofc,

-Compared to rebirth, she calmed down a lot more from the high of her villain self's deput, still that doesn't mean she isn't excited to go and be the villain whenever the time comes, that's still exciting regardless, but that doesn't mean she doesn't have her doubts about wether or not it is truly the right path she decided upon after everything,

-Likes rainy days and water overall. Likes to just watch rainfall from her room, esp likes it when it pours. It's somehow pretty terapeutic just watching and listening to the rain fall. Whenever she is able, she does go to the beach to listen to the waves,

-Likes to wear an almost fully black coat, which is just a very dark shade of blue, likes the fact it is long and almost reach the ground, under it a light blue shirt, with long dark purple pants and formal-ish shoes that are made to make sure she can walk on wet and otherwise problematic surfaces without any trouble, and she wears white gloves.

And I think that's it atm, can't remember more from the top of my head and I think this is plenty for now anyways, I wrote down a lot more than I expected to have! Hopefully this can give a bit more inside into my darling Sidestep, since I'm an artist, I might even draw them depending on if I can stick with what I'm drawing and not just put it on the shelf for later, yknow yknow gjjfj.

Again, thank you for the interest in my gal! If you have anymore questions about her that are more specific and not answered here, just lmk! I don't mind talking about it and aswering, I rather enjoy doing so :]

[purple-compromise]

[A fun BLU Specialist-centric fic submitted by @taytay4674788 Thank you so, so much for sharing this!! 💜]

Yeah this took a while between tumblr being weird with glitches and going back and forth with support on unresolved issues since October. But I think I found a temporary way to submit stuff to you at least at the moment ( at least 8 pages of fic in google docs).

I originally wanted to do a double take moment via a dream but it didn’t make much sense to do so with red spesh(and that’s going to be with a different character instead ;) )… So I ended up doing an eight page half character study half second half story with Blu spesh instead, as I enjoy making characters suffer having them question their own morals! It might be Ooc for both blu med(to be fair blu med would likely relish in torture in you wronged him or to send a message, especially if it’s from the enemy team) and blu spesh but I’d love to hear thoughts anyway since it’s been nearly a solid year since my last actual fic, on top of the fact that this is my first reader fic and first time writing the mercs. There is a part one to this fic, I just held it off since I had better flow with this one and I’m still trying to figure out dialogue, characterization and a few other details so the period of time is intentionally vague so it can act as a stand alone.All I know is that it takes place after chapter 31 in TIWWAN, and this is on the in-game Badlands control point map, not Teufort, not the overall arching map of The Badlands.

Very important distinction.

_______________

You aren’t a bad person for taking this job. You knew that you’d get money,good money. Highest pay rate than anywhere in this backwater wasteland to send back home and still have enough to indulge into cigarettes daily from the dinky corner store in town.

So should it disturb you as much as it really should?

You kill each other out on the field every day, with most of the time the Red bastards push through to capture a point. So really it should be an equal retribution in all things considered. She kills you, you kill her. It’s all equal in the circle of life in a private war funded by cash that even the IRS wouldn’t shy an eye away from collecting all of it if it weren’t for Miss Pauling. You may have been the family disappointment to drop out of college, but you’re sure as hell that you’re not letting your sister do so. She has viable dreams to chase, well you, just need a little more time to figure it out.

Flicking open the nice red and white packaging of your care unit of cigarettes into your crisp uniform pocket of your assigned blue uniform, hair neatly tucked and out of the way. Counting under your breath the fresh cigarettes left in your case; you’ll be going to town this weekend to get some more. You’ve been saving the ones Spy has acquired for you, towards .. a later occasion, for when it really matters. For now, the ones from the corner store are going to suffice, even if it just tastes like chemically processed tobacco.

Your boots, a bit dusty from today’s scrimmage against those Red team bastards, click gently against the quiet blue dirt stained concrete. Making your way out through the hall passing cold steel to have a quiet smoke, the hum of electricity droning a bit too loudly in your ears for your taste. Maybe staring up at the stars for a bit if it isn’t cloudy again tonight. Sometimes it brings peace when you can’t listen to rerun broadcasts of Earplay on the radio that Engineer built for your team, that is when you could get more than the two stations Tuefort has and.. When you’re in the mood.. For that sort of.. Media. Yet, it’s a bit of romance and entertainment you needed while waiting for The Firesign Theatre to release their latest album of dramas.

Art keeps you human, on a fragile equilibrium from diving into the pure insanity that is your team. Being paid to kill humans, who well, keep reviving through technology that most would strive to get their hands on to achieve immortality. It can be a nasty sentiment that you don’t like to think about when it crawls up. How humans with bonds can and will destroy each other over the smallest discrepancies out of greed.

The uncanny valley isn't a physical place, only one of the mind. Diving straight into your soul. To unsettle yourself from the basic facts of life.. At least.. As you know them.

Does it unsettle you, walking past the infirmary in the evening, peeking through the infirmary double doors carelessly left open as if it was an actual medical emergency. It probably would’ve been, if the ones screaming bloody murder weren’t .. feminine screams, ones that match your own after taking a buckshot to the back. To witness a struggle between your team's medic and a visage of yourself trying to fend back clearly being overpowered from experimental medicine. Her blood, iron instead of standard antiseptic, attacking your senses. Nearly being able to taste it despite it being scattered on the floor and not on your hands this time. A mess against the contrast of the lack of life in the sterile halls collecting dust and oil. Fluorescent lights screaming out with a buzz with an underlying static tone against your heart rate. One needle that you can tell, already sticking out from her dominant arm, it’s different from the standard syringes your medic uses while in battle. Then again he’s mentioned offhand about a crossbow type weapon that he’s been gloating in development as of late, at least whenever you had an issue that a cigarette couldn't solve. His blue scheme of a lab coat is disrupted by large splotches of crimson soaking into the material on his shoulder, while she is struggling to keep awake. Grimacing on her face definitely indicates that something more than–

“Fräulein!-”

The loud slamming of metal trays holding medical instruments against the concrete floor in an escape attempt off the gurney forces you to jump back in a bit of pain and out of sightline. The sudden loudness to look away from the sight, forcing you out of your thoughts to cower, covering your ears. Gunshots are one thing, metal on concrete is probably worse. Oh definitely you’re going to get her on the battlefield for that one.

For only a moment that you consider that maybe he has one shred of decency in him. He rarely, if never takes a charity case on the field, especially for the enemy team. Perhaps that there’s actually a moral compass in there somewhere; trying to maybe preserve her life from whatever injuries—

Smack!

The sickening short sound echoing out of the infirmary reverberates against your heart. Shouts of insulting degradation, an unnatural sounding crack resulting in a sharp feminine cry of pain shortly following his remarks. Something you aren’t accustomed to outside of combat, especially not coming from yourself.

A quiet sigh further reinforces your gut judgment of character into actual fact of life about your medic. Not surprising in the slightest. Blue is not a calming color on this team, regardless of what literary analysis says.

Glancing back in as your team’s medic degrades your red counterpart, her coat’s thrown across the floor soaking up drying blood. No sign of visible weaponry as far as you could tell between the scuffling. You don’t know a lick of German, and don’t care to learn, but his expression reads of one who clearly has the upper hand in this fight as far as you can tell. His weight shifts quickly to keep her pinned down with one arm as she still flails to get him off. She is rightfully terrified, attempting to calculate another escape route struggling against the gurney, not seeing a needle sedative of some sort ready to inject into her flesh; hiding behind his back presumably grabbing from one of the smaller trays not immediately by the gurney. Only for your counterpart to use any means of what’s left functioning to get away from him, grasping at the restraints to undo them one handedly. Really the only time you could sympathize with her. If you could help her, you would. Her death is on the battlefield, not one on one with your medic who breaks femurs for amusement. As of now, you can only offer pity.

He’s absolutely playing god for his own benefit, and dialing it up beyond 10. Evidently in the vindictive smile he wears as his blue gloved hand wrapped around her throat. Relishing in her distorted chokes, her body still convulsing to fight his grip. Probably leaving a bruise if she doesn’t get sent through respawn first. Her distress is that his other hand is probably touching open wounds, likely in retaliation of some sort.

It’s something you’ve known all along, nor does it surprise you by any means. However, a human trained in pharmaceuticals to lose their shit on a patient who’s at a current physical disadvantage.. And torturing them in a way to send a message, seeking vengeance outside of the battlefield, leaves a distaste in your mouth.

It furthers your questioning of how your own medic sees you. You already knew that he sees you as a sack of organs waiting to be mixed and matched into a chimera abomination. A chill courses down into your spine in a pale realization.

Who’s to stop him from treating you the same way he does her? A paycheck?

You need a cigarette.

You don’t think that you’re a bad person, the medic on your team would absolutely flip your organs around like a 1,000 piece puzzle, pushing the limit of functioning. Interfering with his latest vanity project of immortality, is not worth being under the knife instead of your counterpart. That’s a fight between him and his counterpart for data, not you to be a martyr for someone who knew what she signed up for. Shrieks and swears threaten to distract you from your internal justifications once again.

