#had a cool title though they called me the spirit of the rising sea

[desertduality]

the hermitcraft snails invaded my dream last night but all they were doing was pulling pirate ships across the sand. and the sand moved like water. and then I fell off the boat and got run over

[brvdges]

Like A River Flows - Stark!Reader x Peter Parker

Title: like a river flows

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Y/N hopes to meet her soulmate on her eighteenth birthday. Soulmate No Blip AU

Warnings: none

A/N: I've been gone so long but here's a new imagine! I got a new laptop! So hopefully there will be tons more of these. I listened to "Can't Help Falling In Love" by Kina Grannis if you wanna get the full experience.

Word Count: 1824

___

You could hear the sound of glasses clinking and laughter echoing up from the main room as you tugged at your dress at the top of the stairs. You turned around and looked in the ornate mirror behind you. 

Everything about you was perfectly polished and plucked; your lace was perfectly laid with every hair beautifully framing your face. Your ears were adorned with simple gold diamond studs and a matching name necklace sat daintily on your collarbone.

Your makeup was done to perfection with your brown eyes sparkling from behind layers of shadow, liner, mascara, and false lashes. For the first time in your life, you had gotten your makeup done professionally. Your father had paid for it of course -- it was at his insistence that you had gotten it done.

In fact, the entire party was at his insistence and he had taken it upon himself to have every detail perfect. You didn’t really want a big elaborate birthday party, but today was the big day. 

Everyone had a special day when you’d finally know the person you’re meant to be with. At a young age, you’d come to the conclusion somehow your meeting would be on your eighteenth birthday. When your father was enlightened with this fact, he had taken it upon himself to make everything perfect -- including you. Thanks to him, you looked undeniably stunning.  It was the most beautiful you had seen yourself in a long while. Ever since your mom had passed, you hadn't felt the need to dress up anymore -- so it no longer felt like you.

“You look absolutely radiant, Y/N.” Pepper assured you as she joined you in looking in the mirror. “Your father outdid himself. Just wait until he sees you.” You understood immediately what she meant, you were almost a spitting image of your mother. Your mahogany skin and high cheekbones were hers, as was your smile and arched eyebrows. The only evidence of your father was the occasional facial expression. “You ready?” she asked turning you back towards the steps. 

You nodded and smiled cautiously, “You’re gonna be okay. There’s so many people down there and they’re all excited to see you.” The two of you peered over the banister down all the sea of people below. Your father had indeed gone for a more sophisticated approach, but as with all Stark parties it was pretty much promised to liven up as the night went on. 

“All right! Chin up!” You did as you were told and began your way down the grand staircase. As you made your descent, you saw the attention shift to you as everyone took you in for the first time that night. “The birthday girl is here!” Natasha raised a glass to you. You smiled to her as you were welcomed with a myriad of birthday wishes.

As the party continued on, you felt almost like a princess. So many promising people had come up and introduced themselves to you; however nothing had clicked yet. You were starting to wonder if all the theatrics had been for nothing when your dad found you. You were standing against the wall watching your friends have a ball of a time dancing to the DJ that had recently taken place of the string quartet. 

“Y/N, shouldn’t you be dancing?” he asked, his dark brows furrowing in confusion. You sighed disappointedly, “Yeah, I guess.” You picked at a string on your dress, “I thought I’d meet them today.” Your dad nodded glancing over at Pepper. She was talking excitedly to Natasha -- likely about wedding plans. The way he looked at her was so beautiful. The way you could tell everything he felt for her from just a look was absolutely amazing. That was it -- that what you wanted. 

“Well, Y/N, you never know there’s still a few hours left to your birthday.” you frowned a bit, “I’ve talked to every person here that I’ve never met. I’m pretty sure it’s not happening today.” your dad chuckled, “You know Y/N, I know I’ve told you the story of how I met your mom.”

“Italy, 1999.” you mumbled looking up at your father. He nodded, “We met and it felt right. I’m not one to be very emotional, but I knew I wanted to keep her around. There was just something about her.” you tilted your head, “She wasn’t your soulmate though. Pepper is.” He sighed, “She was the one for me -- well until she passed, of course. By that time, I had known Pepper for years and I didn’t see her in that way until one day, I just did.” He looked over at her again, her and Natasha had been joined by Maria.

“I don’t know if you're understanding what I’m getting at. I don’t know if I’m explaining it clearly. What I’m saying is -- it could be someone you’ve already met and maybe you just haven’t realized it yet. No one ever said it had to be someone new -- just that there was a day that you would know.” He gave you a small smile, “You should enjoy your night because either way, you look amazing, kiddo. Happy birthday.” he playfully hit you on the shoulder before walking away.

Taking your dad’s words to heart, you decided to let it go for the night and just have fun. You made your way out onto the dancefloor, your friends cheering at your arrival.

...

It was finally the end of the night, cake had been eaten and presents had been surveyed as there were too many to open. Most of the guests were beginning to go home but some still lingered out on the cul-de-sac. You stood on the front porch, your heels in your right hand as you waved people goodbye with your left.

“I seemed to have missed most of the festivities.” A familiar voice made you turn around to see your father’s prodigy, Peter Parker, standing behind you. You were pretty good friends with Peter as he had been working with your father for little over three years now. Even still, he seemed to have his moments where he seemed to shut himself off from you and get quiet. He seemed to have his moments and his secrets and so you didn’t really hang out much outside him visiting the tower.

He also wasn’t a social butterfly so even though you had invited him to your party, you didn’t actually expect him to show. Even though it was the end of the night, your spirits still rose seeing him here. “Yeah, you did. My dad got so drunk he serenaded Pepper on the bar.” the two of you laughed. 

You looked out over the seemingly never-ending property, your father had held your party at the summer home. It aided in you feeling like a princess, there was a garden maze on the south side of the home and a long driveway lit by lanterns. You glanced over at Peter and stepped off of the porch, “Would you like to join me on a walk?” He smiled and followed. 

The two of you slowly made your way towards the garden maze on the other side of the property. “You look...” he trailed off while admiring you. You could feel the heat rise to your cheeks and were glad he couldn’t actually see it, “Thank you.” The two of you turned into the garden maze as lightning bugs flew overhead and a cool breeze filled the air. As you walked, you tried to catch and release a few lightning bugs.

The sounds of late summer night hummed in the background as you spotted the small black rectangular box in his hand, “What’s that?” you asked. He looked down at it sheepishly, “It’s just something I got you. I don’t know if you’ll actually like it.” He had thought to buy you something? That was unexpected, but very welcomed. 

Without you saying anything, he slowly opened the small box to reveal another gold necklace. “It’s not 100 percent pure gold like the ones your dad gets you,” it was absolutely gorgeous. It was a small heart pendant attached to a gold chain. “It’s stupid really-” he scratched the back of his neck, looking down at it. “It’s beautiful, Peter.” You whispered in awe. 

“Would you mind? You can take the other one off.” You said turning around. He carefully removed it from the box. He put it over your head and placed the pendant on your collarbone before securing it in the back and you felt a warm sensation in your heart. Suddenly, everything changed. 

It was like your senses had sharpened. You could hear the distant conversation at the front of the property and the chirping of the crickets. You could feel the soft summer breeze across your body and Peter’s soft breath on the back of your neck where goosebumps had started to form. Every time his skin accidentally brushed yours, it felt delicate yet intense all at once. The world seemed to slow as he pulled your hair over the chain after removing the other necklace and turned you to face him. 

You studied his face and your eyes fell upon his brown ones. His hand found yours sending shivers through your body. You lightly squeezed his hand before pulling him closer feeling your knees start to get weak.

Resting your hand on the side of his face, you slowly guided him to the ground. You were close enough to lightly feel the air escaping his nose. He looked down at your lips and was about to lean in when- “Y/N! Come say goodbye to your grandmother!” your father called off from the distance somewhere. 

The two of you fell apart still sitting on the ground the closest you had ever been. You frowned slightly looking away, “I should say goodbye to my nonna. I usually give her a kiss and a hug goodbye.” You licked your lips looking down to avoid eye contact. “She flew in from Italy -- my mom’s side of the family. I don’t get to see her like that.” 

