#he’s a mixmatch of powerful creatures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

knightmaring · 5 years ago

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after you arrive to UNDERTOWN and the rest of the demigods follow suit, you begin to wind down for the night. something inside of you feels different. there's a strength that grows that you only dimly knew was there before. you feel stronger, faster, more attuned to your senses and your own inner power. if you ever doubted that you might have divine blood in your veins before, now, more than ever, you feel it. you drift to sleep, exhausted from the events that have lead up to this point. at some point you "awake". you're not in the tent, though, or maybe you are. when you awake, you're in a place that seems familiar to you. describe this place? what does it look like, sound like, smell like?

It's dark and the air is hot and insufferably humid, heavy with the scent of freshly fallen rain and the spiced pine-like scent of wet creosote bushes. The only source of light is a flickering pink neon sign that read: Ten's Showclub. Its pink glow flickers off the wet asphalt of the parking lot and off the edges of the cars occupying its spaces. There's a few people mingling about by the club's entrance, waiting impatiently, murmuring to one another. There's a rush far behind him, the sound of traffic passing by or a river raging from the torrential rains this monsoon season had blessed them with, it was hard to tell. It could even be both, Tucson never did have the best infrastructure and it wasn't the first time the streets turned into rivers of death and destruction.

Hudson flexes his fist, wondering what had triggered this surge in power. Did it have something to do with Gideon or perhaps the sword and dagger he had found in that chest? Or was it something else? Why was he here? How was he here? He was in the underworld one moment, and now he was in the worst damn city in the southwest had to offer.

standing before the club's entrance, drenched in sweat from the humidity, you look around wondering how you got here. it feels strange to you. when you look around, things shift into focus, as if you're piecing the area back together piece by piece. then, out of the corner of your eye, you see a familiar figure. for a second, your heart stops and you move to get closer to them, move to see them. as you approach, your vision begins to clear up and you can make out the finer details of what the figure looks like. what do you see? is it a person, an animal? what do they look like and how do they make you feel?

Fear shoots through Hudson when he spots the spikes of blond hair out from the corner of his eye. He whips around, shoulders and jaw muscles tensing as it approaches. The figure is just as towering and imposing as he remembered as a child. The goatee, the square jaw, and thick eyes brows were exactly the same, but the eyes-- they were different. One was a black abyss, a whole Hudson had left when he emptied the barrel of his the man's gun at him. The other eye was no longer an eerie pale blue, but red, with gold specks at the center. Black scales were forming along his neck as he moved in closer, coming and going and once he was close enough, he could see the pink light reflecting off two tall, arching horns that framed his head. But there was no mistaking him, it was Craig. Just as he remembered him the night he killed him. The same Black Sabbath shirt, the same dirty blue jeans, the same ugly biker boots. This must be a trick by some creature in the underworld. Some kind of punishment. Letting him meet the man who abused him and his family. The man who tortured and tormented them for years. Hudson's fists clench, the fear finding a poor of anger, settling and mixing in like old friends.

the demonic visage of your old abuser takes root, standing tall before you, uninterested and undisturbed by your presence. one black eye and one red eye stare at you as if you mean nothing to him. he opens his mouth to speak and you can hear the words coming out, but they're muffled. it's as if he's in a cylinder, cut off from you, with his own words barely making it to your ears, like he's speaking under water and all you hear are the bubbles of conversation never popping to give you what you think you need to hear. then, as you strain to listen more intently, the voice becomes crystal clear. what does it sound like? does it actually belong to craig? is it male, female, or animalistic? what physical responses do you have to hearing him speak? how does it make you feel?

Hudson squints, confusion etching its way across his face as the demon attempts to speak. A shiver runs down his spine as the voice clears up. It's male, deep and unearthly. It feels ancient and powerful, like something that belongs to creatures that lurked in mausoleums or ancient temples. The sound reverberates inside his head, feeling as if it is everywhere and nowhere at once, inescapable and ever present, demanding of respect and obedience, a sound that has Hudson seizing in place. It is not Craig's voice. A mistake, for if it wanted to render Hudson to his knees, he shouldn't have gone for someone who inspired so much wrath and defiance in the demigod. "Who the fuck are you," HUDSON snarls, hands reaching back for his swords.

there's a snarl of a smile that slices along the demonic visage's face. craig licks his lips and watches the hostility that brews in your veins. "am i answering the question or you going to attempt to kill me?" the voice booms with power. you hear it in your mind as well as in your ears, seeping into your bones, down to the marrow. "because we can do either or both if you wish, son of fear."