It hits you, she’s been able to beat you down on the field before and has most definitely sent you straight back to respawn before. She should be able to defeat this man single handedly by all things considered in terms of adrenaline strength, you think. Briefly glossing over that Engineer had stayed back to test out a prototype of a sentry model and a few other machines outside. Mentioned it back at dinner a couple nights back about improving positioning and range, recalling that conversation in your mind. But even then, a normal sentry hasn’t completely taken her down with her shield without an übercharge, it at least hasn’t with your own shield by any means when you’re paying attention and not getting shot at from their loudmouth Scout. For now, you stare back to the corkboard filled with notes neatly laying on beige and blue paint on the walls. Looking for a rationalized answer, as if the corkboard of past events and reminders would just give it to you.

Memory flickers back from earlier before shift, Medic mentioning about a crossbow weapon in development. Something about needing a longer range, in order to focus on building über to take out the Red team, truly you have a tendency to tune out the bastard most of the time. Really it wouldn’t surprise you if it was really an excuse for him to just build über with Heavy. He’d probably stick that Medigun of his right up Heavy's ass if he physically could with how he doesn’t heal much of anyone else on his own team, except at the beginning of the match. Your eyes slowly search back into the blast of fluorescents, she still wriggling under his touch, an animal trying to gnaw off its leg caught in a trap to escape.

She probably would’ve struck equal if the ever increasing mass of needles, at least one that you’re guessing is a numbing agent, weren't stuck in her dominant arm. Only one of them you recognize from surgery, the others just look indistinguishable from his syringe gun but its size forces you to swallow down spit in your dry throat. Her fingers are trying to feel for something as the metal doesn’t feel crisp, spitting at your medic in disgust. Mentioning something about adjusting the contents of whatever he shot her with, the nut case being overwhelmingly gleeful about it too. Her, while you give her credit for being a fighter, slowly keeps searching to leverage against. Anything to try and gain an advantage.

Her eyes, realizing you are still staring into a macabre mirror of horror, locking into yours, silently pleading to you for a swift death. Something to get out of his hands. The air drops into a cold you haven’t felt in sometime, as all you could do was stare back at her. Reaching out if her closest arm wasn’t restrained down against the gurney, minimally in spirit. At least for a moment, before a natural response averts the moment into one of resistance from instruments of surgery to shredding flesh.

Is it wrong to outright deny mercy in a power imbalance to your enemy who is clearly begging for it?

Would she grant that same mercy to you?

The flashes of her pleading for death on a doctor's gurney in your mind, processing the unnaturality of it. Not that you fight her everyday over god knows what, or that she’s in surgery, the contrast of red outside the battlefield is supposed to be the remnants of blood medic should be cleaning up. Not dissecting a patient from the enemy team after hours.

For you to imagine intervening and putting a bullet between her eyes out of mercy has a different moment of surrealism. Yes you’ve insulted, spat on, kicked, trampled over her corpse, and probably broke her nose with more force than necessary more than a few times during work hours.. you.. easily forget when indulging in victory when the final bell rings at 3pm.. just not 7:38 in the evening, looking at a reflection where a mirror isn’t supposed to be.

You really need a cigarette.

Peeling yourself away from the sights and sounds of yourself, jittery hands reach for a lighter in the opposing pocket. Deliberately ignoring the drying blood on the floors trailing through the halls, that you noticed taking a second glance. The scent of iron you didn’t create slowly leaves your senses. Forcing the chilling screams fading back into echoes once again. Letting your body go on autopilot towards a quieter spot towards the exit door as the sounds of the infirmary become mere echoes. To the sound of comforting footsteps at this moment in time. Flipping the lip of the white and red box to reach for the safe constant of tobacco.

The Badlands despite being a natural wasteland spanning several acres.. Does have its own natural beauty when not roasting alive underneath the harsh sun of the New Mexico desert. Really the moments of transition between night and day are poetic in their own right. A production ending with a curtain call each day, skipping over the rehearsal and casting call; Straight on to the show for the next morning. A repetitive show that doesn’t truly conclude.

Click, click, click

The cold lighter shakes slightly as you try to focus on just having a quiet smoke. Your thumb brushes over the smoothness of the lighter as you close it with a solid click. Trying to wipe away.. whatever the hell you’d encountered back there.

Inhaling spicy warm tobacco gives you comfort from the thoughts and guilt of your mind. A walk, your brain drifts, is what you need. Exhaling out a puff of gray smoke, admiring the sun slowly setting into the evening sky. The cirrus clouds clawing through the sky breaking the gradient of the evening, layering clouds upon itself as your shadows trails further behind you. The dirt and sand kicking up under your boots, heels dragging along creating a path in the quiet desert, straying away from base the nightlife slowly waking up to their circadian rhythm against the machine guns and soaking of the day’s bloody rain.

Your peace.. is disrupted from the following of loud curses in German, maybe a different dialect but you can’t quite tell if it’s the echo.. And distinct, American English echoing through the landscape. Which is to be expected, after all, she’s patient zero for an upgrade in immortality that’s what you could gather from the medical record from your first intelligence grab. A big game of capture the flag, really.

With a syringe gun and shotgun pointed out barreling towards you, you throw your hands up that’s normally reserved for a bitter defeat. Yes, your Commander is at the ready if their idiotic Soldier starts blasting at you for existing in blue; but if the fight is unpaid it’s not worth your time. Your Soldier may berate you for insubordination or some shit, and the worst side of the spectrum is that Medic might schedule a sudden examination of your internal organs. Getting sent through respawn after hours isn’t worth buying time for someone you loathe to be around. Besides, as long as your Red counterpart doesn’t screw up by doing something incredibly stupid, you’ve got free room and board. A class on both sides or none at all, right?

You roll your eyes as their incredibly loud Soldier, starts barking orders and pumps his shotgun, presumably to aim at your chest. Incessant arguing increasingly becomes irritating to the disagreement you’re not even a part of. At least their medic has enough of a brain to identify a peace offering when he sees one.

Their Medic dressed in red narrows his brows in suspicion. Granted from his irritation, he himself has slathers of blood covering his lab coat, the dust decorating him in an offset of brown glitter. Working on who, well with an enormously large figure hauling a large glintering silver barrel at his side just pacing further behind from the duo here? Well it doesn’t take a ton of context clues to figure it out.

“It’s too much of a lovely evening to be standing out here in the desert. Might want to check out the infirmary for sunburns. The desert is harsh on skin after all.”

Pulling the cigarette out of your mouth for a moment to flick the glowing embers to the dusty earth, the dry smoke blowing from your lips. Their medic, placing themselves a bit more forward probably to keep their soldier from shooting you into swiss cheese. The desert sands carrying your voice out further towards the enemies who shoot you up on a daily basis, a sigh escaping from your lungs,

“ Fellas! I didn’t sign up for unpaid overtime, you don’t exist to me after that final point is captured at 3pm.”

Your eyes connect to try and read their next move, syringe and shotguns still not fully lowered. Obvious distrust, needing more information that clearly isn’t a trap into an ambush. Or a spy posing as you from your own team. After all, you’d hope at least some of your teammates would hold you to have a similar weight of importance in their eyes if Red ever decides to pluck you in retaliation from this event.

You nudge your head slightly towards base, as a directional guide. A puff of smoke exhaling out from your mouth, blocking the view of two visibly stern faces of your sights.

“Mighty shame that our Engineer hasn’t been able to fix our defective emergency exit alarms near our second point, yet..” A specific piece of information needed to earn trust, I mean your Engineer has been caught up with a few different projects lately, neglecting any other maintenance that he can easily fix around this particular base. But it is on his list to fix, whether he actually has gotten to it is yet to be foreseen. It’s up to the Administrator now to decide if an evening brawl would be worthy to add to the workday. That would be a nightmare.

“I’m sure he’ll get to it once he gets a break.”

Clear cut eyes still question your authority, not the answer of a go ahead for a temporary truce. Really, it likely had the opposite effect with their fingers sliding towards the trigger, while your tired hands are slowly seceding to your own gun. If they fire first, well, it shows a reflection of their own character. That or they need more of an outright spelled out truth. Which really, the lead paint they must’ve licked, had done more damage than what New York State had initially found in their own population.

“Don’t bother to waste your bullets–”

A quiet snark leaving your throat, the smoke escaping your lips as the warm cigarette rests between your forefingers.

“–Sending me through respawn only gives him more time.”

Fallen ash singes against the cooling desert sand, drifting back into the earth between the gentle breeze. Their soldier, becoming increasingly antsy about the lack of gunpowder flying into the air, doesn't even bother to hide it on his face. To level the amount of testosterone of ego out on a 3 v 1, your eyes connect with the shade of crimson with a cross that trails up to their medic.

“She needs you more than what I’m worth in wasted time.”

Perhaps in a way, bargaining for a favor without outright stating it, being saved for a later date not explicitly labeled. You haven’t once brandished your gun for a show of power, nor have they shot you up into a million pieces. Granting mercy to bloodthirsty mercenaries. Aside from some on your team berating you for inaction, the Administrator has eyes everywhere in the Badlands, not just this particular map of dust. You’ve seen the hawking cameras blinking in dark corners documenting everyone’s moves. Could it land you under Miss Pauling’s quicklime? Possibly.. If it’s a repeated behavior, however, you don’t foresee that happening again. If their medic is anything like yours, it’s possible that your counterpart would be tethered to him on the field. Given her judgments and of what little Spy has shared in code, you seriously doubt that she’ll listen to even her own healer of the team.