“No, no. I understand.” he mumbled as you both quickly stood. You began dusting off your dress as he helped. You looked up at him again quickly before looking back down again, “Thanks again. It’s beautiful.” You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes again because his gaze suddenly felt so intense, it felt like you’d melt. “You’re welcome.”

“Y/N!” your dad yelled off in the distance again. You gestured towards the balcony of the house where your dad was likely yelling from, “I have to go.” Peter nodded quickly, “I understand.” You admired him and watched as his eyes softly gazed over your features one last time. “Good night, Peter.” you waved quickly, “Good night, Y/N.” You gathered your dress and hurried off towards where your dad and nonna waited for you on the balcony.

That was it.

[ga-yuu]

~Kurama~Main Story Chapter 2~

Chapter 1

*

*

*

-----Part 1-----

Kurama: “Don’t you dare interrupt me!.”

As I opened my eyes in despair, I heard a voice above me, which was the most sullen voice I’ve ever heard.

Demon: “Gyaaaaa!”

Yoshino: “Nghh.....”

The invisible wind blades sliced the limbs of the demon brutally.

The demon collapsed struggled violently on the ground in a black mass.

Kurama: “Crushed like a bug.”

(Why.)

I looked back, ducking my eyes against the strong wind blowing. Kurama pulls a fan from his waist and gives it a big flash.

Kurama: “I won’t allow a fly like you to interrupt me, so be  ready for what’s coming to you.”

Demon: "Aaarghh.....forgive.....me....."

Kurama: "Ohh, how do you want me to forgive you?"

Looking at the demon with red eyes full of contempt, Kurama exhales in a world of boredom.

Yoshino: "Be careful!"

The fallen arm emerged struggling like a living thing.

It tries to attach the rest of it's body one by one, when----

Kurama: "It's no use, if the spell wounds the soul so deeply, no amount of regeneration will catch up."

True to his word, the arm fizzled out in front of us, never to return to its original state.

(What an overwhelming power....)

Kurama: "Apparently, there's nothing to look forward to."

He tells the limbless demon coldly, and Kurama lifts his fan once more.

Kurama: "Good. Now fly away...."

The wind, which rolls with the dust, becomes a weapon and attacks the limbless demon.

In an instant, the body was chopped into pieces and unable to regenerate in time, disappeared from the ground one by one.

Kurama: "............."

Kurama looked at it with no emotion whatsoever.

Yoshino: "Umm....thank you for helping me."

Kurama looks at me as I try to talk to him, forcing my tongue, which is tense, to move.

Kurama: "Don't get me wrong. I have not the slightest reason to help you."

Yoshino: "Then why?"

Kurama: "I told you so. That bug was interrupting me and it made me uncomfortable. One after another, something keeps spoiling my bath time."

(That's why....?)

(I was saved, but I wonder if there was any hesitation for Kurama to take the life of the same demon.)

Kurama: "Yeah, but there were some good things too."

Yoshino: "Good things?"

His fingertips touched his black hair, which was now completely dry, and the corners of his lips lifted happily.

Kurama: "All dry."

(Hmmm......I'm sure you're very different from us.)

(He took life as naturally as if it were the blink of an eye, without any effort or hesitation whatsoever.)

Kurama: "So, why are you not killing me?"

-----Part 2-----

Kurama: "So, why are you not killing me?"

Yoshino: "Eh?"

Kurama: "You should have used the powers you received from Tamamo."

(That's...)

Yoshino: "I only got my powers a few days ago. And I was so self-conscious at the time...."

(I believed that demons were an imaginary entity, and now I'm suddenly fighting it.)

Kurama: "It's not worth talking about. No matter how much power you have in your hands, if you are weak in spirit you will not be able to use it."

Yoshino: "I am....."

A moment later, a large hand reached out to me.

(........!)

He scoops up my chin with his fingertips and looks directly into my eyes.

Kurama: "It's just an insignificant light of life."

Whispering in a low voice, Kurama slid his fingers from his chin to my throat.

Yoshino: "Sto...p...."

Kurama: "I see you've learned your lesson once and for all."

I can't even argue with the mocking sound of it.

Meanwhile, his fingers slowly traced the way down my throat....

(Ah)

It stopped when it touched the center of my trembling chest.

Kurama: "Are you afraid to die? Little puss."

(Is he going to----)

The cold rises in my throat and I forgot to blink in fear.

Kurama: "Then, don't ever come near me again."

I looked up at Kurama in dismay as he easily pulled himself away from me.

Yoshino: ".....Don't want to kill me?"

Kurama: "It doesn't matter to me, whether humans live or die. I don't like the idea of being bound to the most vulnerable and mediocre creatures. If you want to die, you can drown yourself in the river over there."

Yoshino: "I'm not planning to die!"

I hurriedly distanced myself, trying to get my confused head back together.

Yoshino: "But I thought the rebels would see me as an enemy, you know since I have the fox powers and all."

Kurama: "The news that you have accepted the protection of the Shogunate has already reached Yoshitsune. And you’ll enter the battlefield even though you’re unworthy of it, so for sure you will be hunted. But....this time Benkei said, "Don't go there and start a war, get it?" and that's why I didn't create a scene."

(Oh I see....)

(But whatever the reason, it's true that Kurama saved my life this time.)

When I looked at Kurama with mixed feelings, when....

Morinaga: "Heyyy, Yoshino!"

Kurama: "......."

(That voice, is it Morinaga-san?)

Shigehira: "She must not have gone that far, right?"

(Shigehira-san is with him too!)

Kurama: "People from Shogunate."

-----Part 3-----

Kurama: "People from Shogunate."

Yoshino: "....! Quick, come over here."

I quickly hide him and myself behind the trunk of a large tree.

Kurama: "What are you doing?"

Yoshino: "Just...come over here."

In a hushed voice, I tugged Kurama's exposed arm and pulled him closer.

Kurama: "Hey, little puss!"

Yoshino: "Shhhhh....."

(.....Scary)

My legs were shaking like crazy, even though I'm the one who approached.

(What am I even doing? But....)

I keep my body close to the tree and watched them.

Shigehira: "Tamamo-san is not bullshitting me, right? He said Yoshino-san went to the mountains to pick herbs in the morning."

Morinaga: "Well, she was not in her room, so it must be true. And I can understand that you’re worried, because it's already late."

Shigehira: ".....I'm not."

Shigehira-san murmured in response to Morinaga-san's calm voice.

Shigehira: "If Tamamo hadn't been summoned by Yoritomo-sama, I wouldn’t have come instead of him."

(Tamamo asked them to pick me up.)

(But this is good. They will pass by without noticing us.)

Kurama: "What, no Tamamo?"

Yoshino: "Please, suppress your voice, or they'll find us."

Kurama: "!"

Kurama's eyebrows furrowed as I covered his mouth with my hand as he continued to speak.

(Not good, I think he's mad...)

Kurama: "............"

(Waahhh.....)

Just when I was frightened, a hot, soft tongue suddenly crawled across my palm.

Yoshino(blushing): "Mm......"

The next bite on my fingertips made my shoulders shake.

Yoshino: "What are you...."

Kurama: "That's my line. Don't give me orders."

The reluctantly lit heat is struck by the cool sound of the voice and drains away.

Yoshino: "Because if you don't hide properly, they will attack you."

Kurama: "I wish they would...."

Yoshino: "Eh?"

I looked up at Kurama in amazement as he told me the obvious.

Kurama: "I have heard that Morinaga is called a ‘Fierce general’. Shigehira, too, was once praised by Yoshitsune. There will be some bones to pick."

Yoshino: "You said you were not going to create a scene in Kamakura, right......?"

Kurama: "It depends. If I want to, I can."

(You’re so...)

Kurama: "Anyways, what the hell are you doing? What are you trying to do by hiding me from your allies?"

A suspicious look pierces my face and I shrug.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. There is a big reason...

2. I don't think you understand...(+4/+4)

3. I don't know what I was doing....

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Yoshino: "....I don't think you'll understand, even if I say it."

Kurama: "I have no intention in understanding your heart. Just give me facts."

I gulped and murmured

Yoshino: "My body just went into action. I don't want you to be in danger in front of me after you've helped me for whatever reason."

(I think I'm being a bit sweet here.)

Kurama: "......"

After listening to what I had to say, Kurama's eyes flickered.

Kurama: "I don't understand you." (This line is going to be throughout this route.)