As if he couldn't get any creepier or more deserving of a few punches and stab wounds, he went and did that thing with his tongue. "Keep wearing that ugly mug and acting like a little shit, I might just go with the latter." Hudson pulls out his swords, just in case the creature does anything funny. Given his last encounter, the way it went, and the disheartening way his fellow demigods had reacted towards him in the end, the son of Demios was less inclined to be as trusting as he typically was. "What are you, who are you and why are you wearing that asshole's face?"

craig laughs, it's a broken, discordant sound that echoes and echoes until they both sit in silence. both mixmatched eyes stare at you as he stands there, arms folded defiantly over his chest, not scared of you.

"i'm an echo of your father's power, dormant until now." craig waves a hand to his face, gesturing toward it. "you tell me, kid. you're the one who sees me like this. it's your mind, not mine." another laugh and he shifts, the scales on his neck shimmer like obsidian, as if they're growing before they rest again.

The laughter causes shivers to run up and down his spine, settling into his chest like a battery of violent panic waiting to be expelled. There's confusion at first. Father? Craig may have been his step-father, legally, but he was never a father to him. And then, he realizes, the creature meant Deimos. Understanding dawns on the demigod's face, then pain. Craig was the first real monster he ever encountered. He was the monster. The one that still occasionally plagued him in his dreams, the reason why he was so broken and useless, a creature so foul that even in death he still manages to hurt him and his family, still haunting them, striking them when they least expect it. His abilities made him feel monstrous. They made him feel like Craig. It made sense, why this thing before him would appear as his abuser if he was his father's power. An echo of it or not. "He was a monster," Hudson murmurs, lowering his weapons. "Sometimes, when I use my abilities, people look at me the way my family and I looked at him."

there's a flicker of amusement on craig's face as he licks his lips, tongue trailing over sharp teeth. "people view fear as a monster." he says to you, standing as still as stone as he watches realization dawn on you.

"are you a monster, son of deimos? or are you something more?" he asks you, head lilting to the side as one of his eyes—the red and gold flecked one—illuminates as if to see if you're lying to him or yourself.

Shoulders square up, jaw tensing at the question. There's an urge to run the moment that eye is on him, but Hudson manages to squash it, taking a step back. "I'm a monster," Hudson admits, shame creeping its way into him. "What else would you call someone who enjoys terrifying others?" He knew what fear did to people, how it could ruin them, how it can break them and yet at times he found himself relishing in their fright. And it wasn't just with people who deserved it, but with others, ones who obviously didn't, like Dane and Yves. And while it wasn't something he did often, the mere fact that he could do it and that he's had to fight against his instincts to keep himself from doing was proof enough that there was something terrible inside of him.

"But, I want to be something more," he admits, his gaze meeting the creature's. "My da-- uh, Floyd, my step-dad, he says that sometimes what the world needs is a monster." The bar door swings open, and people begin to stumble out, a small group lingering by a car near the entrance, as if they were waiting for something. Hudson's eyes flicker over to them, briefly, only long enough to settle on a tattoo of a swastika on one of the man's arms. "Like, Stalin." He says, straightening up. "He's been dead for seventy somethin years but, he still scares the shit out of people." Hudson smiles, a memory of Floyd educating him on the Soviet leader coming to surface. "He was a hero, but westerners think he's a monster, especially his enemies. But his people? His people love him. Because he was their protector, their leader--- their champion. He made life better for them and he kept the real monsters away."

craig shifts in the streetlights, in the gleaming neon sign of the bar. the scales almost glimmer with the light before the smile is back on his face, a hum that sounds like a sleeping dragon slowly parting his lips, breaking through the cage of his teeth.

"but do you think you have it in you to be that monster? to be that hero they need? what if being the monster causes you to lose the ones you love?" it's a bombardment of questions, one after the other, eyes never leaving yours. "because you may enjoy the fear, that hunger for it, but afterward, are you okay with yourself?"