You’re only here for money, not to worry about anyone else. It’s the entire point of why you’re here in the first place, not to brawl it out 24/7.

Are you putting too much faith in your enemies? Quite likely, but maybe you can guilt one of the three of them for a favor down the line if this fragile equilibrium, at some point, falls apart. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a risk you’re willing to take. A life for a life won’t leverage its own weight in a world of daily rebirth by bloodshed. A debt for a debt holds a hierarchy in a lawless land.

Their medic, jaw clenched, must've struck a nerve somewhere but refuses to show it. Giving a silent eye to their Heavy for a silent reassurance of the next step. While their Soldier is barely keeping restraint to shoot something on behalf of Uncle Sam or for the honor of America. A brief moment of silence, before sharp eyes reacknowledge your peace bargain.

“Danke.”

A 2/3rd agreement to keep moving forward, while Soldier grumbling at sparing the life of an enemy. He may be trigger happy because you exist in blue, but at the least is willing to half recognize a peace offering with information.

The barrage of dust and sand kicks back up, as their plans of attack fade with the movement of tumbleweeds strolling alongside you under a waning moon. Hand resting in the comfort of your coat pockets. Your cigarette, a dim beacon of light against the growing darkness in the night sky. Stars peeking out against the handful of bright lights against wooden shacks against the field.

The logistics of morality in private combat is ever changing, and quite frankly gives you a headache to try and think about “doing the right thing” when following the money supports your family. Your heart only knows one certainty when it comes to such mental conflicts on the field.

You’re not a bad person.

____________

A few fun facts with the research I did for this fic:

New York city was the first city to outlaw further usage of lead paint in 1960 before New York state followed through banning usage of lead paint in the late 70s. Lead was effectively banned in 1986, however it didn’t apply to pipes that were already in the ground and walls already painted with lead, it only banned new lead pipes to be placed in for usage beyond. https://www.nyc.gov/site/doh/health/health-topics/lead-poisoning-information-for-building-owners.page

https://www.brookings.edu/blog/up-front/2021/05/13/what-would-it-cost-to-replace-all-the-nations-lead-water-pipes/

I had to take a few liberties with blue spesh and a bit of history too, so I figured that she might get enjoyment out of radio dramas since her inspiration of doing theater in university before dropping out had to come from somewhere. The 70s had a dry spell of radio dramas, since reruns of shows weren’t really commonplace and many live radio dramas were performed live on air in the 40s and 50s until recording media for reruns. Earplay is an actual radio drama that aired in 1972 until 1982 but got picked up by other networks at least until the 1990s.But for this fic its gonna be running a bit earlier than 1972. The Firesign Theatre actually did have some albums for their shows, before their second split.https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Firesign_Theatre#Albums

[kentuckywrites]

You And I, We Are Matter, And It Matters

Part 3 to And I Will Proclaim The End. Shulk encounters Malos and Pneuma, who promise to restore Alvis and his world - a world without gods. 

It didn’t take long for Shulk to realize that his Monado was weaker than before. The light in its warped cyan blade had faded, though there was still power in every swing he took. In the heat of the battle Shulk could only harbor a guess that Alvis was somehow weakening it himself, whether through his manipulation of ether or through other means. 

What surprised him considerably more was how tired his party had become. Reyn had darted in front of Shulk to block Alvis’s attack, and in seconds he was tossed to the side like a ragdoll. Reyn’s strength was always something to behold, but now Shulk realized it was failing him, and not because Reyn was giving up. In the bit of reprieve Alvis gave them as he turned his attention towards Dunban, Reyn sat himself up, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to stand by pushing down on the weight of his scrap driver. Shulk could see the fire in Reyn’s eyes even from a distance, a rage that was fueled by the need to succeed, to push his friends to victory. 

A sudden pulse of ether erupted into Reyn’s side, and Shulk almost panicked thinking it was an attack from Alvis. But Reyn began to right himself, and Shulk saw Sharla with her ether rifle not far behind him. She was usually composed, level headed despite the constant chaos of battle. But her hair was disheveled, her gaze unfocused. She’d been tossed around already, and she wasn’t going to hold out for much longer. Even with her healing bullets, the clouds of ether that patched up their wounds, ether couldn’t erase their fatigue.

As Shulk regained his bearings, he saw Dunban, who had locked blades with Alvis. Alvis’s piercing smile, so reminiscent of the god they’d defeated mere minutes beforehand, clearly unnerved the Monado’s former wielder. Dunban was pushed back with ease, quickly dodging Meyneth’s Monado as it swung over his head, grazing his hair. A blast of fire ether shot out from behind him, cast from Melia’s staff. She looked battered, almost hiding behind Dunban as if he were her shield. 

And then there was Fiora, dashing around Alvis with an uncanny speed. To Shulk’s surprise Riki was on her back, and the two quickly coordinated an attack from behind. Fiora leapt into the air, the empty chest piece that had housed Meyneth’s spirit igniting in a show of red lights. Riki jumped off of her as she worked to absorb Alvis’s ether, forming a large chunk of ice that he propelled at Alvis’s shoulder. Alvis grunted, taking the impact of Fiora, Melia, and Riki’s attacks, but it was hard to tell if they were effective. His grin, demented, almost masochistic, suddenly turned towards Shulk.

“So you’ve realized the nature of your Monado,” Alvis cooed, “It holds no power unless I will it to be. This was a power Zanza could not wield, but it was a power Zanza had befriended.”

“But that’s Shulk’s Monado,” Fiora landed, one knee on the ground and a hand in front to help her balance, “Shulk’s the one powering it, isn’t he?”

“Fiora’s right!” Shulk pointed his Monado at Alvis, the light of the blade swirling around his fingertips, “This sword was created with my own will - it’s not just powered by me, but by my friends!”

Alvis chuckled. “Every Monado in existence has a physical source. Your will does not constitute that - I do.”

Another round of laughter echoed from Alvis’s mouth as Shulk’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what exactly Alvis meant, but he knew now that his earlier theory was correct. Alvis was tampering with his Monado’s power. Shulk felt his anger boiling deep in his heart, his frustration that fate had escaped his grasp again, that despite everything Zanza was still finding ways to stay two steps ahead.

He was about to charge forward when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Sharla and Reyn were standing behind him, and though Shulk didn’t turn, he could hear from Sharla’s voice that she was tired.

“Shulk, we need to think about this. Charging in without a plan isn’t smart, especially now.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Shulk didn’t mean to sound snappy, but his frustrations had boiled up from his soul and made itself known through his voice.

“He’s bound ta be gettin’ tired after all our attacks,” Reyn suggested, “He’ll be lettin’ his guard down, so we can find a place ta strike, a weak point o’ some kind.”

“I’m not sure he’s got a weak point,” Shulk said, “And I’m not even sure if he’s tired. He’s...he’s not Alvis, right now. He’s something Zanza - a god - created.”

“But he’s not a god himself,” Sharla continued, “And we defeated an actual god without knowing his true weakness. This should’ve been an easier fight…”

“You’re underestimating him,” Dunban had approached from the side, panting as he scanned over the three for visible wounds. “If we were truly fighting Alvis, this fight would already be over. But whatever Zanza did to him…”

“He’s stronger,” Reyn finished, his shoulders slumping, “Can he even die? If he’s got no weak points an’ two Monados, an’ if he’s affecting Shulk’s Monado, that doesn’t spell anything good out for us.”

Shulk was about to answer, about to offer some kind of reassurance that they’d be able to win, but nothing came out of his open mouth. Instead of his own voice, he heard Alvis’s. Instead of his own words, he heard Alvis grunt. He looked to Fiora, to Riki, to Melia. None of them were close enough to have been the cause, and all three appeared confused at Alvis’s sudden change in temperament. Behind him, Sharla’s ether rifle clicked, and a bullet whizzed past his head and straight at Alvis. He swat the bullet aside like it was a pesky fly before the same arm, the same hand, went to clutch his chest. Another groan slipped through his teeth, and that was when Shulk saw the light emanating from his necklace, red and dramatic and pulsating. 

Before he could find time to question this new development, Alvis lurched forward, swinging wildly at the form closest to him: Melia. She held up her staff to counter the blow, but to Shulk’s horror, Meyneth’s Monado sliced right through the metal, separating the staff into two clean pieces. The weight of the attack sent Melia flying backwards onto her rear, and her sudden cry of surprise propelled Shulk into action. With a scream, a promise of future pain and retribution, he charged ahead and planned to swing at Alvis’s arm, planned to try and knock one of the Monados from his grip.

But he never reached Alvis. Time suddenly slowed, Shulk’s footsteps hardly registering on the floor, and when everything stopped completely he found himself floating in the abyss Alvis had created. All of space, the dark and infinite cosmos, seemed to wither and die, and soon a bright expanse of white covered its fresh carcass. Blinded, Shulk raised a hand to block his eyes, adjust to the change. When he got his bearings again he looked around, realizing that all of his friends had vanished, and that he and Alvis were the only ones in this new realm. 