(Ah, for the first time I think I might have seen some human-like emotions in Kurama.)

My eyes widen in surprise, but my thoughts are soon interrupted.

Morinaga: "Did you hear someone's voice?"

Shigehira: "Huh, are you sure? Where?"

(What should I do....they're coming this way.)

Kurama: "How annoying."

Yoshino: "Huh?"

Annoyingly, Kurama grabbed me by the collar and then----

(No way!?)

He easily puts me over his shoulder and the next thing I know is I was floating.

When I realized that I was flying on Kurama, I held back my squeal.

Soon the ground was distancing itself from us.

(......So fast!!)

Yoshino: "Ku-Ku....rama...san...!"

Kurama: "Don't add any more honorifics to my name."

------Part 4------

Yoshino: "Ku-Ku....rama...san...!"

Kurama: "Don't add any more honorifics to my name."

(What are you talking about at such time!?)

Desperately, I tried to answer back.

Yoshino: “...Does that mean I can call you by your first name?”

Kurama: “No matter what you call me, no matter how you talk to me, it’s clear that you and I are not equals. It’s so annoying to address each others with titles.”

Yoshino: “Mm...I understand, Kurama.”

(I don’t want to be killed for being annoying, and I’m scared, but if he doesn’t mind, then that’s fine.)

Kurama: “What’s wrong, puss.”

Yoshino: “Why are we flying....”

Kurama: “Were you dreaming? You were the one who wanted them to not find us.”

(That’s right!)

Yoshino: “Why did I do that....”

Kurama: “This is just to make up being distracted by your ramblings.”

It was difficult to understand the absurdity of his actions even when they are explained.

Meanwhile, the wind is whistling in our ears and the scenery is changing in the blink of an eye.

(What’s going to happen to me?)

Kurama: “If you make noise, I’ll drop you.”

The wind blew the tears from my face.

(....I want to cry because I feel helpless.)

(Kurama doesn’t seem to be planning to kill me for the moment, so I believe him.)

As I look ahead----

Yoshino: “Ah.....”

The breathtaking blue sky feels much closer than it does on the ground.

(I’m going to get sucked in.)

Below, the mountain peaks have a bluish hue, the trees are bathed in the light and greenery spreads out.

Further on, I could see the sea.

Yoshino: “----Fascinating.”

Kurama: “......!”

(Is that the center of Kamakura?)

The roofs of the houses are small, and if you look closely, you can see a whitish road leading down to the sea.

Yoshino: “Kamakura looks small, when viewed from this height.”

So many houses in a small town carved out of a large natural area.

(It’s amazing to think that there are people living in that one.)

Kurama: “Hey.”

(Oh dear, did I get carried away and make too much noise?)

I noticed Kurama’s raised eyebrows and the blood rushed to my face.

Yoshino(blushing): “I’m sorry...it was beautiful view and....”

Kurama: “Why are you suddenly stretching out when you used to shrink back a moment ago? Are you not scared anymore?” (For those who don’t know, Yoshino’s behavior changes in seconds. She’s quite unpredictable and male leads finds it fascinating how many expressions she shows in one minute.)

------Part 5------

Kurama: “Are you not scared anymore?”

(It doesn’t look like he’s angry...)

I take a short breath and then carefully search for an answer to his question.

Yoshino: “Because, if you think about it, I’ve never flown before... I couldn’t imagine how different it would be unlike what you see from the ground. But you.....Kurama, you always see such beautiful scenery.”

Kurama: “......”

(Selfish, unreasonable. Exactly like Tamamo described...)

(But maybe it’s because you see this every day, might be the reason why you’re not excited as I am.)

And it is because Kurama is such a strong demon that he is able to hold me like this.

Yoshino: “I’m jealous, you know.”

Kurama: “.....I don’t understand you.”

Kurama murmurs in a low voice and stares deep into my eyes.

Kurama: “Is this height of the sky so fresh? For me, it’s something I’ve seen a thousand times, no, tens thousands of times over the past 300 years.”

Yoshino: “....! That’s long!”

Kurama: “It’s not like the fragile life of a human being.”

(Oh, I see.)

Yoshino: “That’s why.”

Kurama: “What wrong?”

I continued softly, feeling strangely at ease.

Yoshino: “A human’s life is short and there is little he can do. I think that’s why I’m so moved by each experience. I’m sure this is the first and last time I’ll fly in my life. It would be a shame to be afraid.”

Kurama: “You....”

Yoshino: “Eh?”

He was about to say something when Kurama interrupted, looking unhappy.

Kurama: “I’m tired. We’re landing.”

(Yikes!!)

With the declaration, the body that was being held by Kurama....

(I’m about to fall!)

As I was clinging on to him, I heard Kurama laughing in my ear as if he was making fun of me.

The fall stops with a slight jolt.

(Not on......the ground.)

I was lowered into the branch of a large overhanging tree.

Yoshino: “Ha..... I thought I was going to die.”

Kurama: “It’s called once-in-a-life time experience, like you said. Rejoice, that you have died in an extraordinary way.”

Yoshino: “I wouldn’t be happy if I die because I wouldn’t be able to experience anything else....”

I’m having trouble saying it back, but I feel something blowing up inside me.

(Something’s strange.)

(Maybe the various experiences have been so intense that the fear has gone.)

Yoshino: “I’ve made, Morinaga-san and Shigehira-san worry.”

Kurama: “Well, sit here and count the number of leaves on this tree to kill time. They will eventually give up and go down the mountain. Those who crawl on the ground do not know how to look up.”

(So that means, I and Kurama will be alone for a while.)

Yoshino: “Um, can I ask you a question? Why do you want to fight Tamamo so badly?”

Kurama: “Because he’s strong. Do you need any other reason?”

I thought he would ignore my question, but he answered back.

Kurama: “Only the excitement of fighting the strong will satisfy my thirst.”

Yoshino: “But if you fight, you might hurt yourself.”

Kurama: “So what? If I lose my life, I have no regrets. The moment you start to think that you’ll hurt yourself, you’re already weak.”

(....So that’s you’re principles.)

I will eventually have to fight this demon who lives by unknown principles.

(For that reason, I have to understand Kurama as much as possible.)

Yoshino: “So you signed up with Yoshitsune to take part in the war because you want excitement?”

Kurama: “I’m not interested in the warfare. I only help those I find interesting.”

Chapter 3

[korkrunchcereal]

Lohn’goron

                                     Death has been broken

                                  In the struggles of the self

                                          To fight is to live  

Once more Gargaron Khral found himself upon his familiar rise over the Barrens. So often he had sat upon its crest that the dry grass and crumbling dirt had become indented, his meditation imprinted upon the land he called home. A welcome breeze helped to cool his skin from the unrelenting warmth of the sun, and the soft cry of a bird sounded in the distance.

Beyond the hills of the Barrens, the peaks of Stonetalon Mountain were visible, jutting forth from the earth like gnarled and mangled fangs. From up high Gargaron watched the land, curiosity glimmering from his eyes. A pack of zhevra that so far below were but splotches of black and white grazed with little fear, for instinct and familiarity had made the grasslands comfortable. They thought themselves safe. From above, Gargaron knew otherwise.

He saw metal catching the sun’s rays, the reflection gleaming across sharpened steel and into his eyes. Gargaron blinked, shaking his head to clear his vision. Another orc stalked the zhevra, a spear in hand. The wind blew against the hunter, masking their scent from the herd. Each step closer seemed like hours upon the sun’s fall, Gargaron’s muscles strangely tense with the anticipation of the hunt; of the kill to come.

“He will not kill them, you know.” A woman’s voice called behind Gargaron, familiar enough to draw his attention away. He craned his neck, looking upon an orc woman. He had seen her before, and his brows furrowed in annoyance.

“You.” It was neither name or title for Gargaron did not know them, and so it would serve as both greeting and warning.

“Khral.” She answered, giving a short nod of her head.

“Why are you here? Come to trick me again?” He turned to look back down upon the hunt, puzzled that he could not find either hunter or zhevra that had been there moments before.

“Trick? You are mistaken, warlord.”