"Yes," Hudson thinks to the Neo-nazis nearby, the way he nearly killed a few of them. He told himself, the cops, and the club owner that it was because they were waiting outside to harass a dancer, but he knew, he just wanted to ruin a few lives that night and he took gleeful delight in doing just that to other monsters. "Besides, I don't have a choice. I have to." He pauses, thumbing the hilt of his shortswords. "I feel... useless in battle. Most of the time, I feel like I'm not even needed." He had to figure his place on the battlefield, but how was he supposed to do that when he couldn't be himself in his entirety. "I... I have to accept myself, even if I don't like what I might become."

He stares at the face of the man he blames for Denver's death, the person who actually killed her through the pain he caused. He supposed, he had to be like him in a way. He had to stop trying so hard to get people to like him, to be what others hoped and expected of him. "I've already lost someone because I couldn't become one fast enough... as a kid." His eyes fall to the ground. "If I don't do it now, then I'm gonna lose the rest of them." His eyes snap to the neo-nazis, frowning as the puffed away at their cigarettes. "I have to be okay with myself, because if I don't..." A breath. "I know I'll feel even worse if someone dies all because I didn't like how it made me feel in the end."

craig looks at you and notices how your attention constantly flickers away from him to the passersby of the club, to the men that you've already dealt with. he shakes a finger, wagging it from side to side.

"this is not your past, kid. we're not here to relive it." the scene shifts, the club is still there, the bright neon sign still buzzes over head, still flashes every now and then like it might go out. but the streets are empty, the line is gone, there is no one around but the two of you. "all this talk about being okay with becoming a monster, with needing to be one to save people, feeling useless." he steps around you and you can still feel his gaze lingering on you, a heavy stare that burns you to your marrow. "so what if you are? what if that's all you'll ever be." he stands behind you, whispers into your ear. "if you want to be a monster all you have to do is let it out." a breath, a pause. "so do it."

Useless is all he has ever been. He could never protect his mother and sisters from Craig, instead of saving them, he condemned them to a life of suffering, pain and abuse far apart from each other. Making friends was always hard as foster kid, but even harder when you're placed in a community of solely whites who despised you simply because of your skin color and your culture was different than theirs. And when other children of color finally began to attend the same school, he failed to protect them from bullying. There was nothing worse than having hope that you wouldn't be alone anymore only to come to school one day and find that your new friend had transferred out all because you couldn't do enough to protect them from the bullies.

A wave of goosebumps course over him as it stops and whispers, drawing a silent snarl out of the demigod. The voices in the back of his mind grow in a panicked frenzy, bickering with one another as to what he ought to do. Fight him. Run away. Kill him. Hide. Black wisps begin to circle them, threatening to drown them both in a bubble of darkness. A sharp ringing in his hear drowns them out, the same ringing he heard night he shot Craig. He could remember the rush he felt pulling the trigger, emptying the clip of the gun to the man. He felt powerful, in control, and above all else, he felt relief. This darkness inside of him wasn't something he inherited from Deimos, it was from Craig, and it has twisted and tainted every part of him and morphed him into something ugly-- a reflection of his abuser. All of his life he's been fighting so hard to prove to himself that he wasn't like him, but he was tired, so tired of constantly monitoring himself.

Maybe he should let it out. It felt good killing Craig. It felt good stabbing those bullies. It felt fantastic beating neo-nazi's to a pulp. It was useful in juvie, and in prison. But was violence and fear the solution to everything? Was it what all of them really needed? The kids, it wasn't their fault they were that way. Maybe it wasn't any of their faults, but... the kids, at least, they could have been saved. Bullying and racism were learned behaviors. They were young enough to be saved the state had investigated and done their jobs right. The gods deemed Lamia a monster, and he helped her free herself from their prison. Could he do that again if he simply let the darkness take over? The darkness had a way of twisting thoughts, would it even cross his mind if it were to happen again? Could a monster save a monster? "Don't tell me what to fuckin' do!" Hudson hisses, whipping around to strike at the false Craig with both shortswords. "That face doesn't get to bark orders at me anymore."

CRAIG begins to snicker viciously in your ear, almost like he can read your thoughts. each wicked thought that flutters through your mind is something that he almost relishes in, wants to provoke.