Alvis seemed just as surprised as Shulk, spinning around, trying to identify some kind of source for the change. When his gaze met Shulk, his eyes widened. It took Shulk a moment to eventually realize that he wasn’t even looking at him, but something behind. Shulk turned around tentatively, still gripping his worthless shell of a sword as if it would save him. There stood two unfamiliar figures, donning strange armor that Shulk could only call “futuristic”, with glowing pieces and smooth connected fragments. The first figure, a dark skinned man dressed in blacks and purples, had a silver gaze capable of shattering glass. The second figure was nearly his opposite, a girl dressed in greens with a sad and gentle expression upon a sad and gentle face. 

“So you’re Ontos - I mean, Alvis’s driver,” The dark skinned man crossed his arms, gave Shulk a lookover. Shulk frowned, unsure if he should be confused or on guard or terrified or all three at once. 

“Alvis’s...driver?” Shulk dared to clarify, and the man sighed.

“Right. Different world, different rules. How do I...okay, you’ve got a Monado and you can control its power.”

Shulk glanced down at the blue twisted blade in his hand, shoulders slumping. “I’m not quite sure about that last part. Up until now I’ve -”

“That’s probably because Alvis cut off your access to it, right?” The dark skinned man interrupted, “Pfft, whatever. He must’ve trusted you enough to use it before all this shit went down, and that’s what matters most.”

“I don’t...who are you?”

“My name is Pneuma,” The green haired woman introduced herself before beckoning to the man, “And this is Malos. We are, in a sense, Alvis’s siblings.”

Shulk frowned, turning around to look at Alvis - or rather, where he had been standing previously. He’d taken a mental note that he’d gone quiet since the scenery changed, but when he turned he was surprised to see that it was because Alvis wasn’t there at all. Instead, there was a circle of heavenly light, visible even amongst the blinding white landscape. In that circle, a crystal floated peacefully, one that was familiar to Shulk. It was the crystal Alvis wore on his choker, a vibrant ruby gemstone shaped like a cross. Upon closer inspection, however, the crystal was cracked and fragmented in several places, only remaining together based on will and will alone. 

Shulk returned his focus to Pneuma and Malos, eyes widening once he realized that they both harbored similar crystals on their persons. Malos’s was a deep purple, nestled in a golden plate on his chest, a singular large crack dividing it vertically. Pneuma’s was green and in perfect condition, no scratches or cracks to speak of. Both of their crystals seemed like a part of themselves, integrated into their very being, and yet Alvis had worn his like a decoration, a common item of common origin. It gave Shulk pause, wondering what else Alvis had hidden so carefully and so carelessly.

“Klaus - or as you knew him, Zanza - had rewritten Alvis’s coding to obey him in the instance that he was defeated,” Pneuma explained, “And only our combined efforts could restore him to his default settings. Thankfully, Alvis was able to reach out to Malos and warn him in time for us to arrive and help.”

“You’re speaking as if Alvis is a machine,” Shulk noted.

“He’s an artificial intelligence,” Malos said, “And so are we. The whole ‘siblings’ thing is because we all have the same core, figuratively speaking. Aside from that initial programming, we’re basically real, living beings.”

“And since it was the initial programming that was rewritten, what we’ll be doing is...well, it may change some things about the Alvis you knew,” Pneuma bowed her head, her hands folding together in front of her, “We don’t know how far this new program has reached into his mind. It’s possible that it overwrote key parts of his initial setup, including his memory database.”

“So to restore him back to the way he was, you basically need to rewire him,” Shulk tried his best to understand, slowly making sense of what these two strangers were telling him, “And that might mean he’ll have no memories when he wakes up.”

“Ding ding ding! This kid’s smarter than Rex,” Malos chuckled, “Here I thought we’d have to hold his hand through the whole explanation.”

Pneuma rolled her eyes. “Shulk is not a kid. Rex is far younger and has less experience. It’s wrong to judge him like that, Malos.”

“Shulk, how old are you? I wanna prove a point here.”

“Eighteen,” Shulk stammered.

Malos smirked. “Barely an adult, then.”

“I don’t think that’s any reason to smile,” Pneuma sighed, “You and Rex, you’re both young. You still have full lives to lead…”

“Wait a minute,” Shulk exclaimed, “What’s going to happen to Bionis and Mechonis now? If Zanza’s dead and Alvis is gone, then...then the Bionis -”

“Oh, right, your Titans,” Malos said slowly, “Well, Pneuma? Don’t see any reason not to lend a hand.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s in our power to restore everything to the way it was,” Pneuma said, “Rest assured, you and your friends will return to your world safe and sound. It will not be the world you’re used to. Your Titans...they’re dead. But they haven’t been fully destroyed. You can still rebuild what you once had, and create a new life for yourselves. A world without gods.”

“And when will I see Alvis again?”

Pneuma was quiet. Malos cocked an eyebrow at her, suspicious, while Shulk was doing his best to stand tall. However, it was becoming harder and harder to hide just how much his knees were shaking, threatening to buckle under the weight of all he’d been told. The world he loved was gone, but at what cost? Zanza had been defeated, he’d no longer control their fates or the land they walked upon. Was Alvis the price he had to pay for that control? 

He turned to look at the floating red crystal behind him, the only remaining piece of Alvis left in this strange dimension. It must’ve sparked something, because it began to float slowly towards Shulk, hovering at chest level. He glanced towards Pneuma and Malos, who were both staring, waiting for his response. When he gave none, Pneuma spoke up.

“It’s too much to explain now, but that crystal harbors Alvis’s essence. It’s his core. He’s recovering in there, and once he comes to full strength, he’ll return to you. I ah...I actually had to go through this too, so I know he’s not dead. Just healing.”

“Because you’re...rewriting him,” Shulk pieced more things together, his hands fluttering near the core. His fingertips brushed the cool crystalline surface, as gentle as a kiss, but he didn’t commit to taking it fully in his grasp yet. If he was too harsh, too strong, he feared the crystal would shatter.

“Basically,” Malos confirmed, “And we don’t really know how long that’ll take. Klaus - Zanza - did more of a number on him than I realized when I first talked with him. But hey, I’m fucking dead, so I can dedicate a good chunk o’ time getting him fixed up.”

“You’re dead?!”

“Long story. Thank Miss Minty Fresh over here.”

Pneuma didn’t meet Malos’s gaze, looking down at her spiked shoes as her bangs hid her eyes. Malos chuckled at her sheepishness. “We should talk about that later too, huh? For now, let’s fix things here.”

“R-Right.”

Pneuma composed herself, straightening her spine. “I know this wasn’t much, Shulk, but just know this: everything is going to be okay. Your determination and resolve will make this new world just as beautiful as the last. And Alvis will return one day. We can’t tell you when, but he will. That much, we can both promise.”

“Yeah. We need ourselves a family reunion, after all,” Malos folded his arms over his chest, blocking his crystal, “We can all bond over near-death and death experiences.”

“Malos.”

“What? I bet it’d be a good conversation starter, you can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious how he got to this state -”

“Malos.”

“Fine, fine, shutting up, I get the hint.”

Shulk opened his mouth, but he held back most of his questions and opted for silent confusion. This whole thing was going way over his head. All he wanted to do now was make sure his friends were okay, and asking too many questions would delay their reunion. 

“Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Shulk,” Pneuma grinned, “Now we’ll send you back to your world to be with your friends and family. Thank you for being there for him.”

“Yeah, bet he appreciated having you while it lasted,” Malos agreed, “Now run along, try not to aggravate any big monkeys out there, okay?”

Shulk giggled at that. “I’ll try.”

And the world went bright and blinding again, obscuring Pneuma and Malos from view, even erasing his newly formed Monado from his vision. All he could see was the vibrant red of the cross-shaped crystal, Alvis’s core.

~

When the light diminished, Shulk felt grass underneath his left hand. His right hand was clenched, surrounding something small and cold. He sat himself up before unfurling his fingers, peering at what he held. Alvis’s crystal - his core. It flickered between a dead gray and a lively ruby, dancing between life and death, finicky about which side to commit to. 

He looked up, the bright sky compelling him to observe this new location. It was a familiar sight, the Bionis head, though partially submerged in the deep ocean, it now seemed a shell of its former self. There was no god to control it, no higher entity to command its form. Perhaps it was truly a shell, an empty husk that would once again pave the way for new life to blossom. Shulk inhaled deeply, the air salty yet oddly sweet with prospects of new beginnings.

“Augggghhhh…”

Shulk spun and found Reyn stretching his arms outwards sitting a couple feet away. “Reyn!”

“Oi, Shulk, what the hell happened back there?” His best friend asked, scratching the back of his head, “I remember somethin’ about Alvis lookin’ rough, then this big white light...we’re not dead, are we Shulk?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Shulk affirmed, “I mean, I feel pretty alive right now.”

“I think we’d know if we were dead,” Fiora’s voice came from behind, and she ended up standing just to Shulk’s left looking over the new horizon. “The Bionis, though…”

“Oh yeah, definitely dead.” Reyn nodded, “Probably for the best now, innit? We don’ have ta be scared of it movin’ around anymore.”

“Mm.”

Shulk gazed back down at the core in his hand. It had finally decided upon a new natural state: cracked, dead, gray. Where there had been brief flickers of warmth before, now it felt cold and lifeless in his hands. It scared him, even though the explanation was fresh in his mind. Alvis wasn’t dead. Alvis wasn’t dead. He was just healing. He needed time.