“I told you, I am no longer warlord!” He snapped his teeth in irritation, waving his hand dismissively. Some time ago the woman had sought Gargaron’s help to investigate the ruins of a Kor’kron barracks. Instead he had found the one-time Warlord Skullcrusha, rotting away in his shell of hatred. The two had argued, leaving Gargaron brewing with resentment of both Skullcrusha and himself. When he had left the barracks the woman was nowhere to be found.

“So you have proclaimed. Thrice now.” The woman moved to sit beside Gargaron, seemingly oblivious to his simmering rage…or simply ignoring it. The grass did not stir at her approach nor as she sat. “As I was saying, I did not trick you.”

“You led me to him.”

“Yes.”

“You knew he was there, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” She repeated, her eyes watching something in the grass below that Gargaron could not find.

“Why?”

“To begin your journey.”

“Journey?” Gargaron turned to look at her in confusion, blinking in shock when he saw she was gone. He shot up to his feet, eyes narrowing as he looked around. Already the sun had dropped low, being caught upon the teeth of Stonetalon. His nose twitched, the scent of something sweet filling his senses.

“Yes, journey. You have languished too long in this place; your spirit atrophies from your doubts. Your fears. Your nightmares.”

“Bah!” Gargaron whirled around, trying to find the woman. The cliff he had been standing on shrunk, as did the northern mountains. His toes curled in grass wet with dew, and he looked to find he no longer stood in the Barrens. Confusion and doubt filled his senses, and he reached instinctively for a weapon that had long been buried.

“hmm.” The short sound was laced in amusement. “This is where your doubts began…do you remember this place?”

“I…” Gargaron’s hands clenched, the orc eyeing the surrounding landscape. He had been here before, though not as it became. “Nagrand. This is Draenor.”

“Yes. The false world made reality. The wrongness here…it weeps like an open wound. But what did you find here, Gargaron Khral?”

“Disappointment.” Was his answer. “Disappointment…and failure.” The orc collapsed into the grass, feeling a great weight pull him down. A part of him was distrustful at what he said, for he spoke freely of his burdens to an unfamiliar entity. Yet it felt right, a feeling he barely remembered.

“Yes. The chains of your doubt hold you here, in this memory.” Thick fingers pressed against his back, kneading into the taunt muscles and causing him to tense. “It’s alright. Relax…”. He groaned, instinctively leaning back into the touch. He felt her face and two small tusks press against the back of his neck, their tips piercing skin and drawing blood. his eyes glancing out of the corner to see curls of red hair fall across his shoulder.

“I-“

“Shhh…” the voice interrupted, a soft whisper against his ear. “Her hair is like a bellowing fire, and her skin like the deepest ocean. She is wild, her passion dancing like a roaring flame. A promise, made under foreign moons. A regret, carried until the end of the world.”

“The weight of it all; leadership, the Horde…it was too much. I let her go so that I could focus on survival, on the Kor’kron and…” he sighed, disappointment lacing his words. “And I still believe I made the wrong choice.”

“She is not your only failure on this world though, is she? Look, Gargaron.”

Gargaron looked and felt a surge of panic fill his being, nearly causing him to flee. Two orcs charged at one another, weapons drawn and war cries loosened. One wore plates of blackened steel forged with the crude blows of a tyrant’s will. The other wore plates of crimson to match the figure’s hair, with a face so much like Gargaron’s own. Younger, but the weight of sin had begun to etch itself into his features. Gargaron watched his doppelganger strike down the black plated warrior, before falling to its knees.

“How many orcs did you kill?”

“I don’t know. A hundred? A thousand? More than I ever wished.”

“Yes…the sins of your people are marked upon every inch of your body. You had heard of the orcs; how their proud legacy had been twisted by ambition and cruelty. The great lie of nobility. Then you learned the truth, didn’t you?”

“The orcs,” Gargaron began, trying to find the words. “They…we are a violent race of monsters. I had been naïve enough to believe the stories. To believe our history was one of survival, and strength born of noble purpose. I believed…” he paused, letting his head fall into one of his hands with eyes closed. “I believed we were better than what we became…could be better.”

“But you feel that is mistaken?”

“I know it is!” He barked, raising his head once more to look upon his reflection. He had known then the great lie or had at least begun to suspect it. “All it took was a tyrant’s words to sway my people! An orc, who had no gift for speechcraft convinced an entire race to commit wanton violence and horrendous atrocities and for what purpose? What grand and ‘noble purpose’ was there?! We are a race drowning in the sea of our own bloodlust! In a thousand years…no a hundred years what will remain of the orcs? There will be no great ruins of our civilization or recording of our culture. All we will leave is the scars we have placed upon the universe.”

He received no response, feeling the soothing touch upon his back fade. Something harsh drags across his muscles now, and he winces in pain. He stands, finding himself upon the shores of a shattered island. There are bodies everywhere, both Horde and Alliance and the acrid stench of sulphur and blood overwhelms him. He turns, vomiting into the sand. His eyes water, breaths laborious as he recovers.

“This is where the Horde died…and in many ways you did as well, Gargaron.” Gargaron wearily glanced around to find the voice, before looking down. The woman lay in the sand before him, several purple fletched arrows buried in her chest and neck. They were not of Alliance make, for their barbed tips betrayed their owner.

“The dead; they’re up to my knees here.” Gargaron stated, spitting out the after taste of his vomit in disgust. “Look at them left to die! Sylvanas did not care! The horde did not care!”

“But you did. The chains of Draenor bound you, slowed you but did not keep you. You fought still.”

“Of course I fought!” he took a step forward, the bodies of man, orc and elf replaced with that of demons. There is no island here. There is but a dead world, twisted by foul purpose. Something charges at Gargaron, and he instinctively swings up. His sword makes contact and-

-his sword. The weight is almost unfamiliar in his hands. The Sword of Khral, both Gargaron’s namesake and the lineage he aspired to. The blade, so sharp as to sever muscle, sinew, and bone as if hot butter sliced through his attacker with ease.

“Yes. You fought…and fought. And fought. And fought for that was the law of Argus.” Argus. A name Gargaron had learned to hate and fear in equal measure. “And how long did you fight?”

“I do not know.” He answered. He spoke the truth; the Twisting Nether was a strange realm of chaos and entropy, and Argus sat within its churning madness. For all Gargaron knew he had fought for countless millennia, in a never-ending tide of slaughter and carnage. The demon’s had given him a name, spoken in hushed whispers among their misbegotten kind. He was ruin, an omen of catastrophe given rage at the end of a blood slick sword.

Even now, Gargaron felt sick from it all.

“It fills you with disgust. I can feel it. Why?”

“It reminds me that despite all my best efforts…despite everything I have done to be more than my bloody heritage, that I will always be slave to my base nature. How can I strive to show my people are more than our weapons and our hatred, when I succumb to the same mindless bloodlust. And..and it reminds me of him.” A nameless title for a beast given the mockery of orcish form.

““Skullcrusha.”

“Yes. Is that to be the eventual fate of our people? Monsters driven by bestial wrath, with reason replaced by animalistic fury?” Each word spoken gave form to the nightmare, the tyrant he had dreamed so often of now stood before Gargaron. He was goliath in size, looming over Gargaron and casting his dark shadow.

“You fear him because you fear this is what you may become. Take a look upon him Gargaron…you may find pity.”

“Pity!?” Gargaron guffawed, waving his hand in outrage. “Pity for this monster?! I-“ he paused, seeing the bands around Skullcrusha. He saw the chains, clasped around wrist, ankle and throat. He saw the strings, tugging at arms and legs like a puppeteer.

“Pity, because he has never known freedom. In all the long years he has existed, he has been slave to another. His purpose in life is only to serve…and I find that quite sad. But it is not the only legacy you loath, is it?” Her words faded in the wind as did Argus, bringing now the stench of burning meat and ash, and he finds his eyes begin to sting as smoke swirls around him. He coughs, his lungs filled with the acrid taste of a roaring fire. He flicks his hand, trying in vain to wave away the smoke.

The wasteland had disappeared, and in its stead was water. A vast ocean lay before him, yet that paled in comparison to the monolithic tree that was Darnassus…and Darnassus was burning. Gargaron had not watched its fall, though heard from his infrequent visits to civilization. There was only one word for the destruction of the Kal’dorei home. Genocide. By the ancestors, he could hear them scream. Gargaron fell to his knees, covering his ears in vain. He glanced up, seeing the orc woman staring at him with curiosity.