"i'm not telling you to do anything. think of it as a forceful suggestion." as you whirl around, shortswords in hand to slash at him, the demonic cisage of your childhood abuser isn't there. there's nothing there except a fading form that looks like one of the many people you've let down. "boo." craig's voice whispers again, omnipresent and consuming, as a large claw pushes forth from the shadows that flicker around you. he misses, the dark talon like fingers whizzing passed your bicep as he laughs maniacally. "you never did listen. you always do what you want." he shakes his head, one bottomless eye focusing on you intently. "why do you think you're always alone in the end? what is it about you that makes people so afraid to get close?"

A forceful suggestion. If he wasn't wearing the face of an asshole, Hudson might have found that funny. The ghostly vision of Denver causes Hudson to stall, his heart stammering against the his chest. How?! Denver! Where did he go? A memory? It's a trick! Look around, you idiot! A ghost? No, it's not her--- Pay attention! Behind you. Turn around! He's behind you! Focus! Watch out! Never have the voices ever banded together in such a way, their panic and urgency to turn causes Hudson to actually listen for once and spin around-- barely dodging the attack. The dark wisps of his paranoia swarm around him to fully form the dark bubble of he typically loathed to use. His pulse quieting, letting his paranoia blanket him in the security of his darkness, feeling shielded from that terrible gaze. There have been so many hours--- possibly years worth--- of time the demigod had waste trying to figure that out. Why was did he always end up alone, why were people so afraid. It was racism. It was because he was so fucking tall. It was because people could sense he was damaged, mentally unwell and beyond repair. Or they could sense he was a killer-- that he was prone to violence. It was because he was too emotional, too trusting, too volatile. Then he found Olympus and he thought he finally figured it out--- he'd be unconsciously using his abilities and his lack of control cause all the fear. When Gideon never came home, he thought maybe he's cursed. But now? Maybe he wasn't meant to be with anyone. Maybe some creatures are meant to be alone. It would make sense, now that he thought about it, if that were the case. Monsters like Craig can't help but inflict terror and pain on those around him. Consumed by emotions, unable to control himself. It sounded an awful lot like himself. Maybe the universe was doing him a kindness, keeping him from fully realizing his worst nightmare. "How would I fuckin' know?" Hudson snarls, attempting to aim another strike at the demon again.

the fear that settles inside of you is enough to satiate the hunger that this creature seems to crave. the dark scales around his neck almost glisten, shimmering different shades of red to black as the dark wisps of energy pulse from you in waves. the pain rockets through him, pushing out an unhinged laugh that echoes in your mind like a gong.

he side steps the swing of your sword easily and makes his own attack again. the dark claws pulse as they scratch against your neck, a thin line that instantly starts to trickle blood.

with that cut, it's as if other things begin to pour forth. you see the way GIDEON used to look at you, how he held your hands and told you that you're not a monster, how he sat with you when you were falling apart when you would think about what these abilities of yours did to your friends, how he promised that he would never look at you like a monster. you see your sister's who looked at you the same way. you see the friends you've slowly begun to make looking at you like perhaps there's something wrong, but maybe they know they can trust you if the time called for it. you see yourself, somehow, standing where CRAIG once stood, claws of darkness dripping with your own blood before CRAIG'S face is staring at you again. maybe CRAIG isn't the thing you fear the most. maybe you've been fearing yourself all this time.

This wasn't working, it was clearly getting off on this. Which only served to infuriate and frustrate Hudson even more. He had to think of something else, of some way else to beat him. That feeling of uselessness creeping up on him again. At least, this time, he was alone. No one to protect, no one to disappoint but himself.

The burn of its claws against his neck draws a frown from Hudson, and for a moment he half expects the attack to come with bone deep excruciating pain but the sight of his loved ones and allies is so much worse. He wants so badly to be better for them, so badly to be what they expect him to be. But with it comes hesitation, comes uncertainty, a constant need of approval.

The sight of himself in Craig's place was unsurprising. It's how he felt he appeared after taking Credence out in the games, and after killing those goblins. He was a nightmare to them. He could feel the wave of fear shifting from to a fear of him. The guilt that came after was heavy. Why did they have to look at him like that? To feel like that? He was nothing like Stalin, a mere mortal who inspired such hope in his people and fear in his enemies, one would think he wasn't human in some way. The first time his allies looked at him in terror, Hudson knew, there was no chance he could do both.