“Oi, what’s that?” Reyn looked over Shulk’s shoulder, peering down at the core. “That...that ain’t Alvis’s choker, is it? Why’s it all gray now?”

“Yeah, I remember Alvis wearing that,” Fiora noted, “Actually, where is he? Did he...did he die back there?”

Shulk looked behind him, harboring an unspoken and disproven hope that the seer would be alive and well. Melia was groaning, sitting herself up and shaking her head. Riki was bouncing around and noticed Dunban on the ground before Shulk did, resorting to checking to make sure he was okay. He soon flagged down Sharla, who quickly came to his aid and helped sit him up as he tried to shake off the residual fatigue from the fight. All his friends, shaken from the encounter but otherwise safe. Shulk started coming to terms with just how exhausted his own body felt, how heavy his muscles were. He should’ve been happy they escaped, he should’ve been happy they won. And yet...

The core in his hand flickered one more time, one last push. It was if Alvis was trying to reassure Shulk, trying to encourage him to believe. Malos and Pneuma had no reason to lie about their brother or the new state of the world. He grinned to himself, a sad but hopeful turn of the lips, before answering Fiora’s question.

“He’s not dead,” Shulk promised, “It’s going to be hard explaining what happened, but I know one thing for sure. Alvis is going to be okay. He’s just resting right now.”

Fiora looked to Reyn, and Reyn looked to Fiora. She ended up sighing. “You’re gonna have to tell us at one point, then. That whole thing was confusing beyond belief.”

“Yeah, Alvis was talkin’ as if he were a machine,” Reyn said, “It was creepy as hell. But I’m not too pressed about the details, I’m just happy we’re home - or at least, we’re not in that weird space dimension anymore.”

“Right,” Shulk agreed, staring out into the open expanse of ocean and crumbled Bionis. It wasn’t much, but Reyn was right. It was their home. Shulk made a promise to himself in that moment that he would do whatever it took to see their world restored to its former glory. A world without gods, but a world with friends by his side. He couldn’t ask for more.

And one day, when Alvis had the strength to return, Shulk would welcome him to this world with open arms.

[scottishhellhound]

Writober Day 1

I’m a couple days behind because work and sleep got in the way. 12 hour shifts are not conducive to writing schedules, nor is having to get enough sleep between shifts, but! I digress.

I’m attempting the writober challenge set up by @writerofwriting to try and get back into the swing of things, so I can prep for Nano this year.  These prompts will mostly feature my original characters from my in progress novel series that I’ve been writing for the last few years. 

I am very rusty and my grammar is atrocious, but enjoy anyway, haha.

Warnings: Mentions of child abuse/rape; extreme violence, mild swearing, death.

#Writober Day 1: Prompt: Burn

Orange light danced across the faces of the three men seated around the roaring fire, logs snapped from the heat and flames crackled.  They sat in a loose circle and listened as one man played a set of reed pipes, a slow, soft song to help them fall into the land of dreams.  Another, much older than the other two, lay stretched out on his bag on top of his sleep roll, and the third sat across from both of them, sharpening a large, iron hunting dagger, the hiss it made as it rubbed against the whetstone an eerie counterpoint to the soft tones of the reed pipes.

The man who was stretched out picked up a rock that was next to his hand and threw it at the man playing the pipes, with a disgusted snarl.  "Play something that's less depressing for Zeus' sake."

The musician rubbed at the spot where the rock had bounced off his forehead, glaring at the older man.  "You know, Father, you could have just asked me to play something else.  There was no need for violence."

"Still your wagging tongue Theron, and play something less depressing, or just be silent.  I do not care which, so long as I cannot hear the sound of your voice." He turned away from his son and towards the third member of the hunting party, Aktaion, the Prince of Thrace.  "Heed my advice Aktaion, never have children, they will cause you nothing but grief and hardship, and impose upon your good will."

Aktaion continued to sharpen his dagger, only shifting his eyes slightly to look over at Demos, to show the man that he was listening.

"I regretted having all three of my children, none more so however, than Melantha.  At least Theron and Xander, Hades have mercy on his soul, were useful," Demos didn't notice the tightening of Aktaion's hand around his dagger and whetstone, or the narrowing of his eyes as he continued to rant about the uselessness of his one and only daughter.  "Girl could barely cook, burned water seven times out of ten, was squeamish over skinning or dressing game, and clumsy as a day old duck.  I'm surprised I let her live for as long as I have, I have no idea how many times I wanted to put that child out of my misery, she was good for nothing, other than something pretty to look at."

Aktaion had to visibly restrain himself from leaping across the fire and attacking his new Father-in-law, who again didn't notice the growing rage of the young Prince across from him.  All thoughts of just asking them to be quiet and calling it a night went the way of his enemies, however, when Theron decided to make his already unwanted opinion known.  "Along with being beautiful, my dear sister also made an excellent bed warmer."

Demos chuckled lecherously, "That she did son.  I'm sure the young Prince will find that out for himself soon though, if he hasn't already."

Aktaion saw red, and so did Demos, as the hand that held the dagger snapped out like a striking snake, beheading his only remaining son.  Demos could only stare in horror as the head of Theron fell forward off his neck and hit the ground with a sickening thud.  Blood spurted out of the now headless body, spraying every which way as the body wavered before finally falling towards the one who had ended the young nobleman's life.  Blood spattered across Aktaion's face and chest, adding to the demonic figure the Prince made, teal eyes glowing a sickly red from the flames, teeth bared, chest heaving as he tried to control and channel his rage.

"Murderer!  How dare you kill my son!  I'll see you hanged for this,"

"SCILENCE!" Demos fell silent though his mouth remained open for a few seconds longer, as if he still wanted to rant at his Prince.  "How dare I?  How dare I!  You, someone who has just admitted to raping your daughter, your own flesh and blood, ask me a question like that."  Aktaion stalked, a lion circling already wounded prey looking for just the right spot to land the killing blow.  "How dare I indeed.  How dare I suffer to let you live a moment longer on this Earth.  There's a special place in Tartarus for child abusers and rapists, I hope you enjoy eternity there.  Send my greetings to the Ferryman when you meet."

Aktaion grabbed the front of Demos Chiton and hauled the elder man off the ground, plunging his dagger into his chest, through the area just left of his heart and out his back.  He twisted the blade once, twice, before wrenching it out with a roar of pure hate.  Blood rushed out of the wound covering both men in the noble's not so noble blood.  He let the man drop, a disgusted look on his face, though the look was not because he was covered in blood.  He reached over grabbed Theron's body's ankle and dragged it over to where his father now lay dying, the old man gasping for breath.

As Aktaion turned to walk over to their supplies he heard Demos make a feeble, but still audible cry for help.  He frowned and crouched down in front of his soon to be former Father-in-Law; he titled his head regarding the dying man, watching blood bubble at the corners of his mouth.  He wrapped one large hand around the elder mans necked and applied as much force as he could, and continued until he heard a satisfying crunch, the sound of the mans trachea collapsing, a smile on his face.

Satisfied that he would no longer be interrupted he made his way over to the packs and riffled through them until he found the lantern oil that his Mother, Cassiopeia, had insisted he pack.  He returned to the dead and dying men and emptied the contents of the jar over them, ignoring the pitiful and pleading look Demos was giving him.  He smashed the jar against the ground next to Demos' head, pieces of the shattered jar bit into the man's skin.  One landed next to his eye, cutting it, and the man instinctively clenched them shut to avoid them being damaged.  Seeing the man's eyes shut gave Aktaion an idea; he walked back over to his pack and retrieved a much smaller knife than his dagger.

Once he returned to the slowly dying man's side he knelt down next to him, one knee on the ground the other on his head, holding it in place.  He then proceeded to cut off Demos' eyelids, ignoring his muted screams.  With one hand clenched in the old man’s white hair.  He worked slowly and diligently, being careful not to cause damage to his Father-in-Law's eyes, he wanted the old man to see the punishment he was being dealt.  Once that was done he plunged his small dagger into the noble's spine, severing the spine at mid back, making it so that he could no longer move, and therefore had no chance of escaping Aktaion's special form of retribution, which he was exacting on his absent wife's behalf.  Satisfied that Demos could not escape his fate, he moved the head of the noble's son so that Father and Son were looking into each others eyes.  He walked back over to their campfire, which still roared cheerily, heat washing over his body drying the blood to his chest and face.

"I want you to be able to look into your son's eyes so you can watch as you burn, and watch him burn.  So that you may see all that you should have loved but didn't, go up in flames.  I would preferred to have had you able to hear yourself scream as you burned, but that might draw people's attention before the fire can do its work.  I wouldn't want to deprive Hades of more subjects.  Enjoy eternal damnation."

He dropped the burning torch onto the body of Theron and watched for a few moments as the body burned, helped along by oil soaked clothing.  Once he noticed Demos start to silently scream in agony he smiled demonically and shouldered his pack.  He didn't look back as he faded into the wilds that surrounded his former campsite, flames dancing happily behind him as they burned up this new and fleshy fuel.

[anchoredtether]

Title: Sunder

Author: AnchoredTether

Rating: Explicit [graphic depictions of violence, major character death, dark themes, discussion of suicide, graphic/disturbing imagery]

Series: Vengeful Retribution

Chapter: 1/?