“Gah! Make it stop! Their screams are deafening!”

“This is where you died, Gargaron. Though you did not step foot upon the coast of Darkshore, nor witness Darnassus’ fall this is where Gargaron Khral was buried. Why?”

“Why!?” Gargaron roared in anger, waving his hands to the destruction. “Look at it! This is all the Horde has ever been! One bloody massacre after another.” As he raged, Darnassus began to fade, the titanic tree twisting and turning until wood became stone, and branches became walls. Yet still it burned, and upon banners blue and lions gold the fire still raged.

“Mmm…You were a child for this, weren’t you? Too young to remember…but you cannot forget the bright roar of the flames, so blinding for your small eyes or the screams of murder so loud that you cried.”

“The echoes of our history.” Gargaron muttered, finally pulling himself to his feet to watch the city’s destruction. “This is all the orcs are…all the Horde is.” His voice is soft, defeated and he feels tears welling up. “This is all I am.”

“No.” A single word, the conviction of it shaking Gargaron. He turns to look at her, confusion evident on his face.

“No? All I have seen is that I am doomed to failure; that my people are and will always be nothing more than monsters and the Horde little more than the prop of a mad warchief desperate for power. That I…” he paused for a moment, collecting himself. “That I am nothing more than a fool pretending to be a noble warrior.”

“No.” She repeated. “You shoulder the burden of a people, and expect not to collapse beneath its weight?” A barking laughter was given as answer to her own question. “No one is that strong Gargaron. Not even you.”

“Then what am I?”

“A warrior. A blademaster. A warlord…A Khral. You are all of these things and so much more, Gargaron. Come, look once more upon your nightmare.” She waved a hand to her left, Gargaron’s gaze following the motion to once more stare at Skullcrusha, still enchained and enthralled. “Did you know he was once a pale orc?” She smiled at the look of shock Gargaron gave her. “Yes, those wretched things you met on Draenor. His mind was already plaything to darker powers…It was only natural the leash was passed from one tyrant’s hands to another. But not you, Gargaron. Though you were raised in the Internment Camps, you have known real freedom. Love. Passion. Family. Yes, even disappointment, defeat, and sorrow. You have felt life in all its purest forms.”

“Defeat…is life?”

“Of course. How can we grow stronger if we are not challenged…if we are not defeated? How can we be more than what we are if we do not fail?” She paused for a moment, before sighing. “You will always carry the burden of your people. Of your legacy. That cannot be changed, and for that I hope you can forgive yourself…and me.”

Gargaron turned to face her, only to find himself once more upon his cliff overlooking the Barrens, the mountains of Stonetalon catching the sun’s light far to the north. He blinked, looking around in confusion before shaking his head. Idly he scratched his beard, looking down over the cliff side. He felt hands upon his shoulders once more, though did not tense up this time. His eyes closed, and he saw the ocean’s skin and hair of fire.

“You have fought to erase your failure’s for so long, Gargaron. You have fought for Warchiefs, Warlords and conquerors…it’s time to fight for something else.”

“What is there to fight for?” He asked aloud. Her image faded, replaced with that of Garrosh. A single word entered his mind. Power. Another image, that of Skullcrusha and another word. Servitude. Third came an image of Varok Saurfang, an orc Gargaron had not thought of for some time though learned had recently passed. To die.

“Indeed, what is there to fight for? Why do we fight?”

“You sound like one of the Pandaren…” Gargaron muttered.

“There is wisdom in the question. Why do we fight, Gargaron? Sometimes, the answer is simply because we must. Because to not fight is to allow darkness to take hold; to allow tyrants and monsters a foot in the door. Sometimes we must fight to live.” It was not images or words that filled him then, but passions. He felt the warmth of a campfire and of a woman’s touch. He felt the heartbeat of a wolf, pounding against his skin. He felt joy and wonder and…and…

And life.

He felt it all for but a moment, before it was carried away by a chill wind. Gargaron’s eyes opened as he realized he was now alone. He looked down upon dead grass and barren soil. It was dark now, and cold as if it was to rain but there was no cloud in sight. He felt uneasy, realizing then he could not hear a single sound. He was not deaf, but rather there simply was no life anywhere. Not the sound of animals, nor the howl of the wind.

“A darkness is coming, Gargaron.” Her voice echoed in his mind, booming like thunder in the silence. “To the far north upon frozen shores, the veil has been breached. Fight to stop it. Fight for the right to live. Fight, because if you do not then all of creation is at risk. Close your eyes Gargaron…and awaken.”

Gargaron shot up from his bed, sweat pouring off of his brow. He looked around, wide eyed. The fire in his home had long since turned to embers, and from what he could see beneath the flap of his hut it was nearing sunset. He groaned, pushing himself up to sit on the bed’s edge. How long had he been asleep, and had he been dreaming? He must have been, though it did little to ease his unrest. Absentmindedly he rubbed the back of his neck, pausing as he felt something wet. Slowly he brought his hand forward and even in the dim light he could see fresh blood.

“What the…” his eyes went wide, remembering his dream. Outside he heard his wolf howl, giving a long mournful wail. “Rosha!” he shouted for her, already pulling himself out of the bed. Her cry sent a chill running up his spine and as he pulled away the hut’s flap he gasped. Dark clouds were approaching from the Stonetalon mountains, so vast as to swallow both the sun and sky.

His wolf stepped beside him, whining as she nuzzled his leg. Gargaron glanced down and knelt, hands gently playing at her mane. “Something is wrong girl. I know you can feel it. I can too.” He looked back to the rapidly approaching clouds, feeling uneasy. A cold wind blew across his chest, causing him to shiver.

“The veil has been breached…” he muttered, repeating the words in his dream. “An ill omen from the same mysterious woman met with a sky that flees the northern winds...Perhaps...” He stood up, sighing. He had fled from this moment for too long now. He turned around, moving back into the hut to kneel in front of the fire. Rosha quietly approached beside him, sitting to watch. His hands dug through the embers, causing him to wince in pain. He continued to dig through the ashes and into the ground, pulling out handfuls of dirt. “Well?! Help me out!” Rosha yapped, before digging her paws beside him.

They dug for several minutes, the floor slowly crumbling away until he was near a foot below. The dirt gave way to a steel box, and Gargaron brushed at it. With a grunt he pulled, the length of it as tall as he was. It had been years since he first opened the box, and slowly almost in reverence he unlatched the clasps. The steel creaked with the motion and with a gentle touch he grasped the hilt of his weapon. Orcish runes glowed faintly as he pulled forth his blade, and for a moment the very air stilled as if in tense. The Sword of Khral felt as familiar to him as the last time he carried it, as if an extension of his own arm. It felt good. Right. He had run from his failures; of her, and of his people and the Horde. It was time to stop running.

 “I have hidden from my regrets for too long, Rosha. I’ll never be rid of this malaise; of that I am sure of. But…I can fight it. To live. Now come! We leave for Ratchet. With luck we will find passage to Northrend, for that must be where I am called to fight. Ancestors know what evil that wretched place has spawned now.”

[botwstoriesandsuch]

A Teaser Appears! [insert whatever the title im going to call it here]

A quick look at a Miphlink one-shot request I’m working on. Hoping to finish soon, but don’t count on it being done this week

I really liked writing that Lynel scene in The Storm, so I’m probably gonna do another actiony scene in this...you’ll see eventually :P

Anyway, enjoy!

Just as the sun was swallowed by the sea, she rose to watch the horizon. The last few rays of light shimmered like amber on the cool waters of Lanayru Bay. In the next few moments, the whole ocean was washed by the cold of night. Waves crashed against the ragged rocks, the white foam pooling near her ankles. The princess’ eyes were fixed on the sky, the sea breeze nipped at her face, swaying her fins and clinking her silver jewelry. It was a cloudless night, the stars seemed to twinkle restlessly in the air. The moon was nowhere to be seen, the bay only reflected the silent stars, and the flickering orange light from behind her. The Sergeant probed the campfire with a stick, fiddling with the charred wood. Kneeling by its warmth, he looked towards the shore to where she was. “Your Highness, you need not sit so close to the shore. We don’t know what kind of monsters lurk in the sea at this hour.” Mipha turned her head back at him, a wry smile on her lips. “Do not worry yourself, Seggin. I am quite skilled with my trident thanks to your teachings.” She patted her weapon that lay beside her, its metal clicked against the rocks at her touch. “Besides,” she returned her gaze to the sky. The summit of Mount Lanayru seemed to go beyond the stars. “We should hope that one beast appears tonight.” 