Hudson knew what he could become. He's heard it over and over again. The abused grow up to become the abusers.

Of course he's been fearing himself.

He's caught himself in moments empathizing with his abuser. How could he not fear himself? "Is that all you've got?" Hudson snarls, trying to recompose himself. "You just gonna scratch me and make me feel bad?" He wipes away at the blood on his neck with a forearm, then lets a wave of dread pour out of him towards the creature. "I've fucked people who've done a better job at that than you-- you know, as a fun sexy time game." Well, maybe not so fun.

"tsk, tsk, tsk." CRAIG'S face is in rfont of yours now and his body grows even larger. the room area of outside of the club begins to shift once more, as if pieces of a mirror are breaking away, piece by piece the road is gone and the club is gone and the two of you are standing some place new, some place else.

where is this place? what does it look like? does it bring good or bad memories to you?

the energy shoves off you and slams against CRAIG and he winces a little at the contact but it doesn't grab hold of him. he smirks, licking his lips and you notice his tongue is forked—a truly demonic visage.

the visage of your guardian laughs, head throwing back as waves of darkness begin to form around him into sharp blades. they lash out and latch onto the sides of your face, digging into your temples before his eyes close and he attempts to latch a third one onto you. he misses, but two is enough.

there's a quiet pulse of something that silences everything around you and your eyes blow wide. "tell me what would kill you to lose. tell me what you fear the most."

he looms over your and locks eyes with you, but you shrug the feeling off, the sense of dread that can be all consuming and paralyzing, the same feeling you've felt before, over and over again and again.

Despite the creature having stated they were in his mind, and having managed to clear out the entire parking lot with little effort, Hudson hadn't quite believed it until now. The parking lot and club shatter away, and in its place was a gaudy pink and maroon dining room with teal accents obscured by the mountain of Beanie Babies and Furbies lining the walls and china cabinets. Hudson could recognize this hellscape anywhere. He may have no been invited to many homes as a child, but he was absolutely certain no one other than Mr. and Mrs. Young own so many terrible toys.

Hudson's gaze, however, wasn't trained on the ugly piles of cheap 90s obsessions. It was focused solely on the twelve unconscious familiar faces bound to the Chippendale dining chairs surrounding the table. The demigod doesn't have time to react to the change, the creature's attacks piercing him and pulling a scream out him. For a moment, he thinks about getting away, so that the table was between himself and false-Craig but then the people he loved would be in danger, the very danger he wanted to shield them from. "Fuck you," Hudson bites out, desperately trying not to look towards the faces of his sisters, his mom, of Floyd, or Gideon or Lamia and the kids.

This was a nightmare. One that plagued him almost nightly now. A terrible mish mash of memories thrown together, mutated and merged into something far more horrifying than reality, all of it combined with his fear of things to come. Hopefully, this thing was as needy to be the center of his enemy's attention as he was. He was certain he wouldn't able to fight off all three monsters. Was he feeding the creature with his abilities? The bubble of darkness drops, and Hudson hopes, that maybe just maybe this thing has fears of it own. Black pulses through his veins and into his swords and he takes another swing at the creature. "I'm not going to lose anyone else! I'm not going to let things like you, or any other supernatural thing take them from!" He was going to keep what he had left, even if it meant dying for it.

with a wave of his hand, the weapons in your hands disintegrate, falling away like ash. the scene changes again and this time, you're back in your room on olympus. it's just as messy as you've left it, piles of guns in the corner, piles of things on the bed, a spot on the floor where you curl up to sleep. some of gideon's clothes that you've been using as a pillow still liter the floor.

"i think i've begun to understand you, but i don't think you quite understand yourself." the red eye lined with gold and the abyssal black eye focus on you, the scales seem to move, growing with each breath and falling away with the exhales.

"you wish to be a shield for the monster's of the world at the expense of turning into one yourself." craig shifts and he's behind you once more, you can feel his presence and it changes. there's not necessarily fear but an understanding, a sense of protection that fills you.

"i am not your enemy, hudson boyd, son of deimos. i am an echo of his power that lives within you, taking the shape of what you will me to be." craig sighs, "but i believe there is things you need more than fighting me, because fighting me is fighting yourself and i do not think you can win."