Spoiler-free Summary:  Rokurou thought nothing had changed until he felt something he could only describe as innately human. Velvet swore she felt a warmth, a luxury she was certain she would never feel again after her humanity died. It seemed even daemons could change.

---!! MAJOR SPOILERS !!--- This story picks up after the ending of the game. I also reference stuff from SEVERAL side quests, so if you don't want those spoiled and you want to know what the characters are referencing, be sure to do them or watch youtube videos of the cutscenes (I mainly reference side quests involving Rokurou, but there's also ones in reference to Seres and Velvet).

Full Summary: Rokurou thought nothing had changed until he felt something he could only describe as innately human. Velvet swore she felt a warmth, a luxury she was certain she would never feel again after her humanity died.

It seemed even daemons could change.

In the wake of the aftermath of sealing Innominat, harmony is restored, but Rokurou feels like the scales are grossly imbalanced. Even when Maotelus cleansed the world of malevolence, Rokurou's still a daemon, and he's still a daemon for a reason. There are too many loose ends for him to be satisfied, and he craves to discover the truth and unlock a future for the woman who ultimately lost everything.

After all, malevolence is necessary to avenge the one you love.

CHAPTER 01 --- SUNDER

"You said you were a yaksha. Is that why you retain your human appearance?"

"Hmm?" Rokurou looked over at Velvet with a raised eyebrow. They were in a shared inn room, each sitting in their respective bed. Before he could speak further, Velvet continued, her knuckles raised to her lips in thought.

"You say you're a daemon and yet the only daemons I've come across look more akin to Dyle. Completely transformed…monstrous even."

"Could make the same observation towards you." Rokurou added blatantly, albeit his tone was anything but hostile. "You don't even have any markings like I do…although I suspect there's a reason your entire left arm is bandaged." Velvet recoiled slightly from this, her gaze faltering for only a moment before regaining their steely stare once more. "I certainly wouldn't go to the trouble of bandaging each individual finger to cover even the fingernails unless there was something to hide."

Velvet stood up from her bed and strode over to Rokurou, causing him to lean back slightly with his eye wide in surprise. He thought she was going to punch him for being so blunt, but she paused, only a foot away from him and only slightly taller even though she was standing and he sitting on the bed. As if debating whether to continue or not, her bandaged arm slowly rose, her fingertips gracing the obsidian edges of his jawline. She kept her hand there for a moment as if asking for permission, and when Rokurou stayed still as death, she continued, caressing her hand up the side of his face as if he were a lover, and brushing his bangs away to reveal his daemonicy.

Her brows furrowed, and her expression looked near painful, as if she were looking at the rawness of a fatal wound. She had seen the edges of black clawing into his face and neck like some tribal tattoo, and occasionally saw a glint of crimson from his right eye, but she had never seen the extent of evil etched upon his face. Gruesome red marks trenched through the black like a burn. Such details of his mark were always hidden by his dark hair. Her golden eyes stared into the daemonic eye that looked back at her unwavering, the red and black ringed iris with a feral slitted pupil housed in a bright red sclera looked like something that belonged on a bloodthirsty dragon.

"Your arm looks the same, doesn't it?"

Rokurou's voice broke her out of her trance as she took a quick step back, about to release her hand from his face but his was quicker as he gently held her wrist and kept it there. Velvet looked at his human eye, as if his voice and very being were connected to that amber iris while the other side of his face was…something else entirely. She made a soft sound of protest, uncertain how to answer or how to even find her voice. She didn't want to expose herself so quickly to someone she barely knew, but then again, here she was, mostly trusting him and allowing him to tag along, and standing in close proximity to him with her hand intimately touching a hidden part of the daemon.

"You don't seem to care to cover yours up." She said in a roundabout way of answering his question, reflecting the focus off of her back to him. "At least…not fully."

"Can't exactly bandage half my face." Rokurou said plainly. "It'd also be difficult to see."

"You can see…?" Velvet meant to make a retort about how he couldn't see through his bangs either, but somehow her voice betrayed her piqued interest in the fact that his right eye still functioned normally to begin with. It looked too strange to function, even by a dragon's eye standards. She was mesmerized by the movements of that iris, and the slow blink as his eyelids lowered.

"Even better than this one." He lifted his left index finger to tap just below his human eye. "All my senses have improved, but my vision has become…different. I don't know how to put it." He shifted his gaze to look at her hand and where his hand curled around her wrist. "You bandage your whole arm because it looks just like your daemon claw, am I right?"

Velvet stood still a moment longer, blinking a few times as she peered down at the samurai's questioning gaze. She lowered her hand, palm up, out in front of her, with Rokurou's hand still softly wrapping around her bandages. She lowered her eyes and let out a soft sigh of defeat. With her right hand she pulled off his, and reached for the loose end of the bandage that lie where his hand once was. She carefully peeled back a few stripes so her forearm was exposed to him, raw and vulnerable.

Why was she showing him weakness? Maybe a part of her felt bad for prying upon his obscured face because of her damn curiosity. It ran in the family, and she could never fully blame her younger brother when he got into too much trouble because he simply wanted to learn about the world around him. He learned it from her, after all. The man before her said he owed her a debt, and that he would fight alongside her until it was paid, so maybe a bit of intimacy was a necessary prerequisite if she was going to avenge Laphi and destroy Artorious. From what she had seen of Rokurou so far, it seemed they could learn and gain a lot from each other - even if only as fellow daemons. Velvet saw the benefits of having a formidable samurai vowing to fight alongside her, but perhaps there was something to be gained in having a companion who could understand.

"Huh. I was right." Was all he could say. No fear in his eyes, no falter in his voice. It was as if he were confirming that she had freckles, not a daemonic abirritation. Her skin was black as a void, just like his, and marred with bright red trenches that resembled fresh blood. Her therion claw looked exactly the same except distorted in size and pulsing with hunger. It only made sense that her arm normally remained tainted.

"Yeah. You were." Velvet answered emotionlessly, wrapping herself back up and securing the end of the white strip with a better feeling of security. Her arm fell to her side and she looked back up at him, her expression hard. It was time to return to her original question. "So why are you the same? You're not a therion. And you're clearly not like most daemons. Yet…"

"Did you lose your arm?" Rokurou asked abruptly, tilting his head thoughtfully. The question caught Velvet off guard. Her eyes widened momentarily before she crossed her arms.

"Yeah…the man who killed my brother…did this to me."

Rokurou frowned in thought. She could only see his amber eye now, but somehow she could still feel his daemonic eye burning into her questioningly. He lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck, his gaze lost in a thousand yard stare before returning his focus to the woman looking down at him.

"When I became a daemon, it's because I was dead."

"You died..?"

"My face is marked like this for the same reason your arm is."

Velvet turned away from him. She almost wanted to say she was sorry, but she couldn't afford to feel pity for someone she barely knew. She tried to remove the gruesome thoughts that marred her mind as to how he got his marks - no, scars - but she could already feel her stomach churning at the idea. After a long moment of silence, Velvet found her voice again as she headed back towards her bed.

"For what it's worth, I hope your condition is similar to mine…and that you're stronger because of it."

[eliz1369]

The Light of Fairy Tail

Never written for Fairy Tail before, but this seemed as good an opportunity as any to give it a shot. Thank you to @impracticaldemon for giving me a heads up on this and to @fic-writer-appreciation for putting up the challenge. It was a lot of fun :)

Brief Summary: The members of Fairy Tail may be their own brand of crazy, but their hearts are always in the right place.