Rising himself from the campfire, Sergeant Seggins walked and stood beside Mipha. The towering figure of Mount Lanayru cloaked the bay, along with the surrounding trees in a soft shadow. The evergreens rustled, the familiar smell of the ocean was carried across the air. A collection of loose pebbles crawled lazily across the shore from the forces of water and wind. Shifting her bare feet, she could feel the smooth and rounded stones under her. 

It was not four hours ago, when Mipha and Seggins had swam through the Rutala River, and hiked across the Brynna Plains to get to their current point. While her father had known the true purpose of her trip, she had truly only told the Sergeant only the bare details necessary in order to get him to come. Afterall, she would never be allowed to do this on her own. Seggins set the hilt of his own spear against the ground, leaning his weight against it. He gazed at the sky along with her, although he was unsure of exactly what he should be looking for. “So, this beast...er...spirit? Whatever you called it? You say you are not certain it will appear? How long should we expect to stay until we can reach a conclusive answer?”

Mipha’s eyes stayed fixed on the sky, searching for something that would complete the serene picture. “It is the spiritual form of a great goddess. If she should appear at all, it would help give confirmation...or more like a blessing, to a certain decision I must make.” The beauty of the night was laid out before them, but still, something was missing. After a beat she continued, “I should hope it should appear sometime tonight. However, if nothing changes by sunrise, we can return to the Domain immediately. I know you are always anxious about my wellbeing.” She gave a familiar smile. That much was true, despite teaching her combat, the Sergeant, along with most of the royal staff, was always eager to have the princess safe in their company at the palace. Nonetheless, Seggin cocked a curious brow. “Forgive me if it is not my place to pry, but the decision you speak of, what might it be?”

A silence fell for a moment. Telling him the full story would bring about a conversation she was not yet ready to have. She sighed. “I must...I wish to craft something.”

“Oh?”

“Yes...something very important to me.” Mipha looked at the ground, watching the foaming waves encircle her feet. “Although, should this certain spirit not appear, I should take it as a sign that I must not pull through with a certain decision.”

Seggin narrowed his eyes. Though their dark complexion had reflected the blur of war many times, he was still able to give a soft and kind gaze towards her. “For the sake of this decision, do you wish for this beast to appear?”

In the waters, Mipha watched her reflection. Her topaz eyes stared back at her, before being taken away by the waves.

“Yes.”

A silence returned once more between them. The crashing waves and whispering wind decorated the hours, with Seggin occasionally going back to feed the fire. The night continued to the point where both of the Zora leaned their tired weight against the large grey boulders across the rocky beach. The looming figure of Mount Lanayru continued, its shadow stretched across the waters. Mipha let out a sigh. One way or another, this night would decide her fate. And through the dark, she would see what the gods and spirits had planned for her future.

- - - - - 

Suddenly, she gasped. The sound was as swift as a common breeze, but with the sentiment of a last breath. All words escaped her, as it descended from the heavens. It seemed to wear a crown of frost, but its brilliant size and majesty alone would command the attention of any army. The waves reflected its silver and arctic glow. The winds rose, the waves roared, the stars settled, and the sky was complete.

“It’s here.”

[chrysalispen]

lycoris (minor divergence AU, 5.0 spoilers)

in response to the prompt “what if Hythlodaeus had accepted the title of emet-selch, and the WoL instead met Hades?”

I wrote this in three days (mostly while heavily drugged LMAO) so it’s not.... my best work ever but I like it for what it is. Fic is beneath the cut.

=======================

Nestled within a seemingly fathomless expanse amidst the fringes of the western seas, the Tempest is not exactly what one would call a comforting locale. Its depths are rife with sailor's tales: stories of sirens and storms and ships called to their deaths, even in the days before the Flood brought deadlier creatures to Kholusia's shores.

For a creature like Emet-Selch, a man relegated to furthering his god's work within the myriad hidden places of the Source and its reflections for long years, it will do.

Of course, his choice of abode upon the First is not wholly based upon sentimentality. Sometimes he fancies he has all but forgotten what it is like for the touch of light not to sting his skin; he can bear it when he must but sees little point in deliberately exposing himself to discomfort.

Amber eyes track the rippling ribbons of refracted light that shimmer several fulms overhead, fingers of stark white softened into a glow by the water like knives dulled from use. It is just enough that the seafloor wherein he has rebuilt his most abiding memory does not lie completely shrouded in the darkness of the trench. By its dim illumination does Emet-Selch study the skyline he has built with the critical lens of a master sculptor, seeking any perceived flaws and carefully setting any misgivings aside. For better or worse, the die is cast and his choices made. This final act of creation: completed.

It wants now only for a single soul to darken its doorsteps.

~*~

She is glad to have parted ways with the others briefly, even for investigation's sake.

Although not inclined to lie by nature, she is nonetheless quite aware that her condition has deteriorated farther than any of the other Scions are like to have realized. The corona of light that had flickered at the periphery of her vision has all but overtaken her sight. Blinding white and gold accompanies the pain in her stiffening limbs which has been a constant companion since awakening in the Crystarium.

She pushes herself to a sitting position, then with a supreme act of will regains her feet. Her stance wobbles- perilously close to overcorrecting- but with time and care she is able to keep her balance, and in short order, the Warrior of Darkness finds herself once more stumbling down the vast and near-empty paved streets of an alien city: a city populated only with a single man’s memories of the dead. It is a lonely, lonely path. But that loneliness carries, in itself, a sort of bleak comfort.

Wandering up and down the paved streets of Amaurot’s neat, gridlike layout- or at least the bits that fit into the ocean trench with such suspicious seamlessness- she does not realize her feet have carried her off the beaten path until a bone-deep fatigue gives her cause to grip the cool metal of a fancifully wrought archway for support.

There is, to her surprise, still beauty to be found in this place upon further inspection. The public park she has stumbled upon is a welcome sight and a well-appointed affair at that. Mazes of green painstakingly curated and compelled into obeisance, framing the abstraction of metal sculpture. Flowers of every conceivable color, tall and comfortable-looking trees planted for shade as well as aesthetic.

For the first time since they had rounded the continental shelf and glimpsed the tall spires rising like bony fingers from the darkest depths of the ocean trench, the Warrior feels calm. Something about this place imparts a certain measure of serenity. There is a particular sort of love that has gone into its recreation, a love that is very nearly tangible.

And, somehow, also very familiar.

Fingers trailing through hawthorn and salvia- and a good dozen varieties of flowers her eyes have never seen, on the Source or elsewhere- she meanders in an aimless amble, plagued not only by the Light leaking into her vision but also the feeling that she is searching for something indefinable.

The massive tree in the center of the park brings her to a halt.

There is no other of its kind to be seen anywhere nearby. It stands aloof from the other greenery, silent and ancient and proud--its boughs bent, upon closer inspection, with the weight of many years--much like a certain Ascian of her acquaintance. The Warrior of Darkness finds herself drawn to it in a way that defies understanding.

Gently she reaches for the tree and places one palm upon its enormous trunk. Caresses the roughness of its bark with her fingertips--

-----Mortal agony warps its way through her bones and the sound of fracturing glass rings in her ears as the Light surges.

Biting back a cry of agony she convulses around it, crumpling to the ground, head in her twitching hands as the pain becomes her world. Amaurot fades, distant and unimportant, into her periphery, and upon her tongue, she tastes copper and ozone.

No no no no, not here, not now, not like this--

*I beg your pardon? That’s my tree.*

The resonant chime of the ancients’ tongue, edged with just the slightest hint of annoyance, pierces the cacophony of ravenous hunger and the spasms of her limbs so thoroughly that she… is distracted.

The pain fades and her vision, nearly white, is almost clear.

The figure is as indistinct as all the others -- tall, translucent, almost intimidating -- but something about this one is different. The other shades she has encountered acknowledged her only in the broadest of senses, treating her more as an interruption to the tasks they were set, rather like watching worker mammets forced to move aside an obstacle.