Eyes widen as the weapons vanish before him, his heart plummeting as his room comes into focus. This whole time in the Underworld, he's been rushing to get home, to run out and find Gideon. But now that he was back, even if it was only in his mind, it hurt to be home. It felt wrong, emptier, and so much darker knowing that Gideon wasn't here-- in this realm. He for one of the discarded shirts, holding it carefully as if it too could disintegrate like his swords had. He rubs the fabric between his fingers, shutting his eyes as he presses it against his face, breathing it in.

Hudson watches the creature out from the corner of his eyes, frowning at this words. No, he supposed he didn't. He's been trying so hard to be accepted by others, to be seen as worthy of love and affection to the point of changing himself that he may have lost himself in the process. His shoulders relax as the aura around the demon changes. "What things?" He asks, shutting his eyes and trying as instructed, willing the echo to change into Gideon. He knew nothing good would come of it, but he missed him so much it hurt to breath, all he wanted was to see him again.

does the voice change to gideon's as well?

yes.

as you turn you're met with a familiar sight and it makes your heart hurt just a little. gideon's mahagony eyes stare at you as he watches you inhale the scent of him, watches memories pass through.

but you know, on some level, that this isn't gideon. even if it looks and sounds like him.

"you need to understand that you aren't a monster and that wanting to do whatever it takes to defend those you love doesn't make you one." gideon pauses, shifting in the light of the room. "it makes you relentless, unyielding, but not a monster." he walks closer to you, picking up idle pieces of clothes and folding them, placing them somewhere neater—something gideon would do when you were sleeping or lounging about in your room.

"embrace the darkness but don't let it consume you to the point it changes who you are. you're more than fear, hudson. you're more than darkness."

gideon moves and rests a hand on your cheek and it's almost like you feel the familiar warmth of his palm.

"it will be hard to do, but will you try? let the darkness in, let it out, but know when to pull back. you are not the monster's that you've faced before. break the wheel, break the cycle."

Hudson's mouth goes dry at the sight. For a moment, he finds himself questioning his sanity, if any of this was real or if he was simply having another breakdown. He watches and listens to Gideon, his sight blurring as tears begin to well up. It's not him, he knows this, but he feels and sounds so real. His face screws up, unable to hold back the waterworks any longer, and reaches out for the man, arms wrapping around him, clinging to him as if that would keep him there, as if it would bring him back. He lets out a sob, but nods at his guardian's request. "Y-yes, I can try," he chokes out, arms tightening around the muscular body.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His body quakes with another sob, an overwhelming guilt weighing down on him. The apologies aren't toward his guardian, rather to the image of Gideon--- as if speaking to him could some how find its way back to the actual demigod. "I should have been there with you." No one deserved to die alone, without the company of a loved one near by to ease them into the afterlife. "You deserved better."

the guardian is still when your arms wrap around him but, slowly, he wraps them around you in an embrace and holds you while you fall to pieces. the sobs rattle your body and wet the front of his shirt—the same one you were smelling only moments before—but there's no real wetness to it.

he pulls you away from him as you finish and looks at you in your eyes.

"with my help, if you accept it, you will never have to apologize again."

he wipes wayward tears from your eyes with the pad of his thumb.

"are you ready to accept your birth right, son of deimos?"

It hurts, but Hudson nods. "Yes," he straightens himself out, sniffing back snot as tries to stand tall. "I am." A brief pause, and then shyly, just above a whisper, he says "thank you." For letting him get that out, for accepting it, and him.

"we'll see each other again." gideon says and turns to walk out of the room.

you wake up back in the makeshift camp that the demigods have made in the underworld and you can feel your face stained by warm, wet tears. he wipe them away quickly as you lay down, looking up at the tent you've acquired.

it takes you a while, but you go back to sleep with a buzzing under your skin. you find that you don't have a nightmare for the first time since you can remember. there's a shard of something else, though that blooms in your chest.

there's fear. but there's something else there, too. something fear can't live without.

hope.

when you wake up, you feel more rested than you have since before you can remember. but more importantly, you feel strong.

in more ways than one.

end.

#hb #path #was gonna put something more serious as a graphic but #i decided it needed some cute to balance out the sad

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