"Hey Lucy… What's wrong?" Lucy dragged herself onto the open barstool next to Wendy and let her head thump down on the wood surface with a moan. "I think you mean what isn't wrong." Behind the bar Mirajane smiled understandingly as she put a cup of tea in front of the bedraggled blonde. "What did those two do this time?" "Those two…" It took a second, but Wendy's eyes widened when she realized who Mira meant, "You mean Natsu-san and Happy?" Next to her and sipping at her own exceed sized cup of tea, Carla gave a dainty sniff as she said, "Who else would it be. No one causes more trouble than those two." On Lucy’s other side, Cana was seated on the bar top and draped comfortably around a large barrel of whatever alcoholic beverage she'd chosen that morning. She grinned as Lucy took a long drink of the tea and sighed, holding the cup like it was a lifeline. "Must've been pretty bad if they have you this bent out of shape. What'd they do?" Lucy reluctantly set down the tea and began ticking off on her fingers, her voice and expression growing more and more irritated the longer the list went on. "The two of them broke in last night and thought it was a good idea to sleep in my bed. I woke up freezing at the ungodly hour of 4am to find they'd managed to wrap themselves in all the blankets. By the time I’d booted them out of bed and told them off, I was too worked up to go back to sleep so I went to take a shower and get ready. I came out to find the idiots had tried to make breakfast, but Natsu only succeeded in nearly torching the kitchen and Happy got fish scales everywhere." Her irritation somewhat spent, Lucy dropped her head back down on the countertop, her next words muffled slightly by the wood. "I told them to clean everything up and left before I decided to go with my original idea of strangling them. I don't even want to think what will happen if my landlady finds out…" Mira patted Lucy comfortingly on the shoulder as she said, "I'm sure they'll have everything set right in no time." Wendy nodded reassuringly, but Cana nearly choked on her drink as she tried not to laugh and Carla gave disbelieving sniff. "Luuucy!" Everyone in the group, minus Lucy, who’d buried her head under her arms with a low groan, turned to see Happy soaring toward them, closely followed by a grinning Natsu. Upon noticing Carla, Happy excitedly landed by the white exceed and pulled a fish wrapped in red ribbon out of his bag. "I got this for you from Lucy's fridge!" Lucy's head popped up from the bar as she shot a glare at the blue cat. "You what?!" "No thank you." Carla ignored Happy's depressed expression as she got up and moved to Wendy's lap with her nose in the air. Wendy frowned as she looked between the two exceeds. "Carla, that's not very nice." "Well I don't want it." In the time it had taken for Carla to turn down Happy, Natsu had made it to the bar. He frowned in confusion as Lucy buried her head in her arms again. "What's wrong Luce? I thought we were gonna go on a fun job today." "I don't want to. I'm too tired to do anything." She hadn't meant for it to come out as a whine, but between the lack of sleep and the stress, it just kind of slipped out. Quick to rebound from Carla's refusal, Happy shoved his paws against his mouth to suppress his snicker as he said, "You should get more beauty sleep, Lucy. You really look like you could use it." "Damn cat." With more speed than should have been possible given her previously slumped form, Lucy lunged for Happy. Unfortunately for her, the exceed had been expecting this reaction and had already taken flight, leaving her palms to smack emptily against the wood as he made the short hop to land on Natsu's head. "Natsu! Help! Lucy's being mean again!" She shot a glare at the winged cat now buried safely out of reach in Natsu's pink hair. "I am not! You're the one saying rude things about my appearance!" "But I can't help it if it's the truth!" "That's it." With little thought of what she was actually doing Lucy snagged the nearest object, which happened to be Happy's beribboned fish, and chucked it at the blue exceed. Natsu's quick reflexes saved both him and Happy from getting a fish in the face, but the two people who'd had the misfortune to be walking behind him weren't so lucky. Juvia was in the midst of trying to convince a more than panicked looking Gray to try one of the Gray-shaped cookies she'd baked that morning, when she felt something pass through her and smack Gray in the face. Normally Juvia was more careful of what she let pass through her, but she'd already been slightly fluid due to her unintentional daydreaming. She gagged slightly at the oily, fishy taste left behind in her water, while Gray looked behind her and yelled, "Oi, what was that for?!" Lucy clapped her hands to her mouth in shock, while Natsu bent nearly double laughing, knocking Happy off his perch on top his head. "What's so funny flame-brain?" Gray all but growled, a muscle in his jaw twitching. "Your face, ice princess," Natsu shot a grin and a thumbs up at a still wide-eyed Lucy, "Good shot Luce." Happy sat on the floor where he'd been dumped, staring at the now bruised and battered fish, his eyes filled with crocodile tears. "My fish! Lucy that was mean!" Mira tried to diffuse the situation before it turned into a full on brawl. "Now, now, why don't we all just calm down," but no one was listening to her by that point. Gray shot a ball of ice at Natsu, and the Dragon slayer was quick to flip out of the way. Unfortunately, Cana's barrel of sake didn’t have the same level of dexterity and it exploded on impact, drenching the group in the strong spirits. All except Mira, who'd somehow managed to remain completely dry. As for Cana, she was knocked back over the bar and landed with a thump on the floor. "Now I'm all fired up!" Natsu yelled excitedly as his hands became wreathed in flame, igniting the alcohol still dripping off him. With a grin that was far more cheerful than it should have been, he leapt at Gray and the two of them rolled away across the floor, trading punches and sending spurts of flame and ice flying off in all directions. "Juvia will not let Love Rival use petty annoyances to steal Gray-sama's attention." "What?!" Lucy turned to find Juvia giving her a heated glare and she waved her hands frantically in protest. "No! It's not like that!" As water began to gather around Juvia, Cana dragged herself up off the floor and cursed as she leaned against the bar, cards already glowing in her hand. "Where's Gray?" Juvia gasped, her eyes widening in shock. "Another Love Rival! Juvia will not let you touch Gray-sama." Scooping Happy up off the floor, Lucy threw herself out of the way just as Cana's cards hit Juvia's wall of water. Carla had been way ahead of them and already had Wendy up near the ceiling, well out of the way of the expanding brawl. Off to Lucy's left Levy was yelling and pulling futilely at Gajeel's arm, trying to keep him from entering the fray, but only ended up getting herself dragged in after him. The pair were mirrored almost exactly on the other side by Lisanna and Elfman, who was yelling some nonsense about fighting being a man. An explosion from near the front door caused everyone to pause and turn in that direction. Natsu and Gray both looked up from their sprawled position on the floor to find Erza standing over them. Erza herself seemed fine, almost without a hair out of place despite the detonation of fire and ice that had occurred mere feet from her, but the large strawberry cake in her hands hadn't been quite as lucky. The entire hall fell silent as Erza stared in shock at the half frozen, half burnt mess. Ever so slowly, a charred strawberry slid off the top and hit the floor with a wet thump. Erza stayed motionless for several more seconds, before she mechanically placed the ruined cake on a half-demolished table next to her. No one dared to breath as they waited for the inevitable explosion. In a flash, Erza's eyes narrowed to a glare that promised completely disproportionate retribution as she turned to face the quivering forms of Natsu and Gray. Her sword appeared in her hand and she leveled it at the pair as she called, "Prepare yourselves for judgment." "Troublesome brats," Markarov muttered into his drink as Erza, after giving them a thorough walloping, finally sent the two delinquents flying out the front door. With a sigh, he eyed the extensive damage from his seat at the end of the bar. Next to him Mavis laughed, her eyes sparkling as she swung her bare feet over the edge, "Maybe they are, but their spirit is the light that will lead Fairy Tail forward."

[alldenspa]

Voices From The Hedge - Chapter 21

What will I do once I finished posting the chapters..? Will my online life still have a reason?

Voices From The Hedge is an original novel by Alldenspa. If you’re unfamiliar with this project, I would be very happy if you checked out my information post about it HERE! It’s a story about magic and nerds, so if you’re into that, I’m sure you’ll enjoy it!