No, this shade seems more present than the others somehow. She can feel something more substantial behind the black holes of the mask peering down at her- something, that is, beyond initial surprise and a sort of mild, rather tolerant annoyance.

“It’s a very large tree,” she manages a weak smile and pats a bottom-sized dip in the root system at her side. “I think there should be plenty of room for both of us.”

The shade tilts its chin to one side, almost like a bird. She fancies she can feel the weight of a stare upon her, silently judging her appearance alongside her words-- but at length, it sits, albeit with abrupt movements that lack the artless grace she had observed among the other figures.

For a long time, they do not speak but simply accept each other’s company with varying degrees of amiability. The Warrior looks out upon the streets beyond the hedges and watches the blurred outlines of the city's shades going about what she can only assume would have once been their daily business, although a keen eye would note that there is not much change in their behavior over time. They are in a perpetual loop of the same discussions, the same paths, the same tasks, over and over.

At length, she hears the soft chiming once more, the words unfolding within her mind in the same instant. Terribly polite of Emet-Selch, she thinks with a hysterical sort of good humor, to at least provide a means of translating his people’s speech.

*So, you've come from out of time - apropos, all things considered. I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,* the shade muses. *...Not in this form, at least.*

The statement is as confusing as it is disarming.

“This… form?” she echoes, but her only answer is another question.

*You’ve come to see Emet-Selch, I take it?*

She tenses. That is all the answer that seems to be necessary.

*Ah.* With a noise that seems to translate as a laboring sigh, the shade’s cowled head comes to rest against the tree trunk. *Your timing is unfortunate. The city is deep in preparations to face the Doom. You’ll be lucky to see him before all is said and done.*

“So I’ve heard.” There is no change in what she can see of the giant’s expression, but she can sense that it was the expected response. “...If I may ask, how did you know I was here to see Emet-Selch?”

*Oh, come now, you needn’t worry about me,* the shade shrugs. *I’m not really here, you know. Well, I’m here but I’m not -present,- as it were. Nor are any of these others.*

“Are you... I mean, you’re not a spirit, are you?”

*Am I to assume you mean a wandering soul? Certainly not. We’re all just memories; naught of real substance, I’m afraid.* An amused titter as the shade stretches, catlike, before rolling its head towards her. *This is an Amaurot upon which the Doom has yet to descend- if it ever does.*

She leans forward and wraps her arms about her knees, hugging them to her chest. The only person - so to speak - in the entire city that actually seems capable of a real conversation and she has no real idea what to ask.

Might as well start with the pleasantries. “What’s your name?”

The black sockets of the mask seem to bore through her flesh and straight into her soul, and although it should make no difference she feels strangely exposed. *...Asking the important questions at last, are we? You can call me Hades. Don’t bother asking any of these others; they’d not be able to give an answer at all.*

“None of the others can really talk about anything beyond superficial matters,” she agreed. “Though I’m curious as to what makes you different. You certainly look the same as they do.”

*Knowing Emet-Selch, he likely had me on the mind while he was creating this overwrought simulacrum of his.* One large hand lifts in a lazy, flippant, and startlingly familiar wave before tucking itself behind Hades’ head. *He always was tediously sentimental. Although I suppose I should be flattered.*

“I’m not sure I follow.”

*Doubtless he thought I would see through the illusion--my sight pales in comparison to his, mind you. But he would know that. We were good friends once, he and I.* A familiar, rueful half-smile tilts the shade's lips. *Although I am no less ephemeral than anything else he’s summoned from his memory. I assume he told you what happened?*

“After a fashion, yes.” She plucks at a blade of grass. “He spoke of a calamity, and how the brightest of his number - yours, that is - came together to summon Zodiark.”

*Not the most accurate summary, in truth, but I suppose it will suffice,* Hades sniffs.

The Warrior listens, with all of the patience for which she is so famous upon the Source, as he speaks. The burning pain of the Light is almost nonexistent in this odd man's presence, and that alone is sweet comfort.

Emet-Selch must have thought highly of this Hades. He is wholly unlike the kind and gentle giants seeming content to drift through empty streets, unaware of the fate that awaits them; he recounts the Ascian’s lecture with an air that could be generously termed sardonic: brusque and laden with quipped observations about how ‘tiresome’ the other man could be, yet in a way that makes obvious their long years of acquaintance. Affection lies just beneath his exasperation, and she finds herself warming to Hades quickly, sour as he seems.

He is blunt-tongued and eccentric, but still kind in his way. She cannot help but like him.

*Needless to say, there were those who didn’t take kindly to the suggestion that we ought to continue sacrificing souls to Zodiark’s appetites, and felt that we ought to make our peace with the new lives we’d created. They summoned Hydaelyn to counter Him. So for the first time in anyone’s memory, we were divided on our course of action---*

“And you fought,” she says, sadly. Sorrow burns in her breast for this man and his fellows, a gentle people who had never known strife if Emet-Selch were to be believed. “He told me.”

*Then you know how it ends.* Hades’ smile fades, and though she half-expects another testy remark, there is none forthcoming. The shade's head shakes slowly, side to side. *So he continues to labor in Zodiark’s name, then.*

“Not for any lack of attempts to thwart him, I assure you.”

*Don't apologize. I should hardly expect otherwise. He’s an obstinate ass,* Hades says flatly, *and that’s only one of his many flaws. Though I imagine it serves him well in this regard-- if none other.*

Despite herself, she laughs.

“I would say it doesn’t even begin to describe him. You can’t imagine-- well, no, I guess you can if you knew him well. Although…”

*Although...?*

She stares at her hands, only able to see a blinding white outline, and does not answer. She does not trust herself to answer.

Sometimes I see a glimpse of a kinder, gentler man, beneath it all. And now- now I find myself mourning the loss of a person I never knew.

If he senses her hesitation, he gives no outward indication of it.

*I’m sure he still intends to carry out his plan.* His eyes might be hidden in the depths of that mask, but she doesn’t need to see them. There is a certain degree of sorrow in his words, blunt as they are. *Mind you, he can commit all manner of cruelties when it suits him to do so now, but he was very different once. Friendly. Compassionate. Very willing to admit his mistakes and seek counsel where warranted. He would take the burdens of other souls upon his own shoulders without a second thought if he felt his aid necessary. Occasionally I found him infuriating, but always he had the purest of intentions.* Each word falls upon her ears with a heavier weight. Hades sighs. *This is a terrible burden he has chosen for himself, make no mistake- and it is all the worse for knowing his temperament is so ill-suited to carry it.*

The quality of the filtered light through the water has changed - the color, the angle, albeit only slightly. It is one of the few ways anyone has in Norvrandt of tracking the time. Evening has fallen.

As if realizing it himself, Hades seems to stir from a sort of reverie, as though their chat is a dream and she is the shade.

*It’s starting to get very late, you know,* he says, rather briskly. *Shouldn’t you be off to get your permit? I’m certain he’s waiting on you.*

“I… yes. Yes, of course.”

Slowly and carefully the Warrior stands, bracing her weight against the tree. It is a nigh-herculean effort to regain her footing; she is desperate to lie down somewhere and try to sleep, but sleep despite her exhausted state has brought neither rest nor peace. The Light lurks just beneath her mortal shell, a predator waiting for its prey to falter.

Time is shorter than she had hoped it would be.

Still, she smiles.

“Thank you for speaking with me, Hades.”

That impatient flip of a wave again, and now she is quite certain she has seen Emet-Selch make that precise gesture a time or two. *If answering your questions assures me a peaceful nap, count me happy to oblige.*

She has almost made it on her slow, staggering feet to the hedgerow when Hades’ voice chimes once more at her back.

*Before you go---there is one more thing. One… minor thing.*

The sadness underscoring his words gives her pause. She turns around.

Hades is not lazing beneath the tree with his back propped against its trunk as she had left him. He too is standing. The giant's gait lists to one side beneath the heavy boughs, and he seems to be looking at something beyond her.

*Who... is that standing next to you?*

She blinks. A glance backwards and to her left shows Ardbert, watching but still keeping a discreet and carefully polite distance, waiting for her to finish her rest and catch up with him. “I... that’s...”

*...Never mind. I suppose it hardly matters, does it? ‘Tis a soul, if a faint impression of one--and the same shade as your own.* That birdlike tilt of the chin. *The color of it… I would know it anywhere. And so, I imagine, would he.*

Her gaze sharpens. The note of longing in the shade’s voice is unmistakable.

*Well, don’t let me keep you.*

His arms fold into the sleeves of his robe, and there is something soft there in the slackened bow of his lips, something that makes her breath catch. They curve upwards, in the faintest and most self-deprecating of smiles. It is the expression of a man that has any number of things to say, and no time to say them.

In the end, he says nothing, and the moment passes. She turns away.

She is met with Ardbert’s stare of open confusion upon reaching the elaborate masonry of the park walkway. “Who were you talking to?”

“Oh, I--”

There is nothing and no one under the tree. It stands a lone sentinel in the center of its clearing just as before, quiet and undisturbed.

The Warrior of Darkness exhales.

“Just an old friend,” she says.

[boukenboy]

#15: 幕末降臨伝ONI / Bakumatsu Kourinden ONI

Bakumatsu Kourinden ONI is a direct sequel to Kishin Kourinden ONI, released around 2 years after the latter. Bakumatsu is an upgrade to its predecessor in many respects, and is definitely the stronger game of the two, but some baffling design decisions are present, including ones it shares its with predecessor. Set in the Bakumatsu period of Japan, an era where the shogun's influence over the rulings of the country would come to an end, we play as a group of monster-hunters working for the Shadow Shinsengumi - a secret police dedicated to protecting the country from all sorts of beasties. Our main man is Yamatomaru - originally from a small village, he would attract the Shinsengumi's attention after saving some of the village children from winding up as monster-food. Brash, foul-mouthed, and good-hearted, he is essence of a typical shounen-style hero.

After being soundly defeated by a monster seeking revenge for his slain friend in his hometown, our hero is saved by the enigmatic Jurouta, who invites the young boy into the shogun's service, stating that he has the proper qualities of a monster hunter. Initially reluctant, Yamatomaru, determined to become a strong warrior like his deceased father, meets up with the handsome man and accepts the offer. As more and more monster related incidents occur. it becomes clear that certain hot-spots of spiritual energy, what the came calls "spirit pits", are going haywire, giving rise to all sorts of calamities within Japan. Furthermore, a mysterious foreigner with dubious intentions, Riche, is also seeking out the spirit pits, and is willing to do anything to obtain control of them.

Our heroic twosome is soon blessed with the addition of the Saigami siblings: Natsume and Touya. The Saigami clan is reknowned for their spiritual prowess - including the ability to seal away the raging pits. Natsume is deeply insecure in her own power, however, and for the first half of the game, the party heavily leans on Touya to do what is needed. We are later in the game joined by Squanto - the former leader of a ruined nation due to Riche's machinations. A man of few words, he is a solid tank of a character, dedicated to defeating the colonizers that ruined his way of life.

As charming as this cast is, I felt that, outside of their initial introductions, the game doesn't bother to develop the cast much. Yamatomaru begins the game as a hot-headed himbo, and shows little growth throughout the story. Jurouta is the same, save for the revelation that he is actually a she, causing Natsume to question her tastes when it comes to her love-life, as she is enamored with the stoic warrior. Touya is the typical over-protective brother to a T, but subverts this trope at the same time in an interesting way: instead of coddling his sister whenever she expresses insecurity about her abilities, he empowers her. He encourages her. It's very progressive, especially for a game of this age.

As one can see, the scope of Bakumatsu is much larger than the previous game, and overall, has a much darker tone. The story, at times, is relentlessly tragic: in one instance, you are forced to battle a former colleague of the Shadow Shinsengumi after he willingly transforms himself into a monster in order to prove himself - in another, you watch helplessly as an entire civilization is genocided off-screen. While Kishin wasn't afraid to showcase the occasional tragedy, it never goes as far as Bakumatsu. This is a dramatic game, and I commend the writers for going where others would not.

The narrative is focused: unlike the vignette-heavy style of Kishin, Bakumatsu is fast-paced and dynamic - allegiances shift at a breakneck pace, and as soon as one threat is vanquished, another rises to take its place. It feels exciting to play. The dungeons are, for the most part, short and snappy. I remember the dungeons in Kishin being an absolute chore at times, as the game would frequently chain multiple locations together with little plot to entice the player to continue on. While Bakumatsu does feature the occasional marathon sequence, the player is always provided with plenty of cut-scenes and opportunities to save and recover.

That being said, the game lacks in dungeon variety. Almost all of the dangerous places you'll visit in Bakumatsu are mountains, with only a color palette to differentiate them. It's boring. I found myself rushing through these levels, mashing the fast-forward button and avoiding thorough exploration. I understand the memory limits of the Super Famicom, but it still feels lazy. And while they are a definite disappointment, the rest of the graphic design in Bakumatsu excels. Your characters are superbly well-animated, full of personality and character. During the latter half of the game, your party travels across the sea to the New World - and it truly feels like a different continent! The level of detail in the map of a game this age managed to really surprise me, and I loved seeing my home country portrayed through the eyes of a different culture than my own.

Bakumatsu features an upgraded combat system. Each character has a variety of sword-techniques that use their own MP gauge which is restored by walking. They're are all super well-animated, flashy, and just plain cool. Even the most basic moves are stronger than your standard attack, so even the ones you acquire early on retain their usefulness throughout the entire game. The standard magic spells and summon abilities have been upgraded graphically, too, making the battle sequences, as a whole, feel much more exciting and dynamic.

Which is great, because like its predecessor, the encounter rate in Bakumatsu is disrespectful. Battles occur every couple of steps, and enemies are, due to the expanded combat mechanics in comparison to the previous game, often take a bit longer to defeat, as they tend to have an immunity to either magic or physical attacks. Remembering these characteristics is a matter of memory, as there are no spells available to identify weaknesses. Despite this, the overall difficulty level in Bakumatsu is much more reasonable than in Kishin - there are only two instances in which I had to stop and grind out some levels: once in the very beginning, and another near the very end of the game.

There are two other types of encounters that are worth discussing: the ship battles, and the underwater battles. Once you acquire your ship, you will, at times, run into other sailors that want nothing more than to send you to a watery grave. Your ship functions as a character would - it gains experience and levels up as you defeat enemies, but you must spend a pretty penny at the Yokohama docks for it to be upgraded. These oceanic encounters are novel for their time, and amusing enough, but suffer from balance issues. The first time you embark out onto the sea, you will have no way of knowing which ships you can take on, and which ones you have no chance against. It's a matter of trial-and-error, so frequent saving is recommended.

The underwater battles are similar to regular encounters, but special attacks and spells are disabled, and are instead replaced with a bar that represents how much time you can stay underwater. Should this meter run out, your character dies instantly. Taking damage and attacking foes decreases this meter, but you can choose to surface for air, but doing so will end your character's turn. This presents an interesting "risk and reward" system - the player has to choose whether or not to risk drowning or finishing a battle quickly. I wish spells were available, though. I feel as though it would have been easy enough for the developer's to disable fire and water attacks, leaving the earth and other elements. Some of the monsters you'll find underneath the water's surface are vicious. I've never been more afraid of crabs in my entire life!

Like it's predecessor, there is plenty of side-content to discover throughout the world, including a village-building minigame. Inhabited by friendly monsters you found throughout Japan, you can earn various rewards as it develops into a bustling hamlet. Special summons can also be found, but you'll have to meet special conditions in order for them to lend you their aid. This is where Bakumatsu’s most intriguing aspect comes into the play: the karma system. Depending on your choices throughout the game, you'll be assigned a rank, ranging from "Absolute Villain" to "Godlike" - these can affect whether or not you'll be able to obtain certain allies or spells.  Unfortunately, once you reach a certain point in the game, it becomes impossible to influence your rank beyond a certain point. If you're aiming to obtain everything, I'd recommend a guide.

There is a lot to like about Bakumatsu: the game is well-paced, graphically stunning, and I loved how the developers were unafraid to experiment with all sorts of different mechanics. While the execution of these ideas were occasionally lacking, they were novel for their time. Between Bakumatsu and Kishin, if you were to only play one, I'd definitely recommend this title. It's a solid, if occasionally frustrating, experience, dripping with style and visual flair. Definitely recommend!