Chapter 21 - The Real Djoutunhaim

They found themselves within a huge room at the foot of a series of polished stairs leading up to the opposite wall, where elevated on a podium a large desk and armchair, surrounded by numerous drawers and cabinets, stood overlooking the nightly cityscape through a window that spanned the whole width of the office. To the sides, eerily illuminated abstract sculptures were on display within small aisles branching off from each of the levels of the stairway, forming a line of stone effigies pointing diagonally upward towards the top level of the room. The ceiling converged into a tip high above them, and below the roof a ring of connected balconies looked down to the agents like silent watchmen. Thick lengths of fabric in dark colors hanging from the balconies threw their shadows across the stairway from both sides, backlighted by the shimmer from behind the sculptures. The polished marble of the floor was filled with thin gold lines that could well have been a giant spell circle, and the creaking of the heavy wooden door after Intergard’s tackle echoed back from the ceiling and the platform at the other end of the office in a ghastly way. There was no attack. No bolts of lightning dashing down from the balconies, no ambushers jumping out from behind the sculptures. The whole office lay silently in front of them. Eos and Ienge, artefacts ready, exchanged a confused look. “Cover me while I get the documents,” said Intergard and took the first stair, but hesitated, and after a moment signaled the other agents to stop. Searching the dark balconies above for any sign of the two Insurance agents she had pursued earlier, she pulled back her sleeve and touched one of the spell circles on her rough skin. A faint white haze travelled across the whole length of the room, but revealed no invisible objects of any kind. Still suspicious, Intergard sent out Release and Cancel spells as well, convinced that there had to be some sort of defense mechanism in place. She was just about to turn to her colleagues with a confirming nod, when a sudden noise echoing down from the platform ahead made her stop dead in her tracks. She jerked back around and pulled out an artefact from her jacket, a faint spark of lightning already jumping from her fingertip and hitting the ground with a quiet fizzle. Above on the platform in front of the large window, the armchair started to turn. Slowly, the man sitting in it came into sight — A charming smile on his face and clothed in an elegant business jacket similar to what Eos had already seen on the airship, Djoutunhaim leant back with a sigh and wordlessly smiled down to the agents at the other end of the office. Intergard hissed, adjusting her stance while next to her the Professor took a step forward. Djoutunhaim opened his mouth to speak, but Intergard was quicker. With a large motion of her arm, she sent a powerful bolt up towards the handsome man, but to the agents’ shock the bolt bounced back in mid-air only a few steps in front of Intergard, dashing down again and hitting the polished floor at the very spot where she had stood just a moment earlier before dodging to the side with an alarmed expression. A faint shimmer travelled through the air from one side of the large hall to the other, like a reflection on an invisible surface dividing the room. Intergard hissed again. “Demonwall,” she whispered through her teeth as she searched the walls for any sign of a spell circle. But there wasn’t one, and without knowledge of where the circle was, a Demonwall was impossible to release from inside. “Oh, my dear Intergard,” came Djoutunhaim’s voice from above. Backlighted by the lights of the nightly city, it was hard to see his figure in the black armchair. “Always so intense, so powerful.” A sudden sound from the side made the agents jump up — To the left, somebody stepped out of the shadows between the heavy lengths of cloth, his blue hair quickly revealing him to be Chou. At the same moment to the right, a cloaked figure jumped down from the balcony and landed in front of one of the sculptures half-way to the top of the platform. The slim body indicated a woman, and she was carrying a polished sword on her back. That had to be Hatzat, the assassin that had worked with them on their earlier rescue mission, thought Eos. He stumbled back as the mysterious figure drew her weapon, but a strong arm caught him from behind. “Don’t panic, Keros,” said the Professor as Eos regained his balance, “As long as we’re in here, they can’t touch us any more than we can touch them.” Of course, Eos knew this — Still, being served on a polished platter (literally) to one of the most powerful men on the continent had an eerie touch. Although at present they seemed to be at the numbers advantage, once the Demonwall disappeared the agents really were sitting ducks for any attack. “The trick is up, Djoutunhaim!” yelled Intergard across the room, “We found Sarc, your little disguise game is at an end!” Djoutunhaim nodded slowly in the shadow of his armchair. “I understand,” he replied quietly, and Eos couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic. “In that case I’d like to introduce you — officially.” He gestured with his hand, and from behind one of the sculptures on the left side, a massive figure appeared. With large steps that echoed across the office, the unknown stranger crossed the hall and took position in front of the Demonwall directly opposed to Intergard. Only now Eos could see that the large silhouette was indeed that of Intergard herself, a virtually perfect copy of the woman standing right next to him. It was as if a mirror spanning the width of the room was reflecting her image back at them. “I see, I cannot fool your intellect, Madam,” continued Djoutunhaim, slowly rising from the armchair and walking down towards them, “Why don’t you elaborate a bit more on what you think I did to annoy you?” Intergard let out a dismissive huff. “We don’t need to explain ourselves to you, Djoutunhaim!” she yelled, rushing forward and slamming her fist against the shimmering Demonwall. The sound of it rattled the office, but the spell took no damage. “Indeed you don’t,” said Djoutunhaim gently after taking the last few steps down to where the invisible barrier divided the room. He was now standing right in front of Intergard, the thin layer of magic being the only thing keeping his face unharmed by her massive fist. The Professor stepped forward. “Why do this?” he asked calmly, “Why go through all this trouble to keep your mole? Just for information to sell away to the highest bidder?” Djoutunhaim raised his eyebrows as he turned to Ubtra. “No,” he said plainly, “Actually I just want to destroy you.” He said this as if it was the most reasonable thing, as if he was explaining the weather or talking to a child about something completely normal. “Well, not you as people, of course,” he added quickly, gesturing with his hands apologetically as a reaction to the agents’ startled faces, “Your company. I can’t stand it!” He turned to the shapeshifter next to him, who now looked exactly like Liberty, long coat included. “Naturally, inside intel is very profitable as well,” he continued as in front of him the image of Liberty transformed, shrinking, until to Eos shock the small figure of Emerald in her wheelchair appeared silently in front of them, looking up at Djoutunhaim with a frightened shiver. “So it’s just a personal vendetta?” barked Intergard. Djoutunhaim looked up, slightly confused as if he had been unexpectedly interrupted. “Well, yes,” he replied with a quick nod, “The people you call ‘Central’ haven’t done anything to me directly, but they are indeed evil and they’re blocking the way of my company, so I intend to kill them.” Intergard’s face contorted in a disgusted expression, moving even closer to the transparent shimmer that separated them. “Just you wait until we get through here, I will annihilate you,” she whispered through her gritted teeth, “Malice warrants retribution, but the deepest circle of hell is reserved for greed!” Djoutunhaim turned away with a snicker. “Shout all you want, Intergard, but the truth is that I have won.” He threw a quick glance onto his wristwatch. “In not more than ten minutes, my agent will sneak up on Emerald and Liberty to kill them in their sleep. Enster and Heaven’s Hand will be next, and since you’re all here, there is nothing you can do to stop it.” He turned back to the agents below with a menacing grin and gestured towards the door. “You can make your retreat right now, if you want — But we all know that you won’t be there in time.” Eos shuddered. Was this even possible? Could Djoutunhaim have anticipated all this in advance? No way. A moving shadow behind a sculpture to the right made the agents turn around, and one moment later a familiar figure in a long rough cloak stepped out of the shadows. It was Orlun Sibrodi. “I trust you already know each other?” said Djoutunhaim playfully as Sibrodi approached the group, exchanging tense stares with Eos and Ienge as he passed. “You defected again?” snapped the Professor, almost annoyed, but the old man on the other side of the Demonwall only let out a chuckle. “My allegiance was never with Kengnatz,” he replied with a nod to Djoutunhaim, “Why simply desert when you can double it and play both sides?” So that was the truth, though Eos. Kengnatz had never been behind any of the traitors, it had all been the Social Insurance pulling the strings from the very start. “Then I suppose it was you who sold our hideout plans to Lephon!” shouted Intergard, her voice so sharp it could have cut straight through Djoutunhaim’s perfectly ironed shirt. “That’s right,” replied the Insurance leader with a casual gesture of his hand, “All part of my grand design to put all the blame on greedy Kengnatz. You see, it’s rather easy if you have that many tools at your disposal.” “But hold on,” interrupted Ienge, who had just noticed something, “If Sibrodi was working for you all along, then why did Chou save us when we were attacked by him on the airship? Did you order to deflect your own attack?” Djoutunhaim, who had been slowly walking up the stairs to his armchair again, stopped and turned around, raising a finger with a smile. “In fact, yes,” he said, returning to the Demonwall, “Naturally I could have had you four killed, but then again you didn’t seem very important to the agency at the time. You still aren’t! So I took the opportunity to stage a fake rescue to get to know you better.” “…And by that convince us that you were a nice and honest man,” added Eos. Djoutunhaim nodded proudly, almost like a child. “Simply another piece in my scheme of Who-Would-Ever-Blame-Djoutunhaim. To be honest, I did the exact same thing for a second time when I sent my agents to assist you in your raid for Enster and had Fake-Sarc duel dear Mister Keros, just to be saved by a miraculous appearance of Chou, again? How you people did not think that was fishy is completely beyond me,” he said, giggling. Intergard spit on the floor. “Or remember that one time when I sent Oredchimegdi’s location to H-E through an anonymous tip to provoke them into rescuing him, just so that afterwards when you all came crawling to get Ankuro’s brother back, I could send Fake-Sarc over to play with Emerald’s mind? Wild times, but so funny! The thing with the Reflect spell was an unfortunate mistake, but I didn’t have to worry — After all, I was never in danger since you were so very convinced that Sarc was working for Kengnatz after he so blatantly deserted to them at the White Cave. Or, maybe I should say: After my infiltrator Glen deserted to them.” There was a shocked pause. Everything seemed to make sense all of a sudden. Djoutunhaim rushed up to the Demonwall with a snicker, his face now so close to Intergard’s that they could have felt each other’s breath if not for the magical barrier between them. “It was me, Intergard,” he whispered, his eyes sparkling with pride, “From the very start it was all me.” Intergard roared, but the Insurance leader moved no muscle at the sight. He stood in front of the Demonwall silently like a visitor at a zoo watching the lions roar. “But how did you know which flight we were on?” asked Eos, now finally posing a question that should have bothered him from the start. Djoutunhaim smiled silently as he turned to the boy. There was a short pause, and the Professor and Intergard exchanged a worried look that Eos had a hard time interpreting. “Now you’re finally onto something, young one,” said Djoutunhaim, “Funny how none of your legendary superiors thought of that earlier, wouldn’t you say?” A few seconds passed without anybody speaking. Intergard was looking over her shoulder to Eos, whose thoughts were dashing back and forth in his head as he tried to understand how anyone could have gotten hold of their flight time. Because after all, they hadn’t told anyone, and Osrakey had given them their tickets in private, had he not?

And then it hit him. Osrakey had not. Indeed, had there not been a certain someone passing through the narrow corridor in front of Eos’ room at the Erkom hideout just as Osrakey had handed him the ticket, squeezing through between the two of them to get to the stairway, all while playing pure-and-honest with a cheerful greeting on his lips while he secured that lethal piece of intel for Djoutunhaim in the shadows? No way… Eos couldn’t believe it. “That’s right,” said Djoutunhaim lovingly as he saw the startled expression on Eos’ face, almost proud of him. “The name of my friend at the agency is… Sarb Rekkar.”

For a moment, there was silence in the large office. Intergard’s eyes quickly went over to Eos, then Djoutunhaim, then Sibrodi, reflecting how her mind was processing the news. Ienge turned to his friend, but Eos just nodded. He should have known. Leit should have known — They had thought about it all so much, and with only a tiny bit more logical thinking from their side, all this could have been averted. The Professor opened his mouth to speak, but all of a sudden, a sharp yell from high above on one of the balconies echoed down to them, and Eos immediately knew whose voice it was. “Release!” A bright flash illuminated the ceiling of the hall, and Eos could spot two familiar faces leaning over a balcony to the right: The ‘heavily delayed’ Team Two, Agents Igsher and Shichal. The light flooding out of Leit’s hand quickly reached the group standing below on the polished floor, and with a sound of shattering glass the Demonwall exploded into glittering pieces that hovered in the air for a short moment before disintegrating into countless glowing particles that reflected in Djoutunhaim’s startled eyes. Intergard grinned. “And now, for payback